Written by: "Tea Cup" 

Pairing: Yadong

Prompt: Moonlight - Infinite 

Balconies and Adversaries 

(Words: 2,571) 

If there was anything Howon could love about his small and pent apartment, it would probably be the balcony outside.  Stepping on that balcony was like stepping out of a box and falling into the wide open sky, buildings cowering beneath his feet and the stars within an arm’s reach, ready to be plucked off the branches of a dark night.

Around midnight, he would usually spend about two hours outside, with a steaming hot cup of tea to keep the shudders at bay.  A breeze always played around, and he’d sit and watch the inanimate buzz of life around him.  The old man asleep with the light on to his left, the T.V resonating like white noise from the couple’s apartment below, and the young man finishing his five-hour phone conversation to his right.  Steadily, but surely, he’d continue this ritual every night before finally, when the moon is bright enough to feel like a second sun, he’d heave himself off the little chair and paddle his way back inside to bed.  

Sometimes, he’d wonder about the little dots of souls wandering on the streets of the city below him.  Even as he took the train home, he’d unintentionally start thinking about their daily life--the woman that missed her car payment, the boss that spent another night at his desk, the housewife arguing with her husband--he’d wonder where all these people are going, if they’re going anywhere in life at all.  Then he’d remember his own skewed, empty, walkway, and just sigh at his balcony again.  When will he find something worth marching on for...

This night had been rather cold, and so the little people had shuffled inside quickly with winter clutching on their feet. Howon, too, had shortened his daily ritual on the balcony to the warm cocoon he’d made out of his bed.  It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep, world forgotten altogether below.  

That is, until the noises started, jolting him out of his slumber.  His ears strained, mind trying to comprehend the source of the loud noises and gargles of profanities carrying across from his balcony.  A few bangs, another string of curses and hisses, then the sounds of something like broken glass.

His heart drops in his chest.  He was a few stories too high for a burglar to be sneaking in through the balcony, but then again, what if it was one of his neighbors? They must have noticed his absence and thought he wasn’t home.  Or what if one of his neighbors was being attacked and getting thrown off his balcony?  What if a body had dropped out of the sky and landed right in his precious balcony??  The thoughts swirled around dizzily in Howon’s wild imagination.  He wasn’t going to sit and wait for something to happen, and being the man with the ego he is, he flung out of bed, getting ready to face the dangers crawling onto his beloved balcony.  With the blood rushing to his head, he springs to the kitchen, sneaking up against the wall to the balcony door.  He grabs the nearest object off the counter, and then faces the glass door, eyes looking wildly out.  

Nothing was there.

He strains his ears again, and the noises come back, louder, clearer, and so close--he flings the door open, arm reaching high ready to pound down and crush whatever he finds.

And there stood to his right, the snot-filled, tear-streaked face of his right-hand neighbor, phone in hand.  He seemed to have been sobbing, but was now rather shell-shocked at the sudden appearance of his neighbor.

“Um.”

That would probably be the correct response from anyone if their neighbor suddenly sprang out to their balcony with a frying pan held high, clad in his boxers and the wildest look on his face.

It took Howon a few seconds to realize that before the red started creeping to his cheeks.  He mutters a ridiculous GOODNIGHT NEIGHBOR and sprints back inside, slamming the glass door shut again and diving head first into his bed.  

Since when did that neighbor ever step outside anyways. The shame consumed him, cheeks flaring and scorching like they’d been dipped in molten lava.  He had made a complete embarrassment out of himself, and worse of all it was to that neighbor.  That really hot guy that spends hours talking to his boyfriend on the phone. He could feel the heat scorching his cheeks, and the embarrassing memory replaying like a horror movie in his head, again and again.

Howon might have, or might have not, watched him quite a few times.  Possibly seen him lazing around in tanks and shorts a few times too.  Slight chance that he had a few wet dreams with his image behind his eyelids.  

Howon makes a strangled noise like some dying animal, clutching his ears and digging his knees into the mattress below him.  How on Earth is he ever going to live this down?  

While he wallows in self-pity, a tap resonates off his balcony door.  Howon’s head plucks out of the sheets, his neck craning up like an ostrich out of the ground.  He drags the sheets with him as he treads out of bed to the hallway, facing his glass door to the balcony.  He sees the young man with the phone there, his face planted on the glass as he yells loudly, almost as if there was a ten ton concrete wall between them, “SORRY I DISTURBED YOU MISTER.”

Howon half expects him to leave, but the man just smiles, his face still glued to the balcony door.  So Howon, slowly, gingerly, and with the sheets still dragging behind him, heads towards the balcony door, opening it slowly as the cold intrudes into his apartment.

“Um.”

“How did you even get here.” It wasn’t really a question.

“Over the rail, it’s only a foot apart you know.  I just wanted to apologize for waking you up, I didn’t realize I was yelling so loud,” the man’s lips spread, slightly red from the biting cold, matching perfectly with the little red blotches on his cheeks.

“Uh-don’t worry.  In fact, forget you ever saw anything. Go sleep.”

“Right.  Goodnight mister.”

“Sure, night.”

And he slides the door shut again, his eyes following the other man as he hauls a leg over the railing, then slowly making his way over to the other side.

Cute.

He gawks at his own thoughts, mentally reprimanding himself as he walks back to his bed, sleep falling out of his grasp as his heart pounds a little harder, swelling with the thoughts of rosy cheeks and a warm smile.

.

.

.

The next day, as usual, had been uneventful for Howon.  His typical schedule, his mundane actions, one by one like a conveyer belt in motion, until the night evening finally rolled around and his conscious awoke.  A kettle of boiling water started singing on the stovetop, the balcony beckoning her owner outside for another date with the moonlit sky.  Howon absentmindedly starts making his tea, sugar in the mug first, then the tea bag, then the water slowly dribbling on top.  While his hands worked, his mind was wondering what became of his neighbor.  He had been thinking about last night’s event all day actually, pondering as to why the man had been upset and crying in the first place.  He had guessed it was probably a lover’s quarrel, or, as Howon’s hopes swelled, a possible breakup.

He made his way outside, slowly sliding the glass door shut and then settling down in his little chair, warm mug nestled in between his palms.  He doesn’t remember how long he had sat there, but when his cup was about half empty, he heard the scratching of another balcony door opening.  He tilts his head to the right and finds his neighbor resting his elbows on the railing next door, giving him a small smile as an evening greeting.

“Hello mister,” a little puff of fog contrasting against the black of the night.

Howon lets himself smile, grateful for a small change in his otherwise structured life.  “Don’t call me that, I’ll feel old.  Just call me Howon.  Or something.”

A small burst of laughter pops up from between the man’s lips.  Howon snaps out of his daze, startled, registering what he had just said as if the words had come out of another body’s mouth.

“I mean-I meant--”

“No, sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, I just didn’t expect you to be like this,” the neighbor said, a hint of amusement coloring his cheeks.  “And I’m Dongwoo by the way.  Or something.”

“Are you making fun of me?”  Howon snarls back playfully, getting the air of a child from the man’s bubbling laughter, a light feeling compared to his usual seriousness.  It was probably the effect of having passed an embarrassing phase together, sort of like some secret exchanged between two children making a pact out of nothing.  

Howon turns his chair for the first time, and Dongwoo shudders from the cold.  

“And what do you mean you didn’t expect me to be like this?”  Howon starts, laying down something that he hoped would last.

“Well...yesterday when you--”

“--let’s not mention yesterday,” Howon cuts him off, cheeks starting to flare.

Dongwoo’s smile slides onto his face, his eyes crinkling as easily as a person would breathe.  “I actually wanted to thank you.”

Howon’s brow quirks upwards, slightly surprised.  “Thank me? For what, making an idiot of myself?”

Dongwoo’s hands hold on the rail, a small snort before he looks at Howon again, “No, well, yes.  I was a bit upset and you kinda lifted my mood.”

“Oh.”  

“Yeah.”

A split moment of silence.

“Can I--can I ask why you were..you know..”

“Ah, well,” and Dongwoo turns his eyes to the maze of streets below.  “I broke up with my...my partner.”

“Your boyfriend.”

They meet eye to eye and Howon just smiles, almost reassuring him.

“Yeah.  Well, he broke up with me.  Over the phone too,” he sighs, the wrinkles in his face smoothing out to an ironed sheet of skin.

“You want to talk about it..?  I know I’m just your neighbor and all, but I wouldn’t mind.”

Dongwoo smiles softly again.  “No, I’d rather just forget about it actually.  But thanks for offering,” he slings his arms over the rail, his feet getting restless from standing.

Howon notices.

“Want me to get you a chair?”  

The smile slides right back onto that face like it had never left.

“Sure.”

One night had turned into two, the two expanding to three, and soon enough it became the norm for the two men to spend the night outside on the balcony, talking.  About what exactly though, Howon can’t put a coherent trail of thought for it.  It does, however, explain how Dongwoo had managed to spend hours on the phone.  He magically pulls out something to say, a new question, a new comment, always with the same enthusiasm and curiosity that colors all his words.  Slowly but surely, Howon finds himself slipping farther and farther, his feelings bubbling underneath, yet his fear of rejection keeping him in line.  

Howon flips the sloppy pancake upside down in the pan, the same way he was turning around the ideas in his head.  It was probably too soon to ask Dongwoo for a date anyways; the man had literally just ended his previous relationship right when he met him.  On the other hand, he could just make it a casual coffee run since he can safely assume they were somewhat friends now.  Then he remembers that throughout their entire conversations Dongwoo had never mentioned his love interests at all, nor did he ever get near the subject of his previous partner.  More importantly, it has been a solid three years for Howon since he had last attempted anything serious, and he doubted whether he would he even manage to steer this properly.

A sigh escapes his lips again, his nostrils flaring when he smells the distinct scent of burning, his pancake now a black disc of charcoal in front him.  Curses.

He tosses everything in the sink, not really caring.  It was sunday after all, and Howon makes his mind to venture out to get some breakfast.  He quickly pulls on a long-sleeve black V, and his jeans from yesterday should do for now.  He ruffles a hand through his hair, sighs, and makes his way back to the kitchen to grab his keys, wallet, and phone.  He has half the mind to think about later asking Dongwoo for his phone number, but then sighs again as he finds his boots and coat.  As he locks the apartment door behind him, he hears some commotion down the hall.  He doesn’t bother looking; he knows better than to place himself in other people’s business.

So he heads towards the elevator, keeping his eyes on the floor as much as he can as the commotion turns into a heated argument.  He had wanted to just tune it all out, but when he recognizes the voice, trembling with fury and hurt, he can’t help but look up.  

He finds Dongwoo seething in his skin, his hands clutched in fists down his sides, grinding out profanities at the man angrily shouting back at him.  They were headlocked in a full blown verbal argument, and Howon was pretty sure they hadn’t even noticed him down the hall.  

The debate rages in his head--should he attempt to interfere, or should he let it be.  He takes a few seconds to contemplate, watching them carefully from down the hall.  The more he watched, the more his own blood boiled.  He found his conscious screaming out in his head, something in his chest banging against his ribcage, tackling to burst out.

Dongwoo had stopped trying to argue with the man, and now just stood silently, his mouth hung open in disbelief, and his brows knitted together in frustration.

“What part of leave me the alone do you not understand?” he’s simmering, trying his best not to lunge at the block of idiocy in front of him.

“You’re not listening to what I’m saying—”

“—I don’t want to listen to you—”

“—this always happens, you always come back so why—”

“—I’ve had enough of your whims to suddenly break up and make up just off—”

“—why are you so—oumfff-f,” the man reels over, Howon’s fist connecting right at the side of his gut, knocking him to the floor.

Howon then spins around to Dongwoo, that same wild look painting his face like the first night he saw him on that balcony.  He stomps his boot to the carpet, asking loudly, almost obnoxiously, and yet in all seriousness, “COME WITH ME TO BREAKFAST.”

It takes Dongwoo a split second, the red becoming noticeable on Howon’s ears, before he starts laughing, all the tension from before escaping him like a flip of a switch.  He hooks his arm into Howon’s, tugging at him as they move along, completely ignoring the man behind him.  He gives Howon a slight nudge, exchanging a brief look with him that said it all.

Who ever said that balconies were useless?

Admin’s note: Balconies—I love balconies, but seriously this story was so cute and fluffy, and I’m glad that Dongwoo’s problem was taken care of, Go Lee Howon! C: Aah, if only I had a neighbor like that. Awesome job writing this fic!

~ KyashiiKun