Chapter Text
The hallway smelled faintly of old carpet and burnt toast. It wasn’t an unusual smell. Just the kind that settled into places where people came and went too often for anything to truly feel clean. Something stale. Something lived-in.
Azure barely noticed it anymore.
He balanced two grocery bags against his hip while fishing his keys out of his coat pocket, fingers brushing past loose soil caught in the seams. The fluorescent lights above hummed softly, flickering once before settling into a weak, pale glow that washed the hallway in something almost sickly.
It had been a long day at the greenhouse.
Soil beneath his fingernails. The sunlight warming the back of his neck. The quiet, steady company of plants that never rushed him, never raised their voices, never demanded more than water, light, and patience.
Plants made sense.
Humans didn’t.
They were louder. Messier. Far more demanding than they had any right to be.
Of course that didn't mean Azure didn’t like people.
Not exactly.
He just preferred plants.
He always had.
And likely always would.
…With one exception.
But that wasn’t something he should be thinking about right now. It was not time and he knew it.
His key finally slipped free from his pocket. Azure adjusted the groceries slightly and reached toward the lock—
—and paused.
Something white stuck out from beneath his door. Azure frowned.
It wasn’t junk mail. It wasn’t shaped like a bill. It wasn’t even fully under the door—just enough to catch his attention. It seemed almost deliberate, placed where it was almost hidden but not quite. He crouched slowly, grocery bags rustling against the carpet, and pulled the envelope free.
There was no stamp. No return address.
Just his name written across the front in thick black marker.
The letters were heavy. Pressed deep into the paper like whoever wrote them had leaned hard—too hard—into each stroke. Azure turned the envelope over once in his hands. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
'How dramatic.'
He slid a finger beneath the flap and opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Only three words were written inside.
'Leave. They’re mine.'
Azure blinked.
“Huh.”
The sound left him quietly, more curious than concerned.
He tilted the page slightly toward the flickering hallway light, as if the words might shift depending on the angle.
It didn’t.
A door creaked behind him causing Azure to glance over his shoulder.
The apartment across the hall had opened just enough for someone to peek through. Two wide eyes stared directly at the letter in his hand.
The door opened a little further.
“Oh no.”
The voice was small. Quiet. Fragile enough that it almost seemed like speaking had taken effort.
Azure straightened slowly, still holding the paper.
His neighbor stepped fully into the hallway.
They looked like they hadn’t slept in days. Their sweater sleeves hung past their wrists, fingers twisting anxiously into the fabric as if they didn’t know what else to do with themselves. Their eyes were red—raw around the edges in a way that suggested crying hadn’t been a one-time thing.
And he knew it wasn't.
This was routine. Azure knew that much already.
The walls here were thin.
Not thin enough to complain about. But just thin enough to hear things you weren’t meant to. Like crying.
He had heard them before.
Late at night. Quiet at first. Then not.
Soft, broken sobbing that seemed to go on for hours.
Azure had never gone to check.
There hadn’t been a reason to. It wasn't his business after all.
And besides—
There had been something… Strangely pleasant about it.
Not the sadness itself. Just the sound.
Soft. Vulnerable. Unfiltered.
Honest in a way people rarely were when they knew they were being watched.
Azure blinked once.
Then smiled.
“Hello.”
The neighbor’s gaze dropped immediately back to the paper.
“You got one.”
It wasn’t a question.
Azure glanced down at the note again, as if confirming it hadn’t changed.
“I suppose I did.”
They stepped closer, hesitant, like approaching something unpredictable.
“I—I'm… Really sorry.”
Azure tilted his head slightly.
“For what?”
They wrapped their arms around themselves, shrinking under the flickering light.
“It probably happened because of me.”
Azure’s brows lifted faintly.
The neighbor gestured weakly toward the paper in his hand.
“The letters.”
Azure said nothing.
Waiting for them to continue.
“They started a few months ago,” they said, voice trembling. “First the couple downstairs. Then the man at the end of the hall.”
Their eyes flicked down the corridor briefly.
“Then me.”
Azure leaned casually against the wall, grocery bags resting at his feet.
“And now you.” They finished softly.
Azure looked back at the message.
'Leave. They’re mine.'
He hummed under his breath. “Well,” he said calmly, “that’s certainly something.”
The neighbor stared at him like he’d said something completely unreasonable.
“You’re not scared?”
Azure shrugged lightly.
“Should I be?”
They rubbed quickly at their eyes, clearly frustrated with themselves for reacting so strongly.
“You should be.” They insisted. “It’s a bad thing. It doesn’t just stop.”
Azure remained silent.
“They start small,” they continued. “The notes. They’re weird at first. Then they get worse.”
“How much worse?”
Their gaze flicked down the hallway again, like they expected someone to be standing there.
“Threats.”
Azure watched them carefully.
“They say things like how someone is watching,” they whispered. “That… That I belong to them.”
Their voice dropped even lower.
“That I can't leave.”
Azure glanced down the hallway as well.
Nothing.
No movement. No sound beyond the faint hum of the lights.
“Has anyone called the police?” he asked.
They let out a weak, humorless laugh.
“More than once.”
“And?”
“They said it’s not enough to investigate.”
Azure picked up his grocery bags again.
“Well…” He said gently, “that’s unfortunate.”
They looked like they wanted to say more. But instead, they gestured awkwardly toward his door.
“You should… Probably be careful.”
Azure slid his key into the lock.
“Thank you for the warning.”
He opened the door and stepped inside.
But paused.
The neighbor was still standing there. Watching him.
Azure glanced back over his shoulder.
“I’m Azure, by the way.”
They hesitated. Then, quietly:
“Two Time.”
Azure smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Two Time.”
The door shut softly between them.
Inside, the apartment was warm.
Comfortable.
And more than alive.
The windowsill was lined with potted plants, their leaves tilted toward the fading evening light. A faint earthy scent lingered in the air—cleaner than the hallway. Much softer and much more controlled.
Azure set the groceries down on the table and began unpacking them slowly.
Tomatoes.
Garlic.
Fresh basil.
He had set the letter on the counter beside the cutting board while beginning his cooking.
He glanced at it occasionally while slicing vegetables.
'Leave. They’re mine.'
The knife moved in steady, precise motions.
Even cuts. Consistent pressure. The kind of repetition that didn’t require thought nor skill.
He slid the vegetables into a pan, adding oil and garlic. The soft hiss filled the room, followed by the warm, rich smell of cooking.
Outside, in the hallway—
footsteps.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Azure didn’t look out or wonder who it was at all. He didn’t need to. It was Two Time.
Pacing.
The rhythm was uneven. Too fast. Too light. Nervous. He stirred the pan thoughtfully. Eventually, the footsteps stopped.
He knew it would have stopped but by the time it actually did he was nearly done with cooking.
Azure turned off the heat and reached for the letter again. He folded it neatly and carefully.
Then placed it into a bowl near the sink. Not thrown away. Not discarded. Just… Set aside.
For later.
By morning, he had almost forgotten about it.
Almost.
The next envelope was taped directly to his door.
Azure noticed it immediately when he returned from work.
The same paper. The same handwriting. The same pressure in the ink.
He peeled it off slowly. Opened it.
Inside the letters: 'You should listen.' stared directly at him.
A pause. Then, beneath it—
'They’re not yours.'
Azure stood there a moment longer than necessary. Just standing there and re-reading it over and over again. The hallway door across from him creaked open again.
Two Time peeked out. And their eyes landed on the letter instantly, their shoulders sagging as they did so. “I was hoping it wouldn’t happen again.” They whispered, clearly distressed.
Azure held the paper up slightly.
“Well,” he said lightly, “at least we know they’re consistent.”
Two Time didn’t laugh. They kept their eyes on the note like it might move.
“I’m so sorry…” They whispered again.
Azure studied them.
“You didn’t write it, did you?”
They shook their head immediately.
“Of course not.”
“Then you don’t need to apologize.”
They still looked like they might cry. Azure folded the letter carefully.
“You seem very certain these notes are dangerous.”
“They are.”
He tilted his head.
“How do you know?”
Two Time hesitated. Shifting nervously before their voice dropped.
“Because when people get more than one…”
They glanced down the hallway.
“…They don’t stay.”
Azure followed their gaze.
The apartment at the end of the hall sat dark and empty. The light above it flickered faintly, casting uneven shadows across the door. A faint rectangle marked where a nameplate used to be.
Azure hummed softly.
“I see.”
Two Time hugged themselves tighter.
“You should leave before it gets worse.”
Azure blinked.
“Leave?”
“Yes.”
Their voice cracked.
“Anyone else would have.”
Azure glanced back into his apartment.
The plants. The kitchen. The quiet.
Then he smiled.
“I just moved in.”
Two Time frowned.
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
Azure leaned against the doorframe.
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
They rubbed their temple, clearly overwhelmed with Azure's nonchalant attitude.
“You don’t understand.”
Azure looked at them more closely this time.
They were too thin.
Shoulders narrow beneath the oversized sweater. If they shifted just right, he was certain their ribs would show. Not to mention how small and fragile Two Time looked. Like something that wouldn’t survive well on its own.
Now that wouldn’t do.
So he said the first thing that came to mind.
“Would you like some dinner?”
Two Time blinked.
“What?”
“I made too much pasta.”
They stared at him.
“You’re inviting me to dinner.”
“Yes.”
“The stalker—”
“Will likely avoid confrontation.” Azure said calmly. “People like that would surely prefer distance.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“If you’re not comfortable, I can give you a plate to take back.”
Two Time hesitated.
They opened their mouth and closed it a few times. Turning their head to look at their apartment door before looking back at him
Azure stood there, relaxed in the doorway. His gardening hat cast a slight shadow over his eyes, his posture easy and unbothered.
He knew how he looked.
Safe. Stable. Predictable.
Two Time blinked a few more time before letting out a weak, exhausted laugh.
“…Okay. Y-you better be a good cook Azure.”
Azure smiled. Hearing his name come from their mouth felt like pollen to a bee. His heart beating excitedly.
“I would say I am.”
He stepped aside to let them in.
Later that night, the hallway lights flickered again.
And beneath Azure’s door—
unnoticed for hours—
another envelope would appear.