Chapter Text
HJ
Growing up is extremely hard to do when you’re dead. Hyunjin would know.
He died when he was 20, embarrassingly by accident. He’d just wanted to sleep, had been suffering from restless nights for weeks on end and feeling like he was going crazy because of it, thoughts swirling. So he’d taken two sleeping pills. And when that didn’t work, and he was still staring at his bare walls, he’d taken two more. And then two more. And then two more. He’d wished desperately for a reprieve from the whispering voices and godawful nightmares that kept him wide awake and terrified. He’d desperately wished for rest.
His mother had always told him to be careful what he wished for when he was young. As he’d looked down on his own body that night, cold and permanently asleep, Hyunjin had laughed at the irony.
He’s not sure exactly how long he’s been dead now. Once the calendar he’d kept while he was alive ran out of days to cross off, he’d stopped keeping track. If he had to guess, he’d say it had been about three years. From his perch in the attic, he’s watched the seasons change three times over, so he figures that’s a safe enough guess to make.
What he truly doesn’t understand is why he’s still here, in this shitty little house in a shitty little town, unable to move on. He feels like he’s ready to move on, ready to see what waits for him on the other side. Maybe he’ll get to see his parents again.
He shakes his head, cursing that train of thought. He can’t afford to entertain silly thoughts like that. Maybe he isn’t as ready to move on as he’d assumed.
Hyunjin sighs as he shifts to stretch his legs, knees aching as if he still had joints made of solid bone. He chances a glance out of the dusty four paneled window to his right. The attic had been his favorite place to be when he was living; the high ceilings and wide open space worked well when he wanted to paint or do yoga or just get away from his overbearing aunt. The space is still full of his things; canvases and folded up easels in one corner, yoga mats and exercise balls in the other. When he’d died, his aunt had shoved all of his things up here and left as soon as was socially acceptable. He figures it’s kind of poetic that it’s now his favorite place in the house to haunt.
Haunt, he thinks to himself with a huff, Minho’s rubbing off on me. I’m literally just hanging out.
Now that he’s thought of the older man, he wonders idly if he’s alright. Minho had somehow figured out how to cross the threshold of the property and wander around untethered, spreading chaos and dread just for the fuck of it. Chan absolutely hates it, worries himself nearly translucent when Minho goes on another one of his benders and Hyunjin can’t say he blames him. The last time Minho had ventured out, he’d nearly been exorcized.
“Aw, you’re worried about me, Jinnie? How sweet.”
Hyunjin jumps as Minho materializes next to him, half of his torso protruding from the floor as he floats up from the hall below.
“Asshole,” Hyunjin grumbles, “I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that.”
Minho scoffs, “Yeah, and I’ve told you to stop moping up here in the dark,” he replies, pulling himself the rest of the way through the floor and sitting cross legged next to Hyunjin, “and also to stop worrying about me. I’m literally fine.”
“You came back two days ago with half of your face blasted off by that witch that lives on Yellow Wood,” Hyunjin reminds his mischievous friend.
“Ahh,” Minho dismisses with a wave of his hand, “the Kim mage just had a lucky day, that’s all. I’m a bad bitch, you can’t re-kill me”
“Mmhm,” Hyunjin responds in muted acknowledgement, “have you seen Chan hyung today?”
The smirk that seems to perpetually reside on the older man’s face falters slightly.
“I was hoping you had,” he says expectantly, eyebrows lifting.
Hyunjin shakes his head with a frown, “Nope. Last time I saw him was when he was covered in your ectoplasm and scared half to life.”
Minho sighs and Hyunjin watches him with disdainful eyes. He tries very hard not to think about the fact that he’s lying, that he’d only asked the question to see if Chan had at least made himself known to Minho since the eldest had been ignoring Hyunjin’s mental beckoning for the majority of the day. Hyunjin wants to berate Minho and remind him that Chan cares deeply for them both even if they struggle to care for themselves but he holds back. From the way Minho pulls his legs up to himself and hugs them, Hyunjin figures the older spirit has berated himself enough.
“Well, how long do you think he’s going to hide from us?” Minho asks, voice small.
“I don’t know, how many more times are you going to wander out into town to fuck with people?” Hyunjin shoots back.
Minho groans, body shimmering in a wave of iridescence as he looks to the ceiling, “That was the first time anything bad happened,” he says, voice calm but simmering with frustration, “I’ve been going out for literal months now. You’re both overreacting.”
“All it takes is one time, Minho,” Hyunjin says sternly, “and now Kim Seungmin has your scent. Which means he could fuck us all up.”
“I’m not afraid of Kim Seungmin,” Minho says with an eye roll, “also, did you forget I’m older than you? I think your sentence was missing an honorific.”
“Maybe you’ll get an honorific out of me when you stop acting stupid as fuck,” Hyunjin taunts, “we’re literally the same age.”
“I was 20 way before you were 20,” Minho says coolly. Hyunjin notes that the banter has already brightened Minho’s energy, his form gaining back some of the opaqueness it’d lost to his guilt.
He himself feels uncharacteristically drained. He had planned to spend the day quietly wallowing as he recreated that one Bella Swan scene in New Moon, but he figures bickering with Minho is a nice alternative.
“You sure don’t act like it,” Hyunjin snips, “you act like you’re 5.”
“I’m 5 in ghost years,” Minho points out, “so I get a pass.”
Hyunjin laughs in spite of himself, “Does that mean I’m 3? I’m a baby ghost?”
“Yep,” Minho confirms, popping the ‘p,’ “you’re practically my child anyways, so that adds up.”
“I’m Chan’s child,” Hyunjin corrects, “you’re more like a shitty uncle that’s always drunk and inappropriate.”
Minho gasps, jaw dropping as he throws a hand over his chest.
“Well, that’s no way to speak to your mother,” the older spirit says. He points a milky finger into Hyunjin’s face, “you just wait until your father gets home.”
They’re silent for a split second before Hyunjin snorts at the scandalized expression on Minho’s face. Then, they’re both laughing hysterically.
For as much shit as they give each other, Hyunjin knows that Minho is technically his best friend. Some days, he absolutely hates that fact but today hasn’t turned out to be one of them. Yet.
A knock on the wall is the only warning they get before Chan is floating his way into the room.
“Did you just knock before you phased in?” Minho asks with a teasing smirk.
Chan freezes in his place, hands splayed at his sides, “Yes?”
“You’re literally a ghost, in case you forgot,” Minho snickers.
“You guys were having a conversation,” Chan mumbles, “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Minho rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something else, but Hyunjin slaps his palm against the wood near Minho’s feet.
“Leave him alone,” Hyunjin chides, “it doesn’t hurt to be polite, even if you’re dead. Hi, hyung.”
“Hi, Jinnie,” Chan responds with a sigh, “thank you.”
“How are you?” Minho asks eagerly. Hyunjin narrows his eyes at him.
“Not awesome,” the eldest spirit answers. He’s not looking at either of them, eyes focused on the attic window over their shoulders, “you guys feel that, right?”
Hyunjin frowns and looks over his own shoulder. Through the window, he sees the front yard, covered in fallen November leaves. The tree that covers most of the land in shade looks sad with its bare branches, but that’s how it looked yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.
“Feel what?” Hyunjin asks.
“Heavy,” Chan says, “like the atmosphere is heavier. Like something is about to happen.”
Hyunjin takes a moment to do a spiritual inventory, reassessing the feeling he’d earlier labeled as exhaustion. An energy drop makes more sense than him just being tired, but he’s only ever felt it this intensely when…
“Min,” he says slowly, “did you notice a rental or for sale sign on any of the windows when you went out?”
“No,” Minho replies just as slowly, “but to be fair, I wasn’t paying attention to the windows.”
Chan frowns and looks down at Hyunjin, lips set in a line, “you think someone’s moving in?” he asks.
“I haven’t felt this fucked since right before Innie and his family moved in. Have you?”
“I don’t know, I felt pretty fucked when Minho almost passed over the weekend,” Chan says.
Minho squawks indignantly.
“It wasn’t even that bad!” he insists, “I’m not made of porcelain. I'm fine.”
“You’re not made of anything,” Chan says sternly, “Just preternaturally strong energy and a stubborn will. Kim Seungmin has both of those things too and I’ll be damned if I let you get exorcized on top of letting you get killed.”
Hyunjin sighs and curls into himself. He’s seen this argument play out too many times over his three years with these two, but it always manages to make him feel like a little kid listening to his parents fight nonetheless.
“How many times do I have to remind you that you didn’t ‘let me get killed,’” Minho says lazily, “I killed myself.”
Hyunjin winces. This one’s going to be nasty.
“And you say it like it’s a fucking joke,” Chan responds bitterly, “you act like your life is better now that you’re dead.”
“Because it is?” Minho says with an indignant scoff, “no responsibilities, no bills, I can go invisible when I don’t wanna be bothered, and I’m hot forever. Plus, it’s way easier to scare people like this.”
“You care more about being hot and scaring people than you do about your mom and your cats and like, I don't know, being alive?” Chan asks. He sounds genuinely exasperated, hands stuck out with his palms up as if he’s pleading with Minho to see reason. Hyunjin doesn’t understand why he still tries so hard; if there existed a better part of Lee Minho that could be reasoned with, Hyunjin thinks they would’ve found it by now.
Before Minho can give whatever smartass answer he was formulating, all three of the spirits that reside in 325 Levanter Way widen their eyes at the sound of a key slotting into the lock of the front door.
JS
“This particular property hasn’t been rented for just over two years, so there is a bit of work that needs to be done. Typically, the landlord would take care of cosmetic details before a showing, but the bank has owned this place since the market crashed last year. I assure you, though, it’s all minor details! A fresh coat of paint would definitely liven up this shared living space. Some new cabinets in the kitchen to compliment the absolutely gorgeous stainless steel appliances that were left behind by the last tenants.”
The realtor that Changbin’s parents found finally takes a pause, turning to smile breathlessly at them, “Though, with three handsome young men like yourselves, I don’t imagine the kitchen will get much use. Other than reheating leftovers, probably, am I right?”
She laughs and laughs and laughs like it’s the funniest joke she’s told all day. Jisung scoffs.
“Yongbokkie is actually a chef,” he says, faux enthusiasm in his voice, “it’s crazy, the things they’re letting handsome young men do these days, am I right?”
The realtor balks and Changbin elbows Jisung in the stomach. The younger boy lets out a puff of breath, but takes the signal and shuts his mouth in a tight lipped smile.
“I didn't mean to offend at all, Mr. Han,” the realtor backpedals, “that’s very wonderful, Mr. Lee! Follow me so I can show you the special features in your beautiful new kitchen!”
When they’re a safe distance away, Changbin rounds on Jisung.
“Do you have to make everything unbearable and difficult?” the eldest hisses.
“Me?” Jisung whisper-yells, “she’s taken us to like five shitty ass little houses and managed to say something out of pocket at every single one. If anyone’s being unbearable and difficult, it’s that bitch.”
“Jesus,” Changbin sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, “just…fuck off somewhere else. I actually like the price and location of this one and if you keep spreading your negative fucking energy everywhere, you might summon demons. Bye.”
Jisung glares with a slack jaw after his older friend. Changbin doesn’t even spare him a glance as he follows Yongbok and their walking HGTV nightmare into the kitchen.
“Whatever,” the dark-haired boy tuts. He grabs at the headphones hanging around his neck with cold fingers and slides them up and over his ears. Fiddling with his phone, he restarts the last song he was listening to and is pleased when his brain is flooded by guitars and Awsten Knight listing the ways he can self-sabotage.
“I’ll just go find something actually interesting in this place,” he calls out, most likely way louder than he needed to. The only response he gets is Changbin’s middle finger poking out angrily from the kitchen.
Jisung drags his heels as he wanders up the hallway. He thinks this house has three rooms and two bathrooms, so he figures he’ll check them out while the rest of them circle jerk in the kitchen. The first room is nice enough - dusty as fuck, but that’s to be expected if the place has been empty for two years. The first bathroom connects this room to the second. It’s an acceptable size, with a modernly tiled shower and a bidet attached to the toilet. Jisung hums and reaches down to turn the dial then jumps when the water shoots out so forcefully, it sounds like a projectile hitting the porcelain.
“Note to self,” he whispers, turning the dial back immediately, “do not use the bidet.”
Entering the connected room makes him feel weird instantly. At first, he thinks it’s because his playlist shuffled to Have Faith In Me and he’s feeling the residual shocks of crying himself to sleep to the song following a break up. But the longer he spins in slow circles in the center of the room, that reasoning seems less than likely.
It feels heavy in this room, like the gravity has been turned up to 100 and it’s pressing on him from all sides. Normally, a feeling like this would make him scared shitless and ready to run, but something about it doesn’t feel sinister. Just…there.
One corner of the room in particular seems to be radiating the most energy. Jisung pauses in his spinning to face it, squinting behind his glasses as if he’ll be able to make out…something in the area. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t see anything.
Until he does.
It could be a trick of the light or Jisung’s overactive imagination filling in the blanks that his brain is looking for, but he swears to whatever higher power there is that he sees a boy standing there. Twenty something, with longish brown hair hanging in his face. Pretty, but with extremely sad eyes.
Jisung gasps and yanks his headphones off of his head.
“What?” comes Yongbok’s voice, echoing towards him from the bathroom.
“Fuck me,” Jisung exclaims, dropping his headphones and clutching at his chest. “I almost just shit myself.”
“Why, what happened?” the blond boy asks, walking into the room with a frown. He looks around himself, but doesn’t seem to feel the same oppressive force that Jisung had felt. Now that he’s caught his breath again, Jisung realizes he doesn’t feel the feeling anymore either.
“I thought I saw something,” Jisung says with a heavy breath, “think I’m just going crazy from house hunting.”
“Tell me about it,” Yongbok chuckles, “I hate how picky hyung is, I’m ready to go home and grind Spiral Abyss.”
“He said he likes this one,” Jisung says with an eye roll as he bends over to retrieve his headphones, “but we both know if there’s not enough space for a home gym, it’s gonna turn him off.”
“Apparently, there’s a big ass attic that can be used as a bonus room,” Yongbok says excitedly, “we’re gonna check it out once she’s done showing Binnie hyung the master bedroom.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, a thud lands on the ceiling above them.
Yongbok goes pale, his freckles standing out more harshly against his skin. “Um,” he starts, eyes scanning the ceiling as if he’s waiting for it to cave in, “please tell me you heard that too.”
Jisung has his head angled back, face fully facing the ceiling, “I definitely heard that too.”
Changbin and the realtor round the corner then.
“Was that you guys?” he asks with a frown.
Jisung points up at the ceiling, “It came from our apparently big ass bonus room,” he states plainly.
Changbin looks at the realtor with a raised eyebrow, “I thought you said squatters wouldn’t be a problem?” he questions.
“I’m positive squatters are not a problem,” she responds, nervous but confident, “this neighborhood is patrolled regularly to prevent any properties from being broken into.”
As if to prove her wrong, another thud comes from the attic.
“I don't know, lady,” Jisung says with a blank look, “I think your patrolman sucks.”
“Didn’t you say you saw something earlier?” Yongbok says, his deep voice impossibly soft and trembling, “what if this place is haunted?”
Changbin tuts and crosses his arms, “Yah, Yongbok-ah,” he sighs, “don’t start.”
“I’m serious!” Yongbok stresses, “Jisungie’s sensitive to this kind of stuff and he was spooked as hell when I walked in here earlier.”
“I’m gonna go check it out,” Jisung announces. He ignores Yongbok’s scared squeak and tries to shove his way past Changbin and the realtor. Changbin, the fucking tank, stops him without even uncrossing his arms by stepping to the side and blocking the doorway fully.
“Did you seriously see something earlier?” the eldest asks.
“I don’t know,” Jisung sighs, “that’s why I want to go check out the attic. To be sure.”
“What if there’s actually just some crazed homeless person up there?” Changbin asks, “what’s your plan?”
“I can assure you, Mr. Seo, there is no way someone would have been able to enter this property without my knowledge,” the realtor says.
Changbin shushes her and continues to stare at Jisung expectantly.
“Would you like to come with me, Mr. Seo?” Jisung asks sweetly, “protect me from the scary hobo with your big strong man muscles?”
“You’re such a shit,” Changbin sighs out, “yes, I’m coming. Yongbok, stay with Mrs. Kim in case there is someone up there and we need you to call the cops.”
Yongbok nods and the realtor says nothing, standing with her hands clasped in front of her and her lips pursed.
“It’s nothing personal, ma’am,” Changbin addresses her, face apologetic, “I do believe that you believe there’s no one in here. I just want to be sure before making a decision. Surely, you understand?” His tone leaves little room for misunderstanding. Jisung snickers to himself as he watches the realtor nod in defeat.
When the pair reaches the end of the hallway, Jisung feels the beginnings of that strange atmosphere he’d felt earlier creep around him. What the fuck? He wastes little time, reaching up on his tiptoes to grab the chain connected to the attic door.
“Let me go first, Sung,” Changbin says from behind him.
Jisung ignores him and begins ascending the stairs, the air getting heavier around him the farther he climbs. Just in case there is actually someone living up here, he stops when his head enters the room. He figures it’s safer to look around this way first in case he does need to run away.
The light from the little window on the farthest wall does a shitty job at lighting the space, but Jisung is pretty sure there’s no one up here. No, the feeling he’d be feeling would be way different if there was a person watching him, more like a chill in his spine and less like he’s going to drown in his own lungs.
“There’s no one up here,” Jisung says loud enough for Changbin to hear, “no one living at least.”
Changbin groans from the hallway as Jisung climbs the rest of the way into the attic. There’s shit everywhere - art materials and music equipment and even a few workout items. If Jisung didn’t trust his senses as much as he does, he would think someone did actually live in this space.
“You’ve been watching too much Ghost Adventures with Bokkie,” Changbin is saying as he climbs up after him, “I think you’re genuinely starting to believe you’re the Korean Zak Bagans.”
“If anything, I’m the Korean Melinda Gordon,” Jisung says as he continues to scan the room. When Changbin doesn’t say anything back, the younger boy sighs and turns around.
“That’s the Ghost Whisperer,” he clarifies, “you’re Korean Zak Bagans since you’re both meatheads.”
“I could push you back down those stairs and make it look like an accident,” Changbin says before frowning again, “it feels weird as fuck up here.”
“Told you. Still think me and Bokkie are crazy?”
Changbin shrugs, “I’m on the fence.”
Jisung rolls his eyes once more and resumes examining the items around them. He feels like the gravity is drawing him to the art materials so he heads to that corner, sharpie covered fingertips grazing the canvases as he passes. There’s one acrylic painting of multi-colored daisies that catches his eye. He touches the necklace that rests on his clavicle, marveling at how the painting is nearly identical to the piece of jewelry he never takes off.
To his left, there’s another thud, and one of the canvases leaning against the wall with the window falls over with unnatural force. Changbin jumps and screams. Jisung tilts his head and spins to face his terrified friend.
“I like it here,” he states.
Changbin looks at him like he’s grown a second head, “You just saw the same thing I did, right?”
Jisung shrugs one shoulder and nods.
“And that made you like it here?” Changbin asks incredulously.
“Whatever’s in here, it’s not evil or anything,” Jisung reasons, “I think it’s just a dude. He looked around our age.”
“‘Looked?!’” Changbin exclaims, “you deadass saw a ghost and now you wanna move in with it?”
Jisung shrugs and nods again.
Changbin narrows his eyes, “Was he hot?”
Jisung scoffs, “What the fuck does that matter? He’s dead.”
Changbin nods with a hum and starts making his way back towards the stairs.
“Yongbok-ah,” he calls down.
“What happened?” Yongbok calls back, “You screamed. Did Jisung die?”
“No, he’s unfortunately still with us,” Changbin says, climbing his way back down the stairs, “but I think he wants to fuck a ghost.”
HJ
Hyunjin knows if the tables were turned, he’d be creeped the fuck out.
Granted, if he were in this Jisung person’s shoes, he would have hightailed it from this house fast from the showing alone, with Minho stomping around and knocking over Hyunjin’s paintings to try and scare them off. Hell, if he had actually seen Minho or even Chan while he was still alive, maybe he wouldn’t be as stuck as he currently is.
But alas, he is stuck. And now, on top of being dead and stuck, he’s fighting with his growing Jisung obsession.
Hyunjin didn’t mean to make a habit out of following him around, not at first. He’d just been curious about the dark-haired boy with his big headphones permanently attached to his head and his apparent ability to see Hyunjin. Hyunjin had just been testing the waters, checking that what he’d experienced with Jisung on that first day wasn’t a fluke. Checking quickly turned into double checking, and then triple checking, and in all of Hyunjin’s checking, he learned more about the boy that can see him.
Jisung cares about music, which was kind of obvious by the aforementioned headphones, but was made apparent by the guitars and midi keyboard and mountains of notebooks he’d piled onto the desk in Hyunjn’s old room. Sorry, in Jisung’s room.
Jisung cares about his friends, evidenced by the protective nature he shows for Yongbok, who’d moved into Jeongin’s old room, and the way he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to work out in the attic with Changbin even on nights when he’d fallen asleep late and slept fitfully.
Jisung cares about his dog, Bbama, though Hyunjin thinks he should probably pay more attention to the cute little fluff ball before Minho gives him doggy anxiety from hiding in corners and laughing when the animal growls and barks at him.
But above everything else, Jisung seems to care about him. When he’s home alone, he brings his acoustic guitar up to the attic, like he’s trying to keep Hyunjin company. He doesn’t outright talk to the air, but he does sing pretty songs and look around like he’s hoping to catch another glimpse of him. Hyunjin hasn’t been able to make contact again, too weak to solidify his form like he apparently can do accidentally, but he appreciates the sentiment.
He’d made sure that Changbin donated all of his fancy vases, stating matter-of-factly, “Ceramic isn’t an organic material. It’ll hurt him if he bumps into it or something.” Hyunjin hadn’t even known that anything could hurt him in his current state. He has to wonder how Jisung would know.
He’s caught Chan watching Jisung too, when the living boy is humming a melody and scribbling in one of his notebooks. Hyunjin remembers that music had been important to Chan when he was alive, too, and he wonders if it hurts his friend to see someone doing the things he no longer can.
Minho has started watching Jisung, too, but Hyunjin doesn’t have to wonder why.
“Minho, I’m not going to convince him to kill himself,” Hyunjin snaps from his seat on Changbin’s workout bench, “stop fucking bringing it up.”
Minho whistles and bounces on the ball he’s perched on, “Jesus, you’re testy today.”
Chan sighs and rolls on the floor from his back to his belly, “You’ve been bothering him with that batshit crazy suggestion for weeks now,” the eldest points out, “do you really blame him?”
“Why is it batshit crazy?” Minho asks, “Jinnie’s, like, obsessed with him and wants to smooch him. The only way that can happen is if he’s dead, too.”
“Once again,” Chan says in a measured tone, “I am reminding you that being dead is not a good thing.”
“Says you,” Minho sniffs.
“Says any normal sane person with a conscience,” Hyunjin amends.
“I was never a normal sane person with a conscience to begin with,” Minho replies easily.
“We know,” Hyunjin and Chan say simultaneously.
“You two will never appreciate my beautiful, twisted mind,” Minho sighs dramatically. He slides on his back across the exercise ball until he lands on the floor with a thud, the ball rolling from beneath his shoulders and bouncing across the room.
“Yah, keep it down up there!” Changbin yells from the living room, “I’m in a meeting and I don’t want them to know I live with Casper!”
Minho’s eyes light up and Hyunjin doesn’t have to try hard to hear the blaring TIME TO FUCK SHIT UP! thoughts that are circling his mind.
“Don’t,” he says in warning, “or I will find a way to get in contact with Kim Seungmin.”
Minho pouts, “Et tu, Brutus?” he asks, lip trembling.
“Sometimes, I agree with him. You need to be put down,” Hyunjin deadpans.
“Whatever,” Minho huffs, “I just think it’s a waste of time to follow him around like a sad puppy when you can just make him yours. It’s not like it’s hard.”
“Minho,” Chan says, voice on edge.
“And another thing,” Minho continues as if he didn’t hear, “I’m kind of bothered that they only acknowledge your presence,” he says while looking at Hyunjin, “it’s like, am I not spreading around enough negative energy?”
“That's definitely not it,” Chan responds, “you’re like a hole in the ozone layer and all your bad energy is greenhouse gas.”
“Aw,” Minho says earnestly, “thank you so much.”
“It’s ‘cause Jisung was able to see me that first day, They like, know for a fact that I’m here,” Hyunjin says with a sigh, “I wish I knew how I did it so I can do it again.”
“Maybe you didn’t do it,” Chan suggests.
Hyunjin looks at him questioningly.
“I mean, what if it was something Jisung did?” Chan adds, “you heard Yongbok that first day, he’s sensitive to spiritual stuff apparently. Plus, he’s got all those candles and crystals and metaphysical guidebooks and shit. Maybe he’s a mage like Seungmin.”
“Oh, so now Kim’s promoted to first name basis?” Minho asks the ceiling, “are you guys gonna ask him to move in after you ask him to banish me from existence?”
“Please, Min,” Chan says, “Focus. If Jisung is a mage and he seems pretty okay with knowing there’s at least one dead person in his house, maybe he can help us.”
Minho looks at the eldest spirit blankly.
“Help us do what?” he asks.
Chan looks back with a frown, “Move on? Actually go to the afterlife?”
“I like it here, though,” Minho says simply, “afterlife seems boring.”
Chan sighs heavily and looks back at Hyunjin.
“See if you can make contact with him again. You were the best at speaking with Jeongin in a way that wasn’t terrifying,” he emphasizes the last part while glancing at Minho, “and you did that easily.”
“That was different, though,” Hyunjin says in a small voice, “I just wanted to be Jeongin’s friend. And he could never really…see me, you know.”
“So, you’re confirming that you want Jisung to see you so you can smooch him and make him yours,” Minho asks, pretending that he's writing the information down.
“Kill yourself. Oh wait…,” Hyunjin responds immediately. His look of fake pondering devolves into cackles as Minho launches across the floor in his direction. He hits Hyunjin with his shoulder and they both go toppling over the edge of the bench, knocking over easels and tussling around as they play fight. The thoughts radiating from Chan are exasperated but fond, even when Minho pins Hyunjin’s hands above his head and hisses at him.
“What the fuck is going on up here?” Changbin shouts, footsteps clomping up the stairs. Hyunjin looks over just in time to see him emerge from the floor with a Bible held in front of his face.
“What the fuck,” Minho guffaws. He rolls off of Hyunjin, reaches for a small rubber ball that had long been discarded in a corner and waits until Changbin is standing timidly in the room. Then, Minho throws it at him. It bounces off of the living man’s chest and he squeals, spinning to face the corner that the object had come from with the Bible outstretched.
“Shit, I don’t remember any prayers,” Changbin mutters.
Minho floats to where the man stands and passes through him so that he’s hovering behind his back. Hyunjin watches a visible chill run through Changbin’s body and he actually feels bad for him.
“You really shouldn’t curse while holding a Bible, Changbin-ah,” Minho whispers into the living man’s ear.
Hyunjin thinks the bloodcurdling scream that Changbin lets out as he tosses his Bible would’ve obliterated his eardrums if he still had them.
“Oh my God, it knows my name, it knows my name, what the fuck,” he spills out, rushing back to the hatch in the floor and basically doing a fireman’s slide down the retractable staircase. “Han Jisung!” he shouts when he’s landed in the hall, “we need to talk now!”
JS
“Okay, Mr. Handsome Ghost. Tell me what you want.”
Jisung feels insane.
Granted, he usually feels a certain level of crazy on a good day, but right now? He’s talking to the nothing that definitely is something in his attic because his best friend told him he’d call a priest if Jisung couldn’t come to some sort of agreement or truce or…treaty? He doesn’t remember the exact word Changbin used but he does know he feels like a fucking lunatic at the current moment.
“Please,” he pleads with the air, “I keep trying to tell him you’re cool but whatever happened last time Binnie was up here was too far. He’s gonna try to figure out how to get rid of you if you don’t chill out or at least let me help.”
No response. Typical.
In the days following whatever happened to genuinely terrify Changbin, Jisung hasn’t been able to feel much energy up here. Changbin refuses to enter the room ever again, opting to re-open his gym membership and wake up before the sun to drive there. Yongbok never even tried to enter, too scared of the bumps and shuffles that come filtering all too often through the ceiling. So it’s just been Jisung coming up here to keep Mr. Handsome Ghost company. The thought of leaving him alone after at least two years of forced isolation makes Jisung’s heart pang.
He just needs to figure out how to reason with him.
“Can you show yourself again?” Jisung tries, mumbling, “did you do it by accident last time?”
A gust of autumn wind blows by outside, whistling as it rattles the window on the far wall.
“At least tell me your name?” he asks, scratching at the back of his neck, “it’s getting kind of embarrassing calling you Mr. Handsome Ghost. Not really helping with the whole ‘Changbin-thinks-I-wanna-fuck-a-ghost’ situation I’m dealing with.”
He’s not kidding with the last part; Changbin has been convinced since the showing that Jisung is having some sort of supernatural love affair with their poltergeist. Jisung’s unconventional nickname for their unofficial roommate doesn’t help, and the small presents they’ve been finding scattered around Jisung’s usual spots of the house add insult to injury.
It’s mostly just been little origami animals - a crane on his desk, a fish next to the Keurig in the kitchen. Just this morning, he’d found a neatly folded rabbit in his hoodie pocket. Once, they’d found an apple resting on Jisung’s designated couch blanket, conveniently on a day that he’d spent locked in his room working on music and foregoing meals. Yongbok has started calling them courting gifts. Jisung wants to melt into the floor every time his friend uses the term.
“Okay,” Jisung says, “I’m gonna work out now. If you want to talk, I’m here.”
Pushing his glasses up into his hair, Jisung pulls his hoodie off and heads to the pull up bar. Maybe if he just goes about his day like normal it’ll make Mr. Handsome Ghost more comfortable. Hopefully.
Ten reps in, he catches a glimpse of something in his peripheral. He drops down and shakes his arms out, examining the area for a beat before hopping back up.
Twenty reps in, there’s the sound of footsteps on the wood, steady in their stride, heading directly towards him. He drops down and stretches his shoulders. He doesn’t think too much about the tingle of some kind of energy he feels on the back of his neck, simply changes his stance so he’s facing the opposite direction. He hops back up.
Twenty six reps in, he’s face to face with a see through boy in cherry-patterned pajama shorts.
HJ
Watching Jisung tumble to the ground after making him feel…whatever that feeling was was not what Hyunjin expected when he’d walked over.
“Holy shit, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m good,” Jisung says hurriedly, scrambling from where he’d fallen off the pull up bar into a standing position.
“Hi,” the living boy says breathlessly. His round wire glasses are askew in his hair and his big t-shirt is shifted to the side, right collarbone and spackling of freckles on display, “I’m Jisung.”
“Hi. I know. I’m Hyunjin,” he replies. He sounds…weird to his own ears, but he figures any spirit would sound weird when they’re speaking face to face with a living person for the first time in years.
“Hyunjin,” Jisung repeats, “how are you?”
Before Hyunjin can answer, Jisung quickly smacks himself on the forehead, “actually,” he says with a frown, “Don’t answer that. That was a dumb as fuck question, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Hyunjin replies, “Thank you for asking. I’m okay today.”
“That’s good, that’s good,” Jisung answers. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats and grimaces before asking, “were you not okay that day Binnie came up here?”
“Oh, that wasn’t even me,” Hyunjin says with an eye roll, temporarily forgetting that he’s talking to a human that cannot see his two companions and not a long lost friend, “that was Minho being a bothersome shit, per usual.”
“What?” Jisung says, eyes going wide, mouth hanging open in a horrified little ‘o,’ “you’re not the only ghost here?”
“Oh,” Hyunjin responds. Remembering his reality always hits him like a bucket of ice water, and he drops down to sit on the wood with a gentle thud, “no, there’s two others.”
“Fuck,” Jisung whispers. He reaches into his hair and fiddles to free his glasses, pushing them onto his face with trembling hands as he wanders to the bench to sit, “two?”
Hyunjin sighs, “did you really think it would be possible for me to make as much noise as you guys hear? I’m too tired to bounce off the walls like that.”
“Yeah, but like,” Jisung says anxiously, “I thought you were wrongfully murdered or something. I figured that would make you pissed enough to bang around up here constantly.”
Hyunjin looks at the boy and feels bad for him. He looks overwhelmed and scared as shit, biting at his bottom lip nervously and looking at Hyunjin like he’s afraid the dead boy will pounce on him. It doesn’t make Hyunjin feel nearly as good as he’d felt five minutes ago.
“That’s all mostly Minho. He just likes making people scared. Though, technically, you're not wrong,” Hyunjin points out, “I did die wrongfully. But it was my own fault.”
Jisung frowns, releasing his lip from between his teeth, “what do you mean?”
“I accidentally overdosed on sleeping pills. I was having a lot of fucked up dreams or whatever and took too many trying to knock myself out. I guess you could say I succeeded,” Hyunjin confesses. He realizes, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this is the first time he’s said the sentence out loud in two years. He hasn’t really had a reason to, since Minho and Chan already know and understand because it happened to them, too.
“Oh,” Jisung says in a breath. His eyes soften as he continues to look at Hyunjin, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
Hyunjin shrugs one transparent shoulder, “it’s fine. I’m used to it now.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure it still sucks for you,” Jisung says, expressive eyes shining with a saddened glint, “you look like you’re my age.”
“How old are you?” Hyunjin asks.
“I just turned 23,” Jisung answers.
As Hyunjin realizes that yes, I was your age, he feels something. It feels like how he remembers his heart felt, beating dully in his chest. That can’t be right, though. He reaches up a hand and places it where his heart used to beat, frowning.
“What? What’s wrong?” Jisung asks. He shifts on the bench as if he meant to reach out and help, but he hesitates.
“Nothing,” Hyunjin says. The feeling is gone just as quickly as it had come. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Jisung says earnestly, “how old are you?”
“Older than you,” Hyunjin grins, dropping his hand, “I would’ve been 23 in March.”
Jisung snorts, “Well, sorry,” he says sarcastically, “do you want me to call you hyung?”
“God, no,” Hyunjin says with a grimace, “I’m just a baby.”
Jisung laughs outright at that, tossing his head back and exposing the column of his neck, “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Hyunjin blinks, feeling that feeling again, and hums in acknowledgement.
The silence they sit in is comfortable. Hyunjin has gotten used to sitting in silence with Jisung over the months of his residence. Jisung seems to as well, even though he might not have known just often Hyunjin was with him.
“What about the others?” the living boy asks, “you said there were two? How old are they?”
“Yeah,” Hyunjin answers, “Chan died when he was 22 in 2013. He’d be 32 now and he doesn’t let us forget it because he acts like it. I just treat him like a dad. Minho is the other one, he died when he was 20, like me, but in 2018. So he would be like…25? He’s the one that scared Changbin, but he was just being annoying and making fun of him because he came up here with a Bible.”
“What?” Jisung snickers, “Seriously? A Bible?”
Hyunjin nods somberly, “I thought he was gonna start saying ‘the power of Christ compels you’ at one point.”
Jisung laughs again and it makes Hyunjin smile.
“So what did Minho do?” Jisung asks, “Changbin literally won’t talk about it. All he says is ‘it knows my name’ all ominous and shit.”
“Dramatic,” Hyunjin scoffs, “he just floated through him and called him out for cussing while holding the Lord’s book.”
“Oh my God,” Jisung says, doubling over with how hard he’s laughing, “I’m giving him so much shit, seriously?”
“Seriously!” Hyunjin says, “I mean, I get that the ‘floating through him’ part was too far but everything else was tame compared to what I’ve seen Minho do.”
“Oh,” Jisung sighs out, laughter tapering off, “I wish I had seen that.”
“You were home that day but you were locked in your room. Quietly, so you weren’t working on music,” Hyunjin states, tilting his head, “what do you do in there all day?”
Jisung blushes and looks down at his shoes, “what, you don’t sit in my room and watch what I’m doing all day?” he asks the floor.
If Hyunjin still had skin and flowing blood, he’s sure he would be blushing, too.
“Not when your door is locked,” he says, voice small, “I figure that’s a clear signal that you want privacy, right?”
Jisung looks up at him with a smile. “Such a considerate ghost,” he says.
Hyunjin shrugs both shoulders now, “it’s the least I can do. I live here rent free.”
Jisung’s smile turns into a line as he takes a deep breath, “I have really bad social anxiety. Like, insanely bad social anxiety. New people make me anxious to a point where I panic but my panic makes me act like an asshole, so I try to avoid them. Changbin and Felix have been my friends since we were in grade school, so I’m fine around them. I just…feel too much around new people. So I do school and work and mostly everything from home.”
The way he explains it all sounds rehearsed to Hyunjin’s ears, like he's had to explain this over and over to too many people. Hyunjin feels that feeling again, his phantom heart aching for this living boy that is afraid to live.
“I’m sorry that’s happening to you,” Hyunjin says sadly.
Jisung puts on a nonchalant grin then, “Ah, it’s fine. I’m used to it now,” he echoes.
“But,” he says, his tone suggestive.
“But?” Hyunjin asks.
“If you want to keep me company more often, you can?” Jisung says. It sounds more like a question than a statement.
“Are you sure?” Hyunjin asks. He doesn’t want to become a nuisance. He can’t even bring himself to think about what would become of him if he drove Jisung away or worse, made him want to figure out a way to drive Hyunjin and his friends away.
“I think we’re both lonely,” Jisung says plainly, “I mean, I am. Sometimes.” He pauses, looks up to the ceiling, “that’s a lie. Most times. And I like your company.”
Hyunjin’s chest stirs. “I like your company, too.”
“Then it’s settled!” Jisung says with a clap, “you can hang out in my room anytime. Also, can you please tell Minho to lay off? He’s got my dog losing fur in patches and I think Yongbok has started wetting the bed again.”
Hyunjin winces, “I’m so sorry. Me and Chan both keep telling him to stop but he’s hard to reason with on a good day. I’ll try again whenever I see him.”
Jisung frowns, “is he not here right now?”
“Not in this room, no,” Hyunjin answers. He pauses for a moment and checks the house, mentally calling out to his troublemaking friend, “I think he’s in the basement. Someone’s doing laundry and he’s trying to mix reds with whites without them noticing.”
“Fuck,” Jisung mumbles, “his doboks. I gotta go.”
Hyunjin’s eyes widen as he watches Jisung run over to the hatch in the floor, throwing it open and starting his descent. When it’s just his head poking out of the hole, he looks back to Hyunjin with apologetic eyes.
“Please don’t hide from me again,” he says, “made me feel kind of crazy. I’ll see you later?”
Hyunjin just nods and tries not to think too hard about the faint thuds he’s feeling in his hollow chest.
Jisung nods back and climbs down without closing the hatch behind him. From a distance away, Hyunjin hears him yell,
“Yongbok-ah! Do not start the washer!”
Hyunjin’s phantom heart continues its ghost march.