Archive of Our Own

The first time someone breaks into Jeongin’s house he doesn’t realise for at least two days.

“Jeonginnie,” Seungmin calls, hunched over his probably clogged sink and fiddling with window above it. “How long has your lock been broken for?”

“It’s broken?” is his response, and Seungmin’s long-suffering sigh could collapse buildings. Jeongin drags himself out from where he has wedged himself between the wall and his shitty fridge, checking to see if his sink leak had reached the electrical socket. It made concerning noises sometimes in the middle of the night. “Did I break it?”

“It’s weird,” Seungmin mutters, fiddling with the clasp. “It’s like it was broken from the outside.”

“What?” Jeongin yelps. He slams his head against the fridge in his scramble to stand and curses, slapping a hand over his smarting forehead. “Did someone break in?”

“Was anything stolen or whatever?”

“What would they steal? The most valuable things in this apartment are my kidneys.”

“Definitely not your brain.”

“Fuck off?”

“Just replace it. Maybe you broke it and forgot,” is his solution, and Jeongin joins him in front of the sink to stare dumbfoundedly at his broken lock. “Your whole forehead is turning red, Jeongin-ah, how hard did you hit it?”

“How did I not notice,” Jeongin says to himself, ignoring Seungmin’s eye roll and Seungmin in general. He fiddles with the lock, frowning. “That’s bad.”

“Your apartment is barely an apartment, everything is falling apart to some degree.” Seungmin doesn’t point out anything in particular- he just broadly waves his arm behind him, effectively gesturing the whole space. “I wouldn’t notice a single lock broken. I care more about your lack of a functioning heater. Why hasn’t your landlord sent someone to fix it yet? It’s September. It’s going to get colder. You’ll lose your toes and your precious kidneys at this rate.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Jeongin closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead again with a wince. “I literally can’t afford anything else.”

Seungmin is right in saying it’s barely an apartment- it’s one rectangular room, half tile and half floorboard, the only distinction between what you could call a kitchen and what may have been a living space. Two doors- one to his closet-sized bedroom, which fits his bed and barely a wardrobe. One to the bathroom, which doesn’t even have glass to separate the shower from the rest of it. When he showers, the toilet always ends up soaked. There is no where to hang his towel except from the edge of the sink.

To focus on the positives, it’s close enough to his Uni that he doesn’t mortally wound himself everytime he recharges his T-money card, and it is his own place he can call home. Solely his. His own efforts, his own tireless work at two jobs between classes. Yes it costs an arm and a leg, but it was the cheapest option by far, and he’s eighty-percent sure the landlord wasn’t lying when he said no one had died in this apartment in particular. Where would they have had space to die, anyway?

“I don’t miss being a first year,” Seungmin says with all the sage wisdom of someone who is literally just a second year. In a Law degree no less. He claps a hand over Jeongin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It gets slightly better. We need to call your landlord now and have him send someone to fix your stupid sink before it gets mouldy.”

Jeongin sighs deeply.

Jeongin doesn’t know exactly when the second time happens.

“Yo, Innie-ah, you didn’t mention your sink got fixed!” Jisung cheers as he stacks their plates beside the basin. “That’s like, a record in terms of your landlord actually fixing stuff.”

“He didn’t,” Jeongin snorts, not bothering to look up from his laptop as he continues to struggle to connect to Jisung’s hotspot. He has two hours before his deadline. Jisung makes a questioning noise. “I just left it and did all my dishes in the bathroom and it miraculously fixed itself.”

“Huh. Weird. Uh, Innie? Your window is broken.”

“What?” His head snaps up, troublesome wifi abandoned. “What do you mean?”

“The lock on your window,” Jisung says, pointing. “It’s snapped or something.”

“No it isn’t, I fixed it last week.” He scrambles up, rushing to the sink and staring. It really is broken. “I- hyung, I just replaced it.”

“Maybe you got a faulty lock?” Jisung’s brow furrows. “I dunno. Weird.”

Jeongin straightens up abruptly, turning and looking around his apartment with a discerning eye. It’s unsettling- nothing has been noticeably out of place. Nothing moved or tampered with.

“Do you think someone is casing my apartment?” he asks lowly, like someone is listening. Jisung blinks rapidly.

“Casing it to do what, though?”

“I don’t know. Rob me?”

“What would they steal?” Jisung asks doubtfully, and Jeongin lets his shoulders slump a little. “How many times has this window broken?”

“This is the second time. It’s weird, hyung.”

“Well… if someone was actually breaking in, and this is the second time, surely this would be the time they did something, yeah?” Jisung muses aloud, leaning back against the counter and wincing when his hand falls in a wet patch from the now over-enthusiastic faucet. “There isn’t really a lot to case in here, in terms of square meterage. And you’re on the fourth floor, so who would make that effort to climb up here or something twice just to not do anything but break your window?” They both fall into silence, and Jeongin tries to wrestle the uncomfortable feeling out of his gut.

“You agree it’s weird though, yeah?” he asks, quiet, and Jisung nudges their shoulders together gently.

“If you’re scared you can come stay with Jinnie and I,” he offers, smiling. “You know your hyungs will look after you.”

“I’m not scared,” he retorts quickly, even as he nudges Jisung back. “Just… creeped out.”

“Synonym!” Jisung cheers, and Jeongin scowls as he bats at his arm. “Seriously though. I think your apartment is a shitbox, and your landlord is a fuckwad. It’s most likely the lock is breaking because the whole window is faulty. But let’s keep an eye on it, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jeongin stares at his clunky laptop, which is still struggling to submit his assignment.

“Put it out of your head. Focus on the fact your favourite hyung fed you Chinese and is letting you use his wi-fi,” Jisung says cheerily, and Jeongin frowns curiously.

“Hyunjinne-hyung isn’t here, though?”

It’s a bit easier to forget about it all when Jisung squawks, pulling him into a headlock, ranting on about his ungratefulness and how many coffees he owes him now and demanding they watch Singles Inferno on Jisung’s laptop.

He still asks Jisung to sleep over, though. Just for safety.

Jeongin blinks. His shelf is full of cup ramyeon. Four cups.

“The fuck,” he says, bewildered. He takes a step back and picks up his grocery list, staring at it and then shifting his gaze to the shelf like it will at some point make sense. He hasn’t even done his budgeting for this week, when and why would he have bought this much ramyeon?

He calls Seungmin. “Did you buy me food?”

“Ew,” he says, “why would I do that?”

“Fuck you.” He hangs up and dials Jisung. “Hey. Did you buy me food?”

“Do I owe you or something?” Jisung sounds incredibly distracted. Jeongin can hear the sounds of Overwatch in the background, and a disgruntled Seungmin on Discord telling him to scold Jeongin for hanging up on him.

“Not for anything recently.” Jeongin scrubs the back of his neck, stepping back to see if a new angle will make the ramyeon disappear. It doesn’t. “There’s just a bunch of ramyeon in my kitchen I don’t remember buying. I haven’t done my weekly shop yet.”

“I dunno, man, lucky find?” he says. “Ah- fuck, I’m so bad at playing DPS. Uh- Innie, dude, maybe you just had it left over and forgot? I do that all the time.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. He can hear Seungmin cackling evilly, which means he probably just ulted. “Yeah. I guess. I just… I’m surprised. Is all.”

“You’re mad tired right now,” Jisung says comfortingly, and Jeongin shivers. The kitchen feels extra cold. “Makes sense to be a little forgetful, Innie-ah. Don’t stress your lil’ head and celebrate the fact you have more food than normal. Also, Seungmin is asking if you want to come over tomorrow night so we play together. Lixie’s finally got internet again at the dorms and wants to-” Jisung’s voice fades out as a stronger breeze lances over Jeongin’s bare arms. He turns, surprised, and sees-

The window is broken.

Life gets a bit hectic, and Jeongin finds himself living out of Felix’s dorm for a week by accident. Felix is happy to have him- international students are afforded luxury untold, by which Jeongin means a solo room. Jeongin wakes up one morning and his charger is AWOL and he has three exams over two days, and he runs to campus to charge his phone at Felix’s so he can keep his schedule updated in case of sudden changes. And then he has a prac, and then it’s raining so much Felix demands he sleeps over, and then it just so happens he has to spend hours in the library printing assignments, and then he gets a building-wide email letting him know all of the heating in the apartments is shot again due to some kind of leak the night the temperature is due to drop below zero and Felix essentially takes his hostage as a temporary roomie. Time gets away from him. Felix is a very accommodating host who squeals happily every time someone borrows his clothes, and Jeongin doesn’t mind his wrists sticking out of too short hoodie sleeves if it makes Felix smile that much. It’s nice to spend time with his friends who understand his social battery runs low, and away from prying - Jisung’s - eyes Jeongin is free to indulge in as many Felix cuddles as he wants. Seungmin, who dorms in a different block to Felix, drops by to study with them and keep them company. It’s like a little holiday in the end, even if his charger is still missing and his exams make him want to rip out all of his hair.

He hasn’t been home for a solid week when it’s time to return, and there is this weird stockholm syndrome-y feeling of relief to be climbing the stairs to his fourth floor door and slotting the key into the lock. What’s that meme? It ain’t much, but it’s honest work. That’s how Jeongin feels about his shitty apartment sometimes. Hands splayed wide to show off his meager ownership, but ownership nonetheless. His space. A culmination of his efforts and no one else’s.

He pushes open the front door with a happy sigh, dumping his backpack at his feet and slinging his computer tote down far more gently. Then he freezes, because something is wrong.

He hasn’t been home for a week, but his bedroom door is open.

He can clearly remember closing his door, because he’d slammed in frustration after fruitlessly searching for his charger. And the doors don’t open on their own this time of year like they do in the summer, when the heat makes the wood swell and bend out of shape. He closed his door.

His head snaps towards the kitchen and sure enough the window above the sink is half-ajar, the light rain pooling on the window sill and half-heartedly watering the sad little fern Jisung had gifted him as a house-warming present.

Jeongin swallows thickly as he threads his keys between his knuckles, slowly approaching the bedroom door, taking small steps as to not creak the floorboards. He hits the light switch in the same motion that he kicks the door open, letting it slam and bounce back at him after it hits the edge of his closet. Jeongin’s jaw drops.

His bed is made. His charger is neatly coiled on his pillow.

He slams the door shut, heart pounding as he stares at the white paint. It’s peeling a bit from the blu-tak Seungmin had left over after sticking up his revision flashcards a few weeks ago. When he opens his door again, equally as fast, the bed is still made and his missing charger is still there. One more time, just in case. The scene doesn’t change. If this is a dream it’s a very lucid one.

He squeezes his phone tightly in his fist, feeling staticky and panicked. What the fuck does one do in this situation? Call the police? Call one of his hyungs? What would he even say? Something like, my eomma sensed I hadn’t cleaned my room in a while and astral-projected all the way to Seoul to make a point? Someone keeps breaking my window, but just the lock, and it’s either Spider-Man or a really persistent young hooligan who has it out for me in particular? Yes, officer, I live on the fourth floor! I have no idea what’s going on!

He settles for racing back out and darting to the nearest homewares store, buying a new lock for his window and three separate locks for his door and a shitty drill. He barely manages to contain his semi-hysteria at the counter, smiling as calmly as possible at the checkout clerk who very obviously recognizes him from the fact this is the third window lock he’s purchased in a month and is trying really hard not to say anything about it, and the minute he’s through the sliding door he’s slogging it back.

Once he returns home - nothing has moved this time - he sets about installing them in his bedroom. They’re good locks. Sturdy. One’s even got a whole chain slider thing, and he feels a bit like a paranoid old man as he sits on top of his tucked in - tucked in! - sheets and hugs his knees to his chest, staring at the door. Then he gets up and checks under his bed and in his closet, just to be sure, and they're empty.

He doesn’t sleep a wink, and after a week of sharing a bed with Felix it’s horrible.

No one comes. The window is locked in the morning. Jeongin feels a bit insane.

His landlord does jackshit, obviously. No other apartments in the building are complaining about being broken into- Jeongin even asks the two neighbouring buildings. His landlord does have something to say about his security deposit and the locks he has drilled into his bedroom doorframe.

Jeongin doesn’t let himself be lulled into a false sense of security, but days pass with his window staying secured, and it does afford a sense of semi-peace. He’s feels a bit more confident being at home, even if it’s just to sleep at this point. He’s living on leftover ramyeon, because he was yet to figure out how to budget all of the heavy-duty locks he was buying. He’s possibly ninety percent carbs at this point. It’s been a while since he ate actual food, but it’s easy to forget when he’s more concerned with the possible return of a very polite intruder who made his bed and possibly, possibly bought him ramyeon, but it feels like such a ridiculous theory he dismisses it immediately.

Anyway. False sense of security.

The next time someone breaks into Jeongin’s house he realises immediately.

It’s part of his new routine in the morning, steadily unlocking his door three times before padding out into the kitchen space in the fluffy slippers it’s now cold enough to justify wearing constantly. At first he’s sure he’s dreaming. Jeongin rubs his eyes for the fifth time, rooted in his doorway and staring directly at his cramped kitchen. The scene doesn’t change. He calmly turns on his heel and walks back into his closet-bedroom, but his hands are shaking as he fumbles his phone off the window sill and dials the first person he thinks of. He grabs his newly purchased stress ball on the way out, returning to stand outside his door and stare.

“Hyung,” Jeongin says when the call finally connects, “someone broke into my apartment again. I think.”

Jisung audibly chokes on whatever it is he’s eating. Most likely not breakfast, despite the early hour- it’s probably closer to his dinner time. He and Hyunjin enable each other’s nocturnal tendencies. “What? Jesus, Jeongin, are you okay? What did they take? Are your locks broken? Fuck, have you told your dickhead landlord yet? We need to-”

“Nothing- nothing is gone,” he interrupts, and the stress ball whines in his iron grip like it’s about to explode. “They… they left me. Stuff.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Someone broke into my house and bought me groceries.”

“Are you sure you didn’t go shopping last night and then, like-“ Jisung falters. “Forget?”

“The- the milk is still cold, I can see the condensation,” he continues, and he can hear himself starting to sound increasingly distressed because this is distressing, “and they bought me- they bought fucking ingredients, hyung, like- like I can cook-”

“Hey, Jeongin-ah. Deep breath.” Jisung’s voice breaks through the rapidly descending fog and it makes him aware of the fact he’s hyperventilating.

“I can’t cook, hyung,” he whispers, and he’s horrified to realise he’s tearing up.

“I’m going to be at yours in, like, ten minutes, okay?” Jisung says soothingly, and the illusion is ruined by the fact Jeongin can hear his muffled whisper of oh my god what the fuck as he leans away from the phone to likely root through his pile of laundry for something clean. “So- stay put, yeah? Don’t touch anything. I’ll bring you an Americano. Focus on breathing.”

It takes Jisung fifteen minutes, because the elevator is still broken and his stamina is shot from spending all of his time inside studying for his exams. Seungmin appears a few minutes after, because Jeongin sent him a messy, typo-ridden text demanding he bring a spare baseball bat for defense. They all collectively argue against Seungmin’s suggestion they dust for prints like detectives, and Jeongin tries not to cry at his wobbly table.

“This is worth so much money,” Seungmin says, staring blankly at the groceries on the counter. “Green onions, noodles, kimchi, potatoes- god. Who ever bought you this has a lot of faith in you kitchen skills.”

“And it definitely wasn’t a care package or anything?” Jisung asks quietly, still rubbing circles between Jeongin’s shoulder blades.

“I called eomma, appa, hyung and halmeoni. And it wasn’t any of you guys either,” Jeongin reports, shuddering. “I don’t know anyone else in the building well enough for this kind of thing. One of the ahjussis’ on level three gave me some kimchi once because I returned his washing basket but that’s it.”

“I haven’t heard anything in the news about this happening recently.” Seungmin sounds suitably baffled as he roots through the eco bag, separating colds and frozens to go in the fridge.

“This isn’t the first time,” Jeongin says dully, staring at his watermarked tabletop and trying not to panic. He takes the straw of his Americano between his lips and slurps on it just to feel something. “I think- I think this guy also bought me that ramyeon.”

“That’s insane. And he hasn’t been since then?” Jeongin’s silence is telling. Jisung and Seungmin round on him simultaneously, gasping.

“Jeongin-ah! He broke in another time and you didn’t say anything?” Jisung shouts, and Jeongin shrugs helplessly.

“He made my bed, hyung, how do I explain that?” he asks desperately, and Seungmin blinks.

“He what?”

“He made my bed! Tucked the sheets in and everything. It happened at some point during the week I stayed with Lix-hyung. He even found my phone charger. It’s so fucking weird and I don’t know what to do.” Jeongin melts in his chair, tilting his head back to stare up at Jisung’s concerned face.

“Maybe you have a fairy godmother,” Seungmin suggests.

“Option two: someone actually did die here, and you’re haunted,” Jisung says, and Seungmin rolls his eyes so hard it’s possible they’re going to fall out of his head. As if a ghost is any better than fairy godmother. “Which: plausible.”

“Wouldn’t a ghost be rotting my food and not buying me stuff?”

“Ghost of a sugar daddy?”

“No way. Who would kill their sugar daddy?”

“Okay, we’re losing the plot,” Seungmin interrupts, finally finished putting away the thousands of won worth of groceries.

“Let’s think positively! You have a mysterious benefactor who keeps buying you groceries,” Jisung says, idly pinching his cheeks and hissing when Jeongin snaps his teeth at his fingertips. “Isn’t this, like, the opposite of a problem?”

“It’s completely a problem! Someone keeps breaking into my house!” he sits up straight again, pointing accusingly at the window above his sink. “I’ve put so much money into fixing that stupid lock!”

“We can buy a new one today,” Seungmin says placatingly, using his hyung voice. “It’s gonna be okay, Innie.”

“I’ll stay here for a couple of nights,” Jisung says, even as Jeongin is sure there is a montage of horrible possibilities playing behind his eyes. “We can keep an eye out together. And if someone does break in-” he punches his own waiting palm and, to his credit, barely flinches. “I’ll fuck him up. No one gets to break into my dongsaeng’s house over and over again!”

“Have you filed a police report yet?” Seungmin asks, and Jisung nods enthusiastically.

“And tell them what?” Jeongin groans, dropping his head in his hands. “The only proof if I have is that someone keeps breaking the window. Nothing has actually been taken.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” Seungmin hovers by the table to pinch his forearm. “Nothing even out of place?”

“Nothing. I’ve checked a million times. I am driving myself crazy checking.”

“Let’s check all together one more time.” Seungmin looks at Jisung meaningfully over his head. “Leave no lumpy pillow unturned.”

Of course, their search yields no results, but it does calm Jeongin down a little bit to again prove nothing is out of place. Seungmin goes into the homewares store to buy a new lock, because Jeongin can’t bear to face the same clerk again. They make shitty kimchi jjigae together with the ingredients because it’s all Seungmin knows how to make. Jeongin can tell they’re worried and doing their best to distract him from it all, and he appreciates the effort. He doesn’t know if he appreciates Seungmin murmuring down the phone about trying to source giant mouse traps, but it’s kind in a way.

Jisung does stay- the apartment is extra cramped for four days, where they take turns watching the window and waiting for something, anything, and nothing comes. Jisung has too much fun swinging Seungmin’s bat around, practising for when he is allegedly going to take down the mysterious intruder. Jeongin barely goes any work done, too highly strung to connect a single thought. He can’t shake the unsettled feeling that whoever it is doing this is just waiting for Jisung to be gone, so on the fifth day he shoos him back to his complaining roommate to get some real sleep.

“I’m going to come back first thing tomorrow,” Jisung promises as Hyunjin continues to blow up his phone requesting he bring home chicken. “If anything happens, call the cops first and then call me or Seungminnie, yeah? And we’ll be here as soon as we can. Lock your door and stay safe.”

“I’ll be fine, hyung,” Jeongin says, indulging him in a hug. “I have hyung’s bat.”

“Please avoid confrontation if you can,” he pleads, and Jeongin shrugs in response. It makes Jisung sigh like he just aged ten years.

That night Jeongin locks the front door, locks the window. Then he double-checks they’re locked. Then he sequesters himself away in his room, all three of his extra locks secured. He tries to sleep normally and gives up after three hours of fruitless tossing and turning. He’s too wired, too expectant of the worst. Jisung sent a text that simply said fighting! two hours ago. There is also a text from Seungmin, which contains an image detailing all the most effective places on the human body to deal blunt force trauma.

Jeongin slides down the wall beside his door, bat clasped in his hands and phone tucked half under his thigh. He stares at his bedroom door, fingers shaking, and wills his eyes wide open. Tonight is the night he catches the intruder- he can feel it. He’s not going to sleep until he does.

He falls asleep.

It’s four fifty-three and still dark outside when a dull, metallic clang sounds from outside the door. Like something being dropped.

Jeongin jerks up, stopping himself before he can smack his head against the wall. Under his door- light. From the kitchen. He hurriedly picks up his phone, pressing the unlock button repeatedly and getting a black screen.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. He hadn’t put it on charge so it would be close by- it must have died at some point. He can’t call anyone. Fuck.

Someone’s here. Jeongin’s alone. Someone is in his apartment.

He tightens his grip on the bat rolling freely between his legs, slowly drawing himself up. His heart is pounding as his hand hovers over the first lock, ears straining to hear more over the sound of his own almost-not-quite hyperventilating. Okay. If he’s armed, Jeongin will run for the front door. Pull the fire alarm in the stairwell? If he isn’t, he’ll have the advantage with the bat. He’ll go loud, catch him off guard. Easy. Easy peasy. The intruder has never done anything violent. It’ll be fine. Jeongin is going to be fine. He can do this.

Click. One down. Okay. If he opens his bedroom window and yells, that would just let the intruder know he’s here, and that will be bad. Click. Second one. He can wait for his phone to charge and call the police, but what if he’s gone by then and they think Jeongin is crazy? Plus, this isn’t the first time he’s been here but it’s the first time Jeongin has ever heard him make noise- what if it’s someone else entirely? Click. The last lock comes undone under his quivering fingers and he curses under his breath, knees knocking together as he grabs the door knob.

Oh, Jesus.

Jeongin throws his door open and barrels out, yelling at the top of his lungs, and skids to a stop barely three steps out.

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised but there- there is a man, standing at his stove, staring at him over his shoulder with the most unimpressed expression like Jeongin has broken into his kitchen at five in the morning. A black mask covers the bottom half of his face, and he’s wearing a black turtleneck tucked into black jeans. He’s shorter than him. His shoulders are broad. There is a steaming pot of something that smells like jjigae in front of him, and a spoon in his hand. He’s in the middle of lifting the lid. His hand slams out and hits the light switch, plunging the room into darkness, so Jeongin slaps the wall for the switch closest to bring it back. The man blinks and turns the light off again.

“Stop it!” Jeongin yells, turning it back on again and momentarily mourning his electricity bill before lifting the bat up towards his shoulder and bending his knees like Seungmin taught him. “What- who the fuck are you?”

“Go back to sleep. You’re dreaming,” the man intones bluntly, no inflection in his voice, and Jeongin tenses up in response to his voice, knuckles going white. Part of him hadn’t expected a response, and it makes it real, there is a man in his fucking kitchen- “I’m a figment of your imagination. Hitting me with the bat will do nothing.” A pause. “You’re beginning to feel very, very sleepy-”

“Stop it! What the fuck!” Jeongin screeches, and the man winces.

“You’re going to wake the whole floor,” he says, and why does Jeongin feel fucking chastised by the man who has been habitually breaking into his house for weeks? “At least let me finish this before you fight me.”

“I’ll call the police!”

“And tell them a nice man is making you a snack? Rude.”

“Nice man- what the fuck! You’re breaking and entering right now! Like, actively! You’ve been breaking and entering for a fucking month!”

“Little longer, actually. Like, a month and a half. It took you awhile to get that replaced the first time,” the burglar says, tilting his head towards the window above his sink. It’s half open. “You’ll need to fix it again. Whoopsies.”

“Dude,” Jeongin says, a little hysterical, “please get out of my house.”

“I’m not about to let all the ingredients I bought you go to waste, am I?” he says, rolling his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much all of that cost? Inflation is a bitch. All you were eating was the ramyeon I bought. Have you ever even eaten a vegetable? You’re practically skin and bones.”

“Jesus. Sorry, eomma,” Jeongin sulks on instinct, and the burglar’s eyes narrow.

“Watch it. I can still knock you out,” he threatens, brandishing the sauce-coated spoon in his direction. Jeongin makes a point to lift the bat higher but the burglar doesn’t even flinch.

“Can you- like- leave?” Jeongin asks desperately, and burglar sighs heavily.

“Let me finish this, at least.”

“What are you even doing? Shouldn’t you be- like- robbing me blind? Why have you been buying me fucking groceries? That’s, like, reverse robbing! You’re a terrible burglar! Get out of my house!”

“Oh, so you don’t want fresh food?” he goads, and Jeongin’s traitorous stomach rumbles before he can answer. “That’s what I thought. Sit,” he instructs, gesturing to the tiny wobbly table. Again, Jeongin is incredibly offended by the gall he has to order him around in his kitchen.

Jeongin doesn’t know what he’s thinking. He isn’t scared so much as if he is horribly, terribly confused by this non-violent intruder cooking what looks like enough food for eight people in Jeongin’s terrible pot.

He edges his way along the perimeter to his table, bat held defensively in front of him, and obviously he doesn’t look like like a much of a threat in his rumpled sleepwear with his hair half-flat from falling asleep against the wall because the burglar turns back to the stove with a hum. Jeongin pulls the chair out and sits down, too tense to relax as he watches the burglar navigate his kitchen with ease. His shoulders are broad, and his jeans are shockingly well-fitted. Makes sense not to have a lot of loose fabric when you’re climbing into windows? Jeongin feels a little delirious.

“Do you climb through the window every time?” he asks hoarsely, and the burglar nods. “I’m on the fourth floor, though. Like… how?”

“I’m good at climbing,” the burglar says nonchalantly. “I have pretty good core strength.” Jeongin’s eyes drift from his thighs to his obviously well muscled forearms, which are partially bare from where he’s rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck to cook.

“Uh.” Jeongin stares at his bat and contemplates smashing it over his own head. Yang Jeongin found dead in his own apartment, bludgeoned to death by his own hands. He can picture Seungmin crying over him. He finally hit a home run, he’d cry, and then Jeongin would come back to life and strangle him.

“Any other questions?” Burglar sounds amused.

Oh. So many. Did you fix my sink? Did you break into my bedroom and make my bed? What’s wrong with you? What’s your name? Where the fuck was my charger, actually, because I looked all morning-

“Why… why haven’t you killed me yet?” is what his brain settles on.

The man stops. He turns completely to stare at Jeongin over his mask, and Jeongin pictures Seungmin’s most exasperated expression under it. “Why would I kill you?”

“I’ve seen too much, haven’t I?” Jeongin asks, shoulders hunching, and the burglar laughs. It’s short but explosive, two distinctly separate sounds- the laugh itself, and then a haa! at the end. Like Jeongin just said the funniest thing ever.

“What exactly have you seen?” the burglar responds as he gravitates towards the cutting board. There is green onion already sliced and waiting, and he cracks open the pack of ramen noodles quickly. “I’m masked. I have no identifying characteristics. I have no reason to kill you and I don’t want to. I just rob people. This will be done in about three minutes, by the way.”

Jeongin isn’t sure if he’s meant to say thank you or not. He opens his mouth to speak but the burglar beats him to it again.

“So, I was going to steal your computer,” he says conversationally as he places the dishes on the table, and Jeongin gasps in affront. Also, how does he know where he keeps his bowls? “But. As I was looking through this shoebox you call a home, I realised you have…” he pauses, gaze momentarily drifting to the roof like he’s really considering it. “Little to no mortal possessions. And your computer is essentially a brick and worth very little in terms of resale.”

“All my money goes to affording to live here,” Jeongin says slowly, finally - hesitantly - lowering his bat and leaning it against his chair. His fingers feel numb from how hard he’d been gripping it.

Cat burglar winces empathetically. “That sucks.”

“I’m- like. I’m a college student, dude. I’m studying early education. I’m not really swimming in it.”

“I noticed. Your two-in-one shampoo was disturbing.”

“Why did you look in my bathroom?” Jeongin yelps, flushing. Burglar shrugs.

“Any non-essential medication I could have taken would most likely have been there.”

“…non-essential.”

“Well, if you were diabetic or severely depressed or something I wouldn’t have nicked it. Again, I’m a burglar, not a murderer,” he scoffs, and Jeongin wants to laugh. Or scream.

“Anyway. I felt too bad even considering robbing you, because your situation is already horribly dire,” he continues, like he isn’t repeatedly stabbing Jeongin’s pride, “but I’ve been hitting a few other buildings in the area and I was curious to see how you were doing. So I was checking back every now and then. You never had anything to steal, and you sleep like you’re dead, so I assumed you were most likely exhausted and underfed.”

“Did you make my bed that one time?” he asks accusingly, and burglar snorts like he’s hilarious.

“I did. You weren’t here for a week or so, so I checked your room to make sure you hadn’t keeled over from malnutrition. It pissed me off so I fixed it. And your charge cable was tangled up in the doona.”

Hot embarrassment floods under Jeongin’s skin for more than one reason. “Oh.”

“Your sink was an easy fix, too, you just left some food in the drain. It was annoying me when I was getting wet every time I went over it.”

“Why?” Jeongin demands, suddenly fiery, and burglar bats his long, luscious lashes at him. “Why? Why me?”

Burglar pauses again, and Jeongin can see the smirk through his mask. “I like strays.”

The burglar he’s been having a calm conversation with is currently serving him homemade budae jjigae with extra spam. It smells delicious. Jeongin is a robber’s charity case.

“This is a nightmare,” he says sullenly, staring down at the steaming bowl of jjigae. “Did you poison this?”

“Why would I put so much effort into poisoning you when I could have just smothered you with a pillow a month and a half ago? What will it take for me to convince you I’m not going to kill you?”

“I can’t believe I’m too poor to even got robbed. This is worse than you kicking me when I’m down- ohmygod.” He fights the urge to moan at the taste and feels his face contort with the effort. Another laugh from burglar and Jeongin must be way more sleep-deprived than he thought because it’s a really, really lovely sound. “This tastes so fucking good.”

“I used store-bought stock,” burglar says, resting his chin in his gloved palm and watching with sparkling eyes as Jeongin throws caution to the wind and starts inhaling the meal. “I didn’t have time to make my own like I normally would.”

“Are you-” Jeongin almost chokes, forcing himself to pause. “Are you a chef by day and a cat burglar by night?”

“No. I cook in my spare time,” he answers, clearly amused. “Don’t eat so fast.”

“Are you not gonna-” Jeongin gestures to the pot, and burglar tilts his head. He taps his masked jaw and Jeongin fucking blushes, like an insane person, quickly tucking his chin to his chest to focus on his food. He hears the burglar coo.

“Ah. Cute.” Jeongin furiously stuffs his mouth full to avoid saying anything stupid.

“I made enough for leftovers,” burglar says, and Jeongin blinks up at him and gapes. “Close your mouth.” He does. “Make it last.”

Jeongin eats in silence, savouring every bite. It doesn’t even feel that weird after a bit, to be so closely studied while he finishes his meal. Burglar’s eyes are appraising, steely in a curious way. The shape of his face from what Jeongin can pick out gives the impression of someone strikingly handsome, and in any other circumstance Jeongin might have sought out the feeling of being pinned under his stare. As of right now, he’s really hungry and he has no idea who this guy is. He should probably care more about stranger danger.

“I don’t know to feel about all of this,” Jeongin says a bowl of jjigae later. Burglar hums questioningly. “You’ve been breaking into my house repeatedly. You just made me food at 5 am. With leftovers. Do you do this to everyone you rob?”

“No, normally I just rob them.”

“Why?”

“I need the cash.” Burglar shrugs, tracing a gloved fingertip over the table. “Life is expensive.”

“What makes me different, then? Why not just take my laptop even if it’s shitty?”

A pause. “I know what’s it like to be out of your depth.”

“Oh,” Jeongin mumbles, and he can feel his face heating up again and wraps an arm around his stomach, suddenly feeling weirdly exposed and defenseless. A very late reaction. “I’m not gonna call you hyung or whatever for this, just so you know. You’re totally gonna have to either butter me up more or threaten my life.”

Another laugh, delightful and sweet if not a little terrifying. Jeongin realises he’s smiling like an idiot. “Is that so?”

“One of my friends thought I was being haunted by the ghost of a sugar daddy murdered by the last tenants.”

“Well,” burglar says, standing up and slapping his thighs with finality, “You can tell them whatever you want, but don’t get your hopes up. If I had enough money to be a sugar daddy, I wouldn’t be breaking into people’s houses as a side gig.”

“I- I didn’t-”

“This has been fun. Don’t waste the rest of those ingredients because I will come back and this time I’ll kill you. Got it?” He strides across the kitchen, leaning over the sink to lift the window up all the way. “And, just as a general rule, don’t call the cops. They won’t do anything and I always wear gloves.” He wiggles his fingers in his direction in an imitation of a wave. “Anyway-”

“You’re- you’re coming back?” Jeongin interrupts, half flabbergasted and half expectant.

Burglar shrugs again, pulling himself up onto the counter with ease. “We’ll see.” He moves like water, movement lithe and compact as he slips out the window in one smooth motion.

Jeongin doesn’t know what overcomes him, but he all but throws himself out of his seat, rushing to the sink and leaning halfway out the still open window. “Uh- hey!”

He looks down and meets eyes with the burglar, who is clinging to the wall like a cat and far closer than he was expecting.

“I’ll cook,” Jeongin blurts, and the burglar laughs once, suddenly. “Next time. I’ll cook, yeah? Just- you could just-” he swallows. “Come through the front door.”

Burglar looks at him, eyes suddenly comically wide, and Jeongin stares back because the alternative is to start screaming at the top of his lungs because what is he doing, talking to a guy holding onto his window sill like he’s Spider-Man or something.

“Cute,” burglar says absently, and then he’s climbing down the wall with practised ease, dropping a short distance into the bushes once he’s close enough. And just like that, he’s gone.

Jeongin leans back in, heart pounding as he stares at the street. It’s starting to lighten up now, the sun rising. His stomach is full and his mind is racing. He just got broken into again. He shuts his window as far as it allows, gripping the edge of the counter and staring blankly at his hands. His fingertips are a little pink.

Jeongin carefully packs up the leftovers into his shitty tupperware, and for the first time in a long time his fridge is full of edible food. It’s slightly disconcerting, and he shuffles to his bedroom feeling sufficiently shaken up and also kind of drowsy from the warm meal. His back hurts from falling asleep on the floor, so he throws himself onto his bed and finally plugs his phone in to charge. He’s half asleep by the time it finally comes back to life, and he hardly contemplates calling the police before he’s drifting off to sleep.

When Jeongin wakes up again at the far more reasonable hour of eight am, his back still hurts. He stares up at the popcorn roof and contemplates if it was all an incredibly elaborate dream his subconscious concocted to encourage him to reach out for help more often. Or a vision from his alarmingly attractive guardian angel.

“Fuck,” he says, slapping his hands over his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut.

His phone buzzes on the window sill beside him, and he slaps for it blindly to see a text from Jisung.

Otw, it says. Did he come back?

Jeongin replies with, yeah and i think he’s kind of cute actually, only to get a series of confused emojis and question marks. He laughs, and then his doorbell rings and he almost drops his phone on his face. He sits up rapidly, baffled. No way Jisung got here so quick? Unless he had expected the worst and came early. He’s perpetually late, and normally when he says on the way he means he’s about to leave or might have just gotten out of the shower.

Jeongin hurriedly unlocks his bedroom door, hissing at the cold floor as he hot-steps to the front door. Quick glance to the kitchen- window is as closed as he left it. There is a container of spam sitting at the top of his trash bin. All is as he left it, which means it wasn't a dream, and he doesn't really know he feels about that. He adjusts his sleep shirt, a complaint on his lips about Jisung's early arrival as he pulls his door open, but it dies in his mouth as he comes face to face with a strangely familiar man.

He’s shorter than Jeongin. Broad shouldered, with thick thighs and well muscled forearms. His jaw is sculpted like a God, and he’s wearing a creamy coat over a black turtleneck. Jeongin gapes at him, hand going slack on the door. The man looks impassive, but the tips of his ears are bright red.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he says, eyes crinkling with a smile. “I’m Lee Minho. I was just passing through the neighbourhood and I happened to notice- I think your window is broken? You might want to get it fixed."