Chapter Text
When Kim Seokjin moved into his new apartment in Apgujeong, he imagined quiet mornings and soft evenings. The kind of peace he’d been craving since the breakup.
His ex had filled their life with noise: calls, notifications, arguments disguised as discussions, until even silence had started to feel foreign. Like a room you couldn’t sit in without flinching.
So this place was supposed to be different.
A calm reset.
A fresh start.
The first three days were perfect. Birds threaded their sound through dawn. The city hummed far below, distant enough to feel gentle. Sunlight spilled across the floor in pale rectangles, and even his thoughts seemed to soften, finally loosening after months of being wound too tight.
Then came the bass.
At first, Jin thought it was a passing car, one of those late-night drivers with subwoofers and something to prove. Then his vanity bottles rattled. The floor answered with a faint tremor. The picture frame he’d just hung tilted slightly to the left, as if even the wall was being shoved out of place.
He froze mid-skincare, fingertips hovering over his cheek.
The vibration wasn’t random. It had intention.
It wasn’t just noise. It was rhythm, deep, pulsing beats layered beneath a low voice. Whoever was on the other side of that wall was either trying to summon thunder or destroy peace itself.
Jin marched to the balcony, a towel around his shoulders and a green clay mask drying unevenly over his face, tightening every time he frowned. Cool air kissed the damp edges of his hair as he leaned over the hedge separating unit 1204 from 1203.
The culprit was there, tall, broad-shouldered, hoodie sleeves shoved up as he paced around a table full of notebooks and sound equipment. Cables looped across the surface like vines. A speaker sat near the edge, unapologetic.
A voice cut through the air, sharp and controlled, the kind that commanded attention even without a mic.
“Yeah, run that bar again… feel that pulse, don’t force it…”
Jin blinked.
That voice was familiar. That face even more so once the man turned and the light struck his profile, the clean line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the focused calm in his posture, as if he lived inside rhythm and expected the rest of the world to catch up.
Kim Namjoon.
RM.
Global phenomenon. Cypher rapper. Cultural ambassador. His face on billboards. His voice on café playlists. A person so publicly known he seemed to belong more to screens than to real life.
And apparently, his neighbor.
Jin had worked around celebrities before. He had modeled with them, stood beside them under studio lights, watched stylists and managers orbit them like moons. But this was different. RM wasn’t just famous. He had that kind of gravity that bent the space around him, even when he was standing on a balcony in sweatpants.
Unfortunately, that still didn’t excuse the noise.
Jin cupped his hands and called out, “Hey! Could you turn it down a bit? The whole building’s shaking!”
Namjoon looked up, startled, like he’d forgotten the rest of the world existed. Then, to Jin’s disbelief, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
He tugged one side of his headphones away. “Sorry, what?”
“I said,” Jin repeated, louder, “the noise! It’s too much!”
Namjoon tilted his head. His eyes narrowed slightly, not annoyed, just amused. “You mean music?”
“Whatever you call it, it’s vibrating my skincare bottles.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, low and warm and completely unhelpful. “That’s a new complaint.”
Jin frowned. The clay mask pulled at the edge of his cheek. “Not everyone wants to live next to a concert hall.”
Namjoon leaned against the railing, utterly unbothered. “Guess you picked the wrong neighborhood.”
Jin’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“Most people here don’t complain,” Namjoon went on casually, as if they were discussing weather. “They usually ask for autographs.”
“Congratulations,” Jin shot back. “You found one who won’t.”
That earned another soft chuckle, amused, infuriating, unfairly nice to listen to.
“Noted.”
Then, as if that ended the conversation, Namjoon slipped his headphones back on and turned away, his voice resuming its deep cadence.
Jin stood there with his clay mask half-dry, his towel slipping at one shoulder, and his heart racing with disbelief as the bass pressed against the air like a heartbeat he had never agreed to share.
****
The next day, it happened again.
Not as loud, but enough to rattle the cutlery in his kitchen drawer while he prepared breakfast. A small, irritating clink-clink, like the apartment was tapping him on the shoulder.
Jin set his coffee down and glared at the shared wall like it had personally offended him. He had a shoot later that day, and he needed calm, not muffled lyrics about grind, sweat, and rise seeping through plaster like smoke.
He texted his manager a quick "Running late" and marched next door, still smelling faintly of soap and brewed coffee, irritation tightening across his shoulders.
When the door opened, Namjoon stood there in a black tee and sweatpants, tall and handsome enough that Jin almost forgot why he was angry.
Almost.
His hair looked like it had been shoved back with a distracted hand, messy in a way that felt unfairly effortless.
“You’re early,” Namjoon said, brows lifting. His voice was steady, too steady for someone who had just been shaking the walls again. “Do you… need anything?”
“I’m not here for fan service,” Jin replied flatly. “I’m here for silence.”
Namjoon blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. For a second his mouth parted like he had a comeback ready, then he seemed to think better of it.
“You’re really serious about this, huh?”
“I’m serious about not living in a recording studio.”
A beat passed.
The hallway felt too clean, too quiet, as if it were listening in.
Then, to Jin’s surprise, Namjoon sighed, not irritated, just thoughtful.
“I’ll soundproof it better,” he said. “Didn’t realize it carried through the wall.”
Jin frowned. “That’s it? No clever comeback?”
Namjoon shrugged. “You already gave me one yesterday.”
That shouldn’t have worked. It shouldn’t have slipped so neatly under Jin’s irritation and nudged it sideways into something else. But it did. His anger wavered, leaving behind something annoyingly close to curiosity.
“…Fine,” he said at last. “Thank you.”
Namjoon nodded once. “No problem, neighbor.”
Jin was halfway down the hall when Namjoon added, “Oh.”
Jin slowed.
“Your mask yesterday,” Namjoon said. “Green. It suited you.”
Jin didn’t turn back, but his ears warmed. He kept walking anyway, as if speed could undo the heat crawling up his neck.
****
After that, the building seemed to settle around them. The walls stopped trembling. The mornings stopped feeling under attack.
And in the sudden absence of noise, Jin found himself noticing something worse: he was listening for it.
Over the next few days, the apartment stayed blissfully quiet. No more shaking mirrors. No more room-thumping bass.
But sometimes, if he stood still enough, he caught faint sounds, just a few bars of humming, low and rhythmic, like Namjoon was keeping the music under control just for him.
It was… oddly thoughtful.
He saw him again that week in the lobby by the mail area. Jin had just come back from a shoot, sunglasses on and bag slung over one shoulder. Namjoon was retrieving a stack of letters, hood up and mask on, but even half-hidden, his presence was impossible to miss. He moved like he had his own gravity, quiet, contained, and unmistakable.
“Afternoon,” Namjoon said.
Jin blinked. “Oh. Hi.”
A small silence opened between them.
Then Namjoon nodded toward Jin’s bag. “Busy day?”
“Shoot,” Jin replied. “Skincare brand.”
Namjoon’s eyes lingered for a beat. Not rudely. Just… taking him in. Jin could almost feel the thought click into place. A model.
“Fitting,” Namjoon murmured, then cleared his throat. “The noise okay now?”
Jin nodded. “Much better. Thanks.”
Namjoon smiled slightly, the expression barely visible under the mask. “Didn’t want to make you move out after just one week.”
“I wasn’t going to move,” Jin said too quickly, then corrected himself. “I mean… maybe.”
Namjoon chuckled softly. “Duly noted.”
They stepped into the elevator together. The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable, just careful, as if neither of them wanted to ruin something they hadn’t named yet.
A few floors later, the doors opened, and they walked side by side toward their apartments, 1203 and 1204, separated by a few steps and one increasingly unreliable wall.
As Jin reached his door, Namjoon called softly, his voice lighter than before.
“Hey… if it ever gets too quiet, you know where to knock.”
Jin paused. “Why would I want noise?”
Namjoon shrugged, eyes glinting. “Sometimes quiet gets lonely.”
And just like that, RM disappeared behind his door again, leaving Jin staring at his own lock with a heartbeat that refused to slow down.
That night, Jin couldn’t sleep.
The silence felt heavier than usual. Too wide. Too empty.
Then, faintly, through the wall, he heard it.
Not bass. Not chaos.
Just a soft hum.
A melody, low and calm and almost absurdly gentle. Something quiet enough not to ask for attention, only to exist.
Jin lay back against his pillow, eyes fluttering shut, and realized something he didn’t want to admit yet.
The noise next door didn’t bother him anymore.
It almost felt like company.
Like someone else was awake in the world with him, close enough to hear, far enough to be safe.
****
Life continued in the background. Softly. Persistently.
Jin woke to the scent of rain.
It wasn’t pouring, just a quiet drizzle that softened the light and made everything smell like wet earth and calm. He stretched, blinking at the clock: 8:14 a.m. His shoot had been postponed, which meant he could have a slow morning for once.
He moved around the kitchen, humming under his breath while he prepared breakfast. Water dripped softly from the eaves outside. No bass. No rattling walls. Just peace.
He picked up an empty mug, intending to brew coffee once the toast was ready.
Then the doorbell rang.
Startled, he set the mug down a little too hard and opened the door, half-expecting a delivery.
Instead, it was Namjoon.
The rapper stood there holding a medium-sized box, hair slightly mussed beneath a hoodie thrown carelessly over his head. A faint ribbon of coffee steam drifted from the mug in his other hand. Raindrops beaded on one shoulder, darkening the fabric.
“Morning,” Namjoon said, voice deep and quiet. “Your package ended up at my door. You’re Kim Seokjin, right?”
Jin stared for half a second, caught off guard. “Oh. Yes. That’s me.”
“Guess the courier can’t tell us apart,” Namjoon said with a small shrug.
Jin gave him a look. “Right. Because we look exactly the same.”
A low chuckle escaped him. “I meant the apartment numbers.”
Jin reached for the box. “Thanks.”
Their fingers brushed.
Namjoon’s hands were cold. Cold like he’d been outside too long, or had forgotten to take care of himself in the middle of everything else.
He noticed Jin’s hesitation immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Jin said too quickly, clutching the package. “Just didn’t expect you to be up this early. Thought you worked late.”
“I do,” Namjoon said, lifting his coffee slightly. “Haven’t slept yet.”
Something about the way he said it, casual, honest, unperformed, made Jin pause.
Up close, Namjoon didn’t look like the stoic rapper from interviews or red carpets. He looked human. His hoodie sleeves were too long. His hair was messy. There were faint shadows under his eyes. He looked tired in a way that didn’t seem meant for anyone else to see.
“Do you always make coffee after staying up all night?” Jin asked before he could stop himself.
“Usually tea,” Namjoon said. Then, after a beat, “But I made too much today. Have you had breakfast or coffee yet?”
Jin blinked. “I was about to…”
Namjoon hesitated, like he was weighing whether the offer would overstep. “Do you want some? It’s still hot. I brewed a whole pot.”
Jin blinked again. “You’re… offering me coffee?”
Namjoon raised a brow. “You like caffeine, right? I hear it helps with modeling.”
Jin’s lips twitched despite himself. “That’s skincare, not caffeine.”
“Ah.” Namjoon nodded with mock seriousness. “Guess I mixed up my research.”
That made Jin laugh.
The sound startled both of them.
It had been weeks since he’d laughed without forcing it. This one came out easy, as if his body had remembered before he did.
“…Fine,” Jin said, still smiling a little. “I’ll take the coffee. But only because you look too tired to finish it yourself.”
Namjoon’s lips curved. “Deal.”
He stepped back and angled his shoulder toward his own apartment, making the invitation without pressing it. “It’s warmer inside.”
Jin hesitated only a second before following.
Namjoon’s apartment was quieter than Jin expected. The rain painted thin streaks against the balcony glass. The room smelled faintly of paper and detergent and coffee. No music. No bass. Just the soft clink of ceramic and the hush of weather.
They settled by the balcony window, mugs warming their hands.
“You make good coffee,” Jin admitted after a sip. “Didn’t peg you for a domestic type.”
Namjoon smirked faintly. “I’m full of surprises.”
“Like blasting music at three in the morning?”
“Touché.” His mouth quirked. “But I’m trying to improve.”
Jin hummed softly and leaned back a little. It felt strange, sitting this close to him. Just a week ago, he would have rolled his eyes at the thought.
Now it almost felt natural.
Namjoon glanced sideways. “You’ve been quieter lately.”
Jin blinked. “I have?”
“You used to hum in the mornings,” Namjoon said. “I could hear it through the wall.”
Jin froze. “You could...what?!”
Namjoon’s mouth curved. “Don’t worry. It’s not loud. It’s… nice.”
Jin looked away quickly, color rising across his face. “I didn’t know I had an audience.”
“You don’t,” Namjoon said, softer now. “Just a neighbor who doesn’t mind the noise.”
The rain thickened, drumming lightly against the glass.
Namjoon stretched back in his chair, and Jin, annoyingly, noticed the clean line of his shoulders beneath the hoodie, the ease with which he carried even exhaustion. It was honestly unfair.
Before he could stop himself, Jin asked, “Don’t you ever get lonely?”
Namjoon glanced at him. “Sometimes. You?”
Jin stared out at the rain sliding down the balcony glass. “Yeah.”
Neither of them rushed to fill the silence after that. It settled comfortably between them, the kind that didn’t demand performance.
After a few more quiet moments, Jin set his cup down and stood. “I should head back. I have a few things to take care of.”
Namjoon raised a brow. “You could stay a bit longer.”
Jin smiled faintly. “Thanks… but I really should go.”
He walked toward the door. Namjoon followed, stopping just behind him.
Their fingers brushed again as Jin reached for the handle, and his chest gave that same stupid little flutter.
“Guess you’re not moving out yet,” Namjoon said, calm and unreadable.
Jin smiled despite himself. “Guess not.”
Namjoon nodded once. “See you around, neighbor.”
The door closed behind him, but the warmth lingered. It followed Jin back into his own apartment like a scent he couldn’t quite air out.
Later that night, he found himself scrolling through his playlist before bed.
He stopped when he saw one name.
RM.
He hesitated.
Then he pressed play.
The bass was softer than he remembered. The lyrics hit differently now.
Not noise. Not thunder.
Something gentler. Quieter.
Something that made him smile, even when he tried not to.