Archive of Our Own ^beta

I.

Objectively, the apartment building at 6 Vixx Street is a very nice place.

Of course, there's the lift that occasionally gets stuck somewhere between the third and fifth floor and refuses to budge until several hours after its unlucky occupant has failed to show up at whatever very important place they were meant to be. There are the intermittent power outages, which are especially fond of occurring in the dead of winter or the hottest days of summer. There's the mouse infestation in the mail room, which requires bringing a broom or a sacrificial piece of cheese on each trip to pick up bills or packages. There are a few small drawbacks.

But the fact of the matter is, it's hard to find a reasonable selection of spacious flats positioned near a working train at a price that doesn't require selling various body parts on the black market. Vacancies in the building never last long, and those who manage to fill them consider themselves lucky. There's something different about the place; something about the atmosphere that makes it quite unlike anywhere they've lived before.

However, it's not any of those things that makes the 6 Vixx Street building what it is. It's not the broken lift or the unreliable power or the colony of mice. It's not the floor plan or the location or the cost. These aren't the things that give it the difference in the atmosphere. What does that is the strange and unusual assortment of residents.

II.

Jaehwan does not read the newspaper. To Jaehwan, the newspaper is nothing but an unnecessarily crinkly stack of information he does not for any reason want or need. The newspaper, to him, has no apparent merit. But every day except Saturday and Sundays, Jaehwan heads down to the lobby of the apartment building to pick up a copy of the daily newspaper. There's always a stack of them perched on the coffee table in the small lounge area, and judging by the size of the stack, the only ones who ever pick up a copy of the newspaper are Jaehwan and a man named Park Hyoshin who lives on the second floor. At no point during his trip back up to his seventh floor room does Jaehwan unfold the newspaper, flip through it or even so much as glance at it. The reason for this routine is not immediately apparent, but every day except Saturdays and Sundays, this is how it occurs.

When Jaehwan re-enters his flat, he carefully takes the newspaper over to one of the many large glass cages placed strategically around the room. Very carefully, he opens one of the cages, takes out its contents and replaces another day's newspaper at the bottom of it with the current day's. Satisfied, he returns the contents of the tank to it, closes it back up and tosses the old newspaper into the recycling.

At this point, the reason for the routine becomes apparent. Inside the tanks are a wide variety of many insects, most common amongst them various species of flies and mosquitoes. This is because Jaehwan is an entomology professor at the nearby university, and because they wouldn't allow him to keep his insects inside his office, he instead petitioned them to fund a home laboratory. Despite the many escapes of several of the more sinister bugs, Jaehwan sees no problem with the location of his studies. Of course, the part-time doorman Sanghyuk has given him many warnings related to the removal of the creatures. However, Jaehwan really pays no mind.

Jaehwan does not read the newspaper. But, in his humble opinion, it should be regularly provided for his insects in the event that they wish to broaden their minds.

Hongbin also goes down to the lobby lounge every morning except Saturdays and Sundays to obtain one of the precious free commodities available inside it. But since Hongbin doesn't read the newspaper either, he instead makes himself a cup of the boiling hot coffee that is always strategically placed between the hours of six AM and noon on a table nearby the stack of newspapers. However, Hongbin doesn't do this because of a love of coffee; in fact, Hongbin doesn't like coffee much at all. He does this for the sole reason of interacting with Park Hyoshin, the only other person in the building to pick up a copy of the daily newspaper. Hyoshin does this on his way to work every day at approximately seven AM, and although this is practically the crack of dawn for Hongbin, he dutifully trudges his way downstairs from the seventh floor about three minutes before Hyoshin is scheduled to appear. By the time Hyoshin appears, Hongbin is usually stirring half a cup of cream and ten sugars into his coffee as subtly as possible.

"Good morning," he tells Hyoshin, with his usual work-of-art smile that leaves lesser mortals nearly swooning at his feet. "Nice day, isn't it?"

"Good morning," Hyoshin replies, as he bends down to pick up the newspaper and skims over the front page. "A very nice day."

No matter what the weather, this is always their exchange. Rain, sleet, snow, hail, tornado, blizzard, they always carry out this exact conversation. Once, it happened during a hurricane as a tree in front of the building was blown over in front of their very eyes. However, every weekday, Hongbin never fails to show up to participate in this ritual.

Upon completion of this routine, Hyoshin gives him a small wave and a medium-sized smile and dashes out the door to catch his train. Hongbin wriggles gleefully, chokes down the cup of coffee and practically glows for the rest of the day.

Unbeknownst to Hongbin and Hyoshin, there is always a witness to their exchange. This witness is the part-time doorman, Sanghyuk, who is entirely displeased about the whole affair. Sanghyuk resides on the seventh floor of the building as well, and in exchange for his rent, he reluctantly suffers through the duties of this job. Thus he sits behind the front desk every day from six AM to noon, the same length of time as the coffee, and positively glowers around the hour of seven AM. This is because he is one of the lesser mortals that nearly swoons at the sight of Hongbin's work-of-art smile, and also nearly swoons at the sight of Hongbin in general. However, the most attention Hongbin ever pays him is occasionally a brief chat, which does not conclude with Hongbin glowing the same way Hongbin's ten-second conversations with Hyoshin do. Perhaps it's because they got off to a rough start when Sanghyuk dropped several heavy stacks of magazines on Hongbin's foot and accidentally shoved him into a wall, or perhaps it's because of said Hyoshin, but Hongbin never wriggles gleefully about the presence of Sanghyuk.

Because of this, seven AM is one of the least enjoyable parts of Sanghyuk's six-hour shift. It's less enjoyable than the times he has to chase down Jaehwan through a swarm of cicadas and thoroughly reprimand him for their presence. It's less enjoyable than the times he has to let the unnecessarily loud roommates Wonsik and Hakyeon back into their flat because Hakyeon lost the key for the ninety-fifth time. It's less enjoyable than the brief instances he catches sight of his next-door neighbour, Taekwoon, who he thinks might possibly be a serial killer. And those are all very unenjoyable situations.

After Hongbin makes his departure, cringing as he gulps down the coffee on his way into the lift, Sanghyuk takes a few moments to briefly sulk as he comes to terms with the fact that Hongbin will probably never wriggle and glow about him the same way he does about Hyoshin.

No one knows much about Taekwoon. But really, this is probably for the best. Not only does Taekwoon not really want anyone to know much about him, but he is also too objectively terrifying for anyone to find out any of those things. He only leaves his flat perhaps four times a week, and no one is quite sure where he goes, but he returns in the dark of night looking quite suspicious indeed.

The only one who dares approach Taekwoon is Hakyeon, and this is probably because Hakyeon is decidedly obnoxious and devoid of foresight. Wonsik theorises that perhaps Hakyeon just enjoys taking his life into his hands and casually juggling it.

Sanghyuk, despite being Taekwoon's next door neighbour and also the part-time doorman, doesn't see much more of Taekwoon than anyone else. One time, Sanghyuk mentions to Hakyeon that perhaps he should at least try to have an interaction with Taekwoon that consists of more than Taekwoon staring blankly at Sanghyuk until Sanghyuk awkwardly scuttles away. The next day, he wakes up to find a note slipped under his door. It reads, in handwriting that is distinctly Hakyeon's, "My name is Taekwoon. I'm the serial killer who lives next door. See you tomorrow, hyung. Don't forget!"

Hakyeon and Wonsik are not originally roommates when they move into the building. Originally, Wonsik lives on the sixth floor and Hakyeon lives on the seventh with the rest of them. They move in around the same time, with Hakyeon enthusiastically introducing himself to Wonsik in the lift as one of the dozens of boxes he's hauling upstairs promptly bursts at the seams and sends hundreds of multi-coloured skin care products rolling all over the floor. They get to know each other gradually through a series of extremely cliché coincidences: Wonsik finding a dropped eight-thousand-dollar credit card bill belonging to Hakyeon and thoughtfully returning it, Hakyeon knocking on Wonsik's door to borrow a bottle of mustard powder, Wonsik accidentally picking up Hakyeon's wallet when they both somehow drop theirs at the same time, Hakyeon calling Wonsik to get Sanghyuk to help him when he gets stuck in the lift. Eventually Hakyeon invites Wonsik round his place for dinner, and then proceeds to irreparably burn a pot of spaghetti. As soon as Wonsik gets a look at it, they go out for fried chicken instead. The day after that, Wonsik puts his room up for sale and moves into Hakyeon's on the floor above his. They stick a welcome mat outside the door, buy a set of nice blue silk sheets, and that's that.

They couldn't be more different. Wonsik is an easy-going high school calculus teacher with a love of hip-hop, and Hakyeon is a high-maintenance part-time beauty consultant who does back-up dancing for obnoxiously mindless pop music videos. Hakyeon violently pounces things and snuggles them, and Wonsik does not. Hakyeon aggressively throws shade and bitch at approximately seventy-five percent of everything he encounters, whilst Wonsik prefers to peacefully co-exist with it. Upon spotting the budding attraction between the two of them, Jaehwan and Hongbin and Sanghyuk and several of the other building residents set up a betting pool about how long their seeming compatibility will last.

To this very day no one is quite sure about the exact nature of their relationship status, but no one is rude enough to breach social etiquette and ask. For all intents and purposes it would seem that they're dating, except for the fact that sometimes a neighbour will walk down the hall and see Wonsik grumpily sitting on the welcome mat outside his and Hakyeon's flat, where there is an argyle-patterned sock on the doorknob. There's also the fact that Hakyeon seems quite insistent on attempting to cling to and kiss everything that moves, even Taekwoon, who seems closer and closer to strangling Hakyeon to death each day. However, they are clearly inseparable. They go furniture shopping together. Hakyeon clings possessively to Wonsik's hand at every possible moment. Wonsik drapes his jacket over the woefully unprepared Hakyeon when it rains. They can frequently be found cuddling on one of the lobby lounge's sofas, Hakyeon happily and repeatedly kissing Wonsik's cheek as Wonsik swats at him and grumbles. Perhaps most telling of all is that Wonsik actually tolerates Hakyeon for more than two hours without giving in to some uncontrollable urge to fling him forcefully out a window.

The general consensus amongst the contributors to the betting pool is that Hakyeon and Wonsik are completely in love, but Hakyeon is also kind of a dumbass. The average estimate on how long they'll last is approximately three months and fourteen days.

III.

One weekend, Wonsik goes out of town to visit some member of his extended family that he's not seen in at least eight months. As soon as it gets dark outside, Hakyeon knocks incessantly on Hongbin's door and demands that Hongbin come stay overnight with him.

"You've lived alone before," Hongbin sighs, with the kind of expression that indicates he's begun to resign himself to the inevitable fate that awaits him.

"But I will not live alone tonight," says Hakyeon, and shuts Hongbin's own door in his face.

Within fifteen minutes, Hongbin finds himself perched atop Hakyeon's kitchen counter amongst his confusingly large assortment of cereal boxes. He's never known Hakyeon to eat cereal, and he's fairly certain Wonsik doesn't like it either. He swings his legs back and forth, nudging a box of granola bars to the side when it falls on him. "What are we going to do tonight?" Hongbin asks, and tilts his head. "Are we having a sleepover?"

"We could paint each other's nails and talk about boys," says Hakyeon, in a scathingly sarcastic tone, and then shrugs. "I don't know."

What ends up happening is that Hongbin gives into the irresistible urge to clean Hakyeon's flat whilst Hakyeon goes through his unnecessarily complicated facial moisturising routine. Hakyeon can be horrifically messy sometimes, and Wonsik isn't exactly a housemaid either. Therefore, Hongbin stacks up shoes and folds shirts and sweeps floors until Hakyeon decides it's time to go to bed. There's no sofa — Hakyeon and Wonsik saw no need for one — so Hakyeon grabs Hongbin by the wrist and drags him into the bedroom. Hakyeon and Wonsik also saw no need for more than one bed. Wonsik only left nine hours ago. Hongbin eyes the bed with apprehension.

"I washed the sheets." Hakyeon rolls his eyes. "Besides, it isn't like you've not been between them before."

Hakyeon has a point. Hongbin has indeed been in Hakyeon's bed — about eight times, actually, and as recently as last Thursday. There was an argyle-patterned sock hanging off the doorknob for at least three hours. With no further protesting, Hongbin crawls atop the mattress, slips his legs between the glorious silk sheets and wiggles his feet. It's like rolling around in the feathers of an angel. He likes it.

"Good night," Hakyeon murmurs in Hongbin's ear, as he clings a bit too tightly to Hongbin's back and nuzzles his face into Hongbin's shoulder. Hongbin doesn't bother protesting that either. Hakyeon can be like glue sometimes — impossible to peel off, with plenty of pain involved. Instead he lets the silky goodness of the sheets lull him to sleep, oblivious to the fact that Hakyeon did not, in fact, wash them.

The next night, Hongbin sleeps over at Hakyeon's place again. But this time, they're not yet halfway to sleep when someone knocks on the door. The vicious growl coming from Hakyeon's throat is enough to tell Hongbin that he'd better get to the door first and warn whoever's on the other side to sprint away as fast as possible.

Hongbin reaches the door simultaneously with Hakyeon, who is wearing noticeably less clothing than Hongbin. The person they open the door to turns out to be Jaehwan, who doesn't look the least bit bothered that Hakyeon's entire torso is visible.

"Have you seen my beetle?" Jaehwan politely inquires, and Hakyeon screeches.

"Why would your beetle be in here? Did you sneak in and let it loose or something? It better not be in here —"

"We've not seen it," says Hongbin, and silently wishes that Wonsik was here to shut Hakyeon up with a hand over his mouth because Wonsik is the one that doesn't get smacked for doing that.

"If you've not seen it, it's not here." Jaehwan nods, quite definitively, with a bright smile that doesn't match the gravity of the situation. "It's … very big. You would notice." Ignoring Hakyeon's look of abject horror and Hongbin's nervous fidgeting, he shrugs. "I was going to teach a class on the beetle tomorrow. But since I can't find it, I guess I can teach more about how mosquitoes form friendships."

Under normal circumstances, Hongbin wouldn't invite Jaehwan into Hakyeon's home. Actually, he wouldn't invite Jaehwan much of anywhere at all. But Hongbin doesn't catch bugs, and Hakyeon doesn't even get close to bugs, so the fact of the matter is that if the beetle is indeed hiding somewhere inside their flat, they're going to need Jaehwan to deal with it. After exchanging a brief silent-glance-based communication with Hakyeon, Hongbin tentatively smiles at Jaehwan. "Would you like to come in for a while?"

Jaehwan agrees, much too cheerfully. They give him a bowl of blueberry cereal with some nearly-expired milk and awkwardly sit at the coffee table across from him as he eats it. The only noise in the room is the loud crunching of the cereal and the occasional clinking of his spoon against the side of the bowl. It is at this point that it becomes more and more apparent that, despite living down the hall from Jaehwan for several months, they know extremely little about him.

"So … you teach," says Hakyeon, after half the cereal is gone. In his defence, Jaehwan is gulping it down at a rather quick pace.

"About bugs," says Hongbin, very slowly.

"Yes," says Jaehwan, and his eyes light up. "Would you like to learn about them?"

After several minutes of a strange lesson that involves some combination of a sketched diagram on a napkin, enthusiastic hand-waving and also singing a ballad, Jaehwan receives a furious phone call from Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk isn't even on duty at this time of night, but was still dispatched by the landlord to capture and retrieve Jaehwan's beetle, which was found clinging aggressively to one of the second floor hallway's ceiling lights by Hyoshin. According to Sanghyuk, he's got the thing in a plastic grocery bag and Jaehwan has five minutes and thirty seconds to come retrieve it or it will never scuttle again. Hongbin waves vaguely as Jaehwan jumps up from the floor, abandoning the last few pieces of milk-soaked cereal, and races to the door. "We'll see you around," he says, in a tone entirely devoid of enthusiasm, as Jaehwan jams his feet into the wrong shoes and bangs open the door and sprints down the hallway.

"He didn't even close the door behind him," says Hakyeon, with an expression of utter repulsion and disgust. "Now I have to get up. And move. Was he raised in a barn?"

"Maybe an observation tank," Hongbin suggests, as he closes the door for Hakyeon.

The last night of Hongbin's stay, he goes home to get clean clothes and comes back to find Hakyeon laying on the floor of the hallway eating chocolate. A crumb of what appears to be peppermint fudge breaks off the edge of the candy bar he's holding and lands unceremoniously on the hideous maroon paisley-patterned carpet. Hongbin considers not even asking for an explanation, but he gets the feeling Hakyeon will insist on telling him anyway, so he nudges Hakyeon's side lightly with his foot. "The floor is dirty. What are you doing?"

"Watching." Hakyeon taps Hongbin's ankle, and points down the hallway. Most of the fluorescent hallway lights have fizzled out, as usual, and he has to squint through the darkness of the entirely-too-humid hall to see what Hakyeon's finger is directing his eyes towards.

At the end of the hallway, tucked halfway out of sight behind a fake plastic potted palm tree, there has always been a leather bench. It's been there as long as any of them can remember, including Jaehwan, who's been in the building for almost a year. No one really knows who put it there, for what reason it was put there or why it has five uneven and unsteady legs. No one really knows either why it's never been fixed or disposed of or at least fully moved behind the plant where no one can see it in all its pitiful glory. But what Hakyeon is pointing at isn't the bench. It's not the tree. He's pointing at what is seated atop the bench, nearly concealed by the crinkled palm fronds.

He's pointing at Taekwoon.

Really, Hongbin thinks, it makes perfect sense that Taekwoon's pajamas would have cloth spikes all over the arms. It also makes sense that his aura of do not come near me and I might possibly hurt you is just as strong at any time of day. What doesn't make sense is why Taekwoon is crouching barefoot on a five-legged bench behind a fake tree in plaid pajama pants at eleven PM. What doesn't make sense either is why Taekwoon is actually outside his flat, in an area that could potentially put him in the vicinity of other human beings. According to Sanghyuk, he's already been out of his room four times this week.

"He hasn't moved yet," whispers Hakyeon, "But it's only a matter of time."

Hongbin is struck with the sudden and frightening realisation that, at this moment, Hakyeon is actually creepier than Taekwoon. Nevertheless, he takes a seat on the ugly carpet beside Hakyeon, carefully avoiding any contact between his backside and the fallen pieces of chocolate. Absently, he snaps a piece off of Hakyeon's peppermint fudge bar and sticks it in his mouth. It's disgustingly sweet.

"Let's go inside. This is weird."

"Not yet. I'm going to approach him."

"He's going to push you down the stairs. I'm going inside."

Hongbin takes another piece of Hakyeon's chocolate, despite Hakyeon's whine of protest, and gets to his feet. He chews it slowly as he shuts the door behind him, and then grimaces. It really is repulsively sweet, and this is coming from the guy who puts ten sugars in his coffee. It'll probably rot Hakyeon's soul. Then again, a rotted soul might not cause much of a noticeable difference in Hakyeon's behaviour. Hongbin considers leaving him out there to suffer whatever consequences his interaction with Taekwoon might have, but Hongbin isn't very good at lying. Therefore, when Wonsik comes home and asks him where Hakyeon is, Hongbin will instantly end up implicated in his disappearance. So, with great resignation, he swallows the fudge and cracks the door open just a bit to peer outside.

Down at the end of the hallway, Hakyeon has managed to perch his awkwardly tall form on the misshapen bench alongside Taekwoon. His arm is draped around Taekwoon's shoulders as he chatters incessantly in Taekwoon's ear. Though Hongbin is entirely certain that Taekwoon could shove Hakyeon off and fling him halfway down the hallway if he wanted to, for some reason, Taekwoon is only lightly pushing at Hakyeon's chest and vaguely glowering. After a few minutes Taekwoon gets up and, without a backwards glance, returns to his room. Hakyeon is left in one piece. It's strange, Hongbin thinks. Very strange.

"We're friends now," Hakyeon announces, quite proudly, when he returns to the flat and shuts the door behind him. "Yes, our Taekwoon is now my friend."

Hakyeon kicks his shoes off without paying the slightest bit of attention to where they land. They knock into the side of the carefully arranged shoe pile Hongbin spent a half-hour setting up by the door, sending the whole thing toppling down into scattered mess of trainers and loafers and fuzzy pink slippers all around Hakyeon. Hakyeon doesn't notice. Hongbin closes his eyes and counts to ten inside his head, then guides Hakyeon away from the disaster that the area that the large radius around the front door has become. Hakyeon reeks of peppermint chocolate.

"We are going to sleep," Hongbin announces, and is secretly grateful that tomorrow he gets to go home.

The next morning, Wonsik returns. Hongbin has just emerged from the shower, and he's standing in the middle of Hakyeon and Wonsik's bedroom with a fluffy red towel wrapped around his waist when Wonsik walks in and drops his oversized duffel bag by the door. Hakyeon, who is trying to convince Hongbin to remove that towel, immediately stops his persuasions.

"Hello," says Wonsik, and Hongbin replies by turning such a deep shade of red that he can actually feel the colour of his face changing. He can pinpoint the exact moment that the shade of his skin becomes literally indistinguishable from the towel. He can see his discarded pajamas lying only a short way away, folded on the middle of the bed, and he lunges to grab them; in the process the towel nearly falls, and he has to make a desperate snatch for it to keep it from revealing things that should be left entirely to the imagination. "Is this a bad time?"

"It's perfectly fine," says Hakyeon, the literal incarnation of the devil, and kindly holds out Hongbin's pajamas to him. Hongbin hurriedly re-ties the knot in the towel and then takes them, clutching them to his chest to cover whatever else the towel doesn't. "I think Hongbin was on his way home."

It's partially true. Hongbin was indeed on his way home. However, he was hoping to pack his things first. Perhaps have a bowl of the blueberry cereal, which turned out to be surprisingly quite good. Have a short conversation with Hakyeon, probably (or most definitely) related to the strange phone call he received earlier this morning from Sanghyuk. Or at least put on some clothing before any human being that isn't Hakyeon laid eyes upon him. However, as Hakyeon ushers Hongbin's hungry and confused and towel-clad form towards the door, it becomes quite clear that none of those things will be happening this morning. What will be happening is that he will be locked outside Hakyeon and Wonsik's bedroom with a pair of pajamas clutched to his naked chest and no breakfast food in his mouth. Sure enough, this subsequently occurs.

"Don't worry," Hongbin hears Hakyeon say, followed by the sound of something landing heavily on the bed. "I washed the sheets."

Hongbin, who crawled out of those sheets only twenty-five minutes ago, can testify to the fact that Hakyeon did not, in fact, wash them. Suddenly, something in Hongbin's brain clicks together about his own arrival three days prior, and he yells in protest. However, he gets the feeling that barging into the bedroom right now to express his displeasure with Hakyeon would not be the smartest idea. The smartest idea, he thinks, would probably be to put some clothing on in the relative privacy of the kitchen and then exit the vicinity as fast as he can. Therefore, this is exactly what he does.

The next time Wonsik goes out of town, Hongbin thinks, he's going out of town as well. To another country. On an island. For at least a week. Returning at the end of that week will be optional.

IV.

At eleven forty-five AM on the morning of Hongbin's last day with Hakyeon, Sanghyuk nervously calls Hongbin's phone. He tries to tell himself that his palms are slightly clammy because of another terrifying encounter with one of Jaehwan's possibly mutated centipedes, but of course that's not it. That doesn't fully explain away the small quiver in his voice, either.

"Hello, Hongbin. It's Sanghyuk. Your — your neighbour. The doorman."

The last part feels a bit unnecessary, but he figures he'd better add it in case of the rather embarrassing event that Hongbin really overlooked him enough not to be aware of his name. It's true that his uniform does include a shiny badge on the left side of the chest that says SANGHYUK, and the name card on the desk in front of him when he's on duty also says SANGHYUK, but better safe than sorry.

"Sorry to bother you, but I have something to tell you and it's important and I need to tell it to you by two PM this afternoon. I could tell you now, but it's better to tell you in person because important reasons. Okay, have a nice day, and —"

It's at this moment that Sanghyuk realises he has absolutely nothing to say after that and, but he's already said it and now he can't take it back. He panics and hangs up the phone, then mentally punches himself in the face about seventeen times. It mentally hurts quite a lot. And, he mouths to himself, then thumps his head down onto the desk in front of him and swears.

Unbeknownst to Sanghyuk, up on the seventh floor Hongbin is facing a dilemma. One of the possessions he was unable to gather up when he was unceremoniously removed from Hakyeon and Wonsik's room about fifteen minutes ago was his phone. On one hand, he feels he shouldn't leave it there too long because within a half-hour it will probably get lost somewhere in the mess of their residence and take several years to excavate from the rubble. On the other hand, he gets the feeling that the coast is not yet clear for him to return and retrieve it. And so he files that errand in his mind for later, in the meantime dashing out the door for a Very Important Appointment around twelve-oh-eight PM. Hongbin arrives downstairs only ten minutes after the end of Sanghyuk's shift his subsequent departure from the area.

This is why Sanghyuk never gets to give Hongbin the news that, at two PM this afternoon, Park Hyoshin is moving out of the building.

The thing is, when it comes to Park Hyoshin, Hongbin is a little bit insane. He has three pictures of Hyoshin on his phone, despite the fact that he never asked to take any of them. When asked if he's got his eye on anyone special, he smiles softly despite the fact that he's never spent more than fifteen minutes in Hyoshin's company. He sent Hyoshin flowers for his birthday, despite the fact that the only words he says to Hyoshin on a regular basis are Good morning. Nice day, isn't it? He also did this despite the fact that there is no non-creepy way for him to have found out when Hyoshin's birthday is.

Considering all that, Sanghyuk thinks, maybe he doesn't really want to be the one to break the news to Hongbin. Maybe this communication mishap is the universe's way of trying to save him from a terrible fate. Upon further reflection, he doesn't want to be associated with the moment that Hongbin's world shatters around him.

And so, when Hongbin coincidentally bumps into Sanghyuk at three-twenty PM with his phone in his hand and inquires about the news, Sanghyuk just shakes his head and tells him it really wasn't that important after all.

Hongbin will eventually figure it out himself, Sanghyuk thinks. It shouldn't take more than a week. The next morning is a Tuesday, and right on schedule, Hongbin appears at seven AM to shuffle over to the coffeepot on the lounge table and grab a white styrofoam cup. He fills about half the cup and sets the coffeepot back down, then dumps into the other half a repulsive amount of sugar and cream. Sanghyuk cringes from a combination of the creation of the concoction and the way the side of the cup cracks and leaks a few boiling hot drops of the stuff onto Hongbin's hand.

By seven-ten AM, when Hongbin's already drank half of the mixture and refilled the emptied space with more sugar and cream, Hyoshin still is not there. Hongbin sighs almost imperceptibly, then approaches the front desk with tiny and hesitant steps. His eyes are fixed on the floor, his posture small and dejected. It's a pitiful sight.

"Has Hyoshin come down yet?"

"Not today," says Sanghyuk, and does not comment any further. Hongbin thanks him without any real expression of gratitude, and then slumps off towards the lift with the styrofoam cup tilting dangerously in his hand. The coffee-scented sugar cream sludge sloshes over the top of it and splatters the floor beside him with each step. Sanghyuk eyes the trail of mess with a feeling of great weariness, knowing it's going to be his job to clean it up as soon as Hongbin leaves.

When it's no longer avoidable, Sanghyuk looks around to make sure no one is watching before he kneels on the ground with a handful of paper towels and begins to scrub at the coffee syrup. He didn't lie, per se, but he can't keep from wondering if this is the universe's way of punishing him for not telling Hongbin the entire truth. Although, really, the sight of Hongbin's big sad eyes was punishment enough.

Two more days go by in a similar fashion. And then, on the third day, Hongbin doesn't come downstairs. It's a Friday, and a very nice morning indeed; seven AM comes and goes without Hongbin to comment on it. Eight AM comes and goes as well, and so does nine, until finally it's noon and Sanghyuk is forced to leave his position at the front desk and head back upstairs to rid himself of his uncomfortably stiff doorman uniform. The little hat keeps slipping over his eyes, and he lets it. Maybe it will hide the shame in them from the harsh, judging outside world.

In the painfully slow lift, Sanghyuk taps his foot against the shiny floor and fiddles uncomfortably with the metal buttons on his sleeve and pointedly does not meet his own gaze in the mirrored walls. He also debates the relative merits of going to check on the possibly heartbroken Hongbin or just avoiding him for the rest of his life. On one hand, hiding from his problems seems very attractive. But on the other hand, Hongbin also seems very attractive. As improbable as it is, Sanghyuk still holds some vague hope that Hongbin will notice him and they will have some sort of deep conversation and somehow this will lead to them wearing matching sweaters and adopting a fluffy white cat with a grumpy face. Besides, he might maybe possibly feel a tiny bit guilty about the idea of Hongbin suffering alone. Possibly.

By the time the lift finishes its snail-speed ascent to the seventh floor, Sanghyuk has resolved that he will check on Hongbin. Nothing too detailed, of course; nothing that will implicate him in the breaking of Hongbin's heart. Just perhaps a small acknowledegment of Hongbin's misery and a well-wish that the pain will fade in the future. He decides very resolutely that he will not back out of this before he can knock on Hongbin's door, because that is an embarrassingly common occurrence for him.

However, Sanghyuk doesn't get the chance to avoid the confrontation. This is because, due to the positioning of their flats, Sanghyuk has to pass Hongbin's door in order to get to his own. And Hongbin is slumped on his doorstep, clutching a familiar FOR SALE sign to his chest with an expression of such devastation that Sanghyuk can't find it in his heart to pass him by. So he kneels next to Hongbin and tentatively puts a hand his shoulder.

"Are … are you okay?"

This is possibly a stupider conversational manoeuvre than ending the exchange with and. Actually, considering the circumstances, it almost certainly is. But slowly, Hongbin nods. "I'll be alright," he says, in a quiet whisper that carries strong undertones of I will never experience joy again. "I'll be fine."

Sanghyuk inches a bit closer, wrapping his arm around Hongbin. Hongbin sighs softly, wrapping his own arms tighter around the FOR SALE sign, but doesn't move away. Sanghyuk could almost swear — but not quite — that he feels Hongbin's body shake as he muffles a soft sob. Poor Hongbin. This must be a lot to take in. And he didn't even get his coffee this morning —

"Hold on," says Sanghyuk, as a sudden idea strikes him. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Despite the fact that it's the ideal time for the sadistic lift to freeze up, it miraculously carries Sanghyuk down to the ground floor without even the slightest stutter. Quickly, he sprints down the street to the small café at the end of the block. The place is run by two other building residents, green-haired Hojoon and silver-haired Xero, and they give him a sizeable discount on the order he breathlessly stammers out for half a cup of coffee, strongly caffeinated. Like he's seen Hongbin do a million times, he dumps ten packets of sugar into it and pours in several layers of thick, rich cream. The drink nearly spills about a billion times as he dashes back to the building and into the lift, which somehow repeats the miracle and deposits him on the seventh floor landing within three minutes. Regaining his breath and as much of his composure as possible, Sanghyuk runs a hand through his wildly tousled hair and smooths down his wrinkled jacket before heading down the dimly-lit hall to where Hongbin is still slumped in front of his door with the sign. As casually as possible, Sanghyuk sits down in front of him and holds out the coffee. Only the smallest amount has managed to splash out of the hole on the top of the black plastic lid, and he subtly wipes it away.

"I brought you something."

Hongbin's look of hurt and confusion slowly morphs into a look of broken gratitude as he understands what Sanghyuk's handing him. He sets the sign to the side and takes the cup, sipping it slowly; Sanghyuk can tell from the face Hongbin makes that he's burnt his tongue, but he perseveres. After a moment, the tiniest of smiles comes across Hongbin's face as he realises Sanghyuk has made it just the way he likes it — ten sugars and nearly a carton of cream.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

And Sanghyuk smiles back as he watches Hongbin finish the cup, oblivious to the fact that Hongbin doesn't even like coffee.

V.

Wonsik's interactions with Taekwoon have been quite minimal. Admittedly, everyone's interactions with Taekwoon have been minimal, but Wonsik even more so than the others. This is a bit bizarre, considering that half of Taekwoon's flat was unknowingly furnished by Wonsik.

It happens something like this: Soon after Wonsik moves in, when he first begins to fall in love with Hakyeon, Taekwoon steals Wonsik's kitchen table. The two incidents aren't related, of course — well, tangentially related through the fact that Wonsik does very stupid things for Hakyeon. For example, once Hakyeon manages to detach one of Hongbin's windowpanes in a very strange series of events and Wonsik helps him glue it back into its proper place in the fifteen minutes before Hongbin gets back from feeding the fish of Hojoon and Xero on the third floor. Another time, a streetlight pole falls on Hakyeon on his way to a music video filming for a Very Important Pop Star and Wonsik rushes all the way from a dentist's appointment on the other side of the city to help pry him out from under it. Yet another time, Hakyeon falls asleep in Wonsik's lap in the middle of the hallway and Wonsik sits there for three hours without shoving him off because it's two in the morning and Hakyeon is drunk and the floor really isn't as uncomfortable as one might think. And then, this time, he's decided to lend Hakyeon a kitchen table.

It starts when they get stuck in the lift together after another chance meeting in the laundry room. Somewhere along the line, Hakyeon mentions in passing that he hasn't got a kitchen table and that this is a very inconvenient situation because this weekend he's having ten people over for dinner and they're all going to have to sit on the living room floor. At the time Wonsik just laughs, because it's freezing cold in the lift and Hakyeon's decided to bundle himself up in an enormous fuzzy blue blanket from his laundry basket until Sanghyuk manages to get them out. All that's visible of him is his pouting face, and it's pouting quite ferociously indeed. But once they've been freed and parted ways when the lift doors open at the sixth floor, Wonsik begins to think.

Every year, there is an educational conference held for high school teachers of sciences, technology, engineering and mathematics. Wonsik, being a calculus teacher, always attends. This year, the conference just so happens to be taking place on Saturday and Sunday on the other side of the country. Therefore, this weekend, Wonsik will not be using his kitchen table. Since he will have no need for it, and Hakyeon will, Wonsik somehow concludes that the logical solution is to lug the thing up the stairs leading from the sixth floor to the seventh floor using brute strength and sheer power of will. When Wonsik reaches Hakyeon's door, the legs of the table dragging noisily on the carpet behind him, Hakyeon invites him in for a drink and he leaves the table outside. When they open the door again five minutes later, the table is gone.

They spend the whole rest of the day searching the building for Wonsik's kitchen table. They search hallways and stairways and alcoves and the lift. They knock on doors, inspect rooms and question innocent passersby in the most serious tones possible. They check the lobby and the mail room and the laundry room and the balcony on the roof. They look behind the five-legged bench and the potted tree at the end of the seventh floor hall, and they look next to the bizarrely shaped abstract art sculpture at the end of the sixth floor one. Wonsik misses his train out of town, and doesn't end up actually leaving the city until after midnight, when they give up and begin to seriously doubt that the table will ever be found. Hakyeon searches for it the whole rest of the weekend, to no avail. His ten dinner guests all sit on the floor.

The next weekend, Wonsik brings Hakyeon with him to pick out a new table. When they finally get it carried home and hauled up the stairs and situated properly in Wonsik's living room, a task that nearly ends in dismemberment several times, they head upstairs to Hakyeon's place to eat the leftover Italian food Hongbin dropped off there earlier in the morning. However, they only make it halfway down the hall before Hakyeon notices a strange discrepancy.

"Taekwoon's door is open."

"You think he's in?"

Tentatively, they creep forwards and peer into Taekwoon's flat. There's no sign of Taekwoon inside, but then again, it's hard to tell; the heavy black curtains are all drawn over the windows, and it's nearly pitch-dark. Taekwoon doesn't seem to own any type of lamp. Actually, Taekwoon doesn't seem to own anything at all — well, besides from one large and extremely conspicuous piece of furniture sitting right in the middle of the room.

"Wonsik … is that your table?"

"I … Yes. I think it is."

Wonsik and Hakyeon exchange a look. It's a brief look that doesn't communicate all that much, but it really doesn't need to. Slowly, and in perfect unison, they close the door and begin to back away. They proceed down the hallway in this awkward and unorthodox fashion until they're safely inside Hakyeon's flat, at which point they exchange a much longer look that communicates many different types of startled and confused. When they break the eye contact, no real conclusion has been reached.

In the end, they don't eat the Italian food. Hakyeon also does not own a refrigerator, and they'd rather not take the chance of consuming Shrimp Linguine Alfredo that's been sitting out on the counter for approximately seven hours. Instead, they go out for fried chicken. Wonsik thinks briefly of offering to lend Hakyeon his refrigerator — but then again, Taekwoon might want one of those too.

Taekwoon steals Wonsik's coffeepot as well. He also takes a set of dishes and several coat hangers. Unsurprisingly, he eventually steals a lamp. At first, Wonsik's mind does not immediately jump to the involvement of Taekwoon; he assumes the disappearances are just a natural part of the constant shuffle of things back and forth between his place and Hakyeon's, which is also kind of his (though they aren't actually living together, at least not officially, they've come to an unspoken agreement to share Hakyeon's flat). It makes sense, Wonsik thinks, that things are bound to get lost in the many round trips. It's the lamp, however, that makes him realise Taekwoon is behind this. Only Taekwoon would have the skills and the necessity to snatch a lamp out from literally right behind his back.

Wonsik procrastinates on confronting Taekwoon about this. This is because still none of them are sure if Taekwoon is a serial killer, and he'd rather not find out firsthand. But when a rice cooker and an umbrella also go missing, Wonsik decides that something must be done.

Taekwoon answers his door on the third knock. Wonsik figured Taekwoon wouldn't open it at all, but he does. Taekwoon's hair is shaggy and unkempt down to his shoulders, and the circles under his sunken eyes are dark and deep. He's as pale as a sheet and as thin as a board; it's a bit worrying to Wonsik, who's never got a good look at him before, but at least it's an indication that Taekwoon is probably not a cannibal. He'd look less malnourished if he was.

"Uh, hey. I'm Wonsik, your neighbour. Just wanted to know if you've seen any of the items on this list?"

Wonsik hands Taekwoon a piece of crinkled notebook paper. On the back, there's one of his student's homework on constant coefficient differential equations. On the front, there's a list of his missing home furnishings that fills approximately half of the page. Taekwoon looks at it for several moments, and then nods just once.

"Yes."

"Can I … have them back?"

"Yes."

Wonsik watches with a severe sense of confusion as Taekwoon disappears inside his flat for several moments, then returns with Wonsik's coffeemaker. Taekwoon sets it down on the floor in front of Wonsik, and then heads back inside. He repeats the process for several more trips until piled up on the ugly paisley hallway carpet around Wonsik is the set of chipped blue dishes, the bent wire coat hangers, the floor lamp, the semi-functional rice cooker and the crooked umbrella. As pitiful quality as they are, Taekwoon gazes at them with a deep wistful sorrow as he leaves them sitting there surrounding Wonsik and turns to retrieve the last item from inside his lair.

"Wait —" Wonsik reaches out to catch Taekwoon's arm, but pulls his hand back (he's still not sure if Taekwoon is dangerous, after all). "It's okay. Keep the kitchen table." Taekwoon looks back at him with great hesitancy, beginning to shake his head, but Wonsik insists. "I've already got another one. Besides, I've been needing to replace it for a while. So you can have it."

Taekwoon pauses for a very long moment, and then nods. "Okay." His voice is nearly a whisper, but he gives Wonsik the tiniest hint of something that could almost be classified as a smile when he says, "Thank you."

It's not true at all. It was a very nice table. Wonsik had bought it right before he moved in, and he'd spent a good deal of time picking it out. But, for reasons Wonsik can't explain, he felt incredibly guilty at the sadness in Taekwoon's eyes as Taekwoon parted with all his hoarded plunder. The feeling just grows stronger as Wonsik wonders exactly why it is that the only thing Taekwoon owns is a pilfered kitchen table.

Wonsik doesn't see Taekwoon again until a Saturday morning much, much later, when he finds Taekwoon in the lobby having a minor breakdown over a small plastic container of warm cream cheese.

In the meantime, Wonsik makes eighty-three more trips back and forth between his and Hakyeon's flat without anything disappearing. He even moves in with Hakyeon, dragging the entire contents of his living space upstairs to the seventh floor. Without the ability to purloin anything, Wonsik assumes, Taekwoon has probably been skulking under his kitchen table in the dark confines of his lair, unmoving for days as he plans something nefarious (at least Wonsik knows it's not cannibalism). Since still no one really knows what Taekwoon does, this seems like the most accurate assumption.

But Wonsik does see Taekwoon again. It happens because, yet again, Hakyeon has locked him out. This happens at least three times a week. Hakyeon has this habit of losing his key, borrowing Wonsik's without informing him and then heading off to some important dance practice or urgent errand where Wonsik cannot retrieve it. Wonsik, upon returning to the flat after some brief excursion, will fumble around in the pocket of his jacket and find his keychain completely empty. On these frequent occasions, he'll head down to the lobby and slump up to the front desk to reluctantly plead with Sanghyuk to let him back into his own home. But on this particular occasion, before he finds Sanghyuk, he finds Taekwoon.

On Saturday mornings, the building provides breakfast for its occupants. No one is certain whether the food is set out due to the goodness of the landlord's heart or in some sort of elaborate scheme to lure in whichever of Jaehwan's insects is still roaming free through the halls, but nonetheless, the residents greatly appreciate the weekly appearance of the bagels and cream cheese and small assortment of fruit. It always disappears within an hour. This is suspected mostly to be the fault of Taekwoon; Sanghyuk once told Wonsik in strictest confidence that Taekwoon always materialises out of the shadows the moment the food has been set out, and then waits until he thinks no one is looking before snatching up ten bagels and several apples and vanishing away into the distance again. Strange — but perhaps not so strange, Wonsik thinks, considering the amount of things Taekwoon has snatched up from him himself.

Today, Wonsik arrives downstairs about an hour and a half after the provision of the breakfast to humbly beg for Sanghyuk's assistance. However, as he makes a short detour into the lounge to perhaps pick up a cup of coffee, he smacks directly into the back of someone who he discovers with utmost horror is Taekwoon. He prepares to stutter out a series of apologies — though he knows Taekwoon's not a cannibal, he still doesn't know about that serial killer thing — but he gets no reaction. Actually, Taekwoon doesn't seem to have noticed him at all. Taekwoon's attention is completely fixated on the breakfast tray, which is empty save for one lone package of cream cheese. Taekwoon's face is as blank and expressionless as usual, but when Wonsik looks closer, he sees Taekwoon's eyes are filled with the same wounded longing as when Wonsik politely requested him to return all Wonsik's belongings. There's a hint of panic and despair mixed in. Wonsik does not understand.

As Wonsik watches, still without the slightest hint of comprehension, Taekwoon slinks over to the coffeepot. With a look that can only be described as mournful, he begins to fill cup after cup with coffee. No sugar, no cream, just as much caffeine as he can possibly gather. He stops after the tenth cup and then begins to pick them up, slowing down as he reaches the fifth cup and tries to precariously balance it trapped between his arm and his side. The fragile styrofoam begins to bend under the pressure; it's only a matter of time before it cracks, and that would indeed be quite a waste.

Taekwoon's mournful look becomes even more mournful. He looks back and forth between the five cups of coffee in his arms and the five left on the table with a still blank and expressionless face, but something in his eyes that resembles distress. Confused as he is, for reasons he doesn't understand Wonsik finds himself stepping in to help. Removing the package of cream cheese from the tray, he begins to transfer the five coffees on the table to it. Slowly, so as not to startle Taekwoon, Wonsik takes three of the cups that are wobbling dangerously close to tumbling out of his grasp and places those on the tray as well. Taekwoon, after several long moments, sets the other two down beside the others.

"Try this instead," Wonsik says, with a smile.

Just once, Taekwoon nods. Reaching over the table, he places the cream cheese back in the middle of the tray and then picks it up. His hands tremble just a bit. "Thank you," he says, his voice barely audible, and then suddenly he's gone. Wonsik blinks. Sanghyuk really wasn't exaggerating about Taekwoon's ability to disappear into the shadows.

"Did anything interesting happen today?" Hakyeon asks, when he returns home from the very important dance practice he departed for with Wonsik's key about seven hours ago. He's scrolling through something on his phone, which means he's probably devoting about 90% of his attention to news of the activities of some female idol group and only 10% of his attention to whatever Wonsik's answer will be. This isn't entirely unusual.

Wonsik, who was forced into assisting Sanghyuk into breaking up a pillow and water gun fight between six guys on the fifth floor in exchange for Sanghyuk letting him back into his flat, is too tired to try to forcefully get any more of Hakyeon's attention. "Nothing much," he says, and doesn't ask Hakyeon's opinion on what exactly about a small plastic container of cream cheese might've upset Taekwoon so much. Most likely, the world will never know.

VI.

Taekwoon is a ghost painter. Contrary to popular belief, this doesn't mean he paints supernatural creatures. It means that for a cut of the profit and absolutely no credit, he finishes the minute and mundane details of beautiful paintings for famous artists. Much like a ghost writer, his contributions to the finished work are never acknowledged to the general public. But much like a ghost writer, he gets paid for the anonymous efforts he contributes. That pay is something he desperately needs. Therefore, he tells himself that it doesn't bother him at all when his 20% of a painting is hailed as another genius masterpiece by a very skilled and well-known artist. He tells himself that none of his matters as long as he can pay the rent every month, and maybe buy food once every two weeks. Sometimes, he convinces himself that it's true.

Most people mistakenly assume Taekwoon is a vampire or a horror story writer or a private investigator hired to stalk people in the dead of night. Most people semi-correctly assume that Taekwoon is socially awkward and misanthropic. The truth is that Taekwoon is a starving artist with a crippling case of shyness and a relatively low level of patience. The truth is also that, when interacting with the other seventh-floor residents of the building, Taekwoon gets the sense he's drastically misunderstood.

For example there's Hongbin, who seems nice enough, but always keeps a safe distance. There's Wonsik, who is well-intentioned, but is inexplicably difficult to get close to despite how endearing he is. There's Sanghyuk, who seems awkward and uncomfortable every time they run into each other in the hall. There's Jaehwan, who Taekwoon has an extremely limited desire to actually be around. And then there's Hakyeon, who tries quite enthusiastically to actively involve himself in Taekwoon's life, but unfortunately seems to think he can pull Taekwoon out of his shell by incessantly pestering him until he breaks out of it.

Therefore Taekwoon prefers to spend his time locked in his dimly-lit flat, his long unkempt hair tied back from his face in a messy ponytail as he hunches over yet another painting of a landscape and adds in miscellaneous background nature. His spine stiffens up as he spends hours shading the tiny leaves of trees and his wrist cramps as he endures even more time filling in frothy waves, but it's employment. After the last music store job Taekwoon lost for being "too intimidating to interact with the customers", this is all that stands between him and resuming his usual pattern of intermittently spending several months living on the street. Winter is approaching, and he'd really like it if he never had to be homeless again. Currently, he's succeeding at that. (Not going hungry is something he's still working on.)

And so Taekwoon paints. He adds dainty flower petals and shimmering reflections of sunlight on ponds and subtle variations in colour on the different sides of clouds. He does this for days on end. When he's done with the paintings, he sets them down to dry on the kitchen table that he borrowed indefinitely from Wonsik and was inexplicably allowed to keep. He likes the table. It's much better than leaving the completed paintings on the floor, where any number of terrible things could happen to them. It's saved him from having to re-do at least three paintings. In his line of work, this is a priceless assistance.

Maybe, Taekwoon thinks, he could try a bit harder to engage with the others — at least Wonsik, if not anyone else. But the thing is, he doesn't know how.

One day, Taekwoon takes a painting outside. His lack of a lamp means no artificially controlled lighting, and opening the curtains means a blinding influx of sun that obstructs anything else from his view. Opening them only partway casts a bizarre shadow over the room that doesn't help at all. And so, quite reluctantly, he gathers up his supplies. He takes the half-finished painting, his palette of paints, several brushes and an easel. He also brings a spare hair tie in the likely event that his current one snaps. He slips on his shoes, casts a longing glance backwards at his lair and then heads out into the hallway. Miraculously, over 50% of the lights are working. He sits down on the frayed patch of carpet between the five-legged bench and the plastic palm tree, sets up the easel, spreads everything out around him and then gets to work.

"Hm, what's this? A painting? Ah, it's beautiful! Our Taekwoon is so talented! Why didn't you show us sooner?"

The noisy disturbance hovering impolitely over his shoulder is Hakyeon. Of course it's Hakyeon. Only Hakyeon would have the instinct to appear only three minutes after Taekwoon and the rudeness to immediately interrupt him. Takewoon's eyes narrow.

"It's not all my work. Only some."

"Which part?"

The painting is of an erupting volcano. Taekwoon pictures Hakyeon falling into it. But still, with considerable reluctance, he points at the shape of the sulfur clouds he's filling in above it.

"This part."

It's only the beginning of the thing, just a vague fluffy outline of sharp blacks and hazy charcoals and acrid greys, but Hakyeon still looks suitably impressed. Taekwoon picks up two clean brushes and dips them into an orange and a red, adding a few extra sparks of lava mixing in with the clouds for extra effect. Shockingly, Hakyeon doesn't disrupt him for a full thirty seconds. This is utterly unprecedented. Taekwoon feels a slight flicker of annoyance when Hakyeon does speak again, but he doesn't mind it as much as he thought he would.

"It's nice, Taekwoonie. It looks really good."

Taekwoon ducks his head almost shyly, and goes back to working on the clouds. Hakyeon watches with interest, following the paintbrushes with his eyes and tilting his head to keep up each time the direction of Taekwoon's brush-strokes changes. They do this often, with the way the clouds are in various long, nebulous shapes. The effect on Hakyeon's posture is fairly comical. Taekwoon may or may not swirl the brushes around with extra vigour just to watch Hakyeon's bizarre contortions.

Taekwoon also may or may not violently swirl the brushes around on Hakyeon's face when Hakyeon decides to back-hug him before heading off for lunch. Hakyeon is warm and his sweater is fuzzy and he smells like fancy shampoo, but he also clings like a leech and his bony arms dig into Taekwoon's sides at an uncomfortable angle. Considering that Hakyeon has once again decided to ignore Taekwoon's aura of never touch me ever, Taekwoon feels very justified in replicating a sulfur cloud on Hakyeon's cheek and several lava sparks on his forehead. Maybe Hongbin is a work of art, but a screeching flailing fleeing Hakyeon makes a wonderful canvas.

Taekwoon does not willingly attend the First Unofficial Seventh Floor Hallway Picnic. In fact, attending is not his choice at all. He ends up at the event through a combination of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting stuck in the wrong area and catching the attention of the wrong people. To be specific, Taekwoon is returning from delivering a completed tropical island painting to the artist that will get the credit for it when he turns the corner and immediately stumbles into a whirlwind of festivities that he did not anticipate the presence of. Somehow he gets dragged into the chaos, and within seconds he's trapped between Jaehwan and an enormous tray of lemon squares and the wall. Before Taekwoon can attempt to wriggle free, Hakyeon spots him. Hakyeon's eyes light up in triumph. To Taekwoon, it looks like sadistic glee.

"Taekwoon is here! Look, Taekwoon came!"

The people Hakyeon is yelling this announcement to are all of the seventh floor residents, who, for a reason Taekwoon cannot fathom, have gathered in the hallway outside their flats and decided to hold some sort of impromptu feast. Taekwoon's neighbours and various food items are strewn all over the hideous maroon paisley-print carpet. He sees Hongbin, who's slicing up several strangely-shaped purple fruits over by the five-legged bench. Sanghyuk is beside him, somewhat squashed by the fake palm tree, mixing the chopped fruit into a large colourful salad with something that looks suspiciously like ham. Hakyeon is sitting in the middle of the hall, surrounded by stacked-up plastic containers of kimchi and a dish of vegetable lasagna and a rice cooker plugged into the wall. Behind him is Wonsik, who appears to be using Hakyeon's back as a surface to grade calculus exams on as he simultaneously stirs a pot of completely unidentifiable stew on a hot-plate and tries not to surrender to the urge to take another one of his several daily naps (the hip hop music he's got blaring from an old-school boombox somehow does not seem to be helping the cause). And then of course there's Jaehwan and the carefully-arranged several-tiered display of lemon squares, both of which Taekwoon is about a millisecond away from accidentally faceplanting into. Despite the incessant chatter and cooking noises and thumping beat, they devote a moment of their attention to Taekwoon. For some reason, they seem appreciative of Taekwoon's presence — at least, more appreciative than Taekwoon is of theirs.

"Come on, don't just sit there! Have some food!"

Today is Tuesday. On Saturday, like usual, Taekwoon was planning to show up early to the lobby for breakfast and abscond with half of the free provisions. He's eternally grateful for their appearance, because they help supplement the fact that his weekly food budget is usually enough to buy only a small bag of rice and some vegetables. Sometimes his weekly food budget is nothing, in which case said provisions are essential for survival. But on Saturday, Taekwoon's alarm didn't go off. Therefore, he arrived in the lounge approximately an hour and a half late, after everything had already disappeared. All he managed to procure was ten cups of coffee and a miniscule amount of cream cheese. This is one of those weeks when Taekwoon's food budget is nothing. Saturday feels like a long, long time ago.

"Don't be rude, Taekwoonie! Eat what we made!"

At this moment, Taekwoon's whole view of the situation shifts as he realises he's not surrounded just by strange food, but strange food that is actually available for him to consume. This changes everything. Suddenly, his unwilling attendance to the First Unofficial Seventh Floor Hallway Picnic is seemingly like a very good idea, and the other attendees are seeming like moderately decent company. His hesitation to trust anything edible that may have been handled by any of the other seventh floor residents proves to be weaker his need to eat something for the first time in several days, and tentatively he selects a lemon square. Satisfied, they leave him to his own devices and return to their own incessant chatter.

Taekwoon eats half the lemon squares. He also hovers over the rice cooker until it's done, and subtly fills a few bowls with its contents. He sneaks a container of kimchi back to his corner between Jaehwan and the lemon squares tray and returns it empty. (He does not, however, touch the purple-vegetable-and-ham salad or the unidentifiable stew.) And if anyone notices that a suspiciously large portion of the lasagna has disappeared, no one says a word.

The invitation that is slid under Taekwoon's door the next day couldn't possibly be less anonymous. There are only two people he knows who could team up to produce a note written on the back of an answer key for a maths quiz, with an accidental smudge of some toxically orange-coloured bb cream on the corner. But nonetheless, Taekwoon takes it over to the window and draws back the heavy black curtains just enough to read the message.

First Official Seventh Floor Hallway Picnic
Friday, 5.30PM
(There will be lemon squares)

Upon further inspection, Taekwoon could swear the particular shade of green marker ink is the same as the felt-tip pen Sanghyuk uses to make notes about the various misbehaviours of the residents on the records he's required to provide to the landlord. There's also a large coffee stain in the middle of the paper, and a beetle clinging to the edge of it. Logically, the first two contributors must've had accomplices; there is only one particular group of people nearby who could manage to create and deliver such an incompetent and incriminating disaster.

For some reason, Taekwoon appreciates the effort. He flicks the beetle off the paper and then sets it down on the kitchen table between a painting of an ocean and another of a rainbow. This way, he'll see it every day — not that he could really forget.

VII.

Sometimes, Jaehwan wonders if his students have even seen an insect before in their lives. As he flips through messily-sketched pencil diagrams of various heteroptera insects in which several of his students have yet again mixed up the prothorax and the mesothorax, he truly begins to think that they all show up to class with earplugs in and he's never noticed. Or perhaps they are all sleepwalking. Or both. He tells this to Wonsik when they meet up between classes for sandwiches, because as a fellow teacher, he thinks Wonsik will understand his plight.

Wonsik does. "The other day, I had a student try to use the use the trapezium rule to solve a Pfaffian differential equation. I don't even know how you do that."

Jaehwan doesn't remember in the slightest what the trapezium rule is, but he nods anyway. He understands the spirit of the thing, if not the letter. Forlornly chewing another bite of his fire chicken pizza sandwich, he leans under the table to rummage around in his briefcase until he comes up with his gradebook. After flipping through several pages of disorganised scribbles and a few notes about a ladybird he found clinging to the lightpole that fell on Hakyeon a few months ago, he folds the pages back so that one titled MIDTERM GRADES is clearly visible. In return Wonsik pulls out his own gradebook, and they swap. There is an audible hiss as they read over the pages. Jaehwan winces. Wonsik shudders. Slowly, they close the gradebooks and switch back.

"We should've just become singers," Jaehwan says, very sadly.

"There's still time," says Wonsik, with absolutely no sincerity whatsoever.

It's true. Once upon a time, Jaehwan's dream was to become a singer. The problem is, Jaehwan also used to think he was a mosquito. The circumstances surrounding the origin of this delusion are unclear, but what is clear is that Jaehwan's life as a mosquito irreparably damaged his career as a singer. When asked to replicate the touching performances of his beautiful ballads during auditions or crucial evaluations by company CEOs, all he managed to produce was a high-pitched whining noise reminiscent of the others in his species. Producers, it turned out, were not very impressed by the Song Of His People.

Through a combination of the natural passage of time and some in-depth work with a very skilled doctor, Jaehwan came to realise that he is not, in fact, a mosquito. However, after spending so long living as a mosquito, Jaehwan felt a deep and unbreakable bond with his fellow mosquitoes and extended insect family. Thus, he decided to go into the field of teaching entomology, to better explain to the world the misunderstood and often scorned Culture Of His People.

As it turns out, teaching entomology is sort of a niche market. When Jaehwan finally found a university that was willing to hire him, he immediately accepted the position. When he discovered they were also willing to give him research funding and money for a home laboratory, no further questions were asked. This is how he ends up moving into the building on 6 Vixx Street, with the broken lift and the rodent-infested mailroom, teaching five classes of students who can't tell apart the prothorax and the mesothorax.

At least he has his insects. Although he gets the feeling that if Sanghyuk gets his way, that won't be the case for much longer.

Jaehwan comes back to his office after an 11AM Wednesday lecture about white cave velvet worms to find the place looking like it's been ransacked and a body lying motionless on the floor. For most people, this would be a cause for alarm. For Jaehwan, it's a fairly normal occurrence. He proceeds through the doorway with caution, taking great care not to step on any of the crumpled papers or red pens or graphing calculators scattered across the floor. He nudges a few larger items to the side with his foot, such as an instructor's manual for A Simple Guide To Numerical Integration and a pair of headphones with a hip-hop beat still blaring out of them. The trail of mess leads to the body, which is sprawled out on its side with a backpack tucked under its head. It is wearing a sweater over a collared shirt and a tie that might be Hakyeon's, along with pen marks on its cheek and a few paper clips in its hair. Jaehwan steps over it and sits down at his desk, setting down his briefcase beside the body. Conspicuously, the body snores.

This isn't anything unusual. Somehow, Wonsik has got in the habit of sneaking out of the school he teaches at in between classes to nap on Jaehwan's office floor. Since Wonsik's own office is only a tiny cubicle in a room full of fifteen other noisy teachers, Jaehwan takes pity on Wonsik and allows the routine to continue. He knows Wonsik can't survive for more than five hours without a nap, and that would be a very sad way for Wonsik to go. Plus, Jaehwan would not want to be the person to break the news to Hakyeon.

As per their usual agreement, Wonsik has left a cereal sandwich on Jaehwan's desk as payment for his temporary rent of the floor space. Jaehwan chews absently on it as he checks the unread messages on his phone. There's a text from Sanghyuk begging Jaehwan to cover for him with the landlord because he ducked out of his shift early the second he got an invitation to accompany Hongbin on some errand or other, and another one from Hakyeon demanding to know if Jaehwan will be bringing lemon squares to the picnic on Friday because Hakyeon told Taekwoon there would be lemon squares and so there had better be lemon squares. There's also a voicemail from Hongbin warning Jaehwan that he should sneak back into the building undercover because one of his caterpillars seems to have grown ten extra legs, increased to three times its normal size, turned neon purple and decided to dangle from the fake chandelier in the lobby terrifying all the passersby. Jaehwan regrets giving any of them his number.

On the floor, Wonsik rolls over a few times until he bumps into Jaehwan's briefcase and it falls on him. It's a few moments after the thump of it hitting Wonsik's skull before Wonsik finally groans and opens an eye. "Thanks for the floor," he yawns, rolling out from under the briefcase and flopping onto his side with clearly no intention of getting up. "So tired. Quizzes to write. Projects to grade. Hakyeon texts to ignore. Office-mates won't shut up." Wonsik raises his head for half a moment, then lets it drop back to the floor with another vague noise. "They gave the desks next to mine to Byungjoo and Hyosang from the English department. Byungjoo is having a Deep Life Crisis about dying his hair neon, and Hyosang is in trouble for buying socks for his boyfriend's birthday. I might be over here a lot."

"Bring more sandwiches." Jaehwan cheerfully leans down to pat Wonsik's head. Several paper clips fall out of his hair.

"Yeah, yeah." Wonsik waves his hand dismissively, then balls up the backpack and stuffs it under his head again. Jaehwan winces as Wonsik nearly impales the side of his hand on the sharp end of a drawing compass. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Don't you have another class in an hour?"

"An hour is a long time if you know how to use it."

Within a second Wonsik is snoring again, and Jaehwan turns back to his grading. His eyes light up when he sees a paper where the student finally identified the prothorax and mesothorax correctly. He almost cries in joy. But then all the light in his eyes and his soul fades away when he sees the student has identified the cephalon as the pygidium. His people, he thinks, are so misunderstood.

The Saturday after the First Official Seventh Floor Picnic, Jaehwan opens Hakyeon's front door to find Taekwoon standing outside it. Never in a million years would Jaehwan expect to see Taekwoon standing outside Hakyeon's door, but there he is, his eyes nervously fixed on the atrocious carpet and a large bag of apples in his hand. There's a smudge of purple paint on Taekwoon's cheek that Jaehwan is not entirely sure if Taekwoon is aware of. Taekwoon's voice is still very quiet, but for once, Jaehwan doesn't have to strain his ears to hear it. "May I have a lemon square?"

The reason Jaehwan is at Hakyeon's place, actually, is because of the lemon squares. He was not allowed to keep any of the leftover food in his own refrigerator, due to the poisonous millipede that has been on the loose in his flat since Thursday; to avoid tremendous waste, Jaehwan managed to coerce Hakyeon into lending him a shelf in his and Wonsik's refrigerator for the food. Jaehwan has a lot of lemon squares left over. Actually, considering the fact that the attendees to the picnic showed up armed with the contents of an entire grocery, the amount of everything Jaehwan has left over could feed a small country or a large army for several days. So he nods, opening the door wider to let Taekwoon in. Taekwoon slips off his battered shoes inside the door, standing there with the bag of apples and waiting for any direction of how to proceed from there. Jaehwan gets the sense that Taekwoon is not really used to this "visiting people" thing, especially initiating it. He's proud of himself for earning the distinction of changing this. Enthusiastically, he drapes his arm over Taekwoon and drags him and the apples to the kitchen where the lemon squares are. Taekwoon trails after him silently.

Hakyeon is sitting on the kitchen floor, fiddling aimlessly with the ancient radio Jaehwan brought over after finding it in a box he'd never unpacked. His eyes light up in delight when he sees Taekwoon, and he smiles triumphantly. Taekwoon, to his credit, does not flee. Instead, Taekwoon drifts past Hakyeon and rummages in the refrigerator.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" Hakyeon pouts, and then tugs obnoxiously on the leg of Taekwoon's trousers when he gets no reply.

It's funny, but Jaehwan will later swear that what happens next isn't quite an accident. The exact details are fuzzy, but he does recall seeing Taekwoon shove several lemon squares into his mouth and nudge the refrigerator door shut with his foot before an apple from the bag Taekwoon brought slips out of it and thumps down hard on the top of Hakyeon's head. And then another. And another. Jaehwan could also swear Taekwoon looks a bit satisfied with himself as Hakyeon squawks and topples over onto the tile floor, fallen apples scattered around him. But before he can confirm any of these suspicions, Taekwoon slinks out of the kitchen to chew his lemon squares in peace.

That night, when Wonsik comes home, they take the remainder of the apples and attempt to make an apple pie. Hongbin comes over to see what all the noise is about, and Sanghyuk comes over when he is once again recruited during off-duty hours to investigate a call the landlord received about a strange smell on the seventh floor of something burning.

"This is nice," Jaehwan remarks, to no one in particular, as he listens to Hakyeon's screeching drown out Wonsik trying to order everyone not to panic. Sanghyuk has flung some sort of burning cloth onto the ground and is repeatedly stomping on it; a shirtless Hongbin appears to be in shock as he dashes over to the kitchen sink with the flaming ashes of the pie and turns the water on full blast. In the corner, Taekwoon is observing the chaos as he subtly adds a small bonfire to a painting of an idyllic campground. "Yes, this is nice."

Taekwoon ever-so-slightly nods as he makes the flames on the paint bonfire just a bit higher.

Semester break is a strange time for Jaehwan. Once all his grading is done, all the final lab reports analysed and the final exams bemoaned, there is approximately eight days in which he has nothing to do. For one whole day, he sleeps. And then, after that, he's left with the strange anomie that comes with the limbo between the time his normal life pauses and when it resumes. For another day he drifts between the flats of the various seventh-floor residents, delaying errands and interrupting conversations and intruding awkwardly into intimate moments. After that, he studies his insects and observes his neighbours. It's funny how many things can happen in eight days. In the space of eight days, there is time for a lot of things.

One time, Jaehwan comes home from the convenience store down the street to see Wonsik standing nervously outside his and Hakyeon's door in fancy clothes with a bouquet of roses. Jaehwan finds this a little strange because Wonsik lives there, but then again, no one really understands anything that Hakyeon and Wonsik do together. It makes a little more sense when Wonsik texts him later to let him know he's won the recently-started betting pool of how long it'll take Wonsik and Hakyeon to make the Boyfriends Thing official, but he doesn't dwell on it too long because this means he's just come into a small fortune and he's going to spend the rest of his life hiding from the rest of the betting pool participants because of it.

Another time, he walks into the lobby to find Hongbin sitting in the lounge, waiting for Sanghyuk to get off his shift so they can go out for lunch at a nearby bakery and buy a birthday present for one of his famous acquaintances. Hongbin is still wearing the makeup from his modelling photoshoot at some ridiculous hour of the morning, and it accentuates his work-of-art smile to the point that even Jaehwan feels slightly faint. He has never seen Sanghyuk look so nervous in his whole life. When he looks over at Sanghyuk and mouths good luck, Sanghyuk gives him the same kind of look he has when the landlord makes him go down into the possibly-haunted cellar in search of completely unnecessary holiday decorations. Jaehwan never asks how the date went, but the next day he swears he can hear Sanghyuk humming "This Is What Dreams Are Made Of".

Yet another time, Taekwoon stops by Jaehwan's place to pick up some more lemon squares, and he's carrying a shopping bag. When Jaehwan curiously peeks inside it and inquires as to its contents, Taekwoon tells him, "Shoes. Shoes with no holes." He looks satisfied. Jaehwan links this to the very intricate painting Taekwoon just sold for an extremely famous artist, and smiles.

It's funny how many things can happen in eight days. By the time Jaehwan has to start preparing for the next semester, a lot of things have happened.

VIII.

Sunday mornings become the Official Seventh Floor Breakfast Mornings. No one is quite sure how this decision was reached, but it seems to have been less of a formal agreement and more of an unspoken consensus. This consensus was probably reached because of needing a replacement for the Official Seventh Floor Hallway Picnics, which were banned by the landlord after the eruption of a territorial argument when the third one was invaded by a group of guys who call themselves the Bulletproof Boy Scouts and live in the penthouse and never turn their fucking music down. So every Sunday morning, all six of them gather in Hakyeon and Wonsik's flat starting at 10AM, and this becomes their routine.

Taekwoon still doesn't show up unless specifically invited. One Saturday night they forget to slip an invitation under his door, and don't realise the mistake until 10.30AM on Sunday morning comes and there's still no sign of Taekwoon. Hongbin quickly scrawls out a note on a napkin, and Jaehwan hurries down the hall to shove it under Taekwoon's door. Half a second after he does, Taekwoon opens his door and steps outside, as if he's been waiting there for this exact thing.

Sometime during the preparation of the food, Sanghyuk's phone rings on the counter. The caller ID says Root Of All Evil, which they understand to be the landlord. Sanghyuk's hands are immersed in a sink full of wet dishes and soapy water. He shoots Jaehwan a panicked look. "Cover for me!"

Jaehwan obliges. After much angry yelling from the other side of the phone, Jaehwan interjects. "Hello! This is Jaehwan. Sanghyuk cannot currently come to the phone. Or his job. I accidentally let loose an entire horde of things that people are scared of." Leaning back from the phone, he makes a high-pitched mosquito whine along with a startlingly accurate impression of a scorpion hissing and beetle legs scuttling. For effect, Hakyeon pauses his gossipping with Hongbin and lets out a piercing scream. Unceremoniously, Jaehwan ends the call.

"That probably would've been more convincing if there wasn't Trey Songz in the background," Hakyeon says disdainfully, looking back at where Taekwoon and Wonsik are next to the blaring radio discussing in-depth Trey Songz senpai's entire discography. Taekwoon blinks back at him innocently. There's a cute ribbon in his long hair, for reasons unknown. Hakyeon can't bring himself to say anything to Taekwoon. Instead, he scoffs at Wonsik. "What kind of bug sounds like Trey Songz?"

"Don't make me come over there." Wonsik raises a wooden spoon, oblivious to the coconut syrup dripping off it. "You want to break up, Cha Hakyeon? Huh?"

"Not after how long it took you to finally ask me out." Hakyeon smirks, quite smugly, and blows Wonsik a kiss. Wonsik groans, with a familiar look of disgust that they all know by now is fake. Perched on the counter next to Hakyeon, Hongbin is keeping his eyes fixed in paranoia on Sanghyuk's back as he slides a cup of coffee down the counter to Taekwoon. Taekwoon looks pleased as he takes it and slinks away into the shadows with it. The coffee was specially prepared for Hongbin by Sanghyuk. Hakyeon sighs, leaning over to murmur in Hongbin's ear. "When are you going to tell Sanghyuk you don't like coffee?"

"Maybe sometime," says Hongbin, without any conviction, and smiles softly at Sanghyuk's back. It has escaped no one's notice that Sanghyuk and Hongbin's sweaters match a little too closely to be a coincidence. They'll probably start a betting pool next on how long it will take for them to adopt a cat together. It's only a matter of time.

On the floor next to Wonsik's new kitchen table, Taekwoon has begun working on a painting. This time, he was upgraded from background nature; this time, he was asked to fill in faces, hair and clothing on the vague shapes of a few people lounging on the grass in a park. If someone looked very, very closely, they might notice a few familiar things about the figures on the ground. For example, one holding an enormous centipede. Two in matching sweaters with a fluffy white cat lounging between them. One asleep amidst a scattered pile of pencil-scrawled papers, another brightly-smiling one curled up in the sleeping one's arms.

With a magnifying glass they might even notice that way out in the distance there's a long-haired man in front of an easel, working on a painting next to a tiny tray of something that looks suspiciously like lemon squares.