Chapter Text
The apartment is almost silent, just the low, steady hum of the fridge and the faint, uneven patter of rain against the windowpane. Somewhere deep in the walls, the pipes sigh. Haejoon sets the last box down by the kitchenette, shoulders rolling forward. His knees ache from the climb up the narrow stairwell.
It’s a small place. Studio style. One wide window, pale laminate floors that shine faintly in the rainlight. The walls are a clean off-white, untouched by anyone’s history. No peeling paint. No strange stains in the corners. No sound bleeding in from the hall except for the occasional creak of the old building settling. It’s… quiet. Manageable. His.
He walks through it barefoot, the cool floor pulling the heat from his soles. His fingertips trail the length of the wall, a slow, absent motion like he’s trying to memorize the layout by touch alone, this corner here, the narrow doorway there. In the bathroom, he opens the mirrored cabinet and places his toothbrush inside, the bristles still damp from the morning. A moment later, he sets a second cup beside it. Empty. Reflex. He stares at it for a second longer than he means to, then shuts the cabinet.
Outside, a motorcycle tears past on the slick street, the engine loud and sudden. Haejoon flinches before he can stop himself.
It had been… what, years? Longer? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lived alone in a space like this. The old house hadn’t been that. Not at first. It had been the opposite, in fact. But then there was Miyung Kim, unexpected, unsettling, and eventually familiar. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped running from her presence. Maybe because part of him hadn’t realized it was her at the beginning. He still carried guilt for that misunderstanding, the way it had shaped their early days. But she’d forgiven him. Or at least, she seemed to. That was enough.
And now, this place, it was enough too. The landlord had assured him the neighbors were quiet, the kind who kept to themselves. That mattered more than anything else. He liked the kind of quiet where nothing pressed at the edges of his thoughts, where he could study without the background noise of other people’s lives.
For the first time in a long time, he felt like the walls around him might hold.
He kneels by the nearest box, cutting the tape with the key still in his pocket. A stack of books stares back at him, most worn from years of handling, one with its spine torn and repaired with strips of tape. He sets them on the counter in a neat pile.
By the time the last one was in place, the rain has slowed, the kind that lingers in the air instead of falling. He drifts to the window and leans his forearms against the sill. From here, the street below feels like a different city. Bicycles chained to iron railings, the low chatter of someone walking by with an umbrella, puddles flashing back the gray light of the sky.
He catches himself looking for faces he knows. Old habit. He tells himself he’s not disappointed when he doesn’t see any.
Another positive thing about his living situation was that it wasn't far from his university.
Seongmun University hadn't been his first choice. Or his second. If he was honest, it hadn’t been a choice at all so much as a compromise.
The major was his choice, though. Sociology. It wasn’t flashy and didn’t require a public performance some degrees seemed to need. It was observation. He’d told his advisor it was about wanting to understand the things that shaped lives, but the truth was simpler than that. He liked watching. Not in the way that implied anything negative, but in the way somebody might study a movie. Just to see what they can notice that others don't.
It made sense to him. You could analyze without stepping too far inside. You could learn the language of connection. And for someone like him, who knew firsthand the weight of being pulled into other people’s orbit, whether you wanted to be or not, that felt like safety.
Still, there was a part of him that recognized the irony. He’d come here to be invisible and yet his coursework was all about tracing the threads between people. That even if you cut yourself off, you existed inside a network, whether you acknowledged it or not. It wasn’t a comforting thought, but maybe that was the point.
He remembered the day he graduated. His friends had already begun to drift. By the time the ceremony ended, most had scattered into new cities. Some had moved farther than he could ever be comfortable with. As much as he despised the things he faced in the past, the idea of leaving the city entirely had felt… wrong.
Still, they’d managed one last dinner together. Messy, loud, heavy with the weight of endings. One chair at the table had been left empty. But the laughter had been real enough. That night had felt more like home than any place he’d lived in years.
This apartment would have to become something like that. Not the same. Just a space he could claim, one that didn’t ask for more than he could give. That was enough.
He sank into the single chair he’d set beside the window, its legs uneven against the floorboards. The streetlights below bleeding into the wet pavement.
He reached for his phone without thinking. It was just to check the time. But when the screen lit, a notification blinked at the top.
A number, a contact he hadn't seen in quite some time, now. Years, maybe? It hadn't been that long since everything changed, but it felt off.
Marie: Hey!!
Seconds after, another appeared.
Marie: Are you free sometime soon?
Haejoon’s thumb hovered over the glass.
The last time they’d spoken, it had been rushed while everyone was scattering after the graduation dinner. He hadn’t expected to hear from her so soon. Or at all.
The apartment felt smaller all of a sudden.