We Shared a Wall and a Spotify Account
Thin drywall. His playlist bled through. I added a song. He added one back. By March we were sharing more than music.
Apartment 4B played music too late. I knocked once. He apologized with a shared playlist link.
Songs became messages. Instrumental meant thinking of you. Explicit lyrics meant meet me at the stairwell.
We learned each other's schedules without asking. Shower at seven. Home at six-thirty.
The first touch was fixing my buzzer he volunteered to repair. Hands on wires, then wrists, then mouth.
Neither of us has introduced the other to landlords. Introduction feels like paperwork for something we want to stay vapor.
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