Beyond the Closed Door — Voyeurism, Eavesdropping, Masturbation, Lust
7:30 in the evening.
Jenny eased the front door open without a sound. Work had wrapped up early today. She'd thought about texting Miu first, then stopped herself — she wanted to surprise her.
"Miu, I'm ho—"
The words died the instant they left her mouth.
At the end of the hallway, Miu's door stood slightly ajar.
And through that gap, sound was leaking out.
Jenny didn't take off her shoes.
The strap of her bag was cutting into her palm — she'd forgotten she was still holding it. She stood on the seam where the entryway's cold air bled into the warmth deeper inside, not knowing whether her feet should carry her forward or turn her back around. And through it all, she was holding her breath.
Her own heartbeat sounded enormous. Thump. Thump. Loud enough that she feared it might give her away. She swallowed, and even that seemed to ring down the hallway.
Sound kept spilling through the gap in the door.
Breathing — deep, trembling, desperate with need.
"Oppa..."
It was Miu's voice.
Jenny's feet froze to the spot.
The hallway was narrow.
Narrow enough that whatever showed through that gap came into perfect focus.
And — Miu was there.
Black hair spilled across the pillow like a river. Her eyes were shut, her lips half parted. Three buttons of her white blouse had come undone from the collar down, laying her collarbones bare.
A scent drifted out of the room. Miu's perfume, but not quite the one she wore by day — heavier, warmer, threaded with the smell of skin flushed with heat. Jenny knew that scent. Her body knew it before her mind caught up.
The sheets gave the faintest rustle. A whisper of fabric, barely there. And then Miu's breath — caught, for one full beat.
Miu's hand was traveling down the line of her throat. Slowly. As though it belonged to someone else. As though it were Oppa's hand.
Jenny knew exactly whose touch that hand was imitating.
The lights in the room were turned down low, their glow pooling above Miu's collarbones. The skin left bare was white and soft — places no one was ever meant to see. Miu was always so composed: buttons fastened to the throat, posture that never once slipped.
But not tonight. Everything composed about her had come undone.
Jenny knew exactly when that face came out, because she had one too — in front of Oppa, she turned into this as well. The thought cinched something deep in her chest. Whether it was envy or a thrill, she couldn't have said.
"Oppa... I miss you..."
Miu's voice trembled.
Her fingers crossed her collarbone and slipped inside the blouse. Her back arched, just slightly, and a sigh slipped out between her lips — a short, thin sound, as if she'd tried to hold it in and failed.
Jenny stood at the door, unable to move.
Her heart was slamming against her ribs. She knew she was watching something she shouldn't see. She should have gone — one step back was all it would take.
But she couldn't look away.
Because Miu was too beautiful.
That face, usually so cool and locked-down, belonged to a different person entirely right now. Unguarded. Defending nothing. The face that surfaced only in front of Oppa — the one Jenny herself had sometimes stolen glimpses of.
Miu's other hand slid down her waist, grazed over her skirt, and came to rest on her thigh — fingers gliding slowly inward.
From deeper in the room came a faint sound, and Jenny caught it. Wet, thick, clinging. A sound that said everything about how far gone Miu already was.
"Ah..."
At the sound slipping from Miu's lips, Jenny's body answered. And not just her heart — heat kindled low in her belly, her thighs went taut, her breathing turned ragged.
Is this... for Oppa? Or because of the way Miu looks right now?
It was both.
Jenny leaned her back against the hallway wall and closed her eyes. Even shut, they wouldn't let go of what she'd just seen — Miu's ruined hair, her arched back, the instant her fingers disappeared inside.
The sounds from Miu's room climbed straight through the wall. Breathing with a rhythm to it: in, out, one beat of silence. Sheets sliding again. And every so often, Oppa's name, slipping loose.
"Oppa..."
Low. Aching.
Jenny's hand found her own throat without her telling it to. Her neck was hot. Her fingers stopped just above her collarbone.
Me too.
She thought of Oppa. Imagined his hand, the way Miu was doing right now. If this hand were his hand. If these fingers were his fingers.
Her palm slid down over her blouse and stopped above her heart. Thump-thump. Fast. Miu's heart must be racing like this too.
Her fingers crept lower, past her stomach, past her navel — the way Miu was doing it — and stopped just shy of touching. Her heart slammed again. What if I get caught? What if I make a sound? But she couldn't stop. Not while Oppa was in her head.
In the end, her hand sank lower still. Cold fingers met feverish skin. She bit down hard.
Beyond the wall, Miu's breathing was quickening, little by little.
"Oppa... more..."
Jenny's eyes fell shut. Her teeth pressed into her lip. Her own hand traveled down past her belly, over her skirt — mirroring, beat for beat, what Miu was doing on the other side.
With nothing between them but a wall.
She pictured where Miu's hand must be landing, and pressed her own palm over the same place — still through the fabric, a breath away from skin. Even so, she was already burning. Inside her panties, she was already wet.
Beyond the wall, Miu's breath caught for a beat. Jenny held hers too.
Listening to Miu's rhythm. Locking onto it. Breathing in when Miu breathed in, going still when Miu went still.
Each time Miu's fingers moved, a small sound rose from inside the room — a wet, low sound, sticky as it pulled free. Jenny's ears caught every trace of it.
Her hand slipped beneath the fabric. The moment her cold fingertips met warm skin, a broken breath escaped her lips. She was wet enough already; her fingertips confirmed it.
Beyond the wall, Miu's breathing wavered. Jenny's hand began to move — at Miu's pace, in Miu's rhythm. Thinking of Oppa.
The same hands. The same heat. The same way of touching.
With only a wall between them, the two of them were aching for the same man. Imagining the same touch. Saying the same name.
She imagined Oppa's hands — the angle they'd arrive from, how slowly they'd move. Jenny knew all of it, and knowing was what made the picture so sharp.
She imagined his voice, low and quiet, saying her name. Where his hands would land first when they reached for her. At what speed, with what pressure.
Beyond the wall, Miu's breath snagged, short and sharp.
Two women who knew the same man — even split by a wall, they were seeing the same picture. The moment that thought landed, Jenny's fingers pressed deeper. Warm wetness ran down them, and her breath caught in her throat.
Beyond the wall, Miu's rhythm began to come apart. Her breathing shortened, breaking more and more often. The sheets stirred faintly — the sound of hips lifting off the bed — and Jenny took in every bit of it with her eyes squeezed shut.
Jenny's hand was speeding up too.
"Oppa..."
Miu's voice.
"Oppa..."
And between Jenny's own lips, a breath slipped out — one on the very edge of becoming that same word.
Almost in unison.
If that one thin wall weren't there, their sounds would have tangled together. But the wall was there. They couldn't see, couldn't touch — only hear. And the not-seeing only sharpened the imagination. Each sound that carried through conjured ten different scenes.
Jenny's hand pressed down harder. She was going to make a sound; she couldn't stop it. She clapped her other hand over her mouth, hot breath forcing its way out between her fingers.
Beyond the wall, Miu's rhythm quickened once more, and Jenny's hand chased it. She didn't want to stop. She wanted to get there with Miu — divided by a single wall, both of them thinking of the same man.
Something was filling her up from the inside, tight and swelling, ready to break.
She couldn't hold it back.
"Oppa..."
Miu's voice shook, long and low.
And then — the moment everything gave way.
Jenny bit her lip and muffled her mouth with the back of her hand. I can't get caught. I know that. But the instant Miu's cry came spilling over the wall, there was nothing left to hold.
"Aaahhn—"
Beyond the wall, a high, sharp cry burst free — short, trembling, beautiful. And at that sound, the wave broke through Jenny's body too.
She slid down the wall and crumpled onto the floor, hand still clamped over her mouth as her body shuddered. Once. Then again. The sound sat trapped inside her palm — and trapped, it only burned hotter.
On the far side of the wall. And on this one.
The same wave, in the same instant.
Silence.
Nothing left but the two of them panting, echoing across the thin wall between them.
Jenny sat on the hallway floor, staring at the ceiling. Her cheeks burned. Her whole body burned. Her heart was still racing, and her hand wouldn't stop trembling.
Then.
Click.
Miu's door opened.
Miu stood there.
Tangled black hair. Flushed cheeks. A blouse hanging open.
And Jenny, sitting on the hallway floor.
Flushed face. Rumpled clothes.
Two seconds of silence.
Miu's eyes went wide. Jenny's face went scarlet.
"...How long have you been standing there?"
"...Just now."
They both knew it was a lie.
Miu laughed. Jenny laughed too. And then the two of them were sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, laughing and utterly unable to stop.
"We're both idiots," Miu said.
"Yeah. All Oppa's fault," Jenny replied.
Miu took Jenny's hand. It was still trembling. So was hers.
"Are you going to... tell Oppa?"
"Are you insane? Absolutely not."
"...Then again... I think he'd love it if he knew."
And they both broke down laughing all over again.
That night, the two of them texted Oppa.
One minute apart.
Oppa doesn't know what lay behind those words — what had happened before either of them typed I missed you.
Whatever passed beyond that closed door belonged to the two of them alone.
But their hearts were beating in the same rhythm.
For Oppa.