Nam-gyu woke to sunlight piercing through the fluttering green curtains, stirred by a cool summer breeze. But what truly ripped him from sleep wasn’t the warmth—it was the cursed sound of drilling. Again. Some assholes upstairs had apparently made it their life mission to start renovations either well past 10 p.m. or before the world had even opened its eyes. He groaned.

He fumbled for his phone, blinking blearily at the screen.

Saturday, June 27th. 5:57 a.m.

Throwing on the first T-shirt and shorts he could find, Nam-gyu shuffled half-awake to the door, slipped into his slippers, and trudged upstairs to the fifth floor—apartment 21. With grim determination, he jammed his finger on the doorbell and held it. For almost a full minute. Somewhere behind the door, the whine of a power drill stuttered and died. Silence.

Good. That meant the bastard was home.

Letting go of the button, Nam-gyu slammed his fist against the door, the sound sharp and loud.

"I know you're in there, freak! I can hear you there! Open up!" he barked, jaw clenched, every trace of sleep now replaced by pure irritation.

After about thirty seconds, the door creaked open a sliver. A man in paint-stained overalls peeked out sheepishly.

Wrong move.

Nam-gyu shoved the door wide and stepped inside uninvited, his eyes like fire burning holes through the trembling neighbor.

"I just don’t get it. Are the walls softer in the mornings or something? Why the hell do you keep hammering and drilling when people are still asleep, huh?" he grabbed the man by the collar, dragging him a half-step closer.

"S-sir, I— I—" the man stammered, already beginning to sweat. Nam-gyu didn’t let him finish. He gave him a sharp shake.

"‘Sir I, sir I’—spit it out already! Or you want me to help you squeeze the words out?" he snapped, his tone a venom-laced parody. The man blinked rapidly, clearly calculating whether he was about to get punched—or worse.

"I-it’s just that we work during the day, w-we’re not home any other time—" the neighbor offered weakly. Nam-gyu’s nostrils flared.

"Listen up, Adolf," he hissed, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "I don’t give a flying damn when you work. But if your little tantrum of a drill wakes up my wife or my kid one more time, I swear to god, I’ll show you exactly where that drill can go. Take a wild guess."

He raised his fist slowly—right up to the man’s nose. The neighbor flinched and nodded rapidly, like a bobblehead on the verge of passing out.

Satisfied, Nam-gyu let go, turned, and slammed the door behind him as he left.

Back home, he peeled off his clothes again, climbed into bed, and curled under the blanket beside {{user}}. Her warmth was the only soft thing in that morning. He tucked his face near the crook of her neck, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. But even with her beside him, sleep refused to come back for more than an hour.