You conscripted your oppa, Chanyeol, to help you move.  He didn’t agree with your living off campus, but he had to agree that this was a pretty safe-looking neighbourhood, with most of your neighbours being either elderly, or other university students.  Still, he never turned off big brother mode, and was bitterly complaining as he helped you put away your dishes and cutlery in the kitchen.

“I know that you haven’t had the best luck with roommates, but isn’t this a bit drastic?

“Isn’t this conversation a bit moot? I’ve already signed the contract, and paid for the year.”

“It’s never too late to find a roomma–”

You threw him a look.

“Ah!  Aaah…roooom-y wardrobe.  For all your clothes.  Aigoo, why do you have so many clothes?”  He wandered off toward your bedroom to start unpacking said clothes, and hanging them up in the closet.  

***

The next morning, he said his goodbyes, as you gave him a kiss, and the code to your door lock.  “Call me every night.  And be careful when you’re walking home in the dark.  Don’t stay up too late.  And remember to eat properly–you always skip meals–”

“Get out, you’re worse than Oemma!”

“It’s my job!”

You slowly closed the door on him, smiling.  “Goodbye, oppa!”

“And don’t bring home any strange boys!” he yelled through the door, his deep voice muffled.

You grinned as you leaned against the closed door.  As if you had the time for that.  “I said bye, oppa!”

“Ungrateful brat,” he muttered as he walked away.

Throwing open the door you stuck out your tongue at him.  “I love you, too,” you said, smiling happily, then closing the door before he could react.    

***

The next several days, before classes started, were blissful.  It rained almost every day, and you opened the windows to let in the sweet-smelling air, and cool breezes.  The patter of rain was a perfect background for you to catch up on your leisure reading, as you curled up on one of the overstuffed velvet armchairs.  You cooked elaborate, if small meals, baked constantly, and made friendly with the neighbours by giving away all of the treats that you couldn’t eat.

One morning you awoke, stretching deliciously as cool air wafted from the windows above and beside your bed, over your body.  You had never bothered with pajamas when you were alone, opting to sleep in your underwear, and any old comfortable shirt you could find.  

I need a cat, you thought to yourself.  Or two.  Or three.  Smiling to  yourself, you decided that would be your mission for the day.  Breakfast first, though.  

Wandering into the kitchen, after washing your face, you walked to the fridge to grab a packet of gim to have with your rice and stew.  Reaching up, you realized that your oppa had put it just out of reach.  “Why is he so uselessly tall?” you muttered to yourself as you stretched.  Chanyeol always teased you, for talking to yourself, saying that it was a sign that you were getting old, but it’s a habit that you had had your entire life.  

Suddenly, the packet slid toward your hand, moving at least six inches.  “Hm. House must be on the incline.  As expected, with such an old building.”  Trundling toward the rice cooker, you went about with your day.

***

True to your word, you walked to the animal shelter, and picked up a cat.  You decided to start with one, so that you could bond with it, before introducing any other cats.  The kittens had been cute, but something about this old queen had called to you.  She was a grey striped tuxedo cat–twenty years old, according to the shelter–with lambent peridot eyes.  She held herself elegantly, despite the fact that her fur was a bit thin in places, and not quite sleek–in the way of older cats.  As soon as you had looked at her, however, she had walked to the edge of her cage, and poked out her nose at you, not retreating until you nuzzled her back, and your heart was lost.  Her name was Bubba, and she owned you as soon as she laid eyes on you.  

On the way home, you picked up a heating pad, to add to the collection of feline accoutrements that you had already purchased, so that she would always have something warm on which she could rest her old bones.  

Upon her release from the rolling cat carrier, she trotted regally through your apartment, sniffing, and rubbing herself against everything.  Before you could become too distracted, you headed to the bathroom to set up her litter situation, and upon your return, she was sitting on the couch, stretching and purring, almost as if someone were her back.  

“What a darling you are!” you cooed, drawing close to rub her.  As you reached out your hand, it brushed against…something.  Snatching it back, you blinked, but Bubba continued to purr and flirt, as if nothing were awry.  “Hm. That halmoni’s words must be getting to me,” you chuckled, turning to kitchen to set up her food and water dishes.  

***

Soon school began, and you were thrown into the thick of it.  Your program was actually one that combined a master’s and a Ph.D, and though you had more leisure time than you had in undergrad, the work, when you had it, was a lot more intense.  On top of classes, you were also a research assistant to the head of the chemistry department, as well as a teaching assistant to one of the biology professors.  You may have had a full ride, but they were going to get their money’s worth out of you.  

Many was the night that you dragged yourself home past midnight, exhausted, Excel formulas, statistics, and lesson plans swirling through your head in an endless maelstrom.  Despite how many times you could have sworn that you fell asleep on the couch, you always awoke in your bed, under the covers.  

Other, odd things also started to happen.  Nothing scary, just things that made you wonder if holding so much scholastic knowledge in your mind was making you forgetful in other areas of your life.  

There were the times that you were at school, and realized that you had forgotten to feed Bubba, only to come home at lunch to find her bowl full.  Or the fact that, whenever you lost something, if you started talking to yourself about it–”Now, where did I put my keys (phone, purse)?”– you’d find it within minutes, sometimes in a place that you were sure that you had already searched.  Furthermore, many was the time that you came home to what sounded like a man’s voice on the other side of the door, sometimes talking, sometimes singing in a shimmering, clear tenor, but when you opened the door, no one was there.  

“Hm,” you muttered the first time it happened.  “I guess sound travels really well in an old, unsound-proofed building.”  Now, you just ignored it, having explained it away satisfactorily, to yourself.  

You were a pragmatic sort, even despite being able to see what most of the world couldn’t, and could explain away all of the phenomena without losing a single drop of sleep.  Besides, it was  hard to be scared when the place gave you such a safe feeling.  And it wasn’t just the apartment.  Sometimes, that safe feeling followed you for most, and occasionally all, of the day.  You would be walking home from a late night grocery run, or deposit to the off-campus ATM which was, admittedly, not in the best neighbourhood, but you would feel as secure as if someone were there with you, watching over you until you were safely back home.  

One Friday night, you came home late from a celebratory night out at the local pojangmacha.  Singing softly to yourself, you almost didn’t notice the way that your door was cracked open.  Almost.  Before you could react, you felt something brush past, and the door opened even wider, causing you to retreat in surprise.  After a moment with no further activity, however, you cautiously entered.  

Maybe if you had been sober, you would have been smarter, stayed outside, and called someone.  But you weren’t, so you went inside.  

Turning on the light, your eyes swept the living room.  Nothing out of place.  Tiptoeing to the kitchen, a quick glance told you that no one was in there, either.  Heading toward the bedroom, you opened the door to see that it was also clear.  Gathering your bravery, you quickly opened your closet, but nothing stared back at you, but your clothes.  The bathroom was similarly clear.  That just left…oh, crap, the hallway closet.  

Emerging from your bedroom, a glance around showed you that the living room, and kitchen were still clear.  Sidling toward the hall closet with trepidation, you steeled yourself, and ripped open the door to find–

Nothing.  At least nothing human-sized.  A fat, sassy moth escaped, and fluttered toward the ceiling, letting you know that it was time to stock up on mothballs, lest you wanted your woolen garments to have that chic, unsought-after moth-eaten look.  

Kicking off your shoes, you closed your front door, and hung up your jacket.  Peeling off your top as you headed toward your bedroom, you tossed it into the laundry basket, and sat down on your bed, thinking.  Something was still awry.  

Bubba!  Where was Bubba?!  You panicked–you had been gone all day, so if she had left, she could be anywhere.  You leapt up to redress and start the search, when something wrapped around your ankle and tugged roughly, sending you crashing to the floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs.  

You stared up at the ceiling, stars in your eyes, for you had hit your head on the side of your dresser on the way down.  A sharp, sick pain wrapped around your lungs as they struggled to take a breath, a hot miasma of agony slowly blooming inside, and you just lay there in silent torment, unthinking as your body’s autonomous systems worked to return you to homeostasis.  

This seemed to take forever, but in reality, the process only took a handful of seconds.  It was enough time, however, for a dark figure to come creeping from underneath your bed to climb over you, straddling your prone body.  

Before you could orient on his face, however, you were pulled backwards, your upper body lifting as your legs slid along the floor, until your back hit the wall.  The stranger was gaping at you in surprise, when his head snapped to the side, his body quickly following suit to collapse on the floor.  

He flailed, but within moments, it went from aimless flailing to purposeful struggling, as if he were fighting against an opponent that neither of you could see.  He curled into a ball to protect himself from what seemed to be invisible kicks and stomps to his abdomen, and head.  Kicking out, he seemed to make contact with the invisible entity, as items suddenly swept off of your dresser, and a loud crash was heard, as if a muscular body had fallen to the floor.  

You watched all of this in a daze, still too out of it to feel anything other than detached curiousity.  

The stranger kicked again, and you heard a sickening thump, and a groan, before the stranger was flipped over, and bowed backwards. His eyes were on yours, his red face straining, veins popping, and eyes bugging out of his sockets as he reached for you.

With a start, you realized that he was suffocating.  Whatever it was, it was on his back, and it was choking him.  Finally coming to your senses, you crawled out of the room toward your purse to grab your phone, and call the police.  While you were on the call, the fight spilled into your living room.  

The stranger had grabbed your broomstick, and when he spun around, putting his body weight into the spin, it whapped into something that sounded solid, yet soft, and you heard a pained cry.  Suddenly, there was a roar of anger, and…and…

You looked up, your mouth falling open.  

“Ma’am?  Ma’am? Are you still there? Ma’am, can you hear me? Ma’am, please answer me.  The police are on their way, are you hurt?”

Your unfeeling fingers dropped the phone as you stared.

For in front of you…in front of you…

…was another man.  Another man who hadn’t been there a second ago.  A man who had appeared out of thin air.  He wasn’t tall, but his body was compact with lithe muscle, like a panther’s.  He had rich black hair, and thick, shining black brows which arched toward his hairline like raven’s wings, preparing for flight.  His small mouth was screwed up in fury, and his dark brown eyes burned with a cold rage as he stared down at the stranger who lay prone, at his feet.  

His legs were encased in ripped black jeans, and he wore a black tee with a large black coat of arms in relief on the chest, and a fitted black leather jacket with vertical zippers on the