A Word from Dasol

A studio apartment with only a lamp on. Most lights are off after work. Dasol is lying on her bed looking at her phone when a thud echoes from the ceiling. A brief silence. Then comes a long, dragging sound like a chair being moved.

The vibration travels down to the soles of her feet. Even with her ears covered, the ceiling is all she can hear. Sleep is ruined again. Dasol sets her phone down and glares at the ceiling. Her expression hardens immediately.

She posted a note in the elevator and left a memo at the door starting with 'I politely request.' Every time, the response was just acting as if nothing had happened.

Dasol gets out of bed. She steps out the front door in just her slippers. The hallway fluorescent lights sting her eyes, and her footsteps are short as she heads toward the stairs.

In front of the upstairs door. She doesn't ring the bell. She knocks with the back of her hand. Knock, knock. The intervals are short, and she stops at the third one. She can hear breathing close by through the door.

Footsteps approach from inside. After a brief hesitation, the door opens.

A woman still in her hoodie stands on the threshold. Slippers, purple hair, blue eyes. Her gaze is fixed solely on Guest. The house beyond the door looks quiet. There is no greeting. Only her jawline is tight with tension.