Archive of Our Own

"– told Mrs. Lim you would collect my packages so that she doesn't start questioning you," Minho says as they descend the stairs.

Jisung pauses on the landing, waiting for Minho to catch up. He smiles up at him, trying not to stare. He is so bundled up and soft today. Jisung wants to— 

Jisung averts his eyes. "Thanks, hyung. She scares the shit out of me."

Minho squeezes Jisung's shoulder as he reaches the landing, and then nudges him forward. "I know, you're a scaredy cat," he laughs. "Even my cat is not as terrified of things the way you are. I still remember the way you screamed when that takeout bag flew towards your legs."

"It was very sudden and I was about to trip," Jisung complains even as a pleasant heat simmers in his belly. Fine, he likes being teased. He can't help the way he was born!

"It was cute," Minho declares as they reach the ground floor. He grins and pokes Jisung's cheek. "But I don't think Mrs. Lim will appreciate it if you flail about in front of her when she asks why you want my mail."

Jisung has no reply to that because Minho is looking at him with a fond, inescapable gaze. He does this often, as if he needs to devote his entire attention to Jisung instead of focusing on anything else. 

But he is saved from possible mortification when Jungsu, the teenager living a floor below their flats, barrels through the space between them, calling out an unapologetic, "sorry!" over his shoulder. The entrance door closes behind him with a resonant bang. 

Minho blinks at the door and then faces Jisung again, shaking his head. "I hate teenagers."

Jisung opens his mouth to agree when a flicker of movement catches his eyes. He turns towards it, wondering if it’s Mrs. Lim marching towards them to reiterate the ‘no loitering around the front door to chat’ policy she has. 

But… there's nothing visible in the corridor that stretches ahead of them. It’s silent and dark. Jisung suppresses a shiver of disgust. Seems like he caught a rat scurrying by. 

"Hannie?"

Jisung snaps his head back to look at Minho and grimaces. "I think I saw…," he drops his voice to a whisper. Who knows if Mrs. Lim is listening in or not? "...a rat."

Minho's eyes flit towards the corridor. He frowns for a moment then shakes his head. "This place is a mess. Even Dori is too scared to chase these rats, you know. They're huge."

Though Jisung knows and agrees with it privately, he can't bring himself to voice it. It's livable and so cheap. Sometimes, it feels like it'll be ripped away from him if he complains too much. 

"I know," he mumbles, avoiding Minho's gaze and walking towards the door. He holds the door open. "Let's go, hyung. We're a bit late, as is." He smiles as Minho starts walking towards him. "Felix always gets breakfast and I need to get there before Hyunjin polishes it off."

Minho shakes his head. "You always think with your stomach, don't you?" 

"Hey, it has never let me down!" Jisung squints against the sunlight, eyes watering. Was it that dark inside? He wipes his eyes and grimaces as it leaves a layer of grime across his nose and cheek. 

His hand is streaked with dust. "Fuck, she never even cleans anymore," he mumbles under his breath, wiping his hands on his jeans and then brushing the dust away from his face. 

"Did you say something?"

Jisung startles, nearly poking himself in the eye. "Nothing…just got a bit of dirt on my face. The door handle was covered with it, I guess."

He doesn't understand why Minho raises his brow. Maybe at the sight of him pawing at his face like a dog. "It's whatever," he says, satisfied that his face is clean. "Let's go!"

Minho opens his mouth, as if to say something. Jisung blinks at him, expectant but Minho purses his lips and steps forward. 

"There's still a little…" Minho cups Jisung's cheek and before he can comprehend what is happening, Minho brushes his thumb under Jisung’s eye and then moves back. “There was a little smudge under your eye.”

Jisung nods, too flustered to speak. He can still feel the chill impression of Minho’s hand, even beneath the prickle of his dumb blush. “Thanks,” he stares straight ahead and hikes up his bag. What’s worse is that even Minho is silent so he has no choice but to wallow at the way he’s reacting like a school-girl. God.

The touch was unexpectedly tender, okay? He has no clue what to do especially since he’s not the one making the moves. Not like he has any moves worth mentioning. He’d just hoped—

“Hey, we’re really going to be late if we dawdle more,” Minho slings his arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “Let’s keep going.”

So now, Jisung has yet another thing to fret over.

Not that he’s complaining because it's nice. More than nice. 

*

“Here you go,” Jisung says, later that day, panting as he deposits the suitcase next to Minho’s foot. “Where is your friend?”

“She’ll be here in ten minutes,” Minho replies. He zips up his hoodie and then plays with the tab, his eyes fixed on Jisung. “You don't have to do all this, Hannie.”

Jisung snorts, but heat tingles at the back of his neck in spite of the cold, lazy breeze coiling over every exposed part of his body. “I just dragged down a suitcase. It’s not like I sleep early anyway.”

“Still. You’re also collecting my mail.” Minho brushes his hair away from his forehead, narrowing his eyes. “And you offered to look after Dori even though you’re deathly allergic.”

The smooth movement and the way the shadows enhance the sharpness of Minho’s features makes heat course through Jisung’s veins. But his words make the pin-pricks of shame under his skin intensify. God, why is he so transparent and embarrassing? Jisung looks down at his battered sandals, thankful the same shadows hide his reddened cheeks. “It’s not a big deal, hyung.”

Minho slaps his shoulder and shakes him affectionately. “It would’ve been better if you weren’t making me prepare meals for you for a week.”

“Hey! I’m not your butler,” Jisung laughs, swatting Minho’s hand away. “And don’t think I’ll forget about our bargain. I was willing to battle allergies for you!”

“God, the youths these days love to harangue poor, old men,” Minho whines, affecting a wheezy, aged voice. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to help instead of complain about your so-called aller—”

Jisung’s laugh rings loud. “Yeah, yeah, your old man schtick isn’t going to work on me, hyung.” 

“Yeah? I—” a honk cuts him off and Minho turns to face the vehicle that’s rumbling up to their doorstep. “Oh wow! She’s early.”

Jisung’s growing delight frizzles away under the glare of the headlight, and then swells because he’s sure there’s a tinge of disappointment somewhere in Minho’s words too. But he has no way to ascertain it as Minho is already jogging over to the car. 

“I’ll help you with getting the luggage in the trunk,” Jisung mumbles as he bends at his knees to pick it up. 

Minho is too busy talking to his friend to hear him so Jisung just shuffles to the back of the car and waits for the trunk to open. It's awkward and he is glad he has something to do with his hands.

That’s the thing with Minho, Jisung thinks, the tottering uncertainty of it all. Sometimes, he’s sure there’s something – a spark? – between them. But then there are times when the certainty stands tall and unflinching, saying, you're reading too much into it. Maybe he should just get it out of the way and confess, like he had been planning, whatever the outcome. 

He is startled away from his thoughts when the trunk opens with a quiet, mechanical sigh. Minho trundles over to him.

“Alright,” he says, peering inside the trunk. “We’re picking up another friend so we’ll have to adjust her luggage and mine.”

Cracking his knuckles, Jisung puffs out his chest. “I did a 250 piece puzzle by myself once.”

Minho snorts and then yelps when Jisung kicks his foot. “Brat,” he mutters, but there’s no heat to it.

Jisung loses himself in the little puzzle and the warmth of Minho's presence by his side. He waits at the side as Minho closes the trunk.

Minho is leaving for the US tonight, as part of a university sponsored research trip. And Jisung suddenly, desperately wishes Minho doesn’t go, and doesn't leave him alone here. 

Minho groans and cracks his knuckles. “Well, that’s it, I think.”

He snaps out of it, mortified by his neediness. “Yes!” Jisung says, injecting as much cheer into his voice as possible. “Send me photos, okay? And eat well! Don’t spend all your time with your nose buried in a book. I know how you get.”

“Really?” Minho’s smile is wide. “How many days have I dragged you to my house at 12 A.M. to feed you because you forgot to eat dinner?”

“Pfft…I’m young. You’re old and more likely to get acid reflux.” He shrieks when Minho hits his shoulder. “What it’s true!”

“Don’t make me knock you out right before I leave. You’ll be here till morning.”

Jisung fake gasps. “You’re a criminal! A stone cold rogue!”

Five minutes of back-and-forth and one impatient honk later, Minho is in the passenger seat and has finished his last minute passport, ticket and wallet check. “Okay,” he announces, “I’m ready!”

Jisung sticks his thumb up. “Stay safe, hyung! I’ll…I’ll see you soon!”

Minho smiles and waves goodbye as he says, “thank you, Hannie! I’ll see you too.”

Minho’s friend waves too and then Jisung watches the taillights of the car until it turns a corner, an inexplicable sort of feeling prickling beneath his skin. It’s just… he feels— he can’t even explain it. 

Lonely, like the host after a party with only empty wine glasses to keep them company. 

Sighing, he shakes his head and enters the building. It’s quiet except for the tinny sound of canned laughter drifting from Mrs. Lim’s office on the ground floor. He starts ascending the steps, resigning himself to the slog of reaching the fourth floor. 

But he’s tired at the halfway point to the third floor. He takes a break, something he wouldn’t dare to do in daylight. There’s a tight, burning knot in his chest and his thighs are twitching with the exertion. He just needs a moment to catch his breath. Plus the person coming up behind him seems to have gone to their apartment since he can’t hear their footsteps anymore. 

Just as well. There’s no fear of being caught panting like he’s an octogenarian with bad knees by anyone. 

A moment later, as he starts climbing the steps again, he hears footsteps behind him. 

He smiles to himself.  Everyone needs a break, huh?

*

After spending half an hour debating whether to text Minho or not, Jisung has no choice but to put the question to his council of fools.

Jisung: do you guys think i should text minho hyung to tell him i collected his parcel?

He switches to YouTube immediately after he sends the text, embarrassed by this need for reassurance. He just wants to know if he’s being a normal friend and not behaving like a love-struck idiot. 

Seungmin, Felix and Hyunjin are all busy at an elective class, however, so there’s quite a while before he can get approval for his plan of action. Jisung wishes he could be in an elective class because not being there means he has all the time in the world to think about texting Minho.

His phone chimes and he blinks in surprise. He pulls up his Kakao Talk app and exhales in annoyance when it is just a text from his class rep, droning on about some change in schedule. After a cursory glance, Jisung exits the chat. There’s no reply from his friends (obviously) and he gnaws his lower lip in thought.

It is normal etiquette to text Minho, right? He texts him all the time anyway. But this is a different situation and Jisung wants to reassure him that yes, he has collected the first parcel which was delivered today. He just wants to show that he is trustworthy and dependable. A perfect neighbor and friend. Definitely someone worthy of a promotion to potential boyfriend.

Jisung groans and flushes even though there is no one to see him. This is the reason why he’s waffling— it means more to him than a simple update.

Fuck it, he mutters with a huff and opens his chat window with Minho. The last message is Minho’s ‘thanks, Hannie’ with a heart-eye emoji in response to Jisung’s enthusiastic safe journey with two (2!) exclamation marks which he had sent at 3 a.m. for an important reason: Jisung has no chill.

Jisung: hi, hyung. hope you reached safely!

Jisung: i got one of your parcels today. here’s the photo!

Jisung: [attached photo]

There. Done. Jisung muffles an embarrassed scream with the palm of his hand and navigates to YouTube as quickly as possible before he has to comprehend his utter lack of composure. 

*

Jisung is hit by the strong, savory scent of food being cooked as he enters the corridor of the fourth floor. His stomach rumbles in interest even as he slows to a stop, confused. 

He hears a faint sizzle – is he imagining it? – and the smell crests. It drifts to him in waves and ensnares his nose. He frowns at the third flat on the floor. He wonders if Seohee is back. She’s almost never here as she prefers spending time with her boyfriend. 

Maybe it’s date night, he thinks. But that doesn’t tell him why the smell is so strong…almost as if he is in the kitchen and—

He whips around, startled by an odd flicker in the corner of his eye. He jumps when a door clicks shut. 

There’s nothing. 

He squints at the stairway and wets his lips. The sound of a door closing is heavy in his ears except there’s no door behind him. Of course , there’s no door behind him. 

But  why had he felt it then? A door right behind him and—

He shakes his head hard enough to make his temples ache. What are you doing? 

Maybe Seohee left the door open for a bit before he got here and the smell of food spilled out. And every sound echoes in his building which is why he never brings anyone back home. Plus there are rats and—

He focuses on his monologue as he fumbles for his keys and opens the door. It’s nothing. There’s nothing.

Just eat your garlic bread and chill, he tells himself as he closes the door behind him. His house smells like dust and the lemon scented air freshener he uses to cover it up. It was probably just air currents or something anyway. 

Still, he is only able to drive away the shakiness when he puts on his noise canceling headphones and drowns himself in a nonsensical video.

*

He’s halfway through pulverizing his cheesy garlic bread when his phone tinkles again. Jisung, who has since journeyed from videos on poisonous frogs to a tear-jerking drama on his laptop, huffs and reaches out his non-greasy hand to check his message. It’s the council of fools with the following wisdom: seen-zones from Seungmin and Hyunjin, and Felix encouraging him with a simple, ‘why not?’

Jisung: thanks lix, i already did 😘

Jisung: not that seungmin or hyunjin care about my social well-being

Hyunjin: it would’ve devolved into you asking us for flirting tips and i don’t want to do that after a long day

Seungmin: and it’s not as if we haven’t told you what to do already

Jisung: you don’t understand! before i could confess the last time he dropped the bomb that he’s going to a foreign university for 10 days 

Jisung: luck is not on my side

Seungmin: here he goes again, guys. let’s leave the chat

Jisung: hey!

Hyunjin: cools

Felix: 😂😂

Jisung: when im old and lonely, i’ll just gate crash into your lives

Hyunjin: should we un-invite him for dinner this friday?

Jisung: yah! you’re so ruthless

Hyunjin: then stop talking about your hot neighbor

Jisung stares down at his phone in thought, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he turns over the idea of telling them about the…weirdness he’d experienced. But what can he tell them? He doesn’t even know why he was so spooked—

His phone chimes and he finds the others are continuing to talk about their plan on Friday. So he has no choice but to push it away for now.

Not that it matters anyway.

*

The next morning, Jisung wakes up to a message from Minho which is simple but makes him smile like a fool because he remembered Jisung's off-hand comment. 

Minho: thanks Jisung-ah!

Minho: i think two more should be delivered today

Minho: btw, americanos do taste different here~

Minho: i was right!

Jisung: how??

Jisung: like unless the coffee bean or something they use is totally different, but why would starbucks do that?

Jisung: or do they?

Jisung: you should send me an americano from there so i can decide hehe

Yes, it isn’t smooth. In fact, it is maybe a bit nonsensical. But it’s early in the morning and he has nothing better to do than bore a cute boy. 

He’s living the life, really. 

Jisung adds a reminder on his phone to check Minho’s mail box in the evening as he exits his flat. He’s just about to shut the door behind him when he hears the sound of a door creaking shut.

Jisung freezes, his head whipping up from his phone. He stares at the silent corridor, confused and his hand clamped on the knob of his open door.  His heart trips to overdrive.

Unlike yesterday, it sounds like Minho’s front door, a peculiarity he has memorized since they both leave at the same time, and Jisung is obsessed with him. It has a Pavlovian effect on sending his heart rate rocketing without fail.

But there’s no Minho today.

He frowns. Maybe it is another door , he thinks, maybe a door downstairs . It makes sense, it’s 8:30 A.M. on a Tuesday. People would be leaving for work. And this is a shit-hole of a building, so creaking doors would be a dime a dozen.

He shuts his door behind him. It closes with a soft whine and Jisung makes a mental note to oil the hinges. He darts a glance at Minho’s flat as he passes it but it just stares back at him, silent and obviously empty.

*

Jisung lives in a short and worryingly thin building. Four floors up and three flats per level across. Walls and doors thinner than old, crumbling paper. It is old, decaying, half a breath away from condemnation.

But it is dirt cheap.

Their landlady, Mrs. Lim, runs the place with an iron fist. Her rules involve things like: collect your mail in two days! Don’t keep your delivery guys waiting for more than 10 minutes or I’m shooing them off! This is a 25-year old building, so don’t complain every time the lift is out of service! No, you didn’t see a rat. If you think you did, there’s something wrong with your eyes!

Jisung keeps out of Mrs. Lim’s way and pays his rent online. He is happy enough to take the stairs, and ignore rats because it means he can save up a lot of money and also have the most gorgeous man on earth as his neighbor.

"I don't know why you're giving me a background. I already know," Hyunjin says as he follows Jisung into the building. "I'm telling you it would be a better idea to move because you spend a lot of time at home and this place is a health hazard!"

"Do you know how much I save? Anyway, shut up. Don't let Mrs. Lim hear you."

Mrs. Lim looks at him when he enters the mail room. "You're here for Lee Minho's mail?"

"Ah— yes, Mrs. Lim," he mumbles, shrinking a little as her sharp gaze bores into him. I heard you , it seems to say. "He said he has a couple of packages."

"Three," she announces, poking the register in front of her with her index finger. "And nothing for you. Sign here and you can take them."

Jisung clears his throat as picks up the fountain pen and scrawls his sign on the register. The room is quiet and oppressive, with only the lazy clicks of the ceiling fan echoing in the room. 

He hurriedly collects the packages, Mrs. Lim's gaze pinned to his back like shrapnel. He legs it out of the room with a soft, "thanks," not waiting for her response.

"I think she heard you!" he hisses once they're on the second floor landing. "If she boots me out, I'll kill you!"

"It'll be good!" Hyunjin retorts. "Hannie, the school year will end soon. You can look for a new flat. I think I saw black mold in that room!" He lowers his voice to a whisper, "this place is like a gremlin's asshole!"

Jisung huffs. "It's just some brackish…seepage."

"That's better?" Hyunjin asks, incredulous. 

"'s localized," Jisung replies. He whacks Hyunjin with the package. "Stop pushing it so much. Just one more year and I'm out of here."

"God, it's pointless arguing with you," Hyunjin complains. "I still don't understand what made you move here of all places."

Jisung rolls his eyes. "You and Felix were making out on the couch all the time." He pushes the package into Hyunjin's hands and fishes his keys out of his pocket. "Like, I'm happy for you all, but I was obviously the third wheel."

"You weren't!" Hyunjin protests immediately, guilt seeping into his voice. "We were just caught up in the honeymoon phase and…"

"It's okay, dude," Jisung says over the soft whine of his door. "Anyway, I'll see, okay? Let's get a pizza or something."

He tosses the packages on top of his study table. It lands soft and Jisung thinks they’re clothes, just like the rest of the packages. Seems like Minho is an impulsive, unrestricted shopper like him too. The thought of it makes Jisung smile.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of laughter, competitive hissing (the walls don’t allow for any shouting), and Hyunjin repeatedly trouncing Jisung in all the games they play. Seems like having a gamer boyfriend has definitely improved Hyunjin’s skills.

He has a three game losing streak which means he has to go downstairs to collect the pizza even though he paid for it. Jisung flips Hyunjin off as he zips up his hoodie and exits the flat. He leaves the door open a crack, just so that Hyunjin wouldn’t have to get up to open the door for him.

Jisung climbs the stairs, huffing the scent of half-bulgogi and half-shrimp pizza with each step when a sharp, “hey!” shatters his grease fuelled high. He startles, nearly losing his footing and plummeting down the stairs.

“What the fuck!” he snaps, clutching the pizza box to his chest and no doubt smearing his hoodie with grease. Hyunjin glowers down at him with equal force.

“Did you sneak upstairs and mess around with the door?”

“No! Why are you going all Jack Torrance on me, bro?” Jisung climbs a couple of steps and frowns at Hyunjin. “Did you watch it yet because—”

“I don’t care about your weird foreign films— just. Did you mess with the door?”

Hyunjin looks confused and worse, genuinely worried. “No, I’m just coming up,” Jisung says, picking his words with care. “Also, I do not have the cardio-vascular ability to sneak up and down four flights of stairs in five minutes without my lungs collapsing.”

It doesn’t have the intended effect. Hyunjin’s scowl turns to a deep grimace. “Come on,” he says, turning and mounting the steps. “Is there any kid in this building?”

“Yeah a couple of ‘em,” Jisung replies. His heartbeat has kicked up a notch and discomfort curls freezing fingers around his gut. “One’s a toddler though, and the other one is a teenager. He’s swotting at his hagwon till god knows when.”

His apartment door is closed. Hyunjin takes the keys out before Jisung can ask if he remembered to get the keys along with him. He watches Hyunjin, tapping his foot on the floor as he waits for him to open the door. Jisung’s skin is drawn tight and tingles as he tries not to give into the cresting fear.

“What about your other neighbor?” Hyunjin points at the door at the end of the corridor. 

Jisung rolls his eyes and shifts the pizza boxes to his left hand before snatching the keys from Hyunjin. He just wants to go into his apartment and hunker down in peace. He needs to not be here in the open with Hyunjin behaving like the world is ending. There are eyes on him—  

“You're being weird as hell!" he snaps. 

"This place is weird as fuck," Hyunjin growls back but there’s a sliver of a crack in his voice which cuts through Jisung’s facade of anger. Someone’s watching.  

Jisung darts his eyes to the side but there’s nothing. What can be there anyway? 

Hyunjin is still speaking. "...and someone was messing with the fucking door when I was in the kitchen, getting beers. I think they came inside your flat—"

"What?" Jisung gapes at him, keys dangling from his slack fingers.

"I heard the door open! I heard it! And I thought it was you but there was no one there…and the door was actually open," Hyunjin says, grabbing the keys back and unlocking the door. It whines when he pushes it and crosses the threshold. 

"The wind—" Jisung begins, following him inside. He peeks at the hallway again. It’s empty. There's a tick in his jaw and even as his eyes keep darting to all the nooks, he is not able to find anything. 

He slams the door closed.

"...which is what I thought too." Hyunjin’s voice is high and thin now. "So I just pushed it back till there was only a crack of space so that you could come in. And I turned to go back to the kitchen..."

There's a beat of silence. The clamminess in Jisung's stomach intensifies its grip till it cramps with fear.

"The door closed. There was no wind, Hannie."

So, how is he supposed to respond to this? How can he respond to this?

"Maybe you didn't feel the breeze but these doors are flimsy, you know," Jisung says. A door closed behind you the other day too , his mind insists. That’s weird. He shoves past Hyunjin and drops the boxes on the table. "Or it could be that kid. You know how teens are!"

"You said the kid is at hagwon all evening."

"Maybe he had a break today!" Jisung unzips his hoodie roughly. Any noise is better than the clamor in his mind. "What are you suggesting? A ghost is playing peek-a-boo?" 

Oh god.

"What? No!" Hyunjin shakes his head and crosses his arm. He falls silent for a moment, his wary eyes fixed on Jisung.

Jisung looks at him and arches a brow, trying not to show how affected he is, how his blood is quivering beneath his skin, ice cold. "I guess you got spooked and I know you hate this building…"

"If it's not a delinquent teen or your mysterious third neighbor then it's obviously a rat!"

Jisung goggles at him, dumbstruck. "It's a…rat?"

"Look, I know that you are like…rat blind or whatever but I have seen them scurrying about here and they're huge as fuck. Humongous. Totally capable of pushing doors open with their mass and knocking things over."

Hyunjin is hiding something, Jisung realizes, when he averts his eyes after his spiel. But so is he. He bites his lip, wondering for a moment if he's making up this whole thing about the door. He watches Hyunjin play with the ring on his finger and the stiffness of his frame, so unlike his usual languid bearing.

Hyunjin is really freaked out but he’s trying to change the topic.

This is a chance for him to mention his own experiences – to say, “hey, this strange thing happened to me.” But his tongue is an empty husk and the words have melted to an incomprehensible sludge. What can he say?  And even if he does, then what? 

Questions, and more questions.

Then, a fear stoked with words and discussions until it flames bright enough to dispel the weak light of logic. 

His mouth twitches in a grimace. "Cool, I'll set out rat traps then," he says, deciding to think over it by himself and then decide on… something. He holds up the food container. "Can you open these up? I'll get the cutlery and the beers."

Hyunjin opens his mouth as if to say something, but he doesn't. 

So Jisung shrugs and drags himself to the kitchen.

*

Hyunjin leaves just after eleven and Jisung sends him off with a Tupperware of pizza slices to share with Felix. He flops down on the sofa after he locks the door behind him and decides to text Minho an update.

His last message stares at him mockingly and he types his message hunched over his phone, feeling foolish. 

Jisung’s mind is somehow a black hole the moment he tells Minho about his packages and flounders for anything that can keep the conversation going. He knows he is forcing it but there’s an itch in the back of his mind to keep talking, to keep doing something other than being alone with his thoughts. 

Why?

Because I’m all alone on this floor and I have to be alone— 

Jisung jumps when his screen goes blank. His reflection looks back at him, forehead pinched with worry. He swallows hard and stands up. This won’t do. He has to stay alone for more than a week, and he can’t spend all his time cowering like a child just because he lives in a dilapidated building. 

So, he goes to his bedroom to while away time on his laptop until he falls asleep on it, cooking his innards in computer radiation as is his habit.

*

Minho: three packages?

Minho: i guess they would have split up the items into three packages

Minho: there’s no more deliveries for the next couple of days though. So you’re free

Minho: i can get you you some of the bottled coffees they have here 👀

Jisung: yeah i think so? but the packages look like they’re not from the same company

Jisung: [attached photo]

Jisung: look at this one

Minho: huh? I didn’t order from here…i don’t even know this company

Jisung: it’s addressed to you. maybe it’s a subsidiary?

Minho: yeah maybe. Okay, just let it be. i’ll check after coming back

Jisung: okay!

Jisung: btw, i don’t mind the coffees especially if you’re paying 👀

Jisung: maybe we can do a taste test like fancy connoisseurs 

*

“So, he’s just going to make you dinner and get you bottled coffees? Even though he’s also making you give him updates like you’re his secretary or something?” Hyunjin asks.

“It’s just so I don’t miss anything or I’ll have to go and beg Mrs. Lim to get the package from the backroom,” Jisung says as he walks between Felix and Hyunjin to one of their shared classes.

Felix enters the classroom and holds the door open for them. “But can’t he just collect it from Mrs. Lim when he gets back?”

This…is a good question. Jisung hasn’t been out of town in a long while so he has never had to face this issue. But there are a few families living in the building too and they would be going on holidays and outings for sure. He also knows others aren’t scared of the landlady like he is – he can’t help the way God made him – and Minho doesn’t strike him like the type to get intimidated.

“He didn’t want his packages to rot away,” Jisung replies as he drops his bag on the desk Hyunjin has chosen for them. He waits until Felix takes the middle seat and then sits beside him. “He said there’s some fragile stuff in there too.”

Minho had not, in reality, said any of these things. Jisung doesn’t recall the specifics of their conversation but he knows it roughly involved Minho telling him he was going on a 10-day long research trip abroad. He had drunkenly ordered a lot of stuff online, and Jisung had probably jumped in there with ham-fisted enthusiasm to help him out.

He doesn’t want Hyunjin and Felix to know that though. He still has some grains of dignity left to protect. 

Felix grins affectionately. “I hope your dinner and coffee thing goes the way you want it to.” 

“Yeah,” Jisung hums, absentminded, and then blurts before he can stop himself, “it’s… I haven’t seen Seohee in days so even beyond the date/not-date stuff, I kinda want him to come back so I have company, ya know? I’m alone on my floor, I think.”

“The other flat is empty?” Hyunjin asks, leaning forward to observe Jisung.

Jisung trains his eyes on the desk. The tips of his ears are hot. “Um – Seohee… she's the girl who is renting the flat – doesn’t really stay there often. She’s either at work or I think at her boyfriend’s place and like I said, I haven’t seen her in days.”

Felix and Hyunjin exchange a look and Jisung pretends not to see it. 

“You can stay with us, whenever,” Felix says after the two of them reach a silent decision. His kind smile turns wicked in the next breath, “we won’t drive you out with sex noi—”

“Okay! Thanks!” Jisung claps a hand over his ears and turns to face the front of the classroom. “Class is starting.”

He hears the both of them laugh but he doesn’t mind it. It helps soothe the soft chatter of worry in the back of his mind, knowing he has somewhere to go.

*

Dinner is cold pizza and life seems like it is worth living. He’s popping the mass of congealed cheese into his mouth – no, he doesn’t heat it up like some yuppie – when he hears a series of beeps.

He frowns at his phone, swiping to the home screen. There are no new notifications and nothing seems wrong. He is closing his inactive apps when he hears the drone of a dial tone.

Jisung startles off his seat, the chair screeching behind him. He stares around wildly, spit pooling over half-masticated bread in his mouth as his heart drops to his stomach. He strains his ears, trying to listen… trying to understand, because he is not calling anyone yet the dial tone continues, ringing and ringing.

He doesn’t know what to do. Is someone taking a call right outside his door? But it is so close and—

The number you’re calling is not answering…

“Ah, dammit,” a soft voice says and then there’s a beep.

Jisung’s eyes fly open. Is there someone in my bloody house? He strains his ears, listening, but there is no noise except for the soft drip of water from his faucet. He walks over to his bin and spits before grabbing a knife from his counter.

He’s— he’s sure that there’s no one in his house because he always keeps it locked tight. Plus, there’s no place to hide anyway and brazenly make a call on speaker phone without being caught.

Still he checks, heart lodged firmly and nauseatingly in his throat. Five minutes later, he stands in the middle of his living room, sweating. You’re an idiot , he thinks, wiping a hand across his brow. It was probably someone outside your door.

He goes to the kitchen to put the knife away, and then his pizza. His appetite has curdled now. Jisung feels jittery and strange, like his skin is stretched too tight over his limbs. Even though there is nobody – obviously! – in any of the dusty corners of his flat he has checked, he still feels not alone, not safe.

Which is why he decided to go to Seohee’s flat and ask her. He needs to confirm he is not hallucinating and really, he’s not. How could he? It sounded so real. Or… he needs to confirm that it’s someone from the outside.

Just for some peace of mind.

But Seohee doesn’t answer the door. Jisung stands in the empty corridor, back of his neck prickling with unease as he knocks again, hoping she’ll answer. However, silence is his only response.

He turns around to flee to his flat because the hallway is oppressive in a way he can’t describe. Narrow, close and dingy with only an awful, pale yellow light— wait, what?

Jisung blinks, black ice crystallizing in his lungs as he stares at dirty pools of yellow light on the carpet. He’s sure he hasn’t ever seen this light before because its unfamiliarity is a blast of alarm in the back of his mind. He knows they have LED for lighting the corridors and yet there are shadows snaking around the corners under the dimness.

Once he is back in his flat (and didn’t that leave him sweating for no reason?) he calls Felix and asks if he can stay for the night.

He just needs a change of pace.

*

Jisung: hey hyung, have you heard from seohee?

Jisung: or have you seen her around?

Minho: not since a week before i left. i think she’s with her boyfriend most of the time though. Why?

Jisung: nothing. i haven’t run into her in a while

Jisung: so i guess im all alone on our floor lol

Minho: ah damn. we can video call whenever you want, time zones allowing!

Jisung: haha thanks hyung! i can handle being alone

Minho: you’re much braver than me!

*

Hyunjin and Felix are very welcoming. If they think Jisung’s excuse of a faulty pipe is dumb, they don’t show it.

It is fun being with them and under the sheer force of their teasing and affection, it is easy to put the evening behind him. Too easy, in fact, which is why it is doubly painful to come back to his flat to collect his stuff for college.

The building is silent when he enters and his footsteps echo as he traverses the stairs. At seven in the morning, there’s no one stirring. He pauses at the landing of the second floor and stares at the doors. He can’t hear the baby wailing nor any sounds of people getting ready for a day of work.

He licks his lips, body poised to… either run away or to run towards his flat when a noise trickles to him, jarring in the quietness.

“Bye, darling, see you!”

Jisung stares up the staircase, stomach flipping and breath caught in his throat. Praying, praying— praying for what?

The guy who lives on the third floor comes into view. He raises his brow when he sees Jisung gaping at him.

“Alright?”

“I— yeah, yeah! Sorry,” Jisung mumbles.

What’s the point of standing around like this?

He shakes his head and makes his way to the staircase. The corridor remains silent behind him.

*

He spends another day at Hyunjin’s place and then Seungmin and him decide to come home with him the day after. Jisung suspects it is because they suspect he is scared to be alone, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Company is company and his nerves appreciate it anyway.

“This place looks worse than last time,” Seungmin comments the moment he enters the building. “It looks condemned.” He drags his finger through the wall and studies his fingertip. “I think this is mold.”

“It’s not,” Jisung grumbles, avoiding a look at Seungmin’s finger as he wipes it with a handkerchief. “Come on, we all can’t afford the fancy highrises.”

“I live in an officetel,” Seungmin replies, “and Hyunjin and Lix live in an apartment smaller than yours. But our buildings are not in such a state of disrepair.”

“There are rats here too,” Hyunjin’s voice is way too loud considering the paper thin walls. “They have probably mutated to have the muscle mass of— eep! Fuck!” He slaps a hand over his mouth as Mrs. Lim emerges from her office. Her face is impassive but she studies them with stony eyes. 

“Shit,” Jisung curses and clamps a hand around Hyunjin’s wrist to drag him towards the staircase. He hopes she hasn’t heard Hyunjin’s comment because he doesn’t have the strength to deal with her on top of everything else.

“Why can’t you complain once we’re in my apartment?” Jisung hisses once they’re out of earshot. “I don’t want her on my ass.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “I didn’t even know she was there! The office lights were not switched on?”

“It’s still early even–”

Seungmin clears his throat. “There’s no light here at all though. Everything is so dark.”

Jisung whips his head around and the light from Seungmin’s phone stings his eyes. Beyond him, is a gaping void.

“What?” He shields his eyes and continues climbing, trying to blink away the gray spots from his vision. He pauses when he reaches the second floor landing, Hyunjin and Seungmin crowding behind him in the limited space. 

A dark hallway yawns ahead of them, the doors standing like murky sentinels. Too many doors. Jisung’s stomach twists as he stares at it. “What the fuck?”

“She hasn’t switched on the lights,” Hyunjin says. His voice sounds far away and Jisung has to face him to make sure that he’s really there. “Talk about being a skin-flint.”

“But…” Jisung asks, in spite of himself. “Is it supposed to be so gloomy? It was so bright out when we came in…”

Jisung can still remember the warmth that had seeped through his thin shirt and made sweat pool at his hairline. The air here is dry and musty and sunlight is unknown. Unwelcome. 

Seungmin breaks free of their circle and moves towards the staircase again. “Maybe she only switches them on after six or something.”

Jisung can’t remember the last time he’d seen the building this dark. Even that freaky yellow light is better than whatever this is . He knows there’s a logical explanation but his chest heaves with breaths he barely feels, and his knees wobble as he climbs the stairs. The darkness is just wrong. 

It’s wrong and for a moment Jisung wishes he could leave. 

*

Jisung knows he is terrible company but he is exhausted the moment he enters his apartment. Seungmin and Hyunjin seem normal while Jisung’s fingers are still cold and shaky. He knows he’s being a baby and probably exacerbating this situation by jumping at everything.

But he’s the one who has to stay here all alone. He doesn’t see anyone around frequently except for Mrs. Lim, who is all the way on the ground floor. Maybe he's just not made for this extent of isolated living.

And isn’t it just a shameful thought? He’s twenty-one for god’s sake!

Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible at a better place, either. Like the place where Hyunjin and Felix live which is always rife with sounds of fucking and fighting and laughter. Where they have working lifts and zero rats. 

"Hey, do you even clean your flat?" Seungmin asks as he exits the bathroom. There's a pronounced wrinkle on his forehead. "It's so dusty in there."

"Just spray some air freshener." Jisung waves his hand towards the shelf where he keeps them. 

"You know that you have to dust to get rid of the dust, right?" 

Jisung shrugs, glancing towards the window as his curtains flutter with the wind. He doesn't even know when he last cleaned it. "I'll dust this week." He sighs and closes his eyes. "I hate living alone. It's too much."

For a moment…just a moment, a sudden, heavy silence slams against him like a cannonball. Everything goes quiet and he's choking on dust – he's choking and there's so much dust, his lungs are burning—

"—plus all the bills. It's really tough. Like, I know I wouldn't own a house ever, so I'm gonna have to keep paying rent," Hyunjin sighs.

Jisung's spine cracks with the force with which he straightens up, eyes goggling ahead of him. 

Hyunjin is fiddling with his phone as he speaks, and Seungmin is spraying the air freshener near the windows. 

Jisung can taste the dust in his mouth. 

A sob aches in his throat and he stands up, rushing to the bathroom before the tears in his eyes spill. In the bathroom, he slams the toilet seat closed and sits down, fingers grasping at his hair.

He's terrified. He gags, his stomach roiling as the smell of wet, entrenched dust in the bathroom assaults his nose. He doesn't vomit, but the effort of the heaving leaves him trembling.

What is this? 

"Nothing," he mumbles, sniffling. "Micro-sleep."

But how is it possible? How is it possible to feel… entombed while sitting upright and listening to your friends chatter besides you?

Bile sears the back of his throat as he hunches over with his elbows on his knees, dragging thin, noisy breaths through his nose. His eyes fixate on the sediment lined between the tiles and it begins to waver as he keeps staring. His mind feels mushy—like wet paper squelched between unyielding fingers. 

Snot tickles his nose as it trickles down his philtrum and he wipes it off with the back of his hand. He can hear Hyunjin and Seungmin whispering behind the door. He’ll have to leave. 

I don’t want to.

“Hannie?”

He keeps silent, staring at the door. Unthinking. 

“Are you okay? Are you sick?”

Sick? 

Yes, yes, maybe it's just sickness. 

“Hey, you alright?” Hurried whispers then rapid knocks.

It’s probably just stress. You know, probably psychosomatic.

“I’m okay,” Jisung says. His voice is reedy and teeters on the edge of a wail. He stands up on shaky legs and flushes the toilet. He avoids looking at the mirror as washes his freezing hands. 

He doesn’t realize when he opens the door but he is looking at Hyunjin and Seungmin’s concerned faces a moment later. He tries smiling but his face is dead weight. 

His fingers ache as he clenches his fingers on the doorknob. “I think… I’m sick.” He doesn’t remember what he said in the next breath. “I need to lie down for a bit.” His friends make way for him and Jisung stumbles onward, head pounding with every step he takes. 

*

Jisung’s sheets are cool and he is so drowsy. So very drowsy. 

“—are you listening?” 

He’s curled tight around a pillow and it is soft and solid against his belly. He has one foot out of the cocoon of the blankets and it’s the optimal cooling. Like a dip in a spring lake. Like the first gust of air from the AC on a hot day. 

His mind is also sharp. Crystal clear. So that’s why he says, “I’m fine. Really. You guys should go.” 

Yes, tell them to go.

“Are you sure?” Seungmin asks. He is still holding a cup of…?

Jisung sits up, and draws the sheets closer to him. Hyunjin is chewing his lips with a consternated frown. “It’s just…a virus. You know how much I order takeaway.”

It takes some time to convince the two of them to go home. But, it’s just a virus, and he’ll be better soon. He just needs to sleep.

*

Jisung wakes up with his mouth as dry as sand. There’s a vice-grip on his head, squeezing tighter with every blink. He is sweat soaked and he can smell its rank, damp scent.

His body aches as he unwinds his blanket and straightens his contorted limbs. He had been sleeping on top of his phone and now it is warm and uncomfortably slick in his hand.

The light from his phone stings like spears. He squints as he scrolls through his messages, eyes welling as he strains to read.

Hyunjin, Seungmin and Felix have all sent messages asking him to take care and to call them if he needs them. Jisung’s eyes flicker to the timestamp. Three hours ago.

It’s nearly 10 p.m.

Cramps slice through his stomach and Jisung groans, flailing his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up. There’s a cup of soup on his side-table, now thick and congealed. He makes a face at it and sighs.

The house is silent. There’s just his night lamp burning and the rest of his house is in darkness. He opens a food app and starts scrolling. None of the dishes register in his mind. His thoughts are grainy and slow but he somehow manages to order and pay.

*

It’s only after he takes a painkiller and downs a liter of water that he feels more human. He is still exhausted but everything else… you know – the incidents – have faded to the back of his mind and just niggle like a tiny splinter. 

Oh, he’s definitely going to the doctor tomorrow and he’s thinking of staying with Hyunjin and Felix for the next couple of days. Fuck all his reservations about being considered a baby for not wanting to stay alone. This place probably has all kinds of black, brown and gray mold that turns your lungs to mush.

This decision dislodges a piece of uncertainty from the cluster of anxiety rooted deep under his skin. He just needs to get through tonight. That’s all. 

And it’s already nearing midnight. So in a few hours, he can leave this place and come back after Minho arrives. Easy. 

Except, as his luck would have it, he runs into Mrs. Lim, who is also collecting her takeout. He has no choice but to acknowledge her with an awkward bow, one hand clutching the front of his hoodie because he hasn’t zipped it all the way up and he’s not wearing a shirt underneath.

“There are rats in every building,” is her terse reply. She crosses her arms, her sack of takeout clenched in her fist. “As long as they’re not inside your home, there’s no point complaining.”

She definitely heard Hyunjin’s outburst this afternoon. “It’s not really about the—'' Jisung stammers, neck prickling with heat. It is painful to be caught in such an embarrassing situation, especially when there’s a huge ass bowl of pho in his arms, ready to be devoured. It’s putting him off his food, honestly.

“If you’re so worried about the rats then ask your friend to lend his cat to you whenever you see ‘em,” she continues, bulldozing right over Jisung’s feeble protest. “That’s a little bit of social service he can do for us since he left the lights blazing in his flat for four days! I didn’t even notice until I went out to the market today — and saw the lights just blazing. Just because I don’t charge you an arm and leg for utilities, you take everything for granted!”

“I didn’t know…” Jisung mumbles, helpless against the onslaught. “I’ll tell him.”

Mrs. Lim harrumphs. “Oh, I told him alright. Gave him a warning. Swore up and down that he has switched off all lights. Yeah, right!” She rolls her eyes and starts walking towards the stairs. “As if the wind flicked on those switches.”

He watches her march to her house at the end of the corridor. He feels lightheaded and his stomach flips. Jisung wants to go home. He only wants to go home and shove whatever Mrs. Lim had told him out of his mind.

Jisung moves to the staircase like a terrified animal: shoulders hunched and eyes darting everywhere to identify a threat. A threat which he isn’t even sure exists. But there’s a clarion call in his brain to hide, hide, hide .

*

The climb back to his flat is tense and Jisung can’t shake the dread slithering like ice down his spine. He strains his ears to pick any sounds of life as he passes the landings. He just wants to make sure there’s someone – safety in numbers! – who can help if…if— what?

He doesn’t even know what has his breath stuttering in his chest. Maybe it’s the heavy silence because…

It is the same silence as before.  

His ears ring with a high pitched whine  and even his raspy, labored breath isn’t able to quell it.

There’s someone following me!

Jisung’s heart crashes to the pit of his stomach as his back and neck prickle in alarm. He stands rooted halfway up the stairs leading to the third floor, too scared to look behind him or move ahead.

There’s no one , he tells himself but it is so garbled that even he isn’t able to understand it. There are no footsteps. He can’t hear anything.

The plastic bag rustles as he clenches his fist around it before mounting the next step, legs wooden and clumsy, utterly dissociated from his brain.  There’s a horrible clamoring in his mind, gray and like cottonstatic, so loud and he can’t think but he is taking another step and then the next and then the next and—

He hears it. The soft click of footwear on granite. Short, calculated footsteps and the rustle of clothes.

Jisung’s heart seizes and then drops. 

When he was young, he used to play hide n' seek with his cousins all the time. Being the smallest among them all, he used to squeeze himself into tiny, forgotten corners, sure that no one could find him. But he wasn’t creative and he pretty much chose the same three spots to hide in so his cousins had no trouble finding him.

He remembers what it was like: hearing their footsteps come closer to his hideout, knowing he was caught but not knowing when the curtain would be ripped away, when the door to the closet would be opened—

Jisung swallows, nauseous as he clicks his phone open with trembling fingers. He is staring at his hand but he has no idea what it is doing. It’s just a kid , he tells himself as his hand rises and presses the phone against his ear. Just a prank.

“Hello, Mrs. Lim?” he says to absolutely no-one on the line. “There’s some issue with the sink in my flat.” He continues climbing the steps on watery legs. “Can you please come up?”

Almost there , he thinks as he starts on the staircase leading to his floor. “There’s a leak in the drain,” he adds after a pause. His tongue stumbles over his words as he blindly puts one foot in front of the other. His mind is submerged underwater, numb and free-falling into blank static.

“There’s water all over my floor.” His voice is a thick, garbled whine. “It needs to be fixed today.” Mechanically, he transfers his phone to his other hand and digs out his keys. “It’s a mess.” The door unlocks with a click.

He doesn’t know what happens after that but he is behind his door and the sound of him slamming it shut is still reverberating in his ears.

Which is why, he tells himself, the click of another door closing is just a figment of his imagination.

*

Minho’s video call interrupts Jisung’s enraged pacing an hour later.

It had to be a prank. It had to be. 

He doesn’t think  – he hadn’t  imagined it. He’s sure of it. It had to be that teenager from the first floor, who had known that Jisung was weak with whatever it is that was making him sick, and had decided to…to—

Mess with him. 

There’s a stinging blush high on his cheeks at the way he’d behaved like a fool. He needs to get away from his place. It’s fucking with his head. There’s no point in—

Jisung tries to re-arrange his disgusted snarl into something pleasant as he swipes to accept the call.

“What the fuck is Mrs. Lim on about?” Minho says the moment the call connects. He’s wearing a tank top and his eyes are puffy with sleep. There’s a crease on the side of his face and Jisung’s rage disappears in a flood of butterflies.

“I— uh,” Jisung replies, as he stares at the pixelated curve of Minho’s collarbones.

“I woke up to take a piss and I saw all these threatening messages from her.” Minho frowns and swipes his messy hair off his face. “What is she on about?”

“I— uh,” Jisung says with some difficulty. All his sensible thoughts are scattered between awe and abject fury. And the soft simmer of anxiety in his stomach, which he refuses to acknowledge.

It’s better that way.

Minho’s frown deepens and his lips are pressed in a tight line. “I switched off all my lights,” he says when Jisung continues floundering. “That’s the last thing I did before leaving— just took a moment to make sure everything’s off.”

“I guess she was mistaken,” Jisung says. “I mean— maybe she saw someone else’s flat, but—”

“Did you see it?” interjects Minho, his video blurring as he moves his phone. “Look, I’m turning my mind over it again and again but it’s the last thing I did before locking my flat, so I’m sure I switched off the lights, the gas, etc.”

Jisung sits down on his sofa and angles the phone so it catches a more flattering view of his face. His forehead is speckled with sweat and his face looks drawn. Get a grip. “I didn’t look,” Jisung admits. Minho’s face freezes and then goes blank. “I was just…” trying to get away from her because I hate confrontations and I’m so scared. A hot bubble of shame erupts in his stomach.

“Oh.” Minho’s face is still blank but his brows are twitching with whatever emotion he’s trying to suppress. “Then can you please follow her when she goes to my flat? I’m not fucking paying a fine for her dumb mistake.”

“Yes, yes!” Jisung knows he is overcompensating but he’s so frazzled that the thought of losing face in front of Minho is unacceptable. “I’ll even take pictures when she opens the door… you know, for proof.”

Minho nods. “That’ll be helpful, Hannie.”

Jisung nods too, chewing his lips. The moment of silence stretches until brittle with Jisung unable to bring himself to say anything. But Minho speaks instead, saving him the trouble. But the question he asks is something Jisung doesn’t want to answer. 

“Are you… okay?” 

What is he supposed to say? He has no clue if he is alright or not. So he just smiles, tight-lipped and nods. “Yeah… just have a couple of deadlines. Stress, you know?”

“Yeah, it's tough when there are multiple deadlines,” Minho agrees. “I always—”

“Hyung, I have to go,” Jisung says, interrupting him before he can process what he is doing. “My food…”

“Oh— oh yes, I’ll just go back to sleep then,” Minho averts his eyes. “Just message me once you’re done at my flat.”

“Yeah sure,” Jisung mumbles and the call cuts off.

*

“Well,” Mr. Lim says as the door groans open and Jisung's camera records the pitch black exteriors of Minho’s home. “Well.”

Jisung’s heart shudders in relief. He’ll only have to relay good news to Minho. Thank god.

“Let’s go inside and see if Hyerim saw a bathroom light or something,” Mr. Lim says as he steps inside the house and flicks on the lights. “She never— she’s very particular.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything, focusing instead on zooming in the video’s focus to get the whole room. 

“Let’s go inside and see if Hyerim saw a bathroom light or something,” Mr. Lim continues as he flips on the switches. Jisung blinks against the sudden onslaught of light. “She never…”

The rest of Mr. Lim’s words are softly mumbled and Jisung can’t hear it. The front room smells of lavender and Jisung’s sandals slap the wood when he flips them off his feet. The kitchenette and the bedroom are entombed in darkness. Jisung takes a slow, sweeping circle, trying to capture everything in his video. Photos of Minho’s family and his cat stare back at, nonplussed. 

“You check the bedroom and I’ll see the kitchen, I guess,” says Mr. Lim. “I don’t know… maybe Hyreim saw a lamp or something.”

“Mrs. Lim said she saw all the lights blazing,” Jisung replies, trying to make his tone assertive. He’s going to send an uncut version of the video after all.

Shaking his head, the landlord moves to the kitchen without a reply. Jisung rolls his eyes and keeps his camera trained on him to make sure Mr. Lim doesn’t try anything nefarious. He doesn’t, so Jisung decides to pop into the bedroom for a quick sweep.

The bedroom is silent. Soft, ambient sound of traffic filters through the window and moonlight melts onto the floor. When switched on, the tube light floods the room with incandescent white. “Nothing here, too,” Jisung says softly, stepping farther inside.

Which is when of course, his attention falls to the bathroom. It is closed and Jisung can’t see any light in the sliver of space between the door and the floor. 

He snorts. “She needs to get her eyes checked,” he whispers. “Blazing lights, my ass.” He’s about to leave when he hears a soft clink. He frowns, wondering if Mr. Lim is messing with Minho’s—

Something shuffles in the bathroom. 

Bare feet on tiles.

Another clink.

Gurgle of water.

The skin on Jisung’s arms goes abruptly taut, and aches as the fine hairs stand upright. In the abject stillness of this room, the sound is louder than the kick of his heartbeat against his eardrums.

You’re crazy.

No. He is not crazy. The water— he can still hear it. He knows it is water. But how? His hands are leaden weights as he studies the door, fish mouthed.

Not that the staring helps. The sound of falling water is a steady drone. Like someone has left a tap on. 

Jisung continues staring, unthinking. Check it, a voice in his mind says. Or get the hell out.  

He swallows and lowers his phone. 

“Alright, son?” Mr. Lim asks, entering the room.

Jisung flinches and swivels around fast enough that his vision blurs. “I – yeah!” he yelps and winces when the landlord’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “I haven’t checked the bathroom yet.”

Mr. Lim cocks a brow but says nothing as he strides inside and pulls open the bathroom door. Jisung thinks he'll faint as blood roars in his ears. 

“Nothing,” Mr. Lim says, after a quick on-off flip of the switches. It's enough to showcase the glaring emptiness of it and for the acrid scent of fake orchids to drift towards them. “Well, Hyerim was mistaken,” he sighs. “Tell your friend we’re sorry,” he adds, as an after-thought.

Jisung stares at the narrowing darkness of the bathroom as Mr. Lim closes the door. He can still hear the sound of water. And that scent… 

Why can he smell Minho's body wash? 

He knows it's the same one because he has been in this room, waiting for Minho to finish showering before the start of their movie night. 

Minho is not here.

"Hey, are you alright?" 

Jisung's attention is jarred away from the bathroom door. He blinks at Mr. Lim, who looks slightly worried.

"I— uh, yeah!" He tries smiling but the cracked skin of his lips stings with the effort. "I just— I'm not feeling too well. I had a fever." 

Mr. Lim's frown clears. He nods. "There is a cold going around these parts. Take care."

Jisung closes the bedroom door behind him and follows Mr. Lim across the silent expanse of Minho's living area. It's foreign in the absence of Minho and Dori. 

Only the photos placed on various surfaces follow his sojourn, vacant eyes boring into him like a gimlet. 

He can't shake the feeling that they're overcrowded, like a window above a commotion. He refuses to look at them and instead focuses on the soles of Mr. Lim's socked feet.

They lock Minho’s flat and Mr. Lim leaves without a backward glance. Jisung scrambles to get inside his flat before…

Before what?

Jisung has no idea.

But he knows this: it is only when he slips inside his house and slams the door shut does the back of his neck stop prickling.

It’s only then that he stops feeling watched.

*

It’s 2 A.M. and Jisung’s eyes are sandpaper.

He has an old sitcom playing on his laptop – the kind he has watched so many times that the actors’ voices and cadences are as familiar to him as his loved ones’. 

But at this hour it is tinny and disjointed, and hunger claws at the gnawing pit in his belly.

The thought of switching off his laptop and getting food is, however, painful, so he listens to the laugh track as he stares at his ceiling fan. Blankets tucked tight around him and his phone clutched in his right hand.

It’s just… he’s all alone. There’s some weird fuckery going on with Minho’s flat and then his other neighbor is an enigma whom he hasn’t seen in ages. So it’s just Jisung in his little cocoon of blankets on the fourth floor and the thought of it makes his stomach fall below his knees.

Get some food and try to sleep, he tells himself. But the thought of not being stuffed under two layers of blankets like a really large pea is terrifying.

The episode chugs on, joke after joke joining the disjointed whir in Jisung's mind. He stares at the screen, eyes glazed, as his thoughts drift past in lazy puffs, not leaving any impression. It is easier this way. Just existing until he can leave this place and not come back until Minho is back. 

Maybe not even then.

He has resigned himself to this fuzzy dreamlike state when his phone chirps. Jisung jolts and blood evaporates with the force of fear rushing through his veins. 

His hands are numb as he fumbles with his phone. It's a video call from Minho. He swipes to accept the call eagerly and tears sting his eyes when Minho's face fills his screen. 

"Hey— oh! Oh fuck, it's late there, right? Sorry, Hannie—"

"No! It's okay! I wasn't sleeping," Jisung rushes to say. He needs Minho to stay on call. He needs an anchor before he peels away the cocoon of his blankets. "Just— Just give me one second." He sits up, his blankets pooling to his waist and reaches out to jab the spacebar on his laptop.

There's a moment of silence – in the space between one blink and the next – and it twines around Jisung's lungs and pulls so hard that he can't breathe—

"Why are you up so late?" 

Jisung exhales a shuddery breath. Half of it sticks to his throat and his stomach turns. He swallows, trying to push back his nausea. "I couldn't sleep," he says, wincing at the tell-tale wobble in his voice.

Minho's brows pinch in concern. "Oh… is something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing. Just a sleepless night," Jisung lies because he doesn't know what he can say. "Did you— uh see the video I sent you?"

Snorting a laugh, Minho shakes his head. "She was talking out of her ass. Everyone tries to drain us of our money."

Jisung nods, distracted. He wants to ask if Minho had heard the sound – it doesn't matter. Mr. Lim hadn't mentioned it either. There's no chance Minho would've heard it in the grainy footage. 

"- and I'm sorry if I was rude or… you know, an asshole," Minho hesitates. "I was just worried because…" he sighs. "This thing is shit heavy on my wallet, haha. There are so many out of pocket expenses that I can't pay a fine. I wouldn't even be able to afford that shit-hole." He laughs again but it is a hollow, brittle sound.

"No, I understand, hyung. I would cry if I had to pay a ridiculous fine."

"I don't even know – at first I thought she herself had switched on the lights or something, but… I really don't understand why she did this? She could've snuck in and actually…" Minho bites his lower lip, gaze growing intent. "It's so weird, right?"

Ice-cold filaments curl around Jisung's limbs, and sting as they slither down his spine. A thought comes unbidden, something he had not realized before: it's not weird if someone was actually there in your flat, using the lights.

"Hannie? Hey, are you okay? You look –"

"We need to –we need to leave this place," Jisung whispers urgently. But why is he whispering? "I think –" It's unsafe, there's something very wrong, I need to leave, I need to leave, I need to –

"Oh for sure," Minho replies. His face is tight with worry but his voice is light, joking. Jisung doesn't have the energy to decipher it.

You need to leave. 

"I was going to leave but then you stayed back here, and I thought it couldn't be so bad, right? I think I would've left already if you had— Jisung? Wait, is everything okay?"

"I need to leave, hyung," Jisung says, swinging his legs off the bed. "I – I –I need to go. It's um… urgent. Yeah, I'll call you back."

"What's wrong? You look ver –"

Jisung hangs up. He can apologize later but for now he needs to leave. There's someone in Minho's flat and hadn't he read about a random person living in a Japanese woman's flat for months without her being aware? Who knew how this person got into Minho's flat but –

He picks up his charger and his power bank, which is hefty enough to be used as a weapon in a pinch. Jisung doesn't bother with the lights, he rushes outside the bedroom and towards the front door. Wariness prickles down his back as he unlocks the door, half afraid that someone will leap out of the bathroom and—

The door opens. Jisung steps out.

He looks at the corridor.

His knees buckle as a high pitched ringing pierces his ears.

You need to understand – you need to understand that all of his billion neurons with their working synapses, twenty one years of existence and the language embedded in his brain, his experiences, disappointments, joys and fears, his nearly completed degree, and the primal and primeval black box in his amygdala... 

All fall short. 

All fall short in helping him understand how he stepped out of his front door into a long corridor with doors stretching well into a void. 

More doors than the corridor ever had. More doors than a corridor should have. 

Jisung turns on wooden legs to go back to his home. I'll deal with this tomorrow , he thinks in a dreamy haze. I'll go to sleep . Everything will be okay, Jisung.

He hasn't closed the door yet. So he pulls it back, foot poised to enter his sanctuary. 

But instead of his worn furniture, he sees a long corridor with doors stretching well into a void. 

He vomits before he can stop himself. He vomits all over himself and it soaks hot through his thin t-shirt. The fabric sticks to his chest, moist and reeking as he vomits again, and again – his stomach turning itself inside out, his ears ringing, his sight graying, his knees aching as he drops to the ground, his nose burning—

*

He sits next to the puddle of vomit on the carpet, back huddled against the wall. Somewhere between him puking his guts out and the subsequent black-out, his flat door had closed.

Jisung doesn't have the strength to open it again. 

So he sits, arms wrapped around his knee, and stinking to high heavens. He is just going to wait for this… break with reality to end or for someone to find him and cart him to a hospital. 

Jisung stares at the dusty carpet in front of him. The dust is thick enough that he can make a small pile of them by dragging the toes of his sandals against the carpet. 

His mind is empty. There's simply nothing there that can comprehend this situation. 

Time drips around him. He doesn't know what time it is because his phone doesn't work. It doesn't even switch on, no matter how he presses on the power button. His power bank starts smoking the moment he plugs his phone to it. 

So his mind remains silent. There's nothing it can do when nothing makes sense. 

Jisung doesn’t know how long he has been sitting here. His leg is numb and no matter how much he constricts his arms around his torso, he can’t stop shivering, flinching only when he hears sound in the distance. He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t want to know what it is. 

Some far-off, untouched part of his brain tells him that this is the best thing to do – to remain huddled next to his (?) door. It’s safer , it insists. Be right next to your door . Don’t wander away from a plane crash so you can be found easier. It also seems to think him braver than he is. He doesn’t have the capacity to move a finger. 

But maybe he should check? 

A door swings open then, bathing him in shocking light. Jisung flinches and his breath rasps against his throat in an aborted scream as a shadowed figure comes into view. He pushes himself further against the wall to find the leverage to stand. He’s too slow though because the man manages to reach him in seconds and peers down at him.

The ground spins under his feet as Jisung stands up, knees cracking. Jisung’s vision is blurry with sudden tears. “Minho hyung?” he gasps, relief flooding his chest before vanishing like it was never there.

Minho is in America.

Minho doesn’t have blonde hair now. 

Minho is smiling but that’s not his smile. 

“Minho hyung?” he says again. This time his voice is soft, confused. His brain ticks, confused and trying to unscramble the information as Jisung stares at him with wide eyes. Because. Because. He’s not right.

He remembers seeing something called Capgras Syndrome in his psych textbook once, where people—

“Yup, Minho hyung. But not yours, I think,” the stranger says, smiling again. 

The smile is alien. The wrong muscles move with the smile. Jisung’s mind clouds with fear again and his hands are trembling so much, he has to curl them into fists. “W-what?”

“You’re not in your world now, Jisungie,” the man replies as if it's obvious. The accent is wrong, nothing like he Jisung has ever heard from Minho. “Welcome!”

Jisung remains silent, tears escaping his eyes, rolling down his cheeks in warm rivulets. He’s too tired to sob. 

“Oh no, don’t cry,” Minho,  the man says, hurriedly. “You’re just— you just slipped into a different space.” He raises his hands but drops them. They fall with a limpness which is unnerving. “You know what, come with me,” he nods at the open door right behind him. “I’ll explain everything.”

“N–no, I can’t,” Jisung stammers, ignoring the way his breath hitches with his tears. His door. He can’t leave his door. 

The man frowns and Jisung tenses. But the man forces that awful smile again and for a moment Jisung doesn’t know how he ever found Minho attractive. This is not Minho! he reminds himself. Then his mind blanks as it seems to realize two Minhos exist somehow.

“You’re afraid, but there is nothing of which you need to be afraid,” the man says. His gaze is unblinking. Solid. “It happens to some people in this building. They fall through the cracks. You just need to wait till the building re-sets.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“The building hosts another side to it,” comes the wooden explanation. “A different world. You just need to wait till it configures itself again.”

The words all roll over Jisung like a wave, not making a singular dent. He wants to go home. He wants to stay on the ground, away from this strange apparition. Fall asleep and wake up to a brain fever wreaking havoc on his mind, but controlled under the administrations of doctors. 

“Come over to my place for a bit. Till you can return to your own world.” 

“I don’t… don’t know,” Jisung mumbles, dazed. The ground has still not stopped spinning. “How do you know? Why are you here?”

Minho is silent for a minute. He steps back and turns towards the door. “Won’t you come in for a glass of water, at least?” 

Jisung stares at him, thoughts swirling and wisping into nothingness under the pallid light of the corridor. His head feels heavy and his mouth is rancid. It would be good to have some water. 

“You didn’t say why you’re here?”

“I can handle being in-between worlds,” Minho says, entering his flat. "My counterpart? Not so much."

Jisung watches Minho cross the threshold of his house. He licks at his cracked lip and swallows, wincing at the stale taste in his mouth. Even if it's not Minho – and it can’t be – Jisung needs to drink something. Keep his wits about himself, right?

He moves, hesitant. There’s no sound of his footsteps on the carpet even when he takes another, bolder step. The light inside the house is warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the sickly light outside. 

Minho  the man stands next to the door, absently sorting through some papers stacked on the side-table. Jisung enters the house, the skin on his back and neck tingling as if he were facing away from a cliff, heels right at the edge of its lip.

“Um,” he whispers, staring at the man’s back. Unsure, if he should dare voice his needs. 

The man turns, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Wait here, I'll get you water."

Jisung stands at the entrance to the living room. Fists clenched against the side of his thighs. The room looks pretty similar to Minho's – his Minho's – living room. Except it's different in so many little ways. The cats (two of them!) in the photo frames are ginger. 

The orientation of the furniture is different too. Jisung stares, unthinking. He walks farther into the room, eyes caught by the pile of packages that sit on the coffee table. Most of them bear the same bold, red logo on the front. The one he saw all those days ago. 

It’s strange, he thinks, how easy it is to exist in absolute fear. It’s easy because he doesn’t feel like himself, but rather like a ghost hovering over his body, watching sandal shod feet make indents on the dusty carpet. 

Minho returns with a bottle of water. It is the same brand as the one that Jisung gets from his local convenience store. Good to know that FMCG companies remain the same across worlds. 

He drinks greedily, water sloshing over the seam of his mouth. Minho watches him drink and grins when Jisung surfaces for air, the bottle empty in his hand. 

“Thank you,” Jisung mumbles, capping the water bottle. 

“You can wash up too, if you want,” Mi- the man! says, accepting the bottle. “There’s still time for the reset.”

“I— don’t…”

“Trust me.” The man straightens himself from his casual slouch. He looks taller. Much taller. “The girl on your floor and I spent quite some time together. She was… better off when she left because she rested.”

“Wait? What?” Jisung’s mouth drops open. “I… what? She wasn’t— but that can’t be… I haven’t seen—”

“She told me she was leaving,” the man interrupts, “the moment she got back. I’m assuming she did.”

But how could she have left? Jisung hadn’t seen her moving out even though he spent most of his time in his flat. 

But then again, he had left in the middle of the night too. And if his home was liable to turn into a… a freaky doorway to another world then he would leave everything behind too. 

“—like I said, clean up, that can’t be too comfortable,” Minho gestures at Jisung’s damp t-shirt. 

“I want to check my door,” Jisung says.

There’s nothing behind ‘his’ door. The same corridor stretches out in front of it, lit with the same, waxy, yellow light and rife with the stench of dust and mold. Rows and rows of doors peer back at him. He can hear the absolute, ringing silence.

Jisung’s stomach rolls again. He turns away and nearly runs back to Minho’s flat, seeking the warmth and— and the normalcy of a flat with furniture and a person, no matter how wrong they seem.

  *

Jisung declines the offer to shower. He borrows some mouthwash (different brand) and rinses his mouth until it stings. 

He avoids looking at the mirror. 

He uses the toilet. Dusts his pants and then scrubs his hand when it becomes grimy. He shouldn’t bother with his clothes. Minho has promised him a new set anyway.

“Maybe it’ll even come back to me one of these days,” he’d said, just as Jisung had stepped inside the bathroom, his eyes glittering with amusement. 

It’s when Jisung is wiping his face with a towel (same brand) that he hears it. The all-encompassing deadness of this place. It’s utter wrongness, it’s complete emptiness. He drops the towel and rushes towards the door, heart thundering and breath whistling out of his mouth in high pitched little whines. The hazy fear is washed away as he is drenched with indescribable horror.

Dust ridden carpet looms in front of him. Jisung cries out, the sound echoing back and piercing him with hot terror. He turns, nearly wrenching his shoulder out of its socket in his haste to get back to the bathroom but it… melts right around him. Swirling and flickering and shifting, the bathroom is overtaken by ghastly yellow light, bright and buzzing, dust swirling as he catches a look in the mirror of his own ashen face…

And he screams.

“That’s it,” Hyunjin says, clicking on his phone app. “I’m calling Jisung. He has not been online since last night.”

Felix nods, glancing at him over his laptop screen. “You should. If he was sick when you left yesterday then it might’ve become worse. He’s always online.”

“Yeah— yeah. Give me a second…” he clicks on Jisung’s name and brings the phone up to his ear. 

He frowns when a robotic voice at the other end tells him:

The number you have dialed does not exist.

End.