Himchan howled with laughter. “So you’ve lived in the same building as this kid for five whole years and you’ve never even noticed him?” It was the next day during lunch hour, and Yongguk had told his friends about the awkward giant of a middle schooler he’d been paired with for the service project. “That’s gotta sting, bro.”

Yongguk glared at his best friend over his bowl of rice. They were sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria, in the corner, as far away from the watchful lunchroom attendants as possible. “It’s not funny, you jerk. How am I supposed to remember him if we’ve never spoken before?”

“Was he mad that you didn’t know who he was?” Youngjae asked curiously. 

Yongguk shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really care. He didn’t say anything more about it, just went into his apartment. He only lives a few doors down from me.”

Youngjae, who was easily the most serious one out of their group, frowned. “If he’s lived that close to you for five years, you had to have crossed paths with him at some point. You know, going or coming from school, or going out on the weekends. You really don’t remember him at all? You probably hurt the poor kid’s ego.”

“Nope, I don’t remember him.” Yongguk wasn’t sorry about it. He was too cool to be bothered with nobodies like Junhong. “Why would I? He’s just some kid. At least this way we can meet up at our own houses and no one has to see me hanging out with a loser like him.”

Daehyun laughed out loud. “Yeah, you have to protect your image.” 

Yongguk rolled his eyes, but it did make more sense for the two of them to just meet at their apartments rather than venturing out to the cafe every time. He already had that cashier’s number, so he didn’t need to go back. 

He didn’t bother that night since it was the start of the weekend, but on Monday after school, Yongguk walked down to the apartment he’d seen Junhong go into last Thursday and knocked on the door. There was a long pause, and then a petite middle-aged woman with hair streaked liberally with gray opened it cautiously, wiping her hands on a stained floral-print apron. 

She looked more than a little frightened of Yongguk, but that was only to be expected. He meant to come across as a delinquent. “Can I help you?” she asked in a soft voice. 

Yongguk cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m here to see Junhong-ah. Is he home?”

The woman seemed to relax a bit, and she stood aside so Yongguk could step into the apartment. “Yes. Please come in.”

Yongguk stepped across the threshold, and the woman closed the door behind them. The living room of the apartment was scrupulously immaculate. Though the furniture was old, faded and worn, it was obvious that someone took good care of it. The apartment smelled strongly of lemon-scented furniture polished mixed with the slightest hint of cigarette smoke. 

“Junhong-ah,” the woman called down a narrow hallway that was identical to the one in Yongguk’s apartment except for the framed photographs on the wall. “Come here please!” Even when she was yelling, the woman’s voice wasn’t very loud. 

A door opened at the end of the hallway, and then there were heavy footsteps dragging tiredly across the carpet. Junhong appeared at the end of the hallway, looking sleepy. He was dressed in a pair of baggy jeans that seemed several sizes too big for him and a baggy sweatshirt with sleeves long enough to cover his hands. His hair was a mess, as if he couldn’t be bothered to brush it. “What is it, mom?” he began, but when he caught sight of Yongguk standing in his living room, he seemed to freeze. 

“A friend stopped by to see you,” the woman, Mrs. Choi, beamed. It was obvious by her reaction that Junhong didn’t have visitors often. Maybe never. 

Junhong’s eyes flashed, and Yongguk was surprised - and secretly a little pleased - to see anger there. He’d done so well withholding all emotion when they’d met last Thursday; it was ego-boosting to know he could get a rise out of the kid after all. Without warning, Junhong’s hand flashed out and his fingers grasped Yongguk’s wrist in a death grip. He dragged Yongguk down the short hallway and into his bedroom. 

The room was a total disaster, which surprised Yongguk. He’d sort of imagined Junhong to be a neat freak, but the room was almost as messy as Yongguk’s. There were clothes, dirty and clean alike, draped over every available surface. Shoes, books, and movies were scattered everywhere, so it was like walking through a minefield just to get across the room. 

Junhong shut the bedroom door softly before whirling on Yongguk. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, and he was definitely angry. 

Yongguk was pleased that he’d managed to get under Junhong’s skin, but he was a little distracted at the moment. His eyes had locked onto the fresh bruise that was blossoming on Junhong’s temple and the vicious-looking scar running across his jawline. “Nice shiner,” he teased. “Somebody beat you up for your lunch money or something?”

Junhong blushed crimson, like he’d forgotten he was so exposed since he was in his own home. “Or something,” he muttered darkly, pulling his mask on. It effectively hid the scar, but the bruise was still quite visible. It was new; he certainly hadn’t been sporting it when they’d met at the cafe last week. “What do you want?” Junhong repeated, rather rudely considering who he was talking to. 

“I was just going to suggest that we have our meetings at each others’ places instead of the cafe. You know, since we live so close. It’ll be easier,” Yongguk said, still staring at the bruise. He’d been in more than his fair share of fights - especially since he had a tendency to hang out with some unsavory characters sometimes - and he could tell that this bruise had been caused by a single deliberate punch. It had probably been thrown with enough force to knock Junhong out. “Did you get a concussion from that?”

“I’m fine,” Junhong muttered in annoyance. “And as long as we meet at your house, I don’t care. But I don’t want you come over here again. Ever.”

“Fine, fine.” Yongguk didn’t understand why Junhong was so adamant about him not coming over. As far as he could tell, Mrs. Choi was very nice and the house was definitely much tidier than his own. But whatever. He didn’t care. 

He grabbed Junhong’s hand and scribbled down his cell phone number in his sloppy handwriting. “Text me so I have your number too,” he said. “That way I won’t have to come over here again.”

Junhong glanced down at the number on his palm, frowning, looking slightly disgusted. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll show you out now.” He didn’t even say goodbye before he slammed the door in Yongguk’s face. 

Thank you so much for all the subbies and upvotes! I really appreciate it! 

I love you guys!