Chapter Text
Moving day was supposed to be a beacon of new beginnings, a fresh chapter in a book that Phuwin was desperately trying to write. For as long as he could remember, his life had been a series of carefully organized margins, highlighted textbooks, and a social circle that could be counted on one handspecifically, one finger. That finger belonged to Dunk.
Phuwin stood in the center of his new living room in Apartment 2A, his chest rising and falling with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. Cardboard boxes labeled with meticulous precision—Kitchen: Fragile, Bedroom: Linens, Books: Organic Chemistry—were stacked in neat towers against the walls. The apartment smelled of lemon-scented cleaning solution and the faint, dusty aroma of a place that had been empty for too long.
"It’s perfect, Hana," Phuwin said, his voice soft and melodious, echoing slightly in the unfurnished room.
From atop a stack of boxes, a sleek, grey British Shorthair blinked her large emerald eyes slowly. Hana let out a small, chirping meow, as if to agree, though she looked thoroughly unimpressed by the lack of furniture.
"I know, I know," Phuwin cooed, reaching up to scratch her behind the ears. "We have to buy a sofa tomorrow. But for tonight, it’s just you, me, and the air mattress. And quiet, Hana. We are going to have so much quiet."
Phuwin adjusted his glasses, the black frames sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose. It was a nervous tic, one he did without thinking. He pushed them back up, his fingers brushing against his cheek. He had chosen this complex specifically because of its strict noise policy and its reputation for housing young professionals and quiet grad students. As a neuroscience major currently drowning in the preparation for his comprehensive exams, silence wasn't just a luxury; it was a survival mechanism.
He spent the next hour setting up his bed. He hummed a tuneless melody, talking to Hana constantly. "Dunk helped me pick these sheets, remember? He said the grey would match your fur. He’s so thoughtful, even if he did try to set me up with his cousin last week. Can you believe that? Me? On a date? I’d probably spill water on myself and then talk about synaptic pruning for three hours."
Hana meowed again, jumping down to inspect the corner of the room.
Phuwin laughed, a shy sound. "Exactly. You get me."
By 9:00 PM, Phuwin was settled. He had changed into his favorite oversized pajamas—soft cotton with little ducks on them and brewed a cup of chamomile tea. He sat at his small, fold-out desk, his heavy textbook open. The lamp cast a warm, yellow pool of light over the pages. He felt a sense of tranquility wash over him. This was it. This was his sanctuary.
He picked up his pen, ready to annotate a diagram of the prefrontal cortex, when the first thump vibrated through the floor.
Phuwin paused. He looked down at the hardwood. Thump.
He frowned. "Probably the elevator," he muttered to Hana, who was grooming herself on the air mattress. "new buildings make noises, Hana. It’s structural settling."
He went back to his diagram.
Thump. Thump. THUMP.
This time, the sound was accompanied by a low, rhythmic vibration that rattled the picture frame he hadn’t even hung yet. Phuwin’s pen hovered over the paper. The vibration wasn't coming from the ground. It was coming from the wall.
The wall that separated Apartment 2A from Apartment 2B.
Phuwin stared at the plaster. He pressed his ear against it. The distinct, heavy bass of a hip-hop beat thudded against his skull. It wasn't just background noise; it was a physical assault. He could feel the bass line in his teeth.
"Are you kidding me?" he whispered, his heart sinking.
An hour passed. The music didn't stop. If anything, it got louder. The bass was now a constant, throbbing presence, like a second heartbeat he hadn't asked for. Phuwin tried to put on his noise-canceling headphones, but the low frequency was too aggressive; it bypassed the foam and drilled straight into his ears.
He looked at his textbook. The words were blurring. He looked at Hana. The cat was flattened against the mattress, her ears pinned back, looking at the wall with wide, terrified eyes.
"I know, baby," Phuwin said, his voice trembling slightly. "I know."
He needed to study. This exam was in four days. Four days. If he failed this, he’d have to repeat the semester, and he couldn’t afford that, financially or mentally. He had moved here to escape distractions, not to live inside a subwoofer.
With shaking hands, he unlocked his phone and scrolled to his favorites list. He didn't want to text; texting felt too impersonal, too detached for the level of panic he was currently experiencing. He needed to hear a voice. He needed Dunk.
He pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear, pacing the small length of the living room as it rang.
"Hello?" Dunk’s voice came through, slightly muffled, like he was eating something. "Phuwin? Isn't it late over there?"
"Dunk!" Phuwin hissed into the receiver, clutching the phone tight. "The neighbor is loud."
"Loud?" Dunk chewed loudly. "Like, TV loud or construction loud?"
"Like, 'the bass is shaking the fillings out of my teeth' loud," Phuwin complained, stopping to lean against the wall that was currently vibrating. "It’s a rave, Dunk. A full-blown rave in Apartment 2B. I can’t study. I can’t think. I think my brain is liquefying."
Dunk chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. "Okay, drama queen. Breathe. Have you gone over there to ask them to turn it down?"
Phuwin gasped, offended. "No! I can’t just go knock on their door. I don’t know how to talk to strangers. You know this. Remember the barista incident?"
Dunk groaned on the other end. "Phuwin, that was three years ago."
"It was last week!" Phuwin insisted, his voice rising an octave. "I apologized to him for five minutes because I dropped a quarter. And then I bought a muffin I didn't even want just to smooth things over. I can't confront a party full of cool people. I’m wearing duck pajamas, Dunk."
There was a pause, followed by the sound of swallowing. "Phuwin, listen to me. You pay rent. You have a right to peace and quiet. If you don't go over there and say something, they’re going to do this every weekend. Do you want to spend your degree listening to EDM?"
"No," Phuwin whimpered.
"Then go over there," Dunk commanded firmly. "Be firm. Look them in the eye. 'Hey, turn it down.' Just three words. Well, four. Don't apologize. Don't offer them tea. Just ask."
"It feels dangerous," Phuwin whispered, looking at the door as if it led to Narnia, but a Narnia filled with drunk monsters.
"You’re a future neuroscientist. You can handle one drunk guy," Dunk soothed. "Call me back when it’s done. I believe in you."
"But-"
"Go. Now."
The line clicked dead. Phuwin stared at his phone, then at the door. He let out a shaky breath.
"Okay," he whispered to the empty room. "Strategy: Polite. Firm. Brief. State the problem. Ask for a solution. Leave. Do not compliment their shoes. Do not talk about the weather. Do not apologize for existing."
He nodded. Hana watched him with a pitying look, her tail twitching nervously as another bass drop shook the room.
Phuwin opened the door.
The hallway was dimly lit, but the noise from Apartment 2B was explosive. The door to 2B was directly across from his, barely ten feet away. It was slightly ajar, and a kaleidoscope of neon lights spilled out into the hallway, cutting through the gloom. The smell of cheap beer, expensive cologne, and sweat rolled over Phuwin like a wave.
He stepped out, his fuzzy socks sliding slightly on the polished concrete floor. He felt exposed. He wished he had worn shoes. He wished he was wearing a leather jacket and shades, instead of duck pajamas.
He took a step toward 2B. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door was yanked open from the inside.
Phuwin flinched, stumbling back a step.
A couple stumbled out. They were clinging to each other, practically fused at the hip. The man was laughing loudly at nothing, and the woman was trying to shush him while failing to walk in a straight line. They were messy, drunk, and completely oblivious to the small, geeky boy standing frozen in front of them.
They wobbled past Phuwin, the smell of alcohol wafting off them, disappearing down the hall toward the elevator without even glancing in his direction.
Phuwin stood there, his hand still half-raised. He blinked. "Well," he squeaked to the empty air. "That was... easy?"
He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of awkwardness. He looked back at the open door of 2B. The music was deafening now, a physical wall of sound.
Just go in. Just find the person in charge.
He leaned forward, peeking through the crack in the door.
The apartment was packed. People were everywhere—on the couch, on the counters, on the floor. Red cups were stacked like pyramids. Strobe lights flashed rhythmically.
And then, he saw him.
Standing near the center of the room, like the sun in a solar system of chaos, was a guy who looked like he owned the place. He was wearing a distressed brown leather jacket over a white tee, and a black snapback turned backward on his head. In one hand, he held a red cup, condensation dripping down his fingers. In the other, he was holding the waist of a tall, stunning woman who was laughing up at him.
The guy was laughing too, a confident, easy grin that seemed to light up his face. He looked cool. He looked dangerous. He looked like every high school bully who had ever shoved Phuwin into a locker, multiplied by ten.
Phuwin’s stomach did a somersault. This was his neighbor?
He gulped. His throat felt like sandpaper. He needed to get this over with. He couldn't just stand in the hallway spying all night.
He stepped closer to the threshold. He tried to speak, but the bass swallowed his voice.
"Excuse me," he said. His voice was tiny, a mouse squeak against a thunderstorm.
No one heard him. The guy in the brown jacket threw his head back, laughing at something the woman said.
Phuwin felt a spike of adrenaline. He had studying to do. He had Hana to protect. He couldn't let this guy intimidate him without even trying.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs until they burned.
"EXCUSE ME!"
The scream tore out of his throat, loud and shrill, cracking slightly on the second syllable.
The effect was instantaneous.
Inside the apartment, the music seemed to continue, but the atmosphere shifted. Like a ripple in a pond, heads began to turn. One person looked at the door, then another. The conversation died down as people traced the source of the interruption.
Within seconds, the entire crowd thirty, maybe forty people had stopped what they were doing and were staring at the doorway.
At Phuwin.
Phuwin froze. He felt like a deer caught in headlights, but the headlights were actually strobe lights and the deer was wearing duck pajamas. He stood there, his hand still raised in a awkward half-wave, his face flushing a deep, crimson red.
The guy in the brown jacket stopped laughing. He looked up, his eyes locking onto Phuwin. He was handsome, annoyingly so, with sharp features and intense eyes that seemed to cut through the noise. He looked confused, then intrigued. He leaned down and whispered something to the woman he was holding. She smiled, nodded, and slipped away into the crowd.
The guy handed his red cup to someone passing by. He began to walk toward the door.
Phuwin wanted to run. His brain was screaming Abort mission! Abort! Retreat to the bunker! But his feet were nailed to the floor. He watched as the guy approached, pushing through the sea of people. As he got closer, he loomed larger. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and exuded an energy that made Phuwin feel incredibly small.
The guy stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him slightly. The noise muffled, returning to a dull roar.
Phuwin’s heart was hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure the guy could see it. He could feel sweat beading on his upper lip. His hands were clammy. He instinctively balled his hands into fists, gripping the hems of his pajama shirt so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Don't look dumb, Phuwin begged himself. Please, for the love of science, do not look dumb.
The guy leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms. He looked Phuwin up and down, taking in the glasses, the pajamas, the terrified posture. Just amused.
"Who are you?" the guy asked. His voice was deep, smooth, and carried that lazy confidence of someone who never had to try too hard.
Phuwin’s brain short-circuited. Dunk’s voice echoed in his head: Just three words. Be firm.
"I'm... I'm your neighbour," Phuwin stammered, his voice wavering. He winced at the sound of his own voice squeaky and weak. So much for firm.
The guy raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Phuwin took a shaky breath. He adjusted his glasses again, pushing them up his nose with a trembling finger. "I just moved in next door. Your music is..."
He paused. He looked at the man in the eye. The man leaned forward slightly to hear better
Phuwin panicked. The silence stretched on too long. He needed to fill it.
"Its really loud," Phuwin blurted out. "I mean the music, I cant focus on my studying beacuse of it. I have an important exam coming up, and your music is blasting throw your walls and my cat is getting really scared and jump and I think I am too."
The words tumbled out of him in one frantic, breathless avalanche. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. It was like a dam had broken.
"And it’s not just the volume, it’s the bass, it vibrates the floor and I have these very sensitive teeth and it hurts them and also I really like ducks but right now I feel like a duck that is being hunted by a wolf and I just really need to pass this exam because if I don't my mom will be disappointed and she already thinks I’m too antisocial so please, please, if you could just turn it down a little bit, or a lot, that would be great, thank you."
Phuwin gasped for air, his chest heaving. The silence in the hallway was absolute now. Even the muffled music from inside seemed to pause.
He realized what he had just said.
He had just confessed his dental history, his mother’s opinion on his social life, and his fear of wolves to a complete stranger. A stranger who was, quite literally, the coolest person he had ever seen.
Phuwin’s face flushed so hot he thought he might spontaneously combust. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He wished he was Hana. Hana didn't feel shame.
The guy stared at him. For a second, Phuwin thought he saw a flicker of shock in those dark eyes, maybe even a hint of confusion. But then, the guy’s lips twitched.
He let out a short, breathy laugh. "Woah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um, okay? I guess?"
Phuwin wanted to die. Right there. On the spot.
"I'll keep it low," the guy added, his tone softening slightly. He looked at Phuwin’s trembling hands, then at the desperate grip on the pajama hems. "You, uh... you really like studying, huh?"
Before Phuwin could formulate a response that wouldn't result in further humiliation, a voice from inside the apartment screamed.
"Pond! Get in here! We're playing flip cup!"
The guy Pond, apparently turned his head toward the door. "Coming!" he screamed back.
He turned back to Phuwin. He offered a lazy, two-finger salute. "Sorry bout that. Ttyl."
And with that, he turned and disappeared back into the neon-lit chaos, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Phuwin stood in the hallway.
He was alone.
The silence was heavy, but the bass was gone. It had stopped the moment the door clicked shut.
Phuwin stood there for another ten seconds, his brain trying to process the last three minutes of his life. He had screamed at a party. He had rambled about his cat and his teeth to a guy named Pond who wore a snapback. He had been dismissed with a 'ttyl'.
"TTYL?" Phuwin whispered to the empty air. "Who says ttyl in real life?"
Suddenly, the reality of his embarrassment crashed down on him like a ton of bricks.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Phuwin hissed.
He spun around on his heel, his fuzzy socks slipping again, and practically dove back into Apartment 2A. He slammed the door shut, locking it, engaging the deadbolt, and then leaning his back against it as if to keep the universe out.
He slid down the door until he hit the floor, burying his face in his hands.
"I can't believe I did that," he groaned into his palms. "I told him about my teeth. Why did I mention my teeth?"
He scrambled for his phone, needing to tell Dunk the disaster that had occurred. He hit redial.
Dunk picked up on the first ring. "Well? Is it quiet?"
Phuwin let out a pitiful moan. "Dunk, I messed up."
"What happened? Did he yell at you?"
"No," Phuwin whispered, horrified. "Worse. I yelled at him. And then I told him my teeth hurt from the bass. And that I feel like a hunted duck."
There was a beat of silence on the line, followed by a loud, raucous burst of laughter. "You did not."
"I did! And he just said 'ttyl' and left!" Phuwin whined, pulling his knees up to his chest. "He’s going to evict me. He’s going to evict me for being weird."
Dunk was still laughing, breathless. "Oh, Phuwin. Only you. But hey, is the music off?"
Phuwin paused. He listened. The apartment was silent. Hana was crawling out from under the bed, looking tentative.
"...Yes," Phuwin admitted.
"Then you won," Dunk said, finally sobering up. "You faced the monster, you rambled about your molars, and you won the silence. Go study, nerd. I'm proud of you."
"Dunk-"
"Goodnight, Phuwin."
The line went dead again.
Phuwin sat on the floor for a moment longer, phone clutched in his hand. He looked at Hana, who had trotted over and was sniffing at his knee.
"He said I won," Phuwin told her, still feeling shell-shocked. "But at what cost, Hana? At what cost?"
He pushed himself up from the floor, his legs feeling like jelly. He walked over to his desk. The textbook was still open, the diagram of the brain staring back at him.
"The prefrontal cortex," Phuwin read aloud, trying to ground himself. "Responsible for decision making and personality expression."
"Well, my prefrontal cortex clearly malfunctioned tonight," he said, sitting down heavily in his chair. "Total system failure."
He looked at the wall that separated him from Pond. 2A and 2B. So close, yet worlds apart.
He picked up his pen, twirling it nervously. He was still shaking, the adrenaline fading into a lingering hum of anxiety. But as he looked at the page, he realized the silence was real. He could study.
Phuwin let out a long, shaky breath. He pushed his glasses up his nose one last time.
"Okay," he whispered to the room. "We survived. We are never leaving this apartment again. But at least we can study."
with that phuwin went back to his studying about arteries