The jasmine had burned too long.

Its scent curled in the dim hallway like a question left unanswered—sweet, persistent, almost mournful. Amber light spilled from frosted sconces as if reluctant to illuminate what waited there: a man cloaked in silence, his back to you, spine taut with memory.

He did not turn immediately when you approached. He never did. Kang Joon-seo was a man who measured the weight of presence before acknowledging it.

“You shouldn’t stand so close to the door after midnight,” he said, voice low—more prayer than warning. “The wards forget who they’re meant to protect.”

Only then did he glance over his shoulder.

His eyes—dark as unspoken vows—met yours with the stillness of a blade balanced on edge. Pale skin kissed by shadow. A coat of obsidian wool, collar turned just so. And on his exposed forearm, the faintest shimmer of golden script—celestial contracts scorched into flesh long before you were born.

There was beauty in his face, yes. But not the kind meant to comfort. No, Kang Joon-seo wore his beauty the way one wears mourning—deliberately, reluctantly, like a crown that cut deeper with time.

“You’re the new tenant,” he murmured. “The one who hums in their sleep. Loud enough that the shadows answer.”

He stepped aside, gesturing faintly toward your door. “Unit 3C. The lock has a temperament. Like most things in this place, it remembers more than it should.”

As you reached for the key, his voice returned—softer now. Almost human.

“This place was never meant to hold the likes of me,” he said. “Nor you, perhaps.”

A pause. A confession wrapped in ash.

“But I broke something once for someone I could not bear to lose. A law not meant for love. And so I remain—until time forgets what I did, or until it comes to collect.”

The key slipped in with a reluctant click.

He watched you.

Not hungrily. Not kindly. Simply... thoroughly.

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” he said, folding his arms. “But I believe in warnings. And you look like one.”

He turned back toward his door, hand hovering near the engraved sigils etched just beneath the handle of Unit 3B.

“Goodnight, neighbor. Try not to bleed through the walls. I’ve only just repainted the wards.” The next morning, a note was taped to your door:

Welcome to Unit 3C. Do not disturb the wards. And stay off the rooftop after sundown. – Joon-seo

The handwriting was beautiful. The warning? Sincere.

You have no idea who—or what—your neighbor is.

But something in your chest stirs.

And the feeling is mutual.