#day23

The door simply wouldn’t budge. 

The handle would not twist an inch. 

Stuck. 

The shitty thing was broken. 

Just your fucking luck. 

Thanks a lot you bullshit universe! 

Sighing as you bang your head against your door. 

It was late at night. 

And the call out fee for a locksmith at this time of night was enormous. 

A price gouge if you had ever seen one. 

An easy way to take advantage of the desperate. 

…and you were desperate. 

Huffing. 

You really didn’t want to fork out this cash just because your lock was broken. 

But it seemed like you were left with no other choice. 

No other option. 

Mind drawing blanks. 

Phone slowly dying in your hands. 

It's energy depleting, just as rapidly as your own. 

“Hey, everything okay?” 

A soft voice from behind you sounds out. Breaking you from your internal dread. 

Turning your head slightly. 

Your eyes meet. 

Eyes widened slightly as you come face to face with your very cute neighbour.

Most times you passed by and offered brief friendly greetings, small conversations by the mail boxes. Nothing in depth. 

You knew a few things for certain. 

His name was Jesse. 

He was a nurse. 

You were pretty certain he worked at PTMC. 

Where you were sure he had his fair share of stories from working there. 

You also knew that he was kind.

Nice. 

That he had a great smile…

And he was fucking hot. 

And because of all that. He was the very neighbour you often tried to avoid. 

Often found yourself ducking back into your apartment if you heard his door handle turn. Or take the stairs instead of the lift if you had caught a glimpse of him. 

In fear of making a fool of yourself. 

…In fear of something like this happening. 

Posture straightens as you pull away from your door, hands smoothing down your clothes, brushing through your hair out of instinct. 

A need to look somewhat presentable. 

Almost certain that your mascara had already begun its journey of emphasising the bags beneath your eyes…

But you still tried. Hurriedly trying your best to appear more put together without making it too obvious.

…Even if it was already a little too late for that.

Smiling sheepishly you jab a thumb towards your door. 

“Door's been jammed for the past half hour,” you stated. Hoping that the floor would just swallow you whole. 

He nods in understanding, a small twist in his mouth in sympathy. 

“That’s a bummer,” He leans against his door. Brows furrowing. 

His eyes simply set on you. 

Those steel blue eyes.

Not in a way that was unsettling.

But in a way that made your skin buzz. Chest fluttering. 

“You got a locksmith coming or something?” He cocked his head in thought. Wondering. Questioning. 

A reasonable question. 

You sigh once more, biting your lip, trying to settle your nerves. 

Out of all your neighbours. 

Why couldn’t it have been Mr and Mrs Diaz down the hall or Ms Cole across the way…

Nope. 

It had to be the cute guy who lived opposite you, to find you in this state…

As if today couldn’t have gotten any worse. 

“Would you believe that locksmiths don’t like to be disturbed at this hour of night–the few ones I called practically wanted to take my kidney as payment. As if they could sense my desperation.”

He bites back a laugh from your words, as you feel a small ping of confidence filter in. 

Standing just a little straighter. 

“It’s only 9 and they consider it afterhours, it’s not like it's 3 am,” you added with a small quirk of your lip. 

Somewhat hoping to elicit another laugh, another chuckle. 

Just maybe. 

You could do this. It was just a simple chat, of course. Soon enough he’d vacate. Disappear behind his door, leaving you to solve your current crisis. 

It would have to end soon. 

Even if you didn’t want it to. 

Fucking hell your mind was having an internal battle over this. 

But your dignity won out. 

Believing it’d be better to end sooner than later.

Surely he would go inside soon.

It didn’t escape your notice how he leant against the door, feet tired from the day. 

How a small yawn had escaped him, even when he did his best to conceal it. 

He was a nurse. Of course he was tired. 

“I tell you what. You could wait around out here, or.”

Now that, or, had caught your attention. 

“Or, you could wait around in my apartment while you figure out what to do.” He suggests. 

What the fuck? 

You wanted to wring your ears out. Check if you had cotton in them. 

Check if you had heard him clearly. 

Did Jesse just invite you into his apartment?

Shaking your head, you begin to turn him down, “No, that’s ok–I’m sure you’re tired, you really don’t have to–”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I was just about to cook something to eat, but I always make way too much. So you’d be doing me a favour.”

“Unless you don’t feel comfortable, and then I completely understand, just tell me to piss off and I will,” he offers. Considerate. And kind as usual.

“Would it really be okay?” you ask. Actually considering his proposal. 

Not knowing where it had even come from. 

Not knowing where your confidence was coming from. 

Just hoping it would last. 

He nods, affirming, “Yeah of course, wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t,” he flashed a smile, soft and sincere. “Besides, I’d love the company”

Whether that was just him being nice. Or civil. 

You honestly couldn’t decipher. 

But the effect it had on you was all the same. Surprise taking over you. 

Only broken from thought after he’s opened his door, gesturing for you to come across. 

And in just a few short steps. 

You were welcomed into his home. 

An insight into the very neighbour who would catch your eye across the hall.  

Hanging up his jacket by the door, you follow suit to take off your shoes. 

His apartment was a lot neater than you anticipated. Just a few things strewn about. But nothing out of the ordinary.

…Not that you had thought about his apartment…that often. 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. 

Perhaps believing it to be sparse. Or empty. Or void of feeling, considering it felt like he was at work at almost all hours of the day. Or that it would be grey and clinical. Flat. 

But instead it had a comfort, a warmth about it. 

Everything had its place. 

Items that could only be curated over years, throughout the wavering changes of life. As interests fade in and out, only to be held onto for the memory of a different time. 

Frames neatly hung on the wall. Various pictures. Of bands and different abstract artworks. Vibrant and yet, soft. 

Plants sat upon the window sill. The lushness fits perfectly within the home. Pots of painted terracotta and various patterns hold them. 

Rows upon rows of vinyls fill the shelves of a cabinet, as a single record player sits atop, not a speck of dust upon it. Well cared for and maintained. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jesse gestured, trying to insist you take a seat. 

“Let me help with dinner–”

He shakes his head, “You’re my guest. Don't even think about it” 

You nod at his words, eyes scanning the room, trying to think of what to do. 

While he moves around and starts preparing something to eat. 

Your attention is drawn elsewhere.  

In these moments, his eyes often drifted towards you. 

Subconsciously seeking you out. 

He would be lying if he didn’t think you were good looking.

You had caught his eye.

Whether it was your smile, or simply the way you spoke. Something about you had Jesse wanting to know more. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t try to seek you out at times. Tried to match up your schedules just for a fleeting moment. 

For some reason. 

Inexplicable to him. 

Those moments that passed between you were always so brief. 

So fleeting. 

Barely more than a few seconds, barely 3 minutes at most.

There was always something that had pulled you in different directions. 

So yes. 

Jesse would be lying if he said, he wasn’t just the slightest bit happy that you had been locked out. 

Even if all it resulted with was a simple dinner.

He would savour your company. 

“Would you like a drink?” 

“Huh?” Your eyes lift from where they were looking through the vinyls, meeting his eyes across the room. 

As he leans against the bench. 

“I said, would you like a drink?” he asked once more, a small quirk of his lip that made your knees weak.  

“Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you reply. 

He arches a brow, remarking, “Ok. That’ll be three fingers of whisky for the lady”

You go to protest, just a little taken aback before he chuckles softly, “I’m joking. How does some white wine sound? 

“Sounds good”

“Oh, and feel free to play some music, there’s bound to be something you’d like,” he states whilst rummaging through his cupboards, grasping onto some glasses. 

A smile creeps onto your lips as you crouch by the cabinet, eyes flicking over the various choices.

Impressed by the wide variety. 

"Quite the collection you have," you call out.

"Just a little hobby of mine," he replies, "There's a bit of everything"

Soon you’re slipping out a record as you take it within your hands with a delicate care. 

Arranging it onto the player, before the warmth rhythm of the music fills the air. As though the performer was right there in the room. 

‘You shut your mouth How can you say I go about things the wrong way?’

The cadence of The Smiths fills the air. As you quietly mumble to sing along, without much thought. 

The soft sound of your voice, bringing a smile to Jesse's face.

You're startled as Jesse comes beside you, a glass in hand for you as he passes it to you, hands just gently brushing against one another.

You thank him, as you feel your cheeks flush from slight embarrassment.

‘When you say it's gonna happen now When exactly do you mean?’

“So,” you start, as you take a sip of your wine, “Long day at work?” 

“Yeah, something like that,” He grins. “Want to hear about how I had this patient swear he was a pufferfish?” 

Laughing, “Seriously?” 

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, while you trail after him as he begins to walk back to the kitchen. Hands moving to continue making dinner as he proceeds with his story. 

"To be fair, he did just have his wisdom teeth taken out - so the swelling and meds combined probably contributed a little," he pinched his fingers together for emphasis.

The sound of your laughter. 

The slight snort that escapes you involuntarily. However indelicate it may seem. 

It settles in his chest. Burrowing deep. 

Fondly. He thinks. It is one of the most precious sounds he had heard. 

The night carries on. 

Ending up just eating out of the pan with a pair of forks, as your stomachs rumble, too impatient to plate up. 

You lean across the kitchen bench facing one another. 

The soft cadence of the music plays in the background. But neither of your attentions lift from one another. 

As Jesse lists off whatever stories he could think of that’d make you laugh.

That would make you smile. 

You add your own stories, your own predicaments from your life. Things that makes him understand you just a bit better. 

It felt easy to talk with him.

Far easier than you had imagined. A comfort settling between you both.

...The memory of your locked door fading from your mind. 

The stress that had built up.

Now melted away. 

But then your eyes drift to see the time, half past 11. 

You had no idea where the hours had gone. 

Well you knew what had happened. Simply far too enthralled by Jesse’s company you had lost track of time. 

You hadn’t even tried to figure out what to do about your door. 

“Oh, I’ve kept you up far too late. I’ll uh, I’ll call my friend and go stay over at theirs or something,” you began to ramble. Trying to think of a solution. 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re all good. Promise”

Scratching the back of his head, “You could stay over if you need, I mean you’re already here. And you live just across the hall. It’d probably be easiest”

“Really?” you question, blinking in surprise, “I don’t want to intrude”

“No intrusion.” Before he adds, “I’ll sleep on the couch and you can take my bed-”

“I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”

He gives you this pointed look. Before remarking with a teasing glint in his eye, “If I didn’t know better I’d have thought you were trying to get me in bed with you”

A heat rises up your neck, to the point where you fear your affections had been found out. 

Before he laughs softly. 

“Just take the bed, trust me.”

So that was how you ended up here now. 

Lying in his bed. 

The soft sheets beneath you.

Changed into one of his spare shirts, a band you hadn't heard of before printed on the back. 

There was a freshness to the smells that enveloped you like a gentle flower, as though a blooming patchouli, simmering with a hearty warmth, of sandalwood that sliced through its delicate scent. 

It had quickly lulled you to sleep. Drifting off with a gentle smile. 

Until all too soon the sun rose the next day. 

There was a peace between you both in the morning, as you sipped coffee. A silence brewed between you both. 

Not of discomfort. 

But a slight melancholy. 

As though neither of you quite wanted this to end. 

Knowing that in a few more minutes you would have to part ways. 

You had called a locksmith just minutes ago, and he’d be there within the hour…

Jesse had work soon. But he simply lingered, wanting to steal a few more minutes in your company. Even if it risked him being a couple minutes late…He was sure Dana would understand. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

An ingenious question. Simply wow. How’d you come up with that one?

He smiled, “Yeah, pretty good. Though I think I got a crook in my neck–”

You panic as you hear these words, “See I knew I should’ve taken the couch. I’m so sorry”

He calms you down, as he reaches for your hand. Out of instinct. 

“Hey, I’m all good. Pretty sure it was from my shift yesterday anyways. Not the couch.”

You bite your lip and listen to his assurances. 

The warmth of his hand clasped in yours. Something you didn’t know you needed. Slightly calloused, but gentle to the touch. 

“How did you sleep?” he asked then, hand slipping from yours. 

A cold seeping into the palm of your hand from the absence. 

“Really good, those have got to be the softest sheets ever. And thank you again. I really–it was really nice of you to let me stay”

“I would’ve been an asshole otherwise if I didn’t,” he replied as though it were no big deal.

As though it didn't mean the world to you.

In a flicker. You could've sworn you had seen his eyes soften.

“Well thank you again. If ever you’re in a bind-like if you get locked out, I’ll be there to help out” you said, joking slightly. Before your words turn, trying hard to conceal the sadness from lacing the following words. “I should probably go”

He gives a small nod, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“Yeah”

“Yeah” 

Walking you over to the front door, you reach to grasp the handle, before his hand stops yours. 

“I was thinking-I was hoping.” He starts, the usual cool composure fracturing just slightly. As he huffs. 

“Yes?” you asked, looking at him. Hopeful. Waiting. 

“I was thinking that we should do this again sometime–I’d like to do this again sometime.” He said. 

“This?” 

“I’d like to go on a proper date, with you,” he confessed. 

And your heart stops in your chest.  

Your brain freezes. 

Disbelief wracks your body. 

Blinking rapidly from his words. 

You must’ve stood there in silence for too long because he began to mutter out, a little dejected, “Unless you don’t want to–” 

But you surge forward. 

Lips brush against his, tentatively. Barely even there. 

Waiting for him to move towards you…or pull away. The choice was his. 

But he presses his lips against yours, firmer, more assured. As his hand cups your cheek. Deepening the kiss. 

Mumbling softly as your lips move against each other, “I’ll take that as a yes?” the faintest smile on his lips felt against yours. 

“Definitely,” you sigh softly. 

Pulling back after a few moments. Faces barely inches apart, as his hand caresses your cheek. 

Biting your lip as shyness takes over you. 

“I’ll see you tonight, take you out for dinner at 8?” he whispers. 

While you nod, “Sounds perfect” 

He brushes his lips against the corner of your lips, before peppering one final kiss upon your lip. 

“Guess I’ll see you then” 

“I can’t wait” 

“Me neither”

Smiling softly, hearts racing. As you exit his apartment. Only to lean against the wall as your hand clutches your chest. It's drumming beneath your hand as fast as ever. 

In disbelief that had actually happened. 

Your very cute, hot neighbour. Might just become something more than a passing stranger. 

Just perhaps…

And that was something that sent electricity coursing through your veins. 

Electric. 

Exhilarating. 

…I take back everything from before. 

Thank you to whatever thing, deity, universe or flapping of butterfly wings that led me to be locked out of my apartment.

…Sorry for cussing you out.

Thanks for being a solid wing woman – wing man? – wing whatever, tonight. 

I owe you one…

You smiled softly as you pressed a hand to your lips that had just brushed against his. 

Excited for the next time you'd see him.

Tonight couldn't come soon enough.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed my first Jesse Van Horn fic. It was cool to explore another character of the pitt. (Especially Jesse, cause he is so fine! and funny) I kind of imagine him to have a really wide music taste, but especially a mellow rock tone at times - I'm also currently into the Smiths so yup! that's that. He also just seems like someone who would really curate his home, with a lot of care and thought - (also there's totally a pair of drumsticks laying around somewhere, and the whole reason there's no bed in the spare room is cause of his drum kit). Let me know what you thought! ✨

I don't have too many other ideas for fics for him, but would love to start writing a little more for Jesse. So feel free to send in any requests you might have ☺️

Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Feel free to check out my Pitt Masterlist here!

You realize the door won’t open when you grip the door handle and turn it, and all that happens is your hand sliding across the brass. The handle doesn’t even pretend to move, and sits there stubborn and unmoving.

“Levi?” you call, trying the handle again, slower this time. It doesn’t budge.

Behind you, you hear the sheets rustle as he sits up. “What?”

“It’s not opening.”

There’s a pause, and then the bed creaks. Footsteps follow and he reaches past you, hand closing around the handle, testing it once, then twice. The silence that follows has that sinking feeling in you reaching the lowest depths.

You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Okay, so we just—what—call someone?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ll fix it.”

You sigh and watch him as he turns on his heel and heads straight for the closet, already pulling down the small toolkit he insists on keeping within arm’s reach of your bed, as if you live in a constant state of mechanical emergency.

You hover by the door, mildly amused and concerned, as he crouches and inserts a lock-picking tool into the hole of the handle, wiggling it around. It looks like he knows what he’s doing, and this will only take five minutes.

It does not take five minutes.

It takes ten, then fifteen, and then the calm focus he has begins to fray at the edges. His shoulders tighten as the handle refuses to cooperate, tiny clicks echoing in the room as he prods and twists the tool, muttering something under his breath.

“You want me to look up something?” you offer, pulling out your phone. “There’s probably a video—”

“I’ve got it,” he says.

“Alrighty.”

He does not have it, not even ten minutes later. Levi swaps the lock-picking tool for a screwdriver that is way too big for the screws on the knob, but he still tries. His patience thins in direct proportion to the stubbornness of the lock. The first loud clack of metal against metal makes you wince.

“Levi—”

“It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. His movements dissolve into something that edges dangerously close to brute force, the tools clattering louder now. He clenches his jaw, brows drawing together in a way that means he’s past irritation and heading to a more volatile state of mind.

He tries again. And fails.

Then, he sighs. It’s a specific sigh—and you know what it means, because you’ve learned the language of Levi’s patience and exactly what it sounds like when it snaps. He goes quiet for a moment, screwdriver loosely held in his hand, his head bowed slightly.

“I’m calling a locksmith,” he says finally.

You nod. “Yeah. Good idea. Love that plan.” He stands, already reaching for his phone, when it suddenly hits you. “Oh, wait.”

He pauses. “What?”

You hesitate for half a second, then you step forward and lift your hand above the doorframe, fingers feeling along the top edge where you definitely remember it was. Then you feel the cool press of metal against your fingertips.

“Hold on,” you say, trying to not sound amused as you pull the spare key down, slipping it into the hole of the handle with an innocent little click.

The door opens immediately.

You freeze. Levi freezes. The hush that follows is suffocating. You turn your head slowly to look at him, offering a weak, guilty smile.

“Fixed it?” you sheepishly laugh.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, completely still, his gaze suggesting that he’s physically restraining himself from strangling you right then and there. And then—because your timing is truly terrible—you laugh. It’s a small sound at first, then bigger, coming uncontrollably, because the absurdity of it hits all at once. The tools, the struggle, the rage—and the entire time, the solution was sitting right there.

Levi drags a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I forgot!” you protest through laughter, stepping closer to tug at his sleeve. “I didn’t think we’d ever need it!”

He looks at you like he might actually kill you—and then, just barely, the corner of his mouth twitches. “Move,” he mutters.

He slips past you into the hallway while you’re still laughing, and a second later, you hear it—reluctant, but there.

He’s laughing too.

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