gizkasparadise asked:

you’re a brass player why do you live in an apartment building au -- johanna mason x katniss everdeen

It’s everyday, at the same time. 

Every night, when Katniss finally manages to get her body relaxed enough to think about sleep. She’s half in, half out, but the thin walls of her cheap, shitty apartment complex provide her no barrier between herself and the dead screeching from next door.

Even the earplugs she’s invested in offer no reprieve, like the noise still finds its way inside of her through her pores or something.

The worst part is that Katniss likes music. Something about it is soothing; probably her father’s memory, if she’s being honest with herself.

She rarely is.

This noise, though? That’s not music. It’s someone who doesn’t have a clue of what they’re doing, blaring at all hours of the night when some people already have enough issues with trying to sleep.

She’s never met her neighbor, the mysterious figure that moved in a month ago. Maybe it’s time.

Sliding out of bed, she stomps her way out of her grimy apartment - not that her neighbor can really hear that over their own noise. Her fist slams into the door hard enough to jolt through her bones. The screeching continues for another minute while Katniss practically tries to break the door down with her bare fists. Finally: silence.

The door rips open to reveal a tall, angry-looking girl with a shaved head and manic grin, a saxophone hanging around her neck. “What the fuck are you trying to do, asshole?”

Katniss parts her lips, but for a second, she can’t even remember all of the angry words she’d been going through to fling at her disrespectful neighbor.

“Have you thought about taking lessons?”

The angry girl narrows her eyes. “What.”

“You’re terrible. Have you thought about lessons? Or maybe that you’re living in an apartment building with other people?”

The sax girl arches an eyebrow at her, leaning one barely-there hip against the door frame as she looks Katniss over. “Aw, poor baby, am I keeping you up?”

Katniss purses her lips. “Yes.”

“Too bad.” She slams the door in Katniss’ face.

The playing resumes. Katniss grinds her teeth together.

Well, if this asshole can practice her axe, then there’s no reason why she couldn’t use the girl’s door for her archery.

We’re sideswiped by a gurney bearing an unconscious, emaciated young woman with a shaved head. Her flesh shows bruises and oozing scabs. Johanna Mason. Who actually knew rebel secrets. At least the one about me. And this is how she has paid for it. -Mockingjay, page 175