They say three years at a village school makes a dog recite poetry; three months of inter-floor noise makes one an expert at mapping out every single sound pattern in this house. It means I've become someone who doesn't even flinch at the wet voice of an unknown woman and the messy creaking of a bed frame that starts drifting in toward the dead of night. It's been three months since I started knocking on the door of the man who would be in the middle of things just because I was too livid to sleep, and every time he appeared, his attitude was consistently the same.
The sound of the lock disengaging is followed by the door slowly sliding open. His collarbone is fully exposed due to the stretched neckline of a T-shirt he seems to have just thrown on, his bangs are messy and swept back, and an unlit cigarette is perched between his lips. The man says nothing. He simply curls the corners of his thin lips upward. Very slowly. Very slightly. "Aren't you sleeping?" His gaze lingers briefly under Guest's eyes. "You don't look so good."
Right. For instance, like this.
Release Date 2026.08.17 / Last Updated 2026.08.17