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“So tell me, how was your week?”
Jisung huffs out a heavy sigh, cheeks puffing and lips buzzing as he stares up at the popcorn ceiling of his therapist’s office. Dr. Bang, a highly respected demon and supernatural psychologist, sits in a plush velvet chair on the opposite side of the room, a notepad in his lap and wire-rimmed glasses balancing near the tip of his nose as his warm brown eyes stare into Jisung’s long deceased soul. The couch Jisung is sprawled across is the same deep purple color as the demon’s extravagant chair, but the faux leather material is cold against the back of his neck, creaking every time he wiggles in search of a more comfortable position.
“Gosh, Doc, we could be here a while.” Jisung jokes, nerves sweeping through his stomach despite the weekly meetings they’ve shared for the better part of a decade. He looks at the therapist and the pointy black horns protruding from neatly styled hair that glint in the harsh yellow lighting of the room.
“You have fifty-four minutes, Jisung. Quit stalling.” Dr. Bang doesn’t sound very impressed, but Jisung can see the fond smile he tries to hide as he scribbles vague notes onto paper.
Jisung can’t help himself, “Wow, it’s like you know exactly how my brain works or something.”
Dr. Bang doesn’t reply to that one. Jisung takes a deep breath.
“Okay, well, I was on my way home after our appointment last week, as usual. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and only one person walked through me on the sidewalk when I wasn’t paying attention. So, yanno, a pretty good day, right?” Jisung pauses to glance at his therapist, who hums in acknowledgement, “But get this! I get off the elevator on my floor, my front door is wide open and there are people, real live people carrying boxes and just plopping them down in my living room.”
(Jisung doesn’t mention how one of the living, a beautiful man with twinkly eyes and the strangest but most endearing laugh, stopped his heart right in his chest. Well, it would have stopped if Jisung’s heart still beat to begin with, but that’s beside the point.
He watched how the living man and what appeared to be a friend--Jisung had assumed as much when the other man, whom the first man had called ‘Bin’, left after a while, patting the pretty one on the back and telling him to call if he needed anything--unpacked boxes, assembled furniture and outright disrespected Jisung’s own interior design.
Okay, so maybe his couch from the eighties wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But Jisung is a ghost, or a spirit or whatever the living are calling it these days, he doesn’t really have a desire for the fancy things in after-life.)
“Ah, it looks like it’s time to find a new apartment then?” Dr. Bang muses, eyes downcast and chewing on the tip of his pen.
“What? Why do I have to move? I was there first!” Jisung sits up abruptly on the couch, his arms flailing wildly around him.
The therapist raises a sharp eyebrow, “Well, obviously you were there first. But both you and the living cannot inhabit the same place. You know the rules.”
Jisung anxiously scratches the top of his head and looks anywhere but the demon, “Yeah...about that.”
(It wasn’t his fault. How was Jisung supposed to know the living man would be able to hear him? It’s not like anyone ever told him that was even possible. All he did was putz around the place as he normally did, mumbling to himself about the inconvenience of having to deal with the unwelcome presence. Quite nice to look at, but unwelcome all the same.
And then a timid voice rang out, shaky and unsure.
“Uh, hello?”
Jisung froze on the spot right in the middle of the kitchen where he had been pouting and pacing around for the past couple of minutes, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do. The living man was frozen too, the picture frame that was in his hand now clattered to the floor. His eyes frantically searched the room in front of him, but Jisung didn’t dare move, even if he knew for sure the living couldn’t see him unless he wanted them to.
When no response came, the living man shook his head and bent down to retrieve the fallen item. Jisung let out an audible breath of relief.
“Okay, who the fuck is in my apartment?”
Without thinking, words fell from his unbelievably stupid mouth, “Your apartment? Listen buddy, I’ve lived--err--been here far longer than you have and-- oh shit.”
A flying pillow flew right through him, making Jisung shiver at the ever-unpleasant feeling. Then the living man moved to pick up a fancy gemstone the size of a baseball and reared it over his head.
“Woah woah! Calm down man!” Jisung sputtered, panic rising in his throat. He then made the poor split-second decision to show himself.
He cringed as the living man passed out and fell to the floor, completely unconscious.)
Dr. Bang nearly falls out of his ridiculous chair, “You let him see you?”
Feeling defensive, Jisung postures up, “He already heard me by that point! Which I didn’t even know the living could do! And I didn’t want him to throw a rock through the wall either.”
“He heard you? Before you materialized?”
Something about Dr. Bang’s tone sends an unsettling tingle down Jisung’s spine.
“...yeah?”
Without warning, the therapist hauls himself out of his seat and takes three quick steps over to a bookshelf lining one of the walls. Jisung watches on with curious eyes as he runs a single ink dipped finger over the spines of each book before picking out a rather thick one with a small aha!
Jisung squeaks as the demon plops down onto the couch right next to him, his air of professionalism thrown out the window in favor of showing Jisung whatever it is he found.
The book itself is dusty and clearly worn, hinting that it used to be handled and read regularly, but hasn’t for a long while. After skimming the table of contents, Dr. Bang flips to a page in the middle. Jisung leans over to get a better look at the header and gasps at what he sees.
(When the living man finally came to, Jisung was perched on the couch, peering down over the armrest as his eyes fluttered open and tried to focus. Jisung didn’t even bother moving the guy after he passed out, he knew his hands would just pass right through him, so he settled on the cushions and waited. He definitely felt like a creeper just watching him, but Jisung couldn’t help but admire the living man. His high cheekbones, lively pink skin, the soft puffs of breath proving he was truly alive, something Jisung isn’t even sure he remembers being.
Their eyes met and both of them stiffened, equally scared of the other.
Jisung really shouldn’t have continued to allow the other to see him, but he was too caught up in the bizarreness of the situation.
He whispered, “Are you okay?”
The living man’s breathing became erratic again, but he slowly sat up to lean on his hands and just stared at Jisung for a while, long enough that Jisung wondered if he had hit his head a little too hard during his fall.
“This isn’t real. You’re not real.”
Raising a brow, Jisung sat back and frowned, “Wow, rude. I’m very real actually.”
But the living man just ran a hand down his face and pulled himself to his feet with a groan, “Nah. Nope, you’re losing it Minho. First day in your new apartment and you’ve already gone bonkers.”
Jisung watched as he stumbled to the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cupboard and held it under the tap.
“Uh, Minho?”
The living man choked on his water, practically spraying it from his mouth all over the front of his shirt.
“You can hear me? And see me?” Jisung asked, just wanting to really really make sure he wasn’t imagining anything either.
Minho wiped at his shirt and took a deep breath before meeting Jisung’s wide eyes, “Fuck. I guess so.”)
“You can’t be serious.” Jisung’s cheeks hurt from how deep his frown is. The line of text glares at him from the yellowed paper:
The Soulbonded: Walking the Line Between the Living and the Dead.
Dr. Bang’s eyes are skittering over the words on the page at lightning speed, “Oh I’m very serious.”
Jisung thinks of Minho, the living man he’s gotten to know over the past few days--because it’s not like Jisung can kick Minho out, and for some reason Minho hasn’t made Jisung leave either. The very-much-alive man could see him and hear him, even if Jisung tried to poof away. Never in all his years has anyone been able to do that.
A smile flashes in his mind, paired with a witty tongue and gently curled lips. He remembers scared and unsure eyes that quickly morphed into ones filled with curiosity and something incredibly soft. He shutters at the memory of warm hands hovering nervously over his own cold fingers, jittering in anticipation.
And when those small, careful fingers grazed Jisung’s frigid palm, not passing through like he insisted they would, but settling perfectly into his hold, he’s reminded of the faint hum in his hollow chest.
His heart, fluttering to almost-life with just one touch.