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Apartment 404
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               I am a hermit.

               Well, not exactly. I can hold a decent argument stating that I do go outside on a daily basis and have a fairly okay social life, but according to Himchan – no, I am a hermit.

               He lives a floor below me in sweet old apartment 306, and he has a kink for pounding the tip of his broomstick against the ceiling of his maison in the same exact place every single day at around 9 o’clock in the morning – sharp. This is, coincidently, the exact same time I’m standing by my coffee maker making myself some bitter black coffee because I ran out of my goddamn sugar and never remembered to buy any. So beneath my feet, all I can hear; all I can feel is thump, thump, thump.

               I can practically sense the goddamn conceited ’ smug, foxlike smile.

               And when I shared this information with said , his only response was calling me a loser for being so keen on these details.

               For some reason Himchan finds enjoyment in hanging out with me, the hermit. For some reason he gets a kick out of me appearing at his door with my bitter coffee and lame, fluffy, yellow bathrobe whilst aggressively complaining about the ing noise like a grandpa would to children skating down his front lawn. He calls me a wimp for being so sensitive to sounds. He tells me it isn’t even that bad.

               He doesn’t realize that his noises are just the beginning.

               Two guys live in the apartment above me, which is Apartment #506. When I’m just about done ing to Himchan, I’m back up in my apartment getting ready for the day ahead. This usually consists of bathing, choosing a stupid outfit, breakfast, last minute homework, changing into a different ty outfit, ting, changing into another lame outfit, and bumming around at my laptop until the time comes for me to leave for either my university or part-time job at the movie theater.

               Around the time I’m scrolling through Tumblr or maybe watching another nerdtastic video that’ll never get me laid (Himchan’s words, once again), heavy, electronic music or some Chris Brown song would play distortedly muffled in the background.

               At first I didn’t mind. Why not have a soundtrack to go along with my nerdtastic videos? I was fine with it until the first thump was heard again. Then again. Then again. Then again.

               Thump.

               Thump.

               Thump thump.

               I was about to run down and piss on Himchan’s face for pounding at my floor again when the thumps changed into a rhythmic pace, matching that of whatever song was playing. Then I noticed that it was not my floor that was pounding, but my ceiling faintly vibrating above me.

               Moon Jongup and Choi Junhong: freshmen. Both majoring in dance.

               They like to call me vanilla. At first I was confused (and slightly flustered because I really haven’t gotten laid yet) until they explained that my hair reminded them of vanilla ice cream. Then they both got excited like 4 year old children and pointed at each other, yelling out “CHOCOLATE! STRAWBERRY!” and then, at me, with fingers pointed as if I were the world’s newest species, “VANILLA!”

               And now, at around 12 o’clock in the afternoon, right before I leave for work or class, at my doorstep is a tub of Neapolitan ice cream. Every single day. And I gracefully trip over it. Every single day.

               My ing freezer contains about 99% Neapolitan and 1% frozen peas.

               At around 12:05 to 12:10, after shoving yet another tub into my crying freezer, I get into the building’s elevator and punch the 1st floor button. Between those two times, the elevator would stop at Floor 2, and every single time I mistakenly step out of the elevator, only to turn back too late and nearly snap my hand trying to keep the doors from closing.

               At around 12:10 to 12:15, I’m standing like a loser on the 2nd floor, waiting for the elevator to come back up. And around this time comes a man with a deepass caveman voice, bobbing his head to American rap music (that I doubt anybody on the ing planet understands) playing obnoxiously loud from his iPod.

               He looks at me; I look at him, and all of a sudden he turns away and instead heads towards the stairway. Then I am left there, standing awkwardly and alone, waiting for the elevator again. It is around this time that he holds the door to the stairs for me, his back turned as he continuously bobs his head to the loud music that I can still hear from where I’m standing. He doesn’t move at all, as if waiting for me to join him. For some reason I find myself drawn and now walking towards the stairs, passing by the man with a mumble of thanks before heading down the steps.

               Then I hear the heavy door slam shut and suddenly all I hear is the silence of the stairs and the behemoth-like music bouncing across the walls. While I’m padding down the cement steps I hear him right at my tail, now rapping along loudly with his caveman voice. Whenever I turn around, he stops and looks at me, smiles and continues on ahead.  

               He meets me at the 1st floor, door opened and now mumbling the raps to himself in contrast to what he was doing before. He waits, leaning against it with his arms crossed, and as I pass by he sends me another gummy smile before walking down the other direction.

               This happens every single day, and I have yet to figure out his name.

 

               All my mornings are ever filled with noise. I should be used to this routine by now, and I believe I am, which is why this one particular morning I was left confused and wary whilst standing at my coffee maker, waiting for my bitter black coffee.   

                There were no thumps, there were no noises. The only thing heard was the sound of my coffee maker, softly bubbling and popping, steaming up.

               I tightened the tie of my fluffy, yellow robe around my waist, blowing the blond hair out of my eyes. Something wasn’t quite right…and it was quite unsettling.

               It was…silent?

               I waited a few more seconds in the same exact spot just in case Himchan’s broom finally snapped in half thanks to all the abuse it received and the man was just trying to glue it back together like a nine year old’s art project, but there was nothing.

               “That’s strange…” I paused for a moment, staring blankly at the coffee maker before slowly bringing my hands up to my cheeks, slapping myself once, twice, thrice, and a fourth time just for good measure. I braced myself for the inevitable, but, so it seems, after one more minute of waiting, it was indeed evitable.

               “What the …?” I whispered to myself, staring down at my sock-covered feet, wondering why the gods have spared me today and decided to leave me with this odd peace and serenity. Where was the incessant pounding? Where was the goddamn broomstick? Was I wearing the wrong bathrobe?

               This was even worse than the broomstick.

               Strangely frustrated, I poured my coffee angrily into a mug, getting ready to show Himchan a piece of my mind for – for – for…? I paused, standing in the middle of my kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, a completely blank look plastered on my face. I twisted backwards, glancing at the time on my oven to make sure I hadn’t woken up too late or too early (that could be the only explanation for this unexpected delay, right?).

               9:10.

               .

               Clearly this was a reason to be mad. Himchan was late. That stupidass ulzzang was late. What on earth could he be doing at a time like 9:10 in the ing morning besides banging his stupid broomstick on my goddamn floor? What could he possibly be doing that was more important than bothering me?

               Fuming, I spilled my untouched coffee into the sink, tossing the mug in with it carelessly. I could give less of a damn if it broke at the moment because Kim Himchan was late. Adjusting the tie on my bathrobe and fixing my hair, I stormed through my apartment and towards the front door, bringing my own broomstick with me to shove into Himchan’s disgustingly perfect face because right now that idiot should be pounding on my floor with one.

               Just as my fingertips brushed the doorknob, I paused, fingers curling into fists as I took another look at the time on the nearest device that projected a clock. 9:13.

               Maybe Himchan was sick. Maybe he wasn’t even home. I still had those other freshmen nuisances to deal with, might as well wait for that. They danced every single morning, and I knew this because not only had I experienced their dance moves on my ceiling every single day, but because they explained to me the reason why they even bothered to dance so often. It was a meaningful reason (something about passion and dreams and meeting Chris Brown), so there was no way on earth would they give up the chance to dance. Even if one of them was sick, the other would dance. Even if both of them were sick, they’d still probably dance – clumsily – but they’d still dance.

               …But apparently I was wrong, because after a steaming shower, a change of 4 different tacky outfits before realizing I had to change into my work uniform, and 400 refreshes on Tumblr, the clock hit 11:45 and there were no thumps, there was no music, just plain old…silence.

               I tugged at my vanilla hair, glaring furiously across the room towards where the fridge in my kitchen would be. Although nearly full, I could tell the freezer was waiting (much like I was) to be stuffed with yet another tub of Neapolitan ice cream. I groaned, slamming my laptop shut and pushing myself up out of my chair, stomping towards my fridge. I ripped open the freezer, instinctively catching a tub before it fell out and stuffing it back in, slamming the thing shut again. I thought the feeling of stuffing something in there would be as satisfying as the usual routine, but apparently not. The freezer was keeping track of its little gifts, and it did not appreciate the repeat of the same exact tub.

               11:50 and there still was no music, still no thumps. Something was definitely going on and I hated it. So then I stood there, pathetically by the freezer, unloading its content and organizing it as to make space for its future addition. I took out the pouch of frozen peas, scowling as I stuffed it in the back. I was hoping I was dreaming, but if the frozen peas were in there, either my dreams were incredibly detailed, or this really was – (insert dramatic shiver here) – reality.

               Or I could be deaf.

               It was 12 o’clock and I blindly walked through the door, tripping over and slamming onto the apartment door across from mine. Yes! was my initial thought as soon as my face collided with the plastic, golden number 405 of my neighbor’s door, but all happiness disintegrated when I turned around – stupid grin on my face flipping over into a glare.

               There was no tub of ice cream.

               I, the hermit, had tripped over my own two feet.

               This was getting ridiculous.

               Quite dramatically, I flew down the hall, drifting into a turn (and nearly falling over) and stopping once I came face to face to the elevators. I punched the down button, waiting impatiently for the stupid piece of metal to come up and pick me up. I rushed through the heavy doors as soon as they slid open for me, punching the 1st floor button along with the close-the-door symbol.

               Tapping my feet mindlessly to the elevator music with my arms crossed in impatience, I heard the familiar ding! and immediately stepped out the doors. I ignored the fact that the elevator left me on the 2nd floor again. Instead I stood there, face scrunched up into a scowl as I snapped my neck down to look at my watch, then back up to look around. 12:03.

               Come on, come on, come on!

               I had (quite pathetically now that I think about it) 12 or so minutes to kill before the stranger comes down with his loud iPod, mouthing the lyrics to whatever song he was listening to. He was my only hope left. My only faith in my ears I had left – regardless of the fact that I was able to hear the elevator music loud and clear (the only ing noise I’d heard this entire morning).

               With any dignity I had left, I decided to telepathically send my oozing, frustratingly pointless hatred towards Himchan and an infinite amount of question marks in various shapes and sizes down Jongup and Junhong’s way. Then I waited there, waiting as if I’d suddenly hear a ding! and a reply from either of the three would magically appear.

               Nothing.

               It was now 12:10 and there was nothing.

               After five more minutes of waiting and still there was nothing, I let out a long, obnoxiously loud sigh of annoyance before kicking the door to the stairs open and plopping heavily down each step. I took consistent glances back, waiting for that Asian Morgan Freeman to make an appearance – heck, anyone would do. Anyone with a loud iPod and impossibly low voice could make my morning 33% complete. But no one came.

 

               By the time I turned up to work at the movie theater, my eyebrows were formed into a frown, future wrinkles revealing themselves as I begrudgingly wiped at the counter. No noises, no sounds, no morning disruptions. What on earth was going on? Could this be the sign of an apocalypse? Were those warnings signaling for me to run? Should I throw this towel away and rip apart my red suit vest and sprint through the door?

               “Someone’s awfully grumpy today.”

               I huffed, scrubbing harshly down on the surface before me.

               “Geez, scrub anymore and you’ll dent it.”

               Sighing, I tossed my towel aside and slammed my elbows onto the counter, propping myself up on them, my face falling in between my hands, cheeks squished. “Today is not a good day.”

               Chuckling, Im Jaebum leaned against his counter next to mine, fingers fiddling with his name badge. “What happened? You’re grumpier than usual, surprisingly.”

               I shot him a glare, not appreciating the taunt after such a frustrating morning. And how the do I explain to him, after months of complaining about all the noises I hear in the morning, that my apartment was completely silent and I hated it? It sounded foolish both in my mind and most likely out loud, too! I’d be even more of a “Youngjae babo” to stupid Im Jaebum, with his stupid ing voice, and stupid charming smile. The last thing I wanted was for this guy to tease me even more.

               “Did those morning noises get to you again?” Jaebum asked in a mocking tone, smirk still evident on his face as he stared contently at my pained state. “Care to talk about it?”

               “No,” I murmured flatly, huffing again as I turned to look at him. “I don’t want to talk about the morning noises because there weren’t any!” Slapping both of my cheeks, I fell to my knees, high-pitched, whiny “why?”s escaping my lips.

               “Uh…” Jaebum stood there, confused as he stared down at me, the curled up hermit, wailing on the carpeted floor. “And is that a problem?”

               I stopped, head snapping up with narrowed eyes staring coldly into his. “What kind of question is that? Of course it’s a problem!” I threw my hands up in the air for emphasis before returning to my fetal position, not even caring about the popcorn kernel stuck in my hair.

               “Care to explain why it is? You’re sort of confusing me here, Youngjae.” Jaebum then suddenly hissed a “Get up!” to me as he smiled awkwardly at a customer lining up at his counter, side-kicking me when he turned around to fulfill the woman’s order.

               Groaning, I scrambled up to my feet, hands gripping onto the edge of the countertop, manicured nails (blame Himchan) scraping against the surface. I picked the kernel out of my hair and flicked it towards Jaebum’s direction, staring off into the distance as I sighed again. “It’s weird because for some reason they weren’t making noises and it just feels so out of place – like the universe is imbalanced – and all I really want to know is why on earth they weren’t—“ I hadn’t even gotten to finish my sentence before my eyes landed on a group of five entering through the glass doors, talking, laughing leisurely as if my life couldn’t get any worse.

               My eyes narrowed, immediately recognizing four out of the five guys casually making an appearance, none of them taking notice to me, the lame worker in a red vest glaring at them.

               “Youngjae?”

               I ignored Jaebum as my fingers gripped onto the edge like an eagle, the very men putting me into this grumpy state every single morning suddenly appearing at my workplace – my territory. Without knowing I had whispered a “Prepare your weapons” to a confused Jaebum, who only looked at me incredulously before straightening out his vest in preparation for the approaching customers.  

               They had the audacity to stand in front of me, expectant looks on all of their faces. My burning glare was set on Himchan, who only smirked back with that stupid foxlike grin that drove me insane every single morning. It was too late for that, Kim Himchan. Way too late for that.

               “Hello, Youngjae.” Smug. I wanted to punch all the smug out of this ing ulzzang because I am done with his bull.

               “What the are you doing here?” I growled, not giving a that Jaebum (who I may or may not have a tiny crush on) was standing right next to me, a guy whose never heard me curse before. I ignored the surprised look said man gave me.

               “Now, now, now…Is that a way to treat your customer?” Himchan chuckled. “I’m here to spend my Saturday with some friends, but when Jongup and Junhong told me you worked here, well, I just couldn’t resist showing up. Did you miss me?” He then made a kissy face that seemed to have been welcoming my fist.

               Breathing through my nose, I willed myself to relax since my manager was not too far away and I happened to kiss the very land that man walked on. “Himchan, I am not in the mood to deal with you right now. You had 9 o’clock this morning to bother me with your broomstick, but it looks like you’ve missed your chance.”  

               “Honestly it’s sort of weird seeing you in something other than your yellow bathrobe.” Himchan shrugged as he turned to look at someone in the group. He was the one I hadn’t recognized. Two words instantly came up in my mind upon laying my eyes on him: Puffy lips.

               And hot.

               Make that three words.

               Puffy lips, hot.

               “I’m here with these guys to welcome our new neighbor. Well, more like your neighbor since he lives on your floor, but the building is practically family, so…” Himchan smiled, turning back to me. “Youngjae, this is Daehyun. Daehyun, Youngjae.”

               I blinked, eyes meeting with this Daehyun guy, whose own were already staring intensely into mine. Oh dear lord, he was a starer. I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, biting my lips and looking away. “What apartment does he live in?”

               “404.”

               My heart pounded once, attention thrown back at Daehyun, who now was smirking somewhat seductively, eyeing me with a look that made me want to hide. That wasn’t Himchan who had uttered those words. No, it sounded different, deep and suave.

               Apartment 404, huh? I lived in 406…the room across, 405…

               .

               He lived right next to me.

               I looked away again, instead averting my gaze to Junhong, who had been towering above all of them with a cute smile on his face.

               “Hey Vanilla!” he called, grinning as he saluted. “Sorry Chocolate and I didn’t leave some Neapolitan at your door today. We were all out, so…”

               “And sorry we didn’t invite you!” Jongup added, smiling apologetically. “We knew you had work to do so we sort of just let you be.”

               My eye twitched, immediately recalling the events from earlier today.

               “Anyways,” Himchan said, rolling his eyes as he stared up at the board posted above the counters. “What do you guys want? Yongguk?”

               And thus the caveman speaks something other than English jibber-jabber.

               “Anything is fine,” he said, deepass voice causing me to jump. How the do you get your voice to do that? He needs to teach me because everyone keeps telling me I talk like a ing girl.

               “Hmm…” Himchan pursed his lips as he turned to the rest of the group. “Jongup? Junhong?”

               “CHOCOLATE!” Junhong yelled, jabbing his finger at the glass I spent earlier today polishing. I cringed, knowing that later today I would have to polish it all over again – harder, too, since Junhong wasn’t known for his manners in eating. “And…uhm…popcorn. A large bucket of it! Maybe two, because we’ll probably finish one before the movie even starts.”

               “Nachos!” Jongup exclaimed, grinning at me like a child does to an ice cream man. I puffed my cheeks out as I entered in the orders, sending Jaebum a pleading stare as I did not have the willpower to perform these duties. Luckily Jaebum got the hint, turning around to prepare what the guys had ordered

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dongbangsora
#1
Chapter 5: So many years later and this is still my favourite daejae story ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
NaDaeHyun #2
Chapter 5: Still re-re-re-re-re-reading this♡
mistymountains 193 streak #3
Nice story!
CherryLovesRainbows
#4
OK I'm re-reading this fanfic as of now
ElatedFangirl
#5
Chapter 5: I remember reading this! This was hot before and now it still is! After quite some time of hiatus from fanfics, I never knew I needed a hot and steamy DaeJae! Thank you for this <3
xingthighs
#6
Chapter 5: That was great! Super ing funny and with the right amount of stupid oblivious Jae and love sick puppy Dae haha :3
xingthighs
#7
Chapter 1: Yooooo Youngjae is such a Mood™ here lmfao I know I'm definitely gonna love the rest of this story
shiranui1295
#8
Chapter 5: THE BONUS CHAPTER THOOOO AHHHH you still maintained their personalities really well even though the scene was something that hadn't occurred anywhere in the fic before so good job author-nim <3 (that's a try-hard way of saying dammit I loved this thank you for writing it)