PART 2: The Neighbor Who Knows Too Much
1595 Words
Part 2.1: The Neighbor Who Knows Too Much
Yoon Ha-rin did not sleep that night.
She lay on her bed with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if it might suddenly explain what she had seen. The room was dark, the city noise muted by the thick glass windows, but her mind was anything but quiet.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him again.
Standing in the rain.
Dry.
Untouched.
The rain had soaked the street, drenched her hair, crept cold against her skin—but it had stopped just above his head, as if the world itself refused to touch him.
She turned onto her side, pulling the blanket closer, but it did nothing to calm the strange tightness in her chest.
It was a dream, she told herself.
You were exhausted. Overworked. Anyone would hallucinate after a shoot like that.
She had said the same words over and over until they lost meaning.
Yet her body refused to believe them.
Her heart still raced as if something had almost happened. Her palms still felt cold, even hours later. And worst of all—
She felt loss.
That part made no sense.
She pressed her fingers against her chest, frowning.
“Why does it feel like I lost something?” she whispered into the darkness.
No answer came.
When sleep finally dragged her under, it was shallow and restless. She dreamed of rain that didn’t touch the ground, of eyes watching her from somewhere far away, of a voice telling her to leave before it was too late.
She woke before her alarm.
The silence felt wrong.
Ha-rin sat up slowly, rubbing her face, telling herself not to be ridiculous. She was a grown woman. A celebrity. Someone who lived her life under constant attention—she wasn’t supposed to be shaken by a stranger in the rain.
Still, as she walked toward her front door, her steps slowed.
Her hand hovered over the handle.
Something twisted in her stomach.
You’re overthinking, she thought.
She opened the door.
And froze.
He was there.
Standing in the hallway like he had always belonged there.
He held a small trash bag in one hand. His coat was neat, his hair perfectly in place, his expression calm—almost painfully ordinary. Like an office worker heading out for the day. Like a man who paid rent and complained about bills and worried about the weather.
Like someone who should not have haunted her dreams.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead. Somewhere, a door opened and closed on another floor. Life continued, completely unaware of the tension filling the space between them.
“You’re really my neighbor,” Ha-rin said slowly, her voice quieter than she expected.
“Yes,” he replied.
No hesitation. No surprise.
Her throat felt dry. “That wasn’t a dream.”
“No.”
Something in the way he said it—firm, certain—made her pulse jump.
She crossed her arms, more to steady herself than out of irritation. “You disappeared.”
Min-joon hesitated.
Just for a second.
But Ha-rin noticed.
She always noticed things like that. Pauses. Expressions people didn’t mean to show. It was part of her job.
“You saw that,” he said carefully.
“I did.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
Her irritation flared. “That’s not really my fault,” she snapped. “You’re the one doing magic tricks in the middle of the rain.”
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead like someone already tired of a conversation that had barely begun. “I don’t do magic.”
“Then explain how you vanished.”
“I can’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give.”
She stared at him, frustration bubbling under her skin. “You tell me I’m in danger. You show up out of nowhere. And now you live across from me?” Her voice rose despite herself. “How am I supposed to just ignore that? Are you really sure you aren’t my stalker?”
For a split second, panic flashed across his face.
“I—I’m not,” he said, stumbling over the words. “You should believe me. Please. Forget about it. It’s for your own good.”
That sentence—for your own good—hit something raw.
She let out a bitter laugh. “Wow. You’re really good at lying and pushing people away. You’re scared of something, aren’t you?”
He flinched.
Not dramatically. Not obviously.
But enough.
She saw it.
And suddenly, her anger softened into something quieter. Something heavier.
“You’re scared,” she said softly.
Min-joon looked at her then, really looked at her.
“Of you.”
The words struck harder than she expected.
“Why?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
He simply walked past her.
And then—
He was gone.
Not walking away.
Gone.
Ha-rin spun around, heart slamming against her ribs.
The stairwell was empty.
Her breath came out shaky. “He did it again,” she whispered, pressing her hand against the wall to steady herself. “He’s not a stalker… he’s a ghost.”
The word felt wrong.
Too small.
Too simple.
The scream cut through the hallway like a blade.
Ha-rin froze, her fingers still curled around her keys.
For half a second, her mind tried to reason with it—maybe it’s the television, maybe it’s someone arguing—but her body reacted faster than logic ever could.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice echoing too loudly in the narrow hallway.
No answer.
The lights flickered again, buzzing faintly, casting uneven shadows along the walls. The building suddenly felt too quiet, as if it were holding its breath.
Ha-rin hesitated.
She should call security. She should go inside and lock her door. That was the smart thing to do.
But the scream came again.
Closer this time.
Her feet moved before fear could stop them.
She turned toward the stairwell, her footsteps echoing as she descended. The air grew colder with every step, thick with the smell of dust and old concrete.
“Is anyone there?” she called again, gripping the railing.
At the bottom of the stairs, she saw him.
A man lay sprawled on the floor, clutching his ankle, his face twisted in pain.
“I fell,” he groaned weakly. “Please… can you help me?”
Relief rushed through her chest, followed immediately by guilt.
You’re an i***t, she scolded herself. Of course it’s just someone hurt.
She hurried down the last few steps. “Don’t worry,” she said, kneeling beside him. “I’ll help you up.”
As she reached out—
Something shifted.
Not a sound.
Not a movement.
Just a feeling.
The air changed.
A shadow fell over her.
“Don’t touch him.”
The voice was sharp. Urgent.
Ha-rin gasped and spun around.
Min-joon stood beside her.
So close she almost collided with him.
Her heart leaped into her throat. “Where did you—? You scared me!”
“He’s not hurt,” Min-joon said, his gaze fixed on the man on the floor.
“What?” she snapped. “He clearly is—look at him!”
“I said don’t touch him.”
The man on the floor smiled.
Not weakly.
Not gratefully.
But slowly—deliberately—his lips stretching too wide, his eyes glinting with something dark and hungry.
Ha-rin stumbled backward.
Her breath caught painfully in her chest.
“That’s not… normal,” she whispered.
The man lunged.
Everything happened too fast.
Min-joon moved.
One second he was beside her—
The next, his hand was gripping the man’s collar, lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease.
He slammed him against the wall.
The impact cracked the concrete.
Ha-rin screamed.
The sound echoed wildly through the stairwell as dust rained down around them.
The man slid to the floor, coughing violently, then scrambled to his feet and ran—his limp uneven, his movements wrong, as if his bones didn’t bend the way they should.
Silence crashed down afterward.
Heavy.
Deafening.
Ha-rin stood frozen, her entire body shaking.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she stared at the cracked wall, at the dent where a human body should not have made such an impact.
“That’s not possible,” she whispered.
Min-joon turned to her slowly.
His breathing was heavy now, his calm finally broken. For the first time since she had met him, he looked… human.
Vulnerable.
“You said you aren’t doing magic,” she said hoarsely.
“I’m not,” he replied.
“Then what are you?”
He hesitated.
The hallway felt impossibly small. Too quiet. Too exposed.
Their eyes met.
And suddenly, the world faded.
Ha-rin felt it again—that strange pull, that aching familiarity. Like standing in front of someone she had once loved deeply and forgotten against her will.
“I’m someone who should never have met you,” Min-joon said.
Her throat tightened. “You saved me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked away.
Because I couldn’t lose you again.
But what he said was—
“Because you were in danger.”
She swallowed hard. “From what?”
He closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
“From me.”
The words hit her harder than fear ever could.
✦ ✦ ✦
- Writer
