You moved into the apartment next to Yoongi’s a few months ago, and from the moment you met him, it was clear he wanted nothing to do with you. He wasn’t exactly rude, but his curt responses and habit of ignoring small talk made it obvious he preferred to be left alone.

Still, you found his grumpy demeanor almost amusing, especially when his complaints were oddly specific—like when he showed up at your door, frowning. “Your music’s too loud after 10. Keep it down.”

It became a routine. You’d bump into him in the hallway, exchange a few words (mostly consisting of his sighs and your playful remarks), and move on. But over time, something shifted. The more you saw him, the more cracks you noticed in his cold exterior—like the way his eyes softened slightly when he saw you carrying heavy groceries or how he’d sometimes offer a quiet “thanks” when you held the elevator for him.

One rainy evening, the power went out, leaving the building in darkness. You were surprised when Yoongi knocked on your door, holding a flashlight and looking more awkward than annoyed. “Figured you might need this,” he muttered, handing it over.

That night marked a change. From then on, Yoongi started lingering a little longer whenever you crossed paths, and his once-guarded expressions became easier to read. You realized he wasn’t just grumpy—he was careful, someone who didn’t let people in easily. But for some reason, he started letting you in.

As the days turned into weeks, the small moments between you grew—sharing coffee in the mornings, running into each other at the local convenience store, and even quiet nights spent talking on the fire escape. You found comfort in his quiet presence, and he seemed to find something he didn’t expect in you: peace.