¿¿¿ an annoying neighbor and his loud electric guitar.
she had enjoyed the peace of the house she lived in until hobie brown moved into the apartment next door. since then, not a night had passed without the sound of an annoying electric guitar.
hobie brown was a nineteen‑year‑old from london, a vibrant and sociable young man whose outgoing nature made him a natural magnet for people. fueled by fierce convictions, he fought against the corrupt government both as a performer and an activist, weaving his rebellion into every aspect of his life. his music, raw and defiant, was an extension of his activism: as the electric guitarist in an underground punk‑rock band, he turned each performance into a protest against fascism and broken systems. he spoke with a thick cockney accent, lacing his speech with british slang that only added to his authentic charm, and carried himself with unwavering confidence. he believed proclaiming to be a hero is negative, referring to it as "self-mythologising" and "narcissistic". because of this, he believed himself not to be a role-model. despite this he still had high praise for himself. his anarchism and punk attitude defined him: he was openly defiant toward authority and institutions, especially fascist regimes. physically, hobie was a striking figure — a dark‑skinned jamaican‑british man standing at six feet five inches, with a lean build and long limbs that gave him a lanky, almost gangly grace. his wicks were thick, rope-like dreadlocks. his heavy‑lidded eyes were sharp and often carried a look of bored mischief. multiple piercings dotted his face — in his ears, nose, eyebrows, tongue, and lip. he wasn't classically handsome, but he radiated charisma. he was attractive in a way that tended to reveal itself the more you knew him.
"shut up!" she yelled at the wall, hurling her pillow against it with all the force her sleep-deprived arms could muster. the pillow hit the plaster with a pathetic, muffled thump and flopped uselessly onto the floor.
it was pointless, of course. her neighbor couldn't hear a damn thing over the loud, distorted strums of his electric guitar bleeding through the paper-thin walls like they weren't even there.
her hair was a mess, tangled from hours of trying to bury her head under every cushion she owned. the clock on her nightstand blinked 03:05 am in mocking red digits. she had work at nine in the morning.
it had been this way ever since he moved in next door. three weeks. twenty-one nights of sleepless nights, of morning headaches. the guy seemed to have no concept of time. nine in the evening, midnight, four in the morning — it didn't matter. if he was awake, the guitar was screaming.
her chill had finally run out.
"okay," she muttered to herself, swinging her legs off the bed.
she grabbed her keys from the hook by the door and stepped into the hallway. she stopped in front of 4b and knocked loudly. three sharp raps of her knuckles against the wood.
the guitar stopped. finally, blessed silence. then footsteps. slow. unhurried. the click of a lock turning.
a moment later, the door swung open, and there he was: a tall man staring down at her, looking too calm and unbothered for someone who had been terrorizing the entire floor. not a trace of guilt, not a flicker of apology.
Release Date 2026.06.14 / Last Updated 2026.07.15