lavenderalien
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“Do you really believe you can tell someone’s personality from their blood type?”
Minho nods, his expression grave. “Oh, yes. Blood type is very important to me.”
Hyunjin's new boyfriend has several vampiric qualities. It's probably a coincidence.
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The next time Hyunjin puckers his lips pretending to go in for a kiss, what if Jeongin leans forward instead of away? Would Hyunjin be shocked? Would he go along with it, or push him away in disgust? Lying two feet away from him under the veil of night, the steady hum of the ceiling fan drowning out the shame, it’s easy to entertain such thoughts. Too easy, almost, to let the fantasy flood over him, knowing it will all be washed down the drain by the morning.
Jeongin turns twenty-two and confronts the longing blossoming toward his best friend.
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“You’re actually real,” Jisung repeats, stuck on this fact, still processing by spinning it around his mind over and over. The noises. The missing items. The smells. And now, the voice. He isn’t imagining it. This is actually happening.
A jolt of boredom slaps Jisung across the face. If ghosts can yawn, Minho does. Clearly, a big revelation for Jisung is simply a common occurrence to this otherworldly entity.
Jisung's new, suspiciously cheap apartment comes with an unexpected ghostly roommate.
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Jeongin stares at the ruined artwork, hands shaking, legs wobbling, breaths shallow and heavy.
A throat clears. A voice, hoarse as if unused to speaking. “Sorry, are you okay?”
Jeongin can’t bring himself to answer, his entire body vibrating, throat threatening to close in. That painting was the only consistent source of comfort in his life, as silly and sad as that may be, and now it’s demolished.
Three lost souls find each other in the dark.
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Jisung’s feet propel him closer, as if unstoppable, hurtling toward the edge of a cliff. It’s impossible, yet here he is, a vision from the past, so out of place sitting there, peaceful, humming a soft tune to himself, twirling a chess piece mindlessly between two elegant fingers. Jisung feels bile rise in his throat, his stomach churning inside him in unsteady waves.
Minho looks up, locks eyes with him, and grins wickedly. Jisung’s heart thumps wildly in his ribcage. “Ah, you must be my opponent.” Minho says. “I look forward to winning against you today.”
Jisung, an International Chess Master, reunites with Minho, his high school rival.