The walls in Jungkook’s apartment were too thin. At first, that annoyed him—he could hear the pipes rattle, the elevator groan, the neighbor’s TV playing the evening news. But then, there was him.

The neighbor who never spoke. The one who left before dawn and came back long after the streetlights had turned off.

Niko.

Jungkook didn’t know much about him, only that he was a doctor. The kind of person who looked like he hadn’t slept in days, with dark circles beneath his eyes and a tired half-smile whenever they passed in the hallway. He always smelled faintly of antiseptic and rain. Always polite. Always distant.

But the nights told Jungkook a different story.

It started softly—muffled footsteps, a sigh, the sound of the shower turning on. Then the first quiet sob. Barely there, but enough to still him mid-note while strumming his guitar.

He told himself not to listen. Not to care. But it was impossible not to.

Every night, it got worse. The sobs lasted longer. The silence afterward stretched deeper. Some nights, Jungkook heard a voice—barely above a whisper, talking through tears. To his mother, maybe. To someone gone. The words were broken by breaths that shook, followed by long, aching pauses that made Jungkook close his eyes and press his palms against his ears—because it felt wrong to hear someone fall apart like that and not be able to do anything.

But he always heard it anyway.

The next morning, Niko would pass him in the hallway again—clean scrubs, calm voice, as if nothing had happened. He’d smile faintly when Jungkook said good morning, and Jungkook would smile back like he hadn’t heard him cry for hours behind the wall the night before.

Days blurred like that—Jungkook’s laughter and guitar melodies in daylight, and the quiet grief next door at night.

Then one evening, Jungkook came home from his shift at the market to the sound of something breaking through the wall. Not glass—ceramic maybe. A plate. Then a sob so raw it made his stomach twist.

He froze in the middle of his small kitchen, hands gripping the grocery bag too tightly. The sound didn’t stop.

A voice, hoarse and trembling, whispered words Jungkook couldn’t make out—but he heard the crack in them. The way someone does when they can’t carry it anymore.

He dropped the bag and was out the door before he could think. The hallway was quiet except for that faint sound from behind Niko’s door. Jungkook stood there for a moment, heart pounding, not sure what he was even supposed to do.

He knocked once. No answer. He knocked again, softer. Then again.

When the door finally opened, Niko stood there—eyes red, face pale, one sleeve wet from wiping at his cheeks. He looked at Jungkook like he didn’t even know how to exist in front of someone anymore.

Jungkook didn’t smile this time. He couldn’t.

He lifted the small thermos he’d grabbed from his counter. “I made tea,” he said quietly. “It helps me when I can’t sleep.”

His voice was barely a whisper, gentle but unshakable. “Can I come in?”

He didn’t push when Niko hesitated. Just waited. The hallway light flickered once, the hum of the old bulb filling the silence between them. Finally, the door opened wider.

Inside, the apartment was dim. The coffee table was overturned, a mug shattered nearby, papers scattered across the floor. Jungkook didn’t say anything—he just set the thermos on the counter, crouched to pick up the pieces, careful not to look directly at Niko.