Walls

TripleS' Kim Nakyoung x Male Reader

3.6k words

The bass is what wakes you up. Not loud enough to identify the song, just this rhythmic thump-thump-thump coming through the wall. Your wall. The one your bed is pushed up against.

You grab your phone off the nightstand. 1:53 AM.

Are you fucking kidding me.

You lie there waiting for it to stop. It doesn't. Just keeps going, this steady pulse of bass that you can feel more than hear. You try putting the pillow over your head. Doesn't help. You can still feel it.

Five minutes. Ten. Your jaw starts hurting from clenching it.

The new neighbor. It has to be the new neighbor. You've seen her exactly once—helped hold the door when she was moving boxes in. Pretty girl. Smiled and said thanks. You'd thought, oh good, normal person.

Apparently fucking not.

The music finally dies at 2:26. You know because you check your phone again, like knowing the exact time makes it less annoying. It doesn't. By then you're too pissed off to fall asleep. Just lying there staring at the ceiling, imagining passive-aggressive notes in your head that you'll never actually write.

Work the next day is a nightmare. Four hours of sleep and your coworker keeps asking if you're okay. You keep grunting non-answers. You're not okay. You're exhausted and irritated and thinking about your bed, which is all you want for the next eight hours.

That night: nothing. Next night: also nothing. You almost forget about it.

Thursday she decides to start vacuuming at 11 PM. You turn the volume up. Doesn't help. The vacuum is louder. You turn it up again. Still can't hear the dialogue.

Who the fuck vacuums at 11 PM on a Thursday?

It goes on for twenty minutes. Your hands hurt by the end of it from gripping your laptop.

Friday night it's voices. She's got people over apparently, and you can't make out words but you can hear the constant noise of them. Talking, laughing, the sound of people having a grand old time when you're trying to sleep. It goes well past midnight. You've got shit to do tomorrow morning. You shove in earplugs and they're useless. Might as well be wearing nothing.

Saturday afternoon you see her checking her mail. You're coming back from the gym, still in workout clothes, and here's the opportunity for you to finally say something. Anything.

Hey, just so you know, the walls are pretty thin here. Easy. Normal neighbor conversation.

She looks up when she hears you coming and smiles. That same smile from move-in day. She's in leggings and an oversized hoodie, hair up in a bun, no makeup.

She looks really good actually.

Stop it.

"Hi!" Bright and friendly, like you're already friends.

"Hey." Comes out more clipped than you meant, but whatever.

She goes back to her mail and you unlock your door and go inside. The moment comes and goes. You could've said something. You didn't.

The weekend is quiet. Saturday night, Sunday, nothing. Maybe she got the hint somehow. Maybe she didn't realize.

Monday comes and you've almost forgotten about it.

You're lying in bed scrolling through your phone when you hear it. Not music this time. Not vacuuming. Something else. Quieter. It takes you a second to place it because it's not what you were expecting.

Oh no.

She's—is she—?

Another sound confirms it. Soft but distinct. A moan. She's moaning.

…what the fuck?

You freeze. Phone still in your hand, brightness way too high in the dark room, and you're hearing your neighbor get herself off through the wall. The very thin wall. The wall that apparently doesn't block any sound whatsoever.

This isn't happening.

It's happening. The sounds get louder. Less tentative. More obvious. There's a rhythm underneath—you don't want to think about what's causing that rhythm but your brain is very helpfully supplying possibilities. Her hand. Probably her hand. Maybe a—

Stop. Stop thinking about it.

But you can't exactly unhear it when it's five feet away through a paper-thin layer of drywall.

It lasts maybe ten minutes. Ends with this loud gasp that makes your face hot. Then silence.

You stare at your phone. The words on the screen aren't processing. Your brain is stuck on what just happened. On the fact that you just heard—

She doesn't know. She's new here, she doesn't realize the walls are this thin. That's it. That has to be it.

Except Wednesday night it happens again. 10:45 this time. Same sounds but more confident. Definitely louder. Like she's not even trying to be quiet anymore.

No way she doesn't know. These walls don't hide anything and she has to have been here long enough to figure that out.

Thursday evening you're taking trash out and she's coming back from wherever and you literally run into each other. She catches herself with a hand on your arm.

"Oh! Sorry, wasn't looking where I was going."

"It's fine." You step back.

But she doesn't move. Just stands there looking at you with these dark eyes. She's in an oversized sweatshirt and shorts, hair pulled back, no makeup. Looks good. Annoyingly good.

"You're in 7C, right? Next door?"

"Yeah."

"Nakyoung." She says it with this little smile. "Since we keep running into each other. Literally, apparently."

You tell her your name because it would be weird not to.

"Nice to officially meet you." She shifts the bag on her shoulder. "Sorry if I've been noisy, by the way. Old place had better insulation. Still getting used to it here."