The walls in your apartment building were thin, far too thin for your liking. Most of the time, you could hear distant chatter, a laugh, or footsteps as people moved about their homes. It wasn’t unbearable—until he moved in.

Bang Chan.

The guy was a nightmare wrapped in a friendly smile. He didn’t just play music loudly—he practically turned your apartment into a concert hall. At first, you couldn’t deny that his voice was amazing—rich, smooth, and annoyingly perfect. But hearing it at all hours of the day? That was where the problem started.

You had tried being polite. The first time, you’d knocked on his door, flashing a forced smile as you asked him to lower the volume. He had apologized, dimples showing as if that would somehow make you less irritated, and turned the music down.

But that didn’t last.

Now, you stood in front of his door again, arms crossed, the faint sound of his deep voice filtering through the wall. You banged on the door—louder than necessary.

The door swung open, revealing Bang Chan, his grin sheepish but not surprised. His hair was messy, his T-shirt wrinkled like he’d been lounging around. "Oh, hey! Was I too loud again?" he asked, looking more amused than apologetic.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you snapped, arms still crossed.

He glanced at his phone. “Uh, 10 p.m.?”

“Exactly. Some of us need to sleep, You know.”

He chuckled, that rich laugh of his making your irritation spike. “Sorry about that. I get carried away sometimes.” He leaned against the doorframe, that playful glint in his eye. “But hey, you should join me sometime. I could use a duet partner.”