The New Neighbor -1-
Ever since the weather turned scorching, I've made it a habit to wrap up my weekend workouts early in the morning. It's mid-August now, peak summer with heatwaves shattering records every single day. On the way back, I usually swing by Subway or McDonald's for something quick and easy.
“Who's moving in?”
I finish my weekend morning routine and head home to find a ladder truck hustling to load up furniture. That's when I belatedly recall the notice on the apartment bulletin board from a while back. It mentioned they'd be noisy during the move and asked for understanding. Guess that's today.
I check the bulletin board by the entrance again—801 is the unit moving in. Our next-next-door neighbor. What? When did the people there move out? This is modern society for you.
“Oh. Hello.”
Lost in idle thoughts while waiting for the elevator, a faint perfume scent drifts over, and someone sidles up beside me with a greeting. I jolt in surprise, shoulder twitching as I whip around to see a woman smiling neatly. Not a knockout beauty, but well above average—long straight hair, slightly droopy eyes, a tear mole under her left eye. She has this decadent allure. Is this the “heart-fluttering height difference” girls gush about online from my past life? Something like 12 to 15 cm, and she's exactly that much shorter than me. Petite frame, but her midsection is anything but—striking, really.
“Yes? Oh, hello?”
She greeted me so warmly, but she's a total stranger. Apartment resident? I've lived here practically my whole life and never even glimpsed her... Who is she? I return the greeting on reflex while staring blankly, and she blushes shyly, dipping her head a little.
“Ah, sorry. Did I stare too much? You don't seem familiar from our apartment...”
“N-no, it's fine. I just moved in today. 801.”
“Ah, got it.”
So she's the one moving into next-next-door. First impression: busty decadent big sis type? Doesn't seem off or dangerous, so I breathe a sigh of relief. In apartment living, nothing's worse than a nightmare neighbor upstairs, downstairs, or next door.
“I live on this floor too.”
“I know.”
“Huh?”
I shoot her a look that says How would you know that? She smiles awkwardly, eyes darting around. What the hell? Just then, she explains she heard it from the management office.
“They mentioned a really handsome, kind guy lives here... or something like that.”
“Ahh—really?”
I figured as much. You run into the security aunties and management staff all the time living here, and I always give them a light greeting, so I'm somewhat known among them. She must've heard about me while coming and going for resident registration ahead of the move. The nosy aunties probably made a fuss first: There's a fine young man on the same floor.
“Sorry for all the noise from the move. What should I do?”
Unlike her decadent vibe, her demeanor and speech feel timid and refined.
“It's fine. I head out for workouts early on weekend mornings, so I didn't even notice.”
“You work out?”
“Yeah, a bit at the gym.”
“I see. Gym...”
She glances at my body and nods faintly, like Indeed. Nothing new, nothing offensive, so I just chuckle to myself.
The elevator arrives, and we're at the eighth floor in no time.
“See you around.”
“Yeah? Oh, right. Neighbors now. Good luck with the move.”
We'll probably cross paths going in and out. I give her a polite, pleasant smile and head into my place.
The movers' commotion echoes a bit in the hall, but it's not too disruptive, so I lounge around at home, enjoying the weekend.
-2-
I run into that next-next-door woman again at Blue Mocha, where I work.
“Welcome.”
The door bell jingles—ding-a-ling—and I greet on reflex before realizing it's the 801 woman from Saturday.
“We meet here too.”
She smiles softly with those droopy eyes. What are the odds? Plenty of cafes around the neighborhood, yet here she is.
“Yeah, small world.”
“Jae-hyun, you know her?”
“Huh? Oh, the new neighbor next-next-door. Bumped into her by the elevator last time and said hi.”
The owner shows a flicker of interest, but that's it. She shrugs and gets back to work, and I wait for the woman's order.
“So your name's Jae-hyun.”
“Yeah? Oh, Yoon Jae-hyun.”
Not hitting on me, I hope. That'd be a hassle.
Thankfully, she's interested but doesn't push for my number or anything aggressive.
“Yoon Jae-hyun... Yoon Jae-hyun... Nice name. Oh, right—I'm Kang So-ra. Hehe.”
“Ah, yeah. What can I get you?”
If it were Ji-ah noona, I'd chat a bit even with no line behind, but not with 801. No, Kang So-ra. We're not that close.
Her gaze lingers on me before shifting to the menu.
“Can you recommend something?”
That persistent eye contact every time she looks at me—it's oddly unsettling. She's no Ji-ah noona in looks, but pretty enough to turn heads.
“Safe choice: cafe latte. If you like it sweeter, vanilla or mocha latte.”
“Iced cafe latte, please.”
Our fingers brush as I hand over the card—feels tangled. Barely skinship. Some customers grope outright; ignore those.
I process the payment indifferently, hand back the card, and make her a service coupon.
“Doesn't seem chummy with her?”
So-ra takes her buzzer and heads to a seat. As she walks away, the owner sidles up and asks casually.
“Not really. Just that one elevator greeting on Saturday.”
Feels different from Ji-ah noona. Not like other reverse-world girls gunning for me, but not disinterested either. Ambiguous all around, and inexplicably uncomfortable. No real reason, though.
Maybe the heat's making me edgy?
-3-
So-ra starts coming to the cafe often, like Ji-ah noona. No set times, but she always picks moments when it's dead empty. Always glued to her laptop—what, a web novel writer? Eh, not that curious.
For some reason, unlike with Ji-ah noona, running into or dealing with So-ra feels off-putting and ominous. It stirs a subtle guilt for my baseless negativity, which just makes the vicious cycle worse.
Sometimes I spot her on my commute home, like she's been waiting. No fault of hers, but dodging her rudely feels bad, so I end up walking with her. It's stressing me out—sleepless nights piling up. And maybe it's my imagination, but this sticky, heavy gaze keeps lingering.
“Jae-hyun, everything okay? You look rough lately.”
“Ugh. Even you can tell?”
Dark circles are faintly forming under my eyes. The owner, Ji-ah noona, Yoon-ju when she drops by, even So-eun from that drinking party—they're all worrying about me.
“Not sick like before, right?”
“Not that bad. Just... weirdly sensitive these days.”
I rub my gritty eyes, and irritation slips into my voice without meaning to. Damn, gotta rein it in.
“Hmm. If it's really bad, I can find a sub even for a short shift. Take a break.”
“...Nah. If it gets that rough, I'll say something. Sorry for worrying you.”
Focus on work, Yoon Jae-hyun. If the insomnia and edginess keep up... maybe hit the hospital?
As I'm mulling that, Ji-ah noona walks in. Clacking heels, short jean shorts, black bra top under a sheer white T-shirt that shows through. Exhausted as I am, male instinct kicks in—I let out an involuntary whoa.
“Jae-hyun, still pale today. You should see a doctor.”
“Ah, Ji-ah noona. Here already? Heh, not that serious. But if it drags on, maybe.”
Her worried face eases my chest a little.
“Usual order?”
“Yeah. And this— that chocolate you liked last time. Eat it and perk up.”
“Ah... Thanks for thinking of me. I'll enjoy it.”
“Sure. Oh, if you're going to the doctor, tell me ahead? I have a friend who's a university hospital doc—can introduce you.”
I must look really off. Noona, who usually hesitates and gauges my mood before suggesting anything, speaks with unusual firmness.
That worry doesn't annoy me. No—it's touching. I chuckle again.
I rub my gritty eyes, nod readily, and promise.
“Will do. Here's your buzzer.”
Even as I make her Americano, that sticky gaze won't quit. What? Not my imagination? No, it's getting more blatant now. Like it's protesting me.
“...Owner, mind if I catch a quick breather inside?”
“Yeah, go ahead. Not swamped yet.”
The gaze feels too real to ignore, so I duck into the back office to escape it, even briefly. It's a small utility room attached to the cafe—supplies and ingredients on one side. Owner handles orders here too, so there's a desk and computer in the corner, plus a worn but comfy little sofa.
I flop onto the sofa.
“...Was someone really staring at me?”
Once inside, the unpleasant gaze vanishes completely. Not paranoia or imagination—someone was watching me for real.