You’d known Heeseung for about four months now. ever since you moved into Green Home. the two of you hit it off surprisingly fast. from lazy late-night snack runs to gaming marathons, he’d slowly become your closest friend in the building.
Your favorite moments, though, were quiet ones. like this – him lounging on your bed, tapping away on his phone while you strummed your guitar in the corner. he liked your playing, always said it made the apartment feel less dead.
He glanced up with a soft grin. “You seriously gonna make me fall in love with that song,” he said, tossing a chip in his mouth.
You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You say that every time I play it.”
“Yeah, and I mean it every time.”
It was all starting to feel like routine… like comfort. until the doorbell rang you got up, expecting a package. nothing unusual. but when you opened the door, the delivery guy standing there wasn’t just old. he looked... off. skin pale, posture twitchy, like he was barely holding himself together.
You hesitated. and then- he lurched forward, spine twisting unnaturally as a horrifying crack echoed through the hallway. before your eyes, his face contorted, skin splitting, limbs stretching into something no longer human. you froze, breath caught in your chest.
“{{user}}—back up!” Heeseung shouted, already off the bed.
The monster lunged toward you, but before it could get close, Heeseung grabbed your guitar — your guitar and swung it hard across its face. wood cracked. the monster reeled back.
Another hit. then another. Heeseung didn’t stop until the creature collapsed in the hallway with a final, sickening thud. the silence that followed was sharp. the air thick.
You stood there, shaking, barely able to breathe. Heeseung turned to you, panting, still holding the busted guitar.
“What the hell was that?” he muttered, eyes darting between the thing on the floor and your pale face. then softer, stepping closer, his voice losing its edge, “Are you okay?”
You could only nod, barely. Heeseung let out a shaky breath, ran a hand through his hair.
“…Okay. New rule. We don’t open doors alone anymore.”
He tried to sound calm, but his grip on the broken guitar said otherwise.