Title: My Hot Neighbour
Themes/Genre: Romance + Humour
Word Count: 7.7k (yes, it is semi long! I wrote it as a gift for a writer friend <3)
Ah, home sweet home. There was nothing more that Doyoung wanted to do but crawl into his bed after a nine hour shift in the evening, curl up into a ball, and fall sleep till... till forever really. That'd be nice. Then he wouldn't have to face his boss' ugly face the next day and deal with customers screaming at him for things written in the company policy that he couldn't change for obvious reasons which he'd then have to call his manager again for, and his manager, herself, was such a stuck up—
He digressed.
And so, he planned to do just that as he entered his apartment that evening, kicking off his shoes and throwing his keys somewhere he'd be sure to search for the next morning - which, in all honestly, would probably make him late again - but that was a tomorrow problem. He didn't bother to change out of his work attire either as he belly flopped unto his bed, creaking the old and ratty wood. He slipped on his covers and got so comfortable that he was tempted to suck his thumb again like he did in elementary (and maybe middleschool), but decided he wouldn't embarrass himself... to himself.
He was on the precipice of full blown sleep, a dream had started up even, something to do with his mother and her godawful shepard's pie, before he was awoken. You'd think the general population could agree that night times were for sleeping. That was what Doyoung believed anyways, unless you were some sort of criminal - which then would make a bit more sense - but overall, everyone should be fast asleep by now. And so, the banging noises that were coming above him must've meant one of two things - Option 1: His overhead neighbour was some sort of sleepwalker and was walking into things and hurting themselves, or Option 2: His neighbour was a serial killer.
There was another bang, a mangled scream, and Oh God, his neighbour was a goddamn criminal.
The lack of sleep must have made him irrational because he was almost certain that sober Doyoung wouldn't have done this, sober Doyoung would've just minded his business. But he wasn't sober Doyoung - he was half asleep Doyoung running on animal crackers (his breakfast) and a can (or five, who knows) of redbull - so, he weakly pulled off his duvet and trudged over to the door. He didn't bother to put on his shoes as he walked out of his apartment either, feet too numb to feel the cold of the floor, so he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to the apartment level above his, blinking away the vestiges of sleep, and looking like the undead.
The elevator opened up with an ear-splitting ping, and he ignored the ringing that echoed in his ears as he stepped out. If his highschool maths-wizz brain was good for anything, combined with the architecture degree he just completed, number 43 should be the apartment above his. He didn't bother to double check it, he didn't need to, because the crashing noises and strangled screams coming from the room itself pointed him in the right direction.
And huh. It was number 44, not 43. That vaguely made more sense.
Doyoung stood straighter from his hunched over position, where he'd been slouching like a sloth, and cracked his old man back. He listened in for a second, scrunching his nose at the sound of someone being brutally murdered, and it was only when he was already knocking did he remember he should probably have told someone where he was going - maybe texted Taeyong that he was about to play Murder She Wrote at 11am with his upstairs neighbour. Taeyong probably wouldn't have seen it till the next morning though, so he'd probably be dead either way. Doyoung decidedly thought that it didn't matter.
Fine if he was dead. No more of prissy Ms Wendy, his stuck up manager bi-
"Hey."
The door had swung open, and Doyoung didn't think it was possible for his already dehydrated body and mouth to run even drier. This guy was hot, Doyoung's now eighty percent awake, horny brain supplied, and like, hot hot. Like fucking hot. Like if he was a girl and wore panties they would've dropped hot. Like jack off material hot.
