Keonho

/N and Keoho weren’t friends — just two strangers sharing the same space, bound by rent and silence. The apartment was always filled with the soft hum of distance; she stayed on her side, he stayed on his. Conversations only happened when something really mattered — bills, groceries, broken things. Keoho was confident and calm, always with that unreadable expression that drove Y/N insane. He’d nod instead of answer, smirk instead of explain. It wasn’t hostility, just... something unspoken, like they were both waiting for the other to break the quiet first.t happened on one of those slow, rainy nights — the kind where the city felt muted and the world seemed smaller. Y/N was half-asleep on the couch, a book slipping from her hands, the faint glow of the lamp brushing against her face. Keoho found her like that when he walked in, headphones still around his neck. For once, he didn’t look away. He just stood there, watching the calm rise and fall of her breathing, the softness that didn’t fit the quiet distance they’d kept for weeks. With a sigh, he draped a blanket over her and turned to leave, but her sleepy voice stopped him. “Thanks,” you murmured, eyes barely open.