/In the tiny washroom, where one can barely turn all the way around, Taewoong is shaving his ample stubble. He slips into his pyjamas. As he slides open the foggy glass pane that conceals the cupboard, and puts his disposable razor back on the shelf - a few other personal effects are there, including Seungho’s contacts, his hairclips, and some skin and bath products - the memory of Myungie’s words pulls him back into his own mind./

/“I’m not being good Taewoong, 

I’m being good to you.”/

/What did he mean by that? As Taewoong stands there, still disheveled and his shirt unbuttoned, it is almost as if he can feel Myungie’s voice at his back, his presence like a lingering chill./

/M: Taewoong…/

/Taewoong eventually emerges from the washroom, and pulls the door half-shut behind him. He had taken out his eyebrow piercing and is wearing Seungho’s fuzzy hairclips to hold his bangs in place, which is pretty adorable./

/He wanders over to Seungho, who has managed to assemble a poor bed on the floor all by himself, despite the condition of his leg. He is wearing patterned pyjamas that make him look like a giant strawberry. No doubt, Minho is already sound asleep./

T: So,

In the end, 

you never did get any more texts from Malik, huh.

/Taewoong says, pretending not to know anything more about the waylaid plans./

S: Yeah, but...

I kinda don’t want to bother him right now. 

He must have a good reason for not sticking around!

I mean, he could be out there,

T: Making ice?

Well, you’re probably right. 

Taking off like a superhero…go figure.

/Taewoong staggers into the bed, more than a little drunk and only half-awake. He flops down with one arm supporting his head, not quite looking comfortable. Seungho, who had been worried that he would fall over his own feet, now looms over him worriedly./

S: …Uh, 

Will you be OK like that?

T: All good…

/Truthfully, things are not all good. Taewoong’s more than a little mad at being abandoned, even if Seungho is not. But, Seungho is Seungho: he uncritically accepts Taewoong’s proclamation as fact, and proceeds to tuck him in./

S: Cool. 

So, I suggest you keep this light on, 

/He says, referring to the one above them,/

S: And turn that light off. 

To appease the roachoid empire!

/He says, referring to the light in the washroom. The idea is that roaches would be drawn towards dark spaces. But, Taewoong’s a little too familiar with this little song and dance. Vermin don't scare him anymore./

T: It’s fine, we’ve done battle before. 

S: …Then, g’night, Bro.

T: Yeah, sleep tight. 

/Seungho smiles, once again picking up his crutches. From where he is lying on the ground, Taewoong gives him a thumbs up./

/After a few moments, Taewoong remembers something./

T: …Hey!

Wake me up if the pain gets worse - 

/But Seungho had already rounded the corner, whistling to himself as he went. Taewoong listens to the sound of the crutches going clickety-clack, and his lips curl into a fond smile. Somehow, he doubted that Seungho would actually wake him for anything./

/It is now 1:45AM. Outside, beyond the netted windows, there is the familiar and enchanting glow of scattered lamplight on snow. It pours into the room to reveal Taewoong’s sleeping face - his hair which had slowly puffed up, like bread proofing - the clips still stuck in./

??: Hey, 

you there, Taewoong?

/Taewoong immediately snaps awake at the disembodied voice./

/He sits up very straight in his “bed”, his eyes spinning as he attempts to orient himself. Then, he scans the room, trying to identify where the voice is coming from./

??: It’s me, 

The Ghost of Christmas Past!…

…Just kidding…

T: !!

/He stumbles out of bed - yes, still a little drunk - and just as Myungie had done earlier in the day, he presses his face close to the floor. That must be it: from where he was sleeping, the noise emanating from the lower floor felt so close, that it was as if someone was whispering directly to him./

T: 3-34, 

And 2-34!

/The voice continued to ramble./

??: I heard you guys talking…

Hey Taewoong, come down if you hear me. 

/Without even changing out of his pyjamas or putting on a pair of boots, Taewoong makes for the door that leads to the balcony, and walks directly into the blistering cold. It would appear that forgetting his gloves earlier was not a one-off occurrence, and that he desperately needs to take his own advice to his brother. As he goes, a gust of wind rushes into the apartment, bringing with it yet more snow, the snow that never seems to stop falling./

/We stand in front of unit 2-34, where the door is slightly ajar. The wind, which was swirling wildly in all directions, had pushed the snow all the way to the doorframe./

T: Huff…

Sniff!

/Not quite confident in his own senses, Taewoong knocks on the open door as a courtesy. Sensing no resistance, he grasps the handle with a hand barely covered up by his sleeve (poor dear), and pulls the heavy door open./

/His shadow looms over the doorway, and as he steps over the threshold, he sees what appears to be Myungie's boots. He walks forward, propelled by the hazy sense of urgency one finds in dreams. Indeed, the light is on inside, and someone is speaking to him./

M: Can you believe it? 

I got the key from the super. 

/Taewoong stills, surveying his surroundings, as wet snow drips from his hair./

T: It’s…

A museum piece. 

Nothing’s changed.

What were they doing with this place? 

M: OK, don’t quote me, 

but you know how we always thought this place was fucking haunted?

I think they finally believed us after more trainees shit their pants. 

I think they just turned it into storage. 

/As Myungie drones on, Taewoong catches his own reflection in the nearby mirror, and hastily pulls out the hairclips, which he had forgotten were there. He then turns the corner and walks into the living room, where the speaker is patiently waiting for him./ 

T: So what you’re saying is, 

We helped create an urban legend?

/And there, just as Taewoong had predicted and secretly hoped, is Myungie - sitting in the middle of the empty room, surrounded by old peeling storage boxes piled high to the ceiling. His legs are crossed and he is smiling, the picture of repose./

/Myungie's long black hair is curlier than usual due to being freshly oiled. He is dressed in a simple woolen turtleneck sweater and soft bell-bottom slacks, a sharp contrast to his earlier finery. Indeed, he even appears to be wearing plastic shoe covers, perhaps provided by the super./

/Did Myungie also get up in the middle of the night? Despite projecting calm, was he as desperate to see Taewoong, as Taewoong was to see him?/

M: Funny thing about that though…if you bury the problem, 

You can’t fix it...and, the acoustics get way worse! 

Now it just sounds like the underfloor ghosts

Are rattling around in a shipping container, trying to get out.

With that much old furniture pressing on them, who wouldn’t be mad!

Anyway, I guess fear’s kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy,

Isn’t it?

/He concludes his speech, rolling his eyes in a self-deprecating way. Maybe, this is what passes for an apology in Myungie’s world./

/But Taewoong is too tired to think deeply about it. He walks the length of the room and practically throws himself at Myungie, startling him./

T: Liar.

You’re not Lee Myungyong. 

Myungie wouldn’t have protected me from a mobbing,

and he definitely wouldn’t have come back. 

/He mumbles, leaning his head against Myungie’s chest, whispering the words into the thick knots of Myungie’s sweater. Seeing him so unguarded, Myungie’s eyes soften./

M: …Taewoong,

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long. 

Maybe…

Maybe, I should have told you what I was up to -

T: Yeah, 

you think??

/Taewoong suddenly pulls away, shoving Myungie backwards. His eyes are full and angry, holding fast to tears, and his nostrils are flared./

/Myungie is confused at the about-face, before realizing that Taewoong isn't talking about today anymore./

T: My world, 

Broke!

/Suddenly, the past collides with the present./