Jimin's had his fair share of bad neighbors, but he thinks the new tenant in 4B takes the cake.
"They can't be that bad," Seokjin says when they meet for their weekly coffee-and-cry sessions (now newly named coffee-and-pastry sessions since Seokjin's graduated and working, cruelly leaving Jimin behind to struggle through finals stress), and Jimin peels his forehead off the table to glare balefully at him.
"They are that bad. And it's all your fault," Jimin says, straightening in his seat just to dump four more packs of sugar into his coffee. He's going to need it, after his neighbor had stayed up until four in the morning trying to perfect a saxophone solo that Jimin can still hear echoing around in his head like a bad ad jingle. The walls in Jimin's apartment complex are not thin, and no matter how many times Jimin passive-aggressively leaves sticky notes on their door, 4B never seems to realize there are other people living there too. Other people who have 9AM dance workshops.
"Jimin, I graduated," Seokjin reminds him. His hand wanders dangerously close to Jimin's plate, and Jimin half-heartedly swats at it. His muffin. "It just made more sense to move in with Yoongi, since his apartment's closer to the restaurant."
"Sure that's the reason," Jimin grumbles, feeling uncharitable. He takes a sip of his coffee, feels the cloying artificial sweetener settle thickly on his tongue, and takes a bite out of his muffin to wash out the taste. Jimin's pretty sure coffee shouldn't be buzzing in his mouth, but if it'll keep him awake enough to last through his three o'clock dance practice, it'll be worth it. "It's definitely only because Yoongi-hyung's apartment is closer to the restaurant and not at all because of his bomb dick game."
"Well," Seokjin says, unaffected. He takes a sip of his latte as Jimin leans over to rest his chin on the table yet again. "That helps."
"Why did you leave me, hyung?" Jimin whines. "We had a good thing going for us, didn't we? I was a good neighbor, right? Wasn't loud or noisy or annoying--"
"You stole my food, like, all the time," Seokjin says skeptically.
"--except on the rare occasion you offered food to me out of the goodness of your heart," Jimin says, undeterred, tilting his head so he can look plaintively at Seokjin, the traitor. "I didn't even complain to the landlady about how loud you and Yoongi-hyung were! I just bought earplugs!" And moved his bed away from the wall that had separated his and Seokjin’s apartments.
"You're truly a saint," Seokjin says dryly, even though from Jimin's vantage point, he can see Seokjin's ears redden. "Have you even talked to them about keeping it down? Have you even met them?"
"Yes, I talked to them about it!"
"Face to face? And not through post-it notes?"
"... No," Jimin says. Seokjin's face is unimpressed. "But, okay, look, I don't need to meet someone to know they're a bad neighbor."
Seokjin sighs. "Maybe that's true," he says, "but you should at least try to talk to them about it. You have just as much right to live there as they do, Jimin, and you still have a year and a half left. Do you really want to live like this for the rest of your college career?"
"I could make them move out," Jimin mutters. He’s already thinking about what kind of music he should blast in retaliation.
"Or you could be an actual person and talk to them," Seokjin says, raising an eyebrow. "And if you're still convinced they really are a horrible person, then go talk to the landlady about it."
"Fine," Jimin grumbles, closing his eyes and letting the caffeine do its magic. "I'll talk to them when I get off class."
"Good," Seokjin says. "Now, since I’m such a good, wise hyung, how about splitting your muffin with me?"
Jimin doesn't talk to 4B when he gets out of class that night. He thinks about it when he's fiddling with his keys, when he's turning the knob on his door, when he's walking into his apartment and dropping his backpack on the floor by the coffee table. He thinks about it when midnight rolls around and, like clockwork, the saxophone sounds start up again, bleeding through the thin walls of the apartment. By then, it's already too late, and Jimin has an exam he needs to study for, so it's not like he's even going to sleep anyway. He'll talk to them next time, Jimin tells himself.
He doesn't. For weeks.
It's not really that Jimin hates confrontation, but he can be a bit shy when it comes to talking to new people, especially when those new people could potentially be really aggressive and angry at having their saxophone time interrupted. And besides, it's not like Jimin can't live with the noise; he does still have the earplugs from when Seokjin would have Yoongi over, and sometimes, his neighbor shouting indecipherable words at the top of their lungs to a hard bassline is the only thing that keeps Jimin awake for all-night study sessions before exams.
"This is fine," Jimin tells his ceiling, lying on his bed after giving up on studying for the night. A now-familiar bassline shakes the wall of his bedroom slightly, audible even through the earplugs Jimin unearthed from the depths of his desk. His neighbor really likes listening to this song as they study; Jimin’s heard it so often that he’s starting to enjoy it by proxy, which is terrible.
Groaning, Jimin rolls over and shoves his head under his pillow. It’s not fine. He really needs to talk to his neighbor.
Jimin doesn't remember ordering a package, but there's one sitting in front of his door when he gets back from his workout session with Jeongguk. Jeongguk had insisted on doing extra sets of everything today, even though the brat knows Jimin’s been missing sleep, and now every part of Jimin's body is achy and sore. All he wants to do is soak in a bath full of ice water and be asleep by ten.
Groaning with every shift of weight, Jimin swings his duffel further onto his back and stoops down, wincing as his thighs tense. He picks up the package--textbooks, it feels like, even though it's midway through the second semester--and glances at the mailing label. It's his apartment's address, but not his name.
"'Kim Taehyung,'" Jimin reads aloud, frowning.
"Yes?" A voice sounds from behind him, and Jimin almost gives himself whiplash with how fast he turns his head.
There's a boy Jimin's never seen before standing behind him wearing an incredibly loud flower-patterned dress shirt. He’s taller than Jimin--though Jimin thinks, resentfully, not by much--and has dark brown hair that looks like it’s a few weeks away from needing a trim. He’s also painfully, terribly, horribly attractive despite all of this, and Jimin is suddenly hyper-aware that he’s wearing his workout tank-top and a loose zip-up hoodie.
Thankfully, Jimin's mouth working independently from his brain helps him out. "Hi," Jimin says. "Sorry, I think--I think you accidentally sent your books to my place? I'm 4A." Jimin gestures behind him, hopefully at his door. He's not really sure where his limbs are in relation to the rest of his body right now.
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," Probably-Kim-Taehyung says, his mouth twisting. He reaches out to take the package from Jimin, and holy shit, his hands are huge, his fingers long and slender. "I'm a spring transfer, just moved in. I probably got the address wrong."
"No worries," Jimin says, mind still caught up on Probably-Kim-Taehyung's fingers. "Happens to the best of us."
Probably-Kim-Taehyung laughs. "Thanks--"
"Oh, uh, Jimin," Jimin says, belatedly realizing what the meaningful silence is. "Park Jimin."
"Cool," Probably-Kim-Taehyung says, jamming the package under his armpit so he can extend a hand. It shouldn't be charming, but it somehow is. When Jimin takes Taehyung’s hand, it’s warm and dry, and Jimin cringes, thinking about how sweaty and clammy his hand probably is in comparison. Fuck. "Kim Taehyung, which you probably figured out. Are you a third year too?"
"Yeah," Jimin says, his brain slowly starting to catch up. There's a really cute boy beaming at him, trying to make conversation, and Jimin is sweaty and stinky from the gym. Those two concepts are somehow related. Okay, brain is up to speed. "Third year dance major, business minor."
"Dance?" Taehyung says. His eyes flit down then back up what could be construed as a flicker of new interest. Jimin’s not sure if it’s wishful thinking or not. "That's so cool, you must be great."
"I'm alright," Jimin says modestly, shrugging his shoulders before he remembers he's sore all over. Thanks for absolutely nothing, Jeon Jeongguk.
"You okay?" Taehyung says, his face scrunching up in concern at Jimin’s wince.
“Yeah, just--” Jimin doesn’t know how to say Yeah, totally crushed it at the gym today, without sounding like an asshole so he ends up gesturing vaguely. “Gym. Heavy backpack. Books. You know. Nothing an ice bath or a massage won’t fix.” Nailed it.
Taehyung, at least, doesn’t look too disgruntled at Jimin’s lack of conversational talent. “Not too familiar with the gym part, but I can relate to the heavy books.” He shifts his package back into his arms, and his eyes crinkle up as he flashes another devastating smile at Jimin. “Anyway, speaking of books, I’d better get going and actually use them. I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jimin says, the paragon of eloquence. “You know where to find me.” He waves as Taehyung walks past Jimin to--
Oh. Oh no.
4B. Kim Taehyung, as devastatingly charming and cute as he is, is 4B. The Bad Neighbor.
Taehyung’s half way through the doorway when he turns and spots Jimin gawking at him. He pauses with a hand on the doorframe and a quirk pulling at his mouth. “If you ever need help with a massage,” Taehyung says, “just let me know. I’m pretty good with my hands.” And then he closes the door, leaving Jimin with an inexplicable flush and a terrible, horrible feeling brewing in his stomach.