Vibrations drill past his thin walls, shaking his perfectly hung paintings and tampering into his fading dreams. Jongdae’s eyes peel open, morning light breaks in from the cracks in his curtains which rippled from the beats of the music. He lets out an exasperated groan, and tugs at the ends of his pillows till they crushed against his ears.

Though the music still muffled against the softness of it all, and he drags himself out of his bed, with the same curses biting at his tongue like they always did, to give you a piece of his mind. He draws his fingers through his tousled locks, and throws on his nearest jacket.

Just like he did every morning.

Three loud thuds resurface in the expanse of your living room, you would’ve never known had they not been so out of sync with your music. You frown in disappointment, would you ever be able to enjoy a single breakfast peacefully?

“You!” He yells, and you stare at the finger pointing directly into your face.

Ah, your lovely neighbour.

You had every urge to slam the door in his face, the nerves in your fingers caused a shiver to run down your spine, but you painted on a stoic face in hopes that the sugar from your breakfast would somehow sweeten up your agitated thoughts.

“Why can’t you turn that screaming down?!” You track your eyes away from his hand which waved accusingly in front of you, after releasing an amused huff, you steal a glance at the irritated pull of his brows, “You’re lucky to wake up to music, most people don’t have that privilege.”

He stares at you, trying to decipher the smirk that managed to stretch across your maple smeared lips, and despite having seen this stare almost every morning for the past three months, it still somehow stirred you on your spot.

“For God sakes, Y/N. That is not music. It’s distracting!” You watch the fold of his arms and rack your eyes down his stubborn posture in an attempt to give him a dirty look, but then bite the inside of your mouth to contain your laughter once you had scanned his entire body.

He shoots daggers through his narrowed eyes, arms gripping onto eachother a little tighter, “What’s so funny?”

“Is my music distracting enough that you forgot to wear pants?”

Jongdae’s lips pull into a thin line, he quickly glances down, face raging with a crimson red, and before you could even steal another glance at his Donald Duck boxers, he wraps his coat around himself defensively, “This isn’t over.”

The echo of his voice rings like a bell, and you stare in amusement while he promptly turns on his heels to prance into his apartment, right opposite to yours.

‘It never will be.’