Fenrir25
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“Hello?” His neighbour says, looking confused and honestly a bit concerned at Buck’s dishevelled presence.
“Hi, I’m—next door. Buck,” Buck says.
The guy just raises an eyebrow, hand still on the door handle. “Okay? Nice to meet you, Buck. I’m Eddie.”
Eddie. It’s a beautiful name. Simple. Short. Sweet. Buck thinks he might have hearts in his eyes. Or maybe they’re floating around his head. Is he delirious?
“I’m a firefighter,” Buck explains.
Eddie glances down at Buck’s hoodie, a navy LAFD-issue hoodie that hangs loosely over his frame. “I can tell.”
Buck exhales. He’s not explaining this correctly. He’s so tired he might just curl up and fall asleep right here, right now, on Eddie’s front door step. Maybe the saxophone will lull him to sleep.
“Sorry, I’m—I just got off a forty-eight-hour shift from hell. I’m just—I’m dead on my feet, man. Is there any chance you can just—not—” Buck makes vague gesturing of playing a saxophone, cheeks puffed out and fingers pressing vaguely where he imagines saxophone buttons are. He makes quiet little tooting noises. “I hate to be this guy, I just—please. Just tonight.”
OR Buck pleads with his evil saxist neighbour for peace