Bam!

Cressida was nearly knocked off her feet by someone headed out the entry to her building as she was going in. The boxes she was carrying went flying in every direction.

"Hello? A little help, maybe? And an apology?" She huffed out the words as she began to gather her boxes.

The person who'd run into her was heading down the steps, apparently ready to carry on with his day. He was tall and substantial, with very long legs.

No wonder she'd gone flying.

Now he turned from the bottom step to look up at her.

"Excuse me? You want me to apologize to you because you ran into me?" His voice was deep and strong, matching his dark hair and eyes.

Cressida looked back at him, offended. "I was carrying three boxes, obviously I couldn't see you."

"Well, maybe if you didn't walk around with your forward vision obscured you wouldn't run into people!" The hulking stranger turned, preparing again to go on his way.

"You know, you're the rudest person I've met in a long time, and considering we live in New York City, that's really saying something," Cressida remarked as she finished putting her things back in the boxes. Now that she'd dropped them, there was no way she could pick up all three again, she'd have to leave one there, unattended, while she climbed the three flights to her new apartment.

Fuck.

"Welcome to the Big Apple," Hulking Stranger tossed over his shoulder as he began walking down the sidewalk.

Cressida pushed the box with books in it against the wall and began climbing the stairs with two boxes balanced in her arms. He was right about one thing, she could at least now see where she was going.

She climbed the stairs and opened the door to her new apartment.

It was a studio, with no real kitchen to speak of, and a tiny bathroom with the smallest shower Cressida had ever seen, but it was all hers, no roommates to deal with. The neighborhood, too, was kind of dodgy, but it suited her just fine.

Hopefully her other neighbors were nicer than Hulking Stranger.

Cressida sighed as she put her boxes down and went to look out the window. She had a great view of the fire escape and the street. Across the street was another group of apartment buildings, in typical NYC red brick. The summer sun was already heating the pavement and everything else, letting Cressida know that it was going to be another scorching August day. She'd debated buying a small AC unit for the window, but her money just wouldn't stretch that far, and she'd settled for a fan instead. In addition, the only good place for the AC would've been the back window, and that would've obscured her view of the tiny green space at the back of the building. It was a small oasis of plants and flowers, obviously lovingly tended by someone. Cressida didn't see Hulking Stranger doing the weeding and trimming necessary, so it must be the neighbor who lived between them on the second floor. She was looking forward to spending time out there at the small table, communing with nature as it were. The woman who'd shown her the apartment had assured her that it was a common space, free for everyone to use.

She quickly went back for the box she'd left in the entry and miraculously it was still there. She carried it up and sat on it for a moment, resting before going back to the car she'd borrowed to move herself in. She looked around at her new digs, satisfied for the moment. Even with the exorbitant cost of living in Manhattan, she knew she could just barely make it through her senior year living in this tiny space on the Lower East Side.

Life was good.

Just then the moving company showed up with her furniture, and the next couple hours were spent in getting it upstairs and put together. Cressida made a mental note to send her father a thank you text for springing for the movers.

On one of her trips down the stairs, she met an old woman on the second floor landing.

"Hello, I'm Mikey, I live in 2A," she said, smiling a welcome.

"Cressida Parker, 3A, obviously," Cressida answered, holding out a hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," Mikey responded, taking Cressida's hand in her wrinkled one. "It will be nice to have a young person upstairs. Before we had Mr. Turnblatt, cranky and never separated his trash. You don't do anything like that, do you?"

Cressida assured her that she was very quiet. "I mostly just study."

"Wonderful. And have you met Mr. Stevens? Ground floor?"

That must be Hulking Stranger's name.

"Yeah, we ran into each other earlier," Cressida answered.

"Graham, his first name is. Not a very talkative young man, though his music is loud," Mikey informed her.

"Music? He plays loud music? Loud enough for you to hear?" This could be a problem.

"Oh, yes, the whole neighborhood can hear it," Mikey said, nodding.

"Well, I need it pretty quiet, so hopefully it won't be too bad up where I am," Cressida countered. "And it really is okay for me to spend time in the pretty garden out back? You must be the one who tends it?"

"Oh, of course, of course," Mikey assured her. "I'm usually out there in the mornings before it gets too hot, I just love working the soil. Please enjoy it.

"I don't want to keep you from your moving, though you seem to be doing this all alone? No friends to help you?"

"Nope, everyone's still out of town for the summer, I'm all on my own," Cressida responded cheerfully. "I'm a senior at NYU, and most of my friends are students as well. Don't worry, though," she added. "I don't throw parties and stuff. Like I said, I'm pretty quiet, a journalism major, so I spend most of my time just reading and writing."

"I'm not concerned," Mikey told her with a smile. "You just be careful, living all alone, a pretty little thing like you."

"I'm good," Cressida told her. "I'd better get back to moving, I have to return my friend's friend's car this evening, and I still have a bunch of boxes left."

"I'll let you get back to it, then," Mikey said, turning to enter her apartment. "Welcome to the building."

"Thanks," Cressida responded as she headed down the stairs.

She was right, the heat and humidity hit her as soon as she opened the door to the outside. She quickly walked the couple blocks to where she'd parked the car, enjoying knowing that this was going to be her neighborhood, that eventually these streets, the bodega on the corner, would become as familiar to her as the back of her hand.

She grabbed more boxes, carefully relocked the car, and walked back the way she'd come. This time she took only two, though she'd end up having to make an extra trip.

When she got to the steps, Hulking Stranger was there as well, apparently having returned from wherever he'd had to go. He was carrying a sheaf of papers.

He saw her and opened the door, ostentatiously holding it so she could enter first.

"Thanks," Cressida muttered as she passed through.

"You're very welcome," he said in his deep voice, as he, too, entered.

She set the boxes down on the bottom stair so she could relax her aching wrists.

"I see you took my suggestion about only carrying two at a time," he remarked as he opened his front door. "Much safer that way, I think."

"Listen, I heard you play your music pretty loud, Graham, is it?" Cressida began without preamble. "I'd appreciate it if you could sort of keep a lid on it, especially at night. I'm a student, and I have to study a lot, you know?"

"Really?" Graham leaned against the wall next to his door. "Mikey tell you that?" He folded well-toned arms as he considered her, and Cressida wondered just how bad she looked.

She nodded, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.

"That's surprising, Mikey likes my music," Graham went on, looking at Cressida unsmilingly. He blinked at her, his eyes so brown they almost looked black. He swallowed, Adam's apple working above the collar of his black T-shirt.

"Well, I'm not Mikey, so please, keep it down," Cressida responded loftily, preparing to pick up her boxes again. "Maybe keep your windows closed?"

Graham merely raised an eyebrow at her before turning to enter his apartment.

Welcome to the building, Cress.

She picked up her boxes and climbed the three flights to her floor. Again, she rested before heading back to James' friend's car for more boxes. Two more trips ought to do it, then return the car before beginning the arduous task of unpacking.

"Cress, you have too many books," she said to herself as she looked around. She saw her new Ikea bookshelves, her one splurge when moving into her own place, and looked forward to the happy few hours she'd spend putting her books on them.

By late afternoon, she'd finished with the car and returned it, and celebrated moving in by promptly falling asleep on her unmade bed.

She was ignominiously awakened by the sound of a piano, playing quite loudly, coming through her window. It sounded like scales, and even Cressida, who was not musical at all, could tell that they were being played very quickly and proficiently.

She lay on her bed and waited to see if the scales would stop, but no, they just went on and on, the sound floating out on the hot afternoon air. After about ten minutes of the scales Cressida knew that her nap was over and got up to begin putting things away.

Next, the piano player began playing something thundering and dark, moody and oppressive. And somehow, it sounded like he had an entire symphony orchestra down there with him. Cressida considered closing her window, but then what little air flow she had would be shut off, and the tiny apartment would be sweltering.

She stuck her head out the window and realized that the piano music was coming from the first floor of her building.

Piano music. From Graham's apartment.

Oh.