Chapter 3

There are nights when Rap-nim doesn't sing a duet, doesn't sing a song that Nolan has ever heard of before, and those are the nights that Nolan knows are him testing out his original compositions.

He's flattered, really, that his neighbor continues to perform his personal work even though he now knows he has an audience, and after a few more weeks they adopt a system where his neighbor will stop singing abruptly, voice ending in a question mark of sorts, and Nolan will tap once to let his neighbor know that yes, it was good and yes, he should keep going.

There are other nights where Nolan will tap twice against the tiled wall when he thinks something doesn't sound right, and his neighbor will re-do a line or two to see if they sound better with a different inflection or rhythm.

Nolan likes to think that one day, when his neighbor is famous and accepting his award at the MAMAs or something, he'll thank the boy in the shower next door for helping him to work out his most famous songs.

Of course, there are nights where Nolan doesn't help much at all, nights when Nolan is so overwhelmed by his neighbor's deep rasp and soulful lyrics that he just bangs his head against the wall a few times, wishing he had a better way to express how much he loves the music.

Their duets become such an integral part of his nightly routine that Nolan feels incredibly sorry to miss it one day when his dance rehearsal runs late.

He always,

always

makes it home before one o' clock usually, but with the upcoming dance recital only a week away, he knows that his priorities lay with Louis and Neil and not his mysterious neighbor.

So when it's well past three a.m. and Nolan is just returning home, he's not expecting a musical welcome.

He's got Paloalto's

Good Times

stuck in his head—he's been practicing it lately, hoping to introduce it as a potential duet to his shower friend later—so he plays

Love, Love, Love

on his phone to try to drive Paloalto out of his head as he makes his way to the shower, absolutely exhausted by hours of dancing.

And it turns out that maybe Paloalto was trying to tell him something, because as soon as Nolan steps into the shower and lets the water run over his aching muscles, he finally hears his neighbor in the shower next door.

And he's not rapping, he's moaning.

Oh.

Oh.

Nolan freezes up, unsure as to what to do next.

Clearly his neighbor has no idea that Nolan's just a few inches away, or he surely would had stopped.

Right?

Nolan's suddenly plagued by uncertainty, wondering whether or not he should maybe leave, since that would obviously be the polite thing to do, but he's caked in sweat and really does need this shower, and he doesn't want to have to wake up earlier than he has to since he's already so tired right now, and okay, now his neighbor just

gasped

, he's pretty sure, and fuck if Nolan wasn't turned on by it.

It's not fair, Nolan thinks as he leans his back against the cold tiles, shutting his eyes as his hand sneaks downward, that he has to have a neighbor that is apparently so attractive that just his voice alone is enough to get Nolan excited.

had your lips freeze up

Koen's not stressed.

He's not.

But maybe he is just a little worried about the fact that he has his first exhibition coming up in a few days, and even though Mason insists his song is good, Koen can't find it in himself to believe him that easily.

A lot of people are good.

Koen needs to be better.

He had planned to fine tune it more, of course, had thought that after coming back from Mason's, he'd be able to practice the song a few more times for himself.

He had maybe even hoped to run the song by his neighbor, see if it sounded good to another musician that wasn't Mason just trying to be nice.

Someone with a soft, high voice and a breathless laugh and a tendency to knock over the soap dish at least twice a week.

And of course, the one night that Koen seeks out his neighbor's company more than ever, he isn't there.

Koen holds off on his shower for as long as possible—it's customary for his neighbor to start them first, anyway—before it's suddenly three in the morning and Koen really needs to take a shower and get some sleep before his first class.

It somehow feels

wrong

to take a shower by himself, and for a second Koen has the absurd thought that he's betraying his neighbor by showering alone before he shakes his head and brushes it off and thinks that for once, it may be healthy for him to take a shower

for himself

.

And if his thoughts wander to a soft, sweet voice and the type of mouth and lips that could possess that voice, he really can't blame himself.

Until he suddenly hears

Love, Love, Love

playing through the thin walls and a small part of his brain is still coherent enough to think in alarm that oh fuck, his neighbor's here, and it's not like Koen is particularly quiet when he gets himself off which means his neighbor totally knows what's happening, and for some reason the thought of the boy, fully knowing what Koen's doing, standing less than a foot away on the other side of the wall turns Koen on even more.

And if he had thought his neighbor's voice was sweet when he was singing, it's downright

sinful

when Koen suddenly hears his loud moan echoing through the walls.

Koen's eyes widen in realization, and he practically tastes his pulse in his mouth as he moves closer to the wall, pressing his forehead against the chilled tiles as he wishes for just a moment that the wall would disappear, that he'd be able to see and hear and feel his neighbor—his neighbor with the sweet, high moans and the loud, desperate panting—in the flesh.

In Koen's compromised state he only manages to hear one last keening moan from the other side of the wall before he's gone, sinking down to his knees when they fail to keep him upright, forehead still pressed closely to the wall.

Through the dim haze of steam in his eyes and the feeling of the now-cool water still beating down on his shoulders, he manages to make out the sound of