neighbour•JIKOOK✓

THE NIGHT

The door flew open so hard the frame cracked against the wall.

Jimin felt it before he heard the sound, a sudden gust of cold air slicing across his bare feet.
He was already moving, sheets tangling around his legs as he scrambled to sit up. The apartment was dark except for the faint orange glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains.
He blinked hard, trying to make out the shape in the doorway.

A man. Tall. Hood up. No face.
"Get the fuck out of here," Jimin said, voice cracking. His heart slammed against his ribs. He reached for the phone on the nightstand, fingers fumbling.
The man lunged.
A hand clamped over his mouth. Jimin bit down hard. The man hissed and shoved him back onto the bed, knee pinning his chest.
"Shut up, kid."

The voice was low, rough, like gravel under tires. Jimin thrashed, elbow cracking against the man's jaw. Pain flared sharp and bright. He tasted blood. The man laughed once, short and ugly, and backhanded him across the face. Jimin's head snapped sideways.
Stars exploded behind his eyes.
He remembered the footsteps in the hallway earlier. The way the lock had clicked. He had thought it was his neighbor, the one who always played loud music at night. Now the thought made him feel stupid.
Stupid and small.

The man's weight shifted. Jimin tried to roll away, but the floor was too far. The attacker's hand was on his throat now, squeezing just enough to blur the edges of his vision. Jimin clawed at the wrist, nails scraping skin.
The man punched him again, lower this time, into his stomach. Jimin gagged, body curling inward.

"Stay still," the man growled. "Or I'll make sure you don't stay still for a long time."
Jimin heard the rustle of fabric, the zip of a bag. He tried to remember what he kept in the drawer beside the bed, but the panic was too loud, too thick.

His phone was still on the nightstand, screen lit up with some half-forgotten notification. The man snatched it, smashed it once against the edge of the dresser. The crack split the air like a whip.

Jimin screamed then, raw and animal. The man shoved something into his mouth, a rag soaked in something chemical that burned his throat.

The world tilted. He fought longer than he should have, legs kicking, fists pounding the mattress until the pain in his knuckles matched the pain in his ribs.

Then everything went black.
Jimin woke to the smell of bleach and old coffee. His mouth tasted like copper and fear. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
He lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his pulse to slow. When he finally sat up, the room spun once and settled.

He checked the locks on every door. Three times. The front one, the bedroom, the balcony that no one used.
All solid.
All locked.
He took the longest shower of his life, water so hot it scalded his skin. He scrubbed until his arms shook and his lips were raw from biting them.
The mirror fogged up.
He wiped a circle clear and stared at his reflection. Bruises blooming across his jaw, one blooming across his ribs. His eyes looked too wide, too dark.

He wrapped himself in the biggest hoodie he owned and made tea he didn't drink. He kept the lights on until sunrise.
Across the street, in the apartment that had been empty for six months, the man who lived there stood at the window and watched the lights go on one by one.

He didn't smile.
He just let the curtain fall and turned off the lamp.
He had been watching Jimin for months already. Knew the exact time he got home most nights. Knew the way he hummed when he made coffee. Knew the exact coffee Jimin liked from the place on the corner. Knew because he had been there the night the other man came.

He had seen everything.

He had waited until the intruder left before he stepped in. He had locked the door behind him. He had cleaned the blood off the floor in the kitchen and the broken lamp on the nightstand.

He had pressed a single coffee cup into Jimin's hands the next morning, the way it was made exactly right, cream and two sugars and a little extra cinnamon because Jimin liked the smell of it in the morning.
Jimin had stared at him across the narrow strip of sidewalk, eyes still red, voice rough.

"You... you were here last night."
The man had shrugged, small and careful. "Didn't want you to be alone when you got home. Figured the place was a mess after what that guy did."
Jimin had swallowed, throat still tight from the rag.
"How did you even know his name? The cops never-"
"Doesn't matter." He had handed over the cup. "You should drink this. It helps."
Jimin had taken it. Their fingers had brushed. Neither of them had pulled away right away.

Now, in the dark, the man across the street smiled for the first time. Small. Private.
He already knew the next time that intruder came, Jimin would be ready.
And Jimin still thought he was just lucky.

The coffee cup sat on the windowsill, condensation beading on the side.
The man watched it for a long time, the streetlamp painting everything in soft, dangerous gold. He pressed his palm to the glass and felt the faint warmth still there from the night before.

He didn't know yet that Jimin would notice the coffee was gone by morning. Or that the lock on the front door would be locked when Jimin finally drifted off again. Or that the curtain in the living room would shift once, just once, as someone passed outside.

He only knew that the man across the street was safer than any lock ever made him feel.
And that he would keep him safe.

Even if it meant becoming the thing Jimin was most afraid of.
The window across the street stayed dark until morning.