Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Jeongguk sees a ghost, he is four years old.

He doesn’t know it’s a ghost, because ghosts in all of the stories are pale and translucent and float around with solemn expressions on their faces. Ghosts in all of the stories are scary. But the ghost Jeongguk sees is—a man. He is sitting across from Jeongguk and his mother in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, and he is reading a newspaper, upside down. It takes a confusing conversation with his mother for Jeongguk to realize that she can’t see the man, and he seems to understand in that moment that no one can see the man, that no one can hear him.

It’s just Jeongguk.

The first time Jeongguk sees a ghost that belongs to him, as he has come to say, he is thirteen years old and has spent years scouring the internet for others like him, others who can see the unseen. He pieces it together bit by bit, something about being gifted. Something about unfinished business.

Jeongguk helps the woman—fifty-seven years old, no family, died in a car accident far from home—with her unfinished business and she… disappears. Someone on the Ghost Whisperer chat forum tells him she ‘went to the other side’ and Jeongguk brings her cat home, tells his parents that he found it wandering around outside and refuses to bring it to a shelter. He only cries a little that night, stroking the woman’s cat, the one he promised to take care of so that she could leave.

It becomes a thing. His thing—finding ghosts once every few months, sometimes only once every few years, and helping them with their unfinished business on Earth so that they can move on. He doesn’t tell his parents. He moves to Seoul after he graduates, and the ghosts follow him. The ghosts always follow him, and he follows them, and he doesn’t get attached because he can’t, won’t, because it hurts when they leave. That’s the point.

Still, there’s something—something awful about the endings. Jeongguk is standing on the beach of Jeju Island and he’s watching Taehyung drink in the sea air one last time and he’s thinking—I wish I knew you when you were alive. Because Taehyung is funny and kind and soft, and he died of cancer at the age of twenty-three. Because Jeongguk has spent the past three weeks helping Taehyung complete the last items on his bucket list, the one thing keeping him from finding peace and moving on, and if only Jeongguk had known him in life. If only he could reach out and wrap his coat around Taehyung’s shoulders to warm him from the cold of the air, or ruffle his hair, or—anything.

Instead, Jeongguk stands with his arms carefully wrapped around himself, and there’s peace in the way Taehyung has this, for once. Finally. He looks better than he did when Jeongguk first found him, feeble and weak on a park bench outside of Jeongguk’s university. They’ve spent the past three weeks going on adventures, crossing items off of Taehyung’s bucket list, the ones they could do without going far—spend a whole day with dogs at a dog shelter, get a tattoo (temporary, and technically only Jeongguk could get it), run a marathon. Now this: spend one last day at Jeju.

Jeongguk didn’t ask why, but he knows it was Taehyung’s last wish before he died, and—he didn’t get it. But Jeongguk is giving it to him, because that’s what he does for the ghosts. He gives them what they want, what they need, one last time, so that they can let go.

At last, Taehyung turns to him, and he’s smiling so, so wide. “This is what I wanted,” he tells Jeongguk, and Jeongguk smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “That’s the last one, isn’t it?”

Taehyung picks his way over the rocks, returning to Jeongguk’s side. There, they both stare out at the horizon, the water. The setting sun.

“Last one,” repeats Taehyung. And—Jeongguk has done this enough times. He knows what’s going to happen. The ghosts come to him because, whether or not either of them know it, he can do something for them. He spends days or weeks or months with them, however long it takes to finish what was started in their lives, and then they come to this moment, where there is nothing left to do. Nothing left to say.

Jeongguk didn’t get attached to Taehyung. It’s what he tells himself, at least, when the ghost turns to him with that look on his face that Jeongguk has seen so many times before. “Thank you, Jeongguk-ah,” he says. “For this. For everything. I know you didn’t really have a choice, but you’re a really good kid.”

“You can go,” says Jeongguk. He doesn’t know if he has to give them permission, but he does. It feels better that way. “You did well.”

“Catch you on the other side?”

Jeongguk chuckles. “Sure,” he says. “Goodbye, Kim Taehyung.”

He didn’t get attached. He didn’t. Still, there’s that smile for one last moment, and then Jeongguk blinks and—Taehyung is gone. It’s just the sunset and Jeju Island and the chill that always settles in as soon as he’s alone again. It won’t hit him fully until he gets home, maybe, or when he wakes up the next morning and Taehyung isn’t there to tell him about the rest of his bucket list. He’s always left behind, and how strange it is. How terribly, unbearably lonely.

Jeongguk goes back to school, because that’s what he always does. He goes on with his life, waits for the next ghost to turn up. It’s a cycle, and he likes being able to help them, but he’s reminded of the fact that he’s twenty-one and still in his second year of university because sometimes his ghost adventures keep him from passing classes, and they always keep him from making real friends, and they may give him some vague sense of fulfillment, but at the end of the day it’s just. Jeongguk. Only Jeongguk.

It takes eighteen hours of wallowing for Jimin to show up in his dorm. Jimin, who sees ghosts, too, who help ghosts the way Jeongguk does, but maybe not the way Jeongguk does because Jimin has learned how not to give pieces of himself to his ghosts. He’s learned how not to lose his own life in the process, and no amount of lectures will change Jeongguk’s sensitivity or ability to get attached, so Jimin just comes over with snacks and pets his hair when he needs it.

“So after Jeju, that was it?” asks Jimin as he offers Jeongguk the bag of chips he’s eating. Jeongguk, with his head in Jimin’s lap, pushes it away.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice small. “It was the last thing on his bucket list. So we did that and then he was… ready to go.”

Jimin makes a noise of disappointment or maybe comfort, puts the bag of chips down, runs his hands through Jeongguk’s hair. (Jeongguk will complain about greasy fingers later, when he’s stopped being sad about something that doesn’t belong to him.) “You only knew him for a few weeks, Guk,” says Jimin.

“Doesn’t make it any less real,” replies Jeongguk. “We were friends. I found ways to make him happy.”

He remembers when they met—over one of the chat forums that Jeongguk joined as a teenager, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t going insane, that ghosts were real and others could see them, too. And there was Jimin, asking the same questions. There was Jimin, a kid from Busan, too, who once saw a man in a doctor’s office reading a newspaper upside down. Jimin is good at getting ghosts to talk to him, to trust him. It’s not a competition, but he gets ghosts to the other side nearly twice as fast as Jeongguk does, just because he’s more charming, maybe, more outgoing and outwardly charismatic.

Jeongguk used to think that whoever gave him this gift had a terrible sense of humour. Jeongguk doesn’t like talking to strangers, isn’t so good at the conversation stuff, but he’s supposed to dig until he finds rock bottom, and then work his way up.

In any case, Jimin moved to Seoul when Jeongguk did and the ghosts followed him, too, and he gets it.

“He’s in a better place,” says Jimin, and Jeongguk groans a little, but the elder is still petting his head, so he can’t complain.

“You sound like a sympathy card,” he says.

“It’s true, though.”

“We don’t know that.”

Jimin pauses. “No,” he says thoughtfully. “But it’s what I choose to believe. What’s the point of helping them be at peace if they’re not going somewhere better than this?”

It’s what Jeongguk tells himself now, what he’ll tell himself when he helps the next ghost. Sometimes the ghosts are the elderly, people who need their family members to stop fighting over silly things like the money they inherit. Sometimes they’re people who were killed in accidents, who just need to find a way to say goodbye to the ones they left behind. Sometimes they’re children, and Jeongguk cries the hardest over those ones, because it isn’t fair.

But Jeongguk can’t do anything about the deaths because they’ve already happened. All he can do is help the ghosts let go, move onto this better place that everyone always talks about. He wishes he could ask them about it, but they go on and he stays here, and. And.

That’s just it.

So Jeongguk goes back to school. He sits through a lecture—a real one—from one of his professors because he neglected to hand in an essay last week, too busy skipping class to help Taehyung. It’s not a viable excuse for not handing in his homework, though, so he just apologizes and promises to get the essay in by the end of the week. He’ll take the docked marks, he’ll take whatever it is, and it’s a shame that he can’t make a living out of helping the dead. It’s a shame it doesn’t pay the bills.

Jeongguk is used to this, though—the aftermath. He adds Taehyung to his ghost journal, the one that is filled with all of the ghosts he’s met and loved and let go of. He sketches Taehyung’s face in one corner of the page, writes down every little detail he can remember about the ghost, like maybe he can keep Taehyung alive here, between these pages. Like he can keep all of them alive, even just for himself.

He puts Taehyung out of his mind as he gets back into the rhythm of classes, part-time work at the bookshop not far from the school. The only reason he’s able to keep the job is because the owner can see ghosts, too, and she understands about his bleeding heart. She once tried helping one of the ghosts that came to Jeongguk instead, just to take some of the load off of his back, but it didn’t work. It’s nice to know she cares, though.

After a week, Jeongguk has settled back into his life, the in between and waiting periods. He keeps his eyes out for new ghosts, but he goes to class, goes to work, does his homework, more or less. Jimin has been helping a ghost for two weeks, so they have less time to see each other, and it’s fine. It’s really, really fine.

He’s making his way into a coffee shop on campus, backpack heavy with books slung over one shoulder and his mind racing with thoughts of essays and deadlines, when he nearly collides with someone. He should collide with them, is the thing, going in while the other is going out, and Jeongguk flinches when he tries to get out of the way of the other young man who barrels into him or—should barrel into him, but he doesn’t, just goes right through the left side of Jeongguk’s body.

Jeongguk gasps—not from the realization, but from the shiver that runs down his spine at the sensation, instantly turning around as the man—ghost?—keeps going through the now-closed door and onto the street.

He’s ‘run’ into them in stranger ways, but Jeongguk has a one-track mind. He forgets about homework, the essay he’s supposed to hand in tomorrow but has barely started, and leaves the coffee shop again. The street isn’t crowded, but he still panics, eyes hurriedly scanning the sidewalk and patch of grass across from the coffee shop. He has to find him.

And—there. Jeongguk spots the shocking mint hair hurrying down the sidewalk, dodging people that would just walk right through him anyway. The thing is, it’s always hard to tell. Ghosts look just like real people, solid and whole, other than the ones that died because of some sort of injury. Those ghosts keep their injuries forever, a constant reminder of what took them from this world they’re still stuck in. Jeongguk once met a ghost who had been murdered, shot in the head. He couldn’t stop throwing up.

It’s not so obvious with other ghosts, though, the ones who died from illnesses or other accidents or something internal. They look like normal people, they talk like real people. It always takes a mistake for Jeongguk to figure it out—they try to pick up an object but can’t or start yelling at people in an attempt to be heard or walk through a wall. Or walk through a person.

Walk through Jeongguk himself.

He takes off down the sidewalk, trying to catch the ghost who is moving faster than he, and Jeongguk needs to talk to him. The ghost might be afraid or worried or confused, and even if Jeongguk isn’t good with people, at least strangers, he’s good with ghosts. He’s done this enough times.

“Hey!” he calls, skirting around a pair of girls walking arm in arm, ignores the others who lift their heads toward him. The one with the mint hair doesn’t. “Hey, you, uh—mint hair guy!”

Finally, the ghost slows down, turning to look back at Jeongguk with furrowed brows. It’s the first time Jeongguk gets a real look at his face—dark eyes, lips pulled into a frown. His hair is wet. Jeongguk realizes he has no idea what to say, partially because the ghost looks irritated, partially because he’s still in the middle of the sidewalk and if he just starts talking, everyone around him will think he’s talking to nothing.

So he says, “Hey,” a little quieter once he reaches where the ghost has stopped, hiking his backpack a little higher on his shoulder. “You don’t know me, but uh—can I talk to you for a second? Like—” He pauses, glances sideways. No one is watching him, but he keeps his voice low anyway when he nods toward the direction of his dorm. “Somewhere private?”

The ghost just—stares. “Um,” he says, voice deep and gravelly. “No?”

Which is fair, Jeongguk thinks. But he also can’t get into an argument. He should have gone for a different tactic. “Okay, but—” he begins, the ghost is already taking a step back.

“I don’t know you,” says the ghost.

“I know, but I really need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

Someone is looking at him from a park bench five feet away. Jeongguk curses under his breath, takes a step forward as the ghost takes another step back. “Please,“ says Jeongguk.

“Stop following me,” the ghost replies. And then he’s gone, walking backwards right through another student stopped in the middle of the sidewalk—who shivers, physically, like Jeongguk did, like Jeongguk is used to, and that’s it.

Jeongguk sighs. And then he follows the ghost.

It’s been a while since he’s had a ghost who won’t talk to him. Taehyung would have hugged him if he could have, probably, when Jeongguk asked if he was okay after finding what looked like a deathly sick man on a bench—he’ll never forget the way Taehying had asked, you can see me? There was hope in it. Relief. The ghost before had gone looking for him after running into a different ghost whisperer instead. All he has to do is get to his little spiel about how he can help them and then they’re hooked, but it’s harder with ghosts who refuse to listen. With ghosts, like this one, who won’t stop running away.

Jeongguk trails him, more or less, around campus for the better part of an hour. He has no idea where the ghost is going, but he keeps waiting for a chance to say something or get him alone, but campus is packed. The ghost shows no signs of stopping.

After the hour, the ghost heads off campus and Jeongguk follows him there, too. At the first stop light, the ghost turns around to glare at him and snaps, “I told you to stop following me.”

Jeongguk stares back, trying not to feel embarrassed about being caught. “I told you that I need to talk to you,” he replies.

The ghost’s eyes narrow slightly, as though he’s considering it, and then he turns around and walks away again. Strangers staring at him be damned. “I’m serious,” Jeongguk says, and the ghost keeps walking, but he asks, “Who even are you?”

“My name is Jeongguk.”

“Well, fuck off, Jeongguk. I don’t care what you have to say to me.”

Jeongguk has no idea why the ghost doesn’t want to talk to him—all of them want to talk to someone who can actually see them, but maybe the ghost thinks Jeongguk is a ghost, too, and therefore it’s not so strange. Maybe he’s angry about his death and doesn’t want to talk to anyone, human or ghost. Maybe he’s just an angry person in general.

He considers giving up, at least for the day. It’s been a long morning and afternoon of classes, and there’s that essay to do, plus he’s supposed to work a shift at the book store in the evening and he promised Jimin that he would actually get a decent amount of sleep this week.

But… the ghost is walking across the crosswalk, hands shoved in the hoodie he’s wearing, and. Jeongguk doesn’t know who he is, doesn’t know what it is that he needs in order to cross over to the other side. He has no idea where the ghost is going, and what if he wakes up tomorrow and can’t find him? What if the ghost spends the rest of the eternity wandering around Seoul because Jeongguk let everything else get the better of him?

He likes helping them, he reminds himself. It’s exhausting sometimes, and he has no idea how to convince this ghost to talk to him, but he has to. It’s not about him, after all. So he follows, and feels like it might be a theme with this one.

Jeongguk reasons that the ghost will have to stop somewhere. Maybe he’s trying to go home, or to find the place where he died. In any case, there has to be an end, and wherever that is will be the place that Jeongguk can finally speak to him. It’ll give him time to devise a plan, in any case. So he follows the ghost away from campus, down endless streets until the other finally stops outside of a—bar? Jeongguk squints up at the sign, noting that it’s not one he’s been to before despite not being far from his dorm, but he has no time to wonder about it before he hears the hushed, “What the fuck?” from the ghost.

What Jeongguk discovers is that the ghost is trying to open the door. But every time he does, his hand passes right through the doorknob, not moving it in the slightest, not able to grip onto the handle. And the ghost is—confused about it, staring at his hand before he tries over and over. Again he whispers, “What the fuck?” and—

Oh.

He doesn’t know he’s a ghost.

He doesn’t know he’s dead.

Jeongguk awkwardly clears his throat behind the ghost, and the man whips around with something dangerous in his eyes. “What the fuck do you want?” he practically shouts, and Jeongguk is glad that the street is somewhat abandoned because it seems they’re having this conversation here.

“You can’t open the door,” replies Jeongguk. “You should probably stop trying.”

The ghost does, but only so he can curl his fists at his sides and grit his teeth. Before he can say anything damaging, though, Jeongguk adds, “You can’t touch anything. Haven’t you noticed yourself literally walking through people all the way here?”

He hates to be the bearer of bad news. This might be the worst thing he’ll ever have to say, but he has to, despite the look of confusion and anger on the ghost’s face. He has to press forward.

“You’re—” begins Jeongguk, suddenly unsure of how to say it. Does ripping it off like a band-aid make it easier? “I’m sorry, but you’re… a ghost?” He doesn’t mean to say it like a question, but that’s how it comes out, and the man just. Stares at him. Jeongguk coughs into his fist. “You’re a ghost. And I’m like—a ghost whisperer, I guess? I don’t really know what to call it. But I can see you and hear you. Normal people can’t.”

The ghost blinks. “What,” he says.

“You’re… dead,” says Jeongguk carefully, wincing a little as he says it. “And now you’re a ghost and I’m here to help you get to the other side or whatever by figuring out what your unfinished business is and helping you finish it.”

“What,” says the ghost again, darker, angrier, and he takes a step toward Jeongguk with so much force that Jeongguk flinches, even though he knows the ghost can’t do anything to him because he can’t touch him, can’t pick up anything to hit him with, can’t do anything but glare and yell but—that’s almost as bad.

“Which part do you need me to repeat?” he asks quietly.

The ghost clenches his jaw, staring at Jeongguk with that same fire in his eyes, and… maybe now that he knows, he’ll want to talk. He must have questions—if he didn’t know how he died, he must want to know how. He must want to know what his unfinished business is. He must be amazed that Jeongguk can see and hear him, must want to ask him how it’s possible.

But the ghost doesn’t have questions, doesn’t want to know anything. He just spends another moment staring at Jeongguk like he’s going to reach out and punch him, and then—he takes off down the street again.

“Stop running away!” shouts Jeongguk instantly, ignoring the woman across the street who turns to stare at him. Fuck it. He needs to keep this ghost with him and he can’t do that if the bastard keeps trying to literally run away from the problem—“I’m here to help you! You—how didn’t you know that you’re dead? Wait, is that why you didn’t want to talk to me?”

“I’m not dead!” shouts the ghost, still walking away. He doesn’t even bother to turn over his shoulder, just shouts at the street and assumes Jeongguk will hear. Will listen. “Is that what you wanted, huh? Just wanted to play a prank on me? Well, good one. Haha. I’m pissing myself with laughter.”

“I’m not pranking you,” says Jeongguk exasperatedly, catching up with the ghost. If only he could physically bar the man from leaving, but he can’t, because he’s a ghost and ghosts can walk through things. That ought to prove it, though, so he says, “Look, can normal, living people do this?” And he steps in front of the ghost, already bracing himself for the shiver that will wrack him when the ghost passes through him.

Except it doesn’t come, because the ghost comes to an abrupt halt in front of him, glaring up thanks to the few inch height difference between them.

“Excuse me,” says the ghost angrily. When Jeongguk doesn’t move, the ghost steps around him, uselessly, and keeps walking again. Jeongguk follows. Again. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I already told you, I’m supposed to help you.”

“Leaving me alone would be helping me.”

“I need to—fuck, where are you going?”

“Away from you!” the ghost snaps, and Jeongguk. Stops walking. He stares at the retreating back of the ghost, feeling helpless and hopeless. He misses Taehyung.

“Can you at least tell me your name?” he calls.

“It’s Yoongi,” says the ghost, surprisingly, half a block away and leaving, leaving. “And I’m not dead!”

“Okay, I might be dead,” is the first thing Jeongguk hears the next morning, head snapping up from where he’s been playing games on his phone for the better part of two hours. He’s still outside of the bar, and—he didn’t sleep there, of course, went home after the ghost ran away and then came back as soon as the bar opened up again because he can’t miss it. He can’t miss this. He can miss class, but he can’t miss the ghost, and if the ghost had been heading to the bar, then surely he’d come back.

Jeongguk was right. Now he’s staring up at the mint-haired ghost, eyes wide as the other man looks anywhere but at him, fingers tugging at one of his ears. Nervous tic.

“What made you change your mind?” asks Jeongguk.

“I went back to my apartment,” says the ghost—Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. “And I couldn’t open the door, but I could walk through it and—I couldn’t pick up anything else, but I didn’t need to eat anything or even sleep, and…” He pauses, licks his lips like he’s debating whether to tell the end of the story. He looks down to Jeongguk before adding quietly, “I dunno, I guess the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I don’t have a heartbeat.” Yoongi presses a hand to his chest, like he can feel the absence of it. His eyebrows are pinched. Jeongguk tries to decide if he’s still angry.

“Yeah,” says Jeongguk, pulling himself to his feet, pocketing his phone. “I’m sorry about that. About you being dead, I mean. Also sorry that I followed you around yesterday and freaked you out. I thought you knew.”

Yoongi looks at him, and for the first time, he’s not angry. Jeongguk decides he’s actually quite pretty when he isn’t scowling. “I didn’t,” says Yoongi. “Do ghosts normally know they’re dead?”

“More or less,” says Jeongguk. “Lots of them know they’re dying, even if it’s just in the second before it happens. They remember dying.”

“I don’t.”

Which is—odd. Jeongguk has never met a ghost who didn’t remember dying, and that’s going to make figuring out the whole unfinished business much more difficult. But there’s only one way to go from here.

“Are you still mad at me?” asks Jeongguk gingerly, testing the waters.

“Not at you,” says Yoongi. “I’m mad about being dead, I think. That kind of thing puts you in a bad mood.”

“Okay, well…” Jeongguk chews on his lower lip, glancing over at the bar. He has no idea what Yoongi is looking for in there, or maybe if he just needs a drink, but he doesn’t need that now. Can’t even lift a glass, anyway. “I know we just met and everything, but since I’m the only one who can help you, you should… probably come back to my dorm with me. And we can go from there.”

Yoongi looks at him in a way that makes Jeongguk’s skin crawl, just a little. It’s disconcerting, like the ghost is considering something. Jeongguk reminds himself again that Yoongi can’t do anything to him. Finally, Yoongi sighs, shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

So that’s what they do—go back to Jeongguk’s dorm. He keeps his head down, more or less, when he gets back to campus because he doesn’t want to run into a classmate or a professor or, God forbid, Jimin, who will know that he hasn’t been in class. But Yoongi is more important. Yoongi, who is dead and didn’t know it. Yoongi, who doesn’t even remember dying, which throws a wrench in all of his plans and hopes. That can only mean that Yoongi either got amnesia before he died or it was an accident that he didn’t see coming, at all.

He’ll figure it out one way or another. Jeongguk would never have pegged himself to be a detective, but that’s certainly what helping ghosts feels like sometimes.

In any case, he leads Yoongi to his dorm, glad that he doesn’t have a roommate as he unlocks the door and lets the both of them inside. Yoongi sort of hovers around the doorway as Jeongguk takes off his shoes and hurriedly cleans up a bit, shoving clothes from the floor into his hamper, throwing empty ramen cups and soda cans into the trash. Not that it makes much of a difference when no object will be impeding Yoongi, but. Jeongguk always sort of wants to impress the ghosts, or at least make them like him. They certainly spend enough time together to make a potentially bad relationship awkward.

When Jeongguk deems the dorm clean enough, he gestures to his bed. “Um, you can sit wherever,” he says, although he knows that it’ll be less sitting and more pretending to sit. Jeongguk once asked one of the ghosts what it was like, existing in a world where they could impact nothing and nothing could impact them. The answer: lonely.

So Jeongguk tries to make it a little less lonely. And Yoongi is still kind of abrasive, not even bothering to look around curiously as he stays standing by the doorway, and—that’s fine. Jeongguk tries not to feel nervous as he sinks into his desk chair and opens his laptop, pulling up a new Word document so he can start compiling information, evidence. Normally, he might start off with some friendly chatter, but he’s not sure Yoongi wants that.

“Um,” begins Jeongguk, glancing at Yoongi over his shoulder. “I think we should start with the basics. The whole point of you being here is that you have some sort of unfinished business that’s keeping you from—from moving on from this world.” It sounds so cheesy, so strange to talk about the afterlife and unfinished business with someone who is dead and on the verge of making it to another world, the one that Jeongguk always has so many questions about, but if he stops to think about it, it’ll make his head hurt. So he doesn’t. “First we have to figure out what that unfinished business is, and… generally, it helps to know how you died. Which we don’t know, in this case, but we’ll figure it out.”

There’s an optimistic lilt to his voice, mostly for himself because Yoongi just stares at him a little blankly, arms crossed over his chest. Suddenly, he realizes he’d actually rather be in class.

“So, can you tell me a bit about yourself?” he asks.

“What, are you making me a dating profile?” asks Yoongi dryly. “GhostMingle.com? Gonna find me a pretty ghost girl to spend my last days on Earth with?”

Jeongguk swallows tightly. “No, I—”

“Good, I’d want a ghost boy anyway,” says Yoongi. Completely unnecessarily, and Jeongguk thinks, oh. Then he turns back to his laptop and the blinking cursor on a blank white page.

“Okay,” he says, and types Gay because it might end up being relevant. This time, he keeps his gaze away from Yoongi when he says, “We could start with your full name. A quick Google search can tell us if there’s been anything reported on your death.” It’s the best-case scenario, learning everything from a news source. Maybe Yoongi was important like that.

“Min Yoongi,” says a voice next to his ear and Jeongguk jumps, cursing the fact that ghosts don’t make any fucking noise when they move around. He types the name, though, sparing only a glance sideways to see the ghost hovering over his shoulder and staring intently at the laptop screen. “Aged twenty-five, born and raised in Daegu until I was thirteen, when my parents moved here to Seoul. I work at a bar.”

“The bar you went to yesterday?” asks Jeongguk after he’s finished typing the new information.

Yoongi hums beside him, and Jeongguk takes it as a yes.

Then the ghost is gone, finally taking an interest in Jeongguk’s room as he moves around and inspects things. Jeongguk feels a sort of ache, a nervousness that Yoongi will think he’s boring and decide that he’d rather find a different person to help him. Jeongguk is silent as he searches Yoongi’s name on Google and finds nothing but a Facebook page and some LinkedIn profiles of Min Yoongis who aren’t his Min Yoongi, which is. Useless.

Jeongguk glances over at Yoongi again, who has taken to sitting on the bed with his back against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed. Jeongguk tries to imagine what it would like to know he’s dead. To know that he’s caught between two worlds and he has to rely on some kid to figure out how to get him unstuck.

“There’s nothing online,” says Jeongguk after clearing his throat. “So… what’s the last thing you remember before you remember being a ghost?”

Yoongi doesn’t open his eyes. Jeongguk thinks that he isn’t going to respond because he’s just sitting there, breathing slowly, and then finally, Yoongi mutters, “I got in a fight with my parents.”

Which is—something, at least. “What was it about?” asks Jeongguk.

“I don’t remember,” says Yoongi, a little too quickly. “Probably my career choices. They wanted me to be a doctor.” It sounds fake, sounds too much like a movie or a book, but he doesn’t push it. He’s not sure the subject of the fight is important to how Yoongi died, anyway.

“Okay, so what happened after you fought?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you just forget what happened? Did you fall and hit your head or something?”

“I don’t know, Jeongguk.”

“Do you remember seeing anyone or doing anything after that might have caused your death?”

“Jeongguk—”

“What about friends? I can talk to your parents; do you have their phone number?”

“Stop asking me questions,” snaps Yoongi, still not opening his eyes. “Why does it fucking matter?”

Jeongguk shrinks, just a bit. “I’m supposed to figure out how to help you.”

“You’re doing a shit job,” and. Oh.

Jeongguk stares at Yoongi for another moment. He reminds himself that Yoongi isn’t angry at him, just at how things have turned out. He’s dead, only just figured it out a few hours earlier, so maybe he’s just trying to come to terms with that. Maybe he’s upset about the fight with his parents, maybe he feels bad that he didn’t get to apologize to them—if he didn’t get the apologize to them. Jeongguk isn’t sure Yoongi is going to answer any more questions.

So he turns back to his laptop, looking at the pathetic list of information he’s compiled. None of this tells him how Yoongi died, and none of it tells him what he’s supposed to do to get Yoongi to move onto the afterlife. It’s never easy, he knows. Helping ghosts is difficult and emotionally draining and, in cases like these, comes with plenty of anger or denial or disappointment.

But it’s just. How it works. Jeongguk has been doing this for long enough that he shouldn’t be surprised when he comes across a ghost who doesn’t want his help. He refuses to believe that Yoongi is a mean person, so he goes back to his search browser and starts digging. There has to be something.

The rest of the day is spent trying to wheedle things out of Yoongi, who clams up and refuses to say anything. And Jeongguk feels helpless, so he actually goes to one of his classes after telling Yoongi not to leave the dorm, tries to work on his essays even though there’s a ghost in his dorm room. He’s distracted, but he does his best, anyway. He texts Jimin, explains the situation. Only feels a little sad about the heart emojis that Jimin sends back.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Yoongi, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to deal with someone who doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t really want him around. All he wants and needs to do is help Yoongi, but Yoongi just stares at him every time Jeongguk asks him what he can remember. He understands that Yoongi is in a strange situation and angry about being dead, but he wishes that ghost could just… let him help.

It isn’t until the next morning that Jeongguk is finally given a clue. He’s on his way to class, nearly at his classroom, when his phone vibrates with a text from Jimin. Jeongguk opens the message, eyebrows furrowing when he reads, Isn’t this the name of the ghost you’re helping? along with a link to an article from a local news site.

When he opens the link, he’s met with a picture of Yoongi—his Yoongi. Mint hair, sharp features, those dark eyes. Except he’s smiling, something wide and gummy as he looks into the camera. Jeongguk stares at it for a beat too long before he thinks to scroll down and read the headline: Police seek help in locating missing 25-year-old man. And it’s. It’s Yoongi.

Jeongguk runs all the way back to his dorm, heart hammering as he takes the stairs two at a time and nearly wrenches the door off of its hinges as he gets inside. Yoongi is still there, lying on the floor this time and staring at the ceiling, and he doesn’t even flinch when Jeongguk bursts into the room.

“Yoongi!” he exclaims, careful not to step on the ghost (although it wouldn’t make a difference anyway) as he makes his way over and shoves his phone into Yoongi’s face. “It’s you! This is it, Yoongi, you’re a missing person. Your unfinished business is finding your body!”

He’s excited about it, elated with the fact that he finally has something to go off of. And he has no idea where to find Yoongi’s body, but he has his aim, finally, knows what he’s meant to do and if Yoongi can remember, then they can do this. He’ll be a real detective this time, but that’s it.

Except—Yoongi just stares at the phone before his eyes shift to Jeongguk’s smiling face. “Right,” he says. “Have fun with that.”

Jeongguk’s smile falters. “What?”

“I said, have fun with that.”

“What, you’re not going to help me?”

“I don’t really care, to be honest,” says Yoongi.

And—Jeongguk has never met a ghost who didn’t care. “What do you mean, you don’t care?” he asks. “You’re dead, Yoongi. You’re not supposed to be here anymore. If I can find your body, then you can move onto—I dunno, heaven or the afterlife or wherever dead people go. That’s the point.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” says Yoongi, getting to his feet and not caring that he goes right through Jeongguk, who finds himself hissing with the shudder that moves through him. “The afterlife sounds great, but I’m not going to help you find my body. Seems like a lot of unnecessary work, since the police are clearly looking for me, too. Just let them do their jobs, Jeongguk.”

“Yoongi, please,” says Jeongguk, and he hates how desperate he sounds, but the ghost just. Looks at him for a moment. Those calculating eyes, a little anger behind them, still—for the first time, Jeongguk isn’t actually sure if he’s angry at being dead or angry at Jeongguk for meddling.

Jeongguk gets his answer when Yoongi turns around and walks through the door.

The thing is, Jeongguk can’t find Yoongi’s body on his own. The article about Yoongi going missing doesn’t say much, just that he was last seen at the bar that he works at, which makes sense if he worked there, and a number to contact if anyone has information. He has no idea what Yoongi did before he went missing, has no idea why the ghost doesn’t remember anything about it—unless Yoongi just isn’t telling him anything. But he can’t get more information about the ghost either, who takes to wandering around campus for hours on end even when Jeongguk begs him to just stay for once. It might be good for him to come to terms with things, though, so Jeongguk hopes that’s what he’s doing.

In the meantime, Jeongguk… goes back to class. Hands in the essay he was supposed to do when Taehyung was still around. It’s strange to go back to normal life when there is something he’s supposed to be doing, someone he’s supposed to be helping, but he doesn’t know what to do. He checks the news obsessively, hoping for new information on Yoongi, new information about his body. Nothing comes up, not days after. Jeongguk himself begins to lose hope. Even Jimin’s encouragement can’t keep his spirits up, so apparently Jimin decides to do more about it.

He comes over on the fourth day, an evening when Yoongi has been out of the dorm for most of the day and Jeongguk has finished his homework and done his obsessive research of Yoongi and his case and he’s feeling especially lost. Jimin is clutching two grocery bags full of snacks when Jeongguk opens the door, and Jeongguk just pouts when he lets his best friend in.

“Rough few days, huh?” asks Jimin, and Jeongguk is afraid he’ll start crying before the door even closes.

“He won’t talk to me,” sighs Jeongguk as he flops onto his bed, making space for Jimin to join him. “I don’t know what to do. I know he’s a missing person so the police and his parents and probably his friends are looking for him, and I could find him if he would just—tell me things. But he won’t.” He pouts something fierce, turning his face into Jimin’s thigh where the other boy is sitting next to him. He gets what he wants when Jimin begins carding his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, careful, gentle.

“Have you tried talking to him about something other than his death?” asks Jimin.

And—Jeongguk has never considered that. Still—“I don’t think he’d be very interested in that,” he mutters.

“You don’t know if you haven’t tried. Sometimes the ghosts I meet are just… scared and unsure of what’s happening and—I mean, they just died, Guk-ah, what do you expect?”

“But I’m nice.”

“I know,” says Jimin, sounds like he’s cooing a bit. “Maybe Yoongi doesn’t want you to find him. Maybe he wants to stay here because he’s not ready to go. Sometimes I think that’s what all of this unfinished business is about in the first place.”

Oddly, it makes sense. Yoongi didn’t know he was dead, clearly wasn’t expecting to die if he went missing before it happened, and maybe he’s not only angry about dying, but also about what might come next. Maybe he doesn’t want Jeongguk’s help because doesn’t like what getting help implies, what it’ll mean.

And Jeongguk—Jeongguk has a one-track mind. He always sees the ghosts as people, but maybe he forgets that they have emotions, too, that just because he’s been doing this for years doesn’t mean each ghost has come to terms with what dying and moving on means.

Later that night, with Jeongguk’s head pillowed in Jimin’s lap and his eyelids heavy, heavy, heavy, he feels Jimin bristle slightly under him. He’s too near to sleep to think about it, though, and even the now-familiar lilts and nuances of Yoongi’s voice aren’t enough to pull him from the beginning of slumber. He hears his name, not calling to him but speaking about him, hears Jimin say something like I need to have a word with you and that’s. Nice. Maybe Jimin can tell Yoongi to take the stick out of his ghost ass. Maybe he can tell Yoongi that Jeongguk is sorry for having a stick up his human ass, too.

The next morning, Jeongguk wakes swaddled in his own duvet, mind muddled and cloudy as he blinks at the bit of sunlight peeking through his curtains. It takes him a moment to remember that it’s the weekend, and another to realize that Yoongi is staring at him from the other side of the room.

(He forgot to ask if Yoongi just… watches him sleep, since Yoongi doesn’t need sleep himself. It feels like the wrong time to bring it up.)

Jeongguk blinks a few times, guard down so early in the morning, and he stares back. Unguarded, his mind decides to remind him that Yoongi is pretty, prettier when he doesn’t look like he hates Jeongguk. There’s nothing soft about him now, but.

“I’m sorry about being rude to you for the past few days and I know it’s not your fault that I’m dead and you’re just trying you best to help me because that’s what you do and it’s not fair of me to not help you or to treat you the way I have been so I’d like it very much if you forgave me,” says Yoongi, all in one go, all in one breath, eyes wide like he’s been caught in headlights.

Jeongguk blinks again.

“What?” he asks groggily, squinting one eye at the ghost.

Yoongi sighs. “Do I have to repeat it?” he asks, and Jeongguk now realizes that he’s uncomfortable, not with Jeongguk but the apology itself, shifting from one foot to the other as his eyes finally move away from the younger boy. “I worked on it all night and I don’t think I have the courage to say it again.”

Jeongguk smacks his lips, then finally moves enough to get out of the swaddle and sit up straight in his bed, rubbing at his eyes a little. “Sorry, um,” he says, dropping his hands. He looks at Yoongi imploringly.

“I said,” says Yoongi, a little exasperated, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “I’m sorry for being rude to you and you don’t deserve it because you’re just trying to help me so can you please forgive me?” His nose wrinkles. Jeongguk’s lips quirk upward.

“Sorry, one more time?” he asks, and Yoongi huffs. “I’m teasing. Of course I forgive you.” He thinks about how frustrating the past few days have been, how hopeless, and maybe he shouldn’t forgive Yoongi so easily, but this is what he’s been wanting. It’s not going to delay that for any reason.

“Good,” says Yoongi, glancing at him.

“Why the change of heart?”

“Your friend,” and Yoongi clears his throat, a little awkwardly. “Do you… really cry when the ghosts disappear?”

“Oh my God,” mutters Jeongguk, smacking both hands over his face as his cheeks instantly heat up. Fucking Jimin.

“So that’s a yes, then.”

“Stop talking,” groans Jeongguk, face still in his hands.

And then he hears—laughing. Yoongi is laughing. It’s what makes Jeongguk peek through his fingers, watching the ghost with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open, smiling that gummy smile he saw only in the picture the news posted in his missing persons report. It’s so strange, so wonderful.

“It’s—cute,” says Yoongi, then, which just makes Jeongguk blush even more, going back to hiding in his hands. Maybe he liked Yoongi better when he was being an asshole.

An hour later, after Yoongi has awkwardly apologized a few more times and Jeongguk has made him swear to never bring up the crying thing again, Jeongguk realizes what all of this means. “Are you going to help me find your body, then?” he asks tentatively.

Yoongi licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “I don’t really—want to find it, if I’m honest, because that’s kind of gross, but I’m curious. And… if it’s what’s going to help me get to the other side or whatever, then, yeah. I’ll help you.”

Jeongguk beams. “Great!” he exclaims, scrambling off of his bed so that he can grab his laptop. “The news hasn’t said much about the investigation, so I don’t know if they’ve found anything, and um—it’s probably best to just go off of what you remember. You had a fight with your parents, right?”

Yoongi nods from where he’s sitting on Jeongguk’s dresser, technically on Jeongguk’s hair products and camera and textbooks. “And you don’t remember anything after that?” asks Jeongguk.

“I remember leaving their house,” he says.

“Oh!” says Jeongguk, suddenly remembering what he’d read in the original article about Yoongi’s disappearance. “The police said you were last seen at your bar. Did you go to work or something?”

“I don’t remember having work that night,” he says. “It was… pretty late.”

“A clue,” gasps Jeongguk, like—this is some fucking Sherlock Holmes novel and not real life, but it’s easier this way. He types madly on his laptop, adding to the ever-growing list of information that may be important to figuring out the ghost’s disappearance. “You went to the bar for some other reason. I’m sure the police have already been there, but maybe if we go, you’ll remember something?”

Yoongi looks incredulous, but he doesn’t argue. It’s something.

“We can retrace your steps,” continues Jeongguk. “Start from what you know and go from there, and maybe we’ll find you. Even if you don’t remember, you must have left clues somewhere.”

“You know you’re not like, a detective or something, right?” Yoongi asks, and Jeongguk is already hopping off of his bed, grabbing his coat and beckoning Yoongi onto his feet, too.

“If I am, you’re a pretty shitty sidekick.”

“Why am I the sidekick?”

“Because I can actually touch shit.”

“Brat.”

They get to the bar quickly enough, making their way inside, and Jeongguk watches Yoongi for a moment as he looks around. There’s an awful longing in the ghost’s eyes, and it’s the first time he’s seeing Yoongi see something he used to have in life, something that he’s been forced to give up because of his death. Jeongguk doesn’t linger on it, though, doesn’t want to think about it as he approaches the bartender.

“Hi,” he says, feeling awkward and out of place. He’s been to bars a few times, mostly when Jimin drags him out, and the bartender—a woman with dark hair and darker eyeliner—just looks at him. “I was hoping to ask you some questions about… Min Yoongi?”

The woman bristles somewhat, and Jeongguk hears Yoongi mutter something behind him, something harsh. He tries not to react, knowing the woman can’t see Yoongi. “What do you want to know?” she asks, tone clipped. “The police have already been here. Several times.”

“I’m not part of the police,” says Jeongguk hurriedly. “I’m just, um—a friend? And I want to find him, and I know he worked here, so…”

The woman continues to stare at him. Yoongi helpfully says, “You’re not going to get anything out of her. She’s a bitch.”

Jeongguk coughs to cover up the sound of himself almost choking on air at the admission, and sometimes he forgets that other people can’t see or hear Yoongi. It seems the ghost has already come to terms with that, not shy about using it to his advantage.

“I have no useful information for you,” she says, sounding bored now. “I wasn’t here the day that he went missing. He was here that night, apparently, but the only person working was Namjoon.” Yoongi sucks in a breath behind him. Jeongguk forces himself not to turn around, not to ask, instead raising his eyebrows as the woman adds, “You should talk to him if you want to know anything. He’s not here now, though, and he’s not working until Monday, so.”

So. The unspoken scram is there, and Jeongguk nods, hurriedly thanks the woman and then turns around to leave. He has questions to ask—Yoongi obviously knows Namjoon, since they worked together, but he feels like there’s something more there, so he hurries down the street until they come to a back alley and he ducks in, making sure no one is walking by and will think he’s insane before he turns to Yoongi.

“Who’s Namjoon?” he asks.

“My best friend,” says Yoongi. There’s that longing in his eyes again, something so horribly sad. Maybe it’s the first time Yoongi has really thought about his friends, about what he’s left behind. “He owns the bar. He was—like my brother, really.”

“If he was working the night you were there, maybe he can tell us something about what happened,” says Jeongguk, trying not to sound excited. “Where you went after.”

Yoongi tugs at his ear. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

For now, because Jeongguk can’t just show up at Namjoon’s apartment and try to explain that he found out where he lived from the ghost of the man’s best friend, they go back to Jeongguk’s dorm. Now that Yoongi actually sticks around, now that he’s actually willing to talk to Jeongguk, the younger boy finds that the ghost is actually… kind of nice. Okay. Pretty, of course, but funny sometimes, and entirely too distracting when Jeongguk tries to do his homework.

Yoongi won’t stop standing over Jeongguk’s shoulder and making comments about his essays or his assignments, and most of the time, they’re not helpful. Yoongi didn’t even go to university, but he still offers little pieces of advice here and there when he’s not telling Jeongguk to work on his grammar or something equally as stupid.

And Jeongguk—wants to be annoyed with it. But there’s something warm that settles in the pit of his stomach every time Yoongi opens his mouth and teases him or makes a joke or chooses to stay, because it’s better than what he had before. He always wants the ghosts to like him, but sometimes, they’re too sad to develop any relationship that isn’t based on Jeongguk pitying them or feeling sorry for them or trying to comfort them about the life they’ve lost. Yoongi is—different, somehow. He’s dead and maybe he’s still upset about it, but maybe he knows that finding his body is going to be next to near impossible, so there’s no point in worrying about leaving Earth so quickly.

On Monday, Jeongguk is ready to run to the bar again, to find Namjoon and get a good start on retracing Yoongi’s steps, but Yoongi is having none of it. He tells Jeongguk that he has to go to class first, because he won’t have the boy failing anything on his watch, and Jeongguk whines about it, reminds Yoongi that technically he can’t do anything to stop him, but Yoongi levels him with a look and—yeah.

“You could… come with me,” says Jeongguk a little awkwardly after he’s packed up his backpack, one hand on the doorknob. Yoongi looks up from where he’s sitting on Jeongguk’s bed, watching the movie that Jeongguk put on his laptop, because Yoongi can’t touch anything but he can look.

“And what would I do in your class?” asks Yoongi. Jeongguk’s cheeks go a little pink.

“Keep me company?” he suggests, and he knows he’s gotten it right when Yoongi grins a little, crooked.

Jeongguk realizes his mistake halfway through his psychology class, when Yoongi won’t stop heckling the professor without the professor actually knowing. And he’s trying to be a good student, really, taking notes diligently and ignoring the way Yoongi is lounging with his feet up on the table (“I always wanted to do that in school, but I was too afraid of getting caught”) so that he can actually listen to the professor. It’s just. Yoongi is so distracting.

“Boo!” calls Yoongi when the professor begins droning on about statistics of substance abuse. “Talk about something interesting. Also buy some deodorant while you’re at it; it looks like you dipped your armpits in cooking oil.”

And Jeongguk—snorts, can’t help himself even though the sound cuts through the silence of the classroom, and the professor stops talking.

“Please remain quiet,” says the man, to which Yoongi lets out an even louder and longer boooo.

“I wish I had popcorn to throw at this guy,” says the ghost, and Jeongguk is trying so hard to ignore him, even though the ghost is shifting closer, practically hooking his chin on Jeongguk’s shoulder. It feels cold where their skin touches, a little, but almost nice. Peaceful. “Or tomatoes. Or sticks of deodorant!”

Jeongguk lets out another giggle, instantly covering his mouth but it’s too late and the professor stops again, pinpointing the source of the noise easily, and Jeongguk can’t even be embarrassed when Yoongi starts heckling the man again, making him giggle even more, and he packs up without even needing to be asked.

“I hope all of you fail!” Yoongi yells as they’re leaving. “You can’t see me but I’m mooning you.”

The class was boring away.

Still—“You can’t do that,” he chastises Yoongi as soon as they’re back in Jeongguk’s dorm and he can speak to the ghost again. “You’re going to get me kicked out of class.”

“You weren’t learning anything anyway,” says Yoongi, flopping onto Jeongguk’s bed or—kind of just hovering there, not really resting on it, which is so strange. Normal, though, for both of them now. “Why are you even taking that class?”

“It’s for my degree,” says Jeongguk. “As are all of my classes, so I’m going to start banning you from coming with me if you’re just going to distract me the whole time.”

“You can’t stop me,” sniffs Yoongi, sounding all too pleased with himself. “Besides, it’s not my fault that I’m hilarious and extraordinarily attractive and infinitely more interesting than your classes.”

Jeongguk just sighs, throwing his backpack down and flopping onto the bed beside Yoongi. “I liked you better when you refused to talk to me,” he says, which is a lie, but. He can’t show his whole hand now, doesn’t want to think about how much he actually does like Yoongi. They just got off on the wrong foot. Things have changed so quickly already, and he likes it.

“You like the tsundere bit, do you?” asks Yoongi. “Does it turn you on, Guk-ah? Want me to ignore you harder?”

And Jeongguk is laughing again, grabbing his pillow to first hide his face in and then smack it against the space where Yoongi is lying. The pillow just hits the bed, but it’s the intention that counts as Yoongi guffaws, sticks his hand through Jeongguk’s chest to make him shiver, but he’s still laughing as Yoongi keeps going with the terrible dirty talk, and it shouldn’t be like this, not really.

Yoongi is a ghost, and he’s dead and death is sad, but this isn’t sad. Jeongguk isn’t sad.

Vaguely, he thinks that it might cause problems.

Vaguely, he thinks he doesn’t care.

They go back to the bar that evening, after Jeongguk has made his way through two other classes in which he tries to ban Yoongi from speaking, but the ghost takes as a challenge to see how much he can make Jeongguk laugh. He doesn’t get kicked out, though, and he manages to take some half-ass notes that likely won’t help him when finals roll around, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, he likes seeing the way Yoongi’s face lights up, hearing his stupid laugh.

He isn’t laughing when they make their way to the bar, and Jeongguk already misses the sound, but there’s nothing funny about maybe finding out where Yoongi’s body is. Jeongguk preps the questions he wants to ask before they go in, and Yoongi is so, so silent beside him, so they just go in.

The bar is mostly empty, and there’s a different bartender working, a tall man with silver hair swept off of his forehead, and Jeongguk doesn’t have to ask if it’s Namjoon because he hears Yoongi’s sharp intake of breath beside him and he knows. For the first time, Jeongguk wishes he could touch Yoongi, could reach out and squeeze his hand. But he can’t, so he keeps his eyes firmly away from the ghost and approaches the bar.

“Hello,” he says a little awkwardly once he reaches the bar, worrying at his bottom lip. “Are you Namjoon?”

The bartender raises his eyebrows, but he nods. “That’s me,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Jeongguk. I’m a f-friend of Min Yoongi,” says Jeongguk, a little awkward and unsure, but the way Namjoon’s eyes widen keeps him going. “I’m, um. Trying to help find him. And I know that he was here the night that he went missing, so I was hoping to talk to you about it.”

Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t ask how Jeongguk knows Yoongi. He doesn’t ask why he wants to know, doesn’t chastise him for doing the police’s job, like Yoongi had. He just nods a little, gestures for the boy to follow him toward one of the empty booths near the back of the bar.

When they’re seated, Namjoon says, “You’re braver than me, actually going out and trying to find him. I wish I could.” And—Jeongguk wasn’t expecting this, wasn’t ready for the sort of emotions that come with talking about a missing best friend. He glances at Yoongi, who is hovering near the table, too antsy to sit down. The ghost is staring at Namjoon. Jeongguk tries not to think about what the expression on his face means.

“Don’t feel bad,” says Jeongguk quickly, turning back to Namjoon. “You have work and a life and stuff, and… the police are looking, right?”

“Maybe not hard enough,” mutters Namjoon.

“That’s why I’m looking too. The more people, the merrier, right?”

“At first, I thought he was just being an idiot again,” says Namjoon. He’s picking at his thumbnail, not looking at Jeongguk. “You know how he is, always making rash decisions and running away when he can’t deal with something. It’s not the first time he’s gone ‘missing’, although it’s never been long enough to file an actual report.”

It’s the first time that Jeongguk realizes he actually doesn’t know anything about Yoongi. He doesn’t know anything about Yoongi’s life, other than that he worked at Namjoon’s bar and had a fight with his parents the night he disappeared. He only knows the ghost’s sense of humour, only knows that he has a soft spot for Disney movies. Jeongguk has been so hell-bent on finding Yoongi’s body that he hasn’t stopped to learn anything about Yoongi himself, and it’s strange to hear it from someone else, but maybe it’s better that way.

“You think he was running away from something?” asks Jeongguk carefully.

Namjoon looks up briefly. “He was here that night,” he admits. “He got in a fight with his parents, wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but he was so… angry. I could tell he had been drinking before he showed up at the bar, and I kept giving him water, but I don’t know if it helped. He was really drunk.”

Jeongguk has to keep himself from looking over at Yoongi, realizing that—that has to be why Yoongi doesn’t remember dying. He was drunk, too drunk to remember anything, although that’s just going to make piecing it all together even harder.

“I offered to take him home,” continues Namjoon. “But he wouldn’t let me. And I tried not to let him leave, but he was pretty aggressive about it. I was afraid he would hurt me if I physically tried to stop him from doing anything.”

“So he left?” asks Jeongguk.

Namjoon looks a little shameful, but he nods anyway. “Yeah,” he says. “He drove here and I tried to call a cab or something, but he was gone before I could do anything.”

Jeongguk thinks about finding a crashed car on the side of the road, finding Yoongi’s body at the wheel. Surely the police would have found that by now, though.

“Did he say where he was going?” asks Jeongguk.

“He kept talking about his brother,” says Namjoon, and Jeongguk hears Yoongi make a noise in the back of his throat, something like a pained whine. “I’m assuming he wanted to go see him, although he didn’t say for sure.”

And Jeongguk, because he’s supposed to be friends with Yoongi and already know that the elder has a brother, just nods his head. He can’t ask questions without looking suspicious. “Did you tell the police that?” he asks.

“Yeah,” says Namjoon. “I told them everything I know, but I dunno.” The bartender rubs at the back of his neck. “If you go looking for him… I hope you find him, Jeongguk. I just want him to come home.”

He realizes, a little belatedly, that Namjoon doesn’t know Yoongi is dead. Of course he doesn’t know—as far as anyone knows, Yoongi is holed up in a hotel, still on a bender. Or he decided to flee the country, just for a while to get away from things. They might have their suspicions, but they’re all still hoping, and Jeongguk knows more than ever what his mission is. If he doesn’t find Yoongi’s body, they’ll always be hoping, always be waiting. Namjoon will always want Yoongi to come home, and he can’t truly be at peace with anything if he doesn’t know the truth of what happened.

Sometimes, when Jeongguk doesn’t have to deal with the people left behind, he can forget about the gravity of it all. But now, looking at Namjoon, the way the man’s face is pinched, like he’s trying not to cry, Jeongguk can’t escape it.

“I will,” he says. “I’ll find him.”

“I miss him,” says Namjoon, small and quiet and sad and. Jeongguk only then realizes that Yoongi isn’t standing beside the table anymore.

“Me too,” whispers Jeongguk. “I should—probably go, let you get back to work. Thank you for the information.” He wants to stay, but he thinks about the reminiscing, thinks about trying to pretend that the way he knows Yoongi is anything like how Namjoon knew him. He can’t fake that, and he doesn’t want to.

He finds Yoongi outside of the bar, leaning against the side of the building with his lips in a tight line. For a moment, Jeongguk just stands there, staring at the ghost. The street is empty.

He says, “I’m sorry if that was hard.”

Yoongi opens his eyes, levels Jeongguk with careful look before he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “We have a lead, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” says Jeongguk, and he feels like they should talk about this, about… something. But Yoongi is already walking down the street and Jeongguk is forced to hurry after him. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to need a car,” says Yoongi. “If I wanted to see my brother, we need a car.”

The problem is, Jeongguk doesn’t have a car. The solution is, Jimin does.

It takes a lot of promises to pay for food and proper sleeping schedules for the other to hand over the keys, but then Yoongi and Jeongguk are piling in the car and it’s only then that Jeongguk realizes he doesn’t actually know where they’re going. He turns to the ghost expectantly. “Where to?” he asks.

“Daegu,” replies Yoongi, and Jeongguk blanches.

“You could be in Daegu?” he asks. “Why did you show up in Seoul, then?”

“I don’t know,” replies Yoongi, bristling slightly. “Maybe I didn’t make it there. But that’s where my brother is.”

And Jeongguk—can’t really argue with that. So he just starts the car, keeps silent as they begin winding their way through the streets toward Daegu. They sit in silence for only a few minutes before curiosity gets the better of him.

“I didn’t know you have a brother,” says Jeongguk. Yoongi is still staring out the window.

“Had,” corrects Yoongi. “I had a brother.”

“You haven’t been dead for very long. I don’t think you have to talk about yourself in the past tense yet.”

“No,” says Yoongi, voice heavy. “He’s dead, too.”

And—oh.

“Oh,” says Jeongguk. His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I’m—sorry.”

“It’s fine,” says Yoongi, too quickly. “It was a long time ago, when we still lived in Daegu. That’s why he’s there—he’s buried there.”

Jeongguk wants to know about it. Wants to know what happened, why fighting with his parents would make Yoongi want to drive all the way to Daegu when he was drunk, but he feels like maybe it isn’t the right time to ask. Maybe there are some things he doesn’t need to know.

Instead, he says, “Maybe you got into a car accident. If you were drinking and driving, it’s possible.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply.

Jeongguk falls silent again, long enough for them to nearly get to the outskirts of Seoul, and then he says, “Namjoon is nice.” He doesn’t know what he’s going for, but he wants Yoongi to talk. The realization that he doesn’t actually know anything about the ghost bothers him, thinks that maybe if he can learn more, they’ll have a better chance of retracing Yoongi’s steps.

“Yeah,” says Yoongi, still staring out the window. “We met after I moved to Seoul. Hired me at the bar when I thought I was just going to be a jobless bum for the rest of my life. If you can call that nice.”

“Why did you think you would be a jobless bum?” asks Jeongguk. Yoongi finally turns to look at him, and there’s a hint of amusement on his face. Which is—good.

“I didn’t go to university,” he says. “Didn’t really see myself doing anything, if I’m honest. I was good at school, for the most part, and I was a hard worker, but I just… stopped trying, after that.” He shrugs. “I think my parents were always comparing me to my brother, even though he died when he was fifteen. I think he was their favourite, even though they loved me, but… I couldn’t live up to this ideal they had in their head.”

Jeongguk frowns. “Is that what you fought about that night?”

“I think so,” says Yoongi. “I honestly don’t remember that much of it, just that… it was bad. I wasn’t lying when I said they wanted me to be a doctor, because that’s what my brother wanted to be. It was just different, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” says Jeongguk, and it doesn’t sound like enough, but it has to be. “About your brother and your parents and everything.”

“It doesn’t change anything now,” says Yoongi. “I’m already dead, aren’t I? And—God, my poor parents. Both sons gone. They must be so upset about it.”

“That’s why we’re trying to find your body. It’ll give them some peace, I think, even if it’s really awful to find out about. At least they won’t spend the rest of their lives looking for you.”

“Yeah,” says Yoongi, and he’s watching Jeongguk now, careful eyes, careful words. “Sorry about making you miss class.”

“It’s fine,” laughs Jeongguk. “It’s kind of boring, anyway.”

“You don’t have to do this, though. Any of this. Just because you see ghosts doesn’t mean you have to put your life on pause to help them.”

“But I do,” says Jeongguk. “That’s how I feel, anyway. If I can see them, it has to mean something, you know? I’m not just helping you, but helping the people you left behind, and… I dunno, I guess I can learn something along the way, too.”

“What are you learning from me, then?”

Jeongguk takes a moment to think about it, eyes still on the road. “How to be super lame?” he suggests, to which Yoongi scoffs.

“Haven’t we already established that I’m super cool?” he asks.

“Last night, you ranted to me for ten minutes about why Mulan is better than Elsa,” laughs Jeongguk. “Anyone who has that much of an opinion on Disney princesses is not cool.”

“But she is better!” crows the ghost.

“Please don’t start again.”

“You need to be educated, Jeonggukkie.”

“Hyung, no.”

They’ve been driving for half an hour when Yoongi suddenly yells, “Wait!” Jeongguk’s first instinct is to slam on the breaks, but they’re still on the road with other cars so he stops himself, instead pulls the car to the side of the road and turns to stare at Yoongi, who is staring out the window.

“Wait, I remember something,” says the ghost, practically pressed to the glass even though he could go through it anyway—“Look at that.”

Jeongguk ducks his head enough to see out the window, looking over the expanse of grass and trees to see… “It’s an amusement park,” he says. “It must be one of those moving ones, the festivals and stuff.”

“How long has it been there?” asks Yoongi.

Jeongguk tries to remember what day it is, tries to count backwards. “It’s usually here for about two weeks, and it must be… over a week since it started, at least?”

Yoongi turns to look at him, eyes bright. “Jeongguk, I think I was there,” he says. “I don’t remember getting to Daegu or seeing my brother’s grave, but I remember this, kind of. Lights and carnival music. This has to be it.”

Jeongguk nods, quickly merging back onto the road until they find the turn off and head toward the amusement park. He remembers seeing ads for it—it’s an annual thing, anyway, a night festival with rides and carnival games. He’s been a few times, but there’s a new sort of nervousness that thrums under his skin when he thinks that this might be the next clue to where Yoongi’s body is.

The drive isn’t long to the park, which is set up in the middle of a massive clearing, surrounded on all sides by trees. The parking lot is empty, the park itself empty, silent. It’s the middle of the day, which means it isn’t open yet, but Jeongguk silently pulls the car to a stop near the front gates before staring out at the window at it.

Neither of them speaks for a few minutes, not until Yoongi says, “Should we look around?”

“What, like break in?” asks Jeongguk. “If your body was somewhere in there, wouldn’t it had been reported? You couldn’t have died on a ride or something.” That would have been all over the news, the festival would have been shut down. Still, Yoongi has a point. There’s no reason for them to not look around, maybe even just the outskirts, see if being there somehow jogs Yoongi’s drunken memory.

They start by walking around the perimeter of the festival gates, occasionally trying to peer inside, but there’s nothing much to see. No bodies lying around either, to no one’s surprise.

“Do you think someone would remember seeing you?” asks Jeongguk, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

“Maybe,” says Yoongi. “We should come back when it’s open, ask around. It’ll probably be the same workers.”

Jeongguk nods, keeps walking. Something heavy has settled over them, the idea that this might be the next step in them retracing Yoongi’s last night. It’s less of an adventure this way, and he can’t stop thinking about Yoongi’s brother, can’t stop thinking about all of the things he still doesn’t know.

They’ve almost made it all the way around the edge of the park when Yoongi stops walking. Jeongguk doesn’t notice for another few steps, because Yoongi doesn’t make any noise when he walks or stops walking, but then he looks around and Yoongi is standing five feet behind him, staring into the trees.

“What?” asks Jeongguk, returning to the ghost’s side, but Yoongi takes off walking, right into the patch of trees. “Yoongi!”

“That’s my car,” is what Yoongi says, and Jeongguk’s heart jumps into his throat as he takes off after the ghost, ducking under the branches that Yoongi walks right through, and. There, twenty feet into the trees, is a car: bright orange, one of those old ones that Jeongguk has no hope of knowing the make and model of. He’s never cared about cars, but when he reaches it, he runs a hand over the hood.

The car is resting against a tree, but it doesn’t look like it was crashed, and—“There’s no one in the driver’s seat,” says Jeongguk when he peers in through the windshield, turns to see Yoongi just standing. Staring.

“This is my car,” he repeats, like Jeongguk didn’t hear the first time. “I was—I was here, Guk.”

After a beat, he adds, “I didn’t leave.”

Jeongguk swallows tightly. He shivers, just a little, and it has nothing to do with the weather. Because Yoongi is right—if his car is here, that means he got out and didn’t get back in. That doesn’t mean his body is here, though, could have gotten a ride with someone else, could have walked away and wandered until he found someone to pick him up. He could have hitch hiked all the way to Daegu.

But. He could have died here. The silence of the trees suddenly feels a little suffocating.

“Should we… look around here?” asks Jeongguk quietly, wanting Yoongi to take the lead because—it’s his body they’re looking for. He has no idea how Yoongi can be doing this at all, can be willing to see himself, what he looked like.

Yoongi sticks his head into the car, rummages around in the trunk before announcing, “Nothing in there.” Jeongguk hadn’t even considered it.

He wordlessly begins scouting the surrounding area of trees, holding his breath before, for the first time, he realizes he isn’t sure if he’s ready to find Yoongi’s body after all. It’s what he has to do and he’s seen dead bodies before, but most of them have been at funerals. He certainly hasn’t seen one that has been dead for close to a week at least, one that might be rotting or decaying or—

“Jeongguk,” Yoongi calls, and the boy is glad for the distraction as he turns to look at the ghost. “There’s nothing that could have killed me around here. I think our best option is coming back when the festival is going, ask around. This just—doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like it, you know?”

And Jeongguk doesn’t know, because he’s not a ghost and he hasn’t died and maybe Yoongi will just be able to tell when they get close, which would be helpful, but he doesn’t want to think about that, either, so he just nods and hurries out of the trees, doesn’t want to think about how far those trees go. Doesn’t want to think about Yoongi just wandering forever. Maybe he died of starvation.

They drive back to Seoul in silence, Jeongguk a little too shaken to come up with anything worth a conversation, Yoongi too… well. He’s always a little quiet.

The thick silence is still over them when they get back to Jeongguk’s dorm, when Jeongguk sinks onto his bed and just sits there, staring at the wall. It takes Yoongi snapping his fingers a few times in front of the boy’s face to get him out of it, and then he looks up to see Yoongi kind of grinning at him.

“You’re spacing out on me, bunny,” he says, and—Jeongguk feels his cheeks heat up a little. He’s not used to pet names.

“Sorry,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Just—it’s so weird, you know? The closer we get, the weirder I feel about it.”

“It is weird,” says Yoongi with a shrug, flopping onto the bed beside Jeongguk. “But I mean, this whole thing is weird. I’m a ghost. You’re a ghost whisperer. Like a movie.”

What Jeongguk doesn’t tell him is that it’s weird because they might find Yoongi’s body sooner than he had anticipated, but he still doesn’t know anything about the ghost. He knows what he needs to for the sake of his mission, but that’s it. And maybe he kind of likes Yoongi, maybe he feels like running out of time means he needs to do something worthwhile when Yoongi is here.

So he says, “Let’s play twenty questions,” turning to look at the ghost.

Yoongi snorts. “What, are we in middle school?” he asks.

“C’mon, hyung.”

“You know, I don’t ever remember telling you that you could call me that.”

“Yeah, but you’re older than me,” protests Jeongguk.

“Yeah, but I’m dead. Maybe there should be an honorific for that. I mean, what if you come across a ghost that was younger than you when they died, but they’ve been wandering the earth for so long that they’re technically older than you?”

“Is that your first question, hyung?”

“Fuck off.”

Jeongguk giggles. And he decides that the ghost has no say in the matter, glad to have finally shaken himself out of his stupor, so he scoots back on the bed until his back is against the wall, crosses his legs and tries to avoid contact with Yoongi’s ghost limbs, if only so he doesn’t have to use a blanket to keep himself warm.

“Okay, so my first question is—”

“I didn’t agree to this!” crows Yoongi, and Jeongguk completely ignores him.

“Do you like pineapple on pizza?” And maybe it should be did, but it’s hard to talk about Yoongi in the past tense when he’s right there. Just because he can’t actually eat anymore doesn’t mean he doesn’t have preferences.

Yoongi seems to consider the question—or consider if he just wants to walk out of the room and not come back—before he replies, “Do I hate myself? Obviously not. Fruit is not meant to be on pizza unless it’s fruit pizza.”

“Hyung, what?” asks Jeongguk. “How can you not like pineapple on pizza?”

“Second question?”

“No, it’s a follow-up,” says Jeongguk with a roll of his eyes.

“How can you like it?” retorts Yoongi, folding his arms behind his head as he looks at Jeongguk, grinning wide and wide and making Jeongguk’s heart flutter, just a bit, although he ignores the feeling. It’s certainly not welcome.

“It tastes good,” shrugs Jeongguk. “Like a little sourness with the rest of it. It’s about layers of taste.”

Yoongi groans, but he’s laughing, and Jeongguk likes the way he looks when he laughs, eyes squeezed shut. Gummy smile on display.

“Whatever, let me ask you a question,” says the ghost, and Jeongguk settles in. “What are you studying?”

It’s surprisingly practical, although he supposes that’s the real point of the game. “Sociology,” replies Jeongguk. “I want to work with youth somehow, especially troubled ones in the less fortunate parts of the country. I dunno, I guess I just… I meet them sometimes, as ghosts, and I really think some of their deaths could be prevented or I could do something more. For the living, I mean.” He shrugs a little, peeking over at Yoongi, who is watching him carefully. He flushes, for some reason. “It’s kind of stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” says Yoongi quickly. “I think it’s really admirable, Guk. You do a good job with helping the dead, but if you want to help the living, that’s perfect, too.”

Jeongguk grins, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck a little awkwardly. “Um—okay, my turn,” he says. “What did you want to do when you grew up?”

Yoongi chuckles. “Ironic,” he says, “considering I never really got to grow up.” And Jeongguk feels kind of bad about it, only then realizing that Yoongi will never get old or have any life experiences beyond the ones he’s already had, and he doesn’t want to get sad—“I wanted to play the piano,” says Yoongi. “I was pretty good at it as a kid. Took tons of lessons, competed a lot. My parents were really proud of me. When we moved to Seoul, though… I guess it just didn’t work out.”

Jeongguk feels like there’s more that Yoongi isn’t saying, but he doesn’t press him. If Yoongi doesn’t want to tell him things, he’s not going to force it. “That’s cool,” he says instead. “I tried to play the guitar when I was a kid, but I gave up after like a week because it was too hard.”

“Lazy,” snorts Yoongi. Jeongguk giggles again. “Alright, uh—thoughts on the Spider-Man reboots?”

“Oh,” says Jeongguk, eyes lighting up. “Let me tell you. Andrew Garfield is like, one of my celebrity crushes and he’s cute, but there’s something about those movies that just… irks me, you know? I’m not a huge superhero fan anyway, but I definitely like the newest reboot the most.” He pauses, then adds, “Might just be because Iron Man is in it and he’s objectively the best Marvel character ever.”

“Oh God, you’re an Iron Man fan?”

“What, are you Team Cap?”

“Obviously,” says Yoongi, like it is obvious. Jeongguk begs to differ. “Steve clearly has a lot of good points about freedom, and what did you expect from Captain America? Aren’t they obsessed with freedom over there?”

“That doesn’t mean they could just kill a bunch of people and cause a bunch of damage in the name of protection,” argues Jeongguk, pouting a little. “Ugh, I can’t believe you. We can’t be friends anymore.”

“Aw, don’t be a pouty baby, Guk-ah,” laughs Yoongi, pulling himself into a sitting position and reaching out to poke Jeongguk’s cheek. The boy squawks, jerking away at the cold sensation as the ghost’s finger sinks into his cheek, and he snaps, “Don’t do that! It’s cold.”

“Not until you admit Captain America was right.”

“Never, you heathen.”

That’s how it goes for the game, which, at some point, stops becoming a game and becomes more of a real conversation, something between real friends. Jeongguk asks Yoongi about his favourite colour (black, obviously), if he had any pets (a family dog named Holly), what he’d do if he had one more day to live (apologize to his parents, apologize to Namjoon, eat a shit ton of Flaming Hot Cheetos just in time to not have to deal with the aftermath). Yoongi asks Jeongguk about the worst ghost experience he’s ever had (a four-year-old girl killed in a car accident, didn’t stop crying or asking for her mother for two weeks), his favourite singer (IU), if he wishes he couldn’t see ghosts (no, never).

It’s a lot of laughing, silly things. Jeongguk wishes he could hit Yoongi with his pillow and actually connect with something solid, but then it’s been hours and Jeongguk has the last question and. He stops giggling about his own answer to a question about the dumbest dare he ever completed (streaking across campus at two in the morning, because that somehow helped with a ghost’s unfinished business) and he thinks about what he’s really been wanting to ask this whole time.

It’s been nice to learn more, of course—he knows now that Yoongi isn’t as scary as he was at first, knows that he has a soft spot for animals and shows his love in more subtle ways because that’s how he learned from his dad. He knows that Yoongi once had pink hair, and blonde, and bright blue. He knows that Yoongi doesn’t like being dead, but he’s not angry about it anymore.

But there’s something more.

So Jeongguk quietly asks, “What happened to your brother?”

Yoongi’s sitting beside him now, back against the wall, knees pulled into his chest. He sighs, and Jeongguk is about to tell him that he doesn’t have to answer if he’s not comfortable, but then the ghost says, “When I was little, my brother was… my hero. He was only a few years older than me, but I looked up to him so much, wanted to do everything he did. He was smart, ambitious. My parents loved me, of course, but he was their golden child.”

Yoongi tips his head back against the wall, closes his eyes. It almost feels wrong to watch him in his most vulnerable moments, but Jeongguk is too busy trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Yoongi is telling him anything at all.

“He was a risk-taker, though,” continues Yoongi. “A thrill-seeker, always looking for the next big adventure. His friends were like that, too, and they spent a lot of weekends doing questionable shit because they were just… adrenaline junkies, you know? My parents tried to get him out of it, but he never listened to them. I dunno, I guess they thought separating him from his friends would help? My grandparents had a little house on the coast, not far from Ulsan and my parents sent me and him there for part of the summer after I turned thirteen.”

Jeongguk remembers, from the first list of information he’d ever made about Yoongi, that his family moved to Seoul when he was thirteen. He distinctly remembers the ghost saying my parents, no brother. His mouth feels a little dry.

“It didn’t stop him, though,” says Yoongi. “He just… made new friends. He was good at that, too, something I always admired in him. No matter where he went, everyone loved him. Anyway, I guess one afternoon he and some of the new boys he’d met decided to go out to the beach. They found a boat or something and wanted to take it out for a ride, but none of them knew what they were doing.” Yoongi finally opens his eyes and Jeongguk has to look away because he thinks he sees tears shining in them.

“He drowned,” says Yoongi, bluntly. “Some stupid accident. The boat flipped and he got trapped underneath and…” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yoongi shrug. He sees Yoongi wipe at his eyes, too, quickly, like he doesn’t want Jeongguk to know. “We moved to Seoul as soon as the funeral was over. I think my parents were running from it, wanting to start over, and I was fine with that. I stopped playing the piano, stopped trying to be whatever he had been even though my parents kept trying to make me into him, anyway. He was fifteen.”

For a long minute, there is nothing but silence. Jeongguk isn’t sure what to say—doesn’t know if Yoongi wants him to say anything, anyway.

And then, slowly, Jeongguk places his hand on his knee, palm up, waiting. “I wish I could touch you,” he says quietly.

Yoongi tilts his head, and Jeongguk hears him sniff, and then the ghost is moving his hand, too, hovering an inch above Jeongguk’s, palm down. “Me too,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” adds Jeongguk. “About your brother. About your parents. About… you. I know it doesn’t change anything.” It’s all he has—words. Jeongguk has always been better with actions, has always been better with touch, but it’s the one thing he doesn’t have with Yoongi.

And it isn’t fair.

“It’s okay, Guk-ah,” sighs Yoongi. “It’s been ten years. I like to think I’ve come to terms with it, but…” His hand twitches slightly, still hovering above Jeongguk’s. “It’s what the fight was about,” he adds. “I know I told you I didn’t remember, but I do. We were fighting about him, because we always fought about him. I resented my parents for moving us to Seoul and leaving him behind even if he was dead, and I just lost my temper with them, like always. And I needed to get drunk, needed to forget about it. And instead, I died.”

Jeongguk finally lifts his eyes from where their hands are almost touching, watching Yoongi’s face instead. It’s so open, so vulnerable. It occurs to him, suddenly, that he kind of wants to kiss Yoongi but—he can’t. Of course he can’t.

“We’ll find your body, hyung,” he says instead. “And you can be at peace, and your parents can be at peace. We’ll do it for them.”

It takes a second, but then Yoongi is looking up at him too, grinning a little crookedly. “Thanks, Guk-ah,” he says. “I guess you’re not as annoying as I originally thought you were.”

And it feels wrong, but Jeongguk giggles a little. “You’re not as much as an asshole as I thought you were,” he replies, “so we’re even.”

And then Yoongi is laughing too, and Jeongguk can’t stop giggling, and he’s never felt so warm and whole in his whole life, never felt this with a ghost before—something more, something different. He thinks he could lost in it, at least until Yoongi accidentally lowers his hand enough to touch Jeongguk’s and he lets out a shocked shriek, practically falling off the bed with how quickly he lurches sideways, and it just makes Yoongi laugh harder, and Jeongguk doesn’t have the strength to pull himself up because he’s laughing, too, and it’s. Good.

It’s good.

“Admission for one, please,” chirps Jeongguk, passing over the bills and receiving a plastic wristband in return, and then he’s turning toward the rest of the park and grinning a bit despite him, despite knowing what he’s here to do. He’s always liked festivals and carnivals, so he can’t deny how exciting this would be if he were actually here to ride the rides and not just investigate.

He glances over at Yoongi, giving a small nod before they head into the park. It’s already night, as that’s the only time the park is open, and it’s packed with people, which means communication will have to be to a minimum so not to draw attention to himself. He doesn’t need to get kicked out because he’s talking to air.

Even though he really wants to head for the rides or check out one of the carnival games, that’s not what he’s here to do. He’s here to find out about Yoongi, take the next step in finding the ghost’s body. They know that Yoongi was here, because his car is here, but there’s no way to know for sure where he went next, unless someone saw him.

“I don’t remember what I did here,” says Yoongi helpfully as they stand not far from the entrance. “It might be best to just… start going around to all the workers and ask?”

Jeongguk nods again, and then fishes out the picture of Yoongi that he printed off from the other’s Facebook page. Mint hair, bright eyes—he’s not smiling in it, but he doubts that Yoongi was smiling on that night, either, so it’s for the best. (He’d tried to convince Yoongi to let him print off the one of him wearing a flower in his hair, or the one of him with a hat that looked like a shark was eating his head, but Yoongi had forbidden it. He’d blushed. Jeongguk didn’t know that ghosts could blush.)

He heads for the first worker that he can see, someone selling popcorn from a little cart.

“Hi, uh,” he says. “I don’t want any popcorn, sorry, but I was wondering if you saw this man here about a week ago?” He holds up the picture of Yoongi, watches the woman examine it before shaking her head. He hadn’t expected to be so lucky.

They move to the next food cart, and then the next and the next. They move to the carnival games, to the few people walking around with brooms or other janitorial equipment. Eventually, they begin moving to the rides, trying to skirt around lines so that Jeongguk can ask again and again—have you seen this man?

The answer is always no.

“I can’t remember everyone who comes into the park, kid,” the man working at the ferris wheel says. “And if it was a whole week ago, you’re gonna have trouble finding someone who remembers him.” But—Yoongi would be memorable, because he was drunk. It would have been hard not to take notice.

Which means he wasn’t in the park, or anyone who saw him isn’t working tonight. Jeongguk can feel himself growing more and more restless with every rejection they get, mood souring as he hears a no from yet another worker and then takes to collapsing on a bench near the outskirts of the park, where it’s less packed.

Yoongi stands in front of him, arms crossed. “Chin up, Guk,” he says. “We can come back tomorrow and ask around again. We can find a manager and ask them to take my picture, set it up in some staff coffee room or something so everyone who works here is asked if they saw me.”

Jeongguk can’t help but pout a little. “But I wanted to find out tonight,” he says.

“That’s not how investigations work,” laughs Yoongi.

“Why are you finding this so funny?”

“It’s not funny. It’s just… it’s not the end of the world either. Look, I’m not going anywhere.”

Unfortunately, he has a point.

“I think we’ve run out of people to ask,” says Jeongguk, still not in a good mood, but—Yoongi is right. They can come back tomorrow. They can come back every day until they find someone who saw Yoongi, who can tell them something. If he was here, they’ll find someone who at least recognizes a drunk guy.

In the meantime—“Some of those games looked pretty cool,” says Yoongi almost conversationally, glancing over at where the park is more lit up, where the sounds and people are.

“You can’t play them, you know,” says Jeongguk, a little bitterly.

“No, but you can.” If they could touch, Jeongguk imagines Yoongi would be nudging his foot. He’d be poking Jeongguk’s cheeks, the bottom lip that’s still jutted out in a pout. Instead, he’s just standing there with his eyebrows raised. “You paid for the wristband, so you might as well use it. Besides, it sounds like you could use some fun. You’ve been running around, trying to find my body for days. I can tell you’re all wound up from stress.”

It’s like the very mention of the stress is enough to make Jeongguk realize that Yoongi is right, his shoulders a little tight, his chest a little heavy. It’s taken him much longer to finish business for a ghost, so letting loose for one night won’t be the worst thing. Besides, he does like amusement parks.

Jeongguk watches the ghost for a long moment, the way Yoongi’s face is all open and waiting and wanting. Finally, Jeongguk says, “Fine,” and tries to make it sound like Yoongi is forcing him into it as he stands up from the bench. “But only because I have really good aim and you have to see me kick ass at one of those dart games.”

“Trying to impress me, are you?” teases Yoongi, falling in step beside Jeongguk as they make their way back into the crowd, and Jeongguk is glad for the cover of night so Yoongi can’t see him blush.

“No,” he scowls, but he means to say—I suppose it doesn’t matter when you’re dead, anyway.

Five minutes later, Yoongi is doubled over laughing at the fourth dart game Jeongguk has played—and failed to win more than one of those tiny prizes that he could buy for next to nothing at a convenience store. And Jeongguk can’t even make any comments about the way the ghost is practically crying with it, making comments about how impressive it is, because the carnival worker would probably think he’s insane.

So Jeongguk just passes over a few more bills and picks up more darts.

“Guk-ah, stop,” laughs Yoongi. “I know you have this dumb pride, but you’re just blowing all of your money on some dumb game. Look, you already have like three of those little ugly things.” He points at the little stuffed animals at Jeongguk’s feet. Jeongguk resolutely ignores the ghost.

The point is to pop some balloons, the higher the score the better, and Jeongguk wants to think that maybe his aim is just off because Yoongi is standing beside him with those bright eyes and that bright smile and he’s just as distracting as he is in Jeongguk’s classes.

“If I could move things, I would pop all of the 50 point balloons for you,” says Yoongi with a smirk. “But I guess I’m just here for moral support.”

“Pretty shit moral support,” mutters Jeongguk, and the worker glances at him.

“What was that?” he asks. Jeongguk blanches.

Yoongi starts laughing, the asshole.

“Nothing,” says Jeongguk. “I was just trying to rouse up some moral support. From… myself.”

The worker, a teenage boy, just rolls his eyes. “Whatever, just throw the darts.”

Jeongguk does—this time, he gets a medium-sized toy, which is a Kumamon plushie the size of his head, and Yoongi falls suspiciously quiet for the first time when the worker hands it over to Jeongguk, who finally gives up and starts moving to the next game.

“What, don’t have anything to say about my impressive skills?” murmurs Jeongguk.

“No,” says Yoongi, bristling a little. “I just like Kumamon, that’s all.”

The boy turns his head to look at the ghost, flinching only slightly when someone walks right through Yoongi. “I’d give it to you, but you can’t hold it,” he says, and he means to make it sound like a joke but Yoongi kind of frowns at him, and… yeah. “But hey, if we find your body, you can be buried with it.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, then nods toward a different game. “How about that one?” he asks. “It’s a two-player one, so I can totally mess with the other player and make sure you win.”

“That’s terrible,” says Jeongguk, tucking the Kumamon under his arm. “Let’s do it.”

That’s what they do—Jeongguk passes over some money to play the game, some water-shooting thing where he’s supposed to knock over more ducks than his opponent. He sits beside his opponent, a girl who can’t be much older than twelve, and he feels a little bad about it but Yoongi has this positively evil look on his face and Jeongguk has to stop himself from laughing prematurely before the game begins.

Halfway through, with Jeongguk already winning anyway, Yoongi sticks his hand into the girl’s back and she lets out a shriek, shivering hard enough that her arms jerk and the water stream moves way off target, giving Jeongguk the advantage of knocking down five extra ducks.

He wins, giggling to himself as the worker hands over a Ryan plushie—a little bigger this time—and the girl sulks as she walks away. Yoongi’s laughing again, gummy smile on display, and Jeongguk probably likes it more than he should.

Yoongi’s a ghost, he has to remind himself. Sometimes he forgets it, even if it’s the only reason they met and—it’s strange, really, to think that they likely wouldn’t have met if Yoongi hadn’t died, and the thought makes him stop laughing long enough for Yoongi to ask him what’s wrong, and then he’s brushing it off.

“Let’s go on rides,” he suggests instead, already moving away from the games.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” says Yoongi. “Riding in a car is one thing—it’s easy enough to sort of travel with it, like it locks me in there anyway. But something that’s spinning around or going upside down might not be so easy. Do you think ghosts can get hurt?”

“I don’t really want to find out,” admits Jeongguk, and then—“What about the ferris wheel?” He nods to the massive structure looming in the middle of the park. Yoongi’s face lights up.

“Extremely boring,” says the ghost, “but perfect.”

“I feel really bad about that girl,” says Jeongguk when they finally get onto the ride, bar secured over both of their laps, although it doesn’t do much for Yoongi. “She probably really wanted to win.”

“I really wanted you to win,” says Yoongi with a shrug. “If you feel that bad, go find her and give her the plushie.” Jeongguk looks over at where his two plushies—a Kumamon and a Ryan—are strapped under the bar as well. Pouts a little.

“But they’re mine,” he whines quietly.

“Then stop complaining, you big baby,” laughs Yoongi.

The ride begins moving, slowly rotating as they’re lifted higher and higher. The moon is bright above them, lights and music of the park reaching up into the sky as they move into it, too, and Jeongguk lets his head fall back for a moment, eyes closed as he enjoys the feeling of the soft breeze.

“You were right,” he says after a moment, keeping his eyes closed. “I was feeling really stressed about all of this and… this is nice.”

He can practically hear Yoongi’s smirk from here, but he peeks an eye open to see it anyway. “I told you,” says Yoongi. “I know you, Jeon Jeongguk.”

“You’ve only known me for like, a week,” argues Jeongguk as they reach the top, takes a moment to look out at the park before the ride continues.

“But I’ve spent almost every waking moment with you,” says Yoongi.

“Other than when you avoided me for those first few days.”

“Shut up,” says Yoongi, looking away, and Jeongguk can’t help but laugh, wishes he could just… lean over and put his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. He’s so close but not close enough, never close enough, and Jeongguk grabs the Kumamon plushie instead, hugging it to his chest to keep himself from doing something stupid. “I was just confused and upset.”

“Lots of ghosts are,” admits Jeongguk. “I can’t blame you.”

“You really should thank Jimin, though,” adds Yoongi. “He told me about… like, everything, I guess. How you invest so much of yourself in the ghosts, how you’ve failed a lot of classes because of it. You shouldn’t do that, Guk.”

Jeongguk hugs the plushie a little harder, sets his chin on it as he looks out at the park instead of looking at Yoongi. “I can’t help it,” he says quietly. “It’s my job to help them and I just… I feel really bad when they’re here longer than they need to me. I can’t imagine it’s very nice to have to know that you’re dead and you can’t touch anything or say anything to the people you really care about anymore.”

“Yeah, it does suck. But it’s… not as bad as you might think, you know. I think I came to terms with it quickly enough. There’s nothing I can do about it, so there’s no point in being hung up on the dead part.”

Jeongguk shrugs.

After a moment, Yoongi adds, “You’re really kind, you know that?”

“I guess.”

“I really mean it, Guk-ah,” and Jeongguk finally dares to peek over at him, at the way Yoongi is looking at him, like—the ride comes to a halt, their car at the very top. Someone at the bottom is being let off, being let on. “You have a good heart. I wouldn’t want anyone else helping me with this impossible mission.” He reaches out a bit, like he wants to touch Jeongguk, maybe his cheek or his head or something and. He can’t. Because he’s a ghost, but he’s something more, always has been.

Yoongi is… an enigma in some ways. He has walls that he puts up sometimes, looks intimidating and is entirely too distracting and Jeongguk was terrified of him for days, before he realized that Yoongi is actually a big, dumb dork. He’s soft, has a bleeding heart for animals, likes plushies and Disney movies and never steps on the cracks in sidewalks because of that rhyme about breaking his mother’s back. He’s mischievous and beautiful and dead, and Jeongguk likes him so, so much.

Jeongguk sucks in a quiet breath at the realization. He likes him like he didn’t like Taehyung, like he’s never liked a ghost before. He always likes the ghosts, of course, but this is something else. This is something soft and growing in the pit of his stomach, something heady and quiet and whispering about what could have been, maybe. Something that makes him want to kiss Yoongi, death be damned. He can’t do it, but—he would.

And he knows he’s supposed to say something now, something that isn’t just, I think I’m in love with you and your dead heart and maybe mine can beat for both of us, but then he takes a moment to look out at the landscape instead, because they might as well be at the top of the world, and maybe that will put it all into perspective.

That’s when he sees it—the lake.

“Guk-ah?” asks Yoongi, but Jeongguk doesn’t quite hear him—or he hears him but he doesn’t think about it, because he’s busy staring at the lake. It’s not a big lake, nestled in the middle of all of those trees that stretch out for miles and miles, illuminated only by the moon. It has to be less than a mile from the park, quiet and still and just there.

He’s busy thinking about… Yoongi’s car, stashed in those very trees, empty and alone. He’s busy thinking about a park full of employees that don’t recognize Yoongi, who have never seen him before even though his memory and the car places him here.

He’s busy thinking about the first time he saw Yoongi, about every time after that, and even though Yoongi is kind of just looking at him with a puzzled expression, Jeongguk can’t comprehend that. He just looks at Yoongi’s hair.

Yoongi’s hair, which is… wet. Which has always been wet, because ghosts who die from injuries keep them, and ghosts who die from an illness keep that, too, and ghosts who drown—

“Hello?” asks Yoongi, snapping his fingers in front of Jeongguk’s face. “You in there, bunny?”

Jeongguk finally snaps out of it, just a little, eyes flickering down to Yoongi’s eyes and he blinks and. “Yeah, sorry,” he says hurriedly, trying to laugh a little as the ferris wheel finally whirls into motion again, bringing them down and down and away from the lake, and Jeongguk looks out at it again, just in case, and.

That’s where Yoongi is. Somehow, he just knows. That’s where Yoongi’s body is.

Which—should be a good thing. It’s the next step. Finding Yoongi’s body is what he’s supposed to do, but he thinks about finding his body, thinks about Yoongi turning to him with that look that the ghosts always get. Thinks about Yoongi saying goodbye, thinks about blinking and Yoongi just being gone, like Taehyung and every ghost before him.

And he can’t do that. Jeongguk can’t do that. Not when he thinks about Yoongi’s gummy smile, too, and thinks about the sound of his laughter, and thinks about all of his teasing and the way he gently reminds Jeongguk to eat when it’s been a long day of classes.

They get off of the ferris wheel, Jeongguk in a bit of a daze as Yoongi suggests they find another ride to go on. Jeongguk suddenly feels a little light-headed.

“Sorry, hyung, I actually feel a bit sick,” he says, and it’s not really a lie, offering the ghost an apologetic grin as he clutches his dumb plushies. “Is it okay if we head home instead?”

And Yoongi—Yoongi is so good, nodding immediately and asking him what it feels like, if Jeongguk has medication in his dorm or if they need to stop somewhere on the way home, and Jeongguk feels like he’s going to cry, suddenly, which he can’t do because then Yoongi will ask what’s wrong and that will just make it worse.

He’s in love with a fucking ghost.

There’s something about luck there, or—unluck. Something about irony.

When they get back to Jeongguk’s dorm, Jeongguk climbs under the covers and he wishes, wishes, wishes that Yoongi didn’t just have to lay beside him on top of the covers and talk about things in a low murmur as a way to help him sleep. Jeongguk holds the Kumamon plushie instead, pretends that it’s enough as Yoongi gently lulls him to sleep with talk of what they’ll do tomorrow and the next day and the next and it’s not fair, it’s not fair.

At some point, he feels himself shiver a little, but he’s too far gone to wonder why, to wonder if Yoongi has given in, too, touching him just once because some part of him feels it, too—

Almost. It’s always almost.

Chapter Text

The first time Jeongguk sees a ghost, he is four years old.

He doesn’t know it’s a ghost until he does, and then he spends the next seventeen years seeing them, finding them, helping them. Most of them need help with simple things, things that Jeongguk can accomplish; writing a belated goodbye letter to a spouse or parent or child, taking them to see their favourite local hideout just one more time. He’s done a lot of strange things, like taken part in a pie eating contest in place of a ghost, or stayed up all night to watch the stars while talking about the universe and the afterlife and so many possibilities.

He’s loved all of them, because that’s what Jeongguk does—his heart is open and soft and always ready, always waiting. He leaves bits of himself with the ghosts when they leave this world, and he doesn’t know where they go, but he always knows it’s for the best.

The first time Jeongguk sees a ghost, he is four years old.

The first time he falls in love with one—that’s a different story.

When Jeongguk wakes, a little cold because the covers have slipped away from him and there’s someone there, but that someone can’t warm him up, it takes him one, two, three minutes to remember. The weight of knowledge presses in on him, suffocating, when he finally blinks the bleary sleep out of his eyes and focuses on the emptiness of the room.

His mind thinks, Yoongi.

His heart thinks, Yoongi.

Then he thinks—Yoongi drowned and his body is in a lake thirty minutes outside of Seoul and he doesn’t know, doesn’t know because Jeongguk was too much of a coward to say anything about it last night and isn’t it just like Jeongguk to somehow fuck up this badly? It’s an unspoken rule, probably, in the line of work he does—don’t fall in love with the ghosts.

As if that should be hard, but Jeongguk pulls the covers up and up and over his head like he can hide from it. He can’t, because thirty seconds later, he hears humming, the only tell-tale sign that he is no longer alone. He thinks about Yoongi on this great adventure, thinks about the impossibility of finding his body so quickly. Thinks about losing him now, even though that’s the whole point.

Jeongguk is fine with pretending he’s asleep, but then he hears the soft, “Jeongguk-ahhh,” from across the room, moving closer and closer until he can practically feel the temperature around him drop sharply. He hates how in-tune he is with it, suddenly, like he never realized before that he can tell when Yoongi is near but. Never near enough.

“M’sleeping, hyung,” he says, muffled by the covers, and he thinks that if Yoongi weren’t a ghost, he’d peel back the covers and pinch Jeongguk’s cheeks, or he’d throw himself on top of the boy and squeeze him in a vice grip, or he’d—Jeongguk cuts off his own train of thought. There’s no point in thinking about it.

“It’s nine the morning, Gukkie, time to get up,” says Yoongi, and he’s too cheerful for nine in the morning.

Jeongguk groans. “But I don’t have class until the afternoon,” he complains.

“Yes, but we have plans.”

This gets Jeongguk to pull down the covers just enough to peek out, to look up at Yoongi who is stooping over him and smiling that stupid gummy smile and—his hair is still wet, because of course it’s still wet and Jeongguk doesn’t know how he didn’t put the pieces together before.

“We have plans?” he asks, confusion colouring his words.

“Yes,” says Yoongi. “We didn’t get any more clues last night, but that doesn’t mean we can just stop. We could tip off the police about my car and it might help them figure out where I might have gone from there, plus we can go back to the carnival tonight and ask around more. In the meantime, I think we should work on your dart throwing skills so you can win the really big Kumamon plushie tonight.”

And—it’s extraordinary, how Yoongi can sound so chipper about it, like the afterlife isn’t on the line. Like it’s so easy to do this, and it is, for him, because Yoongi doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about his body, doesn’t know that Jeongguk’s chest already aches just looking at him, realizing that now there’s something more. How fucking unfair.

“I don’t know,” says Jeongguk after a moment. “What if we just go back every night and it’s a waste when we could be looking elsewhere?”

“There’s nowhere else to look, at least at the moment,” says Yoongi with a shrug, still too chipper. Jeongguk pushes the covers down a bit more, sitting up properly, and Yoongi straightens up to avoid contact.

He doesn’t know how to tell Yoongi that he can’t go back—because he can’t keep pretending to search for Yoongi’s body when he likely already knows where it is, and he might just feel sick again if they go back. Which, thankfully, gives him an excuse—“I still don’t feel well,” he says, pouting a little and hoping it looks convincing. “I’d rather just stay in for the day, if that’s okay with you. And if I’m better by tonight, maybe we can go.”

Jeongguk, of course, doesn’t get better because he wasn’t sick in the first place. But Yoongi doesn’t have to know that. They spend the day watching Netflix instead, Jeongguk wrapped up in a pile of blankets only partly due to his attempts to convince Yoongi that he really is sick. It’s just. Yoongi sits so close and he laughs at whatever they’re watching and he makes stupid comments and maybe Jeongguk is sick, just heartsick, lovesick, headsick, a little, does it count as being sick in the disgusting, perverted sort of way if he’s in love with a supernatural being he can’t even touch? Does it count as being wrong if he’s in love with someone who is dead even though Yoongi is so, so alive here, now?

They don’t go back to the carnival that night, because Jeongguk feigns sick. They don’t go back the next night because Jeongguk lies about Jimin needing the car. They don’t go back the third night because Jeongguk begs his boss to conveniently give him a shift at the bookstore that leaves not enough time to drive to the carnival and look around.

He should feel bad about it, but Jeongguk tries not to, especially because, while Yoongi seems somewhat disappointed, he’s just… Yoongi. But now playing twenty questions hurts a bit more, learning about Yoongi’s life hurts a lot more, and with each passing day, Jeongguk realizes that this is something more than just a silly little crush.

He spends all three days arguing with himself, trying to decide if he ought to say something about his suspicions of where Yoongi’s body is, if he should confess his feelings, if he can just keep Yoongi here forever. It’s hard to think it through when Yoongi won’t leave him alone, though, some strange reversal of the first days that they knew each other.

It’s almost been two weeks since they met. Jeongguk curses his heart for wanting to latch onto everything in such a short amount of time.

“Hey, do you have any manga?” asks Yoongi, following along behind Jeongguk like a dutiful puppy as Jeongguk works, rearranging a few bookshelves that have gotten messy throughout the day. The shop is mostly empty, save for Jeongguk’s boss, who sees ghosts too, so Jeongguk doesn’t have to worry about staying quiet.

Unfortunately. It’s so much easier when he can just ignore Yoongi and ignore his feelings right along with him.

“Some, yeah,” says Jeongguk, keeping his eyes and hands firmly trained on the books. “But I’m not going to sit and flip the pages for you so you can read.”

“I can just make your boss do that,” he grins, and Jeongguk hears the woman call, Think again, ghost boy! from across the shop. Yoongi laughs. Jeongguk doesn’t. “Or you could read me some poetry.”

“I’m trying to work, Yoongi,” says Jeongguk, and he knows he sounds annoyed, knows he’s been a bit cold and distant over the past few days while he’s trying to figure out his own heart, but that doesn’t seem to stop the ghost anyway, who just sticks his head a little into Jeongguk’s vision.

“I think you should pay attention to me,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk grits his teeth as he sticks his hand through the ghost’s face so that he can reach one of the books. It’s rude, but he is trying to work.

Yoongi jerks out of the way, though, which was kind of what he wanted, and doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then—“Are you still feeling sick, Guk-ah?” he asks, which is. Not what Jeongguk wants. He doesn’t want the soft voice, the worrisome questions, the way that Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow a little when he’s concerned about something or the way his lips turn downward. Doesn’t want the way his hands sort of flutter in front of him, like he’s forgotten that he can’t touch Jeongguk and check his temperature.

“I’m fine, hyung,” mutters Jeongguk, hurriedly fixing the last stack of books before turning away and heading for a different section of the shop. It’s too small to hide from anyone in, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

And still, Yoongi follows. “Are you sure?” he asks, and there’s no teasing in his voice anymore. “You’ve been kind of out of it for a few days. Maybe you ate something that’s given you a bug? I don’t know if any walk-in clinics will be open at this time of night…”

“I’m fine,” Jeongguk insists, finally glancing at Yoongi before he turns back to the books, starts fixing a shelf that doesn’t even need it, but he needs something to do with his hands.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but then the little bell above the door rings, signaling the arrival of a customer, and Jeongguk is saved as he practically dashes over the ask the person if they need help with anything. He doesn’t miss the slight hurt that flashes across Yoongi’s face, but he just needs air. Or something.

Five minutes later, though, the customer is gone and the shop is quiet and Yoongi is at his side again, lips downturned in a way that Jeongguk shouldn’t be familiar with. It’s been two weeks. Two weeks and he shouldn’t be feeling more than he is, but Jeongguk can’t help it. He can never help it.

“Maybe we should go home,” suggests Yoongi in a quiet voice, and Jeongguk feels tears prick the backs of his eyes for no fucking reason, but maybe it’s just—the we, the idea that Jeongguk’s dorm isn’t just his home anymore, but Yoongi’s, too, because Yoongi has nowhere else to go, because Jeongguk is really all he has now.

The thing is, that’s not what Jeongguk wants to cry about. The thing is, Jeongguk wants a home with Yoongi, wants something more, wants to keep him around forever even if they can never touch or go on vacations because ghosts can’t fly in airplanes. The thing is, he’s never not wanted to help a ghost with their unfinished business, because he’s always been so certain that the afterlife would be good for them. It was sad, but it was satisfying, it was right.

With Yoongi—he suddenly isn’t so sure anymore. Maybe he should just do it, just find Yoongi’s body and get it over with, but that thought just brings more tears to his eyes and then he’s shaking his head, ducking out of view of Yoongi and muttering something about just needing some air.

Jeongguk bolts out of the shop before Yoongi can say anything, hoping that the ghost will stay as he fumbles for his phone in his pocket. The tears come quickly, then, hot against his cheeks as he walks down the street until he finds a bus stop where he can sit and breathe. But he can’t breathe, not when he thinks about Yoongi, not when he thinks about the impossible situation, and he almost hits the wrong contact with how his vision is blurring with tears, but he does it, and then he’s breathing hard into the receiver, sniffing against his tears as he waits and—

“Jeonggukkie?”

“What happens if we don’t help them?” asks Jeongguk hurriedly, a little sob punctuating the end of the question. “What h-happens if we don’t finish the unfinished business and they stay here forever, what happens?”

“Jeongguk-ah, what—“

“What happens, hyung?” He’s shaking a little, wiping at his tears with sweater paws and glancing over his shoulder at the bookstore in case Yoongi comes looking for him—

“Jeongguk, take a deep breath for me.”

He does.

“Okay, take another one. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk mumbles into his phone, already feeling better hearing Jimin’s voice, although he’s still crying, still breathing a little hard. “Can you answer my question?”

“Ask me again, but in a better way,” says Jimin. Jeongguk can hear noise in the background, sounds like a bar or something and—it’s a Friday. Jimin is probably out with other friends, because he has other friends, and he has a life outside of helping ghosts, and Jeongguk feels so guilty because he’s having a bit of a breakdown and this is okay, right—“Hello, Gukkie? Talk to me.”

“Right,” says Jeongguk, taking a deep breath, just like Jimin told him to. “What happens to the ghosts if their unfinished business doesn’t get finished? What happens if they—they just stay here forever?”

“Are you worried about finding Yoongi’s body? Guk-ah, it’ll be okay. It’s only been, what, two weeks since you met him?”

“No, it’s—” Jeongguk stops, sniffs. He can’t say it. “It’s not that. Is it possible for ghosts to stay?”

And—there’s a long pause. He can hear Jimin breathing lightly on the other end, so he knows he hasn’t gotten distracted, which means he’s thinking. Finally, Jimin softly says, “Oh, Gukkie,” and Jeongguk knows he gets it but it just makes him cry a little more, fresh tears falling onto his cheeks, and Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut as he tries not to imagine the look Jimin would be giving him if he were here. Not disappointed, but not surprised. Maybe it was bound to happen one of these times.

“What happens?” whispers Jeongguk. “What happens if I just don’t let him go?”

“Guk, you can’t do that,” says Jimin, and it sounds like he’s talking to a child, which he might be but—

“Why not?”

“The whole point is that we’re meant to help them, Guk-ah.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I just let the police do it and what if they don’t find his body, either, and he can just stay here forever, with me, and it’ll be fine.”

“He’s a ghost,” says Jimin, like Jeongguk doesn’t know. “What are you going to do, hm? Spend the rest of your life hung up on someone you can’t touch or talk to in public? Someone whose entire family is mourning and hoping to find?”

Jeongguk hates how Jimin is good at that—being logical, making Jeongguk see through the haze of desire and feelings that always manage to cloud his judgment. It’s childish to think that he can keep Yoongi here, but he still wants it. Thinking about Namjoon, the way he told Jeongguk he missed Yoongi—it isn’t enough. Jeongguk wants to be selfish.

“It would be okay,” whispers Jeongguk. “I just—Jimin-hyung, I don’t want to let him go.”

He hears Jimin sigh, static in his ear. “I know, Gukkie,” he says. “But you have to.”

“How do you know that?”

“Listen, there’s—there’s someone you should meet,” says Jimin. “There’s not a lot known about what happens if a ghost stays for too long, but I know someone who has first-hand experience with it, and you can’t keep Yoongi here, Jeongguk. It’s dangerous.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it to you now, but—sorry, Guk, I need to go, but I’ll text you, okay? I’ll take you meet him tomorrow.”

Jeongguk sniffs, although he’s finally stopped crying, so he wipes at his nose. Nods even though Jimin can’t see it. “Okay,” he says, voice small.

“I love you, Guk-ah,” says Jimin. “You’re stupid sometimes, but it’ll be okay. Get some sleep tonight.” And then he’s hanging up, leaving Jeongguk alone at a bus stop in darkness, with his heart beating for someone who’s dead and—

“Jeongguk?”

He starts, heart jumping in his chest as he snaps his head sideways to see Yoongi standing five feet away, worry creasing his face, and Jeongguk is quick to wipe at his tear-blotched face, embarrassed as he tries to hide it from the ghost.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, laughing a bit even though it’s forced. “I was just—” He doesn’t know how to finish it. The urge to cry returns, but he can’t cry now, with Yoongi approaching him, and Jeongguk turns to stare out at the quiet, lonely street instead.

“Are you okay?” asks Yoongi.

“Yeah, it’s just—school stress,” he lies. “Did you… hear any of that?” How embarrassing, he thinks, having Yoongi find out about his feelings because of an overheard phone conversation.

He doesn’t know if Yoongi is lying or not when he says, “No, I just heard the end.” But he doesn’t ask for more, and Jeongguk doesn’t tell. It’s easier that way.

Jeongguk wipes at his face again, shaking his head to rouse himself as he slips his phone into his pocket. “Let’s go home,” he says, and he has no idea who Jimin is going to take him to meet, but. For now, this can be okay. This can be good, just having Yoongi with him. He doesn’t want to believe that he has to give it up, but maybe he’ll realize Jimin is right—tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. For now, he’s okay with saying goodbye to his boss, walking back to his dorm, finishing another movie as he cuddles under the covers with Yoongi close, but.

Not close enough.

The house is tiny, worn down, on the outskirts of Seoul after a long gravel driveway. It would be cute, secluded in a bunch of trees, if it wasn’t for all of the debris on the front lawn: pieces of broken down cars, rocks, non-descript chunks of plastic that may have been part of buckets or slides or anything, really. Jeongguk instantly imagines a shriveled old man in a dirty white shirt, the kind of shriveled old man who yells at teenagers for walking on his lawn. The problem is, Jimin was extremely vague about who it is they’re meeting, and even as they get out of Jimin’s car and begin picking their way through the junk to the front door, the other boy is suspiciously quiet.

“He could at least clean up a bit,” says Jeongguk as he steps around what looks like a piece of broken concrete.

“He doesn’t get visitors often,” replies Jimin.

“I wonder why.”

Even though this is about Yoongi—in a roundabout way, at least—Jeongguk finds he misses the ghost. Yoongi would have something funny to say about this. Yoongi always has something to say about everything, and he’s good at making Jeongguk feel better, but Jimin had forbade Jeongguk from inviting him along, so he’d lied about doing some school thing with Jimin. Yoongi said he wanted to hang out at Namjoon’s bar, anyway.

“Please don’t make any comments about it to him,” says Jimin as they reach the front door, pausing before he raps his knuckles against it. “I mean you can, I guess, but it’s kind of rude.”

“What difference would it make?” asks Jeongguk, can’t help feeling a little defensive about all of this. “It’s not like—” He’s cut off by a loud crash from inside the house, jumping a little as he turns to look at the door with bewildered eyes. He hears someone speaking in a stern voice, but can’t make out words, and then the door is opening to reveal not a shriveled old man in a white shirt.

Instead, there’s a rather attractive young man staring back at him, lips curving into a bright smile. “Ah, Jiminie!” exclaims the man, and Jeongguk is impossibly confused because—this man is young and healthy and looks so put-together, with nice clothes and a nice hairstyle, but he’s living in a dump, quite literally. There’s something about appearances there, maybe. “I’ve been waiting impatiently.”

“Hi, Seokjin-hyung,” says Jimin. “This is Jeonggukkie.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeongguk,” says Seokjin, turning his smile toward Jeongguk. “I’m Seokjin. Why don’t you two come in?”

Jeongguk throws a questioning glare at Jimin as Seokjin turns around and heads into the house, but Jimin still doesn’t say anything as they head in after him, taking off their shoes and shutting the door behind him.

The inside of the house is, admittedly, much nicer than the outside. There’s still some mess, although less broken things than on the outside, and Jeongguk steps around a stack of books that appears to have tipped off of the coffee table in Seokjin’s living room when they follow the man there.

“Don’t mind the mess,” says Seokjin as he gestures for Jimin and Jeongguk to take a seat on one of the sofas. “Hobi’s been particularly mischievous today.” Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow somewhat, instantly looking for a cat or something, but—there’s no sign of a pet anywhere, no signs that Seokjin owns one, either. Jimin’s still giving him a look that is telling him not to ask questions yet.

“Would either of you like a drink?” asks Seokjin next, and then Jeongguk hears the sound of shattering glass from the kitchen and he jumps again, head snapping toward the sound. Seokjin grits his teeth. “Hoseok, be nice to our guests,” he calls to—the air? “If you break all the glasses, I’ll just serve them something in the plastic ones.”

Hoseok must be a moody child, Jeongguk decides, maybe a little brother or even a son, although Seokjin doesn’t look quite old enough for that.

Jimin just chuckles, kind of. “I’m fine, hyung,” he says. “I don’t want to trouble you more than we already are.”

“It’s no problem, Jimin,” Seokjin reassures him. “Even if we just sit here, Hobi will be acting up. Might as well make it worth it, right?”

In the end, Seokjin does get them some water—after a few more exploding glass noises and other things banging around. He thinks he hears something go haywire with the water, if Seokjin’s sputtering and chastising as anything to do with it, and any whispered questions directed toward Jimin go unanswered. Jeongguk is so, so, confused.

It’s only once Seokjin returns with their water—in plastic cups, because apparently it’s less dangerous—that Jeongguk begins to get his answers. The man sits on the sofa across from them, aims much too chipper of a grin at Jeongguk for all of the strange occurrences, and says, “So, Jeongguk. I hear that you’re having a few ghost problems.”

Jeongguk blanches. “You know about ghosts?” he asks.

“I can see them, yes,” he says. “I’m just like you and Jimin, for the most part. I was a late bloomer, compared to most people—didn’t start seeing them until I was well into my teens, but I did the same thing you two are doing, more or less.”

It’s always a little strange to meet another person who can see ghosts. Most of the interactions Jeongguk has had with them are on the internet, on the forums that he still sometimes peruses if he’s bored or hasn’t seen a ghost in a while or needs more help than Jimin can provide. He’s met a few in person, of course, but there’s no real way to distinguish them from others. He has endless questions about Seokjin’s own journey with it, how he knows Jimin, why he said did instead of do, but Jimin’s hand on his knee keeps him silent, again.

“Jimin told me a little bit about your situation,” says Seokjin, and Jeongguk finds himself blushing. “Not that much, though, just that you’re helping a ghost and you have some questions about what happens if you don’t do what needs to be done for him to move on.” He tries to imagine Jimin coming to someone else for help, complaining about the friend who doesn’t know how to put up boundaries—not that there really need to be boundaries with the ghosts, as the whole can’t touch thing is generally enough.

Not for Jeongguk, apparently.

“Yeah,” says the boy, shifting uncomfortably, and Jimin squeezes his knee, gives him an encouraging look. “He’s a missing person so I’m pretty sure that if I find his body, it’ll be enough to… you know. Finish the unfinished business or whatever.”

Seokjin nods. “A situation like that is definitely uncertain,” he says. “You’re wondering what happens to your ghost if you don’t find his body.”

Jeongguk is tempted to agree with that, because it’s easy, but he feels bad about lying, so he mutters, “Not really.” His cheeks flare when he adds, “I kind of—want him to stay.”

Thankfully, Jimin takes over. “Jeonggukkie has a good heart, hyung,” he says, rubbing his hand over Jeongguk’s thigh in comforting circles. “He feels a lot for the ghosts, and I guess this time, he’s just ended up… feeling a little more than usual. If you know what I mean.”

“Ah,” says Seokjin, and Jeongguk looks up to see that knowing look on the other man’s face. He feels like a child again. “I can understand that. Love knows no boundaries, hm?”

“Yeah,” mutters Jeongguk, cheeks still burning.

“So you’re thinking that it might be a good idea to keep him around, right? I mean, if you can just prolong finding his body until you feel you’ve had a proper amount of time together, it would be really good. I don’t blame you for thinking that way, Jeongguk-ah, but Jimin told you it’s not possible, right?”

Jeongguk nods.

“That’s because it’s not,” continues Seokjin. “You asked what happens if you don’t finish your ghost’s unfinished business, right? Well.” He grins a little, but there’s something all too depressing about it. “This is what happens.”

And… nothing. Silence. They wait for a minute, Jeongguk’s eyebrows rising as nothing happens, and then—one of the plastic cups of water on the coffee table goes flying, crashing into the wall with a loud thud. The water splashes against the wall, then the ground where the cup lands and rolls a bit, and Seokjin is still looking at him even though Jeongguk is alarmed again, staring at the cup of water on the floor.

“Do you know what a poltergeist is, Jeongguk?” asks Seokjin, and the boy turns his attention back to the man with wide eyes. “In folklore, they’re known as troublesome spirits. You can’t see them, but they cause all sorts of disturbances: loud noises, objects being destroyed.” There’s another bang somewhere in the house, like a door being slammed shut. “In some legends, they can touch people, too, kicking or biting. That’s not true, but poltergeists are real.”

Jeongguk flinches when another door slams, much closer this time, again and again.

“Mine is named Jung Hoseok,” says Seokjin. The banging stops. “He was a ghost, just like yours. I met him a few years ago, after he died in a parasailing accident. Didn’t look too pretty, unfortunately, but I did what we’re supposed to do—except I couldn’t figure out what his unfinished business was. I tried everything, doing things for his family, completing bucket list items, whatever I could think of. He kept telling me he didn’t have unfinished business, because he tried to live without regrets, so he kept running off and trying to mess with people or doing stupid shit just because he could, because he was already dead.”

Seokjin pauses, like he’s listening. The house is silent now, but there’s still one cup of water on the table, and Jeongguk suddenly feels a little afraid.

“I don’t know if it was the amount of time—maybe four months,” continues Seokjin, “or the fact that I kind of gave up when I ran out of ideas and Hobi still wasn’t helping me. In any case, he started disappearing, bit by bit. Started getting kind of aggressive, always trying to hit things even though he couldn’t touch them, always saying horrible things. Then one day, he was just… gone. And this is what was left.”

Finally, something happens to the next cup of water—not anything violent, like Jeongguk expected. Instead, it just… tips over, the water pouring out onto the table and then running off onto the carpet below. Seokjin watches it with the same expression, one that isn’t surprised or angry. Resigned, maybe.

“He’s haunting me,” says Seokjin when no one else says anything—Jeongguk isn’t sure he can say anything. “I don’t think it’s his choice, but wherever I go, he goes, and wherever he goes, he wreaks havoc. He lost his physical form, but he gained the ability to affect things in our world—constantly breaking things, throwing things. Destroying things. As you can tell, I’ve stopped bothering to clean up after him sometimes.”

Suddenly, Jeongguk feels awful for his comments about the state of Seokjin’s front lawn.

“He can’t speak anymore, either,” says Seokjin. “I think if he could, he’d say horrible things, anyway. It’s not that he chose to become what he did, so I can’t be angry at him for it. It’s just… it’s what happened. I lost my job because he was always breaking things there. I can’t get a new one because of that, because I can’t tame him. No friends, no job. I live in a bomb shelter that doesn’t actually protect me. Hobi doesn’t hurt me, physically. He just hurts me in every other way.”

There’s a bit of silence again, as Jeongguk stares at Seokjin with wide eyes and tries to understand what his heart is doing. Jimin has long since stopped comforting him with a hand on his thigh, although he knows this isn’t the first time Jimin has heard the story. It’s just—hard to wrap his mind around.

“So you wanted to know what happens to a ghost that stays too long,” says Seokjin. “This is what happens to them, Jeongguk. And sure, I can’t prove that Hobi is the one doing all of this, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t fix what needed to be fixed, and now he’s going to spend the rest of my life making everything a living Hell.”

Jeongguk swallows. He thinks about Yoongi, thinks about his gummy smile and the way he always makes sure Jeongguk has eaten. Thinks about him slowly losing the rest of his humanity, thinks about him haunting Jeongguk without really meaning to—hurting him in strange ways, driving him out of school and work because of the terrible things that happen when Jeongguk is around.

“How long?” he finds himself asking. “How long does it take, normally?”

“I don’t know,” says Seokjin. “There aren’t a lot of known cases of this, fortunately. But the others that I’ve spoken to about it—some of them have been only months, some have been years. I think it’s less about taking too long to finish the business and more about not finishing it when you can.”

Suddenly, Jeongguk thinks about the lake. Thinks about knowing where Yoongi’s body might be but purposely keeping them from finding it, thinks about avoiding it and fuck, that sounds like the exact sort of thing that Seokjin is talking about.

“So…” he says, just because he wants to be sure. “If I do find his body, or I know where it is, and I don’t tell anyone… he might turn into a poltergeist?”

“Maybe,” says Seokjin. “It’s not the sort of thing you want to risk though, is it?”

When they leave, after Hoseok has sent a few more books flying as they try to get up, Jeongguk finds that he feels even worse than he did before coming. Because now he knows—he does have to find Yoongi’s body. He does have to tell Yoongi, has to tell his parents, has to let him go, even if he doesn’t want to. It’s less about the ethics of it, more about refusing to let Yoongi turn into some sort of strange monster who will unknowingly ruin Jeongguk’s life.

He thinks about what Yoongi asked him days ago, during their first game of twenty questions—do you ever wish you couldn’t see ghosts?

Then, he’d said no.

Now, he thinks—would it be better to not have to feel this, even if it means not having met Yoongi at all?

Jeongguk doesn’t have an answer to that yet, and Jimin doesn’t say anything when he starts crying on the drive back home.

Jeongguk wrestles with it—not whether or not he should tell Yoongi about possibly finding his body, because now he knows he has no choice, but with whether or not he should admit why he’s waited five days to tell him. Maybe Yoongi will think it’s strange, maybe he’ll be confused or disgusted or something else that Jeongguk doesn’t want to think about. Yoongi’s a ghost, and Jeongguk shouldn’t have fallen in love with him for plenty of reasons.

He reasons it out—one: he’s technically in love with a dead person. Two: it was never part of the plan. Three: they’ve only known each other for two weeks. Maybe that’s the worst part, how quickly Jeongguk falls and how terribly, horribly long it takes him to get back up.

The day after meeting Seokjin, his phone lights up with a notification from a local news site, one that he’s subscribed to in case something about Yoongi shows up, and there’s nothing more about the case, just—Police still seeking help in locating missing 25-year-old man.

But there’s a video, too, of a woman being interviewed by the news station, and Jeongguk knows, without having to listen to the introduction, that it’s Yoongi’s mother. They have the same eyes, almost cat-like and soft, and hers are so, so sad. Jeongguk watches the video anyway, back against the door of a bathroom stall he snuck into after leaving Yoongi in his bedroom. He cries the whole time, listening to Yoongi’s mother beg anyone watching to help them, to find her precious, beloved son.

Jeongguk thinks about—Yoongi’s brother, the one who drowned twelve years ago. He can see it, somehow, in her eyes: she won’t let this one go so easily. And how awful to know that she will have to, because he’s already gone. How awful to know that this woman is crying on local television, begging for anyone to come forward with information, begging Yoongi himself, if he’s watching, to just come home, and Jeongguk—Jeongguk knows he won’t. Jeongguk knows, maybe, where Yoongi is, and how can he sit there and keep it all to himself to save his own heart, as if his love for Yoongi is somehow worth more than his mother’s? As if she, and Yoongi’s father, and Namjoon, don’t deserve to know, to be at peace and at rest with what happened to him?

Sometimes helping the dead means helping the living. For the first time since he started all of this, Jeongguk realizes that sometimes it means hurting himself, just a little, but. That’s okay. He can take it.

It becomes clear, what he must do. What he wants to do, and Jeongguk wipes at his eyes as he pockets his phone and heads back to his dorm. He’s still afraid—he’s always a little afraid—but it’s Yoongi. Maybe if they had met when he was alive, Jeongguk wouldn’t have liked him. Maybe Yoongi wouldn’t have liked him back. Maybe they could have had something, but it doesn’t matter now, because what they have is this.

When he gets back to his dorm, the first thing Yoongi asks is, “Have you been crying?”

There’s no point in lying, not anymore. “I have to show you something,” he says, pulling out his phone again, reloading the page that it’s still on—Yoongi’s mother, her tear-blotched face. Jeongguk holds it up so Yoongi can watch, and then he watches the ghost watch his mother cry and plead.

He’s known for years that ghosts can cry, but there’s something worse about it when Yoongi is the one with tears filling his eyes, because Jeongguk can’t do anything about it. He aches with the desire to touch him, to wipe away his tears, but Jeongguk just holds his phone a little tighter. When the video is finished, they sit there for long moments, Yoongi still staring at the screen, Jeongguk staring at Yoongi.

And then, quietly, Jeongguk says, “I think I know where your body is.”

Yoongi’s eyes finally move to him, filled with tears and questions. He doesn’t ask, and Jeongguk tells him.

“There’s a little lake near the amusement park,” he says. “I saw it when we were on the ferris wheel, right at the top, and—Yoongi, I know you can’t see yourself in the mirror, but your hair is wet. I guess your clothes kind of are, too, but I just never really noticed that.” Jeongguk feels so small, keeping his eyes away from Yoongi because he doesn’t want to see the hurt there because he kept it for so long. “I think you drowned in the lake. And I don’t know for sure, but your car is in those trees, you remember the park but not being in it. It makes sense.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Jeongguk is already steeling himself for the anger, for Yoongi to yell at him for not saying something five days ago, but—“Is that why you’ve been pretending to be sick?” asks the ghost, and there’s no hint of malice in his voice. “Because you didn’t want to go look?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk admits. “But it’s… probably not for any reason you think. I’m not afraid of finding your body. I’ve seen dead bodies before. It’s just—” He stops, breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t know if he wants to say it, heart clenching in his throat, and then he’s crying all at once, hot tears on his cheeks in nearly an instant.

He’s just staring at where his legs are pretzeled in front of him, his hands in his lap, and Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut even though it doesn’t stop the tears. He swears he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but it’s because—Yoongi’s hand is hovering there, like he wants to touch but he can’t, and that just makes it worse.

“Guk-ah,” says Yoongi carefully, and Jeongguk doesn’t understand why he’s not mad, why he sounds so comforting and a little confused, maybe, but not angry or disgusted. He’s just—Yoongi. He’s always just Yoongi. “Guk-ah, you can tell me.”

Jeongguk sniffs, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes like it might stop himself from crying, but it doesn’t. And Yoongi says, “Baby,” and Jeongguk lets out a weak sob, because that’s. That’s not what he wants. It’s what he wants but it’s not, and he can’t have it anyway, and he’s giving it up, he’s giving everything up because he can’t be selfish even if he wants to be.

“I didn’t mean to,” is what he lets out in a wet cry, pressing harder and harder into his eyes, and all he wants is someone to hold him, but Yoongi can’t, he’ll never be able to, and it would be funny if it wasn’t happening to him.

“Didn’t mean to what, bunny?” asks Yoongi, still soft and gentle and waiting, waiting. He’s waiting because he knows Jeongguk is worth it, knows that Jeongguk will get it out eventually; he knows every nook and cranny of Jeongguk’s heart already, knows all of his nuances and habits and pet peeves, and it’s been two weeks. What if they had met each other two weeks earlier, what if Yoongi had been alive, Jeongguk can’t stop wondering what his lips would have tasted like, if his hands would have been perpetually warm or cold—

“Didn’t mean to like you this much,” he whispers, sniffing again. “I like you so much, hyung. I lo—” and he can’t get that out either, the word clogging up his mouth, and he lets out a sob instead. Maybe Yoongi knows anyway. Still, he has to try again. He owes it to himself, and Jeongguk finally straightens up again, dropping his hands from his tear-soaked eyes and looks at Yoongi and says: “I love you.”

When Jeongguk was seven years old, his grandmother died. Four days later, at her funeral, he saw her again—as a ghost, sitting in the back row of her own funeral, watching as her friends and family mourned her, celebrated her. She wore the same hospital gown she’d died in, and Jeongguk wore a brand new dress shirt, all pressed and neat.

He was used to the ghosts by then. Most of them didn’t really pay attention to him, and it was fine because Jeongguk had never been much of a talker anyway, especially when it came to strangers. But this was his grandmother, the one who always gave him extra candies when they visited on the weekends, the one who told him he’d grow to be big and strong and change the world if he wanted.

When the service was over, he told his parents he wanted another moment at her graveside, and then he turned to the ghost of his grandmother and said, “If you had one last chance to say something to everyone, what would it be?”

Simple: I love you.

Simple.

Once he’s said it, Jeongguk realizes that it is simple—everything is simple with Yoongi. The way Yoongi is looking at him is simple, even if his vision is still a little blurred, even if he’s still crying and he can’t breathe properly and he feels so horrible and guilty and embarrassed, but.

But Yoongi doesn’t say I’m dead, doesn’t say we only met two weeks ago, doesn’t say that’s not an excuse for what you’ve done.

What he does say is, “I think this is the part where I’m supposed to kiss you.” And then—“Not really possible, though.”

And Jeongguk—giggles a little, relief flooding through him when he realizes that Yoongi isn’t mad, that maybe he—feels the same, even a little? Doesn’t think it’s weird, at least, and Jeongguk wipes at his eyes even though a new wave of tears comes with the knowledge that it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

“I really like you, too,” adds Yoongi, and he’s looking at Jeongguk with so much adoration and Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do with all this ocean in his heart. “Kind of inconvenient, considering I’m a ghost, but—Gukkie, baby, you don’t have to cry. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

He can’t really help it, although he does nod and keeps wiping at his face, trying to calm himself down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’d ask if you need a tissue but I can’t get that either.”

“Stop,” giggles Jeongguk. Maybe there ought to be something said about someone who keeps making jokes out of this, but it works. It works because Yoongi knows what works with Jeongguk. It’s so unfair. “You’re going to make me cry more.”

“You’re a right mess, Jeon Jeongguk,” laughs Yoongi, and oh. His heart skips a little, and Yoongi is so close and he’s not cold, not really, not when Yoongi likes him back, even if they can do nothing about it. After a moment, Yoongi adds, “You don’t have to feel bad about not telling me about the lake, either. I—understand, I think. You didn’t want to let me go, did you?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, sniffing one last time as the tears finally come to a stop. “I thought that maybe if I just… delayed the investigation, I could keep you here forever and even if we couldn’t be together, we could still be together, you know?”

He imagines Yoongi reaching out and ruffling his hair, or poking his nose, or giving him a kiss on the forehead. It makes him feel worse, but warm at the same time, because maybe it is something Yoongi would do, if he could.

“I get it,” says Yoongi.

“I can’t, though,” says Jeongguk. “Jimin took me to meet someone yesterday who didn’t figure out a ghost’s unfinished business and the ghost turned into a poltergeist and won’t stop fucking up his life.” He sniffs again. “I can’t do that to you. And I—your mom, Yoongi-hyung. I can’t do that to her either, not letting her know what happened to you and making her wait her whole life for you to come back. I wanted to be selfish, but I guess I’m not very good at it.”

Yoongi laughs a little, almost sounding more like a coo, and he shifts a little closer on the bed. Jeongguk shivers at the proximity. “I don’t want to haunt you,” he admits. “As much fun as that may be, I… don’t think I really want to be poltergeist. You really do have a good heart, Guk-ah. You’re willing to give up your own happiness for someone else’s.”

“I just have to do the right thing,” says Jeongguk. “And the right thing is letting you go. I know I haven’t really given you a choice in the matter, but—”

“I’m dead, Guk-ah,” says Yoongi. “I’ve never had a choice. The only place for me from here is whatever comes next, the afterlife or whatever. And I really like you, but I’ve always known that that’s not what I’m here for, you know? It’s not fair, but… it’s death. Death is never fair.”

And maybe Yoongi has known about this for a while. Maybe he’s had time to come to terms with it, or maybe he’s just more mature than Jeongguk, but either way, this apparently doesn’t have to be as hard as Jeongguk thought it would be. Still, he thinks about losing Yoongi tomorrow and feels something tug on his heart, hard. Maybe the day after.

“We should go to the lake,” says Jeongguk. “Who knows, your body might not actually be there. But… we need to know, and then we can decide what to do from there.”

“You’re so good, baby,” says Yoongi, smiling wide and proud and Jeongguk wants to die, just a little. (It’s a thought that crossed his mind—if he died, too, could he be with Yoongi? And then he thought about his own parents, thought about becoming a ghost and Jimin having to be the one to help him and—) “My beautiful, caring bunny. We can pretend to hold hands.”

Jeongguk flushes, just a little, tells Yoongi to shut up or he’s taking back everything he said, but when they’re leaving, Jeongguk sending a quick text to Jimin to apologize in advance for stealing his car again, he can’t deny that there’s something so relieving about it. It’s simple, like his grandmother said all those years ago. Love is simple. Love with Yoongi is simple, because nothing has to change. He doesn’t know why he was so scared in the first place.

When they get to the grounds of the carnival, they find that it’s entirely empty, everything packed up and moved on. It’s inconvenient, maybe, because Jeongguk doesn’t really remember what direction the lake is in, but Google Maps works wonders to place them in the middle of nowhere, and there’s only one little lake in the surrounding area, only a kilometer from where Yoongi’s car is still stuck in the trees.

Jeongguk feels a little sick as they walk past it, knowing that this might be the exact route that Yoongi took, and did he know there was a lake where he was heading? Did he go on purpose, thinking that being with his brother meant literally in death? Was he so drunk that he just started wandering and then accidentally drowned?

He supposes they’ll never really know, if his Yoongi can’t remember. Jeongguk isn’t so sure he wants to know anyway, so he just walks a little closer than necessary to the ghost as they head into the trees, following the map on Jeongguk’s phone.

Neither of them speaks as they walk, the reality of the situation settling over them. Jeongguk can’t stop thinking about what happens to a body once it starts decomposing, and he read once that when someone drowns, they sink to the bottom of the water because their lungs fill with water, and the idea of having to search the lake for Yoongi’s body is horrifying. It’s been at least two weeks since he died. He heard, too, that someone who drowns loses their hands and feet after a while.

Each step makes him a little more nervous, until suddenly, there is nowhere else to go because he can see the edge of the little lake through the edge of the trees, the sun glinting off of it, and he sucks in a breath when he realizes that this is it. Yoongi turns to look at him. “Do you want me to look?” he asks, always so willing to protect Jeongguk. “If you don’t want to see it, I can go myself.”

“No,” says Jeongguk. “I think we should both do it.”

And Yoongi holds out his hand a bit, like he’s asking Jeongguk to take it, and Jeongguk swallows tightly and reaches out, too, wraps his hand around nothing. It’s cold, a shiver running through him but he doesn’t let go, and this is pretending even though there’s some comfort in it, Yoongi’s lips quirking up slightly as they move through the last line of trees until they’re at the edge of the lake.

For a moment, they just stare out at it. Then, Jeongguk asks, “Do you remember this?”

Yoongi seems to be thinking about it before he shakes his head. “I really don’t remember,” he says, “This isn’t familiar to me and I don’t remember dying, but I guess that’s… better. I don’t think drowning is a very fun way to go.”

Maybe he’s thinking about his brother. Is it ironic that both of them went the same way?

“Let’s check the shores first,” suggests Yoongi, and Jeongguk follows after him, keeping his eyes trained on the edge of the water in case they spot any sign of Yoongi, or of his body just below the surface. It’s not a big lake, so it won’t take long to go around, but Jeongguk feels his the knot in his stomach grow tighter and tighter as they head around it, and when they reach the other side—

Jeongguk almost walks through Yoongi, the ghost having come to a halt in front of him, and he’s confused for a moment before he turns his gaze to the long grass in front of them, and.

Jeongguk has seen dead bodies before. That doesn’t stop him from throwing up, though, heaving up nothing but some bile and water because he hasn’t eaten all day. It’s the mint hair that is unmistakable, because he doesn’t think they can trust the rest of it.

And it’s strange, because Jeongguk has had an idea about where Yoongi’s body was for five days. But seeing it, knowing that it’s here, that he was right—it’s a black hole in the middle of his chest. Taking everything, giving nothing back. He finally found Yoongi, which means he’s finally letting Yoongi go.

The long walk back to Jimin’s car is silent. The long drive back to Jeongguk’s dorm is silent.

What they do is this: Yoongi lies on Jeongguk’s floor and doesn’t say anything about the quiet tears on his cheeks. Jeongguk wraps himself up in a blanket and snuggles into Yoongi’s side and pretends that it’s enough, pretends that he can do something about it. It’s not his time to be worried or sad.

What they do is this: Jeongguk sends an anonymous tip to the police about finding Yoongi’s car in the woods outside of Seoul, and he trusts that they will put the pieces together.

What they do is this: nothing. There is nothing left to do—but wait. But exist, because Jeongguk knows that in a day, or two days, or maybe, if he’s lucky, three, Yoongi will wink out of existence. He listens to Yoongi’s soft breathing with his eyes closed, imagines that he is really, truly alive, and he can lay his head on Yoongi’s chest and hear his heartbeat and feel Yoongi’s fingers in his hair. He can’t, but. Jeongguk has always been good at pretending.

Jeongguk sleeps fitfully that night, and he hates how much it feels like an ending—because it is, in a way, and the idea of never seeing Yoongi again is one that doesn’t fit right in his mouth. His heart is too open and soft and vulnerable for it, and two weeks isn’t a lot of time, but here he is.

When he wakes up, Yoongi is there, because Yoongi is always there. When they first met, he didn’t like it, didn’t like the constant presence of someone who refused to talk to him, but now all he can do is fight away the tears that instantly spring to his eyes, because is this it? And will Yoongi leave as soon as the police find his body, or will it be once his parents understand what has happened? And what if he tries to stay?

They fill out Jeongguk’s ghost journal—a little prematurely, maybe, but Jeongguk has never told any of the other ghosts about it. It always seemed too sad, to think about being left behind, to think about all of the other ghosts that he’s helped. But he’s told Yoongi everything, so Yoongi knows, and he claims that he just wants to make sure Jeongguk captures him properly even if it’s maybe something else, something more.

“I like this one,” says Jeongguk, pointing to one of the photos uploaded on Yoongi’s Facebook page. He’s a good artist, but he wants the real thing because he doesn’t think he could ever get Yoongi’s smile right, or the glint in his eyes, or the little upturn of his nose.

“Can you at least choose one where I look ruggedly handsome?” sighs Yoongi.

“I want one where you look how I see you,” protests Jeongguk, already printing out the picture.

“Which is?”

“Cute and small,” says Jeongguk, “but larger than life at the same time. This captures it well. You’re a whole juxtaposition, hyung.” Which works with the picture—mint hair, leather jacket. Massive purple flower crown on top, complete with a white ribbon flowing down his back. Just to be safe, he prints off a few more, too, and thinks that he could never devote just one page to this beautiful, marvelous man.

Still, he carefully glues the pictures to the page after cutting them out—one in a heart shape, another as a circle—and he feels like a child, but it’s better than thinking about how this is a scrapbook of all of the dead people he’s loved.

“Min Yoongi,” mumbles Jeongguk as he writes the name on top of the page in scrawling text and sparkly purple ink, Yoongi groaning beside him. He leaves a little space below it for the dates—the date he met Yoongi, the day Yoongi left. He doesn’t have that one yet, so he’s happy to leave it blank.

He considers all that blank space. Then he writes: tsundere, thinks he’s cooler than he is, gummy smile.

“Thinks he’s cooler than he is,” mutters Yoongi. “That’s blasphemy. You’re lucky I can’t pick up one of these pens or I’d be scrawling that out.”

“That’s the point, hyung,” says Jeongguk. “I get to say whatever I like about you.” And it’s funny, when he’s writing down the dumb quirks Yoongi has, all of the Disney movies they’ve watched in the past two weeks. It’s funny when he spends a whole small paragraph writing about Yoongi’s love for Kumamon and some of the funniest things he’s said, but then.

Jeongguk swallows tightly, pen hovering over the page.

Good at taking care of people, he writes, even when he can’t touch them. I bet his lips would have been soft. Good kisser, based entirely on how much he pouts. Makes me feel like helping ghosts doesn’t always have to be sad.

There’s more he wants to say. Something about love, something about selflessness. But then he’s thinking about what they could have had if only Yoongi was alive—he could fill out hundreds and hundreds of pages on the things he’d learn about Yoongi, on all the dates they would go on. Instead, he has… one page. He has two weeks and one day left, maybe more. He isn’t sure what he was expecting when he met Yoongi, but it wasn’t this.

“You’re making me out to be very soft,” murmurs Yoongi beside him, and Jeongguk wipes at his eyes, only now realizing that they’re a little wet.

“That’s because you are,” says Jeongguk, putting the pen down so he doesn’t try to add more stupid stuff that he’ll probably be embarrassed about in a few months, or a few years. When he finds a living person to love instead, when he meets the next ghost and it’s normal, because maybe after this, he’ll finally learn how to keep his heart to himself.

After a minute, Yoongi says, “It’s too sad in here. Let’s go out.”

So they do.

They go on a date. That’s what Jeongguk calls it, anyway, because that’s what he wants it to be—because he loves Yoongi and Yoongi likes him back, at least, and he’s pretending. He’s pretending that they can be like regular couples making out in the back of the movie theatre, playing footsie under the table at dinner, laughing and talking and being together, properly. Jeongguk will take whatever he can get.

They end up in a park at the end of it, nothing but grass and the sun ahead of them. Under normal circumstances, Jeongguk would be in class right now, slaving over his perfect notes and waiting for midterms to start. Now he’s on his back on the grass, staring up at the sky and trying to find a way to let this be enough. One day—it has to be enough.

“Let’s play a game,” says Yoongi where he’s next to Jeongguk, arms behind his head, a grin on his lips. He’s always grinning, always hiding his own pain for Jeongguk’s sake even though he’s the dead one, he’s the one who will be leaving all of this. Jeongguk is only losing Yoongi, but Yoongi—is losing everything.

“What kind of game?” asks Jeongguk.

“It’s called ‘let’s pretend I’m not a ghost and imagine our entire future together’,” and Jeongguk kind of chokes a bit on the air in his lungs, and he feels like it’ll be a terrible game—thinking about what he can’t have. But maybe it’s what Yoongi needs. Maybe Yoongi needs to think about something better than the uncertainty of what is going to happen to him. Maybe he needs to live an entire life, even if it’s just a pretend one, before he’s ready to go.

So Jeongguk says, “Okay,” and he grins a little, too, lolling his head so he can look at Yoongi. “Where would we go on our first date?”

“Carnival, obviously,” says Yoongi. “And I’d win a bunch of plushies for you because even if you’re apparently the athletic one, I’m the more determined one. Wouldn’t stop until I got you the massive Kumamon one, even though it was really just for me because I love him.”

Jeongguk can’t help but giggle a little, trying to imagine their day at the carnival but reversed, with Yoongi begging for one more game and Jeongguk telling him to calm down. He can see it, is the thing. If he closes his eyes, he can see all of it.

“And then we’d go on the ferris wheel,” says Jeongguk.

“And kiss at the top.”

“That’s proper romantic,” sighs Jeongguk, and he tries not to let the twinge of sadness stop him from being happy about it—maybe that’s what would have really happened, if Yoongi had been alive. If he’d just been able to touch him.

“Yeah, and then we’d go on a bunch of spinny rides after and I’d throw up because I ate too many deep fried things,” adds Yoongi, to which Jeongguk giggles again. “But you’d be all sympathetic for me and drive us home and you’d invite me into your dorm but since I’m a gentlemen, I’d say no.”

“You’re one of those people who waits until what, the third date?” asks Jeongguk.

“For you, Jeon Jeongguk, I’d wait forever.”

He thinks about it—do all of the dead go to the same place? And if they do, will Jeongguk and Yoongi be together at some point, even if it’s decades in the future when Jeongguk ends up dying too? And will Yoongi be true to his word?

“What happens next?” asks Jeongguk, turning onto his side so he can stare at Yoongi’s profile as the ghosts watches the sky, crooked grin on his lips.

So Yoongi tells him—the second and third and fourth dates, and the first time Jeongguk gives him a blowjob, which is apparently extremely messy and inexperienced but altogether endearing, and the time Yoongi shows up after Jeongguk finishes his last exam of the semester with a massive bouquet of flowers and a wad of cash to blow on lamb skewers. The first time Jeongguk calls Yoongi his boyfriend in public, a little shy while they’re out with friends—Jimin and Namjoon, mostly, who are getting a little too close for comfort since they were introduced to each other—and the first time Jeongguk meets Yoongi’s parents, who are so endeared with him that they tell Yoongi to keep him forever.

Jeongguk tells Yoongi about the first time they make love—and he says it like that, make love, because it sounds nice and it makes sense and he blushes only a little when he says it—and how Jeongguk cries after, not because it’s bad but because he’s never felt so loved in his entire life. The times they sneak into movies just to make out in the back and the discounts Yoongi gives him on drinks in the bar only to have to drag him back home even though Jeongguk is like a koala and the day that Yoongi finally asks Jeongguk to move in with him, even if his apartment is shitty and small and the windows don’t close properly.

There’s nothing left out, and it should be sad, Jeongguk thinks, imagining all of the things that they’ll never have, but it’s. Good, somehow. Perfect. Yoongi is smiling and that’s all that matters, living this imagined life that he’ll never have even though it’s the closest thing he’ll ever get. Yoongi won’t get to live past twenty-five, so Jeongguk is happy to give up his real future for this one, even for now.

“Yeah, but who proposes first?” Yoongi asks, and Jeongguk blanches a little.

“I didn’t know we were getting married,” he says.

“What, you thought we were going to break up?” asks Yoongi. “What kind of shitty future are you imagining for us, hm? I wanted the ten kids and the house with the white picket fence and arguing over whether we’re going to put our kids in art or sports or both.”

Jeongguk giggles. “Both, obviously,” he says. “We have to give them lots of options, hyung, so that they can choose what they really want to do and we’re not meddling.”

“They have to learn how to play the piano, at least,” says Yoongi. “Maybe that’s what I’d do, too—take up the piano again. I could be a famous concert pianist. Or… just teach kids how to play.”

“Wow, my very own musician. Would you woo me with your nimble fingers?”

“I thought were talking about the piano.”

“Hyung,” gasps Jeongguk. “Of course we are. Get your mind out of the gutter. We were talking about children.”

“Right,” says Yoongi. “How many do you want, anyway? I feel like three leaves the middle child out.”

“Two, then,” says Jeongguk. “Two is a good number and we could have a girl and a boy and name one of them after your brother.”

He sees Yoongi’s lips turn upward a little more, and he wishes he could just lean over and kiss that smile, but. This is okay, too.

“Wait, you didn’t answer my question about who proposes first,” says Yoongi.

He thinks about it. “I think you would,” he says. “Although I would have been trying to plan some elaborate thing for weeks and months, but you beat me to it on impulse and you ruin all of my plans. And then you let me propose to you with all of my plans anyway because you don’t like to see my pout.”

“That does sound like something I’d do,” laughs Yoongi. “Let me guess: your proposal would involve the carnival and a ferris wheel because you’re extremely cheesy and sentimental like that?”

Jeongguk gasps. “How did you know?” he asks. “I was seriously thinking about that.”

“I know you, Guk-ah,” says Yoongi. “Besides, in this future, we’ve been together for years. I know you like the back of my hand. I can probably practically read your thoughts at that point.”

And it’s weird, maybe. They’ve known each other for two weeks. Jeongguk loves him, but maybe not like that, not enough to think about marriage and children but—it’s not real. It’s never going to be real, because Yoongi is dead, and maybe this is okay. Maybe this is enough. Still, it makes the grin slip from his face, and he’s left to stare at Yoongi, who stares back at him.

“I really do wish we could have had that,” mumbles Jeongguk.

“I know,” says Yoongi. “I think I would have settled with just about any life, because at least I would have been living.”

“Do you think we would have met if you hadn’t died?” asks Jeongguk—it’s the question he’s been asking for two weeks. He’s a little afraid of the answer.

“Yes,” says Yoongi, though, resolute. “The universe can be nice sometimes. But, you know, I think I’m glad we had this anyway. Even if you’re the idiot who fell in love with a ghost, at least we had this, right?”

Jeongguk giggles a little, and he doesn’t feel so bad about it anymore—the falling in love part. He still doesn’t know how he’s going to let go, but for now, this is okay. For now, this is enough for him. He’ll come to the next part when they get there, and when Jeongguk next checks his phone, he sees a new notification from the news site about Yoongi’s case.

Police locate body of missing twenty-five-year-old man.

Jeongguk lets out the breath he’s holding as he stares at the screen. So it worked—so this is it. Yoongi could disappear at any time, although he feels like there’s something more. This whole thing hasn’t just been about finding Yoongi’s body, but about helping the ones looking be at peace. When Jeongguk shows Yoongi the article, the ghost nods at him. They’ve had it planned out all day, and Jeongguk musters up the courage to complete the last step, to put the last piece of the puzzle into place.

There’s one more place they need to go.

Jeongguk rings the doorbell for the third time, trying to peer into the little window on the door, but it’s frosted glass so he can’t see anything; he glances over at Yoongi, shrugging slightly and frowning when he sees the sadness on the ghost’s face. There was always a good chance that they wouldn’t be home—Yoongi’s parents. It’s only been a few hours since Yoongi’s body was officially found, or the news sites began reporting about it, at least. His parents are probably at the police station, or maybe at the lake, or somewhere. Anywhere but at home.

He and Yoongi didn’t know where else to go, though, so here they are. “Maybe we should come back later,” suggests Jeongguk.

“I feel like we don’t have that much time,” says Yoongi. “You were supposed to find my body, right? We found it. If my parents know, maybe that’s it.” His bottom lip juts out slightly. Quivers. “I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye, though.”

Jeongguk had suggested writing a letter, slipping it under the door and trying to pretend that Yoongi had written it two weeks ago. It had seemed less genuine, though, and even if his parents can’t see him, Yoongi being there is different. Better.

“We could go to the police station and check if they’re there,” suggests Jeongguk next, taking a step away from the door. It’s clear that no one is home. “Or we can creepily sit in Jimin’s car and wait until they show up.”

“Whatever,” says Yoongi, turning away, and Jeongguk follows him, already down one of the steps when he suddenly hears the door open. Turning, he sees—the woman from the video, the one where she had been pleading with anyone to help find Yoongi. Her eyes are rimmed red. Yoongi sighs at the same time that Jeongguk breathes in.

“What do you want?” asks the woman, and Jeongguk swallows tightly. He hasn’t rehearsed this enough, suddenly doesn’t remember what he had wanted to say, but if he messes this up, he’ll lose his chance—

“Hi, um,” he begins. “I’m Jeon Jeongguk. I, uh—I know your son?”

She stares at him, and then takes a step back. “We’re not taking questions about our son right now,” she says, and she doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Jeongguk lurches forward, hears Yoongi make a wet sound behind him.

“I’m sorry, I know,” he says quickly. “I don’t want to disturb you, but there was something he wanted to say to you.”

She pauses, hand on the doorknob. “How do you know?”

Jeongguk hesitates. He’s never done this before, other than trying to tell his parents, who were never open to it, so—“This is going to sound very strange, but I can see ghosts,” he says. “And Yoongi’s ghost has been living with me for the past two weeks.”

He expects that—she’ll be angry at him. She’ll throw him out, curse him for trying to say something like that when she’s grieving. He’s heard worse before, and he would never expect her to believe him, but she just stares at him again, and maybe—this is his chance.

“He showed up the day after he died,” says Jeongguk quickly. “And I’ve been trying to find his body since then. I was the one who gave the police the tip about his car. And now that his body has been found, he can… move on. But I think part of his unfinished business is helping you and your family be at peace with what happened, and that means letting him say goodbye properly.”

She’s still staring, silent. And then her lips turn downward and without a word, she steps back into the house and—she’s going to close the door, she’s going to ruin his chance, so Jeongguk sticks his hand out, catching the door as she tries to close it, but he’s run out of things to say to convince her and he doesn’t want to do something illegal by barging into her house—

Then Yoongi says—“Ask her if she fixed the vase I broke.”

“He wants to know if you fixed the vase he broke,” repeats Jeongguk, still pushing on the door, but suddenly, he meets no resistance and he stumbles forward a bit. Yoongi’s mother has stopped, peering around the edge of the door at him with wide eyes.

Yoongi adds, “It’s the last thing I did before I left here that night. Smashed her favourite vase.” Which means there’s no way Jeongguk would know unless Yoongi had told him that strange detail before dying, and she’s still staring at him, and.

“How do you know about that?” she asks.

“Please,” says Jeongguk. “He—he’s here. He just wants to say goodbye to you.”

Jeongguk has to be lucky, he thinks, that he’s never had to do this before. Saying goodbye for other ghosts usually meant a letter or something similar, but it’s different when Yoongi had no possible way of knowing he would die and therefore no possible way of saying goodbye to his parents. Or apologizing for letting their last encounter be a terrible one.

It’s awful, he thinks, as he sits on the sofa in the middle of Yoongi’s parents house, both of them on the opposite couch, just staring at him. And he thinks, too, about what he and Yoongi had spoken about in the park—the first time Jeongguk meets Yoongi’s parents. It was never meant to be like this.

“I’ve been able to see ghosts since I was a child,” he says. “And I’ve been helping them get to the other side since I was a teenager. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I can see them, speak to them, but… I can’t touch them. And they can’t touch me, or anything.” He licks his lips, glances over at where Yoongi is sitting beside him, because apparently he’s too afraid to sit with his parents. Jeongguk doesn’t know what he’s afraid of, but he’s not going to question it. It isn’t his place.

“And our Yoongi is a ghost?” asks Yoongi’s father, and Jeongguk nods.

“Yeah, he’s—he’s actually sitting right beside me.” He glances over again, follows the Mins’ line of sight, and Yoongi’s hand comes down on his thigh, like he needs an anchor even if they can’t touch. Jeongguk resists the urge to shiver.

“Tell them I’m sorry about the fight,” whispers Yoongi, and Jeongguk. Closes his eyes for a moment. He doesn’t want to do this, but he knows he has to.

“He’s sorry about the fight,” says Jeongguk, beginning to repeat everything that the ghost tells him. How he’s sorry for the fight, how he never got the chance to apologize before he died—how he doesn’t hate them for what happened to his brother, even if he always got a little defensive or angry about it. How they were always wonderful parents, especially through something so difficult, and how could he ever hate them for that?

He keeps his eyes closed because he doesn’t want to see it—Yoongi’s parents breaking down. Or getting angry if they think it’s all a hoax, or wanting to say something back. It’s not about him. He knows Yoongi has left his side when the cold sensation on his leg leaves too, and when Yoongi’s voice moves farther away—toward them. Jeongguk keeps his eyes closed. He keeps repeating it all, trying to keep his own tears at bay.

“He loves you a lot,” sniffs Jeongguk when Yoongi tells him to say it. “He’d give anything to take back what happened that night and be alive again.” And maybe then Jeongguk wouldn’t have met him, but maybe that would have been okay. Maybe he would rather Yoongi and his family and all of his friends be happy than himself. He’d give up his own happiness for Yoongi, without even having to think.

After a while, when Yoongi has finished his apology, his goodbyes, and his parents have said their piece, Jeongguk is forced to stare at this ghost as he kneels in front of his parents. They’ll never see him again, except in a casket, and. This isn’t enough, even if it has to be.

And although Yoongi doesn’t tell him to say it, Jeongguk says it anyway—“He’s really lovely.” All three of them turn to look at him, and Jeongguk keeps his gaze away from Yoongi as he continues. “I’ve only known him for two weeks, but you should be proud of who he is. Was. I’ve met a lot of ghosts in the past seventeen years, but none of them have been like Yoongi. There’s just… something about him. Something special that you can’t help wanting more of. And I feel very lucky to have been the one to help him, even if I wish I could have given that time to you instead. You deserve it more than I do.”

“Guk-ah,” he hears, shakes his head to tell Yoongi that he’s not going to stop.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t find his body sooner,” he adds, shaking his head when the tears fill his eyes, spill over. “I knew for five days before I said anything, and I didn’t tell him because—” Jeongguk sniffs. Yoongi is at his side again, and somehow, it’s harder to say it to his parents than Yoongi himself—“I ended up liking him more than I should have. I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a ghost, but I think I did. But that’s just—that’s Yoongi, you know? When you see his heart, you can’t help but fall in love with it.”

“It’s Jeongguk, right?” asks Yoongi’s mother. She’s still crying. He nods. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of him, for helping find him. And letting him say goodbye. We loved him a lot, and I’m glad you do, too.”

He laughs a little, the sound wet. “I wish I could do more for you,” he says.

“You’ve done plenty,” says Yoongi’s father. “You’ve done well. You let us have a goodbye. That’s more than enough.”

Jeongguk sniffs again. “Okay,” he says, finally looking over at Yoongi, who nods. “It’s uh—I think he’s going to go soon, so we should probably leave. He says he loves you so much and he’ll see you again. Hopefully not soon.”

He can’t look at them crying. He can’t look at them knowing this is the end, but he can tell something has been mended here, smoothed over. They’re at peace even if it’s sad, because at least they know that Yoongi didn’t go to his grave angry or upset with them. He went wanting to apologize. He went loving them with his whole heart, and he’s surprised when Yoongi’s mother pulls him into a hug. Whispers in his ear, “Make sure you tell him you love him, too.”

They drive back to Jeongguk’s dorm in silence. They don’t really know how long he has, but they’ve done everything they can do. There’s no one left to say goodbye to, nothing else to find, and Jeongguk can’t stop glancing over at Yoongi every few seconds as though he’s afraid the ghost will have disappeared when he isn’t looking. He can’t stop crying, knows it’s pathetic. But he can’t stop thinking about Yoongi’s parents, about the looks on their faces when they said goodbye to nothing but the air and had to trust, blindly, that Yoongi was listening.

The ghost journal is still open on Jeongguk’s floor, glitter pens scattered around it. The empty space under his name haunts him like Yoongi has been haunting him for two weeks.

And Jeongguk won’t look at him, doesn’t want to think about how this is probably the end. He has to say goodbye but he can’t because he doesn’t want to, because maybe if he doesn’t, then Yoongi will have to stay. Is Jeongguk part of his unfinished business now, the last piece of the puzzle? The last one who must come to terms with what has happened and what will happen?

“Guk-ah,” says Yoongi, and it’s so soft and gentle that something within Jeongguk breaks, and they haven’t even said anything but he’s crying anyway, hiccupping against his sobs when he stands in the middle of his room and covers his face and. Weeps.

“Baby,” Yoongi tries again, and Jeongguk shivers when he feels his hands go cold. Yoongi is trying to pry them away, even if he can’t, but it’s the thought. It’s the intention. “Guk-ah, look at me.”

“Don’t want to,” says Jeongguk, and it’s more of a whine as he continues to cry into his hands.

“Please?”

Jeongguk tries. He tries to stop crying, trying to will his stupid heart to stop hurting so much even though it never listens to him. After long moments of pathetic sniffling and wiping at his eyes, he finally manages to drop his hands and stare at Yoongi, pout on his lips. He probably looks like a mess, but Yoongi is staring at him with that same adoration again, and it’s almost enough to send him into another fit of tears.

“There you are,” says Yoongi quietly. “My pretty baby. So gorgeous even when you cry.”

It doesn’t help to quell the tears, another few slipping out of the corners of his eyes, but he keeps his hands down. He can’t open his mouth to speak, though, just staring at Yoongi as Yoongi grins back at him. Always the more mature of the two of them, always more prepared. He’s the one leaving, but he seems so much more put together than Jeongguk and there’s something a little unfair about that.

“Hi,” Yoongi whispers.

“Hi,” Jeongguk whispers back.

“Remember when we first met?” asks Yoongi. “And I didn’t believe you when you were told me I was dead and I didn’t want to talk to you or help you?”

Jeongguk sniffs. “Yeah,” he says.

“Wish I wouldn’t have wasted all those days,” says Yoongi, “being a dumbass. Wasted so many days when I could have been with you, knowing you. Learning how to love you. Because I do, Guk-ah—I love you. You’re so good.”

“Hyung,” says Jeongguk, and he’s crying again, can’t fucking stop it—

“It’s true,” says Yoongi. “You’ve got a beautiful heart, Jeongguk. And a beautiful soul and you’re so good at what you do. You always want to help people, always want to be the best you can be for everyone else. Remember to take care of yourself too, though, okay?”

Jeongguk nods, wiping at his nose. “I will,” he says.

“Make sure you go to class,” adds Yoongi. “And do all of your homework and try to make a few friends there, too, okay? Eat your vegetables and do your laundry.”

“Yes, hyung.”

“And don’t forget to wash your sheets once in a while, too, or they’ll get gross. And call your parents when you can.”

“I know, hyung.”

“Don’t love the next ghost as much as you love me.”

“I won’t,” says Jeongguk, and he means it because—he’s afraid he won’t love anyone like he loves Yoongi, which is stupid because he’s so young and they’ve known each other for such a short amount of time, but he wasn’t lying when he told Yoongi’s parents that there’s just something about Yoongi. Something that never gave Jeongguk a choice in the matter, anyway.

“Good,” says Yoongi, grinning even though his eyes look a little wet, too. “Gonna miss you so much, bunny.”

“Don’t say that,” whispers Jeongguk. “Don’t—you’re gonna be fine wherever you’re going. Just like, have fun and tell the other ghosts about me and don’t be too mean to the other kids.”

Yoongi giggles, and Jeongguk—Jeongguk wishes he could record that laugh, play to back to himself on his loneliest nights. He wishes he could take a picture of Yoongi just like this, just like he’s known the ghost for two weeks. He wishes he could do so much, but there’s no time.

“You did so well,” says Yoongi, and it’s wrong because that’s what Jeongguk always says to the ghosts, giving them permission to leave, but maybe Yoongi is giving Jeongguk permission to let him go—“The best ghost whisperer in the world. You took care of me, baby, and you found me and you did so good. You’ll be okay without me.”

Jeongguk nods. He doesn’t have much of a choice. “I love you,” he whispers, and there’s so much more to say—“I miss you already.”

“I know,” says Yoongi, and he’s grinning again even though he’s crying, and Jeongguk can tell, somehow. This is it.

He’s going to lose Yoongi. He never really had Yoongi in the first place, but he’s losing him—

“I’m going to kiss you,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk—gasps in a breath, like it’s what he’s been starved of for weeks, and. It’s not the same. But it’s better than nothing, and Jeongguk closes his eyes, parts his lips. He feels cold on the sides of his face and he knows that Yoongi is holding him there, keeping him in place even though it wouldn’t make a difference and Jeongguk wouldn’t go anywhere anyway, and then. His lips bloom with cold, cold, cold, a fresh wave of tears coming over him as he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, tighter, this isn’t enough but Yoongi is kissing him, Yoongi is kissing him, finally, finally.

“Yoongi,” he whispers, and he’s still cold, but he doesn’t want to be warm, anyway, and he hears Yoongi whisper, “Yeah, baby?” And then—

The cold disappears.

Jeongguk opens his eyes. The room is—empty. No sign of Yoongi, no sign that the ghost had ever been there in the first place. Just Jeongguk and his ghost journal and his unmade bed and his stupid, stupid Kumamon plushie. Frozen lips and a broken heart.

Jeongguk breathes in. He breathes out.

He wipes his tears. Then he climbs into his bed, pulls the covers up and up and over his head. If he closes his eyes, he can still pretend that Yoongi is here, just on the other side of the bed, close but not close enough.

If he closes his eyes, he can still pretend. He’s gotten very, very good at that.

Jeongguk isn’t sure how much time has passed before he hears the sound of a key in the lock on his door, but he keeps his eyes closed anyway. All he knows is that the sun has gone down and there’s an ache in his stomach, but he isn’t sure if it’s for food or something else, something more. Either way, he doesn’t move. Either way, he hasn’t moved, and then he hears the door open and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Jimin, because it’s always Jimin.

It was Jimin three weeks ago, when Taehyung left. It’s Jimin now, even though Jeongguk didn’t have to say anything, because Jimin is a very good friend. Probably saw the news reports, probably knows that there was nothing left to do and Yoongi is gone and he knows Jeongguk, knows how broken-hearted he is with ghosts that he didn’t give too much to.

The bed dips and Jeongguk keeps his arms shut. There’s a warm body behind him, an arm wrapping around his waist, a hand carding gently through his hair. Tears come to Jeongguk’s eyes again because—if he keeps his eyes closed, he can pretend it’s Yoongi. He can pretend it’s always been Yoongi, and when he turns around, he’ll be greeted with mint hair and a gummy smile and a heartbeat, a heartbeat, a heartbeat.

The illusion works for as long as it takes Jimin to shatter it by softly asking, “How are you holding up?”

And Jeongguk just makes a little noise in the back of his throat, curling into a tighter ball under the covers.

“Have you eaten?” is the next question. When Jimin doesn’t get an answer, he adds, “Jeongguk, you have to take care of yourself.”

He can imagine Yoongi chiding him, reminding Jeongguk that he promised to take care of himself. But Yoongi is gone. What does it even matter?

Jimin sighs a little, settles further behind him and it’s warm but it’s not what Jeongguk wants. He doesn’t know how to say that, though. “When I was a kid,” he begins. “I told my mom about the ghosts. She thought it was so strange, but it turns out that one of her aunts could see them, too, and she’d heard enough weird stories at holidays that she’d always thought were just ghost stories. They were ghost stories, but the real kind. And when a ghost I had been friends with would disappear, she’d sing me this—”

“Do you think he committed suicide?” asks Jeongguk suddenly. “His brother drowned, too, a long time ago. And the reason he was out there in the first place was because he wanted to see his brother, and then he drowned too, so do you think that he did it on purpose?”

Jimin’s hand stills in his hair for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment, and Jeongguk sniffs. “Would it make you feel worse if he did?”

“Maybe,” mumbles Jeongguk. “We never found out why he did it. That wasn’t part of his unfinished business.” It’s not what he really wants to talk about, but he’s talking so Jimin doesn’t try to push it, and he stares at his dresser, where Yoongi used to sit. No matter where he looks, all he sees is Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

“Was it stupid of me to fall in love with him?” he whispers next.

“Very,” replies Jimin. “That doesn’t mean it was a bad thing, though.”

“I just—I don’t know what to do,” says Jeongguk. “How do I go back to class and meet new ghosts and just go on with my life like he wasn’t here?”

“You don’t do that,” says Jimin. “Because he was here, Gukkie. You don’t have to pretend he wasn’t. Maybe you were the only one who could see him and talk to him and love him, but he was here. And he loved you, too.”

Jeongguk sniffs again, tries to burrow further into his pillow because he doesn’t want to think about that, and if he does then he’ll start crying again and he’s trying to be a functioning human being, or at least the semblance of one, and. He’s so sad.

“Hey, Guk,” says Jimin, tugging a little on his ear. “Speaking of how much he loved you, I have something that I need to show you.” And then he’s getting off of the bed and trying to tug Jeongguk with him, who is sluggish and silent and wants to sleep and sleep, but maybe he owes this to Jimin. He’s been using the other boy’s car for days, so he just stumbles to his feet and doesn’t ask questions.

Wipes at his bleary, wet eyes. Slips on his shoes and lets Jimin lead him out of his dorm, down the stairs, out onto the sidewalk that leads to the other buildings. Jeongguk doesn’t ask where they’re going, just follows with Jimin’s hand tight around his wrist. It’s dark now, night, and Jimin just keeps going, past his dorm building and the closed coffee shop where he met Yoongi and some of the classroom buildings until they come to the path that leads to the massive grass area in the middle of campus.

That’s when Jeongguk hears it—the music. Not just any music, but carnival music, much too loud for this time of night, and he blinks, confused, before Jimin finally stops at the edge of the grass and there, covering the entire area, is… a carnival. Carnival games, a few food trucks. There aren’t any massive rides, no rollercoasters or spinny things, but it’s a carnival.

Jeongguk can only stare, and then Jimin hands him a piece of paper.

Jeon Jeonggukkie, it says in Jimin’s handwriting, and he’s confused until he continues reading—I’m making Jimin write this for me since I can’t write it myself. His handwriting is much neater than mine was, anyway, so be thankful.

It’s from Yoongi. Somehow, it’s from Yoongi.

I know this isn’t really like that first date we talked about, mostly because I’m not even there. But I still think you deserve it to have it. To win the massive plushies and eat a bunch of deep fried stuff and laugh. You deserve to be happy, Guk-ah, even without me. Especially without me. I still think I’d be much better at darts, but now you have a chance to prove me wrong.

It’s signed with Yoongi’s name, still in Jimin’s handwriting. And then—

I’m sorry I couldn’t get a ferris wheel. But I’ll make sure there’s a ferris wheel wherever I go next, so when you join me, we can meet at the top and I’ll kiss you for real. I’ll be waiting.

Jeongguk isn’t surprised to find that his cheeks are a little wet when he finishes reading the letter, and he quickly wipes at them as he turns his eyes up to look at Jimin, who is grinning back at him.

“How—” he begins, but Jimin beat him to it.

“A few days ago, after you found his body,” says Jimin. “You fell asleep and he came to find me, told me that he wanted to do something for you after he was gone. I pulled some strings with the university’s student council, got some people together…” He shrugs. “It was the least I could do.”

Jeongguk barrels forward, envelopes Jimin in a hug because—it’s awful, but perfect at the same time. Yoongi is such an idiot for doing this, for thinking that this is what he would want, because it is, because Yoongi was right. It’s not the first date they had spoken about, but it’s the nearest thing he’s going to get now, and he can’t stop thinking about the first time they went to the carnival and how it’s a theme, maybe. He’s going to win the biggest Kumamon plushie possible and keep it forever to remind him of Yoongi, and in a few weeks, a few months, a few years—that’ll be enough.

“C’mon, you big baby,” says Jimin, wiggling out of Jeongguk’s grasp and latching onto his hand instead, pulling him toward the lights and the sounds and the people, too, because it looks like Jimin advertised for it a bit. And that’s perfect too. “Yoongi-hyung told me that you think you’re better at the games than you really are and he said that I’ll have to stand in for him, so you better prepared to have your ass kicked.”

And—Jeongguk can’t stop giggling as Jimin pulls him over. He wants to be sad, wants to miss Yoongi, but his heart is so full as they get to the carnival and he sees everything that the ghost planned for him. As he sees everyone else having fun, and knows that this is exactly what Yoongi—takes care of people without really trying, without knowing. When he isn’t even here.

He’ll have time to be sad later, maybe. He’ll have plenty of time to miss Yoongi and to mourn his loss, but for now, he has this. He has Jimin laughing at his side, a reminder that some of the best things are the living ones, that Jeongguk still has things here even if his heart has moved on to somewhere else. He has the reminder that he is still alive and there is still something to laugh about, against all of the odds.

Jeongguk wins a Kumamon plushie that is almost as big as he is, which is good because Yoongi was almost as big as he is. He eats a whole bag of popcorn by himself and cries laughing as he watches Jimin trying to knock down some pins with a baseball. He stands in the middle of it all and he looks up at the sky and he thinks—thank you.

He thinks—I love you.

He thinks—wait for me. I’ll wait for you.