The night was thick with silence—except for the distant hum of traffic, the occasional honk, the faint chatter of pedestrians on the sidewalk below. Ethan sat in his dimly lit room, his laptop open but forgotten, the glow of the screen casting eerie shadows across his cluttered desk. His textbook lay untouched beside him, pages flipped to the same chapter for the past hour. No matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind refused to cooperate.
Because all he could think about was her.
Sienna.
The way she smiled. The way she looked at him with a teasing glint in her eyes, like she saw through him. Like she knew things about him he didn't even know himself.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head at his own ridiculousness. She was just a neighbor, nothing more. Mr. Langley's words still lingered in his mind, casting an uneasy shadow over his thoughts. He had tried to push them aside, to convince himself that Sienna was different from whatever assumptions people made about her.
But then he heard it.
A sound so soft he almost thought he imagined it.
A breathy moan.
Ethan stiffened, his fingers tightening around the edge of his desk. The air around him suddenly felt stifling, thick with something unnamed, something intrusive.
Another sound followed—a low, husky murmur. A man's voice.
His pulse pounded. His stomach twisted itself into knots.
The walls in this building were thin, but he had never heard this before. Footsteps, muffled conversations, late-night TV shows, sure. But this? The unmistakable sounds of pleasure bleeding through the plaster?
Another moan, this one louder. Longer.
Ethan's breath caught in his throat. His hands curled into fists as something ugly and unfamiliar coiled inside him.
Jealousy.
It hit him like a punch to the gut. He had no reason to feel this way. No claim over her. No right to feel possessive. And yet—
The sounds continued, growing more fervent, more urgent. A soft giggle, followed by a deep groan. The unmistakable rhythm of movement.
Ethan shot up from his chair, his heartbeat a deafening drum in his ears. His first instinct was to storm out, go anywhere but here, but his body refused to move toward the door.
Instead, his feet carried him closer to the wall.
He hated himself for it, but he pressed his palm against the cold surface, his breathing shallow. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the images forming in his mind—the way she might look in this moment, the way she might arch beneath someone else's touch, the curve of her lips parted in pleasure.
His stomach churned, nausea creeping up his throat. It was unbearable. He wanted to turn away, wanted to pretend he didn't hear, pretend that Sienna wasn't in there, tangled in someone else's arms, lost in something he had never experienced himself.
The noises reached a crescendo—high-pitched gasps, a deep groan, the rustling of sheets. Ethan felt his chest tighten, a strange, suffocating pressure wrapping around his ribs. It felt as though something inside him was unraveling, breaking apart in slow motion, and he was powerless to stop it.
Then, silence.
Ethan stumbled back, exhaling sharply as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. His face burned. His heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
A bitter taste coated his tongue.
He turned away from the wall, pacing the room in agitation. He could still hear it, even in the silence. His imagination filled in the gaps, painting pictures he didn't want to see. He clenched his jaw, raking his fingers through his already disheveled hair.
It shouldn't matter. It was her life. She had the right to do whatever she wanted. With whoever she wanted.
So why did it feel like something sharp and cold had lodged itself inside his chest?
He collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, his breathing uneven.
He hated this. Hated how much it affected him. Hated that he had listened.
A part of him wished he had never heard it.
And yet, another part of him couldn't stop thinking about it.