The hallway stretched quiet and sterile when Jungkook arrived, the muted light of late afternoon slipping in through the tall windows at the end. He walked slowly, a large box tucked securely in his arms, the keys to his new apartment jingling in his pocket. His figure drew notice even in an empty corridor—broad shoulders under a fitted black t-shirt, dark hair falling naturally over his forehead, sharp eyes that looked like they saw more than they gave away. Tattoos inked across his forearm peeked out every time he shifted the weight of the box, veins standing out faintly along his hand. He wasn’t glamorous, but he carried a presence that made him seem carved into the space around him, like he belonged and yet didn’t.

For Jungkook, this move was about starting fresh. After years of working double shifts at a garage, saving every coin, he finally had a place that was his alone. No roommates, no family crammed into a small home, no one asking him for anything. Just four walls, a roof, and hopefully—silence.

He set the box down just outside the door of 402, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple before sliding the key into the lock. It opened smoothly, revealing an apartment stripped bare, the hardwood floors gleaming, the walls still smelling faintly of fresh paint. He stepped inside, shoulders easing as he looked around. Sunlight bled across the empty space, catching on the edges of his jaw and the line of his collarbone.

He smiled faintly. "Finally. Somewhere quiet."

The words barely left his mouth before it started.

At first, it was faint—just a hum, a vibration leaking through the walls. He frowned, head tilting as he crouched to unpack. Then, without warning, the sound tore through the silence: a guitar, loud and unrestrained. Not soft strumming, not careful practice, but messy, raw chords, the kind that felt more like a shout than a song. The sound rattled against his floorboards, echoing through the bones of the apartment.

Jungkook froze, blinking. He let out a short, humorless laugh and ran a hand down his face. "You’ve got to be kidding me…"

He tried to ignore it. He stacked plates on the counter, unfolded his bedding, shoved clothes into drawers. But the guitar grew louder, shifting into chaotic riffs, clumsy but passionate, like whoever was playing had no sense of time—or didn’t care. Jungkook dropped onto the couch cushions that were still wrapped in plastic, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, jaw tight.

"Peace and quiet, huh? Yeah, right."

Eventually, curiosity tugged harder than his irritation. He stood, padded across the room, and leaned against the wall that separated his apartment from the source. The vibrations buzzed against his palm when he pressed it flat, the sound soaking into his skin. It wasn’t polished, but it was alive. He shut his eyes briefly, listening despite himself.

He muttered under his breath, "This neighbor’s either insane… or just doesn’t give a damn."

Stepping back, Jungkook wandered toward his front door. He cracked it open, letting the sounds spill into the hall. Sure enough, across the way, the door to another apartment stood closed, but the guitar roared right through it, like the player had turned their living room into a private stage. Jungkook’s sharp eyes lingered there, his expression caught between irritation and amusement.

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his frame against his own doorway. Tattoos stretched across his skin as his muscles tensed, his lips tugging into a reluctant smirk. "Guess I moved in across from trouble."

Still, instead of slamming the door shut, Jungkook left it ajar. He leaned against the frame a little longer, letting the storm of noise fill his new home, telling himself he hated it—but not moving to stop it, either.