Saturday, six days since a certain someone moved in to the apartment opposite me, and here I was at college yet again.

It was like my second home.

Which I wasn’t happy about of course.

I shuffle into the building, enjoying the cool air conditioning and the empty hallways. Hardly anyone ever come to college during the weekends. Except during exam season. Then the library would be crammed full of students just opening their textbooks for the first time, the panic so thick it’s almost visible.

I walk past the silent grey rows of metal lockers, hitching my bag higher on my shoulder. I take the stairs two at a time, my hand trailing up the banister. Just as I’m about to run up another flight, music from the fourth floor catches my attention and draws me in.

I walk slowly down the hallway, peering through the windows. The first glance tells me it’s the floor for performing arts. I press my face against the glass and see darkened drama rooms and lonely editing suites.

The last room is where the loud music is coming from, the bass so high it’s vibrating against the floor and conducting the beat of my heart. I peer round the door.

It’s Jongin, of course it’s Jongin. My feet probably knew they were leading me to him.

A Michael Jackson song is playing, a slow song. A song with piano notes and a lazy beat and if I listen closely I can hear that the sound of nature have been intertwined to create a sensual rhythm.

Jongin’s standing there, eyes closed, feet together. He’s wearing a crisp white jumper, baggy black jogging bottoms and white trainers. All that’s moving is his head as he slowly nods to the beat. It’s suspenseful watching him stand still while the music plays around him, almost creating an aura that causes a tingling in my stomach.

Then suddenly the shell cracks and he’s moving.

He starts off by slowly walking forward, his eyes hooded, flicking an arm out and then sweeping a leg out to the side. It’s captivating to watch him. He’s completely transformed. It’s as though I dreamt about him being embarrassed at the jazz club. This Jongin is not insecure. One minute there’s a mischievous grin on his face as if he knows he’s got every single inch of your attention. Then the next minute it’s as if he’s completely forgotten that’s he’s performing and this dance is all for him, looking to the side as he twists his hips, biting his bottom lip so hard that it’s red when he finally lets it go. The song talks about making love and Jongin translates that into dance moves, using every inch of the space, every inch of his body is screaming , his lips are swollen, his fringe is in his eyes and I’m starting to realize this whole thing is slowly driving me insane.

The song finally winds to a close, and Jongin stops dancing. He walks around the room, breathing heavily while he stretches. Any moment now he’s going to catch me watching him. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and pushes his hair back and then sits down on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest.

I can’t stop staring at him. I put my hands up to my cheeks and feel the heat radiating out of them. I’m sure I look like I’ve just finished dancing, all flushed and unable to speak.

Suddenly he looks up, directly at me, but just in time I leap away from the doorway and lean with my back against the wall beside it.

There’s silence.

I hold my breath, reducing my breathing until I can feel the slivers of air on my lips as I inhale and exhale. I wait to hear any sounds of movement from within the room but none come.  I pluck up the courage to slowly peek my head round again.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Jongin’s lying on the floor, his eyes closed while his feet tap out the beat. I take this time to make my escape.

My breathing doesn’t return to normal until I’m in the library, deep between the bookshelves, trying to get Jongin out of my head.

I leave the library just as darkness begins to settle like a blanket. I decide to stop at the supermarket to gather some groceries. My cupboards are starting to look like when I first moved in; empty.

The artificial lights are a startling contrast to the black night and I squint as I walk into the shop. I pick up a basket and begin to load food items into it, humming as I go along.

Then I pluck my phone out of my pocket and thumb a quick text:

I’m in the supermarket, did you need anything?

The reply comes before I’ve even had a chance to put my phone away.

Are you a fool? What are you doing out at this time of the night? Go shopping tomorrow morning instead.

Then a few seconds later another message:

I’ll have some ramyun please ^_^

I snort and walked over to the aisle and dash seven packets in my basket. This guy is so unhealthy but you wouldn’t think it to look at him.

You’re a dancer Jongin, you should be eating healthy! I’ll pick out some nice cabbage and carrots alright? ^_^

Vegetables will not be entering my apartment.

I tut and mutter to myself as I chuck in a couple of vegetables. I vow to make him so noodles and sneak the vegetables in along with some meat; he’ll never know. Serves him right.

I pay for my shopping and leave the shop, the carrier bags straining my fingers. The night air is quite chilly and I walk home quickly, wanting to get to the safety of my apartment to curl up and watch my drama.

I duck under the chain link fence and in no time at all I’m fumbling with the keys to the door of my block of apartments open.

It’s pitch black.

The lighting is meant to be automatic and turn on as soon as you open the door, so as a result there’s no light switch. I take out my phone and send a quick text to Jongin.

Are you home?

His reply:

No but I’m about 20 minutes away. I was at Chanyeol’s. What’s up dummy? Did you want to come round or something?

I sigh and put my phone away. I would have felt better if Jongin had been home, knowing that there was at least someone in this dark place.

“Don’t be a scaredy cate Choi Cho Ara,” I frown to myself. Clutching my bags tighter and glaring at the darkness, I feel my way up the stairs.

My footsteps echo loud in the gloom. Twice I stop, stock still, sure I can hear noises coming from above me. Each time there is only silence and I carry on, breathing deeply.

I finally make it to my floor and breathe a sigh of relief. At least I wasn’t murdered on the stairs. Even so I have a sense of foreboding; I can’t see a thing. I have to hold my hand against the wall and count the number of doors until I come to mine.

One.

My fingers brush over the cold oak of the door.

Two.

The carrier bag rustles and the eerie sound seems to go on and on.

Three.

I can’t tell the difference between when my eyes are open or closed. The darkness is just as thick.

Four.

My hands are slightly shaking when I take out my keys. I jam them into the lock and turn.

I rush into my apartment and slam the door shut and lean against the door, my chest heaving.

I want to breathe a sigh of relief but I still don’t feel comfortable.

I walk forward slowly and rest the carrier bags on the dining room table.

Something’s making me feel uneasy.

Then I realise:

The door was already unlocked.

Panic rises like vomit in my throat and I’m about to turn my head to look at the door but the action is never completed.

A thick arm clamps around my neck, pulling me against a hard body. A raw scream of shock leaps from my throat.

“Nobody can hear you all the way up here,” The person says. Their breathing is fast and heavy and smells foul, like beer and dirt. The arm tightens around my neck. I’m shuddering out of pure fear and I open my mouth to scream again, to try and direct every single emotion into it so it’ll be as loud as possible.

I need this scream to travel to him. Wherever he is, whether he’s walking along the pavement, music blaring in his ears or sitting inside Chanyeol’s car, I need him to hear me.

The gloved hand clamps over my mouth, cutting off my air and my voice.

The words I want to scream still shriek inside my head.

Jongin.

Help me.