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Chapter Text

Yangyang was already of the opinion that landlords might be some of the worst people on the planet, but this was starting to take his disdain to an entirely new level. 

This being the family – no, colony , family didn’t sum up the magnitude of the problem – of rats that had taken up residence in his room. 

Yangyang was an easygoing, generally friendly guy, the economy was in shambles, and he really didn’t want to keep living with his parents, so naturally, he’d done what every self-disrespecting new adult does and had gone online looking for roommates. And it totally worked! He had an incredible living situation!

Yeah, maybe the house was nearly falling down and came with six roommates instead of the two or three he’d been going for, with only two rooms to split between the seven of them. Yeah, there was only one bathroom, and maybe it was a forty minute bus ride from campus – more like an hour and a half, but Yangyang liked to round down – but you work with what you’ve got in times like these, okay? 

Yangyang liked to call himself a glass-half-full kinda guy. One of his many roommates, Dejun, preferred to call him delusional. Yangyang thought Dejun was just jealous of his naturally sunny disposition. 

But anyway. Back to the rats. 

Back when they were getting to know each other and Yangyang mentioned he was a music major, Dejun had raised a single eyebrow and said, “So you just want to be poor forever?” Yangyang grinned at him and told him that he thought this was incredibly rich coming from someone who had just said he was majoring in fucking photography. 

In any case, his latest endeavor was to try a bit of songwriting, and so he’d been lounging on Dejun’s bed in their room (Dejun had the bottom bunk, hard-won through a vicious round of rock-paper-scissors) and playing the guitar. His roommates were out – it was a Friday afternoon and Yangyang had just gotten out of class. He was enjoying the rare peace of being alone, so naturally, he was interrupted by the sound of scratching in the walls – scritch-scritch-scritch.

He paused his playing, not 100% sure he’d heard correctly. There was a long moment of silence. Yangyang frowned, putting his guitar down and leaning closer to the wall to try and get another listen when he felt tiny claws through his socks on top of his feet.

He shrieked, pulling his feet up onto the bed and nearly falling off of it and onto the ground on the other side in the attempt. He flailed awkwardly for a moment, and then screamed again when he caught sight of a rat – it was so fucking massive, holy shit, Yangyang was going to get bitten and get rabies and die. Dejun better write him a fucking spectacular eulogy or he was going to come back and haunt his ass until the end of time – as it scurried away from him, squeezed under the crack in the door, and vanished from sight. 

“Fuck this shit,” Yangyang had muttered to himself, thanking whatever higher power that might or might not exist that Dejun had not been home to hear him lose his shit like that. “I’m going to sue for emotional damages.”

He texted the house group chat, informed them all about the rat sighting, and very politely asked whoever it was that left their dirty dishes in the sink for nearly a week to please wash them at the earliest opportunity because now they were starting to get vermin. 

One of the roommates, a white guy that Yangyang had spoken maybe ten words to despite living with him and whose contact name in Yangyang’s phone was “James? John? Idk” messaged back and said that maybe whoever saw the dishes should just clean them up instead of complaining to the whole group about it. Then Dejun messaged saying that that was a great idea, since he knew George – ah, so not a James or a John then, Yangyang’s bad – was in the kitchen this morning making eggs and he didn’t see him doing anything about the used pans and plates. George messaged a halfhearted apology. Dejun reacted to the message with a “Ha Ha” reaction. 

One of the other roommates, Ten, who Yangyang wasn’t convinced even lived with them anymore since he hadn’t seen him since he’d gotten a boyfriend several months ago, messaged the group, saying “this is why nobody likes you george. lol” and that was that.

Unfortunately, though that was the last of the group chat messages, it was not the last of the rats. Yeah, that’s right. Rats. Plural. 

After the first sighting, and despite the whole house getting their shit (kinda, sorta, mostly) together, Yangyang started seeing rats with increasing frequency. He was woken up at 5am by a small family of rats that had tunneled into his mattress and started raising a family in there. A rat ran across the kitchen counters while he was in the middle of cooking (read: microwaving instant ramen). He heard scratching in the walls at all hours of the day and night. It was driving him insane. The traps they’d set out didn’t seem to be doing much either. 

After a week of this absolute insanity, Yangyang gave in and called the landlord. 

“Hi, sorry to bother you, but we’re dealing with a bit of a rat problem,” Yangyang said to him over the phone. Dejun, sitting across from him at the kitchen table, snorted. 

“More like a rat infestation.” Yangyang shot him a look, pointing to the phone, and Dejun rolled his eyes and went back to studying for his studio lighting midterm.

“Are you sure?” The landlord sounded bored. Yangyang frowned.

“I’m… sorry? What do you mean, am I sure?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. These rats, you seen ‘em?”

“Um. Yes? Multiple times.”

“You don’t sound too sure.” The landlord’s voice had taken on a suspicious quality, and Yangyang blinked, nonplussed. “You sure they aren’t just mice?”

“Am I sure they aren’t mice?” Yangyang said. Christ, he was starting to sound like an incredulous echo. “Yes, I’m sure they’re not mice. They’re twice the size of mice, at least!”

 “I don’t know. Mice get pretty big around here,” the landlord said, sounding completely uninterested in their plight. “Just set out some traps or something.”

“Um. We tried that –” Yangyang started.

“Well, put them in new places, or try new food in them or something. If they’re still not gone in a month, then call me. Bye.” 

Yangyang pulled his phone back from his ear and stared at the Call Ended screen. He raised his eyes to meet Dejun’s.

“Well, we’re fucked!” Yangyang said brightly, gritting his teeth as he grinned. Dejun just buried his head in his hands. What a downer. 

So maybe landlords were the worst people on the planet and like, genetically predisposed toward unhelpfulness, but Yangyang had a plan! It was a great plan, totally foolproof – he was going to search up “how to get rid of rat infestation” online and do whatever the internet told him to do. Absolutely nothing could go wrong. 

According to the internet, rats could sneak into your house in a number of different ways, and Yangyang had spent the last couple days putting traps all around the house’s perimeter, both inside and outside, to try and prevent intruders of the rodent variety, but unfortunately, rats were sneaky things, and cleverer than most business majors, and so of course they also knew how to get in from the roof. Bastards.

So, Yangyang’s plan was simple: climb up into the attic through the attic trap door in the hallway that nobody had ever used as long as Yangyang’s been there – and probably for good reason, the ceilings were kind of sagging in some places – and put some traps up there to stop the rats from launching an aerial invasion.

Dejun, probably because of the aforementioned sagging ceilings, wasn’t as keen on the idea as Yangyang was.

“This is so fucking dangerous. This entire house is a health hazard, and now you want to go up there? We don’t even know if it’s structurally sound! What if you step wrong and the entire ceiling comes crashing down?” Unfortunately for Dejun, Yangyang was busy trying to fix the rat infestation, so he pretended not to hear a word coming out of his mouth. He reached for the trapdoor but was thwarted by a thin layer of white paint sealing the entire thing shut.

“Pass me a butter knife – this thing got the landlord special.” Yangyang held his hand out, waiting for Dejun to pass it over while he continued scratching around the edges of the door, trying to pry it open. A few moments passed and then Yangyang sighed and looked down at Dejun from where he was standing on top of one of their kitchen chairs. Dejun was glaring at him, arms crossed. “Okay, what is it?”

“Seriously?” Dejun said, unimpressed. “Were you not listening to a word I said?” His features softened, and Yangyang saw a bit of actual concern leaking into his expression. “You could actually, seriously get hurt.”

Yangyang smiled reassuringly at Dejun. “Aw, man. It’s nice to know you care. But I could also get actually, seriously hurt if one of these rats decides to up and bite me, dude.” Dejun’s features hardened again, and Yangyang laughed nervously, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! Bad joke, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be super careful. Scout’s honor.” He put his hand over his heart. 

“You weren’t ever a scout,” Dejun mumbled, rolling his eyes, but he seemed to take Yangyang at his word, since he turned and went to retrieve the requested butter knife from the kitchen.

One quick incision through dried paint later, Yangyang was throwing the door to the attic open wide and coughing thanks to all the dust that swirled out from the opening. The air was musty and it looked awfully dark up there, but it wasn’t like Yangyang was going far! He’d just go up, put down some traps, and come right back down. No big deal.

Turning on his phone flashlight, Yangyang hoisted himself up into the opening while Dejun held the chair steady. He sat in the door, his legs dangling into the hallway, as he shone his flashlight around the attic.

For an attic that the actual inhabitants of the house never used, it sure was cluttered. There were boxes everywhere, full of all sorts of crap. Yangyang could see some old clothing peeking out of the top of one, and some kind of deflated sports ball hanging off the side of another. After a moment of readjustment, Dejun stood up on the chair and passed him some mousetraps, and then Yangyang got to work. 

The ceiling was quite low, so he was forced to walk on his knees, awkwardly holding his phone in one hand and a mousetrap in the other. He dreaded to think of the dirt and nastiness getting on his jeans, but that’s why he wore his least favorite pair. After a few minutes of waddling back and forth from the trapdoor to the corners of the attic placing traps, Dejun called up from below. 

“How’s it going?”

“Fine!” Yangyang was just placing the last trap when something to his left caught his eye. He dropped the trap and scooted over to the box. “Wait, there’s a whole box full of old CDs up here!” Bewildered, he used his free hand to look through some of the titles. “I’ve never heard of most of these artists. Seems to mostly be mixtapes and, like, really niche artists from the eighties or nineties? Dude, this is so sick!”

“Oh….kay?” Dejun sounded confused, which made sense, since he was extremely lame and not really into music like that. “Are you almost done with the mousetraps? You know, the reason you’re up there at all?”

“Yeah, yeah, just put the last one down,” Yangyang said, absentminded. He was really digging into the box now, and damn, this was a treasure trove. Most of the CD cases were yellowed with age and covered in dust, the inserts worn away and barely readable, but one CD in particular stood out among the rest. 

“Okay then, can you get down?” Dejun’s voice barely registered as Yangyang reached forward, grabbing the CD in his hand. The jewel case was a little dusty, sure, but the insert was in mint condition – even with just the light from his phone flashlight he could clearly see the image of seven boys, sitting on the edge of some roof against a clear blue sky, the album title, or maybe the artist title, spelled out in a graphic cloud pattern: DREAM. Then, in smaller letters below it, The First EP.

“Sick,” Yangyang mumbled to himself.

“If I help you take down your moldy CDs will you come down?” Dejun sounded exasperated. 

“Sorry, sorry, sure. Let me just pull the box over to the door,” Yangyang said. 

With Dejun’s help, the cardboard box – which was, admittedly, practically falling apart due to what looked like old water damage, and looking pretty moldy – was lowered to the ground, followed by Yangyang, who jumped down a moment later, his phone and the Dream CD still clutched in his hands.

“Thanks!” He smiled brightly Dejun’s way. Dejun just wrinkled his nose. 

“You had better put those CDs in a new container and get that disgusting excuse for a cardboard box out of our house in the next ten minutes or so help me god, nobody will find your body.”

“Is it even a cardboard box anymore if it’s ninety percent mold?” Yangyang wondered aloud. Dejun gagged. 

“Jesus Christ. Shut up and get it out of here.”

Yangyang grinned and saluted. “On it, boss!” 

After taking the box to its new home (the garbage bin out back, down the alley), Yangyang took his new collection of CDs and headed out to the backyard to give them a listen.

For all their houses' faults – of which there were many – the backyard was not one. In fact, it was probably Yangyang’s favorite part of the property. A bit wild and overgrown, the backyard was way too large for such a small house. He figured whoever had built the place had to have been a big gardening fan, to use so much of the square footage of the property just for the backyard. It was filled with the remains of what was once a magnificent garden – bushes and trees and old garden beds where previous tenants might have once grown food.

Unfortunately, the seven college-aged guys currently living here didn’t have a single green thumb between them, so outside of mowing the lawn occasionally when it started to get too overgrown, not much yard work got done. Even mowing the lawn sometimes didn’t happen for months on end. Life was busy, and Yangyang generally considered his assignment deadlines more pressing than the yard getting a bit out of hand, especially since the overgrowth made it the ideal place to go to get some privacy. 

The bushes mostly hid the house from sight, and there was a small rusty metal table and chair at the back of the yard near the fence that Yangyang liked to sit at and listen to music sometimes when he was stressed and didn’t want to use headphones. 

Now, Yangyang headed outside with a CD player he had left shoved under the bed months ago and hadn’t really used since, a new set of batteries for the aforementioned CD player, and his brand new-old CDs, newly housed in a canvas tote bag he picked up at a flea market years ago.

After setting it all up on the table, Yangyang dug through the CDs and pulled out the one that had caught his eye in the attic – Dream, the first EP. Studying it, he figured this was as good a place as any to start, and cracked open the jewel case, extracted the disc, put it into the CD player, and hit play.

Record scratch. Freeze frame.

A lot happened in the next couple seconds, so let’s slow it down.

First, Yangyang closed his eyes so he could absorb the music better – a perfectly normal habit. Lots of people do that. Unfortunately, it meant that he missed what happened next, and trust me when I say that it was quite the sight.  

Next – well. To understand what happened next, first, we have to run it back. Quite a ways back.

Rewind.

The year is 1997, and a group of college-aged students are gathering in the backyard of the very house that would, twenty-some odd years from now, be home to Yangyang, Dejun, Ten, a white guy whose name nobody cared to remember, their other housemates, and several dozen rats. 

But now, the backyard is well-maintained, and home to a large garage where the members of small indie band Dream have their weekly practices. This week’s practice is especially important, because tonight is Dream’s largest performance yet – they’re about to open for the famous punk band Neo Culture for their local tour stop. It’s a big deal – fucking huge, actually, the local paper has written about it in great detail – and the seven members of Dream are convinced that this is it: their big break. 

Frontman Mark Lee, whose parents own the house and its perfectly-maintained back garden, is sitting on the couch he’d lugged into the garage with the help of his older brother a couple years ago now, black hair falling across his forehead in waves. On the outside, he’s the picture of perfect calm, but he’s been ending nearly every sentence he’s spoken in the past hour with a nervous laugh, and his eyes are suspiciously shiny. His fingers drum against the body of the microphone he’s holding loosely in his hands, and his eyes are fixed on the open garage door, waiting for the last member of their band to arrive. 

Next to him on the couch, Lee Donghyuck, competitive classical pianist turned indie band keyboardist, is trying his level best to distract Mark from the glaring absence of one of their members by speaking loudly about nothing in particular. His hands gesticulate wildly, his brown hair falling into his eyes.

“I’d suit a stage name, wouldn’t I, Mark? It’s just figuring it out that’s the tricky part. I’ve got a whole list of ideas and none of them really fit.”

“I don’t think band members do stage names, Hyuck.” On the other side of Mark, Huang Renjun is leaning against the couch’s armrest, a bass guitar strap slung over his shoulder. The guitar isn’t plugged into its amp, but he’s still practicing, fingers pressing down to create silent chords. That’s Renjun – diligent to a fault.

“Says who?” Donghyuck scoffs, pouting as he leans back into the couch, propping his feet up on the weathered coffee table. “Maybe we’ll be the first band to use stage names. Be innovators.”

“I like my name though,” says drummer Lee Jeno, from the beanbag in the corner. Donghyuck groans.

“Ugh, Jeno, don’t be so boring.”

“What’s boring about liking my name? Isn’t that a good thing?” 

Donghyuck doesn’t dignify this with a response. He just groans louder and throws a hand over his eyes. Renjun shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the dramatics, and Jeno just continues to protest, pestering Donghyuck – “No, seriously! What’s the issue?”

Lee Jeno is, for lack of a better word, extremely cool. His hair is spiked into a perfect, effortless-looking rocker quiff, his arms wrapped in leather, drumsticks tapping mindlessly against a leg clad in black denim so tight it looks painted on. The smudge of dark eyeliner around his eyes and the chains dangling from his neck and belt loops complete the look, though the entire effect is kind of offset by the fact that when he smiles, any hint of suave and menace completely melts off him, like snow in sunshine.

Across from the beanbag and to the right of the couch, there’s a loveseat that’s occupied by best friends and partners in crime Zhong Chenle, backup vocals, and Park Jisung, rhythm guitar. Chenle’s hair is an electric blue, and his arm is wrapped around Jisung’s shoulders. Jisung, for his part, has a red and black flannel that is starting to develop holes because of how much he wears it, but in this case it sort of adds to the whole distressed rocker thing he’s got going on with the ripped jeans and combat boots he’s also sporting. The two of them are in their own world, ignoring the antics of their fellow band members, though every so often one or both of them will glance towards the opening of the garage, awaiting the last band member’s arrival as much as Mark is. 

When he arrives, Na Jaemin arrives in style. 

He sweeps into the garage as if he isn’t nearly thirty minutes late, teeth sharpened into a smile that could cut glass. His hair, which was pink as of yesterday, is dyed a dark brown and windswept, yet despite the rush he was clearly in, he might as well have stepped off a runway. 

“What’s up? We ready for this?” His smile gets even wider – if such a thing were even possible. In this light, it looks like he has too many teeth.

“About time you showed up,” Donghyuck huffs, standing with a grin. He eyes Jaemin for a moment, considering. Jaemin stares right back, smile almost too perfect. Apparently deciding it's not worth asking, Donghyuck claps his hands together with a grin. “Let’s kill this shit.”

As the members stand from their various seats and get into position for their final practice before the big night, Mark sidles up to Jaemin. “Hey man. Was –?”

“I didn’t knock,” Jaemin says, short and terse. He forcibly relaxes his shoulders, and flashes Mark a smile that would convince anyone else that he was fine. “So that’s that.”

Mark’s mouth thins into a straight line. “Alright.” He claps Jaemin on the shoulder, and gives him a smile of his own. “Then, like Donghyuck said – let’s kill this shit.”

Jaemin smiles back, predatory, and hits the opening chord. 

Later, much later, after the sun has set and they’ve had dinner and talked shit for a couple hours, they head to the venue for sound check. Mark’s car only seats five, so Chenle and Jisung decide to take a taxi. They wave goodbye, promising to meet them at the venue, and they all set out. 

Mark’s car is loud – between Renjun, Donghyuck, and Jaemin, who will all bicker given the chance, he can barely hear himself think. He’s buzzing with excitement, they all are. Their dream is so close, they can taste it. 

They’re ten minutes from the venue when it happens – Mark feels the impact before he sees it. His body is thrown to the side, shattered glass flying past his vision, and he barely has time to think, holy fuck, that’s not good, before his head hits the steering wheel and he blacks out. He never wakes up. 

In the passenger seat, Donghyuck, who had been turning around to be able to speak to Renjun more easily, is crushed as the car turns on its side. Renjun, directly behind him, meets the same fate. A shard of the windshield cracks and pierces Jeno’s stomach and a million other bits of skin, and as he stares down at it in shock, blood and life seeping from him, he thinks, Oh. How unfair. 

In the fraction of a second, Jaemin goes from perfectly alright to dizzy with whiplash. He struggles to stay awake for a moment, but he can’t hold out, and he, too, succumbs to his injuries, eyes slipping closed. When he opens them next, he is sitting in an oddly familiar, though very overgrown, backyard, staring at a boy he’s never seen before, the bodies of his members collapsed in a heap on top of him.

Record scratch. Freeze frame. Okay, we’re back. 

Yangyang, whose eyes, I will remind you, were blissfully closed, heard a gasp followed by several grunts, and his eyes flew open to reveal a pile of bodies – five men, groaning and pushing at each other as though they’d materialized out of thin air and collapsed into a heap right here in his backyard, which. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” It felt like a thought that needed to be verbalized. 

“Good question,” one of them muttered. It was probably Donghyuck, but it could’ve been Jeno too. Maybe it was both of them. It probably was both of them.

“Yeah, no, seriously,” Yangyang said, and listen, he prided himself on his chill vibes, but this whole situation was kind of pushing it, “what the fuck?”

“Yeah, we heard you man,” Mark said, groaning. “Just… let us get untangled here first.”

“I just want to say it's pretty impressive that I haven’t started screaming and running away,” Yangyang commented mildly, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs. “The sane thing to do right now would be to assume you guys were here trying to carry out some kind of fucked up home invasion. Like the rats. But to be honest, I’m kind of interested in hearing your explanation for how you got here.”

“I… sorry, what? Like the… what?” 

Yangyang waved Mark off. “Don’t worry about it.” He watched as they struggled to their feet, and then, as he got a proper look at their faces, he frowned. “Wait a second.” He looked over to the CD case, the photo insert face up on the table. He snatched it and held it up, looking from the photo to the intruders and back. “Fuck. You’re the guys from the CD!” Yangyang pointed at them, half hysterical. “Dude, this cannot be fucking real. I’m going to close my eyes, you people are going to disappear, and I am going to wake up because this is just a fucked up dream. Yep, that’s all this is. Good-fucking-night.” Yangyang buried his head in his hands. 

Over his head, the members of Dream exchanged glances. “Uh, for sure man,” Mark said. “We’ll just… give you a minute?”

“Yep. Yeah. A minute for me to wake up because this is not real,” Yangyang insisted. He peeked up at them and yeah, they were still there. Damn. He pinched himself, which kinda hurt, but definitely did not make them go away. He squeezed his eyes open and shut a few more times, and yet, they were still there. Solid. Standing here in his backyard. What the hell.

“Fuck. I’m definitely awake. Damn it. Did the fucking rats get me? They must have got me while I was up in the attic. I’m having rabies-related hallucinations. I gotta go to the hospital,” Yangyang was pretty sure that he was just talking nonsense at this point, but panic and bewilderment were starting to set in.

“Yeah, so are we going to talk about the fact that we definitely should be dead right now?” One of the dudes – Donghyuck – said to the others. “I’m not the only one that remembers a crash, right?”

“Nope,” Jaemin said, crossing his arms, nonchalant, still grinning. It was starting to freak Yangyang out. “We should definitely be dead right now. Deader than dead. As a doornail. That was curtains for us, I’m afraid.” There was a twinkle in his eye, clearly just trying to be annoying and repetitive on purpose.

“Christ, Jaemin,” Renjun said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, clearly not, since we’re here, having this conversation.”

“I don’t know, I could be hallucinating this entire thing in my death throes,” Jaemin said, shrugging. Yangyang had the delirious thought that he was being entirely too calm for a guy who was claiming he died, and also that he was way too hot to be dead. 

Wait, what?

“I refuse to get into a debate about whether or not we’re all real or just products of each other’s minds at the end of life,” Jeno said firmly. “Besides, that would explain us seeing each other, but what about this guy?” He pointed to Yangyang. The others turned to look at him too, as though realizing this for the first time. 

“Point,” Mark acknowledged. “Also, where the heck are we?”

“Hey, random guy. What’s your name?” Jaemin asked, crossing his arms. 

“I really don’t think you should be the ones asking the questions, given you’re the ones that just appeared in my backyard with no explanation,” Yangyang said, convinced he was going to need to be committed if he truly wasn’t unconscious right now. “That having been said, it's Yangyang. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to try and find my roommate, because I think I might be having a psychotic break. Good meeting you all!”

Unfortunately for Yangyang, fate seemed to have other plans, because the moment he stood, his body seemed to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of emotions coursing through him, and he stumbled. They rushed forward to try and catch him, but to the shock of them all, their hands passed straight through Yangyang’s arms, and he only barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the table.

“Ah,” Donghyuck said delicately. “So. Definitely dead.”

“I’m a ghost. Great. Just fucking great,” Renjun muttered. “Fuck my life.”

“More like fuck your afterlife,” Mark interjected. They all stared at him, even Yangyang, and he winced. “Sorry.”

“Man, I don’t have time for this, I was supposed to study for my midterms this afternoon,” Yangyang grumbled. “I swear to god. I’m going to find Dejun and pretend this didn’t happen. Fuck.”

“I’m going to take a walk,” Renjun said. “Don’t follow me.” He turned and stalked to the edge of the yard, hesitated for a moment, and then walked straight through the fence, vanishing from sight.

“Yeah, ghosts. Definitely,” Yangyang said, still blinking at where Renjun had been just a moment ago. “I don’t know if I’ve said it enough – what the fuck?”

Ignoring him, Jeno sighed. “I might do the same. Anybody want to join me?”

Mark and Donghyuck looked at each other and then back at him. “Sure, why not,” Mark said. Then they looked to Jaemin.

“Don’t look at me,” Jaemin said, his grin softening into something slightly more real. “I think I’m just going to hang out here for a bit. Explore. Embrace my ghostly ability to haunt Yangyang here.”

“Please don’t,” Yangyang half-begged.

“No, I’m definitely gonna,” Jaemin said, grinning widely once again. “I’m Jaemin, by the way.”

“I’m sold on the others being ghosts. But you? I think you might be an eldritch horror,” Yangyang said with a shudder. “This much smiling has gotta be unnatural.”

“It’s just part of my charm,” Jaemin said, grin sharp as ever. Yangyang sighed.

After a few quick introductions (“The guy that walked off earlier was Renjun, don’t mind him, this is just a lot”), Jeno, Mark, and Donghyuck were off, leaving Yangyang alone with Jaemin.

“Well, alright then. I’m going to go find my roommate. Come or don’t, I don’t care.”

“Well, darling,” Jaemin said with a drawl. “If it’s a choice between coming and not coming, I’ll always choose to come.”

“You’re nasty,” Yangyang said, but a small part of him was delighted. At least the ghost haunting him had a sense of humor.

Back in the house, Yangyang found Dejun at the kitchen table, still poring over his textbook. A couple other roommates were roaming the kitchen and living room area, and the conversation that Yangyang needed to have with him was too insane for a common area. “Hey, Dejun.”

“Back already? I thought you were going to listen to those fuckass CDs,” Dejun said, not even looking up from his textbook. 

“Uh, yeah. Totally.” Yangyang laughed and it came out slightly strangled. Dejun looked up from his textbook and shot him a look that said why are you being weird?

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Yangyang choked down a laugh, way too conscious of Jaemin’s presence at his side. Oh Dejun, you don’t know how right you are. 

“I’m fine! Anyway, could you help me with something in our room?” Their other roommate was Ten, so there was practically no chance of interruption. 

“He really can’t see me, can he?” Jaemin mused. “Fascinating.” He walked past Yangyang towards the table, and instead of doing something normal, like waving his hand in Dejun’s face, he hopped up onto the kitchen table and perched there like some kind of fucked up bird or gargoyle or something. Experimentally, Jaemin leaped on all fours from the table to the narrow kitchen counter like some kind of weird human-cat hybrid. None of Yangyang’s roommates batted an eye. Yangyang, meanwhile, felt like he was going to have a stroke. 

“Get down from there,” he hissed. Dejun looked at him askance.

“From where? I’m literally just sitting at the table?”

“Uh, not you. Sorry,” Yangyang said. He glared past Dejun at Jaemin who had uncurled his body and was now sitting on the kitchen counter like a normal human being. Dejun turned around and looked right through Jaemin.

“Nope,” Jaemin sing-songed. “It’s not like I have germs or something, I’m literally dead. Can’t impact the physical world without a corporeal form, Yangyang.”

“Are you… okay?” Dejun asked, slowly turning back around to face Yangyang.

“Just peachy,” Yangyang said, matching Jaemin’s shit eating grin with one of his own. It probably looked slightly crazed, but that was justified, given the fact that Yangyang was currently seeing ghosts. “Let’s just go to our room.”

Apparently Yangyang was acting strangely enough that Dejun was willing to go without much convincing. He just shut his textbook, picked it up along with his notebook and pencils, and followed Yangyang upstairs to their room. 

“Okay, what gives?” He asked the moment Yangyang shut the door – in Jaemin’s face, he might add. Jaemin just phased through the door and rolled his eyes at Yangyang, since he was a fucking ghost and could do ghost shit like that. 

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Yangyang asked. Straight to the point. Dejun furrowed his brow. 

“Any particular reason you’re asking?” He asked. 

“Please, just answer,” Yangyang begged. 

“Alright.” Dejun frowned. “I suppose… I’ve never really thought about it. It seems possible, in theory, you know? Like, people leaving parts of their soul behind when they die, or echoes and impressions of their consciousness. Again, why are we talking about ghosts?”

“So remember the CDs?” Dejun shot him a bewildered look. 

“What? Of course I remember the CDs, you found them like, twenty minutes ago dude, my memory’s not that bad. Yangyang. What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m getting to that,” Yangyang said, voice strained as he watched Jaemin crawl up the bunk bed ladder and hang upside down from the side bar at the top that kept him from rolling off in the night like some kind of elementary school kid on the monkey bars at recess. “So, I’m going to say something crazy, and I need you to just believe me without question, okay?”

Dejun narrowed his eyes. “I’m not liking where this is going.”

“Dejun. Please?”

He sighed. “Okay. Fine. I promise to believe you. What is it?”

“So, I put on one of the CDs, and the guys from the cover appeared in the backyard.” A long silence. A very long silence. Dejun stood there, unblinking. 

Jaemin started cackling. “Oh my god, the look on his face. Sorry Yangyang,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “but he thinks you’re going insane.”

“Dejun. Please say something,” Yangyang begged, while Jaemin nearly cried from laughter in the background. “I promise I’m not lying. And technically, it wasn’t all of the guys from the cover, just five of them –”

“Okay,” Dejun interrupted, brain coming back online. “What the hell, sure. Let’s go with that. What do you mean, appeared in the backyard.”

“I mean they appeared in the backyard out of nowhere,” Yangyang stressed. “I was kinda freaked out and I almost fell over, and when they tried to catch me, their hands went right through me. Before that they’d been kinda talking about how they died in some kind of crash, and so you know. The obvious assumption was that they were, y’know.”

“Ghosts,” Dejun finished.

“Ghosts,” Yangyang confirmed. 

Dejun sat down heavily on his bed, his body falling right through Jaemin, and ran his hands through his hair. “Good grief, Yangyang. The most insane part of this is that I kind of believe you.”

“Well, yeah, I’d hope so, seeing as you agreed to do that,” Yangyang said. Dejun shot him a look. 

“Well, obviously I was going to at least pretend, but I kind of thought you were just trying to freak me out. But you’re a shit liar, and unless you somehow had a psychotic break at some point in the last twenty minutes, which seems pretty unlikely, I’m actually inclined to believe you.”

“I thought maybe one of the rats bit me and I was starting to have rabies-induced hallucinations,” Yangyang said cheerfully. 

“If it was rabies, you’d probably also be having seizures,” Dejun said, rolling his eyes. “So I think we’re good.”

“How do you just know rabies symptoms off the top of your head?” Yangyang asked.

“Oh, he’s a freak,” Jaemin commented delightedly, and Yangyang would have told him to shut the fuck up about his best friend had it not been said so fondly.

“Maybe worry about the fact that you see ghosts instead of the information I choose to go on a wikipedia deep dive about at one in the morning,” Dejun said, and well. Fair enough. 

“Okay. Well, just for like, full-disclosure reasons, I feel like I should let you know one of the ghosts is in the room with us right now.” Jaemin had hopped down from the top bunk and now sat next to Dejun on the bottom bunk, waving a hand in front of his face. “He’s waving a hand in front of your face right now.”

Jaemin fixed Yangyang with a mischievous look. “Bet you won’t tell him I’m doing this.” Jaemin scooted closer and put his hands directly into the side of Dejun’s face, moving them so his fingers were coming out of the sides of Dejun’s head, making it look like he had weird, fleshy antlers.

“He’s giving you moose ears right now,” Yangyang said, because he couldn’t lose a bet, even one he hadn’t agreed to. Jaemin’s eyes narrowed and he scooted so he was sitting in Dejun’s spot, nearly totally vanishing from sight.

Unfortunately, Jaemin couldn't quite get his body exactly inside of Dejun’s space, so it had a weird effect that looked like when two video game characters glitched and overlapped in the same space. He was also ever so slightly taller than Dejun, so his head and eyes popped out of the top of Dejun’s skull, making him look like he had on a weird Jaemin-shaped hat.

“Comfy?” Yangyang asked Jaemin, crossing his arms. 

“Yes, thanks,” Jaemin said, and Dejun, who naturally assumed Yangyang was talking to him, replied simultaneously with, “uh, yeah? Should I be feeling something?”

“Sorry, I’m talking to Jaemin,” Yangyang said to Dejun. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what he’s doing.”

“The ghost’s name is Jaemin? Also, wait. Yangyang. What the fuck does that mean.”

Jaemin hummed contentedly. “It’s so nice and warm. Yangyang, your friend is cozy!”

“Jaemin, can you at least pretend to obey the laws of physical space for like, two seconds, dude. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Boring,” Jaemin sighed, but he did move out of Dejun and find a seat next to him instead of inside him, so Yangyang considered that a win. 

“Okay,” Dejun said cautiously. “Uh. Hi. Jaemin?” He looked at Yangyang. “Is he on my left or right?”

“Right.”

“Cool.” Dejun turned slightly to the right, looking straight through Jaemin. “Nice to kind of meet you. Sorry you died.”

“Sorry I died? ” Jaemin thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “Well, thanks for your condolences.” 

“He says thanks for the condolences.” Yangyang shook his head. “This is still so surreal. I’m still not convinced that I’m not completely delusional.”

“That makes two of us,” Jaemin muttered, and Dejun just sighed. 

“Well, there’s an easy way to find out if you’re just making it all up.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “You ask Jaemin for details about his life and death, and I’ll use the internet to fact check. If you’re able to get accurate answers, you can’t be making him up, can you?”

“Okay. Yeah, perfect. Jaemin, what’s your band’s name? And how many members are there?”

“You already forgot? I’m hurt.” Jaemin sounded completely unbothered. “Dream – we have seven members, but only five of us were in the car that night. We were about to open for a bigger band, Neo Culture, but we must’ve gotten into a crash on the way to the venue that night. I don’t really remember many details beyond that. I was busy bleeding out, I suppose.”

Yangyang stared for a moment. Despite his nonchalant tone, he could see lines of tension in Jaemin’s body, the way he stared off at nothing as he twisted his fingers together, and Yangyang felt a pang of sympathy. 

He swallowed past the new lump in his throat and repeated the story to Dejun, who tapped something into his phone. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 

“Okay, so there was definitely a popular indie band in the nineties called Dream,” He said, slowly. “And I’m pretty sure you’re talking to one of them.” He turned his phone screen around so Yangyang could see, and there it was, plain as day – an article from The Herald titled Members of Indie Band Dream Die in Tragic Car Accident. The article was dated November 15th, 1997. 

Yangyang’s head was spinning, and sitting beside Dejun, eyes fixed on the headline, Jaemin was totally silent. After a long moment, Dejun pulled his phone back and began reading in a quiet voice. 

“Police responded late last night to a car accident downtown, when a drunk driver ran a red light, hitting another car as it passed through the intersection. Upon arriving at the scene, officers pronounced all five people in the struck car dead on impact. The drunk driver was transported to National University Hospital in critical condition, where he later succumbed to his injuries. To the shock of the community, it was announced that the five pronounced dead were members of popular local band, Dream , who had been on their way to their latest concert, opening for visiting pop-punk giants Neo Culture .”

“Fuck,” Yangyang muttered. Jaemin was utterly silent.

“Dream’s music was described by this publication last week as upbeat, youthful, and energizing, and they were on our list of up and coming acts to watch. The loss of such talented young musicians will be felt for many years to come.”

Yangyang glanced over to Jaemin. He was frozen still, knuckles white where they gripped the edge of his t-shirt. It occurred to Yangyang that this must have been what he’d been wearing the day he died.

“Band members Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck, Huang Renjun, Lee Jeno, and Na Jaemin were beloved members of the underground music scene, and the whole community has come together to grieve their loss. Dream’s appearance at Neo Culture’s concert was canceled, and Neo Culture released a statement explaining to fans what had happened and expressing their condolences. Surviving members Park Jisung and Zhong Chenle have since announced their intention to hold their own concert, where they will honor the memory of their former bandmates.” 

Dejun continued reading, speaking over Jaemin as he whispered – “Ah, poor Jisung and Chenle.” He said it so quietly that had Yangyang not been paying such close attention to Jaemin, he might have missed it entirely.

“A vigil will be held at Mountain Park this coming Saturday for the dead. The families have requested that any donations be directed to the following funeral homes.” Dejun cleared his throat. “Then they, uh. They just list a bunch of numbers and addresses and stuff.”

Silence fell over the three of them, none of them really sure what to say. 

“Well,” Yangyang finally said. “At least I’m not going crazy?”

Jaemin laughed, and Dejun cracked a smile, and Yangyang felt the tension ease. 

“So true. I may be dead, but at least there’s that.” Jaemin’s voice was sarcastic, but when Yangyang met his eyes, he was smiling, perfectly content.

── ✩ ── 

Eventually, the other band members returned from their various walks, and Yangyang decided the backyard would probably be the best place for them to talk freely since the house was starting to get busy again. Dejun, for his part, said he needed to take a nap to try and process all of this new information and Yangyang totally respected that. He would consider doing the same but the amount of sleep he’d need to process what the fuck was happening to him was probably long enough to constitute a coma, and he was trying not to fuck up his sleep schedule that badly. 

“So, question number one is why we’re here instead of, like, heaven or hell or whatever else exists for dead people,” Renjun said. The walk seemed to have calmed him down slightly, which was good. The poor guy had looked more freaked out than Yangyang had felt earlier, and that was saying something.

“I mean, isn’t it obvious?” Jeno said. “I’ve read so many ghost stories, and the reason souls don’t cross over is always that there’s unfinished business.”

They were all sitting around on the grass in a loose circle, Yangyang included. It kind of reminded him of hanging out at the park with his friends in high school. It was almost weird how mundane the entire thing was, with the exception of their current topic of conversation. 

“That doesn’t really narrow it down,” Renjun argued back. “We’re all so young, we have mountains of unfinished business. There’s the concert we never got to play, the fact that some of us didn’t get to finish school, the fact that we died before we even got to figure out who we are? There’s too much to choose from.”

“Sure, there are lots of options. But we all came back together, so it must be a group goal,” Mark reasoned. “That should narrow things down, right? It’s gotta be the concert, somehow. Or, something to do with music.” 

“But our goal was to perform as Dream,” Donghyuck pointed out. “Jisung and Chenle aren’t here with us, and thank god for that, but it’s not Dream without them, and who knows where they are.”

A grim silence fell over them as they considered. Then, Yangyang brightened, pulling out his phone. 

“I’ll look them up! See what they’re up to, if anything.” 

Renjun frowned. “How are you going to look them up? Do you have their numbers?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jun, I saw his friend use that thing earlier. I think it’s some kind of mini computer or something,” Jaemin said, nonchalant. His members looked at him, confused. 

“What?” Mark said.

“Oh fuck,” Yangyang said, the realization hitting him all at once. “You guys died in 1997.” Yangyang saw the realization dawning on their faces as well. 

“I’m almost scared to ask this,” Donghyuck said slowly, “but what year is it?”

Yangyang winced. “2025?”

Dead silence. Renjun buried his head in his hands, and Yangyang could read the fear on all of their faces, with the exception of Jaemin, who, after his brief moment of vulnerability earlier seemed to be back to his previous state of violent nonchalance – or maybe it was dissociation, Yangyang wasn’t totally sure.

“Jaemin, why didn’t you say anything when you saw Dejun’s phone?” Yangyang asked. 

Jaemin just shrugged. “I don’t know, it just didn’t seem that important.”

“Groundbreaking new technology you’d never seen before didn’t seem that important?” Donghyuck said, a mix between bewildered and angry. He scooted over and punched Jaemin in the arm. “Say something next time!”

“Oh yeah, next time we die and rise again as ghosts I’ll keep that in mind,” Jaemin said sarcastically, utterly unbothered by Donghyuck’s punch. Which then made Yangyang wonder if the ghosts were incorporeal to the point where they couldn't touch each other either, or if Jaemin was just that unbothered by Donghyuck’s physical violence. 

“Typical Jaemin,” Jeno said, sighing and shaking his head, a fond smile threatening to take over his features. “What’s done is done. But now we have a new question. Not just why we’re back from the dead, sort of, but also why we only came back now. If we’re here because of unfinished business, why did we have to wait twenty-eight years before getting the opportunity to finish it?”

They all tried to come up with reasons, but the conversation ultimately reached a dead end. They kept looking for answers – if there was a secret service agent monitoring Yangyang’s google searches they were probably concerned – but as the days passed with no answers forthcoming, Yangyang found himself adjusting to life with several ghostly companions.

They weren’t there all the time. They floated in and out – taking walks and exploring the city looking for answers, but they always came back to Yangyang, the only living person they could speak with. 

Renjun was gone the most often, followed by Donghyuck. Renjun was sometimes gone for days on end, but Donghyuck came back every night, trying to follow some kind of human routine. They both seemed to be fans of exploring the city, and Donghyuck always came back with fun stories to share of what he’d seen. He’d flop onto the couch or bed into a kitchen chair and start telling Yangyang all about his day, forcing him to move to a new room if a housemate was making it impossible for Yangyang to answer him back.

Mark realized fairly quickly after realizing the time difference between now and when they’d died that Yangyang's house used to belong to his parents, and that had led to him searching for where they could’ve moved to, showing Yangyang some of the coolest spots in the house, and lamenting over the absolute state of the place. According to Mark, his grandmother would be rolling over in her grave if she saw the state of the old family home. Mark was definitely rolling over in his.

Jeno liked to hang around – Yangyang often caught him just chilling in the common areas of the house, watching Yangyang’s housemates go about their daily lives or whatever was on the TV. Yangyang had taken to leaving a drama playing whenever he could, just so Jeno had something to do. He seemed to be a homebody, generally, and Yangyang could respect that. 

As for Jaemin, he had taken his threat of haunting Yangyang seriously. Jaemin wasn’t with him every single second of the day, but it was a near thing – and he seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in trying to catch Yangyang off-guard. He’d pop up at the most inconvenient times, and Yangyang was still half-convinced that Jaemin was some kind of demon from hell or eldritch being sent by God to punish him for all the music he pirated in middle school. Yet despite how weird he was, Yangyang couldn’t help but grow fond of him and his idiosyncrasies. Maybe it was the amount of time they were spending together. 

(“Or maybe,” Dejun suggested when Yangyang told him about it, “It’s because he’s smoking hot and your taste in partners is people who can match your freak.”

“First of all, I resent the fact that you managed to find a picture of him on the internet, and second of all, I am not a freak,” Yangyang sniffed. Dejun snorted. 

“You need to accept your freak status, Yangyang. I’m saying this as your best friend, but cosplaying as a normal person doesn’t make you normal. You regularly dip cheese slices in ketchup and eat them for a quick snack. Of course you’d fall for a ghost, and a weird ghost at that.”

“What the hell, Dejun?” Yangyang was doing his best to sound offended, but he could feel the laughter trying to escape.

“It’s okay to be weird, I love you no matter what,” Dejun said, patting his arm with a smirk. “Be who you are.”

Yangyang couldn’t help himself. He laughed.  “Okay, fuck you –” )

The problem with Jaemin being around all the time was just… he was around all the time. So unlike Dejun, who had places to be, other friends to talk to, and a life to live, Jaemin had practically unlimited time to stick his nose into Yangyang’s business. It really shouldn’t have surprised Yangyang that before long, Jaemin was starting to notice some inconsistencies in what he told Dejun he was doing versus what he was actually doing.

Yangyang was chilling at the campus library watching a documentary about foreign economies when he was rudely interrupted by Jaemin sticking his face through his laptop screen and saying, “So, I hate to ask, but aren’t you supposed to be a music major?”

Yangyang let out an uncomfortably loud yelp in the relative silence of the library and clutched at his chest in shock. Jaemin was lying flat on top of the table he was currently occupying, leaning his head on his hands and kicking his feet absentmindedly back and forth in the air as Yangyang tried to slow his heart rate. 

“A bit of a warning next time?” Yangyang whispered, glaring at Jaemin. The girl at the table across from him shot him a weird look and moved a bit further away. He sighed. He must look insane, screaming at nothing and then talking to his laptop like it was sentient. Fuck. He muttered some halfhearted apologies to the people at the adjacent tables.

“I thought we’d established by now that warnings are boring,” Jaemin said. “ I said, aren’t you supposed to be a music major?”

“I am a music major,” Yangyang muttered. “What’s your point?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Jaemin said, and oh boy, here comes the sarcasm, “but for a third-year music major, you’re sure not taking many music classes. And by not many, I mean none that I’ve seen, and I hang around you an awful lot. So what’s up with that?”

“I’m just taking care of other stuff right now. General education requirements, you know?” Yangyang laughed lightly, waving Jaemin off. He was staring at his screen, pretending to be on a zoom call.

Jaemin looked unimpressed. “I may not have gone to college, but Mark did, and I’m not stupid, Yangyang,” he said. “As a third year, you should’ve already taken those classes. I can put two and two together. All of your classes are business-related. Are you even a music major at all?” His voice was growing accusatory, and Yangyang just stared down at the table, gritting his teeth.

“I’m just…” He groaned, running his hands through his hair. “God. Fuck. I can’t do this right now.” He stood, slamming his laptop shut and sliding it into his bag. Jaemin scrambled to sit up, visibly startled. 

“Whoa, what? Yangyang, slow down. It was just a question, why are you so up in arms about it?” Jaemin frowned as Yangyang slung his bag over his shoulder, not responding. “Come on,” he wheedled. Yangyang just rolled his eyes and turned to leave. He could hear Jaemin calling from behind him. “Seriously!? Yangyang, wait up!” 

Jaemin continued to pry at him for answers as Yangyang fled the library, his footsteps echoing on the steps as he hurried to get outside. 

There was some wild thing living in Yangyang’s heart, a weak and injured beast that thrashed and ached angrily with every question. He could feel his own frustration growing, bubbling under his skin, agitated by every single one of Jaemin’s pointed questions until Yangyang finally turned to him and said, “Oh my god, Jaemin! It’s not your fucking business, okay? Can’t you just leave it alone?”

Jaemin blinked, shocked, and took a step back. Yangyang’s emotions had exploded out of him, and now there was scorched land between them, a silent standoff. The moment he said it, Yangyang felt tears well in his eyes, gasping at the hurt so plain to see painted across Jaemin’s face. He was already reaching out, an apology on the tip of his tongue when Jaemin’s eyes shuttered, and a grin stretched his mouth too wide at the corners. Too many teeth, too fucking sharp.

“That’s me!” He said, and the brightness he’d forced into his tone was blinding, burning. “Annoying to a fault. But never say I can’t take a hint. See you around, Yangyang.” 

With that, Jaemin turned away and dived down, vanishing into the ground even as Yangyang spat out a choked off “Jaemin, wait –”

But Jaemin was gone, and all Yangyang was left with was the judgemental stares of half the students in the quad, who had just watched him lash out at… nobody. Great. Just fucking great. Yangyang plastered on what he hoped was a reassuring smile and got the hell out of here.

He didn’t see Jaemin for a full week after that.

“I honestly just want to apologize,” Yangyang said. He was looking into the judgmental faces of the other Dream members, where they all sat shoulder to shoulder on his couch, five days into Jaemin’s self-exile.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s a bit rejection sensitive, that’s all,” Mark said neutrally.

“He’s a drama king, more like,” Donghyuck grumbled, leaning back and throwing his feet up onto the shitty coffee table that Dejun found on the side of the road and brought home one day. “Ow, Renjun!” Donghyuck squirmed away from Renjun, who’d not-so-subtly elbowed him in the side. 

“He’s our friend, you dipshit. Be unequivocally on his side.” 

“Well, Yangyang’s becoming our friend too, and everyone makes mistakes. Besides, I love him because he’s a drama king!” Donghyuck argued. “It’s one of my favorite things about him!” 

“Jaemin has his reasons for being upset,” Jeno interjected calmly, ignoring Donghyuck and Renjun both. “Give him some time, and he’ll come around. You really didn’t do anything wrong, and Jaemin likes you.”

“God knows why,” Renjun muttered under his breath.

“Look Renjun, I’m sorry, okay?” Yangyang said, guilt eating him from the inside out. 

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Renjun said pettily.

“I know!” Yangyang was painfully aware of the way his voice broke on the last word. Silence fell over the group for a long moment. Mark, Donghyuck, and Jeno shot Renjun judgemental looks as Yangyang buried his face in his hands.

“He’s okay, Yangyang,” Jeno said. Yangyang took a deep breath and straightened up. 

“You’re sure?”

Jeno and Mark nodded, and even Donghyuck had sobered up enough to give Yangyang a reassuring look. Renjun remained stone faced, arms crossed – but Yangyang figured that was fair enough. Renjun was Jaemin’s friend first, after all.

“Okay. Well, if you see him, just let him know he can take all the time he needs, but I’d like to give him an apology if I can.”

“Sure,” Jeno said. 

“He probably owes you an apology as well, for being all up in your business,” Donghyuck muttered. Mark shot him a look, but didn’t disagree.

Two days later, Jaemin sought him out. 

It was late at night, and Yangyang had climbed out the second story window and was sitting on the roof. He couldn’t see the stars – thank you, metropolitan light pollution! – but it was still quiet and peaceful up there.

He sighed, letting his eyes fall shut as he felt the evening breeze brush against his skin, thinking about the essay he had to write that was due in a couple of days, and –

“Hey.”

“Holy fuck,” Yangyang said, eyes flying open. Jaemin was sitting not two inches from him, leaning forward so his face was directly next to Yangyang’s, eyes wide and unblinking in the ambient light from the house. Yangyang clutched at his chest. “You’re going to drive me to an early grave, Jaemin, I almost fell off the fucking roof.”

“Well, I’m always on the lookout for more youthful undead. You know, for diversity. Way too many ghosts are old people.” Jaemin grinned, and god, Yangyang had missed his weird sense of humor.

“I’m sorry,” Yangyang said.

“It’s okay,” Jaemin said simply.

“It’s not. I took my frustration out on you, and that’s never okay. I was upset, but it doesn’t give me the right to lash out.”

“I shouldn’t have pried,” Jaemin said. He was utterly still, an apologetic look on his face as he stared out over the neighborhood while Yangyang looked directly back at him, watching the way his lips began to curl up at the corners in a wry smile. “I’m sorry. It was clearly none of my business –”

“I’m not a music major,” Yangyang said, in a rush. Jaemin paused, mid-sentence. Blinked once, twice. 

“I… okay.” He looked sideways at Yangyang, hesitant. Yangyang laughed, but it came out sounding far too tired. 

“It’s okay, Jaemin. You can ask.”

“Why do you say you’re a music major, then? Why are you lying to everyone about it?”

“Because I want to be one,” Yangyang said simply. “I was one, for a second there.”

“Why aren’t you anymore?” Jaemin asked. 

“My parents found out. Turns out ‘musician’ isn’t the career they want for me,” Yangyang said. He smiled, but his chest was aching. “They threatened to disown me, to stop helping me pay for college. Without them, I could never afford to go. So, I changed majors. Switched to business.” 

Jaemin wrinkled his nose, and Yangyang laughed. 

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

 “Should have followed in my footsteps and dropped out entirely,” Jaemin said. “Follow your dreams. I never needed a degree.”

“You also died young,” Yangyang pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, I tried the no-college-degree life. Unless I really want to die poor, I need a degree. Even if it’s not the degree I want, just having one will open doors that were closed before. I’m not giving up on my dream, I’m just… deferring it.”

They were silent for a long moment. Yangyang looked out towards the city, with its lights and signs twinkling in the far-off distance. 

“I’m trying to keep learning. I stay in contact with my old music teachers at the school, I try to practice my songwriting and keep trying to learn guitar. It’s just hard, on top of the schoolwork I have to do for my actual classes.”

Jaemin hummed, contemplative. “Have you thought about performing? I’ve been here awhile now, and even though I haven’t heard you often, you’ve got a nice voice. If you performed, it could still be considered a hobby, but you’d have something to practice for. Motivation to improve.”

“Ha! No. I’ve never been on stage alone. When I was in the major I would pair up with other musicians and we’d prepare pieces together. I don’t know if I’d be able to do it alone just yet,” Yangyang confessed. 

“Wow, Yangyang. If only you had a group of invisible friends with music experience that could play with you onstage but make it seem like you’re the only one up there,” Jaemin said, deadpan. 

“That would be nice,” Yangyang said. 

“Wait for it,” Jaemin said ominously. 

“What?” Yangyang looked to Jaemin, who looked right back. After a long moment, what he’d said registered and Yangyang gaped at him. 

“There it is,” Jaemin said serenely.

“Wait, you don’t mean –”

Jaemin smirked. “Oh, yeah. You bet I do.”

Smash cut to Yangyang sitting on Dejun’s bottom bunk, Donghyuck in the corner, fingers poised over the keys. Mark was next to Yangyang on the bed, ready to sing backup vocals.

Jeno had a full drum kit that Yangyang borrowed from one of the other roommates – some kid named Sion who had just moved in. Yangyang didn’t know him very well but he seemed nice, considering he’d been willing to lend his drum kit to a guy he’d literally just met. Renjun and Jaemin had brought guitars, and when Yangyang asked where they’d gotten them from, Jaemin had just smiled that saccharine smile of his and told Yangyang not to worry about it, so he was endeavoring to do just that.

“Don’t be nervous,” Mark said, patting Yangyang on the shoulder – or, well, trying to pat Yangyang on the shoulder. His hand went straight through. Yangyang supposed it was the thought that counted. “It’s just us.”

“Right, of course,” Yangyang said. He looked around the room, seeing encouraging smiles from them all. “I can totally do this.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mark said, grinning. “Whenever you’re ready, start us off.”

“Okay.” Yangyang closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted them in. 

They were barely thirty seconds into the first song when someone began banging on the door. “Hey, Yangyang! I told you to keep your fucking music down –” Dejun burst through the door and made direct eye-contact with Mark where he was sitting next to Yangyang. He scanned the room, looking at each member of Dream.

Abruptly, the music stopped, and Dejun blinked in surprise as the members of Dream vanished from his sight.

“What the hell was that,” Dejun asked. “Tell me that’s not what I think it was.”

“He could see us?” Donghyuck screeched, while Jeno hopped up and down with excitement and Renjun stood stock still, mouth hanging open. Jaemin cackled uproariously, clearly still in shock.

“Better, Donghyuck,” Jaemin said, near hysterical with excitement, wide eyes sparkling. “He could hear us.”

── ✩ ── 

The revelation that other people could see and hear them when they played together was a shock, but a welcome one – at least, for the ghosts. Yangyang was mostly just freaked out. 

Now that they were able to materialize, even if only temporarily, the members of Dream had a new mission. Before, performing as a band didn’t make any sense, but now that they knew they could be seen and heard? It stood to reason that this, then, must be their unfinished business – they needed to get in contact with their other two band members.

Zhong Chenle and Park Jisung, known professionally as For U, were a Chinese-Korean musical duo. Their career began as members of indie pop band Dream, though the band dissolved after the deaths of bandmates Mark Lee, Lee Jeno, Huang Renjun, Lee Donghyuck, and Na Jaemin in a fatal car accident in 1997. Despite this tragedy, the pair continued to perform together, rebranding as For U, claiming that they decided to continue performing in honor of their late bandmates.

In an interview with Dispatch in the early 2000s, Zhong stated that they “couldn’t call [themselves] Dream when performing with just the two of [them]”, and Park added that Dream would “always be seven.” 

Which was great for them! But kind of bad for Yangyang’s quest to reunite them with their ghostly friends. Because of their popularity, Chenle and Jisung were impossible to reach via social media despite Yangyang’s attempts – to be fair to them, he also wouldn’t respond to DMs from a stranger saying i know this is a long shot but i really need to talk to you i swear im not trying to be weird its about dream. In person searches were no good either – he followed the ghost’s directions to where Chenle used to live with his parents, and found out that his family had moved away years ago. Their luck wasn’t any better when they tried to track down Jisung’s place either.

When Yangyang googled them, he found out that For U regularly performed at local music festivals. When he relayed this information to the others, where they were sitting sprawled all around his and Dejun’s room, they looked around at each other and after a moment of silence, Mark said, “So… is everyone thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yangyang needs to go to one of these festivals and break into the backstage, track down Jisung and Chenle, get them alone, and explain everything,” Jaemin said immediately. He was trying to do a headstand against the wall, but he kept on accidentally falling through the wall. Perils of being a ghost. His statement was met with blank stares. 

“Absolutely not, I’m not getting fucking arrested for breaking and entering,” Yangyang said, exasperated. “Plus they’d probably think I was stalking them or something. Especially after the messages I sent them on instagram.”

“Well, once you got them alone we’d play for them and boom! Problem solved!” Jaemin said. The others started speaking over each other, all saying things along the lines of that’s insane Jaemin, and that’s a terrible idea, Jaemin, what the hell, and come on, Jaemin, that’s obviously not what Mark meant. Jaemin was the picture of calm even as everyone berated him, and took the time to orient himself back upright. He looked across the room and met Yangyang’s eye with a grin, and it was at this moment that Yangyang noticed the spark of amusement behind his eyes and realized that he was absolutely just fucking with them. 

“Clearly we aren’t all on the same page, so I’ll just say it,” Mark said, cutting through the chatter. “We should start playing at local shows and work our way up to festivals. We’ve done it before – no reason we can’t do it again. Once we’re there, Yangyang will be able to get Chenle and Jisung alone, and we’ll be able to perform as seven again.”

“Cool, but what excuse will we give for me to be there?” Yangyang asked. “What am I, your manager?”

This time, it was him that was getting met with blank stares. Renjun raised a single eyebrow as he leaned back against Dejun’s desk in the corner, arms crossed. “Are you being serious?”

“Uh. Yes?” Yangyang said. “It’s not like I’m in Dream.”

“Well, maybe not, but you’ll have to be for this to work,” Jeno said gently. He was sitting in the desk chair beside Renjun, knees pulled up to his chin. “Bands don’t just appear out of thin air when they perform, usually.  We need some kind of excuse. And someone who can actually show up um. In the flesh, so to speak, to give us legitimacy.”

“I was just going to play you off as a hologram band,” Yangyang said. “You know, like Hatsune Miku or something.”

More blank stares.

“Well, I don’t know who Hatsune Miku is, so she must be after our time, but Jeno’s point still stands,” Donghyuck pointed out. “Maybe the hologram lie can work if technology’s really advanced that far, but we don’t even know if we manifest for the living when we play alone. We’ve done plenty of random playing and jamming out together while in the city and nobody’s given us a second glance. We need some tether to life and Yangyang – that tether has to be you. You’re the bridge between the living and the dead.”

“Why me?” Yangyang could feel his palms beginning to sweat. 

“You’re the only one that can see us,” Jaemin pointed out. “It stands to reason that you’re the only one we can play with too.”

“Then what about Chenle and Jisung? If I’m the link, wouldn’t it make the dream to perform as seven impossible?” Yangyang argued. 

“Why are you so against playing with us?” Donghyuck asked. “You’re a musician! It’ll be good practice! Not to mention, it’s not like you’re got any other pressing extracurriculars.”

“I guess,” Yangyang said reluctantly. “It’s just that I haven't played in front of a live audience in… well, it’s been a while.” He shared a quick look with Jaemin. “I’m not sure I’d be able to keep up.”

“All the more reason to join us then,” Mark said. “We’ll practice loads. This way, it’s mutually beneficial! You perform with us to help us find Chenle and Jisung, and we’ll help you become a better musician and learn all we’ve learned about the music industry after doing this as our career for a couple years. What do you say?”

Mark stuck out his hand, and the others looked at Yangyang with hopeful eyes and in the face of that – well. He sighed, and pretended like his hand didn’t phase straight through Mark’s when he reached out to shake it. He was met with a room of beaming smiles, and from then on, they started to practice.

Yangyang signed them up for a campus talent show to start off – a couple other bands were performing, and he figured it was as good a place to start as any. 

“What should we call ourselves?” He asked Jaemin as he filled out the sign-up sheet in the library. “It feels wrong to use Dream.”

“Yangyang and the Ghosties,” Jaemin suggested. Yangyang wrinkled his nose. Jaemin rolled his eyes. “Okay, Yangyang and the Phantoms. Yangyang and the Spirits. Yangyang and the Things That Go Bump In The Night.”

“Does it need to include my name?”

“Sorry, I figured we should pay homage to our one living member,” Jaemin said, grinning. “Was I wrong?”

“How about we just call ourselves Phantom,” Yangyang said. “Continues the one word band name tradition. Compromise.” He wrote it down with a flourish. Jaemin nodded, ostensibly in approval, though it was always hard to tell with him. Yangyang took it as approval anyway and went to turn the form in. 

He returned to Jaemin sitting criss-cross applesauce on the table. At this point, he was completely used to Jaemin’s inability to sit anywhere normally, so he just rolled his eyes fondly and sat back down in his seat to work on his end-of-term business analysis paper.

After their minor falling out and subsequent reconciliation, Jaemin had clung to Yangyang more than ever. It was as if after their heart-to-heart, Jaemin lost any lingering reservations – if Yangyang had thought Jaemin was a bit odd before, it was now dialed to eleven – and Yangyang couldn’t help but be endeared. 

He had woken up this morning to Jaemin leaning over him, eerily close to his face in typical Jaemin fashion, and had been accompanied by the sound of Jaemin’s inane chatter all through the day – though he had the decency to be quiet during Yangyang’s lectures, and was mostly letting him work in peace for now. When Yangyang was starting to fall asleep because of his professor’s dull voice, Jaemin had stood beside the whiteboard and started trying to contort his body into the shape of the graphs his professor had drawn, to minimal success. He looked ridiculous. Yangyang was obsessed with him.

Jaemin was basically his companion through life at this point.

(Yangyang was trying to ignore the very real possibility that Jaemin would be gone soon – his unfinished business would finally be finished. On good days, Yangyang was happy for him. On bad days, he mostly just felt sorry for himself.)

After school, they headed back home to meet up with the others and practice, practice, practice. The showcase was coming up in just a few weeks, and though they didn’t need to be perfect, Yangyang was determined to make their first performance a good one. 

As they sat in the backyard, chatting and playing together, Yangyang got to know them all better – got to enjoy Renjun’s dry humor, Mark and Jeno’s caring natures, bear witness to Donghyuck and Jaemin’s overexaggerated play fighting. Most of all, they began to blend as a group, chords sliding smoothly together, harmonies singing in tune, and Yangyang was struck with awe and amazement that despite his parents stopping him from being a music major, here he was – able to pursue his dream with the support of this strange group of undead musicians.

One Wednesday afternoon, after they’d wrapped up a rehearsal and most of the others had left, Yangyang and Jaemin were hanging out in the yard. Yangyang was sitting at the old, rusted garden table absentmindedly plucking the strings of the guitar, barely paying attention – he’d had a long day, and the adrenaline from the practice was wearing off – when suddenly Jaemin cleared his throat.

Yangyang looked across to where Jaemin was sitting with an unusually blank look on his face. Yangyang usually struggled to read him – Jaemin could be an enigma when he wanted to be – but his eyes were dead serious.

“Yangyang,” Jaemin said. He paused, and swallowed. He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and when they opened, he locked eyes with Yangyang, resolved. “I need you to do me a favor.”

── ✩ ── 

Kim Doyoung was having a day. He was having a life, really – but the more immediate focus was this specific day. 

He got back home after a long day of work and had only just sunk down onto the couch to begin a truly impressive marathon of whatever suitably lighthearted k-drama he could find when someone knocked on his door. 

Groaning, he pulled himself off of the couch and went to answer it, assuming it was one of his neighbors, maybe a friend who thought they’d come to surprise him. Ideally, it would be Jaehyun – Doyoung could use a nice dinner cooked by his boyfriend after the day he’d had – but Taeyong was also annoyingly fond of showing up on his doorstep unannounced. 

But to his surprise, when the door swung open, instead of his partner, his friend, or even a confused delivery driver, he was met with… a stranger. He seemed to be somewhere in his mid-twenties. Frowning, Doyoung squinted through his glasses at him. 

“Hello. Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah. Is there a Kim Doyoung that lives here? I have something for him.” The boy looked terribly nervous, biting his lip and shuffling slightly in place as he spoke. 

“I’m Doyoung,” Doyoung said. “And you are?”

“Oh, right, sorry. I’m Liu Yangyang. Can I come in? It’s kind of hard to explain.”

Intrigued, and figuring that if this college student tried to kill him, it would at least make for a good story, Doyoung raised an eyebrow and stepped aside, allowing Yangyang to walk past him into the living room. 

“So, Liu Yangyang, what brings you here to me?” Doyoung gestured to the couch. “Please, take a seat.” 

“Oh, thanks,” Yangyang said, sitting down gingerly. “It’s… well, like I said, it’s a bit weird.” Doyoung sat across from him, and gestured for him to go on. “Okay. I live about an hour from here, in the city, and I found something in my house a while ago that I think was meant for you? I’ll just…” Yangyang pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket, and as he unfolded it, Doyoung’s breath caught in his throat.

“It was hard to figure out who wrote it and who you were, but I figured you would want it back, ” Yangyang said, but his voice faded into white noise as he held the paper out for Doyoung to take because there, on the page – handwriting he hadn’t seen in nearly thirty years. Doyoung’s heart was pounding, and just at the sight of the penmanship he could feel himself begin to tear up.

You see, nearly fifty years ago, Kim Doyoung had an older sister. She got married and had a child, and Doyoung had been so happy for her – he was the best man and the godfather. But barely a year after his nephew, Na Jaemin, was born, his sister and his sister’s husband died in a car accident – and Doyoung was left with two plots with freshly-turned grave dirt to visit and a nephew to raise. 

As Doyoung reached out with shaking hands to Yangyang, he felt his fingers close around the scrap of paper, and a lump the size of his heart lodged itself in his throat. 

As Jaemin grew up, Doyoung tried his best – but his best was never good enough. His nephew was grieving parents he barely knew, and Doyoung, though he loved his nephew, didn’t know a damn thing about kids. He felt like a constant failure – and despite his best attempts to parent, he and Jaemin were consistently at odds. At school, Jaemin was adored by his teachers and classmates alike, but his grades suffered. They mostly suffered because at home, Jaemin tore his homework to shreds and screamed at Doyoung that he wasn’t his dad whenever Doyoung tried to convince him to do it. 

As Doyoung scanned the first line, tears were already beginning to blur his vision. It was clearly song lyrics – the writing too flowery to be anything but. Jaemin’s handwriting was messy as always, and he’d scratched out several lines and specific words, replacing them with others. But despite all the edits, there, in plain black ink, Jaemin had written:

First things first
We start the scene in reverse
All of my lines rehearsed
Disappear from my mind

They had good times, too, interspersed with the bad – when Jaemin was a child, Doyoung had taken him to the zoo and the aquarium and the public pool as much as he could, and as he grew older and refused to be seen with Doyoung in public, they’d sit together on the couch and watch shows together. Doyoung had been teaching Jaemin to cook. 

Silent days
Mysteries and mistakes
Who’d be the first to break?
I guess we’re alike that way

Though they both tried, it often wasn’t enough – they fought and fought and fought and there were many days where they didn’t exchange a single word. There were so many nights that Doyoung lay awake, staring up at his ceiling silently apologizing to his sister – for failing her. For failing Jaemin. For being unable to untangle the complicated thread that their relationship had become. 

Staring down at the lyrics, his fingers tightening around the edges of the paper so tightly it almost tore, Doyoung’s heart shattered as he realized that Jaemin had felt the same. 

If I could take us back
If I could just do that
And write in every empty space
The words “I love you” in replace
Then maybe time would not erase me

As Doyoung kept reading, he could hear the echoes of Jaemin’s high-pitched childish laughter, and could almost feel the echo of his body curled up next to him on the couch. He remembered an eighteen-year-old Jaemin stuffing a backpack full of clothes, slinging his guitar case over his shoulder, and spitting at Doyoung that he was going to go stay with Mark. That he didn’t want to see him again.

He remembered chasing Jaemin out into the street, begging him to think this through, that his band wasn’t worth rejecting the money his parents had left him for college. Screaming at him that ignoring this gift and staking everything on the slim chance he’d get famous was the worst possible insult to their memory. He remembered Jaemin scoffing and walking away, vanishing into the night, lost to him completely.

If you could only know
I never let you go
And the words I most regret
Are the ones I never meant to leave

As he reached the end of the song Jaemin wrote for him, about him – about them – he remembered a knock on his door. He remembered opening it to a grim faced officer. He remembered grasping the doorframe to keep himself from falling when his knees buckled. 

He remembered a funeral where he met Mark’s parents and thanked them for watching over Jaemin when he could not. 

He remembered lowering Jaemin into the ground beside his parents and throwing the first handful of dirt on his casket. 

He remembered attending the memorial concert and having to leave because it hurt too much. 

He remembered, and he never forgot.

No time for goodbyes
Never got to apologize
And the words I most regret
Are the ones I never meant to leave
So now I write in every empty space
The words “I love you” in replace
Maybe time will not erase me
Love you, Doyoungie

Doyoung swallowed around the lump in his throat, tears streaming down his face. He clutched the paper to his chest and pulled his glasses off so he could wipe clumsily at his eyes. Jaemin had loved to call him Doyoungie – first when he was very young because he didn’t understand honorifics just yet, but when he got older, he kept doing it just to piss Doyoung off. God. He missed that kid.

“Thank you,” he said, the emotion choking his voice and making the words come out strangled. “You have no idea how much this means to me. Really.”

“It’s no problem,” Yangyang said. “I’m glad it could get to you, even if it’s nearly three decades late.” He looked just slightly to Doyoung’s left, where he could see Jaemin sitting silently beside his uncle, tears streaming down his face as he watched Doyoung cry, hunched over and clutching the letter to his heart.

Jaemin raised a hand tentatively reaching for his uncle’s arm, but flinched away when he began to phase through his uncle just like everyone else. Devastation wrote itself across his face and Yangyang averted his eyes.

“Ask him what he does for work,” Jaemin whispered. Surprised, Yangyang looked up at him. Jaemin was smiling softly, even as tears continued to run down his cheeks. “I want to know what he’s been doing these last twenty-eight years.”

“Sorry if this is random,” Yangyang said. “But what is it you do for work?”

Doyoung laughed, startled. “You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked, otherwise,” Yangyang said, smiling gently at him. Doyoung laughed again, a bit stronger, and wiped at his eyes a bit more thoroughly. 

“You’re funny,” Doyoung said. He paused, contemplative. “Jaemin would have liked you, I think.”

“He knows me better than I ever gave him credit for,” Jaemin said, sighing. “I was always so harsh on him.”

“I’m a teacher,” Doyoung said. Jaemin was visibly surprised, eyebrows flying up to his hairline as he stared at Doyoung, open-mouthed. “God, Jaemin would get a kick out of that. I was a terrible parent.”

“I’m sure you did your best,” Yangyang tried to reassure him. Doyoung grimaced and shook his head. 

“I tried my best, but that doesn’t mean it was enough,” Doyoung said. “I knew nothing about being a parent, and with losing my sister and then coping with suddenly being a single parent, I never really learned how to be what Jaemin needed. I cared too much about things that in hindsight don’t matter, like him getting good grades, going to college, and pursuing a traditional career. But looking back on it, all I really cared about deep down was that he was happy and secure. And he had that with Dream. I just couldn’t see it back then – I was too caught up in my own worries.” Doyoung sighed and swallowed back a new wave of tears. “By the time I realized it, he was already dead.”

“Oh, Doyoung,” Jaemin said, his grief palpable.

“But that’s why I became a teacher,” Doyoung said. “It was too late for me to be there for Jaemin, but maybe I could be there for other kids. I went back to school, learned about children’s development, learned what they needed, and it taught me just how badly I’d failed. But I’d like to think I’ve learned from my mistakes now. My partner, Jaehyun, he’s been suggesting that we foster, and… I think I’d like that. Not to try and get some kind of do-over to alleviate my guilt or anything like that, but… to honor his memory. To try and help other kids. If we ever foster, those kids will know about their big brother Jaemin, who’ll be watching over them from the sky.”

“Or from right here. I’m literally haunting you right now. Boo,” Jaemin said, but the quip was sort of ruined by the fact that his eyes were shining and he looked incredibly touched by Doyoung’s words.

“That’s incredible, Doyoung. I’m sure that Jaemin knows, and based on that song, he’d already forgiven you. It’s neither of your faults that he died before you could reconcile.”

“I try to remember that,” Doyoung murmured, eyes glassy and unseeing as he stared past Yangyang, clearly reminiscing. “I just hope that wherever he is, he knows that I’m sorry, and I love him.”

“Oh,” Yangyang said, smiling as he watched Jaemin huddle into Doyoung’s side, tears dripping from his chin onto his shirt, nose red and running as he ghosted his fingertips across the planes of Doyoung’s face. “I’m sure he knows.”

── ✩ ── 

Two weeks passed by in a flash, and before Yangyang knew it, it was time for the campus talent showcase.

It would be poetic to say that Yangyang stood on stage and felt himself settle into his body, that he remembered every shining moment of the performance, that it reaffirmed to him how much he wanted to be a performer, standing there under the stage lights, his ghostly friends at his back.

In practice, Yangyang remembered every single agonizing second of the lead up to the performance – the car ride there, Dejun wishing him good luck before they parted ways so he could head backstage to the green rooms, the thirty minutes of trying to sit still but fidgeting anxiously the entire time, Dream’s chatter all around him, their own palpable excitement at getting to perform, the terrible acting he did while pretending to set up projectors for his “hologram band”, the incredibly awkward small talk he made with some of the other students, his name being called by the stage manager, the walk down the hallway to the wings – and then he got up on stage and blacked out.

He came back to himself to the sound of thunderous applause from the audience. The stage lights were hot on his face, and he was encircled by his ghostly bandmates, million-watt smiles on their faces as they cheered. If they could pick him up, he would have already been hoisted in the air in celebration.

“That was fucking incredible,” Renjun said, grinning breathlessly. “I forgot how amazing it is to perform.”

“Give it up one last time for Phantom!” The emcee of the talent show, a guy Yangyang recognized from his short stint in the music program that he thought was named something like Daeyoung – or maybe Jaehee? Yangyang wasn’t totally sure – was coming out from the wings, microphone in hand, and Yangyang slapped a smile on his face and waved one last time before leaving the stage.

Backstage it was slightly quieter, but the rumble of Maybe-Daeyoung-Maybe-Jaehee’s voice was still audible, though muffled, interspersed with clapping and before too long, more music – presumably the act that came after them. He made it back to the green room on autopilot, and was greeted by a wave of congratulations from the other performers.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and he felt out of breath – the vestiges of a performance that he couldn’t remember. His blood was singing in his veins, adrenaline pumping, and he could still hear the cheers of the crowd echoing in his ears. 

The members of Dream were chatting excitedly amongst themselves, all of them still gathered around him, stuck to his sides like glue – not touching, never touching, so close and yet so far, separated by the line between life and death – the kind of clinginess that comes from a good performance with a team.

“Wow,” Yangyang finally breathed, and collapsed down onto one of the available couches, leaving the rest of Dream to stand.

“Wow,” Jaemin agreed, sinking down onto the couch next to him, a careful distance between them. Yangyang looked up to meet his eyes and saw them shining, alive in a way that seemed almost paradoxical considering Jaemin’s undead nature.

Without thinking, he moved, fingertips reaching out to tangle Jaemin’s fingers with his own and oh. Fuck.

Record scratch. Freeze frame. 

To understand what happened next, we need to rewind. Just a little.

You see, Yangyang knows, okay. He knows that Jaemin is incorporeal. He’s reminded every time Jaemin decides to walk through walls or other people, or decides to do increasingly intense yoga poses on the kitchen table in the common room. He can’t be seen, he can’t be touched. 

Yangyang fucking knows it. He knows it deeply, down to the marrow of his bones. It’s a fact that lives in him, right next to his rotten, aching heart. Because surprise, dear readers – and by surprise, I mean no surprise at all – Yangyang wants him so fucking viscerally. 

Yangyang isn’t touch-starved, but he’s hungry for Jaemin’s touch, desperate to feel skin on skin, tongue against teeth, hair through fingers, nails dragged across scalps. He wants so desperately to feel Jaemin’s fingers on the back of his neck, to be pulled forwards and be helpless to resist it because Jaemin is solid and real and physical, to feel the heat of Jaemin’s breath against his skin, the wet of his tongue as it licks up his neck. 

But Jaemin is incorporeal. Incorporeal. Definitionally untouchable. Quite literally dead and gone. The fact that he’s here now doesn’t mean he’s Yangyang’s to keep – he’s just passing through, a mirage. 

Yangyang reminds himself of Jaemin’s incorporeality frequently and forcefully – every time Jaemin smiles that too-sharp smile his way, every time he drops a wink Yangyang’s direction, every time he does something certifiably insane and Yangyang thinks, god, I’m obsessed with him, instead of getting the ick like any normal person would. 

Dejun teases him about it at first. One day when they’re out studying at a coffee shop, and Jaemin is off with his bandmates, Dejun looks up at Yangyang, snorts, and says,  “Jaemin looks like he wants to eat you alive whenever I see him.” 

Yangyang sighs dreamily, leaning into the palm of his hand, abandoning his textbooks for a moment, and says, “I wish.”  

Dejun gags. 

On another occasion he walks into their bedroom and says hello to Jaemin before Yangyang can even announce his presence, and when Yangyang demands to know how he’d known, Dejun rolls his eyes and says, “You look so fucking lovesick anytime he’s in the vicinity. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

But then one day, Dejun looks between Yangyang and Jaemin during a rehearsal, and something about the reality of the situation must slam into him, because he very suddenly looks like he’s going to be sick. He shoots Yangyang a look filled with so much pity that Yangyang has to look away and pour all of his focus into the next set of chord progressions so he doesn’t burst into tears on the spot. 

So yeah. Yangyang wants Jaemin, badly, but he’s resigned to the reality that he can never have him. But though he knows that Jaemin is incorporeal, he can’t stop the aching want in his chest that compels him to reach out for him anyway.

Sitting a few careful inches apart on a shitty couch that hundreds of horny undergraduate theater majors have probably had sex on, in a college green room, in the wake of their first ever performance together, and still half-high on adrenaline, Yangyang’s body acts without his permission, and he reaches for Jaemin’s hand.

Right before they make contact, Jaemin goes still, tense and anticipating. He does it every time someone reaches for him, immediately deflating in ever-so-slight disappointment when they inevitably pass through him. Yangyang doesn’t think he even notices that he does it – but Yangyang, unfortunately, is cursed to notice everything about Jaemin, and here, in this moment, he notices this too, and curses himself for getting Jaemin’s hopes up, even if accidentally, even if not really. 

Because really, neither of them really believes they’ll touch. It’s impossible. So Yangyang and Jaemin both brace for what is about to happen – what happened a hundred times before – for Yangyang’s hand to pass through Jaemin’s, like Jaemin isn’t there at all.

But then –

Oh. But then. 

Yangyang’s fingers brush against the top of Jaemin’s hand, and they freeze. Eyes lock on each other, the easy excitement of an excellent performance vanishing instantly to make way for shock. 

Yangyang watches, as if in slow motion, as Jaemin swallows hard, following the line of his throat with his eyes.

Record scratch. Freeze frame. Okay, we’re back.

Yangyang’s hand was on Jaemin’s, skin against skin, and Yangyang couldn’t believe it. Judging by the way Jaemin’s eyes widened, he couldn’t either. 

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. But then – oh, but then – Yangyang watched as Jaemin’s shock thawed and then melted away entirely to make room for molten heat. 

This time, it was Yangyang who swallowed. 

The look in Jaemin’s eyes was almost predatory, and suddenly, he grasped Yangyang’s wrist, gripping so hard it was almost painful. 

Around them, the other members of Dream, or perhaps Phantom, were absorbed in their own chatter, utterly oblivious to the monumental shift that had taken place not five feet from them. Eyes locked on Yangyang, Jaemin said, aloud,

“I think I need some air.” A moment passed. Jaemin’s gaze on Yangyang was only increasing in intensity. Yangyang could hardly breathe, could barely move. The world around him was slow, muffled – the only thing he could really feel was the pressure of Jaemin’s fingers on his wrist, tight and warm and arresting. 

“Yangyang?” Jaemin said, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Right. I um. Yeah, me too. Air. Sounds good.” It came out halting and choking, and Yangyang realized that the other members were facing him now, concern writing its way across their features.

“Don’t worry, it’s just post-performance adrenaline,” Jaemin said, finally breaking his gaze to smile gently at the others. “I’ll follow him to go get some air and he’ll be better in no time.”

“Okay, man, if you’re sure,” Mark said. “He looks kind of shell-shocked.”

“Like you weren’t the same after our first performance, Mark,” Donghyuck snarked. 

“Feel better,” Jeno said, with a kind frown. 

Renjun said nothing, only narrowed his eyes at the two of them, before giving them a short nod, and then they were leaving, hiding their joined hands between their bodies, because Jaemin didn’t seem like he was planning on letting go of Yangyang any time soon.

The moment they were in the hallway, Jaemin turned to him, raised a single eyebrow, and said, “Know any good abandoned rooms around here?”

Smash cut to Yangyang, back against the wall, legs wrapped around Jaemin’s waist. Their hands everywhere, grasping at clothes, skin, hair. Jaemin detached himself from Yangyang’s neck – Yangyang could still feel the sensation of Jaemin’s unnaturally pointy teeth mouthing at his jawline, fuck – and reached up, grasping for the back of Yangyang’s neck to pull him down into a searing kiss, wet and messy and fucking perfect. 

Yangyang’s hands stilled so he could steady himself, and he placed his hands on Jaemin’s shoulders, digging into the flesh there, feeling the shape of muscles through the thin shirt Jaemin died in. He gasped into Jaemin’s open mouth, slid his hands down Jaemin’s back, and unwrapped his legs from Jaemin’s waist so he could put his feet back on solid ground.

At the movement, Jaemin let out an almost inhuman growl and stepped forward to put a leg between his thighs, caging Yangyang in and towering over him. Yangyang was a few inches shorter than Jaemin, and he fucking loved it – he leaned back into the wall, yielding to Jaemin, tilting his head up so not to break the kiss.

One of Jaemin’s hands stayed solidly on the back of Yangyang’s neck, the other coming up to ghost along his jawline. At his touch, Yangyang shivered, and a moan slipped from his lips, unbidden. As Jaemin’s hand drew away, Yangyang reached out blindly, grasping it and messily pulling it to his cheek, holding Jaemin’s hand against his face, drinking in the feeling of his skin, warm and solid and so alive, despite his death.

Jaemin hummed, pleased, and grinded ever so slightly into Yangyang’s thigh, pressing Yangyang back into the wall and forcefully deepening their kiss. Yangyang whimpered, and ran his hands up Jaemin’s back, burying them in his hair, pulling their bodies even closer, wishing he could tangle them together so thoroughly that he would be able to forget where he ended and Jaemin began. He wanted to step into Jaemin’s skin and live there, wanted to let Jaemin consume him, flesh and blood and bone, wanted the heat between them to burn him alive so he could be together with Jaemin for the rest of eternity.

After what felt like hours, Yangyang gasped, parting reluctantly from Jaemin to breathe, the two of them panting in the space between them. He felt the heat of Jaemin’s breath on his mouth, felt his forehead leaning against Yangyang’s own, could see his lips slick with saliva, bitten red by Yangyang’s own teeth. For a single, quiet moment, the heat cooled and all Yangyang could think was fuck, maybe he wanted this as badly as I did. Then, between one blink and the next, Jaemin’s lips were back on his, and all coherent thought was banished from his mind by whatever it was that Jaemin was doing with his tongue.

And then, it happened – the unthinkable. Jaemin’s hand dropped to his waist, and for a shining, beautiful moment, Yangyang could feel the pressure against his hipbone, but then – oh, but then.

It began to fade. 

Horrified, Jaemin and Yangyang pulled back, eyes wild, and Jaemin let out a strangled sort of cry. His hands flew to Yangyang’s face, but they didn’t stop at his cheeks – they passed right through. Yangyang lunged forward, but Jaemin passed through his hands like the kind of hologram they were pretending he was, and suddenly, Yangyang just wanted to cry.

He fell back, back hitting the wall with a thud, as he slid down to the floor. Jaemin kneeled beside him, looking equally devastated. Yangyang could feel the burn of tears slipping from his eyes, taste the salt at the corner of his lips where Jaemin had been mere moments before. Beside him, Jaemin sat completely still, matching tear tracks on his cheeks. Tentatively, Jaemin reached out and delicately placed his hand on the ground, almost, but not quite touching Yangyang’s own – so close and yet so far, separated once again by the line between life and death.

They huddled there together in silence, quietly mourning, for a long, long time. 

Eventually, Yangyang’s tears stopped and he wiped his eyes as he dragged himself to his feet, Jaemin silently mirroring his actions beside him. 

“Well.” Yangyang’s voice echoed ever so slightly in the empty hallway they were stood in – it turned out that most of the rooms in the music building were locked over the weekends, and Yangyang had honestly cared way more about getting his hands on Jaemin than he had about finding a room, so they’d made do with a hallway several floors up from the green room. 

“Well,” Jaemin echoed.

They looked at each other then, for a moment, and Yangyang was relieved to see his own slight apprehension mirrored in Jaemin’s eyes. 

“It was good, right?” Yangyang asked, biting his lip. At that, any apprehension in Jaemin’s eyes melted away and he smiled – a soft, private thing. Not the sharp one, the one that was all teeth and teasing. No, this smile was gentle, just for Yangyang. 

“It was good,” Jaemin agreed. “In fact…” His grin sharpened, and his eyes flickered down, settling for a moment on Yangyang’s lips before trailing down his neck and then flicking back up to his eyes once more. “I think we need to do it again soon at the earliest possible opportunity.”

Yangyang was exhausted, shaky on his feet from the physical exhaustion of the performance and the emotional damage incurred by Jaemin slipping through Yangyang’s fingers mere moments after he finally got a taste of what he’d been craving. He could still feel a dull ache in his chest, his heart bruised from the ordeal.

But the thought of doing it again – of getting to be held in Jaemin’s arms, feeling his lips and teeth against his skin… Yangyang was only human. How could he say no to Jaemin, with his starry eyes and lithe, powerful muscles and perfect, shining canines?

He smiled. “I guess I’d better find some other opportunities for us to perform.”

Jaemin grinned. “I guess so.”

Yangyang was convinced that the others would notice what had happened between him and Jaemin – that somehow, his joy would be visible enough that it could mean only one thing, that the others would see his bitten lips and general state of dishevelment and put two and two together. But when he and Jaemin returned to the green room, none of them batted an eye.

Seemed like they’d believed Jaemin’s story about post-performance nerves, and wrote Yangyang’s appearance off as a symptom of them. To be fair to them, Yangyang probably wouldn’t have jumped to the conclusion that Jaemin had somehow become corporeal and immediately ravished Yangyang against a wall for a solid fifteen minutes either. 

By the time he was sitting beside Dejun in the passenger seat of his car, head leaning against the window as he watched the way the light from the street lamps passed over the planes of Dejun’s face while he drove, Yangyang was starting to feel guilty and unsure about the entire thing. In the backseat, the members of Dream had all squashed in together and were bickering back and forth about nothing, their voices a soothing chatter in Yangyang’s ears.

He was kind of surprised at himself. Not that he let Jaemin ravish him against a wall for a solid fifteen minutes – that was a no-brainer, it was absolutely the kind of thing he’d let Jaemin do. He’d actually let Jaemin do far worse to him if given the opportunity – but more surprised that he wanted to keep Jaemin’s new physical manifestation a secret. At least for now.

Surely the right thing to do would be to share their findings immediately – to consult with the others and figure out what it meant that Jaemin was starting to manifest like this. See if it had happened to any of the others, theorize about what it could mean for their unfinished business.

Yangyang’s eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror, and his eyes caught Jaemin’s. They sparkled mischievously, and Yangyang watched his smile morph into an ever-so-slight smirk — a blink-or-you’ll-miss-it moment of shared understanding. Then Jaemin was looking away, smiling indulgently at Donghyuck, who was rambling on about something or other, like nothing had happened – like he hadn’t just lit a fire in the pit of Yangyang’s stomach with a single look.

This was why he wanted to keep it a secret, Yangyang realized. The fun of it. The thrill. If they admitted the truth to their friends, it would become the object of scrutiny – everyone’s eyes would be on Jaemin directly after a performance. Those precious few minutes would be consumed by experiments and tests and endless questions. He’d have to go without the feeling of Jaemin’s hands on his body in favor of figuring out the continued mystery of how the members of Dream were here at all. Yangyang hadn’t wanted that, so he hadn’t suggested the obvious to Jaemin.

The guilt curdled in his stomach and crawled along his back, burning shame rushing into his cheeks as he shrank down in his seat. He winced to himself at the sound of Jeno and Mark’s carefree laughter from the backseat, followed by an indignant comment from Donghyuck and a wry one from Renjun. Shouldn’t he be doing everything in his power to help them move on, instead of hiding such crucial information from them?

But then again… Jaemin hadn’t suggested they tell the others either. He’d wrapped his hand around Yangyang’s wrist, dragged him to an abandoned hallway, and kissed him so thoroughly he nearly forgot his own name. 

And then he suggested they do it again. No mention of letting the others in on this little discovery of theirs. So maybe…

He met Jaemin’s eyes in the mirror again, and then Yangyang was blushing for an entirely different reason. 

Well... they’d tell the others about it. Just not yet. It wasn’t like they were in any kind of danger or anything – they were already dead. Yangyang could have this – could have Jaemin – to himself for a little while. 

Over the next few weeks, Yangyang signed Phantom up for a wide variety of performances. Open-mic nights, student events, a few local outdoor concerts in nearby parks put on for beginners. It was maybe a little excessive, the number of performances Yangyang roped them into, but if anyone asked, he had a super legitimate excuse – the more they performed, the more well known they became, and the faster they’d be able to meet Chenle and Jisung. At this rate, they’d make it onto the festival circuit in no time. 

Yangyang didn’t black out on stage anymore after the first time. Instead he got to see the crowd of faces staring back at him, smiling and dancing along to the songs, hearing the ringing of the cheering in his ears, the feeling of guitar strings under his fingers and the warm rumble in his chest when he sang. He left every stage breathless, sweaty, and exhilarated, the ghosts at his side. His performance anxiety was fading with time – which was the second best thing to come out of the performances.

As for the best thing... 

The first performance after the talent show, the moment they got off stage Jaemin reached subtly, almost tentatively for Yangyang’s hand as the others rejoiced over their performance, congratulating each other for a job well done. Seeing him approach, Yangyang held his breath, anticipatory, and –

His fingers made contact. Yangyang felt electricity shoot up his arm, emanating from the point of contact between them. His heart, which had already been pumping hard with adrenaline, picked up the pace even further. They locked eyes and this time, it was Yangyang who made excuses for them to sneak off, saying he’d lost a keychain off his bag and needed to go find it. Jaemin, ever the gentleman, offered to come with and help look. Completely magnanimously, of course. No ulterior motives whatsoever.

This time, they didn’t waste a second. The moment they turned the corner and were out of sight of the others, Jaemin wrapped his arm around Yangyang’s waist possessively, drew him closer, and bit down on his shoulder, hard. Yangyang slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a groan, and gently shoved Jaemin back before grabbing his hand and pulling him into the venue’s bathroom, pushing him into a stall, hurriedly following him in and shutting the door behind them with a slam.

Jaemin went willingly enough, but the moment the stall door swung shut behind them, his hands were back on Yangyang, cradling his jaw and shoving him firmly backwards until his back was slamming into the stall door, and kissing Yangyang like he was the one who might fade any minute. Yangyang’s hands shot to Jaemin’s waist, pulling him closer, closer, closer. 

Jaemin moaned as he was pulled closer, and hands slid up, past Yangyang’s jaw and into his hair, deepening the kiss. Yangyang could feel his fingernails on his scalp, the heat and wet of the kiss, the line of Jaemin’s body, flush against his. 

Jaemin pulled back, gasping. “Okay?”

Yangyang heard the unspoken question. Jaemin’s eyes were softer, probing, as he scanned Yangyang up and down. Is this too much? Am I being too rough?

“Great,” Yangyang said. He was slightly out of breath. “So, so great.” He swallowed, eyeing Jaemin, and figured he should return the question. “Okay?”

“Fucking fantastic,” Jaemin breathed, and then he was diving forward once more to capture Yangyang’s mouth with his. Yangyang could feel his pants tightening, could feel that Jaemin was in a similar state, and he pulled back from the kiss to begin peppering kisses along Jaemin’s jawline, his hands lifting from Jaemin’s waist to dip into the waistband of his jeans. 

“This okay?” Yangyang asked, whispering into the soft skin at the underside of Jaemin’s jaw. He drew back as Jaemin swallowed, pupils blown wide, and nodded. Yangyang smiled, then grabbed Jaemin by the shoulders and turned them both, switching their positions and slamming Jaemin up against the stall door in his place. Jaemin’s gasp of shock faded into a breathy moan as Yangyang popped open the button on Jaemin’s jeans and slid his hand into the waistband of Jaemin’s underwear, taking Jaemin’s cock in his hand.

“Fuck, Yangyang –” Jaemin’s voice came out strangled, and he cut himself off to bury his head in Yangyang’s shoulder, biting down and muffling his moans into Yangyang’s flesh as he began to pump. It was hot and fast and messy, and Yangyang found himself shifting slightly to the side so he could grind up against Jaemin’s leg. 

Yangyang moved, Jaemin’s own body enthusiastically responding, until the world whited out and Yangyang felt himself fall over the edge, dissolving into pleasure. Jaemin went boneless against him, Yangyang’s hand suddenly warm and sticky. 

Jaemin keened and released Yangyang’s shoulder, reaching a shaking hand up to steady his palm against Yangyang’s cheek and bring their mouths together. They stood there, needy and panting into each other’s mouths for a long moment, the two of them riding out their pleasure until finally, Yangyang felt human enough to withdraw from Jaemin’s pants and examine his own hand.

“Oh wow. So ghost jizz doesn’t have any special properties?”

Jaemin laughed, still breathless, burying his face in Yangyang’s shoulder. Yangyang, still giddy and high on a million happy endorphins, couldn’t help but join in, and soon, they were both laughing, bright and carefree. 

“What were you expecting? Ectoplasm?” 

“I don’t know! Don’t ask me!” Yangyang said, finally pulling back from Jaemin slightly, though still keeping one careful hand on his waist – he couldn’t bear to be fully parted from him while he was still flesh and bone. “It just seemed like it might be… I don’t know, translucent or incorporeal or something!”

“Nope,” Jaemin said cheerfully. “Seems like it’s just boring old normal cum.”

“Great,” Yangyang said. “And as attractive as you are, my hand is kinda gross and sticky, so could you…?” He gestured to the stall door latch, just behind Jaemin. 

“Oh! Of course,” Jaemin said, reaching out and opening the door, letting Yangyang leave the stall first, cum-hand carefully held away from his body. Yangyang smiled at the movement. So while Jaemin was like this, he wasn’t just limited to touching Yangyang. He could interact with the physical world around him too. Interesting. 

Yangyang washed his hands as Jaemin re-buttoned his jeans, wincing slightly at his ruined underwear before leaning up against the wall to watch Yangyang.

“I sure fucking hope this goes away when I go ghost mode again,” he said, grimacing. “I don’t have any other clothes.”

“Fuck, I hope so too, for your sake,” Yangyang said. “If not… I’ll bring clean clothes for you to our next gig.” 

“How kind of you to take responsibility,” Jaemin said, flashing him a grin that was all teeth. “I’m not too worried about it, though. I don’t really… feel much at all, as a ghost. Physical sensation isn’t really… a thing I have, anymore.”

“Huh. I guess I hadn’t thought about it,” Yangyang said, finishing up. He shook his hands dry and then wiped them on his own pants, grimacing at the state of his own underwear. “It must be weird, being corporeal again after so long.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin said. His face was inscrutable, a tiny furrow between his brows. “I hadn’t remembered what it felt like to breathe. To have a heartbeat.”

Yangyang swallowed, and looked down at his hands. “Oh. That sucks.”

“Yeah.” 

The silence hung between them for a moment before Yangyang broke it by striding over to Jaemin and pulling him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Jaemin’s broad shoulders and cherishing the feeling of him, solid and present, in his arms. Jaemin froze for a moment before relaxing into the hug, arms coming up to wrap around Yangyang’s midsection.

“We’ll figure it out, Jaemin. You won’t be stuck in limbo like this forever.”

“I know.” Jaemin’s voice was quiet. “It’s just… the others, they’ve sort of… accepted it, you know? Not totally, not yet. It sucks, and it isn’t fair, but they’ve been at least trying to make their peace with it. Getting ready to move on. But I…” He swallowed, and Yangyang could feel the race of his pulse. “I don’t know if I’m ready. If I’ll ever be ready.” His voice broke, just slightly, and it tugged at Yangyang’s heartstrings. “I wish I could stay here, just like this, with you, forever.”

“I wish you could, too,” Yangyang breathed, the admittance feeling forbidden. “But if you can’t… I hope you’ll be able to be happy. There’s still plenty of time before we’re able to meet Chenle and Jisung.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin whispered, burying his nose in Yangyang’s hair and breathing in. “I’ll try.”

They stayed there, swaying in each other’s arms, until Jaemin began to fade again, and they were forced apart once more.

Chapter Text

They established a pattern – perform, make excuses to ditch the rest of the band, find the first semi-private place possible, fuck, clean up, find the others, repeat. 

Their standards for what constituted a private place were, in all honesty, maybe too low – but Yangyang maintained that it was Jaemin’s fault because Jaemin had bewitched him with his beautifully sharp canines and endearingly freakish behavior. 

For example, it turns out that having sex in the back of a car is plenty private, as long the party topping is invisible to most people.

“Dejun’s never going to forgive me for this if he finds out,” Yangyang gasped, throwing his head back against the upholstered backseat of Dejun’s car where he was lying. 

Jaemin, who was currently straddling him, one knee thrown over his torso, the other leg braced against the floor, arms bracketing Yangyang in, stopped littering kisses down Yangyang’s chest to look up and grin at him. “Good thing he’ll never find out, then. Now stop talking about another guy while I’m trying to suck you off.” His voice was teasing, grin never slipping as he leaned up to press his lips to Yangyang’s, letting out a pleased hum when Yangyang arched up into the kiss enthusiastically in response, before returning to pressing a line of kisses down Yangyang’s neck and chest. 

That was the thing about sex with Jaemin, Yangyang had come to find out. It was fucking hot, don’t get him wrong, but more than that – it was fun. Jaemin was rough, but that was the way Yangyang liked it – and afterwards, it was all soft touches and sweet kisses, indulging in each other’s touch before they were torn away from each other again. 

Yangyang shuddered as Jaemin traced one of his nipples with his tongue, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin.

“Christ, Jaemin – cut that out if you want me to last.” Yangyang was breathless, words coming out raspy. Jaemin didn’t respond in words, but he put his teeth back in his mouth and licked up the center of Yangyang’s chest instead, so Yangyang figured the message was received. 

He shuddered at the warmth of Jaemin’s touch, and shivered as Jaemin trailed one hand down Yangyang’s chest to unzip his jeans and pull his dick out of his underwear, wrapping his hand firmly around the root and squeezing gently. 

Yangyang groaned instinctively as Jaemin withdrew his tongue from Yangyang’s chest and dropped a kiss to his lips. Yangyang whimpered, arching his back to push himself up into the kiss when Jaemin began to pull away prematurely, bringing his hands up to bury in Jaemin’s hair. He tugged at the strands, pulling Jaemin closer, and Jaemin moaned appreciatively. He lingered in the kiss, clearly longer than he’d planned, giving in to Yangyang’s unspoken request easily. 

“If you want me to get my mouth on your dick, you’ll have to stop kissing me like that,” Jaemin panted, lips so close to Yangyang’s own that they were brushing as he spoke.

“I don’t know, you seem to be doing alright with just your hands,” Yangyang gasped back, and sure enough, he could feel Jaemin’s lips curl into a smirk, and his hand tightened on Yangyang’s dick and pumped once, drawing another moan from Yangyang’s lips. His hips shuddered, fucking into Jaemin’s hand almost absentmindedly – his body’s natural response.  

“I’m glad you appreciate my handjob skills, darling, but I’d actually really hoped to have you fuck my mouth today, if you’d be willing,” Jaemin said, and Yangyang actually lost the ability to form words for a second there. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he mumbled, trying to ignore the way heat was rushing south, his cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment – how the hell was Jaemin still so eloquent?

Jaemin grinned like that cat that caught the canary, and began moving down Yangyang’s body, trailing kisses down Yangyang’s neck and chest as he went. “Don’t let go of my hair, darling.”

“Won’t,” Yangyang gasped, and then Jaemin was licking a stripe across the head of Yangyang’s cock and Yangyang couldn’t have said anything more if he wanted to. He could feel Jaemin using his tongue to lick along the shaft, and swirl around his head – clearly feeling out where Yangyang was most sensitive, listening intently to Yangyang’s broken moans. His hands tightened in Jaemin’s hair at the feeling, and then Jaemin was taking his dick fully into his mouth. 

Yangyang fucked into Jaemin’s mouth, guiding Jaemin’s head as they found a rhythm. Like everything with Jaemin, it was quick – he set an unforgiving pace as he sucked. Jaemin was fucking incredible – his mouth was so fucking tight as he moved up and down the length of Yangyang’s dick. The heat was coiling up in the pit of Yangyang’s stomach, and before long, the tension became nearly too much to bear.

“Jaemin, I’m gonna –” The tension snapped, and he was spilling into Jaemin’s mouth. Jaemin choked slightly, caught off guard, and a few errant drops of cum dripped from his lips, but he swallowed quickly, his tongue darting out to catch them before they dripped from his chin. He was beautiful like this, lips slick with saliva and cum, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. Yangyang’s hand was still in his hair, and it was sticking up every which way. It should have looked stupid, but in Yangyang’s opinion, he’d never looked more beautiful.

“Wouldn’t want to get Dejun’s car messy,” Jaemin said, devilish grin on his features, voice gravelly and wrecked by Yangyang’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

Yangyang let out a gasping laugh and let his head fall back onto the seat.

“Oh, fuck off, who cares about Dejun’s car right now. Get up here.” Yangyang accompanied his words with a slight tug on Jaemin’s hair, and Jaemin grinned, going easily until he was back in Yangyang’s arms, kneeling over him and pressing kiss after kiss to Yangyang’s lips. He could taste himself on Jaemin’s tongue, and he grimaced slightly. 

“I need to eat more fruit.” 

Jaemin laughed. “Trust me, that was the last thing on my mind. Besides,” he grinned. “I don’t mind bitter flavors. I used to drink iced americanos with eight shots of espresso.”

“How are you – Damn. I was about to ask how are you alive, but well.”

Jaemin collapsed on top of Yangyang in a puddle of laughter, grinding lazily against Yangyang’s thigh. Yangyang removed one hand from Jaemin’s hair to cup him through his jeans, rubbing his fingers up and down Jaemin’s length, just to tease him a bit. Jaemin whined under his breath, so Yangyang slipped his hand past his waistband, fingers just barely brushing against Jaemin’s skin. Jaemin’s whine morphed into a full-blown moan, and Yangyang took a breath before fully committing, slipping his hand into Jaemin’s underwear to return the favor. 

Jaemin was already hard, close to the edge – Yangyang circled his fingers around Jaemin, slowly first, testing the feeling of having him in his hand. He slid his hand down his shaft until he reached the head, already dripping precum. He swiped his pointer finger across the tip to spread the precum over the head, and Jaemin growled, burying his head in Yangyang’s shoulder. Yangyang felt the familiar feeling of sharp teeth biting down into his shoulder, muffling a moan. Jaemin let out a broken grunt as Yangyang’s hand began to move, rubbing more insistently against Yangyang’s hand. 

Yangyang responded by pumping up and down, picking up the pace, and Jaemin detached himself from Yangyang’s shoulder and shifted so he could kiss Yangyang again, hoisting himself back up over Yangyang to deepen the kiss and fuck into Yangyang’s hand desperately. Yangyang, well aware of how to push every single last one of Jaemin’s buttons, raised his free hand to grasp the nape of Jaemin’s neck, digging into his flesh with his nails and pulling him even closer. He moaned into Jaemin’s mouth, and Jaemin responded fervently, biting at his bottom lip and panting desperately into his mouth. Yangyang bit him back, trading rough kisses with him until Jaemin was too breathless to kiss back. 

The only warning Yangyang received was a whine at the back of Jaemin’s throat before he was suddenly spilling into Yangyang’s hand with a sharp intake of breath, followed by a breathy moan, and going boneless in Yangyang’s arms.

“Good?” Yangyang asked.

“With you? Always,” Jaemin said breathlessly, eyes sparkling. He settled back down into Yangyang’s side and they curled around each other, trading lazy kisses as they came down.  

“We have to get back to the others soon,” Yangyang said after another few minutes. “What did we say this time?”

“Said you left something in Dejun’s car,” Jaemin said, grinning. “We’ve still got a couple more minutes before they come looking, since you threw in that you weren’t sure you remembered where he’d parked it.”

“Nice,” Yangyang said, nodding approvingly. “Good job, past me.” Jaemin laughed again, and Yangyang happily silenced him with another kiss. They lay there until Jaemin began to fade, and then they reluctantly cleaned up and headed back to the others. 

Yangyang bounced back into the green room with Jaemin on his heels and said, “Fuck’s sake, I can’t believe it took me so long to find the car. Jaemin was no help whatsoever.”

Jaemin had faked offense, the other members of Dream had laughed, and once again, they’d somehow gotten off scot-free.

But, like all good things, it was bound to come to an end – and come to an end it did, about four performances later. 

By that point, Yangyang and the others were growing far more comfortable performing together, and Dejun had seen a flyer for some kind of school festival and suggested they sign up. Dejun had been a saint through all of this, attending as many performances as he could and lending his car to Yangyang for the ones he couldn’t.

And Yangyang had repaid him by having sex with Jaemin in his backseat. He felt pretty bad about that – he kinda wanted to pay to have Dejun’s car detailed, but that would prompt a whole host of questions he was unprepared to answer, so… he’d just feel guilty in silence for now.

Anyway, Dejun had suggested signing up – it was at a local middle school, apparently. They were putting on a festival to celebrate the end of exams, and were trying to get bands from the local community, especially the college, to sign up. Yangyang had put it on the roster without a second thought. He wasn’t going to turn down any opportunity for Phantom to perform. 

The day of the festival arrived, and since it was on a weekend, Dejun was available to drive them, so the whole gang happily piled into the car, Yangyang in the passenger seat, and made their way to the middle school. 

They arrived and went through their usual pre-show checklist – including the strange pantomime that Yangyang did every time, setting up projectors and wiring that would be “projecting” his ghostly band members, all while Jaemin followed him around making silly faces at him and silently judging the other acts.  

They were performing outside, which was slightly problematic for the cover story of being a hologram band, given that projectors didn’t tend to work well in direct sunlight – but Yangyang just insisted to the stage manager that he had really powerful projectors that he’d ordered from overseas. The stage manager was a pretty young kid who introduced himself as Sakuya, and thankfully, he didn’t have enough knowledge of projectors not to take Yangyang at his word.

After setting up, Yangyang and Jaemin met up with the other members of Dream in one of the empty classrooms that had been designated as a green room for the visiting performers, and the six of them found a spot in the hallway where Yangyanag could talk with them without looking crazy.  

Mark gave them a pep talk, led them in a little cheer, and then they settled in to wait. Mark told Yangyang that they used to always cheer right before going on stage – but they had graciously agreed to do it earlier so that Yangyang didn’t look like a basket case cheering to himself in the wings. 

About twenty minutes later, they were called to get ready to go on, and then they were filing out, ready to take their positions. They huddled together in a group around Yangyang, hyping each other up while Yangyang silently nodded at each of them in turn, and then they were up.

They walked onstage to claps and cheers – Phantom was becoming more well known, and now, instead of polite applause, they were welcomed with a roar of excitement. Grinning, Yangyang looped his guitar over his shoulder. To his left and right, he could see Jaemin and Renjun out of the corner of his eyes doing the same. Mark was adjusting a microphone, standing just behind him, and in the back, Yangyang could hear Jeno moving around a bit, settling behind his drum set. Donghyuck was to Jaemin’s left, wiggling his fingers and then carefully placing them down on the keys, a confident smile growing on his face.  

“Thanks everybody! I’m Yangyang, and we are Phantom!”

Most of the crowd cheered, but Yangyang could still make out some confused whispers at the use of we . He grinned, and strummed the opening chord for their first song.  

It started out slow, melancholy. Yangyang sang the opening gently, tenderly.

Running from the past,
Tripping on the now,
What’s lost can be found,
It’s obvious.  

The crowd swayed back and forth, some closing their eyes as they listened, until Yangyang upped the tempo, building to a drop. 

And like a rubber ball, 
We come bouncing back.
We’ve all got a second act,
Inside of us… 

Yangyang grinned as Jeno slammed his drumsticks down, Donghyuck’s fingers hit the keys, and Renjun and Jaemin hit their first chord, as Mark stepped forward, microphone in hand. He knew the exact moment they became visible, because the crowd gasped as the song took on a faster pace. Mark’s voice joined Yangyang’s on the chorus, the two of them singing to each other, wide smiles spreading across their faces.

  I believe, I believe,
That we are just one dream
Away from who we’re meant to be –
That we’re standing on the edge of –  

Mark took over from him as Yangyang slung his guitar over his shoulder and moved closer to Jaemin to allow Mark to take center stage. Mark slotted his microphone into the mic stand and leaned into it, singing, 

Something big, something crazy,
Our best days are yet unknown,
This moment is ours to own,
We’re standing on the edge of great!

Yangyang could feel the pulse of the music under his skin as he moved to the rhythm, dancing beside Jaemin, looking deep into his eyes.  

On the edge of great!   

The whole band echoed Mark in a call and response, Yangyang and Jaemin sharing a microphone. Yangyang could see the way sweat clung to Jaemin’s brow, the artful way his hair swept across his forehead. He grinned wide enough to match Jaemin’s own smile, the warmth of performing thrumming in his chest.

On the edge of great!  

Donghyuck and Renjun were playing together, Donghyuck’s hands flying across the keys while Renjun’s slammed into the fretboard, both of them grinning wide, throwing glances Jeno’s way as he closed his eyes and played his drums. Mark leaned into the mic, taking them out of the chorus by singing, 

‘Cause we’re standing on the edge of great!

Donghyuck slid in easily, his voice honeyed and smooth, as Mark backed away from the microphone.

We all make mistakes,
But they’re just stepping stones
To take us where we wanna go.
It’s never straight, no.  

Renjun’s voice joined his, their voices blending together into perfect, satisfying harmony as Jeno kept the beat.

Sometimes we gotta lean,
Lean on someone else
To get a little help,
Until we find our way

Mark, who had stepped away and been vibing with Jeno back by the drums, returned to the microphone to lead them into the chorus.

I believe, I believe,
That we are just one dream
Away from who we’re meant to be –
That we’re standing on the edge of great!

Yangyang grinned, leaning into Jaemin’s space.

On the edge of great!

He saw a spark of heat in Jaemin’s eyes, a promise for later. His teeth glinted as he smiled, and Yangyang couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

On the edge of great!

It was Donghyuck who sang them out this time, before taking them straight into the bridge.

‘Cause we’re standing on the edge of great!
So shout, shout!
Come on, let it out, out!
Let your colors blind their eyes
Be who you are, no compromise!  

Mark came back to the center, and Yangyang turned away from Jaemin to join him. At this point in the performance, they were giving it their all – and it showed. Mark was flushed, eyes bright as they sang, 

Just shout, shout!
Come on, let it out, out!
What doesn’t kill you makes you feel alive!

They moved into a final chorus, Mark and Yangyang moving around the stage, dancing with each member.  

I believe, I believe,
That we are just one dream
Away from who we’re meant to be –
That we’re standing on the edge of great!

Yangyang bumped shoulders with Renjun.

On the edge of great!

He shimmied a bit with Donghyuck. 

On the edge of great!

He bopped his head along with Jeno’s, and finally returned to the center to join Mark.

‘Cause we’re standing on the edge of great.  

Jaemin moved closer to Yangyang, joining him for the end of the song. Mark stepped back and vanished from the crowd’s sight along with the rest of the members, leaving the two of them alone on stage, gazing into each other’s eyes. The tempo slowed to a sentimental crawl and their voices melted together as they sang,

Running from the past,
Tripping on the now…

Jaemin’s eyes were warm on Yangyang’s, before they flickered down – resting for a split second on his lips before rising once again to meet his gaze.  

What’s lost can be found,
It’s obvious.

Yangyang saw the corner of Jaemin’s lips turn up in a smile, and then he presumably vanished from sight, because the crowd, which had been suspended in silence, exploded into cheers. Yangyang let the smile overtake his features, waving to the crowd as they made their way off stage. 

“Fuck yes,” Donghyuck said. “That was great, guys!”

“Our best one yet, for sure,” Mark said, smiling around at them all fondly. “Really well done.”

“We’ll be on the festival circuit in no time,” Jeno agreed, grinning widely. He wrapped an arm around Renjun’s shoulders, pulling him in. “Don’t you think, Renjun?”

Renjun would usually push him off and grumble something about annoying band members with no concept of personal space, but the thrill of a good performance must have gotten to him too, because he just rolled his eyes fondly and said, “If you say so,” with a smile he couldn’t quite hide.

The moment they were in a private space, Yangyang spoke up himself. “Seriously, you guys, my stage fright has gotten so much better, and it’s all thanks to you guys. I know I say it every performance, but thank you.”

“And like we say every performance, you’re welcome,” Donghyuck said, grinning widely. 

“Speaking of thank yous and you’re welcomes,” Jaemin interjected. “I have something I wanted to tell Yangyang in private, if you all don’t mind.”

“Go for it,” Renjun said, rolling his eyes. 

“I was about to say that you two needed to head out,” Donghyuck snickered. 

“Wait, what do you mean?” Yangyang said, trying to act oblivious. All of them shot him a blank stare, so clearly he didn’t do a very good job.

“Don’t play dumb,” Renjun said. “We’ve literally all noticed that you and Jaemin sneak off together after performances.”

“It would be kind of impossible not to notice, to be honest,” Donghyuck added with a snort. 

“I thought we agreed we were going to let them tell us what was going on when they were ready?” Jeno said mildly. Renjun and Donghyuck looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and then laughed.  

“They were taking too long,” Donghyuck said. “Anyway, Jaemin, we’ve all noticed it, so you don’t need to make excuses for speaking with your boyfriend alone.” 

“Great!” Jaemin said brightly, completely unphased by the turn in the conversation. “I will, then. Thanks, Donghyuck! Let’s go, Yangyang.” Donghyuck let out a squawk of protest, but Yangyang was already following Jaemin out the door. He shrugged back at them, struggling to hold in a laugh at the looks on Donghyuck and Renjun’s faces. Mark and Jeno, on the other hand, weren’t bothering to hold back their own laughter.

“Surely you saw this coming,” Mark was saying as the door swung shut behind them. “That’s so typical of Jaemin –”

The moment they were out the door, Jaemin grabbed Yangyang’s hand properly and began pulling him down the hallway. They only had a few short minutes like this, and he clearly intended to make the most of it. Yangyang could feel the heat rising in him already, an almost Pavlovian response to Jaemin’s touch.  

They were about to turn another corner when Yangyang heard a familiar voice call his name, and his blood ran cold.

“Yangyang!” 

Yangyang stuttered to a stop so suddenly that Jaemin’s hand slipped from his. Jaemin whipped around, eyes widening as he looked at someone over Yangyang’s shoulder. 

“Doyoung?” Jaemin whispered, in disbelief even as his uncle bore down on them. 

“Yangyang!” Yangyang was frozen as he felt a hand on his arm, and suddenly he was being spun around to face a frantic Doyoung, hair messy, eyes wild. He swallowed. 

“That was Jaemin,” Doyoung said. He reached out and grabbed Yangyang’s other arm, gripping him tight. “Tell me that was Jaemin – tell me I haven’t gone so crazy with grief that I imagined my nephew and his friends up on that stage at your side.” He’d sounded so sure, but now the slightest bit of doubt was creeping into his voice, distrust in his own senses. 

“Doyoung.” Jaemin sounded heartbroken as he stepped forward until he was shoulder to shoulder with Yangyang. He didn’t dare to look to the side and catch Jaemin’s eye, couldn’t bear to break eye contact with Doyoung, who was scanning his eyes desperately, as if he could pry the truth out of Yangyang with his gaze alone.

For a split second, Yangyang considered lying – keeping up the facade. But really, hiding it at this point would be cruel. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and said – 

“It was Jaemin. He’s here right now.” Almost as if he was waiting for permission, the moment the words left Yangyang’s lips, Jaemin was reaching out. For a moment, Yangyang felt the familiar fear that used to accompany these moments – what if he passed straight through? 

Yangyang had worried for nothing – the moment Jaemin’s hand made contact with Doyoung’s arm, Doyoung gasped, his eyes jerking away from Yangyang over to Jaemin. Something about Jaemin touching him must have allowed Doyoung to see him. There was a long moment of silence, all of them frozen in a nondescript school hallway, the sounds of the school festival muffled in the distance as Doyoung drank in the sight of his long-dead nephew. 

Then, there was a broken cry – Yangyang couldn’t tell which of them it had come from – and the two of them were throwing themselves at one another. Doyoung’s arms wrapped around Jaemin, pulling him to his chest, and Yangyang saw Jaemin’s fingers bury themselves in the back of Doyoung’s shirt, scrunching the fabric desperately as he scrambled for a better hold on his uncle. 

Doyoung was saying Jaemin’s name over and over again, chanting it like a prayer, and then he pulled away from the hug to look Jaemin in the eyes, to scan him up and down, reassuring himself that Jaemin was real.

“How?” he asked, tears in his eyes. 

“I don’t know.” Jaemin’s cheeks were wet with tears, hands and forearms clutching Doyoung’s desperately, both of them caught up in the moment. Yangyang could feel tears building in his own eyes at the sight.

Doyoung tore his eyes away from Jaemin to throw a questioning look Yangyang's way, but he just shook his head, huffing a laugh of disbelief.  

“Yeah. It’s a mystery to all of us.” 

“So, last month, when you visited me…” Doyoung’s eyes widened and he snapped his gaze back to Jaemin, a fresh wave of tears pooling in his eyes. “Oh, Jaemin.”

“You had to know,” Jaemin said, voice thick with tears. “I needed you to know–” His voice broke. “– that I forgave you, of course I forgave you, there was barely anything to forgive. You were trying your best –”

“It wasn’t enough,” Doyoung interrupted. Jaemin opened his mouth to protest, but Doyoung just huffed and pulled him in again. “No arguing with me, I’m your uncle.”  

“Like that ever stopped me,” Jaemin grumbled, though his complaints were muffled in Doyoung’s shirt. Doyoung let out a wet laugh.

“It’s a miracle,” he breathed, and squeezed Jaemin tight. “I don’t care how it happened.”

“I’ll give you two some space,” Yangyang said. “Doyoung, if he… fades, come find me. I’ll be just around the corner.”

Doyoung looked up at Yangyang in alarm. “What do you mean, if he fades? He’s right here. I’m holding him.” 

“I died, Doyoungie,” Jaemin said softly. “I’m physical right now, but it won’t last for long. I’m only able to be like this for a little while after performing, and then I go all incorporeal and invisible again. But let’s not worry about that for now, okay? I should have about, uh…”

“Ten to thirteen more minutes,” Yangyang interjected. They both looked at him, and he tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I’ve been timing it. It’s been between fifteen and twenty minutes every time, so.” He scratched at the back of his neck.

“I didn’t know you’d been paying such close attention,” Jaemin said, and there was something on his face that Yangyang couldn’t name – something quiet and wondering. 

“Of course I was,” Yangyang said. He swallowed, hesitating, and then thought, fuck it. “I can’t help but keep track of how long I have to hold you.” 

Jaemin’s features softened, and his eyes welled up with tears again. “Oh.”

(“Why do I feel like I’m the one who should give you two some space,” Doyoung muttered under his breath. Jaemin subtly elbowed him in the ribs.)

“Yeah,” Yangyang said. “So, like I said… I’ll just be around the corner.” He pointed awkwardly over his shoulder, then turned and fled.

Once he rounded the corner and was out of sight, he slumped against the wall, holding a hand to his chest, trying to slow his racing heart. Eventually, he slid down the wall and sat down on the tiled floor in the hallway, pulling his phone out to text Dejun. 

yangyang:
hey gonna be a sec before we come find you. jaemins uncle is here

dejun (roommate): 
oh what the fuck

dejun (roommate):
is he okay??????

yangyang:
Yeah yeah hes fine its just… shocked that his dead nephew was up on stage performing

yangyang: 
he has a lot of questions  

yangyang :
understandably

dejun (roommate):
yeah no shit

dejun (roommate):
are u telling him the truth?

yangyang:
jaemin is

dejun (roommate):
???????

yangyang:
ill explain later

dejun (roommate):
i’ll hold you to that

dejun (roommate): 
<3  

Yangyang sighed, looking at the heart, and locked his phone. He was going to need his best friend’s support later. He shut his eyes and tipped his head back, leaning against the wall, his mind running back through the weeks of sneaking around with Jaemin, the passionate kisses and breathless laughter.  

That was all over now – the secret was out. It felt like the bubble of unreality that he and Jaemin had so carefully constructed had popped, when Yangyang saw Doyoung break down in tears at the sight of his dead nephew, returned from the grave. It was fucked up to keep pretending like this was something it wasn’t. Jaemin was dead, and Yangyang was alive, and it was Yangyang’s responsibility to help Jaemin move on, not make him more attached to a world he could never fully return to. 

You see, Yangyang had been watching carefully. Conducting some experiments of his own. He’d brushed his shoulder up against Donghyuck’s after a performance two weeks ago, and unlike Jaemin, who was solid and real so soon after a performance, Donghyuck was still completely untouchable. He’d repeated the experiment with Mark during their next performance, offering a high five that Mark had laughed at and jokingly returned, hand passing through Yangyang’s own with no connection.

Trying to give Jeno a hug and Renjun a clap on the back yielded the same results – it was only Jaemin who materialized after a performance, and for weeks, Yangyang had wondered why.  

The only answer he could come up with – the only one that made any sense at all – was from Jaemin’s own lips.

“The others, they’ve sort of… accepted it, you know? But I… I don’t know if I’m ready. If I’ll ever be ready.”  

Yangyang swallowed, and felt a single tear slip from his closed eyes, burning a path down his cheek and leaving sticky salt in its wake.

“I wish I could stay here, just like this, with you, forever.”

If only.  

The reality was that Jaemin was dead. Following Yangyang around all day, mimicking Yangyang’s routines and trying to live Yangyang’s life instead of working on making peace with his own death… it wasn’t good for Jaemin. Somewhere, deep down, Yangyang had known that. He had never put a stop to it because selfishly, he wanted Jaemin by his side, always. But Yangyang was just holding Jaemin back.  

The reality of the situation was starting to hit him, but before Yangyang could give into the terrible feeling of helplessness and heartbreak that was beginning to overwhelm him at this realization, Doyoung was rounding the corner, trailed by a sad-looking Jaemin. 

“He started fading a few minutes ago, but he said he would still be here. That you could see him,” Doyoung said, wiping snot and tears from his face. Yangyang swallowed and met Jaemin’s eyes over Doyoung’s shoulder, and pulled himself together. 

“Yeah. That’s true. He’s still right beside you.”

Doyoung sighed, and sat down next to Yangyang, back against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest. He grunted, wincing.  

“God, I’m too old to be sitting on tile floors like this,” he grumbled. Jaemin snorted at him. Yangyang smiled slightly at the sound. Doyoung looked over to Yangyang. “So, you can still see him. Are you some kind of psychic? A medium, or something?” 

“Not to my knowledge,” Yangyang said, shaking his head. “It’s just Dream. As far as I’m aware, they’re the only ghosts in the world – but what would I know?”

“We aren’t,” Jaemin interjected.  

“What?” Yangyang asked, whipping his head over to look at Jaemin.  

“What?” Doyoung asked, looking between Yangyang and the seemingly-empty space that Jaemin occupied.

“Jaemin said they aren’t the only ghosts in the world,” Yangyang said. Doyoung’s eyebrows raised. “I’m wondering why he always keeps vitally important information to himself when he could be sharing it with the class.”

“I haven’t personally met any other ghosts,” Jaemin said, raising his hands in surrender. “Renjun and Donghyuck have just mentioned meeting some other ghosts, and, well.” He winced. “We… we might have been keeping something from you.” 

Yangyang frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s… well, I was going to say it’s nothing bad, but it’s not nothing bad, it’s pretty bad, to be honest. But we didn’t want you to worry and you’re already doing the best you can, so it seemed kind of pointless to bring it up, and –” Jaemin’s nervous rambling was cut off by Yangyang, who held up a hand to stop him. 

“Jaemin,” Yangyang said, seriously. “What is it?”

“Well.” Jaemin pursed his lips, then bit them. “It’s kind of complicated.” 

Record Scratch. Freeze Frame.

It is easier, much easier, to simply rewind and show you this part, instead of having to hear Jaemin retell it secondhand. Because this next part has nothing to do with Jaemin himself at all.

Huang Renjun is the first to admit that when he first lands in Mark’s old backyard, Yangyang’s current backyard, and realizes he’s dead, he’s pissed. It’s fucked up, and fucking unfair, and Renjun wants to scream at the universe until his throat is raw and bleeding.  

But he’s pragmatic. While it’s true that it was unfair, Renjun knew that in the end, life itself – and death, too, apparently – isn’t supposed to be fair. In fact, he’s incredibly lucky to get any extra time on Earth at all.

So Renjun takes to exploring the city, waiting for life’s unfairness to go from something objectively true to something he can accept. Sometimes he’s alone, sometimes he has his friends – most often, Donghyuck – by his side. 

He visits all his old haunts – the bars they used to perform at, the parks he went to as a child with his parents and siblings. His college campus, with its multiple libraries, and the music rooms where Renjun once spent countless hours practicing guitar, and later, electric bass. 

He’s also discovered that they aren’t the only ghosts that linger on past their deaths. It’s rare, but every so often he’ll meet someone that nobody else can see – someone who is usually pretty surprised that Renjun can see them, much less speak to them.

Unfortunately, none of these other ghosts ever seem to know anything more than what the members of Dream already figured out for themselves. They all died, and then in the next blink, were half-alive again as ghosts, often years after their deaths. Renjun consigns it to the long list of things he doesn’t understand about his current predicament, and doesn’t think too much further on the issue. 

One day, a few weeks after they discover that playing music with Yangyang is its own kind of magic, Renjun is out exploring the city center with Donghyuck. The two of them are bored out of their minds, and decide that it would be fun to go out for a while, since Mark and Jeno are nowhere to be found and Yangyang is in class.  

As for Jaemin, there’s no doubt that Jaemin is also in Yangyang’s class. Renjun doesn’t really understand his obsession with Yangyang – he isn’t sure how much of it was infatuation with the man itself, and how much of it was infatuation with his life.  

It’s pretty obvious to all of them that Jaemin, unlike the rest of them, can’t seem to even begin to make peace with his – their – deaths. Sure, he jokes about it and defies the laws of physics for fun because nobody but his friends (and Yangyang. Renjun wasn’t sure he qualified as Jaemin’s friend, considering how they looked at each other) can see him, but any attempts to talk about it, to really talk about it, are consistently stonewalled. 

By this point, Renjun has had heart to hearts with everyone but Jaemin, and that’s by Jaemin’s own design. After checking in with the others, it appears they’re all in the same boat. Mark and Jeno, persistent worrywarts that they are, keep on trying, but Donghyuck agrees with Renjun that if Jaemin isn’t ready to confront reality, they can’t force him. 

“I’ve already told Mark that he needs to let it go,” Donghyuck says. The two of them are sitting atop a half-wall in the park that divided the playground from a larger field, people watching. “Jaemin is Jaemin. He needs more time than the rest of us. Always has, especially for stuff like this.” 

“You’re preaching to the choir, Donghyuck,” Renjun says with a roll of his eyes. Donghyuck returns the eye-roll by shoving Renjun slightly with his shoulder. Renjun considers retaliating, but decides he does actually want to have this conversation and instead lets it go with a sigh. “I just wish he would stop shutting us out.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck muses, leaning back to survey the park. “Some people never really get the chance to learn how to properly let go of things.” His eyes are shining with something knowing, almost pitying – though the pity isn’t directed at Renjun. Renjun follows his gaze, watching groups of children run and play, climbing enthusiastically over the play structures, laughing and calling to their friends under the watchful eye of their parents.  

His eyes catch on one child in particular, a lone boy sitting quietly under the stairs in the wood chips. He holds a stuffed dog with a green ear loosely in his hands, and even from this distance, Renjun can tell his eyes are red-rimmed. He stands out for a reason – he’s looking back at them. Not through them, unseeing – but directly at them. 

“Oh,” Renjun says. He can feel a lump in his throat. Beside him, Donghyuck’s lips have flattened into a grim line. 

“Yeah.” Donghyuck sighs, then stands, straightening, and directs a smile the kid’s way. He waves to the kid, who waves shyly back. “We can’t fix things for Jaemin, or for this kid. But we can make things a little brighter. Wanna play for a bit?” Before Renjun can answer, Donghyuck is already waving the kid over, smile widening.

“Not even gonna wait for an answer? Typical,” Renjun huffs, but a fond smile is already pulling at the corner of his lips, unable to be contained. Donghyuck rolls his eyes at Renjun as the kid stumbles to his feet, making his way over to them with hurried, excited steps.

“You can pretend to be a tough guy all you want, Huang Renjun. I’m onto you.”

They meet the ghost-child, a young boy named Ryo, who apparently passed away from a disease that he’d been too young to comprehend. 

“What about you?” He asks, all childish innocence. Renjun swallows the lump in his throat and says,

“A car crash. Honestly, I don’t recommend it.”

“Sounds less nice than what happened to me,” Ryo murmurs shyly. “All my favorite stuffies were there, and my mom and dad and brother, and my aunties and uncles. And then I just went to sleep. So it wasn’t that bad, really.”

Donghyuck smiles at him and ruffles his hair. “It sounds like you were very brave.” Ryo grins up at him, hero worship in his eyes, and then Donghyuck is turning to Renjun with a grin and saying, “Doesn’t he look a lot like you when he smiles?” 

Renjun can see the resemblance.

It’s weird, being a ghost – he feels like he should be constrained by natural laws, but all it takes is a single thought, and he has a guitar in his hands, strap slung over his shoulder. It isn’t just any guitar, either – it’s Renjun’s own, complete with the familiar scratches on the body near the strings, the peeling flower sticker Mark got him as a birthday gift so long ago, the unique spade-shaped tuning pegs that Jaemin insists are actually hearts, the strap that Jeno embroidered with a pattern of clouds and stars. In a way, he supposes that it makes sense that he can call his instruments to him at will and play them despite his incorporeality – his music is a part of him, after all.

He looks over to Donghyuck, who has sat back down on the wall, fingers hovering over the keys on his keyboard. Renjun smiles, and sits next to him, leaving a space for Ryo to sit between them. Grinning, he hops up beside them, looking between the two of them excitedly. 

“Any requests?” Donghyuck asks, smiling indulgently. Ryo lights up brighter than the sun in the sky, and rattles off a classic song that thankfully, Renjun remembers the chords to well enough. He doesn’t remember it well enough to know the words, but it seems like Donghyuck has them covered – and Ryo is enthusiastic enough to sing along when Donghyuck stumbles. 

They pass some time like this, playing song after song for Ryo there in the park. He’s an excellent audience m– singing along to the words he knows, bobbing his head to the rhythm when he doesn't remember the lyrics. At one point, he gets up to dance. They’re just finishing their sixth – or maybe seventh? – song, when Renjun hears someone clapping, and a voice say,

“Hey, that was awesome! You guys are really good!” Renjun looks up to see a ghost around their age. He’s wearing a beanie, jeans, and a sweater with a hideous pattern. Seriously, Renjun’s eyes are bleeding. The whole look is completed by the skateboard he’s leaning against his side so his hands can be free to applaud. He has a wide smile on his face as he continues, “Were you guys musicians or something?”

“Thanks,” Donghyuck says, flashing him a grin. “We were, actually. Nice of you to notice. I’m Donghyuck, he’s Renjun, and this is Ryo.”

“Hey,” Renjun says, waving. Ryo waves along. The guy smiles even wider.  

“Nice to meet you guys! I’m Hendery. I skate around here pretty often – are you guys new? I haven’t seen you around before.” 

“Eh, not really new. Just haven’t hung around this specific park all that much,” Donghyuck says, shrugging. He’s always been more of a social butterfly than Renjun. “I think Ryo hangs out around here, though.” 

“Yep!” Ryo says. “I only woke up here a few days ago, though.” Hendery trades sympathetic looks with Renjun and Donghyuck at that. It seems he also doesn’t like to see such a young kid dead. Who would?

“Well, it’s nice to meet you guys!” Hendery says, shaking off the melancholy vibe that the reality of Ryo’s existence brings. “I hope I’ll see you around!” 

Over the next few weeks, Renjun finds himself returning to the park almost daily. He tells himself it’s to check on Ryo, but more often than not, he finds himself chatting with Hendery while Ryo plays off to the side with his stuffed dog, only bothering them to ask Renjun to play a song, or for Hendery to show him a cool skating trick. It’s nice to have someone to talk to about ghost stuff – someone who gets it – that isn’t one of his friends from life.

Hendery is funny – over-dramatic in an oddly charming way. Whenever he trips on his skateboard, he falls to the ground and groans about being in so much pain that he needs Ryo to amputate his limbs immediately. Sometimes, when people come to the park and play loud hip-hop, Hendery dances along, not afraid to look ridiculous if it will make Ryo or Renjun laugh. His skill with the skateboard is impressive – Renjun has never really seen people skate before, but even when comparing Hendery to the living patrons of the park’s skate park, he outshines them easily. In return for Hendery showing him his skills, he passes on Dream’s CD to him, and Hendery promises to find a way to give it a listen.

The other wonderful thing about getting acquainted with Hendery is that Hendery has connections to other ghosts, long-dead people that he brings around to introduce to Renjun, but especially Ryo. It seems like there’s at least some kind of support system that the ghosts in this area have constructed, because Ryo was never alone anymore. 

Renjun meets Jungwoo, a kind ex-office worker who died of a heart attack on his walk home from work, and as a result is always dressed in a suit, despite the fact that Jungwoo himself is the furthest possible thing from stuffy. There’s Kun, who died in a plane crash. Riku, who is younger than Renjun but older than Ryo. 

Renjun becomes friendly with them all – he tells them about how he died, shares that he was in a band, though he keeps the fact that they’re still able to perform to himself. He doesn’t want to make anyone jealous. In return, they show him around the city, chat with him about their lives, and share what they know about being undead.

What they know isn’t much more than Renjun himself, but it’s nice to have new people to talk to. 

The day after their first performance as Phantom, Renjun is buzzing with energy, so he heads to the park, hoping to catch up with Hendery, or at the very least, Ryo. Hendery keeps his own schedule, so he isn’t always at the park, but as far as Renjun can tell, Ryo never seems to leave. 

Once he arrives, he only has to look around for a moment before he sees Hendery – the hideous pattern on his sweater makes him easy to spot. Smiling, Renjun heads over to him. 

“Hendery!” Hendery turns, and the smile on Renjun’s face falls. Hendery looks… devastated. Renjun frowns, rushing over to him. “Hendery. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry,” Hendery says, eyes welling up with tears even as he forces a smile. “Listen, Renjun… let’s sit down.”

“Okay…” Renjun follows Hendery to the wall, sitting down beside him before scanning the playground. “What’s making you so upset? Where’s Ryo?”

“Ryo passed on,” Hendery says, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, even as his eyes shine with tears. Renjun freezes. Hendery huffs out a half-hearted chuckle. “I’m just gonna miss the little guy, that’s all.” 

“Oh,” Renjun says, numb. “Passed on.” There was a pause, where Renjun sits stock still and Hendery wipes at his eyes. “What do you mean, passed on?” 

“He completed his unfinished business,” Hendery says. “Nothing was tying him here anymore, so… he went. Moved on to whatever it is that comes after this.” He’s staring out at the playground, eyes lingering on Ryo’s favorite spot underneath the stairs. “Different ghosts call it different things – moving on, continuing to the beyond, crossing the rainbow bridge – it all means the same thing. It means finding peace.”

“So he’s just… gone?” Renjun hates the way his voice cracks on the words.  

“Yeah,” Hendery says. “I’m happy for him. Little guys like Ryo, they don’t have as much time as us to figure it out, or as many options.”

“I’m… hold on. I was following you, but you kind of lost me. What do you mean, he had less time? Less options? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh,” Hendery looks up at Renjun, surprised. “Shit. Have you not met Yuta yet?”

Renjun thinks back, flipping through the rolodex of ghosts he’s met through Hendery. Nope, no Yuta. He shakes his head. Hendery winces, and scratches the back of his neck.  

“Oh, damn. We usually leave it to Yuta to explain this stuff to the new people. He’s way better at it than anyone else. Here, I’ll give you an address – can you memorize it?” Dumbfounded, and still half in shock from losing Ryo so unexpectedly – they’d had plans to play with Ryo’s stuffed dog the next time he came to visit. That was less than two days ago, and now Renjun will never see him again – Renjun nods. Hendery rattles off an address near the south side of town. “Yuta hangs out over there. If he’s out, just wait – he’ll be back. He can explain it all to you better than I ever could.”

An hour later, Renjun is standing outside 127 Citizen Street, looking at what appears to be the entrance to some kind of club. The road is off the beaten path, the entrance to the club easy to miss – the only thing to mark the entrance is a sign that read Depth in flickering red neon lights. The place looks closed, the doors chained and locked with a padlock so rusty it has to be impossible to open. Renjun steels himself and walks forward, passing through the door with ease.

On the other side, he finds himself standing in an empty, upscale club. The back half of the room he’s standing in is lined with raised tables, each table accompanied by plush red velvet booths. He’s standing on the edge of what must have been the dance floor, and directly ahead of him is a magnificent stage, complete with stunning, traditional theatre curtains trimmed in gold. He looks up and sees a chandelier, dripping with crystals, and several balconies lining the upper floor – private rooms with a view.  

“Can I help you?” Renjun jumps, and looks to the side to see a man behind the bar. His hair is long, nearly to his shoulders, arms swirling with patterns of ink. His ears are pierced, fingers adorned with rings, and his eyes hold an intensity that roots Renjun to the spot. He leans over the bar, raising an eyebrow, when Renjun takes a second too long to respond. “Well?”

“Right. Sorry.” Renjun shakes himself. “Um. Hi. I’m looking for Yuta?” 

“Congratulations,” the man says, walking out from behind the bar and smiling with teeth so sharp, they put Jaemin’s to shame. “You found him. What did you need?”

“Hendery sent me,” Renjun says. “He said you could… explain what happened with Ryo.”

“Ah.” Yuta’s face falls, ever so slightly. He grimaces, and leads Renjun over to one of the tables. “Let’s sit down for this conversation.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Renjun slides into the booth across from Yuta. Yuta folds his hands on the table and leans forward, studying Renjun intently. “So,” he says. “What do you know so far?” 

“I died,” Renjun says bluntly. “And then… I woke up, alongside most of the members of my band. We died in a car accident on the way to a venue. I know there are other ghosts, and I know that Ryo passed on, which, while sad, makes sense – but then Hendery started talking about options, and running out of time, and I – well, I feel like maybe I don't have the full picture.”

“Hm.” Satisfied, Yuta nods and leans back in his seat. “You’re right about everything so far.” Sighing, Yuta looks down at his hands for a moment, fiddling with one of his rings, before looking back up at Renjun. “Here’s the part you don’t know.”

Yuta explains to Renjun that every ghost has unfinished business – something that keeps them tethered to their half-life. “It can be anything,” Yuta says. “Worry about your children, wanting to say goodbye to a family member, even something as silly as wanting to play a game or eat a meal one last time.” 

Ghosts are not built to last – they aren’t permanent. Their very existence is antithetical to the balance between life and death. “Nature always has a way of restoring the balance,” Yuta says, eyes flashing. “You’re given a certain amount of time to complete your unfinished business and move on before your soul is dissolved – destroyed to restore the balance by force.” 

As they ran out of time, Yuta warns, they will begin to feel soul pains – moments where it feels like they’re beginning to unravel. “It’s a warning that your time is almost up. What Hendery meant, when he said Ryo had less time – typically, a soul is granted a number of weeks equal to the number of years they lived. Younger souls don’t survive as long. It’s why so many of us were staying with Ryo around the clock – we were trying to help him figure out what he needed to do to move on, before it was too late.”

“But Hendery mentioned other options,” Renjun says, horrified. They only had twenty-one weeks, with the exception of Mark, who had twenty-two – and they’ve already used eight. Yuta nods gravely. 

“We’ve figured out something of a workaround,” he says. “My unfinished business was to run a successful nightclub. One that stood the test of time. The thing about unfinished business – it creates exceptions where there usually wouldn’t be any. After all, no unfinished business would ever be finished if it was impossible to complete it,” Yuta says with a wry smile. 

That’s why people can hear us when we play, Renjun realizes. But why only when we’re with Yangyang?  

“I can give you a new tether to life – all you’d have to do is sign a contract with me, agreeing to work at my club for all eternity,” Yuta say, and then he’s pulling a contract out of his suit jacket, laying it down on the table for Renjun to examine. “It’s a good deal. It would tie you to my unfinished business, giving you plenty of time to figure out your own. No time limit bearing down on you.” He gestures to the club around him. “Depth is a bastion of hope for us, Renjun. Plenty of ghosts have signed with me when they were on the edge of destruction, and plenty of them have passed on peacefully since then.” 

“I’d have to discuss it with my band members,” Renjun says. Yuta nods, understanding. 

“Of course. I’ll be here if you decide to take me up on my offer.” He fixes Renjun with a serious look. “I would recommend deciding sooner rather than later. I’ve heard the soul pains can be… excruciating.” With that, he turns and walks away, vanishing behind the bar and leaving Renjun with a lot to think about. 

He debates calling a full meeting with everyone, including Yangyang, but then he thinks better of it. Yangyang is already doing so much for them – putting his schoolwork and other obligations on the backburner to throw himself fully into helping them move on by booking performance, after performance, after performance. This kind of deadline would just stress him out, and for all he likes to rag on Yangyang, Renjun doesn’t actually want to burden him.

So in the end, it’s just the five of them – Renjun, Jeno, Mark, Donghyuck, and Jaemin. Renjun explains their predicament, and watches them all take in this new information, processing it. Mark frowns. 

“Do we trust this Yuta guy, though? We don’t even know if he’s telling us the truth. He sounds like a shady record label, or like… I don’t know, a demon! Trying to make us sign a contract for all eternity?”

“Good grief, Mark,” Donghyuck says, rolling his eyes. “Lighten up. Predatory labels are for sure a thing, but demons? It sounds like Yuta’s just a nice guy who’s trying to help us out. It’s not like he forced Renjun to sign anything. He just gave him another option, in case we don’t complete our unfinished business in time.”

“Yeah, but… I see Mark’s point,” Jeno interjects. “It is a little weird that he rocks up with, like, the perfect solution to our problem. If ghosts are real, why can’t demons be real too? We don’t know if the danger he’s claiming is even real.”

“Guys, I know it sounds weird, but Hendery and the other ghosts I’ve met trust him,” Renjun argues. “He wasn’t weird or creepy like you’re making him out to be. What he said made sense.”

Donghyuck nods. “I’ve met Hendery, and a few of the others, when I’ve gone out with Renjun,” he says. “They’re good people.”

“You’ve known them for two weeks,” Mark points out, frowning.

“Okay, okay,” Jeno interjects, always the peacekeeper. “It seems like we’re split, fifty-fifty. So, Jaemin can be our tiebreaker. What do you think?”

Jaemin, who has been silently observing up to this point, blinks once in surprise at getting called out, then frowns, a thoughtful expression making its way across his features. 

“I think it would be a good idea to wait,” he says after a long moment. “If what Yuta said is true, then we’ll start feeling soul pains at some point. But it’s not a good idea to rush into a contract with a guy we barely know just because something might be wrong. Even if Yuta is telling the truth, we’ve still got a lot of time before we need to seriously consider his offer. So let’s just… keep it in our back pocket for now.”

A moment of silence. 

“So, continue the same as before, at least for now,” Donghyuck says. Jaemin shrugs.

“What harm could it do?”

A lot, Renjun thinks, three weeks later, when they experience their first soul pain.  

Like Yuta had warned, it’s excruciating. The pain is icy, cutting to the very core of him, burning and freezing him all at once. He can feel his sense of self vanishing into the white-hot agony, his nerve endings on fire as he collapses, panting, to the ground. It’s made worse because it’s really the first thing they’ve really felt in months – being a ghost meant a strange lack of physical sensation in general. 

Once the horrible wave of pain passes, Renjun seeks out the others, only to find out that they’ve experienced the exact same thing, at the exact same time.  

Jeno had been alone at home, curled on Yangyang’s couch, when it hit. Mark had been with Donghyuck, writing some song lyrics out in the backyard. Renjun had been out walking to the park, planning to go meet Hendery, before the weakness in the aftermath of the pain made him turn around and go home. Jaemin had apparently managed to sneak away from Yangyang, who had been absorbed in his schoolwork at the library, to have the episode in one of the library’s many study rooms. Unfortunately, it apparently had not been empty, so he’d had to deal with the sensory input of a group of freshmen arguing over their chemistry project on top of the already blinding pain.

“Fuck,” Renjun says, looking around at all their faces, pale and wan, eyes exhausted from the experience. 

“That sums it up pretty neatly,” Jaemin says, trying to inject cheer into his voice. It falls flat.

“I still don’t want to sign the contract,” Mark says, outwardly sheepish – but behind his eyes is a stubborn determination that Renjun is all too familiar with. 

Renjun sighs.  

They continue debating about it over the next several weeks, as the episodes slowly increase in frequency. Thankfully, they aren’t too common just yet, but Renjun and Donghyuck are firmly in agreement that they shouldn’t submit themselves to even one more when they have an alternative. Mark and Jeno are firmly of the opinion that signing a mystery contract was its own kind of danger. And Jaemin – Well.

Jaemin stops showing up to their group meetings, saying that he doesn’t want to have to listen to the same old arguments, and his position on the matter hasn’t changed. Renjun can kind of understand that, but at the same time, not having him there meant they can never make any forward progress, because if they all agree on one thing, it’s that whatever they did, they’d be doing it together. 

They continue performing and trying their best to complete their unfinished business as soon as possible, but the festival circuit has never felt so far away. Maybe it’s the frequent bouts of pain making him maudlin, but Renjun worries that by the time they see Chenle and Jisung again, it will be too late.

Through it all, they hide it from Yangyang, not wanting to take away from the joy he seems to get out of performing, or the hope he clearly has for their peaceful passing – and they do a very good job hiding it from him.  

(The fact that he’s being very effectively distracted by a particular brown-haired bassist with a sharp-toothed grin might also be helping them out on that front.)

Or, they had been doing a good job hiding it from him – until Jaemin, overwhelmed after seeing his uncle and too tired to keep hiding the truth from a boy he was coming to love, spilled the beans. 

Record scratch, freeze frame. Okay, we’re back. 

Yangyang and Doyoung stared at Jaemin, or in Doyoung’s case, in Jaemin’s general direction, in horror. Jaemin winced. 

“Um. So that’s everything. I’m really sorry we kept it from you.”

“Na Jaemin, you absolute… fucking…” Yangyang buried his head in his hands. “What the fuck? What the fuck! Why didn’t you tell me, you idiot!” 

“Yangyang, Yangyang, please, I’m sorry,” Jaemin’s voice was desperate, and suddenly much closer  – Yangyang could see, through the tiny gaps in his hands, that Jaemin had kneeled down and was running his hands up and down along Yangyang’s arms, trying to comfort him even though they could no longer touch each other, this long after a performance. “Please, Yangyang, we just wanted to protect you from it –” 

“How did this protect me?” Yangyang asked, furious. He looked up from his hands to stare Jaemin down, and he shrank back slightly at the force of Yangyang’s fury. “My friends were hurting. I could have been there to comfort them, to help them find a way to solve the problem, but you all shut me out. That wasn’t helpful, or sparing me the burden. Now I feel guilty on top of the burden you tried to spare me from, because I wasn’t there for you, for any of you! What the fuck?” Yangyang laughed hysterically, as it all began to hit him, and he shattered, starting to cry. He had to look disgusting right now – dripping with tears and snot, all of it clogging his sinuses and trickling down the back of his throat, making his voice come out thick and broken. Jaemin made a hurt noise like a wounded animal, reaching desperately for Yangyang, pushing himself into Yangyang’s space even though they couldn’t make contact.  

“I’m sorry, Yangyang,” Jaemin whispered, quiet and broken. “I’m really sorry. We were wrong.”

“Damn right, you were wrong,” Yangyang said, sniffling and wiping at his eyes. 

“I really wish I could give you a hug right now,” Jaemin said, eyes shining with tears. Suddenly, Yangyang felt a pair of arms wrap around him, enveloping him in a hug. For a moment, he froze, but then he melted into them.

“I don’t know what my idiot nephew and his friends were thinking, but we’re going to figure this out,” Doyoung said, squeezing Yangyang tighter. 

At his words, Yangyang couldn’t help but relax a bit. Thank god a real adult was going to help him work on it – he and Dejun had been trying their best, but Yangyang didn’t feel like anything close to a competent human being, even on his best days. He mixed his darks and lights in the wash last week and he still practically lived off of instant ramen. He was definitely not qualified enough to deal with soul pains and the balance between life and death.   

“God, I wish I could thank him for hugging you right now,” Jaemin whispered. 

“Jaemin says he wants to say thank you for hugging me,” Yangyang mumbled into Doyoung’s chest. “I would also like to say thank you for hugging me.” He felt the rumble of Doyoung’s incredulous laughter, and then he was drawing Yangyang closer. 

“Anytime, kid. It’s the least I could do, really.” 

They stayed silent for a while, Yangyang crying it out into Doyoung’s chest while Jaemin whispered soft apologies. Eventually, Yangyang disentangled himself from Doyoung’s arms, wiping his eyes with his hoodie sleeve while Doyoung went to go get some wet paper towels from the bathroom. Once Yangyang was feeling relatively human again, and at least presentable enough that he wouldn’t draw concern from everybody they passed by on their way out, they began to make their way back to the green room to meet with Dejun and the rest of Dream.

“There have to be mediums or psychics or… I don’t know, witches, or something,” Doyoung muttered, half under his breath, as they walked. “Someone who can give us more information.” 

“Ghosts are real, and I can see some of them,” Yangyang said. “Stands to reason that there would be people who could see them all.”

“Exactly,” Doyoung said, determined. “My boyfriend is really into stuff like this. I’ll see if he knows anybody.” 

They made it back to the green room, where Yangyang immediately burst into tears at the sight of Mark, Jeno, Donghyuck, and Renjun, their smiles slipping off their faces to be replaced with looks of concern at his outburst. Dejun rushed to his side, wrapping Yangyang in his arms, speaking with Doyoung over Yangyang’s head as Jaemin hurriedly explained that Yangyang was upset because he knew – and then he was being bombarded with apologies from all sides.

They made it home, eventually, and every member of Dream looked so horribly guilty that Yangyang couldn’t help but forgive them. They were wrong for keeping him in the dark, but they’d been trying to protect him, in their own way. Still, he asked for them to give him a little space.

“I’ll be okay tomorrow,” he promised. “Really. You guys are already half-forgiven, I just…” he winced. “I just need a little time, okay?” He said it mostly to Jaemin, whose eyes softened in understanding. 

“Of course,” Mark said, still looking horrifically guilty for having upset him. “Take all the time you need, okay?” Donghyuck and Jeno nodded, and Renjun opened his mouth to speak before shutting it and nodding as well.

They left. Yangyang shut his bedroom door, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against it, bracing himself for what he knew was going to be the hardest part of this whole, horrible day. Then he sighed, and turned to face Dejun. 

Dejun looked back at him, pity in his eyes, and Yangyang couldn’t even blame him. He probably looked pretty pitiable right now – red rimmed eyes and nose, rumpled clothes and mussed up hair, exhausted from the emotional toll of the day. But Dejun didn’t really judge him – even his pity felt kind. He just looked Yangyang up and down, and said,

“Are you ready to talk about it, or do you want to wait until the morning?”

Gratitude rushed through Yangyang at his friend’s careful thoughtfulness, and his eyes welled up with tears yet again. The human body might be seventy percent water, but by the time this day was over, Yangyang was worried he might end up completely dehydrated. Like a fruit leather made of human skin. He’d already cried so much today, and he was about to cry a whole lot more.

“I have to talk about it tonight,” Yangyang said, reluctantly. “I just want to get it over with.”

Dejun nodded once, understanding, and scooted over on the bed so Yangyang could sink down onto the mattress beside him.

“It all started after that first performance,” he said, and then the whole, sorry story was pouring from his lips like a tsunami. Performing, finding out Jaemin was touchable, finding out that Jaemin was fuckable. Those weeks of sneaking around, the secrets that Jaemin had been hiding. The fear he felt at the thought of his ghostly friends in unimaginable pain, suffering alone, the heartbreak of seeing Doyoung and Jaemin reunite, the realization that Jaemin wasn’t his to keep. 

Yangyang exorcised the story from himself, pulling the words out, one after the other, like poison, purging himself of secrets under Dejun’s kind, watchful gaze. He even admitted to sleeping with Jaemin in the back of Dejun’s car, and it just proved what an incredible friend Dejun really was that the only sign of his annoyance was the slightest twitch of his left eye.

“I’ll pay to get it cleaned, I’ve been feeling so guilty about it Dejun, you have no idea,” Yangyang blubbered, and Dejun just shook his head, lips pulling up into the slightest of smirks, and said,

“You better.” 

Once he was done, everything out in the open, Yangyang felt wrung out. His eyes were dry, all cried out.

“Better?” Dejun asked. 

Yangyang took stock. He felt like absolute shit – his eyes burned from crying all day, his nose was stuffy, every muscle in his whole body ached, and yet…

“Yeah.” Yangyang sniffled. “Better.”

Dejun pulled him into a hug. 

They lay down to sleep that night in Dejun’s bed, curled around each other, neither of them having bothered to get changed into pajamas. 

“You’re a good friend,” Yangyang whispered into the dark. Dejun’s voice came back, smug and pleased.

“I know.”

“Okay, not too much,” Yangyang joked, lazily smacking Dejun’s arm with his free hand. He snickered, and the tension broke, making way for comfortable silence that eventually gave way for sleep. 

When they woke up the next morning, Dejun groaned about Yangyang being clingier than an octopus, and whined about his nasty morning breath. Yangyang just breathed in his face with a grin, and Dejun growled, tackling him off his bed. It was great. Yangyang felt almost normal again.

The morning brought with it a fresh round of apologies from the members of Dream, and this time, Yangyang was able to forgive them wholeheartedly – Jaemin included. Now, with full knowledge of the urgency, he doubled down even further, looking for more prestigious performing opportunities, and even began desperately cold-emailing festival managers, in hopes that one of them might have heard of Phantom and be willing to offer them an in. 

While they waited, there were thankfully plenty of performances to occupy their time. Yangyang promised himself that he was going to stop this thing with Jaemin, that he was going to set clear boundaries and do the right thing, even though the thought of it threatened to tear his heart in two. 

But then they’d gotten off stage and Jaemin had shot Yangyang a look of trepidation, eyes full of hope and fear, his entire body tense as if braced for heartbreak, and Yangyang – Yangyang grabbed his hand the moment the others looked away, and dragged Jaemin off to kiss him so thoroughly he forgot his own name.

Yangyang wanted to claim temporary insanity, but that defense wasn’t going to hold up in court considering he did it at the next performance, and then the next, and then the next. Every time, Yangyang would promise himself – and Dejun, who rightfully never believed a word coming out of Yangyang’s mouth – that they were going to talk about it, and every time, he saw the fear in Jaemin’s eyes and folded like a wet paper towel. 

If what they had was desperate before, it was straight up frenzied now.

They were in an abandoned dressing room backstage, the walls lined with vanities with mirrors framed in lights. There was a couch against the back wall, but Yangyang couldn’t resist the opportunity to see himself up close as he wrapped his hands around Jaemin’s waist and manhandled him up onto the counter. He could see the possessive glint in his own eyes as he stepped between Jaemin’s legs and claimed his lips in a kiss. He dragged a moan from Jaemin’s lips as he pulled back to mouth at Jaemin’s throat, before returning to meet Jaemin’s lips with his own once more.

Yangyang slipped his hand beneath Jaemin’s shirt and dragged his nails down his back, relishing in the way Jaemin shuddered and deepened the kiss, burying his hands in Yangyang’s hair and pulling on the strands. 

Yangyang grunted in surprise as Jaemin’s legs came around his thighs, pushing him from the back and forcing him to take another step closer to Jaemin so they were nearly chest to chest. He growled, appreciative, and brought a hand up to grasp the nape of Jaemin’s neck, pulling him more firmly into the kiss. 

Yangyang could feel the edge of the counter digging into his upper thighs. Humming discontentedly, he broke the kiss and moved them both slightly to the right, turning so he could clamber up onto the counter beside Jaemin, who reluctantly unlocked his legs and shifted back slightly at the movement.

Jaemin was sitting upright on the counter, left leg trapped between Yangyang and the mirror, the right dangling towards the floor. Yangyang climbed into his lap, pushing Jaemin down so he was horizontal as he settled his knees on either side of Jaemin’s body. The counter was hard and unforgiving, but Jaemin lay down willingly, bringing both legs up onto the counter and bending them,  planting his feet firmly on the countertop to better support Yangyang’s position. 

Yangyang could feel Jaemin’s dick through his jeans, straining against the fabric to press lightly against the curve of Yangyang’s ass. Pleased, he settled more firmly into Jaemin’s lap, grinding down experimentally. Jaemin gasped, and reached up to grab at the nape of Yangyang’s neck, dragging him down towards Jaemin’s chest and into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.

Yangyang’s hands slammed down into the counter on either side of Jaemin to prevent himself from completely collapsing, and felt Jaemin’s lips turn up ever-so-slightly, clearly pleased with himself. Jaemin’s fingers slid up into Yangyang’s hair, tangling the strands in his fingers. Yangyang whined as Jaemin tugged, and settled down onto his elbows in order to be closer to him. As the kiss deepened, Jaemin licking into Yangyang’s mouth like a starving man, Yangyang tried to readjust their position, swinging his leg off Jaemin so he could settle into Jaemin’s side. 

Unfortunately, he was too absorbed in the kiss, and misjudged how much space there was on the counter. One moment, Yangyang was making out with Jaemin, and the next, he felt himself become unbalanced, and then, he was falling off the counter. Jaemin tried to grab him around the waist with the arm on the side Yangyang was trying to settle on to, but all that succeeded in doing was latching Jaemin onto Yangyang and sending him falling off the counter right after Yangyang, landing on top of him with a pained huff.

There was a small moment of breathless shock after they hit the ground – first Yangyang, then Jaemin. Jaemin pushed himself off the floor to hover over Yangyang, visibly scanning him for injuries. Yangyang – who was fine, but had had the wind knocked right out of him – gasped for air, chest heaving in the silence. The two of them stared at each other with wide eyes, Jaemin bracketing Yangyang in with his arms. 

There was a long moment of silence while Yangyang caught his breath. The moment his breathing evened, Jaemin whispered,

“Okay?” 

“I’m good.” Yangyang frowned up at him. “What about you? Okay?”

“I’m okay, you broke my fall,” Jaemin said, eyes sparkling with amusement for a quick moment before making way for renewed worry. “Are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t hit your head or anything?”

Yangyang rolled his eyes. “Jaemin, I’m fine. It was just a little tumble. Though it would have been nice not to be crushed by your body falling on top of me right after taking it.” He grinned, letting his eyes soften and reassure Jaemin that it was just a joke – that he really was okay. 

Jaemin nodded, reassured, and then, the two of them burst out laughing.

“I can’t fucking believe we fell off a counter,” Yangyang gasped, nearly in tears. “Yet another thing Dejun is never going to let me live down if he ever finds out.”

“Lesson learned. No more lying on countertops while trying to have sex,” Jaemin snorted, and Yangyang collapsed into giggles, bringing his arms up to wrap around Jaemin’s shoulders. 

“I think most people would argue that that’s common sense,” Yangyang said, grinning, taking advantage of the break in kissing to push himself upright, Jaemin mirroring him. 

Jaemin grinned back at him, and between one blink and the next, his lips were back on Yangyang’s, stealing the air from his lungs and rendering him breathless once again. Jaemin broke the kiss, and for a moment, there was a line of spit connecting their lips, both of them red and swollen, bitten to hell.

“Too bad I have no common sense when it comes to you,” Jaemin whispered, flashing Yangyang a predatory grin.

“What, did you practice that line in the mirror last night?” Yangyang teased, refusing to acknowledge the heat rising in his cheeks. He pulled Jaemin upright, and led him over to the couch, pushing him down first so he could straddle his lap and draw him into a kiss. Jaemin groaned and tilted his head up to grant Yangyang greater access. 

Eager to pick up where they left off, Yangyang turned to the left and pushed Jaemin onto his back. Jaemin’s back hit the couch cushions, bouncing up slightly before settling, as Yangyang sucked the sensitive skin on the side of his neck. Jaemin whined, hands settling firmly on Yangyang’s hips as he grinded down into Jaemin’s lap. 

“Fuck, Yangyang,” Jaemin gasped. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I have about six and a half minutes left until you become incorporeal again, and we wasted about a minute of that falling off a counter,” Yangyang said, after detaching his teeth from Jaemin’s neck. “I’m not wasting any more time.”

“I shouldn’t find your time management skills so fucking sexy,” Jaemin said breathlessly. Yangyang smirked, and grinded down again, relishing the feeling of Jaemin’s dick swelling in his jeans – recovering from their fall off the counter. 

“I want you to fuck me properly,” Yangyang whispered, lips against Jaemin’s ear. Jaemin shuddered, hips jerking up as Yangyang grinded down, the two of them frotting against each other desperately. “Want you inside of me. Bet it would feel so fucking good.”

“Fuck,” Jaemin hissed.

“Too bad we don’t have time.” Yangyang gasped, breathless. He smirked, exhilarated and heady with the desperate look on Jaemin’s face as he rolled his hips up, rubbing his dick along the curve of Yangyang’s ass through the fabric of his jeans. 

“I take back what I said about finding your time management skills sexy,” Jaemin said, but the strain in his voice and the haze of lust in his eyes betrayed him. He surged up to capture Yangyang’s bottom lip between his teeth, fingertips wrapping tighter around Yangyang’s waist – tight enough to bruise. Yangyang whimpered into Jaemin’s mouth and went willingly as Jaemin dragged him downward until they were chest to chest, breaths mingling, hot and heavy, between them. After what seemed like forever but what was probably only a few minutes more of making out, Jaemin sighed and pulled back.

“We need to slow down,” Jaemin said. Yangyang snorted, and raised an eyebrow. Jaemin couldn’t sound more reluctant if he’d tried.

“Convincing.”

“Not my best work,” Jaemin panted, inhaling sharply as Yangyang nuzzled at his jawline, biting at the sensitive skin. “But in my defense, I don’t actually want to slow down. But we need to. Considering the impending incorporeality.”

“Considering I lo –” Yangyang choked on the words, and recalibrated. To distract Jaemin from his slip up, he licked a wet stripe up the column of Jaemin’s neck. Jaemin shuddered and didn’t call him out as Yangyang continued. “Considering I care about you, I do want to try and avoid leaving you with the world’s worst case of blue balls in the world.”

“Fuck, Yangyang,” Jaemin whined, and slotted a leg between Yangyang’s so he could begin grinding desperately into Yangyang’s thigh. Seems like he’d been sufficiently distracted. Another win for Yangyang.

Yangyang devoted himself fully to rubbing his thigh against Jaemin’s cock, losing himself in the pleasure of the friction, relishing the broken moans and gasps that were falling easily from Jaemin’s lips. 

Neither of them lasted very long after that.

The two of them still weren’t talking about what they were doing, so in the aftermath, they sat in silence, arms wrapped around one another, trading quiet kisses until Jaemin faded once more. 

When they returned to the green room, Yangyang was horrified at the sight of the others. They looked pale and washed out, pain tightening around their eyes. Renjun was shaking slightly, Jeno curled up in a chair, taking deep, intentional breaths.

Mark was the first to see them, staggering to his feet and saying, “Jaemin! Thank god, are you okay –” He stopped short. 

Compared to the others, Jaemin looked completely fine. Yangyang could see the shock on their faces as they looked at him, the confusion dawning on their features. 

“How the hell…?” Renjun muttered.

Jaemin shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know.” He hurried over to them, Yangyang trailing behind him, and began scanning each of them, looking for a way to soothe their pain. “Are you all alright?”

“No worse than usual,” Donghyuck said from where he sat on the couch. He was stretched out, trying to appear fine, but Yangyang could see the way he winced as he moved, clearly still affected. “I mean, the aftershocks hurt like a bitch, but that’s nothing new.”

“Seriously, why was this time different?” Jeno puzzled, slowly uncurling, shaking out his arms and legs. Jaemin and Yangyang looked at each other, and shrugged helplessly. 

“Well,” Mark sighed. “Add that to the list of random, unexplainable phenomena, I guess.”

So, like so many other things, the mystery of why Jaemin was no longer in sync with the others went unanswered, and with no leads or explanation, they were forced to move on.

Another week passed, and Yangyang was lounging on a couch in a green room somewhere with Jaemin wrapped around him when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Yangyang extricated his phone, saw that it was a notification for a new email. He opened his email, expecting spam, only to find an email from one Johnny Suh, the stage manager for one of the city’s major music festivals, one of the many people he’d cold-emailed. In his response he said he admired Yangyang’s proactive approach, and he was actually looking for more acts for SMTOWN LIVE!, the festival he was running five weeks from now, if Phantom would be interested.

“Holy shit,” Yangyang said, bolting upright, accidentally dislodging Jaemin, who had snuggled into his side and tucked his chin into Yangyang’s shoulder. 

“What?” Jaemin blinked, leaning closer to look at the phone screen. His eyes widened. “Oh. Holy shit. This is our chance!” He looked up to meet Yangyang’s eyes, and the two of them grinned at each other. Yangyang couldn’t help himself – he pulled Jaemin into another long kiss. Jaemin responded enthusiastically, but there was something bittersweet about the kiss – the unspoken grief they both felt, but never talked about. Because if this worked out the way that both of them wanted it to, then it would be the end of them.

After they separated and conducted a quick internet search, they found out that Chenle and Jisung would be performing at SMTOWN . The only problem was that the festival took place on the day before Dream’s deadline. They’d have one chance to meet and perform with Jisung and Chenle, and one chance only. If anything went wrong, they’d have no choice but to sign Yuta’s contract, and hope that he was a man of his word.

Yuta sounded like a nice guy, the way Renjun told it, but Yangyang didn’t like that option. He’d at least like a second opinion before they committed to that course of action – preferably, somebody neutral who didn’t stand to gain anything by having his friends sign a contract of eternal employment.

Besides the continuing performances, Dejun and Doyoung had traded numbers in the chaos of their exit from the school festival, and Dejun passed on his contact info to Yangyang. Doyoung had started sending him possible mediums and psychics to check out pretty much immediately, so whenever Yangyang wasn’t actively practicing, performing, or in class, he’d been dragging Jaemin all over the city, checking out all the establishments Doyoung sent his way.

One step inside was usually enough to tell whether or not they were the real thing – and a few questions confirmed it. None of them could tell Yangyang was being haunted, much less who by.

The latest visit was to a shady shop downtown that sold crystals and tarot cards. It was manned by a young woman who claimed to see the beyond but didn’t even blink when Jaemin did a handstand up on top of the checkout counter. Frustrated, Yangyang decided to swing by a convenience store on the way home. He deserved a sweet treat for dealing with all these scam artists.

The weather was getting colder and more unforgiving as it slipped from fall into winter, so Yangyang was in a hurry to get out of the cold and warm up – and he could admit that going into a store, where he’d be surrounded by other people, was a way to avoid talking with Jaemin. 

Things were still slightly awkward after everything that had happened, and Yangyang knew they needed to talk about everything – clear the air and draw some boundaries, since apparently neither of them had the self-control to stop what they were doing – but he wasn’t looking forward to it. It seemed like Jaemin felt the same, seeing as he certainly hadn’t pushed the issue. 

Unfortunately, the unspoken words still hovered between them, causing an unnatural tension that Yangyang had never felt with Jaemin before – a tension that only eased while they were having desperate sex backstage after performing. Something would have to give, and soon. 

But not today, Yangyang thought to himself, his warm breath turning into fog in the cold air as he pulled the door to the convenience store open and followed Jaemin inside. 

Jaemin kept up a cheerful commentary to himself, remarking on the various candies available  and which of them had looked different or not been available at all in the nineties. He kept throwing careful looks Yangyang’s way as he talked, as if making sure he wasn’t bothering him. Another thing that had changed with this newfound tension. Yangyang swallowed his bitterness at their circumstances and just smiled reassuringly back. 

After browsing for a while and picking out a few different items, Yangyang brought his selections to the front and dumped them on the counter in front of a young-looking cashier with pinkish-blonde dyed hair. 

“Will that be all for you two?” He asked softly, picking up the first of the items. Yangyang and Jaemin froze, staring at him with gaping mouths. After a moment, when Yangyang didn’t respond, the cashier looked up at them, and when he saw the looks of shock on their faces, he deflated visibly. 

“Oh,” he said, quietly exhausted – the voice of a man who’d made this mistake many, many times before. “One of you is dead.”

Record scratch. Freeze frame.

When Tokuno Yushi was young, his family tells him a story – the story of how their family became what it is today.  

The legend goes that many generations ago, a son of the Tokuno family made a mistake in battle that caused his own father, the then-patriarch of the family, to lose his life. None of his uncles agreed on the exact mistake – some said he accidentally turned over battle plans to the enemy, or that he had stabbed his father because he had dressed in the enemy’s crest to go undercover. Others said that the son had felt responsible only because he had fought on the same battlefield as his father, and failed to protect him.

Whatever the reason for the patriarch’s death, his son, the new Tokuno patriarch, was devastated. Upon learning of his father’s death, fell to his knees and begged the gods of death, the shinigami, for the opportunity to atone for his mistake. The next day when he awoke, he was surrounded by the spirits of the dead. 

From that day forth, the Tokuno family became Spirit Guides – devoted to helping the souls of the dead move on to the next life peacefully.

That ancient Tokuno patriarch’s gift is passed down through the paternal line. All the sons of Tokuno inherit his gift, most of them coming into their power when they become aware of their own manhood – typically somewhere between the ages of eight to eleven. Yushi attended plenty of the parties thrown in celebration of his male cousins when their powers manifested, but his own parents had only given birth to daughters.

Yushi has always been a quiet, polite child – the apple of his mother's eye. Imagine his mother’s surprise when she takes her daughter shopping for bras, and eleven-year-old Yushi, who never really cries, breaks down in the dressing room and refuses to even look at himself in the mirror. 

Yushi’s mother draws him close to her chest, confused and concerned. She’s a nurse, and has always tried to teach Yushi to love his body – why are you crying, sweetheart? 

I don’t know, Yushi sobs. I really, really don’t know.

When Yushi turns fourteen, he finally understands himself – and then promptly makes friends with a boy from school that none of his sisters could see when he invited him home to hang out. 

Turns out that the Tokuno family gift could recognize a man when it saw one, even if Yushi’s own family can’t. 

Suddenly, he’s being thrown his own party, and his entire family is calling him Yushi, instead of what he’d been called before. His mother buys him a binder and laughs recalling that disastrous mall trip so long ago, claiming that she really should have known. 

Yushi is given his own copy of the Tokuno Family Codex, which contains all the knowledge they’ve gathered about ghosts, how they function, what allows them to persist and what helps them to move on. 

It’s all very overwhelming, though mostly in a positive way. Yushi has never felt so seen, so comfortable in his own skin. 

Some of his relatives work full time as Spirit Guides, but in all honesty, Yushi had already been set on becoming a teacher. As cool as it is that he can see ghosts, spending all his time talking about death and helping people move on to the afterlife isn’t exactly his cup of tea. More often than not, unless a ghost really needs help, Yushi minds his own business. 

So it’s really completely by chance that one winter afternoon, Yushi decides to pick up an extra shift at the convenience store. Yushi likes being able to afford more than just instant ramen on occasion – the perils of being a student – so he tends to pick up extra shifts when he can. 

The thing about working for a convenience store was that it’s pretty easy. It doesn’t require a whole lot of interaction with people, and unless he’s stocking shelves, he’s just standing behind the counter, waiting around for someone to come in and buy something. It suits Yushi just fine – it all requires so little brainpower that he has plenty of time to daydream about the handsome guy in his Intro to Statistics class. 

He’s so zoned out that he barely pays any attention to the couple that comes in, one of them chatting away as the other smiles indulgently. Cute, Yushi thinks absentmindedly, and then goes back to wondering how it’s possible that the guy from his class looks so goddamn attractive, even wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. It’s absolutely criminal. Yushi wants to eat him.

After a few minutes, the couple approaches the counter, and Yushi starts scanning their items.

“Will that be all for you two?” he asks, still barely paying attention. 

He’s so fixated on trying to remember how his crush had introduced himself – was it Seren? Sion? – that it takes him longer than it probably should to realize that he hasn’t received a response. Blinking, he looks up at them, and sees them both staring back at him, frozen in shock. 

“Oh,” he says, half surprised, half sheepish. Mostly just tired. “One of you is dead.”

Record scratch. Freeze frame. Okay, we’re back.

When Yangyang and Jaemin finally got over their shock and started asking questions, Yushi just sighed and gave them his number.

That Friday, after a lengthy conversation with Yangyang over text, he found himself standing on the steps of a house just outside the city. He checked his messages one more time, making doubly sure that he had the right address, before he reached up and knocked on the door.

He’d been expecting Yangyang to answer. Nothing could have prepared him for the door swinging open to reveal the handsome guy from his Intro to Statistics class. The guy blinked, taking in the sight of the man on his doorstep. Yushi blinked back, completely frozen. Then, the guy smiled at him, and said, “Yushi, right?”

Yushi could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat.

“Yes,” he squeaked. Mortified, he cleared his throat. “I mean, I um. Yes. Yushi. And you’re…”

“Sion,” the guy said. There was a bit of an awkward silence, but Sion didn’t look at all uncomfortable. Yushi, on the other hand, shrank inward. Fuck, he was terrible at first impressions.

“I’m here to see Yangyang –”

“So what brings you here —” 

They both stopped, looking at each other incredulously, and then Sion was smiling again, gracious and kind and so stupidly beautiful it made Yushi want to die. 

“If you’re here to see Yangyang, I’m pretty sure he’s still asleep,” Sion said. Yushi frowned. “I know it’s already afternoon, but he had a late-night gig with his band. I’m pretty sure he got back last night sometime after two in the morning,” Sion explained, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, sheepish smile on his face. “I can go knock on his door.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for Yushi to come in. Yushi thanked him quietly, and followed Sion down the hallway to an open plan kitchen and dining room. 

“Sit wherever you’d like,” Sion said. Yushi settled into one of the kitchen chairs while Sion puttered around the kitchen, pulling out two cups and placing them on the counter, before pulling the fridge open. “Want anything to drink? We’ve got water, milk, orange juice… and a whole bunch of alcohol. Like. Way too much alcohol. Yikes.”

“I’ll just have water,” Yushi said softly. Sion smiled at him, and poured them both some water. 

“I’ll be right back,” Sion promised after putting the cups down on the table, and left, presumably to let Yangyang know his guest had arrived. 

The moment Sion rounded the corner and disappeared into the hallway, Yushi let out a breath of relief, clasping both hands over his racing heart and willing it to slow. He was not going to lose it in front of incredibly-hot-and-also-apparently-kind Sion, who just so happened to be Yangyang’s roommate. He was not. 

By the time he got his breathing semi-under control, Sion was coming back into the kitchen, all smiles. 

“He’s awake, just throwing on some clothes,” he said, sitting across from Yushi and taking a sip of his water. “He should be down in a second.”

“Oh, okay,” Yushi said. “Thanks.” There was a moment of silence, the two of them both taking silent sips of water. Yushi noticed absentmindedly that the tips of Sion’s ears were red. The moment stretched out, beginning to grow awkward, when Sion cleared his throat and broke the silence.

“So, what are you and Yangyang up to today? I didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

“It’s… a group project,” Yushi said, lying through his teeth. If he told the truth he would look crazy, and he did not want to look crazy in front of Sion. “We um. We have a class together.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Sion said. “What class?” 

Yushi was beginning to sweat. He had no clue what Yangyang’s major was, and while he and Sion were first years, he was pretty sure Yangyang was a third or fourth year. So it actually kind of made no sense for them to share a class. 

“Oh, it’s um… Communications?” In a way, Yushi supposed, he was telling the truth. It was just that the communication in question was with the spirits of the dead. 

Sion opened his mouth, presumably to ask further questions that Yushi couldn’t really answer, but was thankfully interrupted by Yangyang barreling into the kitchen, hair askew and eyes wild.

“Yushi! You’re here!” Yangyang grinned, and Yushi was slightly intimidated by the full force of Yangyang’s smile. “Come hang out in my room!”

“Sure,” Yushi said. Then, looking sideways at Sion, added, “It’ll be a quiet spot to work on our group project.”

Yangyang stopped dead. “Our group proj –?” Yushi shot a desperate look his way, trying to indicate with his eyes that it was the excuse he’d given Sion. Thankfully, Yangyang recovered quickly, eyes widening. “Right! Our group project! Lots to do! If you’ll excuse us, Sion.”

“Of course,” Sion said, smiling softly. Yushi could feel his eyes on his back as he followed Yangyang out of the kitchen. Just as he was turning the corner, Sion caught his eye and said, “See you in Stats on Monday!”

“Yep!” Yushi said, strangled. “Monday.”

Yangyang led him to his room and offered Yushi his desk chair to sit in, while Yangyang sat on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed that sat on the other side of the room. 

“The guys are around,” he said, once Yushi had settled in. “I sent Jaemin to bring them in a few minutes after you got here, so they should be here soon.” He paused, and looked at Yushi with so much gratitude in his eyes, it made Yushi uncomfortable. He hadn’t even done anything yet. “Thank you so much for doing this, by the way. We’ve been totally lost this whole time and it sounds like you know more about this whole ghost business than the rest of us combined.”

“It’s my pleasure, Yangyang, really,” Yushi said, fidgeting with his hands. He reached into his backpack, and pulled out his copy of the Tokuno Family Codex. “The ability to see spirits is a family trait that goes back generations. We’ve had a lot more time to experiment than the average person that summons a soul. Since we have the knowledge, it would be remiss not to use it.”

“Still, you’re taking time out of your day to help us out, and you don’t really know me at all,” Yangyang pointed out. “So just accept the thanks, okay?”

Thankfully, Yushi didn’t have to respond to that, since Jaemin interrupted their conversation by striding into the room through the wall, four other ghosts in tow.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Yangyang asked. Beneath the irritation was a thick layer of fondness. 

“Can’t. I’m dead and don’t have a physical body.” Jaemin wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at Yangyang, and then turned to Yushi. “Good to see you again. I’d shake your hand, but. Well. As previously mentioned, I’m dead. I’m Jaemin.” 

“I remember,” Yushi assured him. Jaemin smiled at him with too many teeth. Freaky. 

The others introduced themselves, and they settled in, turning to Yushi with questions on the tip of their tongues – questions that he would hopefully be able to answer.

“So,” Yushi said. “Why don’t we begin with what you know?”

They all looked around at each other, and eventually, their gazes all settled on Mark, who sighed and spoke up, long suffering. “I guess I’ll explain it.”

He told Yushi the whole story – their deaths in 1997, the way they woke up in Yangyang’s backyard, the day they discovered they could become visible when performing with Yangyang. Yushi nodded thoughtfully as he listened. 

Then, Mark told him about the soul pains, and Yushi became very alarmed, very quickly. 

“I’m sorry, what? ” He asked, horrified. “What do you mean by soul pains?”

Renjun took over, explaining the soul-crushing pain they experienced, the way they experienced it together, every time. At that, Jaemin interjected that actually, they experienced it together, every time – except for once. 

“After that concert at the theatre downtown,” he said. “I was with Yangyang after the show and… I didn’t have them that time. I was so surprised when you all told me about having them, because I hadn’t been affected at all. It doesn’t make any sense – I don’t know why that time was different.” 

“Me neither,” Yangyang added. “All of us have been trying to figure out what was different about that time.”

Yushi narrowed his eyes, and looked between Yangyang and Jaemin. 

“Hm,” he said, non-committal, brow furrowed. 

“Honestly, none of this has ever made much sense to me,” Donghyuck said, shrugging. “I’d appreciate any information you have to offer.” Jeno nodded, agreeing. 

“Well,” Yushi said, and took a deep breath. “What you’re describing sounds pretty standard at first glance. Ghosts are echoes of souls – people who didn’t get the chance to live their dream. But haunting doesn’t work the way people think.” 

He shifted in his seat, slightly uncomfortable dealing with so much undivided attention being focused solely on him. He took a deep breath, and continued. “People tend to believe that when our bodies die, our soul is cut loose, and the spirits that come back are the same as the person that died. That souls carry on in a linear fashion, living from one event to the next in time. But in reality, we leave pieces of our soul everywhere. In everything that we do, and everything that we love,” Yushi explained. “So when ghosts come back, it’s rarely the piece of their soul that was in their body coming back – it’s a piece of themselves that they left behind in an item, a piece of work, a place, or even a person that the spirit loved while they were alive.”

“So… does that mean we’re not complete versions of ourselves?” Renjun asked, tilting his head to the side as he considered Yushi’s words. 

“Not quite,” Yushi said. “Pieces of the soul can lie dormant for decades, possibly centuries, depending on the strength of their love. It’s hard to know for certain the limits,” Yushi said. “But what we do know is that regardless of the strength of that love, they struggle to manifest without an inciting event. Sometimes, it’s someone messing with the environment of a park they love. Other times, it’s the person they love dying, or the object they were attached to being used by someone else.”

“Like someone playing a CD full of original music,” Jeno suggested. There was a long silence while they all took that in. 

“Of course,” Mark breathed. “Yangyang was playing our CD that day. We all poured our hearts and souls into that EP. It was supposed to be our break into the mainstream, the way we all made it big.”

“It makes sense,” Yushi said, nodding solemnly. “If you’re right, that CD is what we call the tether. It contains a piece of each of your souls, a piece that binds you to Earth until the ambition associated with the object is resolved. It’s rare to see more than one person with the same tether, but it’s not unheard of,” Yushi said, shrugging. “When Yangyang played the music aloud again, the rest of your souls were called to the pieces living on in the CD, and you manifested. Your desire to play music again is what allows you to be seen by others when you play music. Yangyang, as the one who played the CD initially and triggered your manifestation, is a part of that connection to the living world – which is why playing music for the living doesn’t work the same without him. He’s the bridge between you all and life itself.”

“Okay, I’m pretty sure I’m following so far,” Donghyuck said, a slight furrow in his brow as he processed all the new information. “Yangyang triggered the piece of our soul, which called us back from the great beyond to fulfill our greatest ambitions. I get all of that. But what about what Yuta told Renjun? The deadline, the soul pains? Where does all that fit in?”

“It doesn’t fit in. All of that is utter nonsense,” Yushi said, deadpan. The ghosts and Yangyang started, looking at him with wide eyes. “I won’t go so far as to say for certain that this Yuta guy is malicious, but the only thing that could cause the kind of pain you’re describing is somebody tampering with the tether.”

They all frowned, clearly confused, so Yushi elaborated. “Like I said, the tether is what’s keeping you here on Earth. Your souls are tethered to the CD, which in turn is tethered to life itself via Yangyang. If it gets damaged, or worse, destroyed – it’ll take your souls with it. Yangyang is alive, so he’d be unaffected, but this kind of unraveling pain you’re describing – it sounds like someone, or something, is messing with your tether. Damaging it in some way.” He looked around at them. “Where is the CD now?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen it in a while,” Yangyang said, frowning. He stood up and crossed the room to Yushi, sorting through the piles of paper on his desk, looking for the familiar jewel case, but he found nothing.

“I gave it to Hendery,” Renjun realized, going pale. “He asked to listen to our music. Oh my god, I’m an idiot.”

“You didn’t know it was your tether. I know that this seems bad, but it’s actually good news,” Yushi said, trying to reassure him even as Renjun groaned and buried his head in his hands. “It means we’re probably not looking at malicious intent. If Yuta was really up to something, he would have tried to get his hands on the CD,” Yushi explained. “Instead, it seems like your friend probably just scratched the CD on accident a few times while listening, not knowing what effect that would have on you.”

“So… there’s really no deadline?” Mark asked, looking between Yushi and a distressed Renjun. Yushi shook his head gently. “Just someone scratching the CD?”

“No. The only thing that could make a ghost fade away is completing their unfinished business, or destroying their tether.” He held up a hand, anticipating their questions. “I don’t know Yuta, but best case scenario, it sounds like he has false information. Worst case scenario, he’s trying to manipulate you for some reason.”

“What should we do?” Mark asked, eyes serious.

“Whatever you do, don’t sign that contract,” Yushi said. “Focus on getting your tether back, and completing your unfinished business.”

Their meeting was cut short because Yangyang looked at the clock and cursed, realizing he had to leave for a late afternoon class – after thanking Yushi profusely for his help, of course. 

“Feel free to call me with any questions you have,” Yushi said, getting ready to leave. “Keep me updated on how things go.”

“Thank you again, man, this was so helpful,” Yangyang said. “I’m so relieved, you have no idea.”

Yushi laughed, the sound light and airy. “It was my pleasure, seriously.” 

Jaemin offered to show Yushi out, and they left, the door shutting behind them. 

Yangyang knew Jaemin was having a hard time processing his death. He hoped he would take the advantage of a few moments alone with some relatively neutral to talk about it. Though maybe that was too much to ask for.

“Yangyang?” He snapped out of his reverie when he realized Renjun was talking to him.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, wrenching his gaze away from the door Jaemin and Yushi had disappeared through. The others traded knowing looks and fond eye rolls.

“I was just saying that while you’re in class, we’re going to track Hendery down and get the CD back,” Renjun said patiently.

“Of course!” Yangyang grinned at them. Then he looked at the clock again, and paled. “I’m so late. I really need to go to class. Good luck guys!” He waved goodbye and darted out the door, heading for the bus stop. He passed Jaemin, who was on his way back in. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Jaemin asked. 

“Class!” Yangyang said. “Renjun said you guys were going to go get the CD. Catch you later?”

“Okay,” Jaemin said, smiling gently. “Later.” Yangyang smiled back at him, wishing he could drop a kiss on Jaemin’s stupidly perfect lips, and then he snapped out of it and ran out the door. Seriously, he was so late. 

Jaemin shook his head fondly as Yangyang careened out the door, slamming it shut behind him, and went to go meet up with the others. 

Renjun was in a hurry to get moving, so they headed out without wasting much time – after all they’d learned today, it was vitally important that they get the CD back as soon as possible so they could stop having to deal with the excruciating bouts of pain. 

Renjun led them through the city streets to the park where he and Donghyuck met Ryo and Hendery. He scanned the skate park, looking for that familiar, hideously patterned sweater, and spotted it in no time. He tore off across the park, friends in tow.

“Hendery!” Hendery turned at the sound of his name, but his smile fell and was replaced with a frown as he took in the sight in front of him – Renjun, who no doubt looked panicked, panting from exertion, accompanied by his band members, who looked much the same.

“Hey, Donghyuck.” Hendery shot a quick smile Donghyuck’s way before turning back to Renjun. “Hey, Renjun.” His voice softened, obviously concerned as he stepped forward, looking to comfort Renjun. He scanned him up and down. “Are you okay?”

“Do you still have our CD?” Renjun asked, point blank. No point in beating around the bush. 

“Uh, I don’t, actually,” Hendery said, frowning – clearly confused by the chosen line of questioning. “Yuta asked if he could borrow it. He said he wanted to listen to your guys’ music after meeting you, Renjun. I figured you wouldn’t mind if I passed it on.” Renjun stared at him, horrified. Hendery picked up on the palpable tension and began fidgeting, frown deepening. “I’m so sorry. Should I not have let him borrow it? I can go get it from him.” 

Hendery scrambled to his feet and grabbed his skateboard, clearly intending to follow through on his word, when suddenly, he froze. He blinked rapidly, eyes glazing over for a moment, and then looked at Renjun and Donghyuck, surprise written all over his face. 

“Renjun, Donghyuck! When did you get here?” He grinned and waved jovially. “Are these guys the rest of your bandmates?”

“Hendery,” Renjun said quietly, without answering. “Did you ever sign a contract with Yuta?”

Hendery blinked in surprise. “What makes you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Renjun said, trying to keep his shoulders relaxed, his affect casual, even as his brain screamed at him that something was very wrong.

“Yeah, I signed with him,” Hendery said. Renjun’s heart sank. Hendery smiled again, wider, but Renjun was paying close enough attention to notice that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes – they had a spaced-out distance to them that was so slight, it was nearly unnoticeable. “It’s a great deal. You should take it.”

“We’ll definitely consider it,” Donghyuck said, when Renjun couldn’t make himself speak again, half horrified, half heartbroken for his friend. He grabbed Renjun’s arm and steered them away, calling back over his shoulder to Hendery, “We’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” Hendery said, clearly confused about why they were leaving when they’d only just arrived, but too polite to say anything about it. “See you guys around?”

The moment they were out of earshot, Donghyuck ducked into an alley, followed by the rest of them. He let go of Renjun, who immediately sank to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest. Jeno frowned and settled beside him in an attempt to comfort him, rubbing a hand along his back. 

“So, Yuta has the CD,” Donghyuck said, beginning to pace. The alley was relatively quiet – they could still hear the sound of chatter as people passed by on the street, the low hum of engines as cars drove by. All the hustle and bustle of the city, muted here, just off the main roads.

“I guess so,” Renjun said, staring off into the middle distance. 

“Fuck,” Jaemin cursed. He rubbed his temple like a headache was coming on. Donghyuck began to pace faster, nervous energy radiating from every pore. 

Mark sighed. “That about sums it up, yeah.”

“If Yuta has it… that means he’s been using it to try and manipulate us into signing that contract,” Jaemin said, brow furrowing in anger. 

“Not necessarily,” Jeno argued weakly. “Yushi said he just might not have the right information.”

“Sure, Jeno,” Jaemin said sarcastically. “Renjun gave our tether to a guy in Yuta’s employment, and a few weeks later, we started experiencing the pains he told us about, and they’ve been systematically increasing in frequency and intensity since?” Jaemin scoffed, incredulous. “It can’t be a coincidence.” Jeno averted his eyes, unable to argue.

 “If Yuta is dangerous, him having our tether is bad. Really fucking bad,” Donghyuck said. “I doubt he’d just hand it back over if we asked.”

“He might have to,” Renjun said, running his hands through his hair anxiously. “It would be kind of weird of him not to give it back if I asked him to return it. If he wants us to think he’s an ally, wouldn’t he avoid making me upset?”

“That’s making a lot of assumptions,” Jeno said. “If he has the tether, he has parts of our souls, Renjun. He might not be able to control us, but he can hurt us badly enough that we might agree to anything to get the pain to stop. He could even potentially destroy us, if he destroys the CD. I don’t think it’s a good idea to try and confront him.”

“Well, we can’t sit by and do nothing!” Rejun said angrily, meeting Jeno’s gaze with fiery determination.

“Jeno’s not saying we do nothing, Renjun, he’s just saying we need to be careful,” Mark placated. “We should go back, talk to Yushi some more. Loop Yangyang in. If we put our heads together, maybe we can get a better idea of what Yuta wants from us. We aren’t alone in this, so there’s no reason to go in unprepared.”

“Not to mention that this is all moot if we can complete our unfinished business,” Jeno interjected. “That concert with Chenle and Jisung is before the deadline Yuta invented, right?”

He looked around at the others, seeing the skepticism on their faces. 

“Technically, yes,” Jaemin allowed. “But we’d be taking a pretty big risk. If we don’t manage to complete our unfinished business that day, we’d be fucked.”

“Even if we manage it, we’ll have to deal with the fucking soul pains for the next few weeks, since Yuta still has the tether,” Donghyuck pointed out.

“But if we endure it, we’ll call Yuta’s bluff,” Jeno insisted. “Once it becomes obvious that he wasn’t telling us the truth – the day after his deadline – he wouldn’t have the leverage over us to make us sign the contract.”

“What do you mean, he wouldn’t have leverage?” Renjun said, completely incredulous. “He still has the tether.”

“Exactly. Who’s to say that Yuta won’t just destroy the tether on that last day, if it looks like we aren’t going to cave to his demands and sign his contract?” Donghyuck shot back. “It’s leaving too much to chance.”

“Fuck,” Mark said, dragging a hand down his face. “Listen, we’re going in circles. Let’s take this back and share what we know with Yangyang and Yushi. Maybe they’ll have a better plan.”

── ✩ ──

yangyang:
hey can you call rn?

yushi (spirit guide):
sure, what’s up?

yangyang:
turns out hendery doesn’t have the CD

yangyang:
he gave it to yuta when he asked for it

yangyang:
and the minute he decided to go get the CD back for renjun he went all spacey and forgot their entire conversation up to that point

yangyang:
apparently he signed a contract with yuta

yushi (spirit guide):
fuck

yushi (spirit guide):
forget calling

yushi (spirit guide):
i’ll be there in 30 min

── ✩ ──

Yushi arrived back at Yangyang’s place a mere four hours after leaving. He stood on the doorstep, fidgeting anxiously, mind racing with what Yangyang had texted him half an hour prior. When Sion opened the door, Yushi was too freaked out about the situation with the ghosts to suffer through more small-talk with someone so painfully attractive, so he just said, “Hey. I can’t do this right now,” and walked straight past Sion into the house.

“I… Yushi, what?” Sion asked from behind him, but Yushi was on a mission. 

“Talk later, Sion, Yangyang’s in crisis,” Yushi said, and then he barged into Yangyang’s room without knocking. 

The ghosts we all present, along with Yangyang and a man Yushi didn’t recognize, who Yangyang introduced as Dejun. 

“Nice to meet you,” Yushi said, nodding Dejun’s way. Then, without missing a beat, he turned back to Yangyang. “So, I was flipping through my family’s Codex, and it seems to me like Yuta is some kind of extraplanar being, or eldritch horror. The Codex doesn’t really have specifics on what exactly Yuta is, but there’s definitely a category of things he probably falls into.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Yangyang asked, curious. “So we don’t know what Yuta is, exactly?”

“No, but the Codex does speak about demons or devils that prey on the souls of the dead – creatures that keep souls trapped indefinitely on this plane of existence, feeding off their energy for eternity. I think that’s what we’re dealing with.”

The others paled slightly, and Yushi sighed.

“Honestly, the Codex is kind of hard to interpret – most of it was written in Old Japanese, and my family has spent a lot of time improving on the information and adding to it, but it’s still incomplete, and parts of it are archaic,” Yushi explained. “There’s a part in this section, here,” he said, pointing to a page, “that mentions binding, or maybe contracts. Then this section here talks about consuming, or draining,” he said, moving his finger down the page. “I spent the bus ride over here re-reading this chapter on supernatural beings that interact with ghosts, and I’m almost completely sure that the Codex’s description of a demon – or devil, depending on how you translate it –  matches Yuta’s behavior.”

“Does it also say how to stop a demon? Devil? Whatever?” Yangyang asked, eyeing the Codex. “Because I’m going to be honest – I thought ghosts were creepy, but they’ve got nothing on demons when it comes to creep factor.”

“There’s a chapter on rituals,” Yushi said. “I was scanning it earlier, and I know I’ve read about dealing with demons in the Codex before, it was just a while ago. I’ll need to spend the weekend refreshing my memory to figure out what combination of rituals we’ll need.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Dejun asked, frowning.

“Most rituals require a number of material components – herbs, ingredients, specific candles or chalk – stuff like that,” Yushi said. “They also, typically, require at least three people to execute, so…”

“You’ll need myself and Dejun’s help,” Yangyang deduced, correctly. Yushi nodded, solemn. 

“Yes. It has to be living people, or I’d ask the rest of you to join as well,” Yushi said to the ghosts. He rubbed his eyes, thinking. “It’ll probably be best for us to stick together while I do this research – rituals work best if the participants are familiar with each other’s energies.”

“Sure, no problem,” Yangyang said. 

“Yeah, our other roommate, Ten, hasn’t been back here since he got together with his boyfriend,” Dejun said with a snort. “I’ll text him and ask, but I doubt he’d mind you borrowing his bed. He certainly hasn’t been using it.”

They settled in for the night, Yushi poring over the Codex at Yangyang’s desk, Dejun texting Ten to ask for his blessing to let Yushi stay in his empty bed for the night. The ghosts slowly dispersed, Renjun and Donghyuck heading out to the backyard for some fresh air, Jeno going downstairs to watch the drama some of the other roommates were watching, Mark deciding to go for a walk. 

Yangyang caught Jaemin’s eye, and then Jaemin was grinning and tilting his head to the side, daring Yangyang to follow him as he slipped out of the room. Shaking his head fondly, Yangyang stood up from his seat on the bed and followed.

Jaemin led him down the hall and up the stairs, his hand hovering behind him so Yangyang could pretend to lace their fingers together, aching when the physical contact he sometimes got was absent, Jaemin’s hand permeable and untouchable. 

They came to a stop outside the second-story window. Jaemin turned around, his eyes falling to their hands – together, but not touching – and a sardonic smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “See you out there,” he whispered, and stepped through the closed window out onto the roof. 

Huffing, Yangyang pushed the window open and clambered clumsily over the sill to join Jaemin. He was sitting at the edge of the roof, feet dangling over the edge as he looked up at the stars. Yangyang settled beside him, joining him in silent observation. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” Jaemin said, carefully nonchalant, and Yangyang felt a pit form in his stomach. He couldn’t have said how exactly he knew, but he knew they were going to finally talk about it. 

“You can’t see the stars here, there’s too much light pollution,” he said, quietly amused, a tinge of melancholy that he couldn’t hide slipping into his voice. Jaemin looked at him and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“We have to talk about it,” he said, eyes wide and imploring, and Yangyang felt his heart splinter. He sighed, and leaned back on his hands, looking up at the dark expanse above them.

“Yeah,” he breathed, almost a whisper. “Yeah. I guess we do, huh?”

Jaemin smiled, but Yangyang could see his eyes shining, reflecting the dim light of the streetlamps. Yangyang swallowed past the rapidly forming lump in his throat, and pretended he couldn’t feel his eyes beginning to burn.

“I know I shouldn’t have let it continue,” Yangyang said, closing his eyes and then looking down at his hands, willing the tears away. He kept his voice carefully steady. This was what Jaemin needed. He needed to be strong, and let Jaemin go. “I was being selfish, getting involved with you. You should be ready to move on to the next life with no regrets, not have a doomed relationship holding you back.”

“Yangyang…” Jaemin’s voice was soft, so kind, so full of… something. Something too big, too scary for Yangyang to name. “I don’t want to stop.”

Yangyang froze. 

“Oh, good,” he said, voice breaking. “Because I don’t want to either.” 

As the admission passed his lips, he felt the weight of the world come off his shoulders. He let out a choked sob, tears pouring down his cheeks, and buried his face in his hands.

Jaemin let out a pained noise, and scooted closer to Yangyang. 

“Oh, darling,” he said, heartbroken. “I wish I could give you a hug right now.”

“No you don’t, I’m gross,” Yangyang sniffed, wiping at his nose, which was dripping snot. He couldn’t stop crying. 

“You’re not gross,” Jaemin said, laughing a bit. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“And you’re an insatiable flirt,” Yangyang said, gasping through tears. Jaemin laughed at him again, and Yangyang whined in protest, hiding his face in his hands. “Oh my god, don’t look at me.”

“Yangyang, sweetheart, look at me,” Jaemin said. “Please? If I could grab your hands, pull them away from your face, and hold them while I said this next part, I would, but I can’t, so you’re going to have to do it for me.”

Reluctantly, Yangyang peeked around his hands. Jaemin was looking at him so fondly, it made Yangyang want to melt into a puddle of formless goo. 

“Yangyang, if you were selfish getting involved with me, then you were no more selfish than I was, getting involved with you,” Jaemin said. Yangyang opened his mouth to protest, but Jaemin cut him off with a firm look. “No, listen. You said you wanted me to go into the next life with no regrets. I didn’t want you to get emotionally involved with someone who wouldn’t have any other choice but to leave you – but I pulled you into the hallway that day and kissed you anyway. Because I knew that not being with you the moment I realized we could touch… that would be my biggest regret.”

“Oh,” Yangyang said.

“Yeah,” Jaemin said, a knowing look in his eye. “Oh.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Yangyang trying to calm his breathing and stop his tears. 

“I don’t care that our time is limited,” Yangyang said suddenly. “Tomorrow isn’t promised to anybody. All we have is today, and I want to spend as many todays as possible with you, while we still have the chance. I don’t want to waste it worrying about an inevitable future.”

Jaemin’s eyes were shining, and Yangyang watched a single tear fall, tracking its path down his cheek. 

“God, Yangyang,” Jaemin said, voice thick with emotion. “Me too. Me too.”

They sat on the roof together watching the stars for a long time after that.

── ✩ ──

The next morning dawned bright and cold and clear, the season having slipped steadily from fall into winter. Yangyang woke up to the sight of Jaemin’s face inches from his own, eyes closed. Though they couldn’t touch, Jaemin had still followed Yangyang to bed the night before, and they’d fallen asleep with Yangyang’s hand inside Jaemin’s, fingers tangled together immaterially. 

Yangyang felt a smile stretch across his lips, and he shifted closer to Jaemin, admiring the moles on his arms, the way his eyelashes settled on his cheekbones, the slope of his nose. Jaemin was beautiful, and he was Yangyang’s – even if only for now. 

Jaemin’s eyelashes fluttered, and then he was opening his warm brown eyes and smiling softly back at Yangyang.

“Good morning,” Yangyang whispered. 

“Good morning,” Jaemin whispered back. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmhm,” Yangyang smiled, and tilted his head toward Jaemin, as if he wanted to tell him a secret. “Only thing that would make this morning better would be if I could kiss you.”

Jaemin’s smile widened, and he shifted slightly towards Yangyang, until their foreheads were almost touching. “Hm. That would be nice. But maybe not, given Dejun and Yushi are both in the room with us.”

“Ugh,” Yangyang groaned quietly, rolling away from Jaemin and throwing an arm over his face to hide his eyes. “Why would you remind me? Way to kill the mood.”

Jaemin snickered under his breath, and Yangyang saw him push himself up and peek over the side of the top bunk. “If it makes you feel better, they’re both still asleep.”

“It does, thanks.” Yangyang sniffed.

Jaemin laughed, trying to muffle the sound behind his hands. “And here I thought you were an exhibitionist, considering the way you can’t keep your hands off of me in public places.”

“Oh fuck off,” Yangyang hissed, blushing to the roots of his hair. “Extenuating circumstances! If I had it my way, we’d be having sex in a bed, not in bathroom stalls and on top of dressing room counters. Besides, you’re just as bad!”

“Never said I wasn’t,” Jaemin said, flashing him a predatory smile. Yangyang rolled his eyes and sat up, picking up his pillow and throwing it through Jaemin, who stuck out his tongue in response and rolled off the side of the bunk, vanishing from sight.

Yangyang grinned and scrambled out of bed, following Jaemin, who was already halfway out the bedroom door. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes as he shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen, where Jaemin was sitting on the counter, kicking his feet absentmindedly. Yangyang flashed him a small smile and opened his mouth to speak with him, when he was interrupted by Sion’s voice, rough with sleep.

“Oh, hey. Good morning, Yangyang.”

Yangyang jumped slightly, looking Sion’s way. It was unusual for any of the other roommates to be up this early – the house was usually a ghost town on Saturday mornings. “Jesus.” He clutched his chest, breathing a sigh of relief. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Good morning! How did you sleep?”

Sion was curled up on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. His hair was mussed underneath his hoodie, eyes half-lidded – he’d clearly just woken up. He hummed.

“Mm. Good, thanks. You?”

“Great,” Yangyang said, unable to suppress a smile. He snuck a look over to Jaemin, who was smiling at him fondly from his spot on the counter. “I slept great.”

Sion smiled warmly and nodded, then fell silent, eyes closing as he took another sip of his coffee, still waking up.

Yangyang puttered around the kitchen and made himself breakfast, trading smiles and eye rolls with Jaemin while they waited for the others to wake up. Yangyang was just settling down at the table to eat when Dejun slumped into the kitchen, hair sticking straight up at the back. 

He stalked straight over to the table, flopping into the chair beside Yangyang and grabbing some scrambled eggs off Yangyang’s plate with his bare hands. Yangyang made a disgusted noise and pulled his plate away from Dejun’s grabby hands and out of reach. 

“Dude, what the fuck? Get your own eggs?”

“Why would I, when yours are right here and perfectly edible?” Dejun said, rolling his eyes. He frowned. “Could use more salt though.” Jaemin snorted from his place on the kitchen counter. Yangyang glared at him, though there was no real heat behind it.

“Is Yushi up yet?”

From the couch, Sion choked on his coffee. “Yushi’s here?” His voice was strangled. Yangyang met Dejun’s eye across the table and they shared a perplexed look.

“Uh, yeah,” Yangyang said. “He stayed over to uh… help with our project?”

“Oh. He did say you were in crisis,” Sion said, almost to himself. Yangyang frowned, confused, but before he could ask any clarifying questions, Sion was abruptly standing. “I’m gonna go get dressed. Bye guys.” He rushed out of the room, the tips of his ears red. 

“Huh,” Dejun said. “What was that about?”

“No idea,” Yangyang shrugged. “He’s usually so chill?”

“Probably just surprised we had a guest over,” Dejun said. “Neither of us are the type to have people over.” 

Yangyang shrugged again.  “I guess so.” He paused. “Now wait a second, Xiao Dejun, are you calling both of us bitchless?”

Dejun snorted. Yangyang gaped at him, and Dejun took his distraction as an opportunity to steal more of Yangyang’s eggs.

“Hey!” Yangyang glared at Dejun, pulling his plate away again. “You know full well I’ve been getting laid on the regular, so this is just straight up slander,” he said, affronted.

“Yeah, yeah, congratulations, you’re a freak,” Dejun said, mouth full of eggs. “But like. Does ghost sex count?”

“Does ghost sex count – yes, it fucking counts!” From the counter, Yangyang could hear Jaemin snickering, but when he turned to shoot him a glare, Jaemin just smiled angelically and held up his hands in surrender. 

“Okay, well, even if ghost sex counts,” Dejun continued, oblivious to Jaemin’s presence in the room with them, “It's technically no strings attached, so you are still, definitionally, bitchless.”

“Okay, wow, low blow,” Yangyang said, rolling his eyes as a grin spread across his face. “But I’ll have you know that as of last night, Jaemin and I are happily in a relationship. So there.”

Dejun, whose hand was halfway across the table in pursuit of more eggs, froze in shock. Yangyang batted his hand away with a lighthearted glare. “Oh, really?”

“Really,” Yangyang said, smug. Dejun blinked at him a few times, processing his words, and then, apparently deciding that Yangyang was serious, smiled. 

“Good. I’m glad,” Dejun said. “I never thought you two would get together, given the circumstances, but I’m happy for you both regardless.”

Yangyang melted. “Thanks, Dejun,” he said quietly. They fell into silence for a moment, while Yangyang collected his thoughts. 

“I guess we both just decided it didn’t matter that our time together was limited – we wanted as much time together as we could get,” Yangyang admitted. His eyes met Jaemin’s over Dejun’s shoulder, and Jaemin smiled softly back.

Directly in front of him, Dejun’s smile widened, and he reached across the table to squeeze Yangyang’s hand. 

“That’s amazing, Yangyang. The both of you deserve that.”

Yangyang felt himself tearing up despite himself. “Thanks, Dejun. Seriously.”

“Anytime,” Dejun said sincerely. Then a single eyebrow inched toward his hairline, and he said, “Any chance you’ll repay my support in scrambled eggs?”

“You’re a parasite,” Yangyang groaned, already standing to make some more scrambled eggs.

“I love you!” Dejun said, batting his eyelashes at Yangyang, who just rolled his eyes harder as he stood over the stove and cracked an egg into the pan. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Yangyang said, and they fell silent as Yangyang cooked the eggs. He made some extra for Yushi, since it seemed like the polite thing to do for a guest. He slid about half of them onto a plate and placed them in front of Dejun before slipping back into his own seat.

There was a moment of silence as Dejun dug into his food. Yangyang studied Jaemin out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly, he had a brilliant idea.

“Hey, Dejun,” Yangyang said. Dejun hummed, fully absorbed in his eggs. “Can I come with you to your pottery class this week?” 

“No,” Dejun said, not looking up from his food. Yangyang pouted and groaned, laying himself out across the table.

“Why not?” He whined. 

“Because I know damn well that the only reason you suddenly want to come is so that you and Jaemin can recreate that one scene from Ghost,” Dejun said, deadpan. “And even if I can’t see Jaemin, I’ll still be burdened with the knowledge that he’s there and you two are being gross.”

Yangyang looked away, slightly shifty. Caught. Jaemin cackled. Yangyang pouted his direction, but Jaemin just laughed harder. Traitor.

At that moment, Yushi joined them in the kitchen, looking rather abashed. He waved awkwardly at them, shuffling over to join them at the table. “Good morning. Sorry I slept in, I was up rather late reading the Codex.” He hovered over them, seeming unsure of whether he should sit or stand.

“No worries, man,” Yangyang said, grinning and pulling out a chair for him. “Take a seat. Do you like scrambled eggs? I saved some for you.” 

“Oh,” Yushi’s eyes went wide, and he ducked his head, a small smile spreading across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Eggs are fine. Thank you for thinking of me, you didn’t have to do that.”

“It was no problem,” Yangyang said, setting the second plate of eggs down in front of Yushi. “I was already making them for my lazy best friend.”

Dejun let out an offended noise, but it was muffled through his mouthful of eggs. Yangyang laughed at him and Dejun just angrily shoved more eggs into his mouth. 

Yushi smiled nervously, like anybody caught between two people that are close enough to insult each other. Seemingly at a loss, he picked up his fork and began to eat.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out what we’re going to need,” Yushi said, swallowing his eggs. 

“Awesome,” Yangyang said, exchanging an excited look with Dejun. “Lay it on us.”

“Well, we’re going to need three separate rituals,” Yushi began. “First, a ritual of protection – for ourselves. It’s not a good idea to face off against a demon unprotected.”

“I can definitely get behind that,” Dejun said. Yangyang nodded fervently.

“Secondly, a ritual of containment,” Yushi said. “We need to keep Yuta from being able to disrupt us while we work on the third ritual, which will be the most complex of the three.”

Yangyang nodded to himself – it made sense. They didn’t want Yuta walking around free while they were actively trying to exorcise him, or whatever it was they were going to do. Imagine if he went for the Dream CD? Who knew what he was capable of? Yangyang shivered at the thought.

“The third ritual is a ritual of cleansing – to consecrate the land, and remove demonic influence,” Yushi continued, snapping Yangyang out of his reverie. “Just like ghosts can become tied to places, objects, and people, demons have to have some kind of tether to the material plane – but in their case, it seems to always be territorial. We need to consecrate the land where the demon has taken root.”

“Okay, seems straightforward enough,” Yangyang said. “Terrifying, but straightforward.” He leaned across the table to Yushi. “So what do we need to do?”

Yushi walked them through each ritual, using lists he’d made of the ingredients they’d need for each ritual. They all split up to go to separate stores across the city – Dejun went to a normal grocery store to get the easy things, like table salt and plain wax candles, while Yangyang went to a crystal shop that Yushi gave him the address for in order to buy a handful of really specific crystals and stone bowls. 

Meanwhile, Yushi went back home to his parents house to get supplies they apparently already had at home, and returned with an obscene amount of sacred chalk, a number of dried plants, and some jars full of… something. In all honesty, Yangyang was too scared to ask exactly what they were. 

They laid out the goods on Dejun’s desk, and Yushi set them all to work. Yangyang practiced drawing ritual circles while Dejun ground up various plants and Yushi checked and double checked his notes. The ghosts drifted in and out, surveying the scene and asking questions while they all planned how exactly they were going to approach getting the CD back.

“I think it makes the most sense if Renjun goes first to ask to meet with Yuta about possibly signing a contract,” Jeno suggested, sitting cross-legged on Yangyang’s top bunk. “Obviously he’d turn Yuta down, but as he’s leaving he could mention the CD and see if Yuta will admit to having it? Maybe convince him to give it back before we start the rituals?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Yushi said, leaning over the desk to examine Yangyang’s work. “If Yangyang, Dejun, and I show up first, Yuta might not show his face, which could make the containment ritual more difficult.”

“It wouldn’t be putting Renjun in unnecessary danger?” Mark asked, looking worried from his spot beside Jeno. Yushi shook his head. 

“Not in any more danger than he’s already in at any given time, given Yuta has the tether,” Yushi explained. He gave Yangyang an approving nod before moving over to check on Dejun. “Yangyang, Dejun, and I will be right behind him, ready to begin the containment ritual.”

“I’ll do it,” Renjun said, jaw set, eyes hard. He was sitting criss-cross on the floor, back up against the bunk bed. “We’re all already at risk because I let the CD fall into Yuta’s hands. I have to do everything I can to increase our chances of getting it back.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Renjun,” Mark said gently. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I know, but Yuta still has the CD as a direct result of my actions,” Renjun said stubbornly, avoiding Mark’s eyes. 

Mark sighed and shook his head. Jeno frowned. Jaemin and Yangyang exchanged pitying looks.

“Seriously, Renjun, stop beating yourself up,” Donghyuck snapped, lounging across Dejun’s bed. “Self-flagellation gets us nowhere. All it does is make me think about how likely it is that you’re a masochist, and I really don’t want to know.”

Renjun lunged up onto the bed for Donghyuck, who yelped and threw himself backward, trying to avoid getting tackled. Jaemin snorted at the display, settling down on the floor beside Yangyang, examining the complex patterns of concentric interlocking circles lined with runes Yangyang had spent the afternoon copying over and over again. He was practicing with a piece of paper and colored pencils – red to indicate lines meant to be drawn in chalk and green for lines meant to be drawn with salt. 

“Looks hard,” Jaemin said, pouting. If they could touch, he would have hooked his chin over Yangyang’s shoulder, but given the current state of affairs, he just hovered over Yangyang as close as he could get without actually touching. 

“I don’t know, I think I’m doing okay,” Yangyang said, smiling up at Jaemin. “That one random art class I took in freshman year is doing a lot of heavy lifting right now.”

Jaemin raised his eyebrows. “Thank god for general education elective requirements, I guess.”

“Seriously,” Yangyang said. They lapsed into comfortable silence, Yangyang tracing out the three different ritual circles over and over and over again under Yushi’s watchful eye until he could practically draw them with his eyes closed. 

It was still Saturday, so they decided to go to sleep and head over to Yuta’s the following afternoon, giving themselves another day of practice for the rituals. 

The next morning, before they headed off to Depth, Yangyang carefully laid down the ritual circle for the ritual of protection – a triangle of chalk, encircled by a circle of salt, a rune of protection drawn in the center of the triangle – on the floor of his and Dejun’s bedroom. He added runes representing safety, light, and security to each of the three points of the circle, while Dejun burned some dried chrysanthemum and tossed it, still lightly smoking, into the center of the circle. 

Yangyang prayed that the smoke wouldn’t set the fire alarm off. 

They each took their places at the three points of the triangle as Yushi kneeled, placing a stone bowl full of salt water at the center of the circle. The ghosts watched on from the sidelines, eyes solemn and wide. 

One by one, they rinsed their hands in the salt water, then splashed the excess liquid on their faces as Yushi stood and chanted a liturgy in Old Japanese, requesting the protection of the gods. 

As he spoke the final words, they joined hands, and as they did, Yangyang could see the water on their skin slowly glow soft gold, lines of water coalescing and winding around their wrists, binding them together with strands of golden liquid for a single, shining moment before fading away.

They stood there for a moment longer than was probably necessary, before finally dropping hands and stepping back. 

“It worked,” Yushi said confidently. “The spell of protection should hold for the next twelve hours, give or take.”

“Excellent,” Yangyang said, grinning. He shook out his hands, drying them on his jeans. “Now let’s go exorcise a demon.” He paused, considering his words, and grimaced. “Wow. I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Remember when the biggest problem in your life was the rats?” Dejun said, raising an eyebrow. Yangyang groaned, and dragged a hand down his face.

“Ugh, don’t remind me about the rats. I’ve been trying to pretend like that issue resolved itself.”

“It did not,” Dejun said unhelpfully. “You should probably call the landlord again.”

“Yes, Dejun, I know,” Yangyang said miserably. “I’ve been a bit busy, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Maybe I should call the landlord,” Djeun mused, half to himself.

“Yes, you probably should,” Yangyang said. “John or George or whatever the fuck his name is definitely isn’t going to.”

“Sion might,” Yushi interjected. Yangyang and Dejun turned to stare at him, all the ghosts following suit. “I mean. He just seems like a helpful sort of person,” Yushi said, blushing bright red under the sudden scrutiny.

“...Right,” Yangyang said, raising his eyebrows and exchanging a delighted look with Jaemin over Yushi’s shoulder. “Should we head to Depth?” 

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Yushi said, flustered, and began to gather their supplies. 

On their way out of the house they ran into Sion, who smiled at them and wished them luck on their group project. Yushi flushed again, and stuttered out a thank you, before hurrying past Sion towards the door. Yangyang was delighted to see that Sion’s ears were tinted pink as Yushi brushed past him. 

They drove downtown in Dejun’s car, and from there they followed Renjun’s lead, walking down several city blocks and down an alley until they were standing outside a padlocked, chained up door, looking up at a sign that read Depth in flickering, neon red letters.

Yushi pulled bolt cutters out of his bag and set to work cutting the lock. After a moment, the lock snapped, falling to the asphalt in two pieces, chain slithering to the ground behind it like a snake, the chain links clinking against each other as they fell. The door creaked open, and for a long moment, they all stared at the entrance in silence, apprehension hanging thick in the air between them like smoke. 

“Well,” Renjun said, swallowing as they all stared into the darkness that lay beyond the now-open door. “Here goes nothing.”

He stepped forward, vanishing into the darkness, Jeno following suit a moment later. 

The plan they’d devised was simple. Renjun would enter the club first, appearing to be alone, and ask to talk to Yuta about possibly signing the contract. Jeno would follow after him, being careful to stay out of sight, and scope out the area. 

Once Renjun had Yuta suitably distracted, Jeno would come back to get Yangyang, Yushi, and Dejun, who would sneak past Yuta into the club – according to Yushi, the spell of protection should keep them from being detected by any magical or demonic senses Yuta might possess, so all they really needed to do was stay out of his line of sight. 

Once they were in position, Renjun would stall long enough for them to draw the containment circle, and when they were ready to go, Jeno would signal Renjun, who would wrap up the conversation by saying he appreciated Yuta’s time, but they were still on the fence, and get up as if he was going to leave. He’d ask after the CD, to see if Yuta would give it up, and then get the hell out of dodge so that Yushi could activate the containment circle – which was helpfully designed to summon the nearest supernatural creature to the circle and bind it there. Mark, Donghyuck, and Jaemin would keep a lookout and try to stay the hell out of the way.

Things went smoothly at first. Jeno returned after only a few minutes, silently beckoning for Yushi, Yangyang, and Dejun to follow him. Jaemin smiled at Yangyang and whispered, “Good luck,” and then the three of them were off, sneaking through the shadows after Jeno. 

Jeno led them along the back wall and up a set of stairs to the second floor mezzanine. Yuta’s voice drifted up from below as they set to work – thankfully, it was a simple design – a basic pentagram laid in salt, with a number of runes of containment and locking inscribed at each point of the star in sacred chalk.  

“…running out of time,” Yuta said. 

Yangyang began to lay the pentagram in salt, while Dejun placed candles in the outer empty spaces between the points of the star and the circle itself. Yushi began to inscribe the runes in sacred chalk while Jeno snuck over to the railing, peeking over to watch Renjun and Yuta from above.

“I know, but we’re just not sure,” Renjun said. “We’re going to try to complete our unfinished business the first time around, but if we fail, we’ve already decided we’ll sign.”

Yushi’s chalk snapped.

They all froze, holding their breath and staring at each other with wide eyes.

“That’s fine, it’s your choice,” Yuta continued, oblivious, and they all heaved sighs of relief. “I just don’t want any of you to have to deal with soul pains any longer. I’ve heard they’re awful. Signing with me will make them go away.”

Yushi held out his hand, and Dejun stopped laying down candles to silently pass him some more chalk. They nodded, at each other and returned to their tasks, moving quietly but quickly as the circle of containment began to take shape under their hands.

“I know, and if it was up to me, we’d sign today,” Renjun said, sounding rueful. God, he was a good actor. “But some of the others are reluctant, and whatever we do, we do together, so.”

“I understand,” Yuta said sympathetically. “But, you know, if you want to sign… I won’t tell your friends.”

Yushi drew the final rune, and gave Jeno a thumbs up. He nodded solemnly and slipped back down the stairs, vanishing in the darkness.

“I appreciate it, but I can’t go against my friends like that,” Renjun said, and his voice began migrating – he must have gotten Jeno’s signal, and stood up to leave. “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“My pleasure.” Yuta’s voice had moved too – presumably following Renjun to the door. 

“Oh, also Hendery mentioned that he lent you our CD when I went to get it back from him,” Renjun said. “Could I get it back?”

“Oh! I haven’t had a chance to listen to it just yet – could I hold onto it for now?” Yuta asked. “I’ve heard from the others that you guys are super talented.” 

Yangyang’s attention was drawn away from the conversation between Yuta and Renjun by movement near the stairs. He turned to look and saw Mark, gasping for breath as he reached the top.

“He knows,” Mark said, terrified. Yangyang saw Yushi’s eyes widen in horror.

“Nice try.” Yuta’s voice was directly in Yangyang’s ear, all trace of friendliness gone. 

Yangyang jumped, eyes widening as he whirled around to face a furious Yuta. His features were twisting, the ink on his arms swirling and beginning to rise off his skin like black smoke. He held Renjun by the scruff of his neck, shoving him forward towards the containment circle.

Yushi let out a strangled cry and rushed forward, but Renjun passed straight through his hands and fell forward into the containment circle. The pentagram flashed gold, the salt beginning to burn, trapping Renjun in place. 

“Fuck!” Yushi grabbed their bag of supplies, and scrambled away from Yuta, towards the stairs. “We need to set another circle! Dejun, come help me! Mark, Jeno, get out of here! Yangyang, distract him!”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Yangyang yelped, but Yushi had already vanished down the stairs, Dejun hot on his heels. Yuta growled, and launched himself towards Yangyang, who yelped and threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding Yuta’s outstretched hands.

“What the fuck, man?” Yangyang complained, hurriedly backing away toward the stairs as Yuta hissed and turned to face him. He was surrounded by black smoke now, eyes no longer human – scleras bleeding black. “Let’s not freak out. Maybe we can talk about this?”

Yangyang couldn’t really tell, given that Yuta’s eyes were entirely black now, but he could’ve sworn that Yuta rolled his eyes. 

“It’s not personal,” he said, and holy fuck. He sounded almost bored, voice dripping with disdain as he began advancing on Yangyang. “Would you begrudge a spider for catching flies? I have to eat.”

“Okay, but like, have you tried snacking on something besides my friend’s souls?” Yangyang said, turning his head back as he stumbled at the top of the stairs, almost losing his balance. Thankfully, he grabbed the railing, steadying himself before he could fall down to the first floor.  Yuta laughed, high and cold. 

“Your so-called friends are long dead,” he said, mock pity infused in every syllable. “They wouldn’t feel a thing. Consuming a soul is a completely painless process.”

“For you, maybe!” Yangyang said. “The soul pains I saw them experience, which seem to be like, a precursor to you permanently eating their souls? Maybe? Whatever. Those definitely hurt them. So. That kind of undermines your point?” He thought he was being totally reasonable, but clearly Yuta didn’t agree, seeing as he snarled and lunged forward again.

“Touched a nerve, I guess!” Yangyang yelped. He turned tail and ran down the stairs, Yuta screaming as he gave chase. 

Yangyang got down to the first floor, and he could see Yushi and Dejun in the center of the room. Yushi was on his hands and knees, frantically drawing with chalk, as Dejun scrambled back and forth, placing candles and laying salt. Thank god they’d had the foresight to pack extra of everything. Yuta paused at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes following Yangyang’s gaze to land on Yushi and Dejun, and oh hell no.

Yangyang wasn’t sure what possessed him in that moment, but all he knew was that he needed to get Yuta’s attention off of Yushi and Dejun, and he needed to do it now.

He sprinted back the way he came and shoved Yuta back, hard. Yuta stumbled back a few steps, and his eyes locked onto Yangyang’s, half-shocked, half-furious. 

Get him to completely forget Yushi and Dejun exist? Well, fuck, Yangyang thought to himself, delirious with fear. Mission motherfucking accomplished!

“Tag. You’re it,” Yangyang said breathlessly. For a moment, there was an incredulous silence between them, both of them frozen in place in shock (Yuta) and horror (Yangyang) – and then, Yuta’s lip curled up into a snarl, and Yangyang was running for his life. 

“Fuck my entire life oh my fucking god,” Yangyang screamed as he jumped over a table, several chairs clattering to the ground behind him. He barreled around a support beam near the corner of the bar and sprinted towards the stage, Yuta snapping at his heels.

“You’re doing great, Yangyang!” Yushi called encouragingly. “Just a few moments more!”

“Yeah, if you could hurry up that would be fucking great, thanks,” Yangyang screamed back to him, dizzy with terror, barely able to see straight. His heart was pounding, and he felt sticky with sweat – after this he’d be done with cardio for the month. Fuck, maybe for the entire year. 

“The protection ritual should keep you relatively safe –” Yushi tried to reassure him.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Yuta growled, just behind him. Yangyang screamed, high-pitched, and pushed himself to run even faster, vaulting up onto the stage and running directly into the wings, hoping to lose Yuta in the mess of curtains at the back of the stage. 

He could hear Yuta crashing through the curtains behind him, could hear the sound of heavy velvet hitting the hardwood floor as Yuta tore the fabric from the rafters. Yangyang burst out on the other side just as Yushi said, “Got it! Yangyang, this way!”

“Thank fuck,” Yangyang gasped, and rushed forward. Yuta appeared out of the wings, black smoke streaming behind him, face twisted and inhuman. Yangyang launched himself off the stage, flying right over Yushi and Dejun’s carefully laid pentagram to land on the other side. Yuta, too incandescent with rage to look before he leaped, followed suit – only to freeze midair and fall to the ground, the pentagram flashing as the salt circle burned gold. 

Yuta howled, an angry, terrifying thing, and they all flinched – but the circle held. 

“Gotcha,” Yushi said, satisfied and smug. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m so out of shape,” Yangyang gasped, flopping onto his back and gasping for air. Dejun came over and patted him on the shoulder, commiserating.

They completed the rest of the ritual quickly, Yangyang staggering back to his feet so they could join hands around the pentagram and chant the words of the ritual Yushi had found to cleanse the land. Once they were done, Yushi paced the edges of the club, sprinkling blessed water in each of the cardinal directions. Depth began to burn and melt away, consumed by holy fire, while within the circle, Yuta screamed and collapsed, oozing black smoke – skin melting from his bones into a thick, black ooze that sunk into the floor and vanished. 

When it was all over and done with, the three of them stood in an abandoned warehouse – the sleek club and its owner nowhere to be seen. Sitting on the ground, just a few feet from them, was Dream’s CD, its jewel case intact, not a single scratch on it.

A few moments of silence passed as Yushi, Dejun, and Yangyang stared at each other, then at the CD, still half in shock.

As if on cue, the ghosts appeared in the doorway, curious eyes surveying the place – Renjun clearly having been released from the first, failed circle of containment. 

“Whoa,” Renjun said, looking around with wide eyes. “It worked?”

“It worked,” Yangyang said, breathless, half in disbelief. “Oh my god, it actually worked.”

He burst into relieved laughter, the others following suit, and swept Yushi into a hug. 

“Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “Thank you so much.” The others crowded in, echoing Yangyang’s sentiments, and Dejun joined the hug enthusiastically, squeezing them both tight.

“It was nothing,” Yushi said, awkward as ever when receiving such effusive praise. “Seriously.”

“It was everything,” Renjun said fervently. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

With Yuta gone and no deadline hanging over their heads, time began to pass more easily – though Yangyang was still extremely busy, given that his finals week fell in between the day they defeated Yuta and the beginning of the festival, and he hadn’t spent much time studying, given everything going on with the ghosts. Still, before they knew it, the first day of the festival had arrived. 

SMTOWN Live! was a two day festival. Their plan was for Dejun to come with them and pose as their manager in order to get access to the backstage area – while Yangyang and the others got ready for their performance, he would look for Chenle and Jisung.

They all figured that trying to tell Chenle and Jisung about the entire situation up front probably wouldn’t be too successful – not to mention, it would make Dejun look crazy. It would be easier if they saw their deceased band members up on stage with their own two eyes. So the plan was that Dejun wouldn’t bother explaining – he’d just try to convince them to come watch Phantom’s set. 

“It should work,” Mark said. “Jisung might not be as open to the idea – he’s a bit of an introvert – but I think you could convince Chenle.”

Yangyang relayed his message to Dejun. They were all sitting around in Dejun and Yangyang’s room. Mark was at the desk, Renjun leaning on the desk beside him. Donghyuck was draped over the bottom bunk. Jaemin was sitting beside Yangyang, back against the side of the bed, while Jeno sat criss-cross-applesauce against the opposite wall. Dejun nodded. 

“Okay, so focus on Chenle,” he said. “Got it.” 

“Maybe throw in a sob story, too, like, say Phantom are huge fans of theirs and they got us through hard times, so it would mean the world if they came and watched,” Renjun suggested.”Chenle’s a sucker for those kinds of stories.”

“So’s Jisung,” Donghyuck pointed out. Jeno smiled fondly, shaking his head.

“Jisung’s going to cry when he sees us,” Jaemin said confidently. “For sure.”

“I sure hope so,” Donghyuck said with a snort. “Chenle better cry too. They think we’re dead.”

“We are dead,” Jeno pointed out, reasonably. Donghyuck waved him off. 

“Semantics.”

“Stop acting like we aren’t all going to cry,” Mark said, rolling his eyes. “I guarantee that we’ll all be sobbing messes. Even you, Donghyuck.”

“We’ll see about that,” Donghyuck sniffed, but there was no real conviction behind it – he clearly didn’t even believe what he was saying himself. 

“Anyway,” Yangyang interrupted. “It’s a solid plan. Any other tips?”

They all shook their heads, and the meeting was dismissed. Later that day, Dejun interrupted Yangyang while he was studying in the library, a serious look on his face. Jaemin wasn’t around – he was trying to give Yangyang space so he could focus on his finals.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Yangyang frowned. “You look concerned. What is it?”

“I’m not concerned,” Dejun said quickly. Yangyang fixed him with a look like, seriously? He sighed. “Okay, I’m concerned. The boyfriend that you’re obsessed with is about to move on to the afterlife, it would be weird if I wasn’t concerned. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about – not really.”

“Okay…?” Yangyang said. He looked at Dejun expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“The day one performance will be the last one where you and Jaemin will be together in the aftermath,” Dejun said, directing a weighty look Yangyang’s way out of the corner of his eye. Yangyang swallowed hard.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, voice tight. “I’ve been trying not to think about it too much.”

“Right,” Dejun said. He cleared his throat. “Well. I was going to offer…” he bit his lip, and started over. “For Chenle and Jisung, seeing their dead band members seemingly alive and well on stage… that will be shocking. They’ll probably have a lot of questions. So, I was going to give them some time to compose themselves and ask me some questions before I take them to see the band.” He turned to look directly at Yangyang. “Something like… oh, I don’t know. Fifteen to twenty minutes?” 

Yangyang looked at Dejun, understanding beginning to dawn on him. He felt a wave of gratitude wash over him, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. 

“Dejun,” he whispered.

“It’s your last day with him,” Dejun said simply, laying a hand on Yangyang’s arm to ground him. “The least I can do as your best friend is make sure you get as much time as possible.”

“You don’t have to,” Yangyang managed to say around the lump in his throat.

“I don’t,” Dejun acknowledged. “But I want to.” He looked at Yangyang, and there was something in his eyes that was so sad – a mix of sympathy and pity. 

“Thank you,” Yangyang said, and Dejun smiled, a quiet, heartbroken thing. 

“My pleasure.”

 ── ✩ ──

They arrived at the venue four hours early. Dejun got his backstage access pass and slipped away almost as soon as they arrived, heading to the other side of the festival grounds where Chenle and Jisung would be performing in hopes of catching them with plenty of time to spare. 

Yangyang went through his usual motions of pretending to set up a bunch of complex equipment under the watchful eyes of the stage manager, a guy named Sicheng who seemed friendly enough, but also extremely busy. Jaemin stayed by his side the whole time.

Speaking of Jaemin, the two of them had been nearly inseparable since officially getting together – though they’d both agreed not to focus on the fact that they were working with limited time, the ticking of the clock was getting harder and harder to ignore. Yangyang practically stopped going to class in favor of making the most of the remaining time he and Jaemin had left – his upcoming finals were a problem for future Yangyang to worry about.

Shoutout to his grandma, who came back to life only to die again and give Yangyang an excuse to email his professors for why he was missing class.

Yangyang was certain that if they hadn’t been dealing with a time limit, they would have at least tried to act normal about each other – but because of the unique circumstances, he and Jaemin were acting like the worst kind of codependent couple. They were rarely ever apart, unless Yangyang was studying, and whenever they were separated, Yangyang found himself missing Jaemin fiercely. 

They spoke as much as they could – about themselves, their dreams, their favorite movies and books, where they wanted to travel. Yangyang made a list of Jaemin’s favorite films, all of them from the 80s and 90s, to watch after he was gone. Jaemin said he wanted to get caught up, so the two of them sacrificed some of their extremely limited time together to watch one of Yangyang’s more modern favorites. They curled up on the bed together, surrounded by blankets Jaemin could not touch and popcorn Jaemin could not eat, and pretended that they could have cuddled if they wanted to. 

Jaemin told Yangyang he’d always wanted to go to Japan, and though there was no way he would be able to go in the time he had left, Yangyang quietly decided that one day, he would visit Japan for Jaemin. That way, if there was an afterlife, when they met again he’d be able to tell him all about it. 

Jaemin said he’d always wanted to own cats, and Yangyang had impulsively checked his lease to see if cats were allowed. Turns out they were. On a related note, Yangyang and Jaemin might now co-own a cat. Maybe. 

Dejun was not impressed.

“Just be happy we went with one instead of four,” Yangyang told him seriously. “We’d already decided on Coco, but then Jaemin saw three other cats – siblings, I think – and we seriously almost left with all of them.”

“You’re insane,” Dejun said.

“Well, maybe a little bit,” Yangyang admitted. 

“No, seriously, how are you going to afford a cat as a student?” Dejun asked.

“She’s our daughter, I’ll figure it out.”

“This is the most insane speedrunning of a relationship I’ve ever seen,” Dejun said, half under his breath. 

“I’m going for the world record,” Yangyang said, grinning as Coco curled up in his lap. He sobered, and looked back at Dejun. “I know it might seem like a bad idea but… He’s going to be gone soon, Dejun. Afterwards, at least I’ll still have Coco.”

Dejun sighed, and Yangyang could see his slight annoyance melt away to make way for pity. “God, okay, keep the cat, you emotional manipulator.”

“I was planning on it,” Yangyang said, grinning, and buried his fingers in Coco’s fur.

Now, as Jaemin rambled on by Yangyang’s side, he tried his best to sink into the moment, to enjoy having Jaemin here at his side before he lost him forever. 

Despite Yangyang’s best attempts to savor the moment, time flew by, and before he knew it, he was stumbling offstage after their second-to-last performance, brow dripping sweat, Jaemin’s hand in his. The others shot them knowing looks. 

“I’m going to try and find Dejun,” Mark said. “Who’s with me?” He shot deliberate looks around at the others. Renjun raised his hand with an eye roll. 

“Yangyang and I are going to head back to the trailer,” Jaemin said. Yangyang raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, I am, am I?” Yangyang said, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Jaemin grinned at him, teeth sharp.

“What? Any objections?”

“I’ll come with you, Mark,” Jeno said, interrupting them. “Donghyuck?” 

Donghyuck nodded, and turned to look at Jaemin and Yangyang.

 “Clean up after yourselves,” he said, snickering. 

“Fuck off, Donghyuck,” Jaemin said primly, and he turned to leave, pulling Yangyang after him. Yangyang waved back at them. 

“See you guys later!”

The festival grounds were crawling with people, and the backstage areas were only marginally less crowded. Yangyang let Jaemin drag him along anyway, ignoring the occasional strange looks directed at him – he must have looked funny, hand extended in front of him, holding onto nothing – Yangyang couldn’t care less what anyone thought about him anymore, not when he was so thoroughly distracted by the feeling of Jaemin’s hand, warm and solid, in his. 

By the time they made it back to Phantom’s trailer, which they’d been given as a sort of dressing room of sorts, Yangyang was desperate to feel Jaemin’s lips on his. The moment the door shut behind them, Yangyang was backing Jaemin up until his knees hit the back of the couch and he collapsed into the cushions, allowing Yangyang to climb into his lap and capture his lips in a kiss. 

“Missed you,” he murmured between kisses, hands sliding up Jaemin’s arms to settle around his neck. 

“I’ve been right here the whole time,” Jaemin said with a sharp-toothed grin, because he liked to be insufferable. Yangyang rolled his eyes fondly, and pulled their foreheads together, breaths mingling in the space between them. 

“You know what I mean,” Yangyang whispered. Jaemin’s eyes fluttered shut, bravado melting away.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing heavily. “I know what you mean.” He tilted his head up to seal their lips together, and Yangyang melted into his embrace. They parted for a moment, and Yangyang watched Jaemin’s lips pull up into a bittersweet smile. “I missed you too.”

They’d been putting on a good face for the others, but here, just the two of them, the masks came off. It was different from before. A part of it was so joyful, being here, being together, officially, at last – but another part of it was heartbreakingly sad. Yangyang’s head pounded under the weight of knowledge, the reality he couldn’t shake that this would be the last time he would be able to hold Jaemin in his arms like this. His chest ached, heart throbbing in his chest, overfull with love that he knew would soon make way for sorrow – for what is grief but love with nowhere to go?

Jaemin’s hand cupped Yangyang’s cheek so gently, his other hand resting on Yangyang’s hip, and somewhere along the line, their kisses began to taste of salt. Yangyang couldn’t have said who started to cry first, but once the dam had broken, for a few minutes neither of them could stop. He could see the tear-tracks on Jaemin’s face under the harsh lighting in the trailer as Jaemin pulled him closer, arms wrapped around Yangyang’s waist.

With Jaemin’s skin soft against his, Yangyang couldn’t be sad – not really. In this moment, Jaemin was still here. There would be time to be sad later.

Yangyang’s tears slowed, then stopped, and he leaned up to kiss the tears from Jaemin’s skin. 

“Aw, Jaemin, you gonna miss me that much?”

 Jaemin blinked, clearly surprised, as he registered Yangyang’s fond teasing. His own tears began to slow, a smile growing at the corners of his lips. 

“Obviously,” he said. 

“Oh, yeah?” Yangyang smirked, leaning closer to Jaemin, his eyes fixed on Jaemin’s. “What exactly are you gonna miss?”

“Fishing for compliments?” Jaemin said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Don’t suddenly act humble. You know how I feel about you.”

“Say it again anyway,” Yangyang breathed, and tilted his head to the side to press kisses down the side of Jaemin’s neck. Jaemin sucked in a breath as Yangyang’s teeth dragged down the line of his throat. 

“I’ll miss your smile,” Jaemin said. “Your sense of humor.” Yangyang rewarded each compliment with a kiss.

“Keep going,” he said, burning with desire.

“Your lips on mine. Your teeth,” Jaemin said, “against my skin.” His hands were moving, unwrapping from around Yangyang’s waist, returning to his hips, eventually coming to settle on the tops of his thighs. Jaemin’s fingers spread apart, one hand sliding forward, then down, until he was caressing Yangyang’s inner thigh. Yangyang let out a low whine, hips rolling forward, pressing further into Jaemin’s lap. 

“The sounds you make when I touch you,” Jaemin offered.

“Touch me, then,” Yangyang whispered, licking a stripe up Jaemin’s neck. He gasped as Jaemin suddenly cupped the bulge in his pants, and his hips jerked forward almost involuntarily, chasing the pressure and friction that Jaemin’s hand offered. 

Jaemin’s other hand came up to cup the back of Yangyang’s neck, pulling him into a searing kiss, his hand sliding back to grab the top of Yangyang’s thigh. Yangyang grinded down into Jaemin’s lap, and slipped his hands under Jaemin’s shirt. 

He could feel Jaemin’s muscles, tense underneath his skin, and Yangyang gently dragged his nails across his abdomen, caressing the planes and valleys. Jaemin shivered just slightly at Yangyang’s touch, and rubbed Yangyang’s rapidly-stiffening cock through his pants, applying more and more pressure until Yangyang was gasping for breath.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” Yangyang said, breathless.

Jaemin smiled – a slow, lazy thing – and pulled his hand away. Yangyang whined at the loss of contact, but before he could really mourn, Jaemin was wrapping his arms around Yangyang’s waist and shifting them both so he could slot their hips together. Yangyang slid forward willingly until his full weight was settled in Jaemin’s lap, the pressure building as they rubbed against each other, sharing gasping breaths as they found their rhythm. 

Yangyang’s forehead was pressed against Jaemin’s temple, mouth half open and pressed against the column of his neck as he panted desperate, wet, messy breaths into Jaemin’s skin – but he found himself desperate to feel Jaemin’s lips against his own again, to devour him, heart and soul. 

Yangyang forced himself to straighten, sliding one of his hands out from under Jaemin’s shirt before reaching up to cup Jaemin’s jaw, pulling him forward until their lips were locked again. 

It was so good – Yangyang licked into Jaemin’s mouth and was rewarded as Jaemin growled in the back of his throat, a deep, rumbling thing that Yangyang could feel in his own lips and tongue. 

Yangyang pressed forward until his body was a line of pure heat against Jaemin’s. His skin was prickling, his nerve endings on fire – the sensation of Jaemin was all around him. He could feel Jaemin’s skin against his, smell the heady amber and flowery undertones of Jaemin’s skin and sweat, could taste Jaemin’s tongue in his mouth. He felt overwhelmed, consumed – utterly and completely safe, warm and loved.

As he pressed down into Jaemin’s lap, sinking into the feeling of love and warmth and safety, he allowed himself to dissolve into pleasure. He pulled away to breathe and collapsed into Jaemin’s chest, shaking as he rode out the orgasm. Jaemin held him through it as Yangyang whimpered softly, biting his lip.

His body relaxed, and Yangyang reached his hand between them, tracing the outline of Jaemin’s dick through his pants, feeling where it pressed into Yangyang’s stomach. He rubbed along the length, and Jaemin groaned appreciatively. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Jaemin breathed, eyes dark.

“Not god, just me,” Yangyang said, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. Jaemin laughed, full throated, his head thrown back. That laugh made way for a moan as Yangyang increased the pressure. Then Jaemin gasped, and Yangyang could feel the cloth under his hand grow moist. 

Beneath him, Jaemin’s body softened, and Yangyang slid his hand out from between their bodies, settling fully into Jaemin’s chest. He pulled his legs up and turned to the side, curling up almost like a cat, humming contentedly and laying his cheek over Jaemin’s heart.

They lay there, Jaemin running his hands through Yangyang’s hair, head tilted back, eyes closed, Yangyang listening, searching for the sound of Jaemin’s beating heart – at first, he’s convinced he won’t find it. But then, sure enough, he can hear it – a subtle thump, thump, thump that reminds him that though Jaemin isn’t alive, at least not in the traditional sense, at least for now, he’s flesh and blood.

Eventually, Jaemin began to fade. Yangyang fell straight through him and onto the couch.

“Fuck!” He landed on the edge of the couch and tumbled onto the floor. Jaemin laughed, and Yangyang pouted up at him before sighing and pushing himself to his feet. “I guess that’s my cue to get changed then, hm?”

Jaemin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in fondness. “Guess so.”

Five minutes later, they were headed out of the trailer to rendezvous with their friends, Yangyang shooting a text to Dejun to find out where he’d ended up. Dejun replied that he was in Chenle and Jisung’s trailer, and then they were on their way.

“Do you think they saw the set?” Jaemin asked, a furrow in his brow as he walked beside Yangyang through the crowd. Honestly, Yangyang was jealous – while he had to dodge the swaths of people swarming the festival grounds, Jaemin was free to walk straight through them all with no resistance.

“I’m sure they did,” Yangyang said, dodging a particularly determined man carrying a huge stack of clipboards in one hand and a container full of coffee cups in the other. A harried manager, perhaps. “Dejun wouldn’t be in their trailer if they hadn’t. He’s not the kind to break into their space without permission to be there. I’m just hoping the others found him alright. If they aren’t there we’ll have to go looking for them.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult,” Jaemin said, smirking. “We’ll just be trying to find a group of people that are totally invisible to everyone.”

“Yeah, I really hope they’re with Dejun,” Yangyang said. Jaemin snickered. 

As it happened, Jisung and Chenle’s trailer wasn’t that far from Phantom’s own – and Yangyang let out a sigh of relief as they approached, because he could see the other members waiting just outside the door.

“Hey, guys!” Yangyang waved as they hurried up to the group, only slightly out of breath. “What are you all waiting out here for?”

He looked around at them all, and noticed they all were some level of nervous – Mark was pacing, eyes wide and slightly twitchy. Donghyuck was fiddling with the hem of his shirt, looking back and forth between Renjun and Jeno, who were biting their nails and taking slow, careful breaths respectively. Yangyang turned to Jaemin, and noticed a twinge of apprehension in his eyes, too.

“Oh, okay.” Yangyang softened his voice and did his best to smile reassuringly. “Guys. It’ll be okay. Do you have any idea how grateful I would be if someone I loved came back from the dead? Even if it wasn’t fully?” He smiled around at them. “They’re going to be so happy to see you.”

“I know that,” Mark said. “Like, intellectually.”

“What he said,” Renjun muttered. 

“But emotionally, it’s like. Wow. After we see them… everything about this will change,” Mark continued. Donghyuck and Jeno nodded. Jaemin frowned and tilted his head to the side, contemplative. 

“This is it,” Donghyuck said grimly. “Our unfinished business.”

The statement hung in the air between them all, and they exchanged serious glances. Donghyuck was right. After today, all of their lives would change forever. For Yangyang, it was the end of Phantom, the end of this time in his life where he accidentally became a bridge between the dead and the living. For the members of Dream, it was quite literally the end. 

“Well,” Jeno said, breaking the silence with a small, sincere smile. “Let’s get on with it.” 

With his words, the tension broke. 

“I bet Jisung cries,” Donghyuck said with a snort. Renjun rolled his eyes. 

“We’ve been over this. They’re definitely both going to cry.”

“Well, we don’t have to wait any longer to find out,” Mark said, taking a final, deep breath before settling. He smiled around at them all. “Let’s go.”

Yangyang could feel Jaemin’s presence at his side as he smiled around at them all before heading up the stairs of the trailer to knock on the door.

A few moments later, the door swung open, and right behind it, there they were.

Seeing Chenle and Jisung in person after all these weeks of chasing them down was somewhat of a surreal experience. They’d aged well – they were just as handsome as they’d been on the cover of Dream’s first EP, but the baby fat had melted from their cheeks, and Yangyang could see subtle laugh lines at the corners of their eyes. Jisung’s hair was a soft brown, but Chenle’s hair was dyed bubblegum pink – Yangyang remembered Jaemin once telling him that Chenle enjoyed dyeing his hair every color of the rainbow. 

For a long moment, they all just stared at each other. Jisung and Chenle’s eyes were wide, and Yangyang noticed after a moment that they weren’t staring at him. They were looking to each side of him, eyes bouncing back and forth, taking in the sight of their former band members. 

Then, suddenly, Jisung burst into tears. 

“Told you,” Donghyuck said, but his voice was choked up, and tears were already beginning to stream down his cheeks. 

The next few minutes passed in a mess of sobs as the members of Dream piled into Chenle and Jisung’s trailer and they exchanged broken greetings and questions. 

“How are –”

“It’s really you –

“Oh my god, I can’t believe –”

Yangyang stepped to the side with Dejun, who wrapped a comforting arm around Yangyang’s shoulders as his own tears began to cloud his vision. The blurry sight of Chenle gazing into Jeno’s face in amazement, asking over and over again if it was really him, was enough to break him. The tears came spilling out, and once they started, Yangyang couldn’t get them to stop. Dejun was sniffling beside him, clearly having the same difficulty, despite still not being able to see the ghosts.

Once they’d all calmed down enough to talk, some of them settled across the couch while others settled on the floor. Chenle looked around at them all, tears drying on his cheeks and wonder in his eyes. Then, suddenly he fixed his gaze on Yangyang.

“Thank you,” he said, and his sincerity made Yangyang shake his head profusely and hold up his hands. 

“Oh my god, it’s nothing,” he said, flustered. “I don’t even know what you’re thanking me for.”

“You went to a lot of trouble trying to track us down and help us reunite with our bandmates,” Chenle said. “That’s not nothing. Not to us.” Beside him, Jisung nodded fervently. 

“It’s everything,” Jisung added, voice breaking. 

“Oh.” Yangyang swallowed back a fresh wave of tears. “It was my honor.”

“No matter what happens tomorrow, I want you to know – no, we want you to know – that we’re so appreciative of everything you’ve done,” Mark added, looking around at the group. The others nodded their agreement and Yangyang tried to surreptitiously wipe at his cheeks. 

“We could’ve ended up in anyone’s backyard, but out of everyone in the world, I, for one, am so glad it was yours,” Jaemin said.

“Well, of course you’re glad,” Donghyuck said, rolling his eyes. He turned to Chenle and Jisung, who were watching with curious expressions, and added. “Jaemin and Yangyang are dating.”

“Oh!” Chenle’s eyes widened. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Jaemin said, smiling smugly and shifting closer to Yangyang.

“Jaemin is biased,” Donghyuck scoffed. He smiled Yangyang’s way, his teasing making way for the sincere gratitude shimmering in his eyes. “But I’m not. You didn’t need to dedicate so much of your time to us. You gave it your all, even though you’re a full time student. We all saw how busy you’ve been these past few months. Having someone who still had connection to the land of the living on our side made a world of difference. So seriously. Thank you, Yangyang.”

“What is this, some kind of conspiracy to make me cry so much I get severely dehydrated and die?” Yangyang asked, laughing even as the tears began again, rolling down his cheeks and retracing the tear tracks left behind by his first round of crying. 

The others chuckled along wetly, looking at him with shining eyes. Dejun’s arm tightened around Yangyang’s shoulders comfortingly.

“You’re all saying thank you, but it’s really not necessary,” Yangyang insisted, holding up a hand to stop them as they opened their mouths to protest. “No, listen. It’s true that I helped you guys, but it’s not like I got nothing in return. You guys helped me conquer my fear of performing, taught me how the music industry works, and stood by my side through everything. I got an amazing boyfriend, and three amazing friends out of it. So really, thank you.”

“Why don’t we just say we helped each other, then,” Renjun said, fingers wiping at his cheeks. “And leave it at that.”

“Agreed,” Yangyang said, smiling at him. Renjun smiled back, and Yangyang felt his chest tighten. He swallowed back a sob. “I’m really gonna miss you guys.”

“We’re going to miss you too,” Jeno said, smiling sadly. The others nodded. “But there’s still a whole day we have left together, so let’s try to enjoy it!”

“Exactly,” Donghyuck said, and then he was shifting his body to face Chenle and Jisung. “I need to know everything about what you two have been up to since we’ve been gone.”

“Oh my god, yes,” Jaemin said, angling his body to face Chenle and Jisung. “My babies!”

“Maybe once, but now we’re actually decades older than you, if you hadn’t noticed,” Chenle said, raising an eyebrow.

“I literally raised you, what the hell? Do you hear this, Yangyang?” Jaemin said, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. “Kids these days. So disrespectful to their elders.”

Yangyang laughed, and they dissolved into comfortable conversation. The ghosts spent the afternoon catching up with Jisung and Chenle before they switched to practicing for tomorrow’s performance. 

Dejun enjoyed their practice – no doubt their earlier conversations had been confusing, given he’d only been able to hear half of what was being said. 

They stayed the night at the festival grounds, staying up until the early hours of the morning to talk, since their performances weren’t scheduled until the following evening. They had a visit from Doyoung, who was there for the festival to watch Jaemin’s last performance. 

Yangyang spent an emotional thirty minutes relaying a conversation between Doyoung and Jaemin. He knew how important it was that they get the chance to say a proper goodbye this time. Eventually, Doyoung left with tears in his eyes, a final squeeze to Yangyang’s arm, and a promise to check in on him in a few weeks. Jaemin thanked him quietly, and they returned to join the conversation with the others.

Yangyang slept on Jisung and Chenle’s couch with Jaemin beside him, not wanting to be parted from the ghosts, while Dejun returned to Phantom’s own trailer to make use of the king size bed it offered. 

The next day came far too soon. The morning passed by in a flurry of last-minute practice. Between one blink and the next, Yangyang found himself standing backstage with Chenle and Jisung, the ghosts at their side. The plan was for Chenle and Jisung to do most of their set, and they’d invite Phantom out for the last song.

For the first time, Yangyang cheered in the wings with Dream, since Chenle and Jisung were there, and he wouldn’t look crazy doing it alone. Mark’s Yo Dream! echoed in his ears as he watched Chenle and Jisung head onstage. 

It felt like he was dreaming. 

Since the day he met the ghosts, this was what they’d been working towards. It seemed like it should feel like a momentous occasion – that the day itself should somehow be different from any other day, the practices different from other practices. In a way, it was – they’d never rehearsed with Chenle or Jisung before, after all – but at the same time, it felt like any other day, any other performance. The sun was still in the sky, the crowd was the same size as it was the day before.

Everything that there was to say had already been said. Yangyang looked around at Mark, Renjun, Donghyuck, and Jaemin, the memories of the past few months playing on repeat in his head. They shared one last smile as Chenle’s voice echoed across the festival grounds – “Please join us in welcoming Phantom!”

Yangyang walked onstage to the roar of the crowd with the ghosts at his side. People were pressed up against the stage barricade as they cheered and while Yangyang was getting fairly comfortable with performing, the sheer size of the crowd was slightly overwhelming – Chenle and Jisung’s popularity was undeniable.

Jisung said adjusted his guitar strap over his shoulder. Chenle tightened his grip on the microphone and stepped to the side, ready to sing backup vocals for the first time in nearly three decades. Yangyang stepped up to the mic, his own guitar on his shoulder, and took a deep breath.

Behind him, Donghyuck’s fingers pressed down on the keys, and a soft chord rippled out gently over the crowd. There were some gasps – presumably as Donghyuck appeared before the crowd’s eyes –  and Yangyang sang the first line. 

When did it start?
Wondering if I could stay beside you forever?

The song they’d chosen was one Mark wrote nearly three decades ago, days before he’d graduated from school. The melody was nostalgic, heart-wrenching – Yangyang’s heart ached as he continued.

For me, separation is unimaginable
The stories shared by others scare me.

The crowd shifted and swayed, some jolting and crying out in surprise as Renjun appeared, his bass guitar thrumming, adding depth to the instrumental. Chenle took over, and as he sang, the melody vibrated deep in Yangyang’s chest, somewhere close to his heart. 

The warm and sparkling smile,
Tears that make me hate the way time goes by.

The melody built, Chenle’s voice rising as Jisung joined Renjun and Donghyuck in the instrumental.

Those many days when I was anxious
Remember this feeling!

Jeno’s drums and Jaemin’s guitar joined them, and the instrumental swelled, becoming grander and fuller. Mark’s voice led them as the chorus began, all eight of their voices blending together.

I wave goodbye, farewell,
And when I turn back,
The world is waiting for me!
I start the journey to an unknown star
And on the day I take that first step
I’ll be happy.

Yangyang could feel tears springing to his eyes. He looked around the stage, drinking in the sight of his friends at his side. He sank into the lyrics, and every word that passed his lips rang painfully true. The voices of the others fell away, and he continued straight into the second verse.

Even if everything changes,
What’s left at the end of my world is you.

Mark took the melody from him, striding across the stage. He turned away from the crowd entirely, and sang the next lines directly to the rest of them.

Look around,
It’s just us right now!

With a twinkle in his eye, Mark turned back around to face the crowd, Renjun and Donghyuck’s voices joining him as the second verse continued.

Taking unfamiliar steps,
Moving further away.

Mark and Donghyuck dropped out, and Renjun took the next two lines for himself.

Finding the answers to the questions 
I once thought were too vague to ask.

Jeno and Yangyang shared a smile across the stage, and Yangyang delighted in the way Jeno’s eyes always crinkled at the corners. He drank in the sight of the moles on Donghyuck’s cheeks, the way they shifted as he sang. He let himself marvel at Mark’s lyrical genius, Renjun’s fingers as they danced across the fretboard.

His eyes settled back on Jaemin, and as he joined Chenle for the next line, Yangyang sang directly to him, his feelings about Jaemin and all he was nearly overwhelming him. He could barely see, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

I don’t dream of having forever,
Let’s just shine right now.

Jaemin, Jeno, and Mark had the next line together, but Yangyang’s mind half-filtered out the others, and it felt like Jaemin was singing directly to him. 

Once I have to let go,
Tell me you’ll remember those dark nights
When it was only us?

Yangyang’s chest tightened, and memories flashed through his head – Jaemin perched unnaturally on various pieces of furniture, refusing to obey the laws of physics now that they no longer had any hold over him. Jaemin’s fingers tightening around Yangyang’s wrist, arms wrapping around Doyoung’s shoulders, eyes wide with wonder. Jaemin, head thrown back in laughter at something one of the others had said. Jaemin, hair tousled and eyes bright, fingers pressed into the fretboard of his guitar mid-rehearsal. Jaemin’s lips on Yangyang’s, his smile pressed into Yangyang’s skin. Jaemin in a million tiny moments, so beautiful and never Yangyang’s to hold on to. Jaemin and Yangyang, sat beside each other on the roof beneath the moonlight, alone together.

Yangyang knew he’d never forget any of it – would never forget Jaemin. The time they had might have been short, but Jaemin would linger in his memory until the day they’d see each other again.

The second chorus began, and Yangyang sank back into the music, his voice joining the others. 

I waved goodbye, farewell,
And when I turn back,
The world is waiting for me!

Mark and Chenle moved about the stage, singing with Donghyuck and Jisung, Renjun and Yangyang, heads bobbing, sharing small smiles.

I start the journey to an unknown star
And on the day I take that first step
I’ll be happy.

The music lulled, Jeno slowing his tempo, allowing Donghyuck to lengthen his chords, to slow the song even further. The song’s balance tipped from nostalgia towards something closer to melancholy as Jaemin sang the next lines, eyes fixed on Yangyang.

Once I leave, the planet will keep spinning,
The air of the night will still be cool.

Jaemin’s voice was rougher than Donghyuck’s or Renjun’s, less controlled than Chenle’s or Mark’s. It had texture that lent it sincerity. Yangyang could hear the concern, the love, that Jaemin poured into every note, every word, and he felt suffused with warmth. His eyes didn’t leave Jaemin’s for a single moment as he sang the next line, doing his best to convey just how true the lyrics rang.

I’m not lonely on my path
Because at the end of it,
There’s you.

Jaemin smiled, and for the first time, Yangyang saw him settle, eyes warm, almost peaceful – accepting. His next line was not sung alone. Mark, Renjun, Donghyuck, and Jeno joined him, and hearing their voices together, singing the next line, was nearly enough for the first of Yangyang’s tears to fall.

I’m not afraid anymore.

The music swelled, and the voices of the living rose to join the dead in the final chorus. 

I waved goodbye, farewell,
And when I turn back,
The world is waiting for me!

Yangyang could see tear tracks shining on Jisung’s cheeks. The crowd was oddly silent, heavy, emotional weight of the moment making it feel like they were all collectively holding their breath.

I start the journey to an unknown star
And on the day I take that first step
I’ll be happy.

As the chorus ended, and they sang their final lines, the ghosts began to fade – and for the first time, they were fading from Yangyang, too. Renjun’s eyes fluttered shut, a small, wistful smile at the corner of his lips as he began to fade, skin slowly becoming more and more translucent. Donghyuck looked down at his own hands in wonder, his keyboard fading along with him. Mark quietly put his microphone down, and Jeno lowered his drumsticks. 

Yangyang looked at Jaemin, stood directly beside him, and the sight of him fading slowly from existence threatened to tear his heart in two. Still, he steadied himself, and despite his throat being thick with unshed tears, he managed to choke out the last few lines, Jaemin’s voice mingling with his own.

What’s left after we let it all go?
The warmth lingering in our hands.
And ourselves.

The music began to fade, and one by one, the ghosts faded with it.

Mark was the first to go, a peaceful smile on his face, the verses over, nothing left to sing. Renjun and Jeno lingered a bit longer, finishing the last few bars, before they too faded to nothing. Jeno’s eyes, crinkled at the corners, Renjun’s face a mask of calm acceptance.

Donghyuck’s fingers parted from the keys on his keyboard, and he, too, disappeared – the last expression Yangyang saw on his face was a smirk, bravado as he faded from this life and took on his soul’s next great adventure.

Beside Yangyang, Jaemin smiled, reassuring, and reached out a hand. 

Yangyang, without thinking, moved – reaching out to encircle Jaemin’s wrist with his fingers and pull him closer, trying to bring Jaemin’s palm to rest against Yangyang’s cheek.

Deep down, Yangyang knew it was futile. This was the moment Jaemin would move on, following his friends into the afterlife. He wouldn’t be corporeal, not now – but Yangyang couldn’t help but try to reach out anyway.

Right before they would have made contact, Jaemin smiled sadly, eyes apologetic. He knew as well as Yangyang that this wouldn’t be like the times that came before. He was already beginning to fade, the color draining from him. He looked more like a ghost than ever before.

So Yangyang and Jaemin both braced for what was about to happen – what had happened a hundred times before, but never directly after a performance – for Yangyang’s hand to pass through Jaemin’s, like Jaemin wasn’t there at all.

But then –

Oh. But then. 

As the final notes faded entirely and the crowd exploded into cheers, Yangyang’s fingers were wrapped around Jaemin’s wrist. Color rushed back into Jaemin’s skin. Still moving mostly on autopilot, Yangyang pulled Jaemin’s hand to his face. He heard Jaemin’s breath catch in his throat.

For a long moment, Yangyang and Jaemin stared at each other, frozen in shock. Yangyang could feel the pads of Jaemin’s fingertips, warm against his skin. He could hear the distant cheers of the crowd. He could see Jaemin, sat right in front of him, somehow miraculously not gone, begin to grow blurry as Yangyang’s eyes filled with tears.

“How?” Jaemin whispered. His voice was filled with wonder, tinged with a tiny, fragile thing that sounded like hope.

“I don’t know,” Yangyang said, quiet, breathless. “Oh my god, I don’t know.”

The relief hit him like a semi-truck – his brain finally catching up to what was happening. After weeks of dreading having to say goodbye, the moment had come and passed, and Jaemin was still here, still within reach. Something in his chest cracked, and he collapsed into Jaemin’s arms with a cry, tears finally spilling over.

Jaemin took a deep, shuddering breath, and wiped a tear from underneath Yangyang’s eye with his thumb as he pulled Yangyang closer, his own tears beginning to fall. 

“We can figure it out later,” Jaemin said, voice choked with emotion.

Record scratch, freeze frame. 

Well, dear reader, Jaemin was right. They could figure it out later. And they did .

Fast forward.

Just a few hours after their last performance, Yangyang remembers that he is now friends with someone who might be able to shed some light on the situation. 

Across town, Yushi’s phone pings with a text from Yangyang, asking if they could call.

Yushi agrees without hesitation. He’s been expecting Yangyang’s call, and cleared his schedule for the day accordingly – he knows that it’s going to be hard for Yangyang, losing the ghosts that have accompanied him for so many months. 

So it’s surprising when the first question out of Yangyang’s mouth once Yushi picks up the phone isn’t anything to do with his grief, but instead –

“Why the hell is Jaemin still here?”

Yushi frowns, confused. He tilts his head to the side, momentarily shocked speechless. “I’m sorry. Maybe I misheard. He’s what?”

“Still here,” Yangyang says. His voice is filled with wonder.

“Okay,” Yushi says, slowly, baffled. He’s half-convinced that if he looks in the mirror, he’ll see himself surrounded by a cloud of floating question marks. Then, the obvious occurs to him, and he winces. “I… hate to ask this, but are you sure?”

“Hey, Yushi,” Jaemin says over the line, voice tinged with amusement.

“Well, that answers that question,” Yushi says, more confused than before – if such a thing is even possible. 

“I’m guessing that means you’re not sure either?” Yangyang says, clearly amused.

“I can come over tomorrow and we can try and figure it out?” Yushi offers. “Sorry, this is just… kind of unprecedented.” 

He can hear Yangyang and Jaemin laughing lightly into the receiver. 

“No problem,” Yangyang says. “Meet us at the house tomorrow?”

Yushi agrees, and hangs up, still half-convinced he’s imagined the entire interaction. He looks at his call log. Nope, there’s Yangyang – incoming call, two minutes. He shakes his head in disbelief, and pulls out his family’s Codex to try and figure out what the hell is going on. 

The next day, Sion opens the door to Yushi’s knock and invites him in with a smile.

“Oh, are you here to meet Yangyang’s long distance boyfriend?” Sion asks, curious. Yushi opens his mouth – maybe to protest, or correct Sion – but decides it isn’t worth it. He closes his mouth and nods. 

“Awesome,” Sion says, smiling. “They’re right through here.”

Jaemin and Yangyang are sitting on the couch, Yangyang’s legs slung over Jaemin’s lap. Dejun sits on the opposite couch, looking vaguely unimpressed and slightly exasperated.

“Hey, Yushi,” Dejun says, sounding resigned.

“Hey, Dejun,” Yushi says, slightly amused. “They’ve been attached at the hip, then?”

“Oh yeah,” Dejun says. “It’s only been twenty-four hours, but I need you to kill me.”

“We’re literally right here and can hear you,” Yangyang says, rolling his eyes. Jaemin just grins, clearly enjoying the attention. “Hi, Yushi.”

“Hi, Yangyang,” Yushi says. “Hi, Jaemin.” 

“I think it’s sweet,” Sion interjects from his place beside Yushi. “I didn’t even know Yangyang was dating anybody, but you two are clearly crazy about each other.”

“Oh yeah,” Jaemin says, nuzzling closer to Yangyang. If he was a cat, he’d be purring. “Completely certifiable.”

“You guys are such freaks,” Dejun sighs. “Like, in the most loving way possible.”

Sion snorts, and Yushi hides a smile behind his hand. Yangyang just wrinkles his nose. 

“Jealousy is a disease, Dejun,” Yangyang says. He leans his head on Jaemin’s shoulder, and rests a hand over Jaemin’s heart.

“Get better soon,” Jaemin says with utmost sincerity.

“Anyway, Yushi, thanks for coming over to discuss our project so last notice,” Yangyang says. “Should we go chat about it on the porch? The weather’s great today.”

“Sure,” Yushi says. He turns to Sion. “If you don’t have any plans today, maybe we could hang out after I’m done with Yangyang?” He pretends not to see the excited looks thrown between Dejun, Yangyang, and Jaemin, and focuses entirely on Sion, whose ears are tinted the slightest shade of pink.

“Oh! Um. Sure,” Sion says. “No plans here.”

“Great,” Yushi says. He can feel his own cheeks beginning to burn. “See you later, then.”

“Yep,” Sion squeaks. “Later.”

Without further ado, Yushi, Yangyang, and Jaemin head outside. The moment the front door swings shut behind them, Yangyang turns to face Yushi, a thousand questions clearly on the tip of his tongue. Yushi holds up a hand to stop him.

“Hold on,” Yushi says. “Let’s start from the beginning. Do either of you have any theories about this?”

“Well…” Jaemin pauses, looking thoughtful. “I assume it has to be connected to the other times I manifested physically.”

“What?” Yushi’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You didn’t mention any physical manifestation.”

“The time I didn’t experience the soul pains with the others,” Jaemin says. “It was directly after a performance.”

“Right,” Yushi says slowly, not sure where this was going. 

“After our first performance as a band, Yangyang and I discovered that we could touch. I was as solid as anyone else, though still invisible to most people.” Yushi nods, and gestures for him to go on. “I could interact with the physical world, like, move objects and things. Open doors, turn on sinks. Once I touched someone, I became visible to them. We ran into my uncle, Doyoung, and once I touched his arm, he was able to see me – at least, until I faded back to incorporeality.”

“How long were you physically manifested?” Yushi asks, reaching into his bag for the Codex.

“It used to be between fifteen and twenty minutes each time,” Yangyang interjects. “I started keeping track. But it’s been nearly two full days, and Jaemin is still as solid as ever.” He slings an arm around Jaemin’s waist, as if to demonstrate. Yushi frowns and begins to flip through the Codex. 

“I just don’t understand why I’m the only one still here,” Jaemin says. “No complaints from me, but…”

“It’s definitely intriguing,” Yushi mutters. “Being physically manifested shouldn't have exempted you from experiencing the soul pains, since your tether was being tampered with. And it definitely doesn’t explain why you’re still here.” He paused, thinking. “Unless…”

“...Unless?” Jaemin prompts. 

“Unless you switched tethers entirely,” Yushi breathes. “Oh my god. Oh my god. It makes perfect sense.”

“What? I don’t get it,” Jaemin says, a furrow in his brow, shooting a confused look Yangyang’s way. Yangyang just shrugs back, equally lost.

“Okay. So. Tethers are how you manifest in the world, right? So, you and the rest of your friends originally manifested through the CD tether. Your unfulfilled ambitions of becoming musicians. Therefore, your unfinished business, collectively, was getting to perform on stage as a group. Are you following me so far?”

“Yes… but I guess I’m still kind of confused about what this has to do with me manifesting physically,” Jaemin admits. Yangyang nods, a tiny furrow in his brow.

“Don’t worry, I’m getting there,” Yushi assures them. “It’s true that when ghosts manifest, the way for them to pass on is to finish their unfinished business. By finishing their unfinished business, they come to terms with their death. They get a chance to tie up loose ends and move on in peace.”

“Makes sense,” Jaemin reasons. He shifts in place, and Yushi can see his lips turn downwards, slightly uncomfortable. 

“I’m guessing you’re still not feeling close to being at peace with your death,” Yushi observes. Jaemin’s eyes widen just a bit. “Probably never have been. Am I right?”

“I… well. Yeah,” Jaemin admits.. “The others seemed to be doing… not great, but okay. They made progress towards accepting it, and I think – I hope – that they got there in the end. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His tone is tight, frustrated, and he sinks down onto the front steps. Yangyang sits down beside him, running hand up and down Jaemin’s arm in a repetitive, soothing motion. Yushi follows, carefully perching beside them on the stairs. Between the three of them, it becomes rather crowded, Jaemin’s shoulders bumping against Yangyang’s and Yushi’s on either side of him. 

“Ghosts are still people, and people are complicated,” Yushi says, doing his best to let his sympathy show on his face and in his tone. “You having more unfinished business than your friends doesn’t make you wrong.”

“So that’s the problem?” Jaemin asks. “I have more unfinished business?”

“In a sense,” Yushi hedges. “But my guess is that the reason you’re still here and your friends aren’t isn’t really the extra unfinished business – not that you don’t have some extra unfinished business, because you do – I think it’s the source of the unfinished business. You had more than one tether.”

“More than one,” Jaemin says, eyes wide. 

“If one was the Dream CD, then what’s the other?” Yangyang asks, curious.

“I can’t say for certain,” Yushi says. “But if I had to guess, based on what the two of you have told me? I’d say that the other tether is Yangyang himself.”

Jaemin jolts, visibly taken aback. Yangyang blinks, shocked into silence. For a long moment, it’s quiet – Yushi waiting patiently for the two of them to understand what he’s saying.

“For the others, Yangyang was a bridge,” Yushi explains, directing most of his attention to Jaemin. “But for you? Judging by the way you two look at each other, I’d say it’s clearly something more. Yangyang went from being a stranger who accidentally brought you back to a reason for you to stay – and now, it’s not your musical ambitions tethering you here. Instead, it’s Yangyang.”

Jaemin turns away from Yushi and stares straight ahead, eyes unseeing. Yangyang’s head is spinning, trying to understand the implications of what Yushi’s saying. Yushi stays silent, letting them process his words. They all sit side by side, looking out into the street and watching cars pass by for a long moment. 

“If I’d had to guess before yesterday, knowing everything I know now besides the fact that you’re still here after the performance, I probably would have said that you’d fade along with everyone else,” Yushi admits. “The tether to Yangyang didn’t form while you were alive, so the connection to your soul would usually be tenuous at best. ”

“What do you mean?” Jaemin asks, curious. 

“While it’s true you have a tether to Yangyang, and sometimes that connection superseded the tether to the CD, your initial manifestation was still because of the CD,” Yushi explains. “It would stand to reason that the CD had more influence on your ability to manifest on this plane of existence.”

“Sure,” Jaemin acknowledges.

“So… Jaemin was manifesting physically because at certain points, his tether to me was stronger than his tether to the CD,” Yangyang says slowly. Yushi nods. “Then… why did it always happen after performances? And always for the same length of time?”

“A tether formed when Jaemin was alive would naturally be stronger than a tether formed after death,” Yushi says. “While the tether to Yangyang could take precedence over the CD’s tether in moments that were both particularly emotionally charged and directly after you’d done some work towards completing the unfinished business associated with the CD’s tether, and thus, weakening it temporarily, it would always reassert itself as Jaemin’s primarily tether after enough time had passed.”

“Okay, I… think that I get it,” Yangyang says, narrowing his eyes. “So, Jaemin’s still dead. But since his unfinished business is now being with me, he’s able to physically manifest. He’s able to touch and interact with the world, and be seen by others – because it would be awfully hard to be in a relationship otherwise.”

“Essentially, yes. What you two are experiencing is exceptionally rare,” Yushi says. “I’ve never seen it, or even heard of it. I doubt we’ll ever know exactly why things happened the way they did, but I can say one thing for sure – the love between the two of you is, quite literally, stronger than death.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, but his words slam into Yangyang’s chest.

The love between the two of you is, quite literally, stronger than death.

“Wow,” Yangyang whispers. He looks up to meet Jaemin’s eyes, heart pounding in his chest.

“Yeah,” Jaemin says, smiling back at him, eyes soft, radiating love. “Wow.”

Record scratch. Freeze frame. Okay, we’re back.

Somehow, they made it off stage, with Jisung and Chenle’s help – and to their shock, Yangyang wasn’t the only one able to touch Jaemin. Jisung and Chenle were both able to give him tight, crushing hugs. Doyoung, who rushed backstage after seeing everything that happened, was able to pull Jaemin into an emotional embrace with no issues. His partner, Jaehyun, was able to do the same, eyes wide with wonder. 

“Wow,” he kept repeating. “I’ve heard so much about you from your uncle, I kind of can’t believe you’re real.”

“Me neither,” Jaemin said, squeezing Yangyang’s hand tight. 

Dejun was able to pull Jaemin in for a quick hug and clap on the back, clearly shocked that he was even able to still see Jaemin, much less touch him. Everyone they passed on the walk back to their trailer looked directly at Jaemin rather than through him. He could open the door to the trailer, pick up the blanket on the couch and wrap it tightly around Yangyang’s shoulders. 

Yangyang blinked as Jaemin maneuvered him onto the couch and sat down beside him, slinging his legs over Yangyang’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck, tucking himself carefully into Yangyang’s side.

“It’s been more than twenty minutes,” Yangyang said suddenly. Not to anyone in particular. Jisung and Chenle looked mildly confused. Doyoung’s eyes widened, and he checked his watch. 

“It has,” he breathed. 

For a long moment, it was silent. Yangyang could feel the anticipation in the air, heavy as Jaemin’s very tangible weight in his lap.

“Well,” Jaemin said, clearly bewildered. “I guess I’m just too sexy to die.” 

It was silent for a long moment. Then, suddenly, Doyoung was barking out a laugh, and then, they were all dissolving into laughter. It wasn’t purely laughter – tears were streaming down Doyoung’s face, Jaehyun almost totally supporting his weight. Dejun sounded half-manic, and Jisung was near hysterical, his laughter sounding more like sobs than anything else. The humor was tinged with sadness, with deep, awful grief – because even though Jaemin was still here, the others were gone. 

After what felt like forever, the laughter subsided, and they fell into contented silence.

“Let’s go home,” Jaemin said, smiling at Yangyang, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“Yeah,” Yangyang said, chest warm, feeling so full-up with love that he could burst – but mixed with the joy was a sadness so heavy that his chest ached with the weight of it. “Let’s go home.” 

 ── ✩ ──

After discovering the truth from Yushi, Yangyang found himself walking around lighter than air. He caught himself smiling at nothing, humming to himself as he studied in the library, just having a general joy and excitement for life that a third year student wouldn’t usually have a week before finals.

Long term, there were things they’d have to work out – where was Jaemin going to live? Was he going to get a job, go to school? Would they need to get paperwork that proved he existed? Being dead for two decades and then suddenly coming back out of the blue was rather complicated. 

Thankfully, Doyoung had offered to help with all the technicalities and gave Jaemin a place to stay that wasn’t Yangyang’s twin bed – which was much less comfortable now that both of the grown men trying to sleep in it were corporeal. In related news, Yangyang had sent Ten a text message asking if he was ever coming back to the house, and if he wasn’t, could he please steal Ten’s full size bed frame? Dejun was extremely on board with this plan, because it meant they’d be able to get rid of the bunk bed and both of them could have a bit more sleeping space.

On top of all the logistics, there was also the fact that Jaemin was still able, with a bit of effort, to go invisible and walk through objects. 

“Maybe being temporarily invisible should upset me,” Jaemin mused.

“Why would it upset you?” Yangyang asked, brow furrowed. 

“It reminds me about when I didn’t have any choice about whether I was invisible or not. But now it’s kind of fun,” Jaemin said with a shrug. 

“You would enjoy being able to vanish at will,” Yangyang said, amused. He took a bite of his sandwich. Jaemin had come to meet Yangyang on campus for lunch, since Yangyang was stuck studying for – read, trying not to fail – his finals. He’d blown off a lot of class in favor of the ghosts. 

“What can I say, I got used to disobeying the laws of physics on occasion,” Jaemin said. He grinned, teeth sharp. “Plus, you think it’s hot when I do weird ghost shit.”

“I do not,” Yangyang insisted, flushing red. He took a hurried bite of his sandwich, and Jaemin snorted. 

“When Dejun was trying to chew me out for not doing the dishes and I vanished from everybody’s sight but yours, you looked like you wanted to eat me alive.”

Yangyang made an indignant noise at the back of his throat and swallowed hastily. “Okay, first of all, maybe I just always look at you like that?” Jaemin shot him an unimpressed look. Yangyang held up a hand. “Secondly, correlation does not equal causation. Maybe you just looked particularly good that day. Maybe I just think annoying Dejun is sexy of you.”

“Oh?” Jaemin raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m pretty sure I look the same every day, considering I’m suspended eternally in the physical state in which I died –”

“We literally don’t know that for sure, Yushi said you might appear to begin aging now that we’re tethered together –” Yangyang interjected.

Jaemin continued like he hadn’t heard a word. “– I guess I’ll just have to keep experimenting. Collect lots of data.”

“Please don’t,” Yangyang said, groaning. “Dejun would kill me if you started trying to antagonize him even more than you already do.”

“He’s so fun to mess with,” Jaemin said, grinning. Then suddenly, he frowned, like something unpleasant had just occurred to him. “Do you think he’s annoyed at me for real?”

“No,” Yangyang said honestly. “Being annoyed is one of his love languages. Maybe his primary one. You’ve grown on him.”

“Excellent,” Jaemin said, leaning back in his seat, clearly pleased. “I’ve grown on him, hm?”

“Like a fungus,” Yangyang said fondly. Jaemin burst out laughing. 

For every moment of joy, there was a moment of grief. Though Yangyang got to keep Jaemin, and Jaemin got to hold onto life for a little longer, the others were gone. 

Yangyang found himself moving to turn the television on as he was leaving the house on more than one occasion, before feeling an aching pang in his chest, freezing and staring at whatever show was playing for a few moments before turning it back off. After all, it would be a waste of electricity – Jeno wasn’t here to watch trashy daytime television while Yangyang was out anymore.

Sometimes, Yangyang would be making himself a meal, and it would suddenly hit him just how quiet it was. Renjun and Donghyuck had taken to keeping him company in the kitchen some days, and cooking without the sound of them bickering in the background was strange. Lonely, almost. 

Mark might have died young, but he was still so wise – Yangyang missed being able to turn to him and ask about this or that, missed the conversations that began at surface level and ended up ten layers beneath the surface of the Earth. He missed Mark’s easy ability to laugh, to brighten up anyone's day. 

For all Yangyang was missing the others, he knew it was worse for Jaemin. He sometimes caught Jaemin staring off into the middle distance, clearly reminiscing. He spent plenty of time out of the house with Chenle and Jisung, seeking their company, their shared memory. Learning from them how to grieve. 

All that love, with nowhere to go, souring and becoming grief. It was going to take some time.

Yangyang got Ten's blessing to both consider him fully moved out and to take possession of his old bed, and then got through his finals. He was unfortunately too busy to spend much time with Jaemin, but that was alright – there was no clock hanging over their head anymore, and Jaemin was kept busy enough with visits to Chenle, Jisung, and his uncle. Dejun, with Sion’s help, managed to trick a rat into coming out of the shadows so he could catch it on camera, and with indisputable evidence, the landlord was agreeing to finally do something about the infestation. Life was good.

By some miracle or other act of God, Yangyang actually managed to pass all his classes, and Yangyang convinced his housemates they should throw a house party to celebrate. Sion was reluctant at first, but then Dejun suggested he use the party as an excuse to invite Yushi to come over. Sion’s ears turned bright pink, and he didn’t raise any more concerns about the party.

By the time Jaemin arrived for the party, the house was ready to host a medium sized group of college students – the small little disco-ball light that threw rainbow colors across the walls that Dejun bought for cheap at the local thrift store was all plugged in, Yangyang’s ridiculously expensive speakers were turned up almost to the point of being too loud, and Sion had made sure everyone’s bedrooms were locked. Yangyang was with Dejun in the kitchen, mixing together several hard liquors with orange juice and soda to create jungle juice, when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, and a kiss pressed into his cheek.

“Hi, Jaemin,” Yangyang said, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He felt the rumble of Jaemin’s chest against his back as he hummed. 

“Hi, Yangyang. Hi Dejun.”

“Hello, Jaemin,” Dejun said, sighing dramatically. “Did you walk in through the wall or did you knock on the door and wait for someone to answer like a normal person?”

“I have a feeling you don’t want to hear me say something horrifically sappy, so just insert something here about me not wanting to wait another second to see Yangyang,” Jaemin said, hooking his chin over Yangyang’s shoulder, grinning at Dejun. Yangyang snorted. Dejun just stared at them, unimpressed. 

“Can’t even answer a question normally,” he said, fondly exasperated. He set down a now-empty bottle of orange juice, and pointed over his shoulder to the living room. “Can you two detach from each other long enough to help me carry the jug over to the table, or do I need to go get help from Sion instead?”

“We’re not that bad,” Yangyang said, turning and pressing a quick kiss to Jaemin’s cheek before shrugging him off. Jaemin went willingly, though he did sigh dramatically and put a hand to his forehead like some kind of swooning maiden in a fairytale.

“I can’t believe you’re forcing us apart, Dejun,” Jaemin said, clearly sarcastic. “I might die of touch starvation.”

Dejun just stared at him, unimpressed, and grabbed one side of the jungle-juice-filled water cooler. Yangyang laughed and grabbed the other, and between the two of them, they were able to carry the cooler over to the table without too much difficulty. 

“Nice,” Yangyang said as the water cooler settled into place with a thunk. He grabbed a cup and poured himself a drink. He took a sip and discovered that apparently, not even four full cartons of orange juice plus about twelve different cans of soda was enough to totally mask the burn of the vodka as it traveled down his throat. 

“Is it okay?” Dejun asked.

“Not too bad,” Yangyang said. He grinned. “Definitely nowhere even near the top ten nastiest alcoholic beverages I’ve put in my body.”

“That’s a low bar,” Dejun said, rolling his eyes and grabbing himself a cup. “You’re obsessed with playing King’s Cup. Want some, Jaemin?”

“Sure,” Jaemin said from his place leaning up against the counter. Dejun passed over the cup he already had, and poured himself a new one. 

“Here’s hoping no weird ghost shit prevents you from being able to get drunk,” Yangyang said cheerfully, raising his own cup Jaemin’s way.

“I’ll drink to that,” Jaemin said with a grin, and knocked most of it back in a single swallow. Dejun and Yangyang cheered, taking sips of their own drinks in solidarity. From the other room came the sound of the door opening and closing as slightly muffled voices made their way towards the living room. 

Before long, the party was in full swing, the house filling with guests. People start playing party games, and Yangyang drifts through the small crowd with Jaemin at his side, basking in the knowledge that he could reach out and touch Jaemin any time he wanted. 

He spent the first hour or so with his arm in Jaemin’s own, or wrapped around Jaemin’s waist, but eventually, they separated. Yangyang wanted to play King’s Cup, and Jaemin, who didn’t really have the competitive spirit the game required, drifted around the room, making small talk with the other guests.

Yangyang tried to focus on his game, but his eye kept being dragged back to Jaemin on the other side of the room. His posture was relaxed and confident, taking occasional sips of his second drink of the night. Yangyang watched him swallow, tracking the line of his throat, gaze lingering on the the colored light from the disco ball that dappled across Jaemin’s skin, highlighting his cheekbones. 

Yangyang’s wistful staring was interrupted by Jaemin’s eyes suddenly flickering over to meet his. A knowing smirk grew at the corner of Jaemin’s mouth, and Yangyang felt himself flush, glancing away quickly. 

Throughout the rest of the game, Yangyang could feel the molten heat of Jaemin’s stare on the back of his neck, the two of them trading glances from across the room, trying not to get caught. When the game was finally over, Yangyang scanned the room for Jaemin, and found him standing by the snack table, chatting with Dejun. 

He crossed the room with purpose, greeting Jaemin with a kiss that maybe lasted a tiny bit too long, given they were in public.

“Hello there,” Jaemin said once they parted. He pressed a kiss to Yangyang’s forehead. “Missed me?”

“Obviously,” Yangyang said. 

“God, get a room,” Dejun muttered under his breath, taking a sip of his drink. Yangyang met Jaemin’s eyes, and Jaemin tilted his head to the side as if considering Dejun’s suggestion. Yangyang’s eyes flicked towards the stairs. An offer.

Jaemin grinned, teeth sharp and pleased. 

Smash cut to Yangyang, flat on his back in bed, pinned beneath Jaemin, laughing as he peppered kisses down Yangyang’s chest. 

“Are you sure you’re not an exhibitionist?” Jaemin asked, grinning wickedly. “Because I don’t know if you noticed, but the first time we’re properly fucking, it’s happening while there’s a couple dozen strangers in the house.”

They were both tipsy, but not quite drunk. Jaemin’s breath was warm against Yangyang’s skin, and he was letting out breathy laughs between kisses. Yangyang felt floaty, chest warm and buzzing –  just inebriated enough that everything was just ever-so-slightly funnier, the world going fuzzy around the edges.

“Fuck off,” Yangyang said, laughing breathlessly. Jaemin snorted, amused, and returned to sucking bruising kisses into Yanyang’s chest. “You know as well as I do that we’ve both been – fuck –” Jaemin’s teeth caught on the top of Yangyang’s collarbone, and Yangyang cut himself off with a groan, relishing in the slight sting of pain as Jaemin sucked on the sensitive skin. “– we’ve both been busy – Fuck, Jaemin –”

Jaemin released Yangyang, running his tongue over the red, sensitive skin as he retreated, pushing himself up just enough to look Yangyang in the eyes. His pupils were blown wide with arousal and just a tinge of amusement. 

“I’m trying, darling. Be patient.” He leaned down, lips meeting Yangyang’s, still curved upwards into a smile. Yangyang sighed contentedly into the kiss, sliding his hands up Jaemin’s sides until they settled on his waist, fingers splayed. 

They parted, air mingling in the space between them, and for a moment, they just breathed together, smiling at one another and laughing softly, almost giddy. Then Jaemin was diving back in, pressing a series of quick kisses to Yangyang’s lips. 

Between kisses, Yangyang looked down and caught a glimpse of his chest. He could already see a few bruises beginning to bloom, purple and blue growing up from under red skin. 

“So mouthy,” Yangyang gasped between kisses. “In more ways than one.”

“You love it,” Jaemin said, grinning. Yangyang rolled his eyes fondly, but didn’t deny it. Jaemin was a warm weight on top of them, their bodies pressed together in a line of heat. It was intoxicating, being with Jaemin like this – knowing that they had all the time in the world. Knowing that Jaemin was his to keep. Yangyang tightened his grip on Jaemin’s waist and rolled on top of him, switching their positions and throwing a leg over Jaemin’s midriff, straddling him. 

Jaemin’s breath hitched, surprised, but he went easily enough, shivering in pleasure as Yangyang licked a wet stripe up his neck. Yangyang bit down, teasing the soft flesh of Jaemin’s neck between his teeth and Jaemin moaned, back arching up as he pushed into Yangyang’s touch. 

Jaemin gasped as Yangyang began to move down, pressing kisses to his collarbone, his chest, his sternum, his abdomen as his fingers trailed up and down Jaemin’s sides, nails dragging gently across his skin. They’d shed most of their clothes already, leaving behind only their underwear, Yangyang ducked his head down between Jaemin’s legs and licked, tongue sliding across Jaemin’s happy trail, liberally coating it with his saliva from the top of Jaemin’s underwear right up to his bellybutton. Jaemin moaned, and a hand came to grip at the back of Yangyang’s head, fingers buried in Yangyang’s hair, yanking him back slightly due to the force with which Jaemin grabbed him. 

Yangyang whined, pulling forward to close the small gap between them that Jaemin had inadvertently created, and slightly overestimated his strength – his face shot forward, colliding with Jaemin’s crotch, and Jaemin moaned, rolling his hips forward. Yangyang pressed in further, rubbing his face against Jaemin’s dick through the thin fabric of his underwear. He could feel him hardening, Jaemin’s breaths coming quick and breathy as they moved in tandem. 

“Fuck, Yangyang,” Jaemin said, voice rough, chest heaving. “We need – lube, condoms, fucking –”

Yangyang pulled back, feeling smug at the way Jaemin’s underwear was nearly soaked through – a combination of precum and Yangyang’s own spit. He pushed himself upright, Jaemin moving with him, pulling Yangyang into his lap as he reached blindly for the side table, where Yangyang kept his lube and condoms in the bottom drawer. 

The angle was a bit odd, but Jaemin just wrapped his free arm around Yangyang and held him bodily in place as he leaned to the side. Yangyang loosened his legs around Jaemin, giving him some more space to move, and grabbed the headboard of the bed to keep himself steady as Jaemin rummaged in the drawer, managing to pull the supplies out with one hand.

“Do we even need condoms?” Yangyang asked. “Can ghosts give people STDs? Or get STDs?”

“Considering the fact that I am definitely a little bit tipsy right now, I would say it’s probably better to be safe than sorry,” Jaemin said, shifting Yangyang so he was no longer directly on top of him. He pulled his cock out of his underwear, rolling on a condom and tossing his discarded underwear somewhere on the floor of Yangyang’s room – he might as well have thrown them into the void, for all Yangyang cared.

“But I wanted you to fuck me raw,” Yangyang said, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice, nearly a plaintive whine. Jaemin growled slightly under his breath, eyes dark with want.

“One day. For now, lie down.” Jaemin placed a hand on the center of Yangyang’s chest and shoved him hard. Yangyang fell back with a gasp, flat on his back, and Jaemin leaned over him, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He hooked a finger into the waistband of Yangyang’s underwear, and pulled them down, tossing them to the side. Yangyang moaned as his cock sprung free, the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach becoming almost too much to bear. 

“I’m going to fuck your thighs, finger you open, and ride you until you’re begging me to let you come,” Jaemin said, casual as anything. Yangyang’s breath hitched, dick twitching. Jaemin smiled, and ran a finger down Yangyang’s cheek. Yangyang shuddered at the contact, melting as Jaemin leaned down and pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he whispered into Yangyang's skin, pressing featherlight kisses down the column of Yangyang’s throat before withdrawing. “You’re perfect.”

“I’ll be good,” Yangyang said, breathless with desire, the need to please Jaemin, desperate to be good.

“You always are,” Jaemin said, and then he was reaching under Yangyang’s knees, guiding his legs so they were leaning up against Jaemin’s torso, half-hooked over his shoulder, pulling his legs close together. Jaemin shifted forward, pushing his cock into the space between Yangyang’s thighs with a groan. Yangyang felt Jaemin’s cock twitch between his thighs, and he squeezed his thighs even closer together, relishing in the moan that it dragged from Jaemin’s lips as he coated Yangyang’s thighs in an obscene amount of lube.

Yangyang threw his head back, eyes fluttering shut as Jaemin rolled his hips forward, beginning to fuck his thighs in earnest. Jaemin was all over him – hands, lips, skin on skin, and Yangyang let himself fall into the feeling of him. Yangyang felt like he should feel vulnerable – overexposed, maybe – in this position, with Jaemin holding his legs firmly in place, using Yangyang’s thighs to get himself off, Yangyang watching Jaemin. 

It should, and in some ways it did – but more than anything else, it felt safe. Warm. Almost overwhelming, in the sense that the love Yangyang had for Jaemin threatened to tear itself from his chest, to set his blood on fire, the heat growing in intensity with every touch. 

Jaemin rearranged them, letting Yangyang’s legs fall open as he scraped excess lube from Yangyang’s thighs. Yangyang took a shuddering breath as Jaemin’s fingers, warm and wet, circled his rim.

“Okay?” Jaemin asked softly. Yangyang nodded, chest aching with how much he loved him.

“Fine,” he said, voice breathy. “Don’t… don’t stop.”

Jaemin hummed, fingers pressing in carefully. Yangyang keened, uncomfortably tight as Jaemin began to slowly work him open, one finger at a time. 

It was a bit uncomfortable, but Jaemin’s lips pressed against Yangyang’s skin, petting his hair gently as he murmured soft praises, and before long, Jaemin was moving to rearrange them, straddling Yangyang’s hips and preparing to replace his fingers with his cock. Yangyang bent his legs slightly to give Jaemin easier access.

Yangyang gasped as Jaemin’s fingers slid out of him, and Jaemin leaned down, pressing kisses to Yangyang’s lips, his neck, the underside of his jaw.

“Ready?” He whispered.

“Jaemin, if you don’t get your dick inside me in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Yangyang said breathlessly, hands grasping at Jaemin’s shoulders.

Jaemin laughed. “Your wish is my command, darling.”

He sank into Yangyang, hips rolling forward carefully and slowly. Yangyang keened as Jaemin’s cock stretched him the rest of the way open. It burned, Yanyang’s nerve endings on fire with the feeling as the twinge of pain made way for pleasure. 

Yangyang luxuriated in the feeling of fullness, tears springing to his eyes as Jaemin bottomed out. Jaemin was everywhere, Yangyang’s senses overwhelmed by him. He was surrounded by the smell of Jaemin’s sweat, skin burning under Jaemin’s touch. He could hear every noise that escaped Jaemin with startling clarity – gasping breaths, whispered words of devotion, each and every moan that slipped past his lips. 

It was intoxicating.

Yangyang took a deep, shuddering breath, squirming under Jaemin’s weight. For a moment they were still, forehead to forehead, breathing together.

“Okay?”

“Fucking perfect,” Yangyang moaned. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Jaemin said, voice low, and Yangyang could see a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes were lidded, heady with want as he pushed himself upright, knees settling on either side of Yangyang’s torso. Yangyang’s hands slid from his shoulders and traveled down his sides, coming to rest against Jaemin’s thighs.

“Hurry up,” Yangyang said breathlessly. Jaemin smirked and began to move, pulling back until only the tip was left inside before pushing back in with a grunt. Yangyang moaned, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Jaemin’s thighs, squeezing tight enough to bruise. 

Jaemin hissed, and slid his hands on top of Yangyang’s, prying them off his thighs and pinning them to the bed beside him. Yangyang pushed back gently against Jaemin’s grip and groaned in pleasure when Jaemin refused to give in.

Jaemin fucked into him, slowly picking up the pace. After so many weeks where Yangyang could only touch him sometimes, and even then, only for snatches of time here and there, Yangyang was drunk on the feeling of having Jaemin inside him. He craved Jaemin’s touch, and his back arched, every single one of Yangyang’s muscles straining to get closer to him. 

Even though this was the closest they’d ever been physically, Yangyang wanted more. He couldn’t imagine ever getting enough of Jaemin – he wanted Jaemin to kiss him over and over again until he couldn’t breathe, wanted Jaemin to mark every inch of his skin with bite marks, wanted Jaemin to unhinge his jaw and swallow Yangyang whole. 

As Jaemin thrust into him, Yangyang cried out, tears spilling from his eyes, the pleasure too great to bear and yet still, not enough. He wanted to melt into Jaemin, mix their atoms together in some kind of primordial soup, to blur the lines between them until it became unclear where Jaemin ended and Yangyang began. 

“You’re okay, darling,” Jaemin said, voice strained with effort as he pounded into Yangyang relentlessly, sweat dripping from his brow, mixing with Yangyang’s tears. “You’re so good for me, darling, so good.”

Yangyang whimpered, his cock heavy and aching, precum dripping from his head, smearing slightly against Jaemin’s stomach. 

“Jaemin, please, I’m going to come,” Yangyang cried. “Will you let me come?” Jaemin’s eyes widened at the question. He slowed for a moment, brow furrowing slightly, scanning Yangyang’s face. Checking in, looking for permission. Yangyang looked up at Jaemin, eyes wide, panting, and nodded – he wanted Jaemin to hold him down. Wanted him to order Yangyang around, to force Yangyang to follow his every order. 

At his nod, Jaemin’s eyes darkened with understanding, and he resumed his unforgiving pace.

“You’re going to be good for me and wait for my permission. Aren’t you darling?” His fingers tightened around Yangyang’s wrists in warning. 

“Jaemin,” Yangyang gasped, voice a mixture of desperation and delight. He strained against Jaemin’s grip again, relishing in the pressure.

“You want to come?” Jaemin asked, voice tight with exertion. He leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of Yangyang’s ear, breath hot and heavy against the sensitive skin. “Then beg.”

Yangyang shivered, and bit his lip, choking back a sob. 

“Please, Jaemin, please –”

“Good boy,” Jaemin said, voice low. Yangyang whimpered, heat lancing down his spine, lapping up the praise. “You’re so gorgeous like this, on your back, begging for me. That deserves a reward, hm?”

Yangyang nodded desperately, eyes still leaking tears. “Please, Jaemin, let me –”

“Come,” Jaemin commanded, and Yangyang was letting go and falling into pleasure. He felt himself tighten around Jaemin, as he stiffened and joined Yangyang in pleasure. Cum spurted onto Jaemin’s stomach in white ropes, dripping down the planes of his muscles, and Yangyang felt breathless at the sight. It was so fucking beautiful.

For a long moment they lay side by side, breathing heavily, sated. Then Jaemin slid out and stumbled out of bed, removing the condom and tying it off before pulling on a pair of Yangyang’s sweatpants. Yangyang whined and reached out for him, mourning the feeling of Jaemin inside him. Jaemin laughed softly. 

“Don’t worry, I’m coming back. I just have to find a towel.”

“Laundry basket,” Yangyang mumbled, throwing a hand over his eyes. He heard Jaemin rummaging around for a moment, and then the sound of the party – a mix of muffled conversation and too-loud music – became louder for a few moments as Jaemin slipped out the door. It quieted again a few moments later as Jaemin came back in, shutting the door behind him.

A moment later, Yangyang felt a warm, wet towel swipe gently across his skin, cleaning him up. Jaemin nudged him over, and Yangyang cracked an eye open to look balefully at him. Jaemin just smiled and gestured like, go on. Yangyang sighed dramatically and rolled over with a grumble. 

Jaemin chuckled under his breath, and continued to methodically clean the mix of sweat, saliva, and cum from Yangyang’s thighs, his stomach, his dick and hole. His touch was feather-light against the sensitive skin, and Yangyang’s eyes fluttered shut again, letting himself relax and be taken care of.

After a few moments the touch vanished, and Yangyang hummed discontentedly – but he wasn’t alone for long. A moment later, Jaemin was sliding beneath the covers beside Yangyang, used towel safely disposed of.

Once Jaemin was settled, Yangyang curled around him, basking in the afterglow. Jaemin’s fingers traced patterns along Yangyang’s spine, eyes warm.

“I love you,” Jaemin said after a long, peaceful moment. Yangyang’s breath hitched, and he looked up at Jaemin, eyes wide. “I didn’t say it before, because it seemed like a cruel thing to say when we were running on borrowed time. It would have been rushed. Wouldn’t have felt true.”

“We have all the time in the world now,” Yangyang said, grinning. He reached up and moved Jaemin’s bangs out of his eyes, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. 

“What, not going to say it back?” Jaemin teased, eyes sparkling. Yangyang snorted. 

“I was literally about to. You’re so impatient,” he said, rolling his eyes fondly. Jaemin grinned.

“That’s me,” he said. He raised his eyebrows, expectant. “So?”

“I love you too,” Yangyang said simply, shuffling closer as Jaemin’s arms tightened around him. “At least for now.”

Jaemin burst out laughing.

Dear reader, no ending is ever truly happy – the road to get there is always hard, which tends to make endings always at least somewhat bittersweet. Nothing lasts forever. Joy, sorrow, happiness, grief, life itself. Where there is a beginning, there must also be an ending.

If he had to do it all over again, Yangyang knew he’d make all the same choices.

So, with that being said.

The end.