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"Dark hair, expressive eyebrows, dimpled cheeks when he smiles. Quite tall, hmm ..." Phil muttered under his breath as he scribbled the details away in his notebook, wearing a frown of concentration as he thought of his character who'd be the protagonist of a novel he was planning to write. "About six feet tall. Hazel? No, brown eyes."
He was hunched over at the breakfast table where a couple of his pens and a notebook were scattered around. His laptop was open across the man, playing a documentary of orcas, but Phil was too engrossed with working out his character's personality to even lift a glance at the screen.
This was the first time in weeks since he had any inspiration and was it high time that he got started as soon as possible before he'd lose this sudden burst of ideas. The plot had came to him after his conversation with PJ and playing with Mochi, his calico cat, while he was making a cup of coffee. He had dashed to the breakfast table, or his unofficial creative-thinking area, and wrote everything that came to mind on a napkin - he hadn't bothered to grab a piece of paper - with his heart beating with excitement.
Within minutes, Phil had just finished thinking up a personality for the character, whom he had named Jack, when loud music from downstairs began to play. Of course, nobody could make any complaints at this time of the day as most of the flat's residents were at work but because Phil was in the midst of an epiphany, he was rather annoyed by the sound.
With an exasperated sigh, he set his pen down and got up from his chair. Mochi mewed at him, rubbing affectionately against his leg as he went to the door but he nudged her away gently before exiting his flat. Straining his ears, he tried to locate the source of the music and estimated that it came from the floor below him. He went down the stairs - he would've taken the lift had it not been that it was under servicing repairs.
Listening carefully, he walked down the corridor when he stopped at the door where he was certain the music was coming from. It was obviously the loudest hear and Phil could hear the bass thrumming from inside. Now he didn't make it a habit of confronting people but he did know a thing or two about telling people off, thanks to his mother, when he raised his hand and knocked the door.
Phil had to knock at least three times when the music stopped abruptly. He waited until he heard shuffling from inside before the sound of the bolt sliding when the door opened.
And Phil, who had been prepared to complain to this person to have some consideration for the other residents in the flat, suddenly gawked in disbelief.
Frowning at him was a person who looked exactly like how Phil had pictured Jack in his head, right from the color of his hair, his complexion right down to his slightly hunched posture.
Wait, how is this possible?! I literally imagined him earlier and he's a living and breathing person? Phil was screaming in his head in utter shock and disbelief.
For a few awkward moments Phil stared at the person, forgetting what he wanted to say.
The person seemed baffled as to why Phil was at his door staring at him as though he had never seen a mildly perspiring guy in a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants. The man frowned. "Can I help you?" He asked in a visibly uncomfortable manner.
Phil frowned and blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't dreaming. His nerves were singing under his skin, making him feel all jittery and nervous. "You don't happen to be a Jack, are you?" Phil blurted out.
The person stared at him, his lips parting slightly incredulously. "I'm not sure if that's an honest inquiry or a subtle insult." He said, nonplussed.
"What's wrong with the name Jack?" Phil frowned, baffled.
The person's cheeks tinted alarmingly red for a brief moment. "Nothing." He shook his head, shrugging with a mildly sheepish expression. "I thought you might've been calling me a wanker."
"Wait what?"
"What?"
"I am so confused right now." Phil said.
"What were talking about, again?" The person let out a short, nervous-sounding laughter; it made Phil's stomach flutter as he he thought, Oh god, even his laugh sounds the same. "Sorry, I'm Dan, by the way." The person said and extended his hand. "I just moved in."
Phil shook his hand, half surprised that he could actually touch Dan at all. "Hello Dan, I'm Phil. And yea, I can see that you're new here from the --" he paused, glancing over Dan's shoulder. "--boxes and the fact that I've never seen you around."
"Oh, cool." Dan said casually, smiling at Phil. "So, was there anything you needed?" He inquired.
"Ah, right!" Phil clasped his hands together. "I was about to ask if you if you could turn your music down a little bit? I'm working upstairs."
"Aren't the walls soundproofed?"
"Where did you get that idea?" Phil gave him a funny look. "Of course not."
Dan's face turned alarmingly red for a moment before he let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "I'll try to keep it down. Nice to meet you, by the way."
Phil nodded. "You too."
Dan inclined his head before he retreated into his flat, closing the door. Only at the sound of the bolt sliding home did Phil wonder to himself, Is this Dan person even for real? because Dan did remind him a lot of the fictional character, Jack, in many ways and it made Phil even intrigued about Dan.