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Minho exhaled as he raked his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair.
Fucking finally.
He was home. Well, kind of. Minho wasn’t sure he could call this place home. It was just someplace where he could sleep and eat.
It wasn’t necessarily a home at all.
But it was good enough.
Minho needed to settle down, regardless of where it was. It wasn’t like he had the money to afford any place else anyway.
The feeling in the pit of Chan’s stomach was overwhelming. Why did people insist on living here even with the horrible leaks and noisy pipes? And if that wasn’t enough to scare people away, what about the rumors? The ghosts.
Chan exhaled in annoyance as the man finished piling boxes into the apartment before flopping onto the dusty couch with a relieved sigh of his own.
Why was he relieved? This place was a dump. And Chan had done everything he could to keep people out of there.
So why the fuck was this person here?
Chan watched the man for a while before growling under his breath and making his way to the boxes on the counter.
Fine. If this man had insisted despite the rumors, Chan would make him leave. It wasn’t like he’d never convinced people to leave before this.
So fuck it.
Chan shoved the box off of the counter hard, pots and pans clanging across the wooden floor.
Minho jolted awake as the sound of banging filled his ears, heart racing as he pulled himself up from the couch to look at the floor beside him.
“What the fuck…” Minho frowned to himself as he slid off of the couch to collect the pots that had fallen. He must have overstocked the boxes or something. Either that or he’d put the boxes too close to the edge.
After Minho had put the pans back into the box on the floor he looked over the boxes in the house. He had a lot of unpacking to do.
Chan figured this human was beyond stupid. It had been a week since the man called Minho had managed to unpack everything. Despite Chan’s efforts, Minho was acting like this was home sweet home.
Even with all of the tiny things chan had done, Minho persisted. And it was aggravating. Because this wasn’t Minho’s home. It was Chan’s. It would always be his.
Chan had died in this house years ago. It wasn’t Minho’s. It would never be Minho’s.
Another week and Minho was still in the house. Chan had done all but revealed himself. He didn’t want to go that far unless he had to. But it seemed like Minho wasn’t giving him much choice now.
So Chan took the opportunity to creep up behind Minho as he was shaving. Maybe he’d leave if he saw the reflection of Chan’s pale face in the mirror. Chan just hoped he didn’t frighten Minho to death. He knew he looked scary. He knew that his body had been found quite some time after his death. He was aware of how grotesque and pale he looked.
God. He did not want another roommate.
Minho sighed as he shaved under his chin, eyes fixated on the mirror.
Living in this house had been rough. Minho almost thought the place was haunted by the amount of times he’d had things thrown at him. But ghosts were not real. And it wasn’t like they would scare Minho away even if they were. Besides, this was the only place he could afford on his own. He didn’t want a roommate. He couldn’t do an apartment. He wanted solitude.
Even if something was constantly disturbing that solitude.
And as Minho grazed the razor along the hairs at his neck he finally got a glimpse of what was harassing him for the past few weeks.
The cold and ghastly stare from behind him. The face that was covered in bruises and slashes. Minho thought he’d caught the glimpse of the devil for a moment before realization struck and he found himself turning with a cold sweat, nothing behind him.
Maybe he was just seeing things.
Minho caught his breath before turning again, only to drop his razor into the sink below with a shocked cry, eyes glued to the same image staring right back at him.
Was he having a nightmare?
The monstrous image of a man tilted its head before reaching through the mirror and sending Minho back against the shower curtain, Minho clinging to the cloth as the reflection dragged itself through the mirror, bloody hands leaving a pink residue on the sink.
“What the fuck…” Minho repeated before looking at the intruder in the eye, breath hitching as he caught the glimpse of humanity in the cold eyes.
“Boo.” The being whispered after a moment, sending Minho screaming and falling back into the tub, the only comfort being the shower curtain he’d ripped from the bar.
Minho watched the man stare down at him before his eyes wandered along their form.
This thing—this man, he was covered in cuts and bruises. His skin was a pale white and his hands were dripping with blood.
Minho wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything so horrible.
And then the man stepped closer, “leave this home forever.”
Minho was frozen, his eyes reaching the other man’s again.
And maybe it was stupid to say something so bold. But he did it anyway.
“Make me.”
Chan had never had a human talk back to him before. He figured he was just glad Minho hadn’t smacked his head in the tub and died. He did not need a roommate.
“Excuse me?” Chan’s demeanor shifted.
And so did Minho’s.
“I said make me. This is my house. I don’t know if I’m dreaming or if you’re some sort of ghost but I’m not going anywhere.”
Chan twitched for a moment before leaning down, Minho swallowing hard as he looked at Chan, “get out.”
“What are you gonna do, kill me?” Minho spat back before scrambling up from the messy curtain, creeping around Chan and making his way towards the door, his eyes never leaving Chan, “I dare you.”
Chan wasn’t about to do that. This was his home. There was only room for one of them.
“Get out of my house.” Chan grimaced, tightening his fists.
“No way. I can’t afford anywhere else, stupid ghost.”
Stupid?!
Chan took a step towards Minho, the human inching back against the door in fear.
He was scared. But he wasn’t budging.
“This place is not anyone else’s home.”
“So why is it yours?!”
Chan wasn’t about to go into that. He wasn’t sure why he was still here. His body had been found years ago.
“It’s always been my home. I died here. This is my home.”
“Well it was for sale. I bought it fair and square.”
Chan approached Minho fast, the human shutting his eyes tight as Chan slammed his hand against the door, “get out. This is not your home.”
Minho was shaking, but his words didn’t match his actions.
“No.”
What the fuck was Chan supposed to do?
“You can’t die here. You can’t live here.” Chan whispered, inching his face so close that he drew a whimper from the other man.
“I’m not l-leaving.”
Chan grit his teeth, he couldn’t have this. He didn’t want it.
“I don’t care where you go,” Chan spat, “but you can’t stay here.”
Minho slipped away from Chan and out the door, Chan following the man as he made his way into his living room.
“You can’t stay here.” Chan repeated as the man made his way to his couch.
“Can you stop leaking pink stuff all over the place… I have to clean that,” Minho asked shakily.
“Blood? No. I can’t. And I won’t. Now leave.”
Minho turned to Chan, eyes of fear shifting to fire, “I can’t. I have nowhere else to go. I don’t know if this is a sick twisted dream or what, but I can’t.”
“Live in your car. I don’t care what you do.”
“It’s the dead of winter and my heater is broken. I can’t afford to even fix that. This place was so beyond cheap and they even offered to pay my utilities for the first year because literally nobody wanted to stay here.”
“Minho—.”
“No, shut up. This is my house now. I’m not going anywhere.” Minho paused before swallowing hard, “and don’t say my name.”
Chan swallowed, “well I can’t go anywhere either.”
Minho inhaled sharply, “I’ll leave you alone if you leave me alone.”
“This is my home. You can’t—.”
“Well I am. Now leave me alone. I need to watch a funny movie after that shit you pulled in the bathroom.”
Chan blinked in annoyance as Minho settled into the couch and turned on some random movie.
Fuck.
Yeah, Minho was a little nauseous having a ghost living in the house with him. At first Minho thought that the ghost had been a sick nightmare. But unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Minho found himself living with an actual ghost.
And he could tell someone, but what would that do? It wasn’t like he had a choice.
The ghost was terrifying on the surface, but he didn’t do anything to Minho. He was annoying and Minho hated cleaning up trails of pink every day, but he refused to leave.
Time passed and eventually the ghost behaved himself. Minho wouldn’t find trails of pink and Minho tried his best to steer clear of the ghost.
Even if it became a little scary at times.
Minho learned that the ghost's name was Chan. He didn’t want to pry and look into his death. He figured that might upset the ghost. But whatever had happened must have been gruesome. Chan had cuts all over his face like he’d been carved with a knife. And he looked so beaten that Minho almost wanted to look further into his death to find who could have possibly done that to him.
Ghosts took on the appearance they had when they died apparently, and their body gets more ghastly with the time it takes to find them. Minho wasn’t sure why Chan had told him all of that. Or why he was still haunting the house if his body had been laid to rest.
It didn’t make sense to him.
“Do you want to watch a movie with me?” Minho asked out of the blue one night as he was eating.
Chan came and went. He would make himself known at times while usually just keeping to himself. And as Minho glanced around the dining room he finally caught Chan beside the fridge.
“Movie?”
“Why?”
“It would be nice.” Minho whispered as he settled his spoon down onto the table, “any movie you’ve been wanting to see at all. Or your favorite.”
Chan frowned, “why?”
Minho pulled away from the table, making his way to Chan slowly. He was still a little scared of him. Despite Chan’s harmless demeanor, he still looked frightening. Minho wished that the appearance of the ghost didn’t make him so anxious.
“If we’re going to live here in the same house, we might as well get along better.”
Minho reached his hand out slowly, finding it extremely unnerving that he could feel the coldness at Chan’s wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Let’s just watch a movie.” Minho pulled his fingers away, keeping his head low before he turned and made his way into the living room.
Chan wasn’t sure how he felt about minho touching him. Part of him thought it was fine. It was just Minho touching him.
But the other part found it unnerving.
Minho had put on an action movie that Chan had died before being able to see. It wasn’t as good as Chan hoped, but it kept their attention.
Living with Minho hadn’t been as scary as Chan thought. Minho was nice. And they got along decently well. It was actually alarming how well Chan and Minho got along despite their usual silence. Minho wasn’t a bad roommate.
“How did you die?”
The question was sudden and if Chan could vomit, he probably would have.
“What?”
“How did you die, Chan?”
When Chan turned, Minho was actually looking him in the eye. Chan knew that Minho was frightened by his appearance, but somehow he was actually looking at him.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I’m curious.” Minho whispered, pausing the movie to turn himself to face Chan properly. “What happened? When?”
Chan shuddered before averting his eyes and glimpsing down at his bloody hands.
How was he supposed to tell Minho?
“I just… I don’t understand why anyone would hurt someone like this.”
Chan’s chest tightened.
“My roommate…”
Chan took a deep breath before looking into Minho’s shaky pupils, “my roommate killed me.”
Minho was alarmed to hear Chan’s story. His roommate had killed him in their home and left him to rot in a closet. Apparently they had a lot of problems and only lived together for convenience and because of money.
But Chan’s roommate was a hot head who snapped one day and took a kitchen knife to Chan’s face. After a heavy fight that left them both beaten and bruised, Chan had lost. And his roommate had stabbed and tossed him away. And apparently he moved out and Chan wasn’t found until months later.
Hearing Chan’s recollection of the accident helped Minho understand why Chan didn’t want anyone else living there.
Chan didn’t want a new roommate.
Because the last one had killed him.
“I’m so sorry… did they ever—.”
“No.” Chan whispered flatly, “not that I know of. I don’t think they ever got caught… It's not a big deal. You asked and I told you.”
“Do you think that’s why you’re still here?”
Chan pulled away from the couch, sadness lingering in his eyes, “I don’t know. Please leave it be.”
“Chan, he deserves to be—.”
Chan disappeared. And maybe Minho had pressed it too much after Chan had finished telling him everything.
Minho’s chest was tight.
Chan wasn’t sure why what he’d said to Minho had affected him so much. He had gotten over it. It happened years ago. Nearly a decade. It didn’t matter anymore.
So why was Chan feeling so hot despite being so fucking cold?
Chan inhaled as he watched Minho find his way into his bed. He could see that Minho felt bad for asking him about things earlier. And maybe Chan felt bad for leaving so suddenly.
But he was hurt. And he wasn’t really sure why. Minho hadn’t done anything to him. He was actually sweet to be around—why was this bothering him so much?
Chan crossed his arms over his chest, watching as Minho slept. He didn’t mean to seem so upset. Chan felt like the walls around him were getting smaller.
Guilt?
Chan didn’t know.
Chan avoided Minho for the next few days. He kept himself hidden despite Minho trying to start conversations with him out of the blue. Half the time Chan wanted to respond, but he couldn’t find the courage to do so.
Minho didn’t stop striking conversation even after a month had passed. And Chan wasn’t sure why. Minho should have been overjoyed to have Chan leaving him alone. But instead Minho continued to try and talk to Chan.
Why?
Minho couldn’t believe how attached he’d grown to the ghost.
He found himself worrying about Chan every day. And it had been a month since he’d last seen Chan. Minho hadn’t pried further into what had happened to Chan, and Chan hadn’t made himself known for quite some time.
He missed Chan. He missed the ghost that would wander around and watch movies and talk to him.
Chan was a decent roommate despite the odd circumstances. And minho wished he’d never asked about how Chan had died.
Clearly it had hurt him.
Sometimes Minho thought that Chan may have left or moved on. But there were little reminders that he was still there. Like the pots that would move for no reason and the puddles in the hallway.
Chan was still there. He just refused to show himself.
Minho could feel the loneliness settling in after another week. Despite going to classes and talking to the few friends he had, coming home was… lonesome. And Minho missed Chan.
“Chan… I know you won’t come out,” Minho settled on the couch, pushing his school books away as he propped his feet onto the coffee table and wrapped himself in his blanket, “but I hope you’re okay. I miss you.”
He really hoped Chan would hear him. But even if he didn’t, it was okay.
Minho buried himself into the blankets before dozing off.
Chan’s chest hurt. Why did he care about Minho’s feelings? Minho was an intruder in his home. Minho was—.
Minho looked peaceful when he slept.
Chan frowned as he settled beside Minho, watching the man sleep as he always did. He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to watching the human sleep, but it was nice. There was some sort of comforting peace in watching how he slept.
His lips were parted slightly, and his lashes were so pretty when his eyes were closed. Listening to Minho’s breathing was interesting too.
Why did Chan care about Minho’s breaths?
Why did Chan care about Minho at all?
Chan curled up beside Minho, pondering the reasons why he had become so drawn to this human. And nothing made sense.
Minho was just a nuisance, right?
Chan studied Minho a while longer before he made himself known again, sliding the spare blanket over his own frame despite knowing he would gain no additional warmth.
And he just watched Minho.
All night long.
When Minho woke up he didn’t think he would see Chan.
And he didn’t think that he could be so relieved to see the battered face in front of him. He should be scared. He should scream.
But instead Minho smiled, the ghost staring back at him with a calm expression.
“You came back…”
“I didn’t leave. I just… I don’t know. I didn’t want to be seen.” Chan replied as Minho adjusted himself, legs sliding onto the couch as he turned to face the ghost.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry if I—.”
“I already heard your apologies. A dozen times.” Chan stopped him, “it’s okay. I just needed… I’m fine.”
“I should have never asked.”
“It’s really okay.”
“I’m sorry you’re trapped here.” Minho whispered, “you’ve been here for so long and… I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mind the company.” Chan sighed, “it’s actually nice to have someone who is… like you.”
“I was a headache before, wasn’t I?” Minho laughed, looking at the ghost closely, “your company is nice too. I was getting a little lonely.”
Chan’s eyes averted from Minho, “are you still scared of me?”
Minho frowned at that, sliding his hands from under the blanket before reaching one hand out to brush against Chan’s cheek.
Cold. Very cold. So cold that Minho felt like he was touching ice.
But he prospered, sliding his hand over the ghost's cut up face to settle at his cheek. It was a little disturbing, and the feeling of the cuts under Minho’s palm made him want to pull away, but he couldn’t do that to Chan.
“No. I’m not.” Minho responded, Chan looking at him with sad eyes. “I’m not scared of you at all.”
“Even though I look…” Chan inhaled before reaching his own ghastly hand to cup over Minho’s slowly. “Like a monster?”
He was so cold.
“I’m not scared of you.” Minho responded, watching the ghost with his own lingering sadness. “And you don’t look like a monster.” Maybe he did, a little. But Chan wasn’t a monster. And his appearance wasn’t his fault.
“I think you’re beautiful, Chan.”
If Chan could produce tears, he would have been sobbing into Minho’s hand.
Beautiful?
Maybe Minho was lying, but the words did something to the inside of Chan’s chest.
Maybe it hurt a little. But maybe it just felt amazing to hear. Because he hadn’t heard it in… so long.
“You’re beautiful.” Minho repeated.
And Chan closed his eyes tight, sliding his fingers around Minho’s hand. The slight warmth made Chan’s heart flutter. Why was he slightly warm? He was always so cold.
But he felt warm.
Chan couldn’t respond. He just sat there with Minho’s slight warmth on his cheek.
And then he felt more warmth. Warmth on his forehead.
And when Chan opened his eyes he was appalled in realization that Minho’s lips were pressed against his forehead.
Chan was shaking. And not from the cold. But from the warmth. The strange warmth that was filling his chest.
He’d never felt so warm. In his years of being a ghost, he’d never felt this.
The kindness.
Chan closed his eyes again, biting into his bottom lip. He wanted to cry. He wanted to bury himself into this human’s warmth.
Why was Minho being so kind to him? Why was Minho still here? Minho didn’t have to do any of this for Chan. He knew that, right?
Eventually Minho pulled away, the warmth leaving and Chan continuing to bite into his bottom lip.
“Chan?”
Chan didn’t know what he looked like in those moments. He figured that he looked awful—more awful than usual.
And when he felt Minho’s hands pressing against both of his cheeks he finally opened his eyes, the human offering the slightest smile back to him.
Chan didn’t deserve that.
“You look like you’re about to cry… don’t do that.”
Why was Minho like this? Minho had told Chan that he was frightened by him before. He had been honest. And now… was Minho lying? Why had Minho kissed his forehead and why was Minho looking at him with a fondness that made Chan’s chest heat up?
Chan watched the human for seconds longer before his eyes lingered to Minho’s lips. And he shouldn’t have been thinking about how warm and soft they would feel on his own. But that’s all that crossed his mind.
And Chan shouldn’t have inched himself forward, but he found himself getting closer and closer until he felt the intense warmth against his own lips.
Minho hadn’t expected Chan to kiss him. And maybe he should push him away—but he couldn’t. And it wasn’t even a moral dilemma or worrying that he was leading Chan on, he just didn’t want to move.
Even if Chan’s lips were extremely cold, Minho couldn’t find himself pulling away. Instead his fingers left Chan’s face, winger tips running along his cold arms.
Chan didn’t taste like death when their lips parted against one another. And Chan wasn’t scaring Minho at all. Even when Minho found himself laying back on the couch with the ghost crawling over top of him, there was no fear.
And Minho had meant what he said. Chan was beautiful. Beyond the horrible cuts and bruises on his face, he was beautiful.
Even if he was a ghost. Even if he was dead. Even if he wasn’t even actually there.
Chan was beautiful.
Minho slipped his arms around Chan as the ghost kissed him, Minho pulling the colder man as close as he could.
Chan seemed a little hesitant, but soon his hand was reaching under Minho’s shirt, Minho hissing at the freezing cold that ran up his stomach.
It was a little uncomfortable. But it was Chan.
“Minho…” Chan breathed out, “What are we doing?”
Minho inhaled sharply, “I don’t know.”
“We should stop… right? I should stop.” Chan slipped his hand from Minho’s stomach before Minho pulled Chan close, his arms locked tight. “Minho?”
“Can we keep going?”
Chan didn’t think he would find himself like this with Minho. Ever. Despite the strange infatuation he had for the human, he never thought he would find himself buried in Minho’s neck as his fingers moved inside of him.
Minho had asked to do more. He’d asked if they could have sex. But Chan was worried that crossed lines. Chan was… he wasn’t sure he was in any proper shape for that. He was a ghost at the end of the day.
But this had satisfied both of them. And it wasn’t like Chan could really get hard anyways—or at least he never had. Being a ghost clearly had its downsides. At the end of the day, Chan was just a ghost.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t please the human clinging onto him and moaning into his ear.
The substance Chan gave off may have been blood to him, but in this world it was merely a pink liquid. Harmless and… for some reason had been a really good lubricant.
Chan worried about how ethical all of this was, but at the end of the day it wasn’t like it mattered. Minho was a human. And Chan was a ghost. No harm would come from this. Right?
“Chan… Chan…” Minho was gasping out and digging his nails into Chan’s shoulders as Chan pumped his fingers, his mouth glued to Minho’s throat.
This human was… Chan really liked him.
And despite the intense heat that was radiating off of Minho, Chan couldn’t help but want to cry.
Because it was temporary. And it wasn’t… Chan couldn’t have it. He knew that.
Chan stopped when Minho released a shaky moan and came, Chan sliding his fingers from Minho and sliding his arms underneath the human, burying his face comfortingly into the nape of his neck.
He wanted to cry.
Minho’s fingers were so gentle, brushing through Chan’s hair before sliding and locking around Chan’s back.
He wanted this warmth forever. It was so warm.
“Chan… are you okay?” Minho whispered.
Chan opted to nod, wondering if his voice would give away that he wasn’t really that fine.
But Minho was persistent. Chan found his face being lifted, his eyes parting to lock with Minho’s.
“Chan…”
“I’m fine.” A crack in his voice. And an obvious lie that Minho caught within a second.
Chan was pushed upright, his worries piling into his chest as Minho brought a hand to his cheek.
“Do you want to shower with me?”
Chan didn’t know what to say. The moment he’d been pulled from Minho’s warmth, everything became cold again.
“Chan…”
“I’m a ghost.” Chan whispered shakily, “I shouldn’t…”
Minho frowned, “I don’t care—.”
“I should go… I.”
“Please stay.”
Chan looked down at his own shaky hands before looking back at Minho's face, his heart breaking at the human's watery eyes. He didn’t want him to cry.
“Come shower with me. Or take a bath with me… don’t go.”
To avoid watching Minho crumble, Chan nodded.
Minho knew something was wrong. Maybe it was wrong to mess around with a ghost like that. Minho didn’t even think that it was possible. Beyond what they'd done, it probably wasn’t.
But even with the freezing cold, Minho hadn’t been that pleased in a long time. There was something about Chan that made Minho feel oddly safe.
It made no sense.
Chan didn’t end up showering with him. But when Minho had laid himself into a bath, he insisted Chan join him.
Even with the hot water, Chan felt like ice. Minho ignored it. Even if he shivered briefly, he found himself wrapped around the ghost. Because even if Minho was freezing, he knew chan was warm. And Chan was never warm. Minho was aware that his touches made Chan warm. And he wanted Chan to experience warmth again. It didn’t matter how Minho felt.
If Chan was warm, Minho was happy.
Even though Chan seemed to be anything but happy. Minho could see it. If Chan could cry, he probably would have.
“Are you warm?”
Minho didn’t think his question would make Chan bury his face into him.
“Chan?”
Chan nodded, his arms tightening around Minho as they lay in the tub together.
“You can talk to me…”
Chan finally pulled himself up, his hands shaky at Minho’s chest as he watched him, “it’s just been… it’s been so long since I’ve been warm. I don’t understand how you aren’t… terrified of me.”
Minho furrowed his brow before running his fingers along Chan’s pale skin, “why would I be?”
“Why are you doing this for me? You’re probably so cold.”
Minho swallowed hard before leaning forward to press a small kiss to Chan’s cheek, the ghost whimpering out something incoherent before Minho pulled back.
“You’re always cold.” Minho blinked away his tears as he studied the ghost settled in front of him, “I can spare some warmth.”
“You’re temporary.”
Minho bit into his lower lip, the pain illuminating off of Chan despite there being no tears in sight.
“I’m not alive. I’m just… I’m a ghost. I’ve always been cold. The warmth… it won’t change anything. I’ll still just be a ghost. And you’re alive.”
Minho sniffled, trying to keep himself composed. “Chan…”
“At the end of the day I’m… I shouldn’t be touching you.” Chan withdrew his hands, “I don’t know why I’m still here. I don’t understand why I’m trapped. But this won’t change that. I should just leave you alone. I should—.”
Minho shook his head before pulling Chan against him, ignoring the cold as he buried his face into the ghost's neck.
“Don’t leave again… stay here.”
Minho held him for a while, hoping that Chan was getting all of the heat that he could ever desire as Minho held onto him.
He didn’t want to let him go.
Chan eventually dragged Minho out of the tub and into bed, tucking him in and watching as the human shivered under the sheets.
He wished he could warm him. But Chan knew he provided nothing but a freezing cold for Minho.
Chan buried his face into his hands, his thoughts clouding as the human slept. Why had he been cursed like this? Chan was the one who had been murdered and left in a closet. Chan only fought back in self defense. His roommate had snapped, not him. Why was he being punished?
He was hurting Minho, wasn’t he? Yeah, Chan was a ghost. And yeah the warmth had been nice. But what the hell was this doing to Minho?
“Fuck…” Chan whispered as he looked over the sleeping man. He shouldn’t have touched Minho.
They couldn’t be anything. Chan was dead. Minho was alive. Chan would never age. Minho would. Chan was a scary monster. And Minho was a beautiful human.
Chan swallowed hard, pulling himself away from the human to look into the bathroom mirror.
Why was he trapped here? It wasn’t fair.
When would Chan be free?
Chan stared at himself for a while before stepping away from the mirror and slinking to the floor in Minho’s bedroom, hands clasped in his hair.
Why was he here?
Whatever the reason, he refused to drag Minho with him. He had to end this before it got too hard.
He had to disappear.
Minho wasn’t sure what he expected the next morning. He didn’t expect Chan to not be there. And he didn’t expect to not see Chan for the rest of the day. And then days turned into a week. And Minho was almost certain that Chan had abandoned him. But Chan wouldn’t do that, right? Chan liked him. He liked Chan.
So why had Chan fled?
The first week was the hardest. No matter how many times Minho had asked where Chan was, he wouldn’t answer.
Minho tried not to let it affect him too much. Despite how much he genuinely liked Chan, he didn’t want to let a ghost consume him. He still had school. He still had… life.
It felt cruel.
But Minho couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe Chan had moved on. Maybe all he’d needed was a little warmth.
Minho stopped asking for Chan once the second month of silence hit. Minho had invited his friends over a couple of times since Chan had disappeared. And nothing ever came of it.
But as the semester came to a close, Minho was starting to feel the burden of loneliness again.
Finals were coming. And so Minho found himself extremely stressed. He hadn’t slept in days. And he couldn’t focus on anything.
It was bad. Really bad.
Minho felt like he’d fail. And he knew he probably wouldn’t, but his brain kept telling him that no matter how hard he studied, he’d fail.
And all of the stress only brought up thoughts of the ghost again.
He didn’t want to think about Chan. Not one bit.
Minho pushed his books away and closed the tab for his essay, opening the search bar and staring at it. He begged for his thoughts to be typed for him.
He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to look up Chan’s name. He didn’t know why he was doing this at all. He was supposed to be moved on from the ghost that had haunted his house. He wasn’t supposed to be looking him up on the internet.
Minho missed him.
He missed the ghost.
Why did he miss a ghost? Why had he grown so attached to someone that could leave at any time and whenever they wanted? If Chan hadn’t moved on then he was definitely laughing at Minho for pathetically looking for any sign of Chan online.
Minho searched for hours in his dining room. And after a few deep dives he finally found Chan.
Chan looked fairly different. But perhaps he just lacked the facial bruises and cuts. He had dimples. Minho had never seen Chan smile. At least not really. Maybe it hurt him to smile.
Minho took a deep breath as he searched through his photos, falling even deeper for the ghost that had disappeared. And it made Minho’s stomach churn. Chan was happy. He had family. And friends. And he even had a dog.
Why was Minho crying over someone else’s life?
Minho wiped his eyes with his sleeve as he continued to scroll through Chan’s photos. And then he stopped, his face going still as he stared at the photo Chan had been tagged in.
I miss you roomie!
Minho stared at the name of the person who had posted the photo before his eyes scanned the photo.
And then he clicked on the user.
Married. Children. A nice job and a nice car from the header photo.
A perfect life.
Minho’s eye twitched as he stared at the screen. This felt fake. Like a joke. Why had he dug into this? What did he expect? Because of course this is what he found. Chan’s roommate. The person who had killed Chan. The one who—.
Minho felt sick to his stomach. This wasn’t fair.
The person who had trapped Chan was staring Minho back in the face, smiling like he’d done nothing wrong a decade before. Did Chan’s death weigh on him at all?
Minho clenched his fists before he opened the message box. He wanted to scream. But instead he found himself tapping away at the keys. What was he doing? What would sending this man a message do?
I know what you did.
What was this, a slasher film? What did Minho expect out of a message like that?
Minho shut his computer, raking his hair back in irritation before looking down at his phone.
Would anyone do anything with a case from so long ago? Minho didn’t even know if this man had ever been a suspect. And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Chan.
Maybe if Minho just called the police—.
“Stop.”
Minho’s fingers stilled over the call button, his eyes watering up again with the voice.
Part of Minho thought that Chan had really disappeared.
“Don’t call. How would you explain it?”
Minho sniffled, letting his tears trickle down his cheeks as he turned, the ghost looking at him with saddened eyes.
“It doesn’t matter, Minho. There’s nothing you can do about—.”
Minho cut him off, scrambling from the chair to wrap his arms around Chan tight and bury his face into his neck. The cold was so welcoming. He missed the cold.
“Minho…”
There was nothing Minho could say. He just held onto Chan tight, hoping that he wouldn't leave the second he pulled away. Maybe that’s what led to the next ten minutes, and Minho was still holding on to him, his face sore with tears and neck starting to strain from the position.
But he didn’t want to let Chan go. What if Chan left the second he pulled away?
He didn’t want him to leave again.
“Minho.”
“Don’t go.” Minho choked out through his shivers. Chan was so cold. “Please don’t go.”
“I won’t, but you’re freezing…”
“I love it.” Minho responded, ignoring the goosebumps on his arms and the shakiness in his voice.
Chan forced Minho away, Minho whimpering out at the removal from his comfort.
But Chan didn’t leave. He watched Minho for a moment before pulling him onto the living room couch and pulling a blanket around him.
“Chan, please.”
“I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
“I don’t believe you.”
Chan looked so sad. “I promise.”
“Why did you leave?”
Chan took a moment before sliding onto the couch beside Minho, “I only came back because you would get yourself into trouble calling the police about that guy.”
“Chan…”
“I didn’t want you to waste your time.”
“So you’ll leave again?” Minho asked, hoping Chan could capture the pain behind Minho’s eyes.
Chan frowned, “Minho, we can’t do this.”
Minho’s chest was tight, “what’s the problem?”
“I’m a ghost—.”
“So? What are we doing anyway? And how is it wrong?”
“Minho.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Minho interjected before sliding himself off the couch and into Chan’s lap, “shut up. What’s the issue?”
“It’s not…”
“Normal? I don’t fucking care. Don’t disappear on me again. I like you. I like sharing this space with you. I don’t care what happens. Why can’t we enjoy things for now?”
“You don’t deserve that.”
“Deserve what? To be happy?”
“Minho,” Chan winced, “I’m a ghost. One day I’ll fade away and then you… you’ll be alone. And I just don’t want—.”
“You’re insufferable.” Minho grabbed either side of Chan’s face before crashing their mouths together, enjoying the coolness at his lips as Chan’s hand slipped to his back.
And they stayed like that for a moment before Minho pulled back to look at Chan properly, “we can deal with the future later. Can we just enjoy it for now?”
“You have finals. You have friends and family. You have so much to—.”
“Live for? Didn’t you? I know you saw me browsing your page.”
“You’re still alive. Why waste your time—.”
“How am I wasting my time? I’m enjoying your company. And you’re enjoying me. It sounds like a win-win situation to me.”
“Is it?”
Minho pouted, looking over Chan’s face, “if you disappear again I’m going to do everything I can to get that man behind bars.”
“It’s been nine years, Minho. They won’t do anything and you don’t have proof.”
“Then stay.” Minhho sighed, “you don’t have to… we don’t have to do anything like that again if that’s the problem. But I want you to stay with me. Please?”
Chan sighed before looking into Minho’s eyes, “Minho…”
“You can help me study. I’m tearing my hair out looking at these notes.”
“This is… Minho, it's just bad for you. It’s unhealthy.”
“I don’t care. Don’t speak for what I want.” Minho snapped again, “if you don’t want to be around me just say so. I’m not moving out, and I won't force anything. Just… I don’t want you to disappear with the thought that somehow that’s better for me.”
Chan parted his lips to speak before sliding back into the couch, “what happens with time? You’ll just age and…”
“I'm not leaving you behind. The day I leave this place is the day you’re free.”
Free?
Chan thought free was a strange way for Minho to say that when he had. And Chan hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind.
Maybe Chan really was stuck here because his murderer had never been caught. Was that really all that kept Chan here? Why was he here?
Chan shook away his worries as he looked at Minho on the couch, the man sleeping soundly.
Minho had passed his exams and was now on break. Granted he would be leaving for the holidays to see his family—but Chan would manage.
He’d lived in that house alone for nearly a decade. What was a week more?
Chan watched Minho for a while longer before finally leaving the couch, patting Minho’s head fondly.
Chan wished he could do more for Minho. Minho seemed to genuinely like Chan a lot. And though Chan wasn’t sure what the hell they were doing, he liked Minho too.
“Chan?”
Chan inhaled, turning to capture Minho rubbing sleep from his eye.
“How long was I sleeping?” Minho asked, sliding the blanket off to reach for his phone on the table.
“A few hours. I figured you should sleep before you go.”
Minho sighed, sliding his phone down before reaching to grab Chan’s wrist, “stay a little longer.”
“Did you finish packing?” Chan asked, receiving a slow nod in response. And Chan found himself settling beside Minho on the couch again, the man nuzzling into his side and falling back asleep within moments.
Chan wished he was alive. Granted if he was alive he’d be an entire decade older than Minho, and maybe they wouldn’t even meet.
But he wished he was alive. He’d come to terms with being a ghost. And he didn’t understand why he was cursed to live in this house, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“I hope you enjoy your vacation.” Chan told Minho the next day, the man hauling his bag over his shoulder as he looked Chan in the eyes, “I’ll be here.”
Minho smiled at that, “I’ll see you when I come back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”
“I can’t.” Chan laughed back before Minho opened the front door with a huff, “I won’t disappear. I’ll wait.”
And with that, Minho was gone.
Even if it was just a week, Chan definitely felt the dread of loneliness a day later. Chan wasn’t someone who had kept up with specific dates or time. But he couldn’t help but stare at the calendar in the kitchen, counting down the days until Minho returned.
He missed him.
Chan sighed, pulling away from the calendar to study the house he’d known for so long. Minho had made it so cozy. And even if Chan couldn’t feel the warmth, it finally felt like a home again.
He huffed, walking down the hall and studying the familiar creaks and the sound of those awful pipes.
It was home.
Chan wasn’t sure why he stopped at the closet his body had been found in, or why he was so busy staring at the floor as if something would change. The disturbed wood from his body would always be there.
Why did it feel so morbid to look at?
He closed his eyes tight before raking cold fingers through his hair, what had he seriously done to be cursed like this for all these years? And how would he ever be free anyway? It wasn’t like there was any evidence against his old roommate. And with how much time had passed, was his case even ongoing? How did his roommate get away with it?
Chan shook his head, leaning down and spreading his palm along the wood.
He would never be free.
Chan kneeled down more, examining the closet that Minho had opted to not use after Chan had told him what had happened in there.
This closet was so barren. So… lifeless. Chan always avoided it. Something felt weird about going inside of it.
He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to enter the closet, but there he was.
It was dark. Gloomy. Of course it was. And the wood creaked mercilessly under his feet.
Chan huffed as he stood in the dark space, eyes examining the interior before his eyes settled on something that he wasn’t sure he’d noticed before. A slight disturbance in the wall. Maybe it was a panel for something. Chan wasn’t sure why he was floating up and reaching around the panel. And he wasn’t sure why he was using all the force he had to pull it open.
Maybe something had finally got to him.
Oh.
Chan stilled, pulling his hand back with a shaky sigh. He wouldn’t touch it. He couldn’t.
This was…
Why was it here? How had no one noticed?
Chan swallowed hard, stepping out of the closet and taking a deep breath.
A knife. There was a fucking knife in there. And if Chan was thinking correctly, it was the knife.
His heart would have started racing if it could. And even if it was a facade, Chan was feeling hot again. He was burning up.
Chan closed the panel, shutting it as tightly as he could.
Maybe it made sense that no one had opened it. Maybe it didn’t. How could they ignore that panel? Was it too high? Chan’s roommate was tall… but that didn’t excuse it, right?
Had they really just… ignored it?
Chan left the closet, crawling into Minho’s bed and pulling the sheet over his head.
He was burning up. What was he supposed to do about this? Minho would be gone for another six days. And Chan couldn’t do anything about that knife.
Maybe when Minho came back he could show him—wait no, why would he show Minho? The knife would definitely lead to his roommate. And then Chan would disappear, right?
Fuck.
Chan inhaled sharply, he wished this made sense. But it didn’t.
He wouldn’t show Minho. He couldn’t.
Minho enjoyed his break. His parents were always lovely and his relatives had fed him well enough to go into hibernation.
But home was where Minho really wanted to be.
He didn’t tell anyone about Chan. It wouldn’t make sense if he did anyways. Though his mom did ask about the house and did bring up that someone had died there. But Minho did his best to change the subject each time.
And now that he was home, he really couldn’t wait to see Chan. He just hoped that Chan hadn’t decided to disappear again.
Minho opened the door slowly, welcoming the creaky floors and the sound of the pipes. It had become home.
“Chan?” Minho set his bags to the floor, rummaging through one of them to pull out a heated blanket his mother had gotten him, “come try out this blanket with me.”
It only took a few moments for Chan to appear from around the corner, Minho welcoming the familiar ghost's face.
“My mom got me this… since it’s freezing in this place I was wondering if you wanted to come try it out with me.”
Chan offered a faint smile back before walking over to Minho and running the back of his hand along the blanket, “I’ll try not to leak on it…”
Minho scrunched his nose before taking Chan’s hand, “I don’t care if you get anything on it. Let’s try it out!”
The heated blanket didn’t warm Chan. Minho didn’t really think it would. But it was an excuse to hold Chan, and even though Chan was freezing, the heated blanket helped warm Minho. He could hold Chan longer like this.
“How was your week home?” Minho asked as he ran his fingers through the ghost's hair.
“It was fine…”
“I’m glad you’re still here. I would have yelled at you if you decided to ghost me again.”
“Ghost you?”
“Disappear on me.” Minho laughed in reply, watching Chan fondly.
“I wouldn’t do that again. You told me not to. I can’t leave anyways.”
Minho frowned, lifting Chan’s face, “I’ll find a way to free you… I promise. Before I leave this house, I will find a way. I’m not leaving you behind.”
Chan seemed bothered by that, but Minho ignored his worried look to press a kiss to his forehead instead.
Things had fairly stayed the same for the next couple of months. Minho started a new semester in the spring and Chan had been there the entire time.
They didn’t fight. And they spent most of their time watching movies and kissing on the couch.
If there was any way that Chan would have allowed it, Minho would have probably asked if they could be something official. But Chan seemed to be very against it. And Minho wouldn’t push it.
But there were definitely times where things got… so intimate that Minho still tried.
“You always stop before we do anything.” Minho pouted as Chan slipped himself from on top of Minho, hands sliding into his lap on the bed, “I told you it’s not weird.”
Chan sighed, “it is a little weird. I’m dead.”
“You’re a ghost. Not a dead body.”
Chan frowned, “I certainly look like one.”
Minho climbed over the bed to settle into Chan’s lap, the ghost looking at Minho with a slight frown, “I told you that I think you’re beautiful.”
“I don’t get that…”
“I have good taste is all!” Minho laughed, brushing hair behind Chan’s ear, “can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I take your shirt off?”
“My shirt?” Chan arched his brow, “why?”
“I want to see you.”
Chan seemed a little nervous, “I don’t know about that…”
“I’ve never seen you. You’ve seen me. A lot.”
“Minho…”
“If you don’t want to… it’s fine.”
Chan pushed Minho back before grabbing at his shirt, “don’t get weird about it…”
“Why would I—.” Minho paused as Chan pulled his shirt over his head, Minho’s eyes gravitating to the punctures along his torso.
Jesus Christ.
“Just ignore them.”
How could he?
Minho reached out slowly, his fingers brushing along the wounds at Chan’s chest.
“Minho…”
Minho averted his eyes from the wounds to look into Chan’s eyes, “I like your abs.”
Chan watched Minho for a moment before Minho broke their gaze, sliding down between Chan’s legs to brush his lips along Chan’s cold skin.
“Minho…”
Minho gazed up at Chan, his lips ghosting past the stab wounds to press against his stomach, pressing his lips against the freezing flesh.
To Minho’s surprise, Chan’s fingers made their way into his hair.
“I’ll try not to get it all over your hair…”
“It’s fine.” Minho whispered as he continued his trail of kisses, reaching the hem of Chan’s pants.
“I can’t…” Chan took a deep breath as Minho pressed his lips to his waistband, “I’m a ghost. My body just… it doesn’t really… I can’t get hard.” Chan sounded so nervous, “even if you do anything I won’t… it’ll just be warm.”
Minho blinked before crawling back up to Chan, tilting his head as he watched him, “Chan, can we try sex?”
Chan bit into his lower lip, bringing one of his hands to cover his face as the other tightened its grasp in Minho’s hair.
“Hm?” Minho nuzzled against Chan’s hand before pressing kisses to his cheek, “it’s okay if you don’t want to—.”
“We can.”
Minho was surprised to hear that, “oh?”
“I… other than it being morally very… strange, I didn’t try to do anything else with you because I just… it wouldn’t be good for you and—.”
Minho cut him off with a kiss to the lips, his hands moving to pull the ghost’s pants down slowly, fingers caressing the cold skin.
“Why are you so worried?” Minho asked, sliding back as he managed to get Chan’s pants down his thighs, “you look beautiful.”
“Minho…”
“I’m serious. I can top.”
“Okay.” Chan exhaled shakily as Minho pulled his pants down to his ankles, Minho unbuckling his own pants, “you don’t have to do anything extra… I’m a ghost so—.”
“You're more than a ghost. You’re Chan.”
Chan shook his head, “that’s corny.”
“I don’t care.” Minho laughed, leaning back in to take Chan’s lips.
Having sex with Minho wasn’t as scary as Chan thought it would be. He knew that he couldn’t necessarily do much for Minho on his end, but Minho seemed to be enjoying this a lot.
Chan wouldn’t lie, he was enjoying it too.
Even if all he felt was warmth without the actual pleasure of sex, the warmth was nice. Being with Minho like this was nice.
And it did seem like Minho was getting something out of this. He had sweat running down his temple as he thrust carefully inside of Chan, soft moans leaving his lips.
Chan just watched him in awe, taking in how Minho’s stomach muscles tightened with every thrust. Minho was really attractive to watch. And Chan wouldn’t lie, he could see them doing this again. Just so he could watch Minho fall apart over and over again.
If Minho was happy, Chan was happy. He couldn’t ignore the warmth he was receiving anyways, it felt good.
Minho pulled himself out of Chan before he came. Chan would rather Minho release in Chan’s hand than inside of him anyways. For some reason it made sense at the time.
Post sex Minho was… a sight. He was so flushed and his breaths were so inviting. Chan couldn’t count the amount of kisses he’d sprayed across the younger man.
Chan was enamored with this man.
And after settling and curling up under the heated blanket together, Chan couldn’t help himself.
“I love you.”
The mistake didn’t hit as hard as Chan thought. The regret and guilt never came. And he didn’t dare apologize for it.
He couldn’t.
“You what?” Minho seemed perplexed, but he wasn’t mad. He seemed… happy with what Chan had said.
“I just… I think I love you.”
Minho offered a smile, one that only made it easier to love him, “you love me?”
“I think so, yeah.” Chan repeated before Minho pressed a kiss to his mouth, Chan wishing he could explain that fluttery feeling in his chest.
“I love you too.”
Chan hadn’t heard those words in a long time.
And he didn’t want that to cease.
For months Chan and Minho continued their relationship—whatever it was. Even if Chan was worried that Minho was wasting time with him, he never pushed it. He knew that Minho was stubborn and wouldn’t listen anyway. And Chan… he honestly couldn’t do it. He really did love this living breathing person.
He wished he was alive. He wished he could go places with Minho. He wished he could do a lot with him.
But he was confined to this house. And he knew he was confining Minho to it too.
There were times where Chan wanted to tell Minho about the knife. But he didn’t want to disappear. And he didn’t want to lose Minho. But more than that, he didn’t want Minho to be sad.
Minho loved him so much… Chan could see it. If Chan moved on, what would Minho do?
Maybe it was selfish. Maybe he should tell him that the murder weapon was in the closet. Chan could have justice. And then he would be free.
But Minho… he didn’t want to abandon him.
Another semester passed and Minho was at home all the time. He wouldn’t go back to school until the fall, and they had all summer.
Chan was happy, but he worried that Minho was starting to dedicate too much time to him. And as selfish as Chan wanted to be, maybe this wasn’t helping either of them in the long run.
“Hey Minho…”
Minho looked at Chan from the couch, the light from the TV hitting the side of his face. Minho was so beautiful…
“Yeah?”
Chan frowned, tracing the lines of Minho’s face with his eyes, “I love you a lot.”
Minho laughed, “I love you too.”
It stung.
“Can I show you something?”
Minho nodded, not seeming to pick up on the worry in Chan’s face. Maybe he was hiding it well.
Chan led Minho down the hall, stopping at the closet that Minho never opened.
“What’s up?” Minho asked, worry starting to slip into his words.
“I think… I found something.”
Minho looked at the closet before looking back at Chan, “found what?”
Chan opened the closet, pulling Minho inside with him.
“Why are we here?” Minho asked as Chan released his hand.
“I think…” Chan looked Minho over sadly, “I think I should show you something.”
Minho was silent as Chan reached up to the panel in the wall, his body starting to heat up again as he pried open the hatch.
“Chan?”
Chan pulled back, swallowing hard as he looked Minho in the eye, “if you get on your tiptoes… you can see it. You’re taller than I am.”
“Not by much.” Minho laughed before looking up at where Chan had reached for, “what’s in there?”
“Don’t… don’t touch it. Just look.” Chan swallowed before Minho got onto his tiptoes, angling himself to peek into the space.
Chan closed his eyes tight as Minho slipped back down. He wasn’t sure what to expect Minho to say.
Would he be mad? Would he be happy?
Chan waited a moment before he peeled his eyes open, looking at Minho’s unreadable face.
“Oh.”
Minho wasn’t sure when Chan had found the knife. But clearly he’d known for quite some time. Minho hadn’t said anything else when Chan found the knife, instead he went into the kitchen and sat at the dining room table for a while.
What was he supposed to say?
Was Chan… did he want to go?
Minho swallowed hard, his fingers tapping along the wood of the table as Chan settled in the chair beside him.
“Minho?”
“What should I do with it?”
“Don’t touch it… whatever you do—.”
“Do you want me to call the police? Do you want me to… what do I do?”
“I just…” Chan inhaled, “I don’t know. I thought you should know.”
“You…” Minho swallowed hard, maybe Chan wanted to be free. “Do you want me to do that? Chan… maybe you could finally be free. The knife still has blood on it. Why would he—.”
“I don’t know. I just…” Chan shook his head, staring towards the window in the kitchen, “I just wanted to tell you.”
“If I call. Will you disappear?”
“I don’t know.”
“I… I want you to be free but I also…”
Minho didn’t want him to go.
“You could be free too…”
“You know I can’t afford anything else.”
“You have friends that you're starting to neglect.”
“Chan—.”
“You spend so much time with me now. You don’t deserve to be stuck here.”
Minho parted his lips to speak before closing his mouth and looking at Chan worriedly, “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I know… but I can’t stay here with you forever. You can’t stay like this with a ghost.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not—.”
“Right? Normal?” Minho sniffled, his nerves starting to overwhelm him, “Chan, I don’t care that you’re a ghost. I love you and unless you’re sick of being here I…” Minho bit into his lower lip, his chest starting to tighten, “do you… Do you want to leave?”
Chan’s face didn’t tell Minho much. He looked sad. But Minho couldn’t tell in what way.
“You… Chan, do you want to move on? When did you find that knife?”
“I found it when you were on break for the holidays last year.”
Minho frowned, “Chan…”
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t… I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave you but…” Chan grabbed Minho’s hand, sliding his thumb across his knuckle, “I think you deserve to live… and experience things with someone who is alive and can go on journeys with you. You deserve—.”
Minho cut Chan off, pressing their mouths together as tears threatened to flood his eyes.
As right and honest as Chan was being, it still hurt. Minho didn’t want to lose him. He genuinely loved Chan. He loved everything about Chan. Even if he was a ghost. Even if he’d been dead for ten years.
He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Chan.
But that wasn’t feasible. And it wasn’t okay.
They both knew that. But it didn’t hurt any less.
“I love you… but I think it’s the best option. What if he dies? Will I get justice? Will I be trapped and then when you die—.”
“Chan…” Minho sniffled, nuzzling his nose against Chan’s, “it’s okay… we should. We can.”
“Minho…”
“Let’s do it. Let’s turn it in. Let’s… we can. It’s okay. You deserve this. And… it’s not fair. It’s not fair to keep you trapped.”
Chan looked at Minho with eyes Minho had never seen.
“I love you too… I really do. But… you’re right. It’s for the best.” It stung so badly, “it’s okay… we should. We should turn it in.”
“When?”
“When’s your ten year anniversary?”
Chan stared at the ceiling as Minho slept beside him. He didn’t want to lose Minho. But Minho was understanding, which Chan was thankful for.
They had to turn it in. They had to do this. It was the right thing to do. Even if Chan didn’t want to lose him.
Chan sighed, turning to look at Minho. He really cared about this human. In a different world he would have loved to be with him.
But that wasn’t his world. His world was… it was this. In Chan’s world, he was murdered ten years ago. And he shouldn’t latch onto a living person. Even if he really liked him.
Chan’s time was over. And he knew it was time to move on. It still hurt though.
Chan would give anything to change everything. He could still meet Minho. He could still possibly fall in love with him. He could ignore a ten or so year age gap. It wasn’t like Minho cared either. He was infatuated with him. They could have been something.
But they couldn’t be. Not in this world.
Chan frowned as his fingers ran across Minho’s forehead, brushing strands of honey-colored hair away.
It was the right thing to do. Chan knew that. It was the best outcome for Chan anyway. He’d been stuck in this house for a decade, haunting and wandering. It was time for him to move on. Maybe he could find peace.
He just hated that he loved Minho. He absolutely hated that he’d fallen in love with him. Chan would give anything… anything to stay. But Chan knew that it wasn’t good for Minho either. The best solution was for Chan to move on and for Minho to move out of this place and find somewhere better. They deserved that.
Chan forced a smile as he watched Minho sleep. This was for the best.
And when the day came and after the police had come by to sweep the house after Minho’s call about the knife, Chan had glued to Minho’s side the entire day.
“When do you think it’ll happen?”
“I don’t know. They have to do… an investigation or whatever, right?” Chan sighed as he hugged around Minho’s waist, dreading the near eviction from his home.
“I hope you aren’t taken immediately…” Minho sighed, “I don’t want you to go so fast.”
“I’ll do everything I can to stay right here.”
“Chan… when you leave, you know I can’t just move out—right?”
Chan shook his head, “there was a reward for any information… my parents never took it down. They wouldn’t just—.”
“It feels wrong to take money for that anyways…”
“I want you out of here,” Chan sighed, “I want you in a better home.”
“Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course,” Chan frowned, sitting upright.
“I like it here. I like the annoying floors and the pipes. I like how secluded it is. I like how cold it can be and… it feels like home.”
“Minho… this place sucks.”
Minho laughed, “it’s just… it’s become my home, Chan. I don’t think I can leave. I just… I really like it here. It gave me you anyways.”
“You won’t stay forever, right?”
Minho shrugged, “I kinda like it.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Good. I told you I wasn’t leaving when you asked me the very first time anyway, remember?”
Chan sighed, sliding himself into Minho’s lap, laying his head onto the man’s shoulder, “please don’t die in this house, okay?”
“Well,” Minho ran his fingers down Chan’s back, the warmth making everything feel so much better. “Even if I do die here, what are the chances I’ll end up haunting the place? I’ll probably go straight up to heaven or wherever people go when they die.”
Chan scoffed.
“I’ll visit you.”
Visit.
“No matter what happens, I’ll see you again Chan.”
Chan slipped his arms around Minho securely, “I hope so…”
Maybe.
Chan and Minho monitored the news for a while. Chan hadn’t disappeared and the case had opened back up. Chan hadn’t followed as closely as he should have, but within the next few weeks Chan finally saw his roommates face on the screen.
He’d been charged in Chan’s murder.
Did that mean he’d disappear?
“When do you think it’ll happen…?” Minho asked, laying his head onto Chan’s shoulder, “you’ll tell me if I’m sleeping, right?”
Chan nodded, staring at the screen. He’d seen his family again because of the evidence coming out against that man. And he knew that his mother had contacted Minho already.
Minho had turned down the money.
“Don’t let me sleep, even if I look like I’m having a good dream. Wake me up.”
“I will. I promise.”
“I love you.”
Chan raised one of Minho’s hands, pressing kisses to his knuckle, “I love you too, Minho.”
Death had been scary. Chan recalled the terror as his roommate stabbed him to death in the hallway. And he remembered waking up in the closet and immediately trying to escape after seeing his body.
But he was trapped.
And even though he’d tried to make himself known and get revenge before his roommate had moved out, he was too young of a ghost to know how to do anything.
It took years for Chan to make himself known. And when he did, he was too bitter to let anyone else live in his home.
Countless people tried to live there, and Chan would scare them out every single time.
Except Minho. The broke college kid, who despite fearing Chan at first, refused to let Chan scare him away.
Chan would miss Minho.
Death was scary. But moving on felt a little scarier.
Chan hadn’t realized it at first, but moving on seemed to be gradual.
While Minho slept, Chan had noticed how his hands stopped leaking that pink fluid. And when Chan moved to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror, he could see the color return to his face. And the cuts dissolved against his skin. Chan could feel the stab wounds closing up in his chest.
It was so slow, but so satisfying.
Chan had to wake Minho.
Despite the light outside of Minho’s window, so bright that it was almost blinding, Chan found himself shoving Minho carefully, Minho jolting awake and blinking so cutely that Chan could kiss him.
“Chan…?”
Minho was so tired. And Chan wanted to let him sleep. But Chan could feel warmth in his body. And he could feel his heart racing—even if it was a facade.
He felt alive.
“Minho I think…”
Minho was up fast, his fingers running down Chan’s face. Chan could see the heartbreak in Minho’s eyes, and it stung—but Minho was smiling, why was he smiling if he looked so sad?
“You’re leaving me, huh?”
Chan looked at the window before looking back at Minho.
“Can you smile for me? I wanna see your dimples before you go.”
He sounded so sad.
Chan slipped his hands around Minho’s wrists, watching the man closely, “Minho…”
“Please?”
Minho had tears in his eyes. And he seemed to be doing everything he could to keep them from falling.
“Minho… I love you.”
“I love you too,” Minho laughed, though Chan could hear his pain, “now smile for me, okay?”
Chan leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Minho’s lips before pulling back and offering a smile that would allow Minho to see his dimples. Even if internally his heart was breaking.
Minho’s smile got wider, “you’re so warm, Chan…”
“Minho—.”
“You should go, right? It’s time for you to go…”
Chan’s smile faded, “Minho.”
Minho was shaky, “Chan. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. It didn’t feel okay.
“It’s time for you to go… I can feel the warmth from over there. It’s right there. And… you look so healthy, and you shouldn’t frown. You’re free.”
Chan couldn’t help the longing in his chest.
“Go on… we both know it’s for the best.” Minho whispered, Chan trying his hardest to ignore the line of tears rolling down the side of Minho’s face, “go.”
Chan kissed both of Minho’s hands, letting his lips linger against the man’s knuckles as he watched Minho smile through his trembles.
And chan eventually slipped his arms around Minho, his fingers carding through Minho’s soft hair as he felt Minho lean forward, wetness starting to soak against Chan’s chest.
He didn’t want to leave him. Not Minho. Not his Minho.
His warm Minho. He didn’t want to let him go. He didn’t want Minho to be sad. He didn’t want anything to happen to Minho.
He wanted to stay.
But he couldn’t.
“I love you.”
Chan finally pulled away, Minho holding on for a second longer with a sniffle before offering Chan a smile. Chan’s heart was tight as he left the bed, slowly making his way from Minho and to that seemingly blinding light.
It was so warm.
“I love you too.” Minho repeated.
And it made Chan want to hold him for longer instead.
But he knew. He had to enter that light. He had to part from Minho. Even if he didn’t want to.
Chan stepped into the light, his eyes never leaving Minho. Not even when the light started to consume him.
Minho… Minho.
Chan’s mind was running on the thought of Minho. Running on his warmth. His love.
Minho.
Chan was so warm.
Chan was free.
Minho missed Chan. Of course he did. But there was something peaceful knowing that Chan was finally free from this home. Minho had only been there for less than a year and yet he could see how much pain Chan had been in while staying here.
It was for the best that he moved on.
And justice was served faster than Minho expected. Watching the man who had killed Chan being put behind bars was peace.
Minho missed him so much. How a ghost had so much impact on Minho seemed so unbelievable to him. A ghost?!
Chan… God he really liked Chan. In another world he would have fallen in love with Chan too. Even if there was a big gap in their age. It didn’t matter to Minho. He missed Chan. He would have loved to spend more time with him.
But life moves on. And even though Minho missed Chan to pieces, this was for the better. For both of them.
It hurt for a while, but then things seemed to calm down. Minho finished another year of school and prepared for his final year. And he didn’t really have any plans on moving away. Because this was Chan’s home. And part of him didn’t really want anyone else living there.
Despite this house's quirks and history, it had become a home.
Minho was home.
Minho was warm.