» Regular People AU || Attoye Prompt Drabbles || Master List «
» The Complex #1 — Read Attuma’s POV in the companion piece «
Okoye had never seen this man before. If she had, she definitely would’ve remembered—probably down to the exact detail, he was that good looking. His tall physique and long dark hair drew him immediately to her attention as he leaned forward to reach his mailbox in one of the lower rows. The glimpse of his firm, round backside that his position afforded her also made a major impression.
Tearing her eyes away from the pleasing sight, she spied over his shoulder on her way to the elevator, and was barely able to make out the number on the box’s door. Apartment 605. That put him in the dwelling right above hers. It was no wonder, from his height and bulk, that her evenings had recently become filled with the stomping of heavy footsteps from above. She’d been tempted to cause her own disturbance by banging the handle of her broom on the ceiling, but resisted, choosing instead to put in her earbuds. Now seeing the culprit, she could easily forgive his transgressions.
Had her friends been around, Okoye was sure that Aneka, the more laidback of the two, would have called him, “Beefy,” his arms bulging beneath his t-shirt (and stretching it close to capacity) with the flex of his elbow. While her other friend, Nakia, the well-read scholar, more likely would’ve gone the route of describing him as, “Tall, dark and handsome,” taking into account the brooding expression on his face as he sorted through his mail. It was probably all bills, much the way hers had been earlier.
Waiting for the elevator, Okoye continued to ogle him, pretending to be absorbed in her phone. His hands looked massive—the fingers long and tapered with what looked to be clean and neatly trimmed nails. This gave him another good checkmark in her book. There were few things more unattractive than a man with raggedy, dirty fingernails. His hands also looked strong, veins running across the unblemished skin on its back. She was just beginning to envision what those hands could do when he suddenly looked up, his eyes instantly locking on hers.
She’d been caught staring, like a weirdo. Reflexively, she wielded the most powerful weapon she currently had at her disposal: her smile. Beaming in his direction, she put her pearly whites on full display. She’d always been told that she had a radiant smile and prayed that it would help dispel any creepy stalker vibes that he could have been, incorrectly, sensing.
He smiled back, and her breath hitched. “Maybe not so dark after all,” she thought to herself, slightly dazed as she watched his face light up. To her astonishment, two small indentations appeared on either side of his cheeks. Dimples so adorable they gave him a boyish charm that refuted the badass energy evoked by his stature and muscles. She was close to smitten, to say the least.
Just as she was working up the courage to introduce herself, the elevator chimed behind her. Its doors slid open and the person inside, obviously in a hurry, clipped her shoulder on their way out. Turning to glare at them, Okoye found W’Kabi, the obnoxious butthole from down the hall. “Of course, it would be him,” her mind supplied as her glower deepened. Flipping him the bird behind his back, Okoye then returned her attention to the mailboxes. Unfortunately, it was to find that the handsome stranger had left before she could speak to him.
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Okoye could admit that the boots were impractical—especially for her life, which consisted of a lot of walking, running and time stood on her feet. Knee-high and snakeskin with a four-and-a-half-inch stiletto heel, the boots were not, in fact, made for walking. She didn’t even have anything else in her closet that could pair well with them. Nevertheless, like clockwork, each morning on her trudge into work she stopped to admire the gorgeous footwear in the store’s display window. Coveting and pretending, for a moment, that she was the type of woman who wore shoes like that on a regular basis. One of those glamorous, carefree party girls that frequented clubs and parties—instead of the practical, maybe slightly uptight, responsible woman she was.
Once, while she’d been out with her boyfriend, Attuma, he’d encouraged her to enter the store to try them on. It’d taken much coaxing on his part, but she’d eventually relented and had entered the establishment for the first time, pushed forward by his large hand on the small of her back as she’d dragged her feet. The salesperson had been welcoming enough and quick to provide assistance (probably due to the glare Attuma had leveled in his direction), but once Okoye had seen the price of the boots, set at almost $3000, she’d balked and led Attuma swiftly back out onto the street. The shoes—without a doubt, in addition to being too flashy for her—were also much too extravagant.
Still, she dreamed of them. So much so that she had to pinch herself to ensure she was wide awake when she found them sat on her living room table. Looking around, flabbergasted, she also noticed her boyfriend, a pleased grin dominating his face.
“Attuma,” she gasped, “This is too much.”
That diminished his smile, a hard edge coming to his eyes as he approached her and took her chin between his index finger and thumb.
“Nothing is ever too much when it comes to you. You are deserving of everything in this world. I will have you learn this lesson even if it means buying every item that catches your eye in every store that we pass.”
At a loss for words, Okoye could do nothing but melt under the searing kiss that he placed on her lips, accentuating his point.
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» The Complex #1.5 — Companion piece to Upstairs neighbor «
Attuma was nearing the end of his second full week living in his new apartment and was, very much, happy he’d gone through with his decision to move. He hadn’t had the time to formally meet his new neighbors, but had noticed that a lot of the people on his floor looked to be around his age, which he greatly appreciated.
The last place he’d lived had housed mostly older couples, people over twice his age who’d apparently had too much time on their hands. They’d been nosy and meddlesome, complaining about the slightest noise or sound that came from his apartment. It had put a cramp on his style: preventing his guitar playing and interrupting his ability to entertain his family and friends. His sex life had taken a nosedive, Attuma hesitant to have women over after his closest neighbor had phoned the police due to the banging of his headboard. It’d felt like serendipity when a unit in this building, dubbed The Complex, had opened up around the time his lease had been coming to an end.
Stepping off the building’s front elevator, to check his mailbox, Attuma was halted in his steps by the vision stood outside on the sidewalk. The woman was gorgeous, at least what was visible to him from the property’s large windows was, and, from her toned arms and stomach, he could imagine that the rest of her was just as appealing. Held captivated, he took in her glistening dark skin. The light sheen of sweat, she must have accumulated from her workout, made it look as though she was glowing as she stretched, her body arching back and then forward. Damn, what he wouldn’t give to talk to her.
It seemed as though fate was again in his favor, when instead of continuing her jog down the street, she entered the building. Quickly pivoting his body, he averted his gaze to the rows of mailboxes situated before him. Thankfully, he was able to easily find his own. He bent over and busied himself sorting through its contents to cover up that he’d been gawking at her. Once he heard her footsteps move past him, he snuck another glance at her and shamelessly checked out the round ass that her leggings did nothing to hide. He delighted in the sway of her hips as well. Biting his bottom lip, he briefly fantasized about the lewd things he could do to such a delicious looking body.
He was forced to redirect his eyes once more when she turned from the elevators to face in his direction. Staring at his mail, he actually took note of what had arrived. It was clear that his change of address forms had been received as he sifted through bill after bill, his name boldly printed on each one. Frowning, he glared at the stack. He really needed to go paperless. Trees didn’t need to die to bring this misery to his door.
Needing a pleasing sight to uplift his spirits, he chanced another peek at the woman, only to find her staring at him. Eyes locked, it seemed like time stilled while he drowned in her ebony orbs. He thought they would go on like that forever, taking the other in, but she further disarmed him—smiling the most beautiful of smiles, her entire face as radiant as the sun. Helpless, Attuma could do nothing but smile back and pray that his legs, which had gone weak at the knees, would continue to hold him up.
The chime of the elevator’s arrival was his saving grace, breaking the spell that she’d casted over him. His cellphone’s buzzing followed soon after and made him move his attention from her.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself, reading the text message his cousin had sent. He was late meeting her, and if there was one thing she hated, it was tardiness. She would be on him for the rest of the day.
Groaning, he headed out of the building. He tried to catch one last glimpse of the woman on his way out, but was blocked by the man coming off the elevator. On the other side of the doorway, he vowed to speak to her, and learn her name, the next time their paths crossed.
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» Also a high school AU. «
Attuma wanted something. Okoye could tell, immediately, from the way he’d traipsed up to her favorite table in the library, all long limbed and awkward with that goofy smile of his putting his dimples on full display. She turned away from that grin, burying her head in the textbook she’d been reading before his noisy entrance had distracted her.
He’d had a growth spurt over the summer, and, clearly, hadn’t yet gotten used to the extra inches that had been added (and seemed to keep accumulating) to his frame. She wasn’t accustomed to them either, a flush forming on her face and sometimes—okay, most times—feeling butterflies in her stomach whenever he, and his changing body, were in her presence. Like now, with him looming over her workspace.
She recalled how unnerved she’d felt when they’d first reunited toward the end of their summer break. They’d met to exchange stories of their family vacations and compare their school schedules for the upcoming semester. Instead of looking straight into his ebony eyes, their height once of equal proportions, she’d had to tilt her head back to look up into his, no longer quite as boyish looking, face. It was then the jittering in her stomach had started, the muscles cramping as her mouth had opened and closed, wordlessly.
“I know, right? It feels like I grew two feet overnight,” he’d gushed, voice pitched much lower than she’d remembered.
‘Who is this man-shaped person, and what has he done with my friend?!’ She’d posed the question, silently, in her head before pulling herself together.
Punching him in the shoulder, in an attempt to dispel her discomfort, she’d laughed.
“I guess your brothers can’t call you shrimp anymore.”
“Yup, Aapo is so upset that I’m as tall as him now,” Attuma had gone on talking, hands gesturing as he’d enthusiastically spoke about his family’s month-long beach getaway.
Okoye had only half listened, making sounds of interest when appropriate. Really, she’d been observing him, watching to ensure that the boy she’d known so well, having lived next door to one another since infancy, was still there.
She was finding that, though his body was maturing, his habits and personality had remained the same. They were two months into the semester, and, like always, he spent more time, in each class, passing notes and joking around, with his other friends, then he did paying attention to their teachers.
“What do you want, Attuma?” She inquired, annoyed with his leaning over her table. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled up, flashing her the forearms that had begun filling out with his increased time in the weight room. She groaned internally, mentally slapping herself to keep from checking out her best friend.
“Okoye, my bestest friend in the world and the prettiest girl to walk these hallowed halls—”
Groaning, this time aloud, she rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back from the table, cutting off his attempt to butter her up.
“Bestest isn’t a word,” she informed as she turned her body to face his. “Just ask your favor. My free period will be over soon, and I have to finish reading this.”
“Okay, okay.” Straightening up his posture, he clasped his hands in front of his chest. “Please, pretty please, let me copy your homework for AP Biology. I was gonna do it, but the guys wanted to go out after soccer practice and then I was too tired to get it done,” he begged, his words rushing out.
Okoye glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Please, Okoye! Ms. Udaku threatened to talk to Coach M’Baku about not letting me play in the next game, if I missed another assignment. Please!”
This caused her to soften to his plight. Attuma loved soccer, the game a passion shared by everyone in his household. She knew that he even dreamed of one day playing professionally. Though, she wished he would take his schoolwork more seriously, it would pain her to see him miss out on his favorite activity, even for just one match.
He must have taken note of her crumbling resolve because the earnest expression that had blanketed his face, during his begging, broke into a broad smile—Okoye, again, graced by his dimples.
“Please,” he sang, having the nerve to fall to his knees before her. His hands hooked onto her arms, still crossed along her chest, and he shook her gently while smiling even wider.
How that was possible, she wasn’t sure, but the indents on either side of his cheeks had deepened—crater-like and apparently dug by God to hold her backbone and pride since she could never deny him when they made their appearance.
“Get off me, and stop making that face!” She demanded. Her outburst drew the ire of the librarian, who shushed in their direction.
Okoye nodded her head in apology, mouthing the words at the woman before returning her attention to Attuma. He’d stood, also giving the strict school employee a contrite look. He then settled across from her, at the table, retaking his enthused expression: his lips upcurved with an expectant look in his eyes.
“You know I can’t resist when you smile like that,” she muttered. Frowning, she reached into her backpack. Assignment in hand, she continued speaking, voice now clear, “Don’t ask me again. I’m not going to let you copy off me anymore.”
They both knew that wasn’t true, but Okoye bluffed, putting on a semblance of control.
