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Hyunjin is texting Jeongin and trying to navigate his way up 5 flights of stairs and through the corridor of his floor, occasionally slamming into some walls but that’s a risk he’s willing to take because Jeongin is revealing fresh tea on the Seungmin and Felix debacle and he has to know.

me: so can i call u

jeong jeongs baby bong bong: no

jeong jeongs baby bong bong: …r u pouting

me: nooooooo y would i

me: (´∩｀。)

me: (´＿｀。) *sniff*

jeong jeongs baby bong bong: …

jeong jeongs baby bong bong: fine hold up im calling

His phone buzzes and he picks up eagerly, giggling into the speaker.

“Tell me everything, average sized bean.” 

Jeongin does not find this funny. He’s such an appropriately serious financial adviser that nothing is funny to him, except the paychecks he gets at the end of the week.

“Felix swung by, and Jisung was with him. Something was going on in the studio, maybe they were kicked out, maybe Jihoon set fire to a desk again, who knows, but they were out and about, linking arms, skipping through the street.” There is something like ‘I regret my life’ and ‘how do I know you people’ in the child’s voice. “Seungmin just happened to be out in break after accompanying a client to see me. Civil law rakes in a lot of cash. The girl was thinking of dropping charges. Took too much out of her pocket to chase the claim up in court anyways.”

“I know all about Minnie’s fun in court adventures because he’s at my place all the time, bean, tell me the other stuff. The confrontation. The glaring. The salt Seungmin cascaded over your head.” 

There’s no light at his floor and he’s trying to strategically navigate around the shoe rack room 408 always has out. He just walked over one shoe so the crisis must’ve been averted. There are newspaper rolls here and there, but they’re not that big of a tripping hazard. Probably . He has faith that they won’t be.

“Felix didn’t see him at first but Seungmin saw them linking arms and he was all ‘They’re enjoying themselves out there, aren’t they’ and I told him to say hi but he said no, only sulked, all jealous and grudgy. But when Felix remembered I work at the accounting firm, he veered in and I kid you not, his face is like,” Jeongin clears his throat and makes his voice a bit lower, not Felix low, but a low that is registered in all of their hearts and souls as ‘high’ for Lee Felix, producer, blonde, swimmer, “hey baby panda.”

“That is gross and disgusting,” Hyunjin squeals a little, skipping over socks and smashed bits and pieces of a shattered house plant’s pot. “I love it.”

“I know you do, that’s why you’re calling, you absolute prick. Where are you? Are you at home already? Is there light? Are you walking in the dark? Can you eve-”

Jeongin doesn’t get to finish when Hyunjin kicks something distinctly metal and keels forward. There are enough soccer instincts in him to veer sideway, crashing onto the doorknob. He’s punctured by the knob, wheezing quietly, nearly dropping his phone and lets out a vaguely human shriek.

“What the fu -” he corrects himself, because Jeongin is a child, “ fergalicious ,” Hyunjin wheezes, “was that…was that a drum?" 

He crawls back, clutching his stomach, and kicks his foot out defensively. It’s hitting the offensive material that sounds more Destructive Human Downfall than drum. Shoes, he understands. Shattered pottery, he understands.

Drums? Nah. Who is this bitch that’s leaving musical instruments everywhere? Can he fight them? 

“Are you breathing?” Jeongin is concerned, marginally. “If you die, it’d be very unfortunate.”

“Glad to know you care, Innie,” he mutters back, “I fell onto a doorknob.”

“You’re a disaster of a human being, and I don’t know how you are surviving until this day,” there is the tone of ‘I’m glad you’re not dead’. “So you just fall onto a doorknob all of the sudden? Decided that walls are good attaching spots?”

“Shut up, I think there’s a drum set lying around on this tiny ass corridor, what sort of inconsiderate toenail would-” he fumbles and touches the supposed drum, but it isn’t a drum.

Unless drums are box-like and they’re metal.

This is not a drum.

“If you’re waiting for me to ask you the question ‘what is it’, then you’re going to wai-” Jeongin is cut off by him, kneeling on the floor and thumping a microwave. He’s touching a microwave. At 10 pm. Out in the corridor. Near his apartment.

“This is a microwave,” he stresses, “in the name of my great aunt and everything that she stood for: this is a microwave." 

“I think you need to go home and forget it all happened. Overworking can lead to hallucinations,” Jeongin wisely advises, fearful for his sanity. “Up, leave it, don’t think about it. No sane person leaves microwaves out in corridors.”

“Not unless you’re the asshole new tenant,” Hyunjin sidesteps the metal contraption and pats his pocket for his keys. “Oh my god, this is all him. He left this here.”

“Go to sleep, Hyunjin,” his friend chorales, “it never happened.”

“Baby Bambi, there’s an actual, God forbid, physically existing microwave here, don’t tell me I’m dreaming, I stubbed my toe on it.” He’s trying to argue but there’s no point in arguing. But there are all the points to scheming. “Jeongin.”

“No. Go away. I’m hanging up.”

“I’m gluing the stupid thing to the floor and will go to bed satisfied that I ruined someone’s day. Catch you later tomorrow, bub, I’ll go off and be petty." 

“Hwang, that is not an appropriate reaction to-”

Hyunjin hangs up. Swings open the door to throw all of his bags and jacket in. Rolls up his sleeves.

In the grander scheme of things, he didn’t succeed, in the way that he portrayed to Jeongin, but he came close to. There are old bowls that Hyunjin never used and he had strategically retrieved them and had them sitting very innocently behind the microwave and leading to the door. They blend in with the dark hallway and everything. Hyunjin is staying up to hear the new asshole tenant trip and fall. He’ll wait till 2 am if he needs to.

He’s jerked awake by the sound of rolling crockery at 12 and soft swearing outside his door. Yipping a bit inside, he texts Jeongin, something along the line of ‘Hey guess who ruined someone’s life? Me. I did.’

Jeongin leaves him on read.

Maybe Changbin is too paranoid, but he has a feeling that his next-door neighbour holds a grudge against him. Just a tad. Nothing is ever clear. Unless he gets a written declaration of war then he’ll know for –

His foot makes contact with something vaguely like a rod and he’s soaring, he’s flying in the air, propelled by the sheer tenacity of forward force or anti-gravity, like gravity threw him across the corridor and didn’t have time to realise he’s supposed to come down.

He’s short too. Sometimes less mass just means that he’s in the air for longer, but that means he’ll just crash harder. There is a wall that he knocks into and all the air leaves his stomach. God that was a brutal fall. Where are his ribs? Are they still in his chest? 

He rolls over onto his stomach and feels the familiar painful dig of the rib bones. All good.

Everything is where they are meant to be. Not that bruise though. That has no business being near him, the stupid prick.

What did he even fall over? How did he even – Seo Changbin, English literature professor at SNU had been an athlete in his heyday. He’d like to believe he has somewhat of a semblance to balance when he navigates the notorious lightless corridors of all the places he resided in, but never had he been slung in the air and plummeted back just as hard as the last minute. He should review the sneaking suspicion of the neighbour ambushing his trek home after teaching night classes, but he must be in good faith. The slightly questionable appearance of objects, not bulky or largely detrimental to his wellbeing, are minor inconveniences at worst. He feels around for his phone and taps for the torch light to come on, feeling like a miffed detective who had fallen onto the snares of the witty criminal and is incapacitated, unable to carry on the investigation at the pit of the snare. He blames Natty for recommending Edogawa to him. He communicates exclusively in detective lingo since he was hooked onto Hattori.

His light hits something gold and shimmery. Upright then span out in a wide-brimmed gold.

Changbin takes in a long breath. Lets it out. Apologises to his grandmother and mother. 

“Son of a bitch.”

There is a fucking cymbal . Lying outside the fucking dark. In the middle of the goddamn corridor. Like it has no other place of residency except the void that is where people travel to and from their apartments. He’s half tempted to punch it to the ground, except cymbals aren’t sentient and there would be no point. 

His light hits an even more horrifying sight. A drum kit. The rest of a drum kit. Base drum and all the bongo stuff. There is a hoodie hanging innocently on the base drum and he half wants to scream. Hurl his phone at the wall and chuck the drum kit out. Why the hell was it out in the open? What reason does a drum kit have to sit around and mock first of all, his balance, and second of all, his safety because the corridor is dark. Pit black. As black as 16-year-old Seo Changbin ‘I love dark’ self.

The worst part of all of this is that his forgiving self cannot overlook the very obvious screaming of Salty Chang, his alter ego. Salty Chang is chanting something like ‘IT’S THE PRICK NEIGHBOUR NOBODY ELSE!’ in distorted tones of irritation and five different octaves of a headache.

He must not jump to conclusions. He should get sleep and wake up refreshed and renewed with caffeine. Then he can tackle this issue.

(The next morning there is a piece of paper taped on his wall with only the words ‘My drum kit is worth a lot don’t kick it’ and Changbin nearly crushes the ceramic cup of coffee he has in his grip.

Felix loses it when he swings by after pulling an all-nighter. Changbin shoves him inside his bedroom with the mandate of ‘sleep before I knock you out’ and leaves for his run. Before he leaves, he stands before the neighbour’s door, contemplating a last call for truce. But he remembers the uncontainable rage he felt last night and how that is increased tenfold by the note this morning and he shakes away all chances of conciliation unless it comes in the neighbour approaching him with all the lost four epics of the Theban Cycle and twenty scrolls of written apology in crushed berry ink from the mountainside of the Himalayas.)

It is day number three and it is very clear Hyunjin is undergoing a sort of tenant war. It is also fair to say that they absolutely hate each other. 

Don’t be ludicrous , Jeongin had refuted, you saw each other for a total of no time. All you’ve done is annoy each other passive aggressively. The most you’ll be to the person is a nuisance.  

Hyunjin begs to differ. He had scattered tennis balls and dog toys and most recently, taped chopsticks all over the doorknob and felt deeply satisfied when he threw open his door and sent a mug flinging into the balcony in front of his house. That’s a declaration of war. That’s an active participation in this petty squabble that is ensuing. It is as good as a verbal ‘fuck you too you lil’ shit’. He enters his place to retrieve the blown-up SpongeBob meme posters. Time to retaliate.

Seungmin thinks it’s ridiculous and frankly presumptuous of Hyunjin to assume things without meeting the asshole tenant once, but Seungmin graduated with honours in civil law. For things to exist, they must be documented and approved for him to agree to them existing. It’s a whole debacle with officiating documents. Hyunjin fell asleep when Seungmin tried to explain it. It was all exchange of documents and pleadings and pay up for a lawyer. Complicated. Much law.

Hyunjin tells him there are all the evidence pointing to the asshole tenant being very explicit in the war declarations, mostly in the American propaganda posters and the rare Hitler propaganda. The German guy the floor below laughed for a solid minute before he began to translate the layered insults one poster had. There was something about being an abomination to not only the Deutschland but the entire human race. There were suggestions of moving to mountainous areas where he can meditate and get back his sense of purpose.

Hyunjin ripped everything back down and crumbled the poster in his hand. He didn’t want this to turn into one of those silly comedies where there is a pointless rivalry between two people who never meet. He didn’t want to.

But if Unnamed Asshole Tenant doesn’t shut the trap beats, he’s going to break this entire wall down. He’s just trying to sketch the design for his own portfolio, the boss calling for a soft submission in two days and he’s mostly done, it’s just starting a new project is a pain in the ass.

Why can’t he draw lines? That does not look like a roof. No, windows can’t be there.

He’s concentrated, in his maximum Zen zone, but things just like to fuck him over. Things just have to. 

“Oh for crying out l-!”

The trap beats escape from out of no-bloody-where, his knees hit the desk in reflex and Hyunjin dives at his drawing pad a tad too late. Two seconds too late. The coffee stains his paper a nice shade of unwelcomed brown and he rips the page out frantically and shakes the drops off the rest of the pad. It’s done. It’s ruined. His boss will just get 4 pieces of complete designs and will wonder why Hyunjin doesn’t submit the designated 5th. He reaches for the tissues and soaks away the mess, despaired, a mess himself. Why are there no divine tissues to mop him, the Ultimate Mess™, up? 

An eye for an eye. If he suffers, then guess what, Faceless and Nameless Tenant Asshole, so will you.

He storms across the room to his drum kit, determined. It’s 12 am. Nobody is getting sleep. He channels all the angry energy of the Vine, the original Vine, the one. That one.

To the dissonant melody of Fall out boy’s My song knows what you did in the dark where he hits the cymbals as fast and as loud as he can with the base drum uncovered, Hyunjin presents to Asshole Tenant: Floor War, Unlimited Editions and Antics.

“I ain't got no sleep coz of you, now you'll get no sleep coz of meee!”

In room 405, someone sits up in horror and abject confusion at the demonic level of sheer cacophony and Lilith’s war cries themselves. He can’t even hear himself think. It’s that loud.

He throws open the door, hoping that there’s a passing marching band and he can wait it out but the corridor is even louder, inhumanly louder and he regrets ever opening it.

Changbin texts Felix a disjointed message of ‘can I come over to yours there is a demon banging pots on my floor’ and ‘don’t judge my glasses I’m sensitive’.

Felix insists on calling and laughs for so long and hard that there’s no sound from his end. Just a simple choke and he spiralled down into the Giggling Realm.

me: Are you done

lixie pixie: one sec

lixie pixie: wait nvm i have no memes

me: …

lixie pixie: that was a yes

lixie pixie: you may enter my humble abode

me: I asked out of politeness. I have a key

me: Some of us have manners. Some of us ask first before storming into someone’s house

lixie pixie: rude people deserve to suffer in screaming hell

lixie pixie: oh look at that! that means you! have fun in hell!

me: Hilarious. Simply artful

me: I best hear no trap beats later in the night or I will kill you

lixie pixie: no promises

Changbin braves back the journey inside to fetch his essays and leaves, not even bothering with socks or proper shoes. Felix has clothes. He’ll nick off those.

Just before he leaves he screams at the wall. 

“You’re bloody petty and I sincerely hope you’re ready for the civil lawsuits you’re facing!”

The entire apartment block collectively invests in a block-wide protection scheme. Woojin at the bottom floor offers to organise for someone to soundproof all their walls and everyone can chip in later for the commission fees. Someone was going to bulk buy 200 noise-cancelling headphones. People were looking at moving out. The fifth floor is pretty much a warzone and there is a chart that details exactly what time is okay to return home and what to do in a run-in with the warring sides, 404 and 405. The law firm that Seungmin works in floods with neighbourhood complaints about nuisance and noise levels and littering in the hallway and the list of things that Hyunjin and the other tenant broke on the contract of purchase as a consumer. 

“I’m serious,” Seungmin crosses his hands, solemn, “this is getting out of hand.” 

“I’m willing to negotiate with everyone else,” Hyunjin nods in the same manner, “but I’m not wholly responsible for the noise pollution. They should also sue Asshole Tenant.”

“Hwang, you’re my friend, how do you not know how this work?” Seungmin collapses gracefully, with minimal creases in his suit. “You don’t sue first. You mediate.” 

“But can’t the residents sue more than two-” his extensive law knowledge is shut down by Seungmin’s glare. “I listened to your goddamn paper flipping all the time, now why don’t you-”

Seungmin slaps the table. Straightens his tie and pushes his hair back.

“Stop the stupid things, or I’ll lead a court trial against you. Don’t make me evict you out of your place. I don’t want to follow you to your new apartment. I like this block. I also like being the freeloader. Move and I’ll hate you for a long time,” he jabs a blunt fingernail at Hyunjin. 

“I cannot believe this friendship, this brotherhood, the very foundations of this close and intimate relationship are based on parasitism, oh my g-”

His friend glances over to the glass of iced coffee, chewing his tongue. Hyunjin scrapes his chair back and pulls away his hands from the glass table. That’s Seungminese for ‘I’m going to slam a glass onto your hand and break your goddamn bones and I will not regret it’. 

Hyunjin makes up some bullshit excuses about how he’s needed back at his architecture firm and ‘well look at the time, you best be going to your clients now, Minnie, lots of money to reap.’

Seungmin adjusts his cuffs, rather aggressively.

“Just because you’re running away doesn’t mean the problem will run away like you hav-”

“Kim-ssi there are people out there requiring your expertise, go do your arbitratory duties!”

Seungmin is left alone and he’s not too sure if he wants to deal with the headaches that are civil complaints about conflicts between tenants in the same apartment block. Sometimes. People. Are. Idiots.

His phone vibrates. There is a sickening bracket thing that Felix just sent. Seungmin’s long given up on trying to decode the bastard’s text speech, deeming it something he just has to accept and live with. He types back a quick ‘ go to work, lee ’ and doesn’t even bother to stop one side of his mouth moving up when he sees the stupid ‘ uwu take care minnie bean <3 ’.

Hyunjin made a resolution. Hyunjin was going to heed Seungmin’s advice (shocking!) which is rubbish as a friend but professional as a lawyer. Knocking is a good step. It’s always good to deescalate conflicts by being the bigger person. 

But he can’t. He cannot.

Why?

The trap beats. The fucking trap beats. 

Oh his drawing pad remembers. It damn well remembers. It remembers all the things that’s been done wrong to it. All of it. His fifth design was done shoddily on half folded butcher paper and his project manager had some doubts on Hyunjin’s work ethics, but he’s a good and skilled employee and if his best designs are on butcher paper then so be it.

But. In. The. Name. Of. His. Mother’s. Spatula. 

He likes bass beats, in the setting of a karaoke room or a pub, but inside a home on a Tuesday night at 2 in the morning where people have work at 7?

Blasphemous. Unprecedented. Sacrilegious.

He’s going to knock. Because he’s polite. But he’s going to take down the whole goddamn door if the stupid ass bastard doesn’t turn the doorknob fast enough-

It’s dark everywhere. He sees nothing. The corridor is also dark. There is no them seeing eye to eye on anything because Hyunjin can’t even see the outline of the person let alone know where their eyes are. Who cares. He’s angry. He is 181 cm of pure agitation and aggressive sugarcane chewing at 6 in the morning to relieve the tension in his body. He is this close to screaming.

This close.

“Hello?” A deep and unmistakably male voice speaks from the void of darkness. It almost sounds familiar to him. “Anyone there?”

“Shut up,” Hyunjin intends to convey, “it’s 2 in the morning. People are trying to sleep. Play your heathenish music in the goddamn park. Let me log the fuck off from living at a healthy amount.”

But what comes out is a strangled and distinctly angry, “Fuck you, stupid celery sticks.” 

“What.” 

Hyunjin at 2 am isn’t very bright. He realises that he said a stupid thing. The best solution is to flee. Flee and forget. Forget everything. He’s only sleepwalking.

He tells himself as he runs back with his glorious flapping Goofy-print sleeping gown animating his flee of humiliation to the discordant tunes of ‘You fucked up, big ~ time ~.’

“Felix,” Changbin massages his temples, “my house is not a studio. It is not soundproof. I’m only one meagre college professor. I can’t afford to soundproof my house for your job.” 

“Just a bit more, hyung,” Felix promises him.

They really should establish boundaries on ‘just a bit more’ because it ranges from 7 months to 10 minutes to 4 hours. Felix is still at it when Changbin finishes with marking his last couple of essays, excitedly bouncing around his kitchen and looting all his rice crackers while the laptop blasts the beats for his latest song. Changbin looks at his watch and feels the pounding of his headache intensifies along with the EDM vibes. Not ideal. He flicks off the lights and leaves Felix choking in surprise at the fridge, with only a soft ‘now go to bed, you have to get up early tomorrow’. 

“But hyung-” 

“Bed, now.” 

The laptop still pulsates with the abandon of someone running to a 90% off sale. Nothing to lose but everything to gain. If he’s more awake, perhaps he’ll comment on the mimicry of human desperation but it’s past midnight and he’s the picture of human depravity of sleep, contestable next to Felix’s mimicry of real life, so really, there’s no contest there.

“Felix!”

“I’m turning it off, I’m turning it off!" 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Is that the door, Lee? I swear to god, now my neighbours are on my arse about – go answer it!”

“I am, I am!” 

It’s dark and he hears Felix talking before there’s someone running off. 

“Lee,” he closes his eyes, feeling his headaches taking on the form of his naggy aunt, various versions of her, in dissonant screaming tones of ‘You’re a disgrace to this family’ and ‘what kind of men take up teaching jobs’, “was that a neighbour.” 

Felix knows that Changbin didn’t intend that as a question. There is silence, then a hesitant ‘probably?’ 

“I’m banning you from putting on your music after 10,” he shuts the laptop and all sounds cease except for his growing irritation at the delay of sleep. “Stop complaining. I can hear you chewing me out over there.” 

Felix turns on his phone’s flashlight, shining bright white light on his face. “Bin, you didn’t even let me finish.”

“Finish what, brat?”

“I think it was the guy next door. I heard his door closed.”

“That’s great for him. It won’t be great for you if you don’t shut it and go to sleep in the next two minutes.”

“He was so angry,” Felix marvels, flashing his torch at Changbin, “probably tall.”

“I don’t have enough sleep to deal with you right now, I’m going,” he blocks his eyes and stalks away.

“You know why I’m telling you this! If you engage in physical combat, I’m calling an ambo for your beaten up ass, not the guy!”

(“Hwang Hyunjin is living next to Seo Changbin,” Felix, marvelled at the rapid turn of events, wonders aloud to himself on Changbin’s bed. “I have to tell this to Minnie.”)

In the rare case of Seungmin being stressed (hardly likely – Seungmin has the steel and drive and tough cookie-ness of a cold, money-loving bastard), Hyunjin is either exiled from his own home to the lobby for about a couple of hours. The amount of work Seungmin can achieve within that time frame is frankly inhuman and terrifying. While Hyunjin hates dilly dallying around without a proper table to fix his designs on, he hates pissing Seungmin off and risking a broken joint on his part during Important and Big Court Case Peak Period, so he’ll take his chances with the coffee tables outside the block until the waiters shoo him off. With their tea towels. Whipping mercilessly at his back and arms.

He had the foresight to finish off most of the digital sketching in the past week, leaving most of the editing on his laptop where he’s cradling it and sitting on the couches. It’s 10 so there aren’t that many people around, most of them had gone to bed. There is a couple talking, adorable, but there is also a guy with a kid, more adorable. Hyunjin absentmindedly sketches the outline of the girl’s pigtails, swinging as she jumps up and down and twirling under the guy ducking to dance with her.

That is singlehandedly the softest and most precious thing ever and Hyunjin argues that he is so empty of wholesome human positivity in his life that he needs to live vicariously through others. Children are pure little angels and Hyunjin will smile like an idiot when he sees children because they’re so precious and he just loves kids so much? Look at their squishy faces. Look at those eyes. Irresistible. Lovely babies. Wholesome babies. 

This is why Seungmin makes him run every day, otherwise he’ll go mad from talking to himself a lot. The girl pulls out a marker and splays out her finger, pointing the cap to the guy. He sits a bit straighter. She doesn’t mean-?

The guy dishes out his fingernails so fast one would assume he’s been preparing for this for a long time. He trained for this back in the womb. His speed rivals even Usain Bolt on the Elixir of Speed, the finer crack of the street. The girl giggles in these bell-like peals of laughter and Hyunjin really thanks the guy for training for this moment because who needs a gold medal when you can make a pretty little princess proud?

Seungmin texts him. I’ll be done in 30 minutes. Make me run around. Otherwise I’ll go mad from these stupid ass corporations trying to scam more money from the working class.

Hyunjin texts back a can u go and just do ur thing ur wasting time and doesn’t even bother with the flurry of replies Seungmin fires back at him. He’s sort of being a creep by spying on the brother and sister (cousins? uncle and niece? father and child?) dynamic, and he doesn’t get full scope of his creepiness until the girl points at him and waves him over.

“Pretty man, pretty man!” She shrieks delightedly.

Hyunjin’s shame at being caught peeving is not as big as his ego at being complimented. He straightens his posture and prances over with dignity and pride.

“Your Grace,” he bows down, low, below her shoulder, “it’s an honour.”

“Isn’t he pretty?” She shakes her noble and kind companion whose fingernails is checkered marker blue, purple and colourless. “He’s like a prince.” 

Hyunjin also notes that Noble and Kind Companion is very, significantly, fully, deeply, undoubtedly, objectively pretty. Full on pretty. He’s surprised he’s being referred to as a prince where hello, this person is existing and breathing in front of him. 

“Am I not a prince to you?” Noble and Kind Companion looks down at her, amused, mouth all twisted up pleasantly like the game is of investment and interest to him and his princely status is of stake. 

That was a beautiful thing that he did with the smirk. He should definitely do it again. So Hyunjin can commit it to memory. And draw it. And 3D scan it. And frame it all around his bedroom. Blow it up A0 size. Just because. He’s an artist with a love and passion for beauty. It is in his role to immortalise and preserve beauty before it disappears with the cruelty of time. But he is one fine specimen of a man and Hyunjin is weak when he comes face to face with one that he doesn’t know. He’s only human. Let him stare. 

“Uncle is the advisor,” the girl solemnly allocates roles and Perfect Human laughs, the sound not bell-like but delighted. 

“What about me?” Hyunjin crouches to a squat and blinks puppy eyes up at the girl. “Can I be the pretty princess?”

“I’m the pretty princess,” she insists, “but you’re the pretty unicorn.”

Well. That’s definitely new.

Hyunjin accepts it. That means he’s rare. And the Dark Lord hunts him down obsessively to obtain immortality. Plus if he dies he curses the killer so who gets the last laugh now? That’s right, not Voldy No Nose, but Hwang Hyunjin, Superior Unicorn Overlord.

“I am the best unicorn,” he nods, all seriousness and signing business contract, “I am the prettiest one in all the land.”

“And you’re a friend of the royal family. You can come and go whenever you want.” 

“Oh my god, we have afternoon tea every Friday with jasmine tea.” Hyunjin doesn’t really know where the ribbons come from or how they got there, but when he digs inside his hoodie’s pockets, there are some ribbons. He scrunches them and lets them fall over the girl’s head and grins as she giggles and throws her arms around him for a hug.

“I bring the ribbons to all the parties. I’m fun to be around,” he winks at the Noble Human.

To his absolute delight the man smiles back, mouthing an audible ‘thank you’. There is maybe a ‘you did good’ but Hyunjin is great at many things, just not lip reading. He’ll take the thank you.

That’s a good starting point. 

The Jeongin Voice in his head that he didn’t install but got saddled with anyway, warns him of the reality of statistics. Of how statistically, it’s more likely that this very Attractive Human of Hyunjin’s Calibre is a Tragic Straight, a beautiful tragedy, and that he should tread carefully.

That’s always useful and hopeful to know. Thank you, Jeongin Voice. That was a hard, cold slap of reality. Which he doesn’t need.

“Mama is coming soon, sweetheart,” the man tries to pry the girl off Hyunjin who realises that this encounter will have to be cut short this way, regrettably, but also thankfully, because any more minutes spent around this guy, Hyunjin might get silly ideas like ‘what if I just ask him to get a drink together some time’ and ‘maybe there is a slight chance he is a Gay’. Or the God forbid: maybe he doesn’t hate my entire face and would like to talk without the bubbly ray of sunshine crowning me her one-horned royal steed. 

She leaves in a blur of ribbons after kissing the Humble Human loudly and sprinting to a woman standing just outside. The man raises a hand to wave at her and she beams back, hand winding tight with the little girl.

Hyunjin stands by the guy. He wonders if it’s too inappropriate to wonder if that was a divorced wife or a partner or a romantic interest, but his phone is buzzing now and he has a life to look after, besides himself. Seungmin would literally crumble and die if Hyunjin doesn’t book it fast enough up the stairs to cart him out of his apartment.

Maybe later, he sneaks a look at the guy. Or never. Friends before pretty strangers. 

He runs.

Changbin has to check with the couple sitting near him that there was actually someone nearby and playing with his niece. He ceases to exist. Not there. Changbin is very disappointed. Chaeyeon introduced him to an Antinuous and took him away as she left, but Changbin loves the child, loves his sister and her family. Things come and go. Kind and handsome strangers come and go out of his apartment lobby on the daily.

He trudges up the stairs, dragging his legs, one after the other. Taking a swim after his class with Felix and Chan was a double-edged idea. He had fun (he won in the impromptu butterfly race between Chan, formidable, Olympic-level swimmer who trains in both Australia and South Korea) but he’s an academic, not a regular fit sportsman. The last time he exercised was two months ago when Felix coaxed him into that hike and laughed at him when he wheezed his way to the top. His legs and arms were dying for a good day after that. 

He’s a better swimmer than he is a hiker, so his legs aren’t as dead as his arms. He was lugging the Asian Grandmother Market Trolley around campus today, with mixed response from the children. Some thought it was ‘super Asian of you, Mr Seo’. Some offered to help him with his load of books. Some broke down laughing at the quadrangle and did not get up even after he left the quad.

He hears doors swinging open and the sounds of people struggling. There’s so much roughhousing from the people on this floor. It is appalling. The standard of affection in the mixture of violence in today’s society is lacking to a gross degree. No wonder assault cases are so common. 

“Fucking get the heck out.”

“I’m not done. 2 more minutes!” 

“Go or I’ll burn everything.” 

“This is due literally next week. Next. Week. Let me go! Unhand me!”

Changbin sees the wretched door of the Room Next Wall, room 404, sitting ajar. Outside the corridor with one foot in and one foot out, the attractive stranger from before pushing another man out. It’s a tussle where there are too many swear words being thrown around and yet-to-be-violent-but-potentially-harmful fists and arms waving. 

There’s a 1 in 2 chances that the Demon Tenant Next Door is one of the two guys. They dress eerily similar to each other and within fragments of words he can hear the incriminating evidence.

“Why the hell are you kicking me out of the place I have the key to?” The one that wasn’t the heroic adult who stepped in to help him mind Chaeyeon yanks his arm out of the other’s hold. “I hid the emergency keys where you don’t know where they are. Shutting me out has no use.” 

“Go run, don’t come back until you do, you are a darling to this earth and an expert in negligence law, but you are going to kill yourself in your own home and I can’t testify to the police after seeing you drop dead,” the door is pulled until it almost closes. “Now leave! Begone!” 

“I swear to the fucking law of this country-” 

“Take care, honey boo, I love you, don’t die too~!”

And the door slams shut. 

Changbin is still standing where Tenant 404 can’t see him, but Changbin can see the prick. He’s a pretty one, comparatively softer and more tender-looking than his friend, but by the standards of South Korea, very pretty. 

He can be the prettiest person on the planet and it would still not erase the earache and bass-like trauma he suffered from several nights of fleeing from his own apartment. That serves primarily as a place of shelter and comfort against the harsh world.

He remembers distinctly that he wanted to be run over by a bus rather than hear the deafening cacophony of the God-awful drumming performance again. Was that produced by a human and a drum? It seemed unlikely to him. If Hell has a special place reserved for people who harassed women and kicked puppies and stole lollipops from little kids, this would be present. But in greater intensity. And there is no escape. 

He fumes all the way (all 20 steps) to his door. Makes sure he slams it in a way that is annoying and loud. God. He is a 26 years old man and he’s salty about tenant dispute with the neighbour next to him. 

It is embarrassing to come to terms with that fact - but he is alright. He has confronted his shadow. He is stronger than he was five minutes before.

He is also Professor Seo and he needs to complete the grading of his assignments otherwise the children will beg and beg and beg until he writes a thesis in response to each of their 4000-word essays providing the most detailed feedback on the word choices they had undertaken. College students are excitable and passionate with a drive of someone who found a refuge, but he is the mentor to honing the skills needed for one to become a full-fledged academic and he loves his job, but he also is limited in the very inevitable factor of time and how many essays and feedback he can churn out in a night. He has that teaching conference thing he needs to attend for three days as well. Jesus. He hasn’t even packed.

Every morning there is a routine to Changbin’s life:

Ø  Wake up, roll around and kick his blanket off him

Ø  Grab his phone, unlock it just to see the time

Ø  Scream a little inside his throat

Ø  Sit up, squint to a distant place beyond his half-closed curtains

Ø  Try to practice calmed and measured breathing, to soothe his anger and rage

Ø  Try to stop himself from reaching over for a sharp object to permanently impair his hearing because there is that God-awful screeching from next door and the loud shower sound and in no hell on anywhere is this an acceptable existence 

It is 5.30 on a normal Tuesday and Changbin had been up since 5 packing and cleaning around his apartment. Everything had been mostly the same except that there is no God-awful shower screeching and he had half-contemplated pinching himself to bring all senses back to reality. To be fair, he normally doesn’t get up this early on most days, seeing as his classes are in the afternoon and end late at night. But he is screamed awake every morning by obnoxious shower screeching periodically up to the point that waking up at 5 is a staple in his daily routine and so is the increased want of stabbing himself or his eardrums, for picking up those strands of heathenish despair and horrible sounds. 

There is no screeching and he thinks today is just either a Good Day for Changbin or the neighbour is dead. He doesn’t know for sure, but he needs to leave at 6. The welfare of his neighbour isn’t very high on his priority list, but no death is preferable next to testifying for the information of the unexpected passing of his hall neighbour, so he slips a Pepe meme Felix conveniently littered all over his apartment with a big ‘Did you die?’ under the door of room 404. It’s a lacklustre attempt at checking up on someone, but he has limited resources and doors need to be barred and locked from possible vandalism attempts from room 404. He looks at everything before he leaves, trying to commit to memory what his front door looks like in the case that it won’t look the same when he comes back, filing away the observation that Heathen Neighbour keeps an array of pot plants by the shoe rack outside his door that he presumably waters at regular intervals. The plants seem to be thriving under the constant onslaught of heathenish rock bands and he lets his fingers brush against a leaf before briskly marching to the elevator, down to the lobby. 

He returns at 4 on a Friday afternoon to observe, quite alarmingly, that there had not been vandalism attempts on his front door. Things are eerily at a similar state as he had left them and upon closer scrutiny, the plants on the shoe rack show signs of neglect. As if they had not been tended to for several days. 

Changbin has some Panadol in his very lacking medicine cupboard, to Chan’s many criticisms. He also can streamline a very watery congee with a dash of ginger. They’re not very good remedies for a dead body, but in the possibility of someone burning up with a fever, they can somewhat recover from their ailment.

He has to move very quickly. Chopping and boiling and turning gas stoves on. He doesn’t get sick often, but Felix and his dad do. All the hours of practice procure an edible congee pot where he throws in chopped spring onions and sprigs of coriander and pork floss, hoping that the person isn’t a vegetarian. Panadol in one pocket, a pot of steaming congee and a thermos of jasmine tea, he marches next door. When the tea was brewing, he came over with a bobby pin to rig open the lock, but when he tried to turn the doorknob in blind faith and baseless hope, it wasn’t locked. Good for him and not good for his neighbour. They live in a safe area but a couple of apartments to their right have these girls who get confused where they actually live and have tried, on record, to break into Changbin’s room a grand total of 4 times, in which Felix answered the door twice and Changbin wanting to stab himself in the eye the other two times. What if those girls have successfully infiltrated this poor sap’s home? A concern, but it’s more important to establish that there isn’t a dead body. One must look out for oneself. He turns the doorknob with difficulty, too fearful of dropping the pot and walks into the stale cold air of a bachelor’s loft.

It’s like an abyss. Except sadder and more despaired. 

From within the dark he hears, like God or the Dark Force. 

“What?”  

“I got meds and congee,” he intones, “eat up!” 

He leaves things a couple of steps into the apartment and shuffles back out, locking the door before he closes it. 

The next day he gets back his pot and thermos, freshly cleaned and smelling like lemon and jasmine. There is even a basket of freshly-baked cream puffs that are warm when he picks them up. No note, but the thank you is very vocal in the gesture. 

Changbin nods, mouth scrunching up in an almost-smile. He has to stop himself from imagining a petulant boy getting over his prejudice and pettiness at his warring neighbour to return the gesture of kindness extended to him.

Changbin’s morning routine consists of these things now:

Ø  Wake up, roll around and kick his blanket off him

Ø  Grab his phone, unlock it just to see the time

Ø  Scream a little inside his throat

Ø  Sit up, squint to a distant place beyond his half-closed curtains

Ø  Try to practice calmed and measured breathing, to soothe his anger and rage

Ø  Actually get off the bed and stumble around blindly without his glasses, fetch his drink bottle by the shoe rack behind the front door

Ø  Water room 404’s shoe rack pot plants and appreciate the noise-pollution-free morning without the drumming and the shower screeching

Felix is outside of Seungmin’s law firm, blonde hair pressed flat against one side of his face and the rest of his hair tucked haphazardly under his beanie. Seungmin’s steps stutter, like his speech capabilities, when the man strides over (he only bounces when it’s Jisung or Jeongin, which he can accept one but not the other), freckles in abundance, like sun spots on angels, grinning widely. 

“Hey Minnie,” his arms are wide open for a hug, “haven’t seen you in ages.” 

“There were,” he clears his throat, hoarse from the arbitrations he sat through that day, “too many cases and not enough time to even sleep.” He returns the hug, relishing in the smell of Felix’s fabric softener and coconut shavings. 

“Poor baby,” he hears the teasing edge to the words, “want to go get dinner? I’ll pay.” 

“Look, Fel, I’m clearly the richer one in this dynamic,” Seungmin lets go, but has his elbow out for Felix to cling on, per their dynamic. He’s like a child, that one. Needs to be chaperoned. Needs something to hold onto. They cross the street, arms loosely linked together and Seungmin has to tell Felix off twice to stop pulling his tie. 

“Before that,” Felix pulls the tie clean out of the messy knot Hyunjin produced that morning while delirious with sleep, “your tie is atrocious. Learn how to tie them yourself.”

“You’ve seen me in high school,” Seungmin loosens his collar and pops one button loose. 

“No more word needed, baby panda, I understand,” his friend puts up a hand, “you have said all.” 

“That’s rude,” he complains, “I wasn’t that big of a mess.” 

“Hyunjin was, and you’re right,” Felix winks and Seungmin is momentarily stunned in the middle of a street in Seoul with the sparkles in Felix’s eyes and the folds of his eyelids. “Done,” he takes the tie off his head and takes the beanie with it, matted blonde hair unruly and sticking out from behind his ears and on the peak of his forehead. Seungmin pats a few stray strands down, patting Felix’s head in the process. He pockets the tie inside his blazer pocket and grandiosely takes a step back, bowing his head. 

“Thank you, oh kind Lord”. 

Felix doesn’t laugh to that, taking his hand and pulling him somewhere. 

“Why are we running?” He goes along with it. 

“While you’re excessively entertaining,” he hears the eyeroll, “I have some gossip to unveil to you.” 

“I hate gossips,” he whines, “defamation cases are literally gossips and how people deal with them, an informative guide.” 

“No but,” Felix turns abruptly around to face him, eyes twinkling, as if he’s in the league of knowing something Seungmin doesn’t. “It’s about the neighbours’ war. Shocking insight, I’ve come to realised. Shocking things.”

“Hold it,” he finds that a reasonable time to completely cover Felix’s baby hands with his own, but he disguises the affectionate gesture as a sort of friendly tap. Multiple taps just to chase the homo part out of the hand covering part. “Hold everything.”

“I told you it’ll be shocking,” Felix slaps the table with his other hand, “I told you.” 

“Seo Changbin and Hwang Hyunjin are neighbours,” he repeats. It is shocking. Terribly shocking. Fully disturbing. “No fucking way.”

“Language,” the blonde chides him softly, “but yes, it is true. I saw Hyunjin enter the apartment next to Changbin’s. I know that it can’t be yours because I crashed yours just as regularly as I do Changbin’s even though you claim you stay over at Hyunjin’s quite a bit. But yes. The two people who we don’t think would ever meet are neighbours. Engaged in war.” 

“Always a good meeting point,” he recounts all the screaming fits Hyunjin had over the past 6 months, “trap beats, German propaganda posters, microwave out in the corridor. I’m sure they’ll want to meet each other.” 

“Leave hyung alone. Finals are hard on everyone, even the professors,” Felix scolds him fondly. 

There was a time that he envied the amount of attention and love Felix gave to Changbin, someone who he met in college and continued to be a very close friend until this day. Felix is everywhere, doing everything with Changbin. It’s Changbin this and Changbin that. Seungmin is perhaps trapped in the rigidity of procedures and regulations, so he didn’t ask, didn’t complain.

He glared a lot though. That was obvious from the time Felix told him of Changbin and the ensuing meetups they organised that Seungmin was pissed. Big time. Very jealous of one Seo who he never met but despised extensively. 

“Lix, I’m still important to you, right?” He asked once. They were both tipsy from Hyunjin’s birthday party, Felix supporting his waist. 

“You’re the most important thing in my life,” Felix asserted, “and you shouldn’t worry. You being sad makes me sad.” 

That did the trick. All thoughts of jealousy thus ceased in his mind. “I won’t be anymore,” he promised. 

Felix grinned, all dopey.

“Changbin is like a brother. Don’t worry too much about him.”

“I wasn’t-” 

“Sure, sure, Minnie, sure, sure.” Felix scrunched his eyes in a smile. “It’s adorable when you’re jealous of who I hang out with.” 

“I literally was not-” 

“Can I ask you to trust my words?” Felix held his gaze, all soft brown eyes before his apartment block. Seungmin felt little and stupid, being jealous of someone he shouldn’t be. 

“Of course. Always.”

Back to the present, Seungmin scoffs a little, but that’s a nice scoff. That’s not his Lawyer Scoff. He leans back into the wall, crinkling his blazer. 

“And Hyunjin is a perpetual mess. Did you know about the drum incident?”

Felix’s wide eyes tells him all he needs to know about the drum incident. A bloodshed and a storm of curses it was. He heard no end of it and he wasn’t even involved. He mouths a ‘yeah’, exasperated at the antics.

“Apparently though,” Felix pulls his hand away and starts tapping Seungmin’s hand back, “they’ve come to a truce.” 

“I don’t believe that. Hyunjin curses him out, Mulan-style, every single goddamn day that he calls and updates me on his life like the loser that he is,” he scoffs, the sound inching closer to the You Are Going To Lose Money If You Pursue This Case scoff. “Until I see proof, I won’t believe anything." 

“How many complaints did you receive this week?” Felix lifts a highly defined brow. Challenging. “And the week before that?" 

There had been an alarming decrease of complaints up to the point that he was sure people all moved out of the block and it’s just the war happening. The days that he doesn’t get calls from Hyunjin he considers his friend dead, dead from the neighbour’s wrath and limit of tolerance. He doesn’t need to give any concrete answers, because once Felix Lee is certain of something, he waits until Seungmin comes around to the truth. Well guess what, Lee, he crosses his arms, frowning. He’ll keep holding onto his wrong beliefs until Hwang Hyunjin himself comes running and screaming ‘there be peace!’ all in white. 

They sit for a bit more, until Felix glances at his watch. 

“I gotta go. Have to wake up early tomorrow for a class.” 

The waiter is called and gives them the bill, then takes a step back. It’s a struggle between them to pay before the other. In the end, Seungmin resorts to tossing his credit card at the waiter who fumbles with the card but catches it and dashes off to the counter to pay. 

“I’m paying next time,” Felix glares at him, the intensity of it like a small angry puppy. Adorable. Seungmin gets up, dismissing him. He’ll pay up front first if it comes to that. 

Felix walks with him back to his apartment, hand in his blazer’s pocket. They stop at the door, Felix disentangling from him, which is insofar not an issue. Seungmin wants to hang on for a little bit longer, he knows it’ll only be a week until they have dinner again, but when Felix isn’t with him, he’s with Jisung or Changbin. Felix is walking away, bouncing a little in his steps. He turns to one side, eyelids drooping. 

“Minnie?” His voice dips down low, lower than it had been the whole time. Seungmin leans on a hip, loosening his watch. A gift from Felix and Chan.

“Yeah?” 

“Have a good night. Don’t be too stressed about work. I’ll see you next week.” 

It seems like there is more.

“Spit it out, Felix.” 

“You matter the most to me,” he shines bright like the lamp post outside and the moon above, “stop worrying. You know we have a telepathic bond. I feel your pain.” 

“Let’s stop feeling ourselves up, thanks, that’s weird,” he shoos Felix away, “go away, Lee, I’m fine.” 

“Just making sure, baby panda,” Felix waves, “just making sure.” 

Seungmin doesn’t know what that means, but he feels like he should. It sounds too similar to the Changbin Fiasco. He stays until he can’t see Felix’s back anymore and walks to his bus stop.

Hyunjin, recovered from the nasty flu he caught definitively from that client who came in and insisted on sneezing all over his office, comes to accept that Asshole Tenant is actually a Decent Human Being. It takes four hours, from the time he dragged himself out of bed and ate the congee to him in the shower, squeezing the shampoo bottle too tightly because gee the guy is nice I can’t hate him all that much now. The evil voice inside his head that is seasoned salty and bitter grumbles at a low volume, Felix low and he came to the resolution to be have a cold war. Espionage. No outright gunfire at the frontline. Truce at the time being, because he’s too weak to even walk around, let alone wreak havoc. 

He must reinvent himself. He is only a disembodied voice behind a wall that regularly pollute the noise level to a health hazard level. He must rise to become a better person. Plus room 405 waters his baby cacti and rose moss. He cannot be the bad guy forever, it’ll look bad on him.

There must be steps taken to better himself. First of all, he knows that his obnoxious shower screeching is directly a very present nuisance for one to process. Little steps. Baby steps. He can start by showering later during the night.

Very late during the night, but he’s trying his best and that’s what matters. 

When he’s out of the shower and refreshed and cleansed, he hears the reading. He knows cadence and pitch and volume, because Seungmin acted (and still does, he’s very good at musicals) and he does evocative reading all the time. Hyunjin knows what good reading sounds like. It’s music in words. 

Comparatively, this is not Broadway standard, but it has a dramatic flair to it. Rippling rhythm. Soaring sounds. 

He thinks it’s Keats. To be fair, he only knows one poem.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-

No- yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever- or else swoon to death.

He breathes in the pure serenity of the intonation, getting drunk off the sound of a voice. It’s a beautiful raspy sound, dipping low and rising high at the end of the lines. Room 405 plays trap beats in the middle of the night but also reads high-end poetry. What a split. Next thing he knows, 405 is actually an uncle who’s just trying to integrate into youth culture to try and get along with his teenage sons who have a shrine for Drake and Zico. 

He ransacks his bookcase. Finds the magazines with Ocean Vuong and his poems in them. Marks the pages. Leaves them in the mailbox next door with a note on the cover. 

Music in words. Have a look at these verses. I think you’ll like them.  

(He gets a donut box next to his shoe rack with three short lines.

i very much enjoyed that

music indeed sings through these words, thank you very much

room 405

Their handwriting is cursive and elegant. The donuts are good.)

Hyunjin runs into Attractive Human Down At The Lobby right outside of his front door, Hyunjin still in Professional Architect Attire and the guy has on glasses and a glare that needs exorcising. Dangerous and unsettled. Like he’ll knock Hyunjin’s teeth clean out of his mouth and trample on his face until his face is deformed. 

“Uh,” he very intelligently comments, “greetings?” 

The guy stops and looks at him. Recognition mellows him down and he bows, a sharp snap of the waist. 

“Hello. I’m sorry we can’t talk any longer than this. I’m very busy. Another time maybe.” 

And Hyunjin is being door slammed. 

That was that. 

But it was confusing. Hyunjin remembered the voice of room 405 being lower, then higher, now lower. Is he alright? Is his voice doing all good? 

He’s a bit shocked that Handsome Lobby Man is the same as Asshole Tenant 405. Those two identities are separate. They’re not the same people. They’re people from different ends of different spectrum. But the Cool Uncle Dude could be Seungmin 2.0. He could just be leeching off his friend’s apartment for free resources when he’s too lazy to go home. It could well be that. 

Hyunjin knocks at 9pm. The water in his shower had been consistently cold for 5 minutes straight and he knows from Woojin that sometimes, his shower malfunctions. He just needs the neighbours to not use water while he’s using it so that one person can shower at the time. 403 is empty, the couple moved out last week. He waits and almost hits the person opens the door. 

Felix Lee takes on a defensive stance and freezes as Hyunjin stands there gaping at him. 

“ Felix ?!” 

“I’m leeching off a friend. I don’t live here,” Felix quickly denies all the things. “You’ve been to my place before. Don’t look too shocked. I wouldn’t just up and move next to you without saying a word of warning beforehand.” 

“Oh my god,” Hyunjin feels so many things split open and being dumped before his nose. “You’re the trap beats person.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that, Jisung keeps rigging my laptop,” Felix winces and offers him a petulant smile, crooked and boyish. “You alright? Did you need something?”

Hyunjin can shower tomorrow. Hyunjin needs to have time off, like one of those Jane Austen heroines, to immerse himself in deep thoughts before he can give a coherent reply to the astonishing letter that revealed all the misunderstandings he previously harboured against the handsome but assholish rich slave owner. That was Pride and Prejudice. Of course. He’s obviously Lizzy. 

“Just, yeah, no, I’m gonna go back,” he throws his hand around like it was an acceptable wave and runs back in. Doesn’t bother to see if Felix said bye back. He slams the door and collapses against it. Oh my goodness . Oh his sizeable collection of bucket hats. 

He’s been falsely accusing the guy. He thinks all the noise pollution is the guy’s fault, when all that is manifestly the issue was Felix Lee needing a space to work in and Hyunjin’s irritability and inability to coexist with other people. The littlest thing set him off. He kept playing off-beat drumming. He sang loudly in the morning without a single regard to anybody else but himself and the war between him and Felix’s friend. All the bitching to Seungmin. All the noise complaints and potential suing. He could’ve been taken to court, because he’s petty and he thinks he’s right all the time where it is clear that he was not right. He was very, very, grossly, off the mark.

Somebody should just take him away, string him up on a branch and just hang him. Hang him. He doesn’t even deserve to have an honourable death. Idiots deserve nothing. He bangs the back of his head a couple of times against the door just to eliminate any leftover brain cells developing in his brain soup. Did he even have brain cells to begin with? Unlikely. 

Screw reinventing. He can start by apologising to room 405.

There is a thump at the front door of room 405 and if it’s not some idiots throwing things at his door, it’s someone collapsing or knocking. 

There’s another thump. It doesn’t sound like there are things being thrown, but rather, fists pounding on the timber door. 

Changbin doesn’t have visitors or guests beyond the hour of 7pm. The university has information of his residence, but they don’t have any business or intention in visiting him. The children had bribed, peddled, cried and begged him for his address, thinking that tertiary education would grant them unlimited access to teachers’ houses, as if he as a teacher does not have a life outside of teaching. 

“It might shock you terribly,” he told them, “but outside of the campus grounds, I have a life. And I’d like to keep academia out of it. Unless you are dying and you happen to be in the area, that is the off-chance that you’ll find out where I live. Otherwise, no, Kim, stop asking, I can’t and won’t tell you.” 

That rules out the university. It could just be a resident of the apartment block. They knock. He knows it can’t be close friends and family because he distributed keys out like grass clippings at dinners and housewarming parties. Felix and Chan have two copies each. His mother and father have about four in their mailbox and under the pot plants. His sister and her family have many keys sitting around in the candy bowl in the living room. Besides, those people don’t knock. Changbin’s house is theirs. Who knock when they go into their own home? 

Thinking it is probably a lost and confused new tenant, he turns the doorknob. 

His next door neighbour, the Royal Unicorn to his niece Chaeyeon, the tormentor of Changbin’s daily life, the heathenish drummer, the screamer in the early morn, Felix’s classmate from somewhere, is ugly sobbing in front of him and cries even harder when he sees Changbin.

Gee. He gets that when he glares he’s a bit hard to look at. But gee. That’s excessive. 

He should take the guy in. He won’t last very long against the mosquitoes and drunk college kids nearby who like to have bowling tournaments with beer bottles with pot plants and cricket balls. They smashed more windows and pot plants in one week than Changbin dropped plates in his life. Anyone who’s outside would be potentially stuck with some beer glass bits. Best stay in shelter. 

He extends a hand, awkward, doesn’t know where he should put it. Shoulder? Back? Upper arm? 

The guy doesn’t need directions. He marches inside Changbin’s apartment like every other person who Changbin opened the door for, because once the door is open they are entitled to the entire space to use and cry as they wish. He closes the door and looks for where the neighbour went off to. In the living room where Felix’s housewarming carpet sprawls in conflicting shades of red and yellow amidst Changbin’s very minimalistic, black and white, including the brown couch, the guy drops suddenly to the floor, hitting the couch clumsily with his elbows and hiccups aggressively. Like he wants to cry but he needs to recharge on the tears bank before crying session 2. 

Changbin stands awkwardly in the hallway, doesn’t know how to proceed. He doesn’t think they’ve been acquainted besides the two run-ins they inevitably could not avoid and during that time and all the warring periods in between, his lounge with Felix’s clashing carpet is one strange place to get acquainted with your warring neighbour. 

“Hi,” he decides to start out small, stepping to his own couch. “I’m Seo Changbin.” 

His neighbour lets out a mournful howl. It sounds oddly similar to Jeon Somi breaking down in the hallway a week before because she left one question in her music exam and it took Changbin, her group of friends and extensive bribes of donuts and other diabetes-inducing confectioneries to get her up and crying elsewhere. The sound is oddly similar to many of his students, past and present, who break down at intervals between multiple assessments, before exams, after exams, during exams. In a classroom setting, he can send his kids off elsewhere to calm themselves. Or even grant consolatory hugs if the situation is very dire and there’s hiccupping and ruined makeup. His neighbour seemingly locked himself out of his apartment and doesn’t smell of alcohol to be deliriously drunk, but he knows enough of the youth culture to know that in this day and age, one does not need alcohol to be slightly off-putting. 

“Can you tell me your name?” He prods, gently. 

There is vigorous head shaking and a dramatised intake of air. He waits for the sniffles to die down. 

“If you won’t tell me, that’s fine. I’ll just refer to you as Unicorn Boy in my head until you do.” 

“That’s,” hiccup, “appropriate. I am Unicorn Overlord. I strike fear into Voldy No Nose’s Horcrux-loving self. Hwang Hyunjin the Unicorn Lord. Fear me, bitch.” 

“Hwang Hyunjin, okay, alright,” Changbin takes another step closer, cautious now. This is the part where they cry the hardest. “What’s wrong?”

Hyunjin sniffles loudly. Changbin doesn't know what to do. He awkwardly wrings his hands. Not a kid of his class. Can’t send him away. "Do you...perhaps...want a hug?" 

"No, let's not commit me to that," Hyunjin hiccups, nose an angry red, "once I receive nice gestures I feel obliged to bake gratitude brownies in return of the favour."

"Don't bake gratitude brownies," Changbin immediately refutes, "I'm allergic to nice gestures. It'll be a waste of many things."

Hyunjin makes this sound that is half death half laughing and it's alarming that Changbin can't find out which is it. He gulps in a breath and Changbin knows. He just knows that this is the damn erupting and he best be braced against it. 

“My aunt is sick, my dog misses me, my best friend stole my watch, the stars aren’t aligned, the feng shui is terrible, I had like four hours of sleep. I crave death.”

Holding himself back from commenting about the lack of breath taken in that long rush of words, he puts on a coaxing voice, like he knows what he’s doing when people cry about family matters and the stars not aligning in front of him. 

“The stars are assholes and so is your friend. I don’t know much about feng shui, but please don’t consider death yet,” he nods reassuringly like if you die in my living room it’ll be a very annoying thing to explain to the homicide detectives . Hyunjin looks like he’ll either pass out from crying too much or losing his voice from screaming. Changbin offers the middle line remedy. “Do you want water?”

The reply he gets is a hoarse ‘yes, please’ with more wailing.

Eventually Hyunjin calms down, at the expensive of the excessive consumption of three water bottles and Changbin’s loot of black tea from his sister. He becomes drowsy and drops off into a fitful sleep, mumbling and foot twitching on his floor. Changbin peruses through his lesson plan and writes his monthly report to the Dean, accounting for attendance, progress noteworthy event. 

Changbin doesn’t know what to do with people crying and passing out in his home that aren’t friends or family yet, but he’ll get to it when things escalate. He’s hugely entertained by the nonsense Hyunjin conducts by himself under his breath, coming up close with his phone and recording a 5-minute conversation between sleep talking Hyunjin and an amused Changbin.

Some gems from the conversation: 

“Jellybeans,” Hyunjin mutters, “they have legs.”

“That’s creepy. They shouldn’t,” Changbin refutes. 

“Chicken legs. They scream. Dinosaurs.” 

“Uh,” Changbin is interrupt with Hyunjin turning until his face is planted on the floor. 

“Porridge.” 

“Okay,” he concedes (and gives up), putting a pillow under Hyunjin’s face so he doesn’t get carpet burn. 

He’s like a kid. Changbin checks in on him periodically, starting from prodding at his legs with his socked foot to bending down and pulling a blanket over him. It’s silly, both of them meeting and talking, sparsely, before, but he never had the chance to really look at Hwang Hyunjin, heathenish drummer who can’t really drum in time with the Fall Out Boys track and ending up sounding like a funeral procession. There’s a seraphic look to him, clear skin and bow lips. He has nice lips. He looks like a polite churchgoer who devotes himself to the better cause of God willingly and helps his grandmother every weekend. He would have been classified as a chorister if Changbin doesn’t know the extent of his musical capabilities. The answer is none. The shower screeching remains tragically the worst pollution he was exposed to and the funniest thing that ever happened to him, retrospectively. 

Changbin pushes away falling hair strands with his palm. He’d like to think that he’s checking for any kind of a cold or fever. He really isn’t. Hyunjin’s skin is smooth too. Baby soft. 

Hyunjin kind of looks like a perfect angel, in deep slumber after a day of good deeds and protecting mankind. Changbin would not even dare look at him if they run across each other on the streets. He seems like a perfect human being and it scares Changbin a little. 

Except Changbin is well aware that this is the mess of a human who doesn’t water his cacti and rose mosses, plays Fall Out Boys badly out of tune and holds petty grudges spanning 7 months and counting. He has good skin and he sings badly in the shower, but he’s flawed and stupidly human and Changbin really hopes he can stay for a little bit longer. Let Changbin make him breakfast. Let Changbin take care of his stupid dumb self. Not in a romantic way (possibly, who knows), but in a forceful I-don’t-know-you-yet-but-you-are-a-mess-and-I-care kind of way. 

Night melts into dawn and someone knocks on his door again. Changbin must’ve fallen asleep near Hyunjin, his face suspiciously close when he opens his eyes. He has pure intentions, he swears, but he has a bad habit of just planting his face on the couch and napping from working late hours into the morning and waking up entirely on the floor. He peels himself off the floor, pulling the blanket over Hyunjin’s head, who still looks unfairly gorgeous even after his wrestle with Changbin trying to push him onto the couch and him ending up just giving up on lifting someone taller than him. The brat kicked him at some point and it hurt. He limps and staggers at his doorknob. 

The friend of Hyunjin who swore a lot. The one Changbin suspects is a close friend, or even a potential boyfriend. He dresses well, navy suit tailored to his build. His hair is styled. It must be an early working day. 

“Hi,” the guy bows, “Kim Seungmin. Just want to know if Hyunjin died during the night. His mum couldn’t reach him and I had to lie to the woman. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

Changbin doesn’t know how to take that. His response rate is very delayed in the morning. It looks like it’s around 5.

“Yes,” he manages, “he’s inside.” 

“Great! Keep him, kick him out, sell him, it doesn’t really matter to me,” the friend, Seungmin, isn’t it, rolls his blazer sleeve down to look at his watch. It looks eerily similar to the one Felix has. “Is Felix here?” 

“He’ll be here around 9 or so.”

Seungmin clicks his tongue. Changbin doesn’t know all the things and he doesn’t want to assume, but it just seems like there is something he should be getting that is very obvious but he doesn’t see it. 

“I see. Well here’s the key to the apartment. If you could take him forever, I’ll be grateful. When Lix swings by just tell him I was here. We’re going to get dinner together today but he didn’t pick up my calls.” 

Ah. Ah. That’s it. That’s the thing. 

This is the Kim Seungmin, high school sweetheart, law graduate, has the most intense glare but the most caring soul. Felix gushes about him regularly. It’s starting to drain him of his patience, and he teaches adults younger than him only for a couple of years. It takes a lot to make him tired, especially when those adults are fully grown human beings who act like they’re from the age range of 4 to 13. It’s cute, but he has limits. There is a ban on Felix on how much he can talk about his boyfriend which the kid regularly breaks because he’s just that enamored by Seungmin. 

Thus, he is not a threat to Changbin. He relaxes, scowl fading from his brow. 

“I’ll make sure to relay your message to him. I’ll have to leave soon,” Changbin bows, “it’s nice of you to check up on him.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Seungmin laughs, “goodbye, Changbin-ssi.” 

Then he leaves. 

Changbin hates that he can’t stay for longer to look after Hyunjin, but he remembers now that he needs to catch a train at 5.45 to get to a university where they need a guest speaker and he, young and already with a doctorate in English literature, had been invited, or rather manipulated into teaching a seminar. He needs to leave and change, pack his bags and go. While he is an excellent presenter who can improvise his lessons, he can’t improvise slobby appearances. He rushes about, being a general nuisance that is loud and clumsy, bumping into table corners and doors. Yet Hyunjin is still deep in slumber. That’s a special kind of skill right there. As much as Changbin would like to stay and wax poetic about Hyunjin sleeping like an absolute angel, he must depart, regrettably.

He leaves an extensive note for Felix to a. not spook Hyunjin out and b. answer the damn calls from the boyfriend of his. It makes him feel like a creep, but he leans over Hyunjin’s blanket kicking, sleep talking self and whispers a soft ‘I’ll see you later, troublemaker’ with a fond grin on his face.

Hyunjin wakes up confused, angry, doesn’t know where he is. The triad would’ve been an appreciated under more awake circumstances, but he’s always infused with rage whenever he wakes from slumber. Wrath is like his inherent calling and by constantly suppressing this part of his id, it has no choice but to manifest in the sleep sequences of Hyunjin’s mind. 

He pats his stomach, childishly soothing away the roar of anger in the pits of his guts. It looks like his apartment, except not really. Where are all the paintings? There are too many bookcases. Are those things…written in English? 

“You’re up,” a familiar deep voice observes, amused, “hello angel.” 

“Felix,” Hyunjin groans, “how the f-“ 

He slams a hand to his mouth. Must not swear in front of the holiest man to walk this part of Seoul. He yawns and covers it up with a soft “How’d you get in?” 

“I have a key,” Felix walks over to Hyunjin, swim jacket over a Wakanda Forever shirt.

Hyunjin never gave Felix a key. That’s so weird. He only gave his keys to 3 people and Felix isn’t one of them. 

“I never gave you a key.” 

“I also could’ve picked the lock,” the blonde points out very reasonably. 

Hyunjin looks at him. Raises both eyebrows because he can’t do the one brow lift yet. He’s getting there. Felix Lee and criminal activities don’t exist on the same plane of existence, let alone in the same floor. 

“Lee, honestly speaking, we’ve known each other for a while, you and me, we kinda understand how we work,” he gestures between them, “you don’t do crime. Like, not at all. You don’t even like swear words. I feel like if we were to predict who’ll end up in jail in our squad, your name wouldn’t even be a suggestion.” 

“That’s flattering,” Felix smiles, all teeth and crooked. Everyday Hyunjin is reminded why Seungmin is so besotted with Felix. Look at that smile. The teeth. All the nice things in life just choose to inhabit Felix Lee’s body and Hyunjin isn’t complaining. It is a blessing to be around Felix. He can feel his rage disappearing, a lovely cleansing effect, just by breathing near Felix. 

“Do you want anything to eat then? I think it’s late. I don’t have work today, just gotta do some light cleaning,” Hyunjin kicks the blanket off him, squinting at the different coloured carpet under his socks. Red and yellow. His carpet has fake fur and it’s a warm mahogany.

“You’re so comfortable, for a place you don’t live in,” Felix laughs, not unkindly. Nothing he does has any mean edge. 

“This is my apartment,” he emphasises, gesturing with his eyes, but he’s not too sure if he’s trying to convince himself or Felix. “I live here.” 

“Wasn’t aware you changed your name to Doctor Seo Changbin of Seoul National University,” Felix reads from the plaque that Hyunjin clearly glances over and refuses to acknowledge. There is a raised eyebrow now, Felix looking very amused, the perfect-looking bastard and Hyunjin scrambles for a reply. 

“My name…my maiden name is Seo,” he answers decidedly, “I changed my last name upon marriage.” 

“And your first too, it seems,” Felix giggles, “who’s your husband, remind me again.” 

“Hwang…Minhyun…?” He ventures. 

Felix loses it, laugh escaping his mouth like there’s no tomorrow. It is not funny. It is deeply humiliating. Oh no. Oh that’s gross.

“Alright, okay, fine, I don’t know where I am,” he throws up his hands, “and no, Minhyun and I are just cousins, we’re not married.” 

The blonde gasps and gulps in a breath. “I realised, yes. I met Minhyun and his girlfriend last year. Some misinformation you’re spreading about yourself here, Jinnie.” 

“Stop talking about it,” he whines, “okay, where am I, how are you here?” 

“I’m a friend of Changbin’s. The one I’m always with? I have a key to his apartment and I just basically crash here half of the time. I don’t know why you’re here though. You and him are mortal enemies on this floor, I heard. How is there no bloodshed, no war?” 

“There is nothing because something happened at home and I was crying outside the corridor and he let me in and let me cry my eyes out in here. Then I passed out, I guess,” he scratches the back of his neck, itchy and rubbed raw from rolling in his sleep on carpet. “Never mind that, I have to go home and take a shower then go visit the aunt.”

Felix nods and gestures to the hallway, walking with him. Hyunjin’s shoes are stacked neatly next to a shoe rack full of leather shoes and the odd black and white sneakers. He stares, contemplating a stupid idea. 

“When does the Doctor friend come back?” He asks Felix. 

“Six or so,” the other man leans against the wall, arms loosely in his swim jacket, “you’re better off waiting to ambush him in the lobby at around quarter to six.” 

“I’m not going to ambush your friend, oh my gosh, I just want to apologise,” he whines in protest against Felix’s peal of laughter. “You’re in a fun mood today,” he observes, “dinner date?” 

“Of course,” there’s a pleased wink, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll forget this conversation. It makes my day a hundred times better.” 

“I am leaving,” Hyunjin turns the doorknob and leaves with his shoes under his arms, “you’ve turned into a demon, Lix. I thought we were friends!” 

“Tell your aunt I say hi!”

There are many missed calls from his mother, aunt and Seungmin. He gets changed into decent clothes and scrolls through the texts, trying to decipher Seungmin’s typos and his mother highly erratic texts. Doesn’t matter. They don’t live that far away from him anyway. He can drive there and they can fill in the gaps for him. 

“Hyunjin,” his aunt opens her door as he swings off the motorbike, “why didn’t you pick up your phone last night?” 

“I couldn’t find it,” it’s not a lie. He also was too busy crying and breaking down. “How are you? Should I stay with you until the operation? I can just sleep in the attic.”

She bites onto her bottom lip, looking like she’s trying to hold off a smile. He stops and squints a little. This is not a laughing matter. Why is his aunt who is about to go into an operation to get rid of a cancerous tumour smiling like life is fine?

“It’s benign,” she laughs, hand covering her teeth, “that was the news. We all heard tumour and we were all worried, but my dear boy, it’s harmless. We’re not going through with the operation. We can easily get rid of it with other means. Thank you for worrying.”

He lets her grab his face and pull his cheeks, gently admonishing him for not picking up the phone. His mother would be furious, oh no. He has to call her.

“Call your mother,” his aunt, access clearly open to his mind, agrees, “explain yourself. Then come in for lunch. I haven’t seen you in months, aiya, are you even eating three meals a day?”

His mother doesn’t blow up, but she excessively rants about how she assumes this generation has their phones on them all the time and he has to explain that he didn’t want to look at his phone because his dad would give him updates and he was feeling horrible generally, he didn’t want to know more about the crisis.

“Just,” his mum sighs, “pick up someone’s call next time." 

“How do I do that without a phone, ma?”

“Kids, they leave the house and talk back at their parents,” she complains, “no respect at all.”

“I’ll see you on Saturday, ma.”

He feels like a creep, camping out like this, but amendments must be made. Apologies must be handed out nicely.

Seo Changbin is walking at a leisurely pace, reading a book and tapping the strap of his rucksack. Hyunjin shoots out, grabs an arm and steers Changbin to a street vendor he spotted before pacing around the lobby.

“Hello,” his neighbour chuckles, “nice to see you again, so soon.”

Hyunjin takes a deep bow, going as low as he can without bending his knees. “I’m deeply ashamed of what I’ve done. There are no words to excuse my behaviour. I beg you for forgiveness.”

“It’s okay,” there is a hand in front of his eyes, “I don’t hold grudges. I forgive you. It’s an understandable reaction.”

“Was it though?” He rises and squints. The other guy clicks his tongue.

“Good point. But invalid in this situation. We can just move on. Forget about the war and the feud. Stop scaring the residents from their own homes.”

“Let us call…truce?”

They look at each other, Changbin more amused and Hyunjin more tenderly terrified. Changbin snorts.

“That sounds almost nice.”

“That’s because I’m trying to be nice, asshole,” Hyunjin kicks in instinct, intending it to be an illegal tackle in soccer and for it to hurt. The man sidesteps him easily, grin earnest and wide. He is reminded of his initial admiration of this man playing with a little girl. It’s still there, the admiration, just amplified. Oh no. Hyunjin can’t be falling all over the place for boys who he isn’t sure are even into boys. He must remember the mission. Bribe the guy with food. Part amicably.

“We’re getting food,” he declares and sweeps an arm gloriously to the vendor, “by we, I meant I. If you attempt to pay then I’ll step on your kneecaps until they’re dislocated from your legs.”

“Violent,” Changbin observes, “but alright. Pay all you like. I haven’t had food since lunch.”

Hyunjin hustles him over, both standing near the dodgy light of the vendor selling some sweet fried desserts. He knows he’s not the only one who’s awkward, but he doesn’t want to start a conversation right there and then. What could they talk about? Hyunjin’s embarrassing sleep talking habits? His ugly crying face? The poems?

“Oh my god did you record me sleep talking?” He realises in horror as he takes one bite of his oily and hot dessert.

Changbin chews slower, eyes widening too suspiciously like ‘who, me?’

“You did,” he hisses, foot darting out to kick the guy, “you did, you heathen.”

“I promise I won’t show it to anyone,” Changbin laughs, dodging away from his arms now, swiping like they’re sword blades, “it was wildly entertaining.”

“I bet,” he mutters, “I’ve been told many times.”

Changbin keeps on eating and doesn’t confirm or deny the deletion of those incriminating files. Hyunjin thinks of his next tactic. He can pull the ‘my best friend is a solicitor’ card or ‘I have 15 cm on you and I am not below stealing your phone or tackling you down to threaten you to delete’ card.

“Walk me back,” Changbin blinks up at him. Gosh, he’s so small. He is tiny. Hyunjin just wants to hold him inside his arms and squeeze. This is a precious size. This is a good size for a hug. Hugging him would be a comforting experience.

Hyunjin should really learn how to respond accordingly and tactfully. Instead he chooses to elicit ‘We literally live on the same floor, how could I just not walk you back?’ and now more than ever that he wishes he had slammed his head on a wall so that there is more blood in his head that prompts faster brain cell production. 

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Changbin pockets his hands. Hyunjin nods, following him closely, their arms brushing against each other. The trek up the stairs is silent, once more, but Hyunjin is plotting. Trying to draft the best way to ask the guy to go…drinking? Have food? What do straight guys do when they just want to hang out? Play video games? 

He's not equipped for this dating thing. No wonder he’s single as heck.

In front of his room, Changbin fishes out his phone and holds it like it’s a business card between his forefinger and thumb, tapping the phone against his temple. Hyunjin stops, waits. Could it be –

“I’ll delete the files only after you agree to go to dinner with me tomorrow,” he looks directly into Hyunjin’s stunned eyes.

“Holy shit,” he hyperventilates inside and possibly outside, “I thought you were a tragic straight.” He pauses. “T-M.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Changbin pushes himself off the wall, pocketing back his phone, with one side of his mouth quirked up. “And I’m good at that, yes, pretending to be a tragic straight.”

“Me too honestly,” Hyunjin echoes back, “and don’t put answers into my mouth, Seo. I don’t accept dates that stem from blackmails. Ask me again, properly.” 

“Dinner isn’t a date,” Changbin leans in. The dark of his eyes is clear, even though there is no light. Hyunjin feels like he’s swimming in mahogany. 

“If you know me at all, you’ll know that dinner is basically a step away from proposal. Tread carefully,” he also leans in, a breath away from Changbin’s little fairy mouth. Everything about him is small. It’s disgustingly cute. 

“Will you still go, knowing yourself?” 

“Yes,” Hyunjin breathes out, everything quiet now, “it’s food. I love food.” 

I could love you too, if you feed me food , he doesn’t say. Too early to burst out the L word yet.

“Then it’s settled,” Changbin blinks his eyes slowly, eyes tracing somewhere like his cheeks, “tomorrow. I’ll drive. It’ll be around 7. Be ready.”

Now it’s just a battle of who break off the intense contact first. Hyunjin wants to know, it’s probably just speculation anyway, but he tilts his head, slightly, to the left.

Changbin tilts his head to the right.

If they were any closer, their lips would be meeting. 

Changbin’s gaze tells him he would take that step if Hyunjin would, but he’d rather take his time. First kiss on a first date? Overrated. He’ll get it on the fifteenth.

He moves back gracefully, still holding Changbin’s gaze. Winks. Grins widely at the visible reaction Changbin has at the action. It’s adorable. He has a mini current rushing through him, like Hyunjin is static and latent electricity and it shocks him when Hyunjin makes contact with the energy in the air.

“Goodnight, baby,” he winks again, “see you tomorrow.”

“Night,” Changbin utters, “don’t sleep talk.”

The magic of the moment shatters. Hyunjin wails, throwing his fists around and storms inside his apartment. He pokes his head out, poking his tongue at the man still standing outside his own home.

“Boo.” 

“Go away, Hwang.”

Seungmin doesn’t want to hear any of it when Hyunjin kicks off his shoes inside, slumped with paperwork and… Felix’s swimming jacket?

“Oi,” Hyunjin points, “you guys swapping clothes now?” 

“Did you know,” Seungmin puts a stack of document down, “that we’ve been dating for a while?”

“Kinda? I thought you guys didn’t want to define it and I love drama when Jisung is unnecessarily involved.”

“Bitch,” Seungmin claps his hands aggressively, “I didn’t know we were a thing until tonight when he was like ‘hey our anniversary is coming up soon’ and my bitchass self asked ‘do you want to do anything special’ before I realised what I said. He was like ‘did you forget our one year anniversary, Kim Seungmin, I can’t believe my boyfriend, solicitor extraordinaire, forgot such a crucial date’.” He takes a long breath in. “But when the fuck did this happen and how did it happen? Did I get a say? How did - what? And he just laughed and did that thumb rub in the corner of my mouth and I just shut up and went with it.”

Hyunjin laughs at Seungmin for a solid two seconds and dodges away raggedly as things are thrown at him.

“Everyone, except for you, knows that you and Fel are a thing since high school. We just assumed you were being stupidly insecure and obsessed, which,” Hyunjin concedes, “fair.”

“You can rot in hell,” Seungmin curses him out with his eyes, “I hope you embarrass yourself in front of the hot neighbour!”

“I already did!” He yells back, heading out onto the balcony. 

“The hot neighbour can hear you,” he hears from his right, “and he’s pleased.”

“Oh go away, Seo,” he laughs and leans over, stars twinkling in his eyes, “stop bothering me."

“I would if I could, Hwang Hyunjin, but you’re a very persistent pest,” Changbin grins, moonlight in his smile. 

“I am, ain’t I?” He grins. “You’re fond of me.”

Changbin doesn’t need to answer. Changbin only looks at him, all the fondness in his eyes.