Jongin has been so careless lately. 

Whenever he has the chance, he's in his room moping about his ty apartment, his ty lifestyle, his ty bank account that's slowly hitting zero, and, of course, his ty life. He lights another cigarette and chugs another glass of whiskey— finishing his second bottle. He's doused with so much alcohol that he almost mistakes the cigarette for the drink. He puffs a huge exhale of smoke, reeking of desperation and loneliness. Kim Jongin, at 23, continues living off part time jobs as he has failed another job interview, and he thinks he deserves another bottle of whiskey.

The only thing he owes to himself as of this moment is managing to pay for his apartment on the seventh floor of an average building in Seoul despite having too much trouble looking for a stable job. Seoul's a monster of a city, he realizes. He realizes how much of a waste his life has been, given his crappy education and invisible family. He stares out the window, focusing on the moving cars below, listening to the cacophony from the busy streets that comes off too loud for his liking. He shakes his head before darting his eyes to the sky— it's empty, like the glass he's holding, and Jongin notices.

"Was the sky always that empty?" he asks himself, not really expecting an answer when a foreign voice a few meters away responds with a soft "Not quite." 

Jongin almost jumps at the sound— he has never had visitors. He turns to see a little framed man with a jacket that's too big for him. His eyes puff out and his cheeks are rosy.

"Excuse me?" He asks in a rather gruff voice. He's alarmed but also tired. He couldn't care less about his health, much less when a man with short arms would barge in his apartment in the middle of the night and rob him of his cheap furniture.

"The sky is never empty. It just so happens that the weather isn't that great."

The stranger only receives a raised eyebrow from Jongin.

"I just moved in on the ninth floor." Jongin tilts his head and wonders why the stranger is telling him this, "I thought visiting everyone in the building would be nice." Jongin almost smiles at the sweetness and cheerfulness of this person— but he holds it in. "How did you get in here?"

The stranger smiles and says, "Your front door was open."

The room is now void of any noise, but the silence between them isn't awkward—rather comforting. Just like how the clouds in the sky envelop the moon into a warm hug, he feels that the atmosphere is becoming warmer; it's becoming comfortable. It's like Jongin has known this person for years; like a childhood friend, maybe. But Jongin shakes his thoughts off and focuses on the man standing a few meters away from him.

The stranger has his head hung down, gripping tight on the box he's holding, and Jongin's too busy thinking of what to do. Should he give him something? Should h