#dd

he is neat. you catch a glimpse of his living space one morning when he answers the door to you, black cotton t-shirt and denim jeans already on. "i'm sorry to bother you, but would you happen to have an egg?" you asked, because your last one rolled off the kitchen counter and onto your tiles. he furrows his brows for a moment, as if processing the question before answering, "yeah... yeah, i have one," and he doesn't bother closing the front door as he walks over to the fridge. you notice that there's no clutter; no random wraps or leftovers littering his kitchen counter, no stray socks on the vacuumed floor ( come to think of it, you recall hearing the vacuum rather often ). you noticed him straightening the news papers and advertisments in the news papers box upon entering the building once, "they just threw them in," he commented, as if it was offensive.

he is helpful. he'd held the door open for you and taken the heavy grocery bag out of your hand. carried it to your door and set it on the floor of your hallway when you unlocked the apartment. he took a look around, casually, his eyes trailing across the walls and doors as if checking for exits. he observed the way afternoon light burst in with its golden glow through the windows. you caught it, but hey, it's natural to be compelled to catch a glimpse or two. when you thanked him, he smiled, "don't mention it." he seemed happy with himself. he casually drops off a can of cat food for the feline you'd never told him you have. "i hear it meow sometimes," he said. one time, he'd given you a ride home — it started pouring, you'd had no umbrella and dex happened to be at the mall at the same time. you noticed the monocular in the pit between the driver and passenger seat, "what's that for?" he glanced over to what you were pointing your finger at, his jaw clenching as he looked back onto the road, "it comes with the job."

he is attentive. when you run into each other in the hallway first thing in the morning — which seems to happen often — he asks you about your night, "is everything okay? you came home late," he pauses, "fumbled with your keys. it made some noise." he nods his head when you mention losing track of time with a friend of yours. at some point, you've brought up a trip and how you need to call a friend to ask them to water your plant while you're away, "your peace lily? i can water it for you. if you want." you raised your brow, "how'd you know i have peace lily?" and dex pauses, and shrugs, "saw you bring it in. they're easy to recognise." there was an old man living two floors above and he would continuously throw some sleazy comments your way when you checked your mailbox at the same time — nothing obscene, but just enough to be uncomfortable. dex happened to be there once, "this guy bothering you?" he asked, and you sighed, "he's just... creepy and annoying. the usual..." dex shakes his head lightly, "must be annoying." it was a good riddance that he was found dead three days later. hit his head or something. sounded unfortunate.

he is around. you find yourself walking back home with him more often. it's such a funny coincidence, you think, that you ran into him in the coffee shop earlier that week, and then at the parking lot, and now at the grocery store down the block. the world's a small place, indeed. it's decent quality time; you get to know him and his quirks better. like the fact that he seems to get a joke a second too late, for example. you don't really know it — and you shrug off the odd sensation of being watched — but he's around even when you don't see him. his eye is behind the peephole when you come home from work, taking your keys out of your pocket. he looks through his window to spot your route on the days you go out outside of the pattern — for a sudden ice cream craving, an unexpected emergency meet-up with a friend, that meeting you forgot about. he knows the 'why' behind your trip by the end of the day — he's observed you from the car, after all. you get a text whilst out one day, "you've got a package. want me to bring it in?" and your brows furrow, "dex? sure. thanks." when he hands you the delivery several hours later, you ask him about how he got your phone number. he reminds you that you're in the inactive group for the building's residents.

he is the best. he knocked onto your door one evening. he seemed pale, thirsty breaths coming in and out of his mouth like his lungs couldn't get their fill of the oxygen. knuckles painted crimson, sweat on his forehead, words a mess that he barely spat off his tongue, "please, i—" he swallows, "it's bad, i'm bad, and i just need... i need you." he ends up in your kitchen chair, wincing slightly as you dab the soaked cotton over the back of his hand, one fist clenched against his thigh as he looks at you, "sorry for the trouble, it's just... been a rough day," but you cut him off, "hey, dex. it's okay. you're good," and his mouth goes dry. your gaze drops back to his bloodied hand, but he remains looking at you before his mouth twitches into a smile, "you... you think i'm good?" and you look up, brow raised, "yeah. you're definitely the best neighbour i had."