Chapter Text
The morning of Bang Chan started the way most of his mornings started: quiet, a little slow, and with the promise that coffee would solve all the problems of the universe. The apartment was still submerged in that pale early-day light, too bluish to be truly comfortable, but clear enough to indicate that the world had already decided to move forward without asking anyone’s permission. Chan walked to the kitchen dragging his feet with the familiarity of someone who already knew every centimeter of that small space, put water to boil and, while the kettle began working with its soft noise, leaned his phone against the usual improvised stand on the counter.
He didn’t need to think much to choose what to watch. In fact, he didn’t think at all.
On the screen appeared a huge stage full of lights and fans screaming, and in the center of everything was Yang Jeongin, smiling as if being born in front of thousands of people was the most natural thing in the world. The video wasn’t new, Chan had already watched it many times, but even so he let it play while he started preparing the coffee. There was something strangely comforting about watching that kind of performance so early in the morning. Maybe it was the contrast between the absurd energy of the stage and the slightly messy calm of his kitchen, or maybe it was simply because Chan liked that boy more than he was willing to admit out loud.
On the screen, Jeongin spun on the stage with an irritating ease, the outfit perfectly fitted, the hair arranged with professional precision and the smile too wide to seem rehearsed. The audience screamed as if that were the most impressive thing on the planet, and Chan, standing in front of the kitchen counter with a spoon in his hand, observed everything with an almost critical air, as if he were evaluating a particularly well-executed work of art.
— Ridiculous — he murmured to the empty apartment, slowly shaking his head. — How can someone look that happy at seven in the morning?
The video automatically changed to a segment of an interview, and now Jeongin was sitting in a studio that was too brightly lit, laughing at something the host had just said. It was that kind of open laugh that made his eyes practically disappear on his face, and Chan ended up letting out a short sigh without noticing.
— You’re absurdly charismatic, you know that? — he commented to no one in particular while taking a mug from the cabinet.
It wasn’t exactly embarrassing to talk alone when there was nobody there to hear, but there was something slightly pathetic in the way Chan maintained that small morning routine. Some people started the day with news or background music; he started it watching Jeongin videos as if that were a very specific type of emotional warm-up.
The kettle started whistling, interrupting any sociological analysis about his habits, and Chan finally paused the video to finish the coffee. He grabbed the sugar jar in the cabinet and tilted it with the automatic confidence of someone who had done that movement hundreds of times.
Not a single grain fell, Chan frowned and shook the container with a little more force, expecting to hear that dry sound of sugar hitting the glass, nothing.
For a few seconds, Chan just stared at the empty bottom of the jar as if he were waiting for the sugar to reappear out of embarrassment.
— No… — he murmured, looking inside the container again.
He opened the cabinet again, checked the entire shelf and then the utensil drawer, as if there were some real chance of a lost package magically appearing. At some point he even looked inside the refrigerator, which made absolutely no logical sense, but at that point his brain was already operating in domestic frustration mode.
No sugar.
Chan placed his hands on the counter and looked at the mug of coffee. Technically, he could drink it without sugar. It wasn’t impossible. But the idea of starting the day with bitter coffee seemed like an unnecessary punishment for someone who just wanted to survive the morning.
His gaze ended up returning to the phone still leaning on the counter. The video was paused exactly at the moment Jeongin was smiling at some invisible studio camera.
Chan sighed.
— Of course you don’t have this kind of problem — he commented to the screen. — I bet if the sugar runs out there a magical assistant appears with an entire truck.
He grabbed the mug and took a cautious sip of the sugarless coffee. The reaction was immediate: a grimace so intense that it seemed like an inevitable physical reflex.
— Horrible.
His gaze then slowly slid toward the apartment door.
The building was small, quiet and had that typical atmosphere of places where neighbors existed close enough to ask occasional favors, but far enough that nobody really talked much. Chan had never spoken with the resident of the apartment next door. In fact, he didn’t even know who lived there.
Even so, sugar was sugar. And coffee without sugar was practically a personal offense.
With a resigned sigh, Chan left the phone on the counter, walked to the door and stepped into the hallway. The building was quiet at that hour, and the soft sound of his footsteps echoed on the cold floor as he crossed the small distance to the neighboring apartment.
He stopped in front of the closed door and hesitated for a second.
Knocking on a stranger’s door at eight in the morning to ask for sugar definitely wasn’t among the most elegant social interactions in the world, but at that moment it seemed like an acceptable sacrifice.
Chan raised his hand and knocked. He waited a few seconds and knocked again, a little more firmly.
On the other side of the door some movement finally appeared. First the dragging sound of footsteps, then something that sounded like an internal door opening and closing, and finally the doorknob slowly turning.
The door opened.
The boy who appeared on the other side looked like he had gotten out of bed at that exact moment. He wore a huge hoodie that practically swallowed his body, with sleeves too long covering part of his hands. The gray sweatpants fell loose along his legs, comfortable enough for any unplanned social situation. His hair was completely messy, strands pointing in random directions as if it had been the victim of a recent war against the pillow. In his right hand he held a mug of coffee and in his half-closed eyes there was the expression of someone who clearly did not expect human interactions that early.
He blinked slowly at Chan and asked, with a sleep-rough voice:
— Yes?
Chan opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out immediately, because his brain was too busy trying to understand a very specific piece of information that had just clicked into the wrong place. He knew that face. Very well.
He had just looked at it a few minutes earlier, on his phone screen, surrounded by stage lights and professional cameras. Except now there was no impeccable makeup, stylized outfit or perfect lighting.
Now there was just a boy in a giant hoodie holding coffee at the door of an ordinary apartment.
Even so, there was absolutely no doubt. It was the same Yang Jeongin who had been smiling at millions of people on television minutes earlier.
Chan blinked a few times, trying to align what his eyes were seeing with what his brain was willing to accept as reality. Meanwhile, Jeongin took a calm sip of his coffee and kept observing the stranger standing in the hallway.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, he tilted his head slightly.
— Did you come here just to stare at me or is there a specific reason for this visit?
The question finally unlocked Chan. He took a deep breath, trying to remember the original reason for the visit, and answered a little too quickly:
— I ran out of sugar.
— Wait — he said, slightly frowning — you knocked on my door at eight in the morning… because you ran out of sugar in your apartment?
Chan nodded, holding his own mug as if that were concrete proof of the necessity of the situation.
— Exactly that.
Jeongin observed the scene for a few seconds in silence, as if he were trying to decide whether that was ridiculous or just mildly absurd. Then he took another sip of coffee and sighed.
— You know there are markets, right?
— I know — Chan answered immediately. — But they’re not on the other side of the hallway.
That made Jeongin let out a small sigh through his nose, something between a laugh and a gesture of defeat. He opened the door wider and simply said:
— Wait here.
Then he disappeared inside the apartment.
Chan stood in the hallway, feeling his heart beating faster than it should for someone who had technically only gone to ask for sugar. His mind was still trying to process the extremely specific fact that the boy whose performance he had just watched in the kitchen was now inside the apartment next door.
A few seconds later, Jeongin came back carrying a small glass jar. He extended the container to Chan with the naturalness of someone lending sugar to any ordinary neighbor.
Chan grabbed the jar automatically. The two stayed silent for a moment.
Jeongin then tilted his head slightly and observed Chan’s face more carefully, as if he were searching for some specific detail.
His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but now there was something more alert there. After a few seconds of observation, he spoke with the same calm naturalness as before:
— You recognized me.
It wasn’t a question.
Chan stayed completely still with the sugar jar in his hand, because at that moment it became very clear that any attempt to deny it would probably be the most ridiculous lie he had ever tried to tell in his life.
Chan stood in the hallway holding the sugar jar as if it were an object of international strategic importance, not a simple kitchen container borrowed from a neighbor who, by absurd coincidence, was also one of the most well-known idols he had already spent far too many hours watching on the internet. Yang Jeongin’s statement hung in the air with an irritating calm, because it had not been a question or a direct challenge; it had just been an observation said with the same naturalness as someone commenting that it was cold outside.
Chan blinked a few times, trying to buy enough time for his brain to formulate some minimally dignified answer. The problem was that all possible answers sounded stupid in different degrees. Denying it would be ridiculous, because he had probably spent the last thirty seconds staring at Jeongin’s face with the emotional intensity of someone who had just found a unicorn in the building’s laundry room. Confirming it also seemed dangerous, because immediately admitting that he knew exactly who Jeongin was had enormous potential to turn that interaction into something much more embarrassing than it already was.
Jeongin watched everything with an almost suspicious patience, leaning against the doorframe, holding his mug of coffee as if that were an essential part of the waking-up process. His eyes still carried that sleepy weight, but now there was a clear attention there, a type of calm curiosity that seemed to evaluate each reaction of Chan without much hurry.
Chan took a deep breath, tried to reorganize his face to look like a minimally functional person and answered with a somewhat defeated honesty.
— Yes.
Jeongin nodded slowly, as if that confirmation had only placed a final period on a hypothesis he already considered practically certain. He took another sip of coffee and tilted his head slightly to the side, analyzing Chan from head to toe in a way that wasn’t exactly hostile, but definitely wasn’t innocent either.
— I thought so — he said, in an almost casual tone.
Chan frowned.
— Thought what?
— That you had recognized me — Jeongin replied, as if he were explaining something too obvious to require much logical development. — The way you were staring at me wasn’t very subtle.
Chan let out a small sigh through his nose, because that was fair. He really hadn’t been subtle at any point in the interaction. In fact, looking back, he had probably looked like a complete idiot standing in the hallway with a mug of coffee in his hand and an expression of existential shock.
— In my defense — Chan said, slightly raising the sugar jar as if that were part of some argument — I didn’t expect to find you behind this door.
Jeongin raised one eyebrow.
— Who did you expect to find?
Chan opened his mouth to answer, but stopped for a second, realizing he had never really thought about it. He had knocked on that door expecting to find a generic neighbor, some half-sleepy adult who was also dealing with coffee that morning. He had not considered, at any moment, the possibility of finding an international idol wearing a giant hoodie and looking like he had barely woken up.
— Honestly? — Chan answered after a moment. — Anyone who wasn’t you.
That pulled a small sound of laughter from Jeongin, short and discreet, almost more a puff of air through his nose than an actual laugh.
— Fair.
For a few seconds the two stayed silent in the hallway, and Chan slowly began to notice an important detail about the situation: Jeongin did not seem particularly surprised to have been recognized. It had not caused panic, it had not provoked an exaggerated defensive reaction. He was simply… evaluating. Which, for some reason, made Chan even more nervous.
Jeongin leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, taking another sip of coffee, and finally spoke again.
— So you know who I am.
It wasn’t exactly a question, but Chan answered anyway.
— Yes.
— And even so you decided to knock on my door at eight in the morning asking for sugar.
Chan frowned slightly.
— I didn’t know it was your door when I knocked.
Jeongin made a small thoughtful face, as if he were considering that argument.
— Right, that’s true — he admitted after a moment. — But you stayed here after realizing.
— Because I still needed sugar.
That made Jeongin let out another small laugh, this time a little more audible. He slowly shook his head, clearly amused by some part of that logic.
— So the sugar was more important than the existential shock of finding someone famous in the hallway of your building?
Chan thought for a second before answering.
— The coffee was at stake.
Jeongin watched his face for a few seconds in silence, as if trying to decide whether that answer was a joke or a very honest demonstration of morning priorities. Then he sighed, but there was a small smile hidden at the corner of his mouth.
— I respect that dedication to coffee — he said.
Chan relaxed his shoulders a little without noticing. The conversation was strangely normal for a situation that, theoretically, should be completely absurd. Even so, there was something in the way Jeongin carried himself that indicated that normality had very well-defined limits.
The idol glanced quickly down the hallway, then turned his attention back to Chan with a slightly more serious expression.
— Can I ask you something?
Chan nodded almost automatically.
— Of course.
Jeongin adjusted the mug better in his hand and spoke with a much more direct tone than before.
— Don’t tell anyone I live here.
Chan blinked.
That wasn’t exactly unexpected, but hearing the request said so directly still changed the weight of the conversation. Suddenly, that bizarre hallway interaction had turned into something a little more serious.
— Do you think I’d go around announcing that? — Chan asked, slightly raising his eyebrows.
Jeongin shrugged.
— I don’t know anything about you — he replied with simple honesty. — You might be the kind of person who posts everything on the internet.
Chan immediately made a face.
— I’m not that kind of person.
— Everyone says that.
— I literally just wanted sugar — Chan insisted, pointing at the jar still in his hand. — This is the highest level of my social ambition today.
Jeongin looked at him for a few seconds, evaluating the sincerity of that statement. The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t light either. It was the kind of pause where someone decides whether to trust a stranger or not.
Finally, he let out a small sigh and nodded.
— Alright.
Chan tilted his head.
— Alright… what?
— Alright, I believe you — Jeongin replied. — For now.
Chan let out a small laugh.
— Wow, what a warm vote of confidence.
— Don’t exaggerate — Jeongin said, taking another sip of coffee. — I just need you to understand one thing.
Chan waited and Jeongin continued:
— I live here precisely because nobody knows I live here. If people start finding out, it becomes a problem very quickly.
Chan nodded slowly. That made sense. Maybe more sense than anything else that had happened that morning.
— I won’t tell — he said simply.
Jeongin watched his face for a few more seconds, as if searching for some obvious sign of a lie, but apparently didn’t find anything concerning.
— Good — he finally said.
Then he gestured with his head toward the sugar jar.
— Now go make your coffee before I regret helping you.
Chan looked at the container in his own hand as if he had completely forgotten the original reason for that visit. Then he raised the jar a little, almost like an improvised gesture of thanks.
— Thank you.
Jeongin shrugged.
— Just return it later.
Chan nodded.
— Of course.
He turned to go back to his own apartment, but before taking the first step he heard Jeongin’s voice behind him again.
— Hey.
Chan looked over his shoulder.
Jeongin was leaning against the doorframe, holding the mug of coffee, his eyes still a little heavy with sleep but now clearly more awake than a few minutes earlier.
— Next time — he said — try buying sugar before knocking on strangers’ doors.
Chan considered that for a second before answering.
— Next time I’ll confirm the stranger isn’t a famous idol before knocking.
Jeongin let out a small laugh through his nose.
— Fair.
And then, finally, he closed the door.