Donghae sighs, shifting his backpack over his shoulder as he trudges up the stairs to his apartment. He spots one of the grandmothers at her door, glaring at him and then pointedly behind him. Looking back, he realises the rain has made his shoes leave dirty prints over the carpet. He winces but when he moves to apologise, only the closed doorway greets him.

“That kind of day,” Donghae mutters. He yanks off his shoes and carries them by their wet laces as he shuffles along the hall. Trying not to grimace at the crunch of his damp socks against the carpet, he hastily unlocks his door and dumps everything inside the door.

He doesn’t even have time to let the relief of finally behind home settle into his tired muscles. He’s promptly shoved against the wall, cold metal to his throat and a masked face in front of him.

Donghae can’t help himself. “If you’re looking for efficiency, that’s not where you cut the throat.” His intruder goes still. His mask covers his entire face, and as Donghae’s eyes adjust to the low light he recognises the pattern. “Oh my god. I’m gonna get killed by a weeb.”

The knife presses in a little harder. “Shut up. What do you intend to do with project Beta-Gamma-Zulu-One-Three-One.”

Maybe the full shift at the Apple store has gotten to his head, because Donghae’s first reaction is to roll his eyes. “Very funny, Obito. Or Tobi, whichever one you’re being. I have no idea what you’re talking about. You wanna take that knife off my cricothyroid membrane? You’re not killing anyone with that technique.”

The intruder eyes him through the hole in his mask. Just the one hole, Donghae can make out. He’s pretty certain the other eye has no view points cut out for sight. “…You’re serious,” he says.

Donghae rolls his shoulders and then his eyes when the man presses him against the wall harder. “Yes. There’s not much blood supply there. You’ve gotta go lower. Alternatively, go for the anterior triangle.”

The man scoffs. Donghae can’t tell if it’s with disbelief or amusement. “You’re correcting my technique on how to kill you.”

“Customer service will do that to you,” Donghae says without thinking. “Actually, being a med student will do that too. Or a student in general. Anyway, if you’re gonna kill me, do it properly. I don’t want it to majorly .”

The man sighs and pulls away. Donghae rubs absently at his neck, still feeling the pressure even though the knife is gone. “You’re not Lee Jong Kook, are you.”

“Never heard of him,” Donghae shrugs. Standing up, he ignores the man and goes to turn on the light. “Why are you trying to kill him? He a mutant?”

He turns to continue the conversation seriously, but that orange