Serenade

                                    

                                          
(A/N: This one-shot was inspired by blueberryboiii 's story "OTP Prompts". This one in particular was inspired by chapter 82: voice of an angel. Warning, it's really long. Read on!)
                          
The night had started off normal enough. It was summertime, and the evening was still hot as ever. I had been playing video games for a little while (it was my favorite pastime), but even I, the one and only Jack Mcloughlin who had played video games for 24 hours with no bathroom breaks, had a limit. I was getting a headache from staring at the screen for so long. So, I decided to open the windows, allowing for some air filtration to occur, and read a book on the couch. 
                          
I had been reading the book "It" by Steven King for a little over an hour now when I heard a voice. It was unlike any other voice I had ever heard. It was a very low voice, and that voice was singing. How the voice managed to go from an alto to a baritone to a soprano was beyond me, but this man was managing to do it all. 
                          
And he was in the apartment next to me. 
                          
I stood up, almost in a trance-like state, and I made my way over to the balcony, book in hand. There he was, in the apartment next door, strumming away at an acoustic guitar. His voice was gorgeous, with a soft yet bold quality to it. The man was staring out over the city of LA, strumming and singing a familiar Dave Matthews song. 
                          
It didn't help my strange infatuation that he was a handsome man, too. His hair was dyed red, the natural color a deep black, his complexion was tan, and I could make out brown eyes from behind thin-framed glasses. Dear lord, did I want to touch his muscles. He was wearing a tank top, showing off his broad shoulders and biceps. 
                          
I sat on a chair, leaning on the safety guard of the balcony, my cheek resting on my arm. My book sat in my lap, and I soon found myself falling asleep to the hypnotic sound of the man's voice. 
                          
I woke up the next morning on the balcony, my neck on fire from sleeping in such an awkward position. "Fuck," I muttered, stretching my strained neck muscle out. It was worth it, though. I'd take a thousand mornings of neck pain to hear that velvet voice. 
                          
That evening, I left my windows open, hoping to hear the angelic voice again. I did. It started at 9 o'clock, the same time as the night before. I rushed out to the balcony to find the man strumming at his guitar, singing All of Me by John Legend. This time, I literally set up a reclining lawn chair, grabbed a pillow and a blanket, and set up a make-shift bed on the balcony. I hoped that the next door neighbor didn't think I was being creepy. Once again, I found myself falling asleep to his intoxicating voice.
                          
It went on like this for weeks. The man would come outside at 9 o'clock, and I would rush to my balcony to listen to his amazing voice drift me off to sleep. I felt as if I physically couldn't fall asleep anymore without hearing the neighbor's singing. I needed to hear his voice like I needed oxygen in my lungs. I wanted to talk to this man, to interact with him, but what would I say? Hi, the name's Jack, and I stalk you every night to hear your luscious voice. Care to go out for dinner? I'd rather not go to jail, thanks. I'd just stick to listening to him sing and not talking to him. 
                          
However, this night was different. 
                          
The singing started up at 9 o'clock, as usual, but this time it wasn't a cover. This was an original song. It wasn't much, I could tell. It was short, and every so often the man would stop, making a note on the paper in his lap, before starting up again.