A/N: There's stalking in this one.

Youngjae nods his greeting to the receptionist whose eyes only meet his for a moment before she returns them to whatever is taking up her attention on her phone. It’s rather bold of him; even with her obvious disinterest she could easily identify him just from the number of times he’s been here, but his upbringing makes him unable to stop himself from showing that much politeness. It also eases his mind a bit, like it legitimises his reason for being here. At any rate, it’s probably a moot point to worry about the receptionist recognising him when there are probably cameras in the elevators.

Youngjae gets off at the tenth floor and heads to the staircase to climb the remaining two floors to his final destination. He pauses when he gets outside the door like he always does, his hand hovering over the keypad. Youngjae bites his lip. He shouldn’t be doing this; one of these days he’s going to get caught. For other people that might be a dream, a goal even, but Youngjae doesn’t actually want to meet Im Jaebum. Youngjae is way too awkward to ever handle a face-to-face meeting with his favourite actor, no, he just wants to get as close to the older man as he possibly can without the two ever exchanging words or glances.

“Fifteen minutes,” he mutters to himself.

He reasons that it would be more suspicious if he left so soon after he arrived, that he should go in if only to prevent one of Jaebum’s neighbours from walking out and seeing him hovering in front of an apartment they know is empty at this time of day. He quickly punches in the code and the light on the keypad glows green.

The living room looks the same way it did the last time Youngjae was here a month ago. He’s not surprised, Jaebum’s simple taste and disinterest in being fashionable has been a staple of all his interviews. Youngjae toes off his shoes and places them in his duffel bag before he pads over to the sofa. The black leather is cold beneath his cheek. When he closes his eyes, he can picture Jaebum sitting here watching one of his most recent dramas, critiquing his performance and making note of weak areas.

Youngjae makes a quick trip to the kitchen, but that has changed even less than the living room. The fastidiousness that typically engenders some light ribbing from Jaebum’s co-workers shows in the almost unnerving neatness of the kitchen. If Youngjae didn’t know better, then he would swear that the actor has never so much as used a pot to boil water in here. The bathroom is the same.

Youngjae’s grip on his duffel bag tightens as he stops out side of the door leading to Jaebum’s bedroom. He treasures everything he’s gleaned about Jaebum from the other rooms of his apartment, but this one is the heart of his being. The bed is made so neatly that Yougnjae could bounce a coin off it, his laptop is sitting in the centre of his desk with his camcorder right beside it, and the books in his small bookcase are arranged by topic and the author’s surname.

Youngjae takes a deep breath before he drops his duffel bag and throws himself on Jaebum’s bed. This might be the most dangerous thing he does. Even though Youngjae always re-makes the bed, Jaebum is such a sharp-eyed neat-freak that he might notice the bed looks slightly different from the way he left it in the morning. It might be paranoia or it might be a well-placed fear; either way, all thoughts leave his head as he inhales the clean, fresh scent of Jaebum’s sheets. Youngjae likes to imagine that this is how Jaebum himself smells, perhaps with a touch of that Clive Christian cologne that he favours–one of the few indulgences the actor allows himself.

Beep!

Youngjae freezes–eyes wide and mouth open–when he hears the faint beeping of the keypad. He brings his wrist up to check the time, nearly smacking himself in the face with his watch in the process. It’s only ten past nine, Jaebum isn’t supposed to be finished with his schedules for today for at least another hour–Youngjae of all people would know about any changes.

“Ugh, I’d better nip this in the bud,” Jaebum says to himself, his voice sounding thick and nasally. A series of coughs and the sounds Jaebum puttering about in the kitchen float through the crack of the slightly open door.

Youngjae, of course, knew the actor was flirting with a cold, but he thought that the older man would push through and continue his work the way he always does when he gets sick. Why did he have to choose today of all days to not be a slave to his work ethic?

Youngjae catapults up when he hears the sound of footsteps outside the door, getting closer and closer until the light at the bottom of the door is blocked. He takes a header onto the floor and rolls underneath the bed right as the door is pushed open. Youngjae clenches his eyes shut, both of his hands flying up to cover his nose and mouth. His eyes fly open when his duffel bag comes to mind. It’s sitting right beside him, but the end of it is sticking out from under the bed. Should he try to pull the rest of it in or will the just attract Jaebum’s attention? He shuts his eyes again.

Pressure builds in Youngjae’s chest as his lungs cry out for air and his heart threatens to beat right out of it as he waits to be discovered. The pressure carries over to his head and Youngjae curses himself for coming here, swears he’ll never do it again if he somehow manages to get out unnoticed.

After an eternity of waiting, Youngjae finally cracks his eyes open when he hears the sound of shifting sheets. It’s hard to see, but he can just make out the slight dip in the mattress above him. He lifts his hand slightly so he can breathe again, but keeps one hand firmly over his mouth. Tension immediately floods his body when the mattress moves again, but he relaxes slightly when the sound of wet coughing reaches his ears.

The mattress shifts slightly above him again and then silence settles into the room.

Youngjae watches the second hand of his watch make seven full revolutions before he bites his lip and slowly shifts his leg. Nothing happens. Feeling more confident, Youngjae slowly pushes the rest of his duffel bag from under the bed. He cringes at the slight clinking sound the zip makes as he moves it. He stops and holds his breath, waiting for Jaebum to shift above him. Nothing. Youngjae slowly releases a breath and creeps out from under the other man’s bed.

Jaebum is curled up facing the wall, his back to Youngjae. If Youngjae’s nerves weren’t so frayed then he would be able to fully savour the moment he spends hovering over the actor, listening to him breathe and watching the slight movement of his chest under the covers. Holding the zip to make sure it doesn’t shift again, Youngjae bends down and retrieves his bag, silently tip-toeing to the door.

“Hey, kid.”

Youngjae freezes in his tracks. Inside his mind is a cacophony of screams and howls, but nothing save a fine string of saliva escapes his open mouth.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Youngjae is torn between his compulsion to do whatever that sultry voice asks of him and his abject fear. After a few more seconds of mentally debating with himself, Youngjae shakily turns on his heel to face the other man. He’s sitting up on his elbow in bed, his head leaning on his hand. He’s not frowning or scowling or otherwise displaying hostility, but there is a distinctly unimpressed look on his face.

“I’ll let it go this time, but don’t do this again. The next time I catch you here, I’m going to get the police involved,” Jaebum says evenly. Youngjae swallows through the lump in his throat. “Am I understood?” Youngjae nods mutely. “I said: am I understood?”

“Yes,” Youngjae croaks.

“Good. Now, leave.”

The words barely leave Jaebum’s mouth before Youngjae turns tail and scrambles out of the apartment. He’s slipping on the landing halfway down the flights of stairs before he realises that he’s running in his socks. In the time it takes to get the shaking in his hands to a manageable level so he can slip his shoes on, Youngjae is able to catch his breath and calm his heart rate a bit.

“Good evening,” the receptionist drawls as Youngjae stalks through the lobby, her eyes still fixed on her phone.

“Evening,” Youngjae nods, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

The cold night air goes a long way in soothing his frayed nerves; he it in by the lungful. It’s not long before numbness sets in his entire body, the cold seeping through his school jacket and making a home in his bones. As he makes his way to the nearest bus stop, Youngjae mentally calculates how long he should wait before he goes back.

Jaebum said he’d get the police involved if he got caught. Well, next time he won’t get caught.