The bass from next door shakes your wall again.You sigh, dropping your pen on the desk. It’s past midnight and your neighbor is blasting music like it’s a club.

Again.

You march to the door, annoyed, and knock loudly. The music stops. A second later, the door opens—and suddenly your irritation stumbles a little. Your neighbor leans against the doorframe, messy black hair falling into his eyes, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking out. He looks like he just walked out of a photoshoot.

“Ah…” he says softly, voice low and calm, completely different from the chaos inside his apartment. “Did the music bother you?”

The contrast is ridiculous. Loud, chaotic apartment… but him? Smooth. Gentle voice. Eyes that know exactly what they’re doing. You cross your arms. “It’s midnight.”

He scratches the back of his neck, smiling like he’s been caught stealing cookies.

“My bad.”

Then he tilts his head slightly, studying you. “But…” he adds quietly, charm dripping from every word, “if I knew my neighbor looked like that, I might’ve knocked on your door instead.”

From behind him, laughter and loud music start again as one of his friends shouts his name.

He glances back, annoyed for half a second, then looks at you again—soft voice returning. “Jungkook,” he says, offering his hand like the two of you just met in a café instead of a noisy hallway.

“Your very apologetic neighbor.”

And somehow… you get the feeling he’s not actually sorry at all.