Chapter Text
This is not your typical spooky ghost story. There is no blood ( "apart from Namjoon's when he hurts himself" ), nor is there deaths ( "well, what am I?" ). No one is being haunted ( "sometimes I feel like your toilets are— sorry.") or possessed by the ghost ( "what about when we—" )
Seokjin sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, his irritation clear in the lines of his face but especially in the way he shuts his eyes and purses his bow-shaped lips. Clearly, this was a bad idea. Everything about this current situation has been a bad idea from the start but letting himself get convinced that he should follow his dreams and write a book is really the cherry on top. He isn't even that good of a writer because it has been years since he has sat down in front of his laptop to do anything else but watch cooking shows or find new recipes or stalk his ex-boyfriend on social networks. His previous drafts are abandoned in some weirdly named folders, remaining untouched for god knows how long simply because he didn't have the self-confidence he could do it. He used to be good though; he remembers his first year in College where he got nothing but praises about his writing style but that was ages ago.
His dreams of becoming a novel writer have long vanished while reality settled in and bills needed to be paid. Searching for self-independence is good, his father had said the day Seokjin had announced he wanted to live on his own, but you have to make sure that you don't live with regrets, son. Well. He doesn't live with regrets per se, but this life isn't what he has dreamed of which is sadly normal. How many people are in the same situation as he is? Countless of them, Seokjin knows it just by looking at them as they board the bus he drives. Being a bus driver isn't the most rewarding job in the world but hey, he sees a lot of the city and he happens to encounter tons of different people. It could be worse, that's what he tells himself each time he feels like giving up. His parents aren't particularly proud of him but as long as he has a decent job that pays the bills, they're fine with it— they're much more interested and proud of their first son anyway, Seokjin's older brother, who is a famous movie director. Seokjin isn't jealous or envious: his brother has worked hard to get where he is now and he feels really proud of him when he reads all the positive reviews each time he releases a new movie. Barely thirty years old and already a prodigy in the making.
Seokjin likes not being under the spotlight though. It's nice to not being noticed.
"I'm just saying, it might be called being possessed— You should ask Namjoon, really."
"Yoongi, please. I'm not going to ask him about what it's called when we—"
"But he is smart! He spends his whole time around books. He is a librarian, for fuck's sake."
"Language. And no, I won't ask him. I really miss the times when you didn't talk much."
"That's not what you said last night."
Had it been anyone else, Seokjin probably would have kicked them hard or punched them in the shoulder. The only problem with his roommate is that he can't hurt him. Not that it has never crossed his mind - god, the number of times he has wanted to punch him square in the face during the first few weeks of their cohabitation — but he literally can not hurt him. Yoongi doesn't feel any pain. Even when he has accidentally tripped over his own feet and gripped at the pot of boiling water that ended up spilling all over him, he has felt nothing, not even a little bit of pain. Even when, after one particular wrong episode, Seokjin has ended up slapping him hard, Yoongi has felt nothing. Physically, at least.
The reason? Simple. He is a ghost. A very annoying, lazy and mocking ghost.
Seokjin still doesn't know why he is the only one able to see, hear and touch him. But he has stopped looking for an explanation and instead has gotten very good at listening to Yoongi's mocking comments all the while conversing with his friends. (Yoongi will never admit it, but he has grown fond of Seokjin's friends and his mocking comments have turned into advice that Seokjin can only agree with as he repeats them to his friends.) And in all honesty, Seokjin has grown used to Yoongi's presence by his side. He has grown used to the way he seems to pop out of nowhere when Seokjin less expects it and he has grown used to the way Yoongi complains about mundane things like the weather or some movie they've gone to see. But mostly, he has grown used to the way Yoongi curls himself against his chest at night, or the way his gums are showing and his eyes crinkling when he is truly happy. He has grown used to the way his shopping basket ends up full of snacks and over-sweet drinks Seokjin has tried to avoid for years.
Seokjin has always been honest with himself. When his brother got first in the whole school, he hasn't denied that he was more jealous than happy for his hyung. When Seokjin understood that he had a preference for men, he didn't lie to himself and accepted the fact that, some day, his parents will either reject him or be extremely disappointed that Seokjin isn't "normal". When he has got his job as a bus driver, he has accepted that he'll never be the writer he was dreaming to be.
So, when Seokjin watches Yoongi stretching on his couch like a lazy, old cat and then raising an eyebrow at him, he can admit to himself that he has fallen in love with a ghost. His roommate ghost. But that's not something he'll ever admit to anyone else but himself because he already knows that the end can only be painful in this situation. There will be no happy ending for Kim Seokjin. And it's okay, he thinks while he turns back to the screen of his laptop, crooked fingers hovering over the slightly dusty black keyboard, as long as Yoongi is here to stay, it'll be okay.
"What are you doing?" A low voice mumbles, the sound muffled by what is probably Seokjin's favorite pillow. A gift from his late grandmother and now Yoongi's favorite spot to nuzzle when on the couch.
"What you told me to do. I'm writing our story." Seokjin replies and his voice is much quieter than he has expected it to be. It's not that he is not confident, after all he can write just for himself and Yoongi to read. But with one glance towards the couch where Yoongi is blinking sleepily at him, blond bangs falling over his eyes and a tiny smile curling at the corner of his lips, Seokjin realizes that he is terrified... He is terrified that when he'll put a final dot to his work, it'll be then that Yoongi will vanish away and never come back to him.
"You're thinking too much."
"Shut up."
"Make me—" Seokjin rolls his eyes and plugs in his earphones all the while trying to ignore how Yoongi knows him so well now. His broad shoulders covered by a thin and old light grey tee-shirt slump a bit but he isn't long to straighten up; he doesn't want to catch Yoongi's attention when he is about to fall asleep, he knows that he will not hear the end of it if the old man can't nap because of him. Instead, he puts in the earphones and looks through the several playlists Yoongi has made; they all have silly titles like playlist for when you feel like an american popstar - aka I saw you lipsync to the Pussycat Dolls when you were cleaning up last time - or playlist for when you come back home from grocery shopping and an old woman stole your meat. But his favorite one is probably playlist for you...and me. Seokjin double-clicks on the folder and presses play, the first song being an instrumental score of the very first movie they've watched together. After reducing the player, Seokjin looks at the slow blinking dash on the white page for what seems to be an eternity as he waits for inspiration to strike. He thinks it'll never come and his attention shifts to the sleeping ghost on his couch. Yoongi looks very much real, Seokjin sighs inwardly and sometimes, it's painful when he reminds himself that Yoongi is not alive anymore. Turning back to his laptop, he stretches his long legs underneath his coffee table and leans back against the front of the couch, chewing on his lower lip. He might as well start from the beginning.
It was a day like any other. I woke up at six in the morning, when the sky is still covering the city with its overwhelming darkness and oppressing heavy clouds. I wondered if it was going to snow; it always did in December and it made my job much more difficult. Half-awake, I went to shower and spent an extra-minute under the warm water that felt like a blanket — I didn't have time to linger in the shower though and the cold air that welcomed me as I stepped out of it woke me up definitely. My mornings were pretty much all the same, I had a comfortable routine I didn't want to change; the extra-comfort of doing what I wanted whenever I wanted to because I was an adult living on my own never failed to make me smile. Certainly being a bus driver isn't all that easy and rewarding but... I never complained about it. I wouldn't say that I liked my job but I didn't dislike it either. It was okay.
After dressing up in my work clothes and fixing my brown locks, I shuffled to the kitchen and grabbed some leftover from the past night that I then ate while watching the news in the living room. But it always depressed me to hear about how wrongly turned the world so I quickly switched to another channel and found comfort in cartoons. They always found a solution and it always ended well. I always thought it was something nice to teach to children but then it saddened me when I realized that most of them would forget about this teaching due to reality as they grew up. Just like I did.
Work had been uneventful that day. I've been driving around Myungdeong's district all morning and because it was close to N Seoul Tower, there was a lot of tourists riding the bus. Well, not a lot but... There wasn't just Korean citizens and it was fascinating in a way. I liked hearing different languages and seeing the way tourists' faces lightened up each time I drove by a palace or a touristic place. And because it was winter, the bus felt less suffocating than during summer days where everyone was complaining of how stuffed and hot it felt.
I took my one hour break around one pm and after greeting my colleague, I went to wander through the streets for a moment to relax my body from sitting for too long before I made my way to the usual restaurant where I always ate. The ahjummas there liked me a lot because I always ate so happily, they said. They reminded me of my grandmother who always cooked too much food when I came to visit her and I couldn't refuse any of them the food they gave me.
Seokjin pauses, nostalgia washing over him as he thinks about his grandmother. He misses her every single day. He misses how she always hugged him and patted his back or how she looked at him with fondness when he was stuffing his mouth with food. He misses the way she was stroking his hair when she thought he was sleeping. Yoongi shifts behind him and Seokjin blinks several times, wondering why his eyes have turned moist. The last notes of a song fill his ears and when another one starts, one he recognizes immediately as the one they love to listen when it's raining, Seokjin finds himself smiling: Yoongi truly knows him best. Getting up, he goes to the kitchen to make himself a warm cup of tea and grabs the opportunity to stretch his arms and make the bones in his back pop pleasantly. Now that he thinks about it, it's been half a year since he knows Yoongi and that they've been cohabiting. It feels longer than that yet it feels like they've met just yesterday. He remembers the details clear as water and while he looks at the sugar dissolve in his hot water, Seokjin knows what he is going to write next.
Earphones back in his ears and the fuming hot tea by his side on the coffee table, Seokjin starts to write again without noticing that Yoongi has woken up and is watching him, cheek squished against his their favorite pillow.
The afternoon went uneventfully as well but it all changed at the end of my shift, when I closed the doors at the last bus stop after the last passenger had stepped out. Well, I thought it was the last passenger but I couldn't have been more wrong. I was ready to drive back to the bus station where the night team would come and one of my colleagues would take my seat when something caught my eyes in the rear-view mirror: someone was sleeping at the far back of the bus and I wondered how come I didn't notice them before. Maybe I was more tired than I thought, and rubbing my right eye, I cleared my throat to get a reaction from the man so he'd wake up and leave.
"Sir, please. This is the last stop." I announced politely but it got no reaction from the sleeping male. Sighing, I decided to go over there by myself and I made a face when I got up, my body complaining from sitting and driving for so long. Each time that happened - read every single day at the end of my shift - I dreamed of a relaxing and warm bubble bath. I didn't have one in years. Pushing all fantasies of sinking into warm water, I made my way over to the back of the bus and reached over to shake the man's shoulder but my hand stopped inches away from it as I looked at his face. He was handsome, I couldn't deny it. He had blond hair that fell right over his closed eyes. His face was pale - for a second, I wondered if he was sick given the slight crease between his dark eyebrows. His nose, his mouth, god, his whole face... Everything seemed so small about him. I remembered to not judge one's based on their appearances and after snapping myself out of it, I finally reached over to shake the man's shoulder gently. I barely touched him that his eyes snapped open and his body stiffened while he stared at me, something closer to shock than anger. What? Did he expect me to drive him back to the bus station or...?
"You can see me." The stranger blurted out and I found myself blinking in surprise at how low his voice was.
"Well, yes, of course I can see, sir. If you'd like to get off of the bus, it'd be—"
"It's the first time someone sees me and touches me." He cut me off and I straightened up, raising my eyebrows slightly. Either the guy was mentally disabled or else he had no friends. Both options saddened me but I didn't have time to linger on it that he stood up and stepped closer to me. I wanted to step back but I couldn't and I could only watch the blond-haired stranger; that's when I noticed the mix of fear and excitement in his eyes or the way his pale lips pursed in a way I deemed was thoughtful. "You can see me!" He exclaimed and my eyes widened once more in surprise. "That's amazing. I've been wandering around for a hellish long time and finally, finally someone is seeing me!"
"Well, how can I not see you? You're right in front of me." I eventually replied after a moment of silence, unsure of how to address this situation. This guy now obviously had some mental problem and I could always bring him to the nearest hospital so they could take care of him properly but inside of me, I knew that it wasn't how the day wasn't going to end. No, something much bigger was happening and I just didn't know what it was yet. "If you're lost, maybe I could call someone who would come and pick you up? I've finished work so I'd like it if I could go home knowing you're somewhere safe."
The stranger's eyes darkened with something akin to pain but it disappeared as soon as it appeared, leaving me with questions dying at the tip of my tongue. Now wasn't the time to deal with someone else's business. I had enough on my plate already. "I have no one to call." He said in a way I thought was too detached, as if he was trying to hide something... "I'm going to tell you something but please promise me to not freak out. It's very important, especially since you can see me and talk with me and god, I haven't had a conversation with someone alive in forever."
Wait, what? I cocked my head to the side, confused. What in hell was he saying? Someone alive? And what is he, dead? I shook my head and was about to turn around to go back to my driver seat when he caught my arm: god, he was freezing. It startled me and I turned back towards him, furrowing my eyebrows slightly. Even through the three layers of clothes I was wearing I could feel how cold he was. Was he badly sick? Maybe that's why he hadn't talked with anyone...? I didn't know. Nothing was making sense at the moment and I just wanted to be back at my place, curled on my couch while I watched whatever was on television. Not having a senseless conversation with a stranger. Removing my arm gently from his grip - what if he was a serial killer? - I said nothing and waited for him to keep going with his nonsense.
"You're not going to believe me, I already know it but please... Just listen, okay?" I nodded. He inhaled sharply, as if he was about to do some life-changing declaration. "My name is Min Yoongi, and... I... I'm a ghost. Don't freak out! I know it sounds surreal but... Like I said, I've been wandering around for a very long time, a few years maybe give or take. Nobody ever saw me, only cats. And sometimes, babies. But you know how adults are. They've forgotten all about dreams, fantasy and supernatural stuff. But you can see me... You've touched me! And I can prove it to you that I'm dead, really. Maybe you'll believe me, then."
I stared. I don't know for how long but I stared at this stranger who claimed that he was a ghost and after debating whether to call the police or not, I just chose to play along to see until where he was willing to go to make me believe he was a ghost. That was going to be funny, I thought and I lifted my chin up a bit, encouraging him to keep going. The genuine hope that appeared on his face kind of made me feel bad.
"Okay, so first of all... I don't have a reflection." He announced and pointed with his thumb towards the window. I glanced over and my blood ran cold when I could only see myself. Okay, that was weird. A probably very well done trick. Yeah, that was it. "Second of all, uh, I can walk through solid things, like, the doors of his bus. And people can walk through me too."
"Like in Harry Potter, you mean?" I raised an eyebrow and he nodded several times before he walked towards the doors. I told myself that the slight transparency of his body was because of my exhaustion. Maybe I needed a few days off. But then... Well, he walked through the doors. Just like this. My eyes widened and my heart started to pound against my chest as fear rushed through my veins. That didn't make any sense. Ghosts didn't exist! I stumbled backwards just as he came back and when he took a step forward, I stretched my arm out, shouting, "Don't come closer!"
That was the first time I hurt him. I could never forget his expression at that time.
"I know it's scary but..." His voice was quieter, almost soothing. And even if he was standing away from me, away from reach, it didn't take me long to start and calm down. I needed to think about this situation somewhere else than in the bus— God, the night shift! I was going to be in so much trouble! Groaning, I stood up and made my way towards the driver seat, silently thankful that he stepped aside when I passed by him. He was thoughtful, for a ghost. But then what did I know about them? About him? Maybe I was just dreaming. All those thoughts filled my mind and before I realized, we had reached the bus station where I apologized profusely to my boss and colleagues. Luckily, I hadn't done anything wrong for the five years I worked there so they let me go easily... But without forgetting to tell me that it was the first and last time it happened. "Assholes." A voice muttered next to me and I jumped, gasping loudly which earned me confused gazes from the passerbys. I looked several times between them and the ghost but they didn't seem to see him which only confirmed his story once more.
"I'm going to wake up. It's only a dream. I'm going to wake up and go through my morning routine and I'll even reward myself with some delicious cake from the bakery down the street—" I pinched my cheek hard for good measure but no, I didn't wake up in my bed. I looked back at the ghost and after glancing around to make sure no one was watching, I reached over and poked his round cheek lightly. He chuckled.
"Woah." We both said at the same time, me amazed that I could touch him and he probably shocked that he was being touched. That was most likely when we both realized that we were going to spend a lot of time together from that moment on. I didn't know if he had a place to stay originally but I didn't ask and instead let him walk home with me. We didn't talk much, everything had been so overwhelming that it felt like my brain had melted and I couldn't think anymore. I would ask him later since I was pretty sure he'd still be around. And as I laid in bed hours later, staring up at my ceiling, I couldn't help myself but to feel immensely sad at the thought of how lonely he probably had felt during all those years. I barely knew him but I thought that nobody should ever be feeling like this especially after death. It seemed like torture. I turned on my side and curled up, my eyes closing. I fell asleep with a heavy heart and something cold brushing my cheek.
A earbud is removed from Seokjin's left ear and he comes back to reality, his hazel orbs finding immediately Yoongi's questioning ones. They both smile and Seokjin turns the laptop slightly towards the ghost, his expression filled with anticipation and excitement but also a touch of fear: what if what he has written isn't just good enough? What if Yoongi dislikes it? What if, in some way, he has distorted the reality? Pushing his insecurities aside, he takes the second earbud out and settles his earphones on the coffee table next to the almost empty mug of tea. "I've written for a bit."
Yoongi nods and grabs the laptop that he places on his lap as he leans back against the couch. It almost feels domestic, Seokjin thinks and his cheeks flush which he hopes Yoongi will think of as his embarrassment or something like that. But Yoongi doesn't even look at him, he reads slowly and non-perturbed by anything else going on around him. That's one of the things Seokjin likes about him: when Yoongi is focused on something, nothing else can distract him and sometimes... He pleases himself by thinking that Yoongi happens to be solely focused on him. That's probably a silly fantasy but hey, a man can dream. Eventually, Yoongi moves and leans forward to put the laptop back on top of the coffee table under Seokjin's expectant eyes. His heartbeat increases a bit and his teeth are digging into his lower lip when they lock eyes, Yoongi's unreadable. And then, well, he doesn't say a word. He flops limply on Seokjin's lap and closes his eyes again, like the old man that he is.
"Really? You're not going to say anything?" Seokjin says in disbelief and tugs at a blond strand to get the other's attention. Yoongi groans and pokes Seokjin's rib cage as a revenge. He squeaks, then squishes the ghost's cheeks and soon enough, they're both rolling around in the small living room, bumping into furniture and walls as they try to make the other give up mostly with tickles. They're both laughing so hard, something Seokjin wouldn't have thought would be possible when they first met.
They both stop rolling around when they're laughing too much to be able to do something else and Yoongi is burying his face against Seokjin's shoulder, tears of laughter forming at the corner of his eyes and his thin body shaking. Seokjin pokes his sides gently for good measure but it isn't long before he is wrapping his arms around Yoongi and they slowly start to calm down, soft chuckles still slipping past their lips but otherwise, quietness fills the room once more, like it happens so many times.
"So you thought I was mentally disabled?" Yoongi asks after a while and lifts his head up to look at Seokjin whose face turns even redder. He raises an eyebrow, waiting.
"You said you were a ghost!" Seokjin protests and resists the urge to pout. He is fifty-five, dammit.
Yoongi chuckles quietly, the sound making his chest rumble. Seokjin almost believes that he is alive. "You're so cute."
"I'm going to kill you."
"I'm dead already but you can always try. Good luck."
Seokjin pushes Yoongi out of him and gets up, stomping away to his bedroom in a pretended angry way. He faintly hears Yoongi protesting out in the living room and even though it makes him smile faintly, Seokjin is unable to ignore the lingering sadness that seems to keep him company lately. His hand finds its way to his chest where he feels his heart beat fast and he remembers how Yoongi doesn't have a heartbeat. Leaning against the door, he closes his eyes and bites down on his lower lip.
What kind of idiot falls in love with a ghost anyway?