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The rusted payphone rang once again, the fifth time that evening. Resigned, Jisung picked up the call, bringing the receiver close to his face.
"Hello."
Still no response.
"I'm Han Jisung, born in the year 2000, and I'm here picking up the phone. What's the matter?"
"Aigoo, finally," a gruff voice answered through the static, "That's the right way to pick up the phone, isn't it, child?" A chilly breeze brushed Jisung's ears, triggering a shiver that ran down his spine in a familiar, but still uncomfortable way. "This is why I tell the others you must teach the young ones properly. Don't be too lenient! You give them your knowledge for free, next day they're dropping the honorifics—"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He arrived the same way he always did, left hand on his trusted cane, right hand supporting his hips, shuffling slow and steady. If Jisung hadn't known better, he might have asked the elderly gentleman if he needed help to cross the street. Perhaps, in that alternative universe, he would have received a polite 'thank you' in return.
The old man in front of him, however, could never be hit by a car.
He was the ghost that had haunted Jisung since birth.
👻
Han Jisung was born September 14, 2000, into an average family. The Chinese character chosen for 'ji', knowledge, conveyed the bright future his parents had envisioned for him. Against their expectations, his name didn't translate directly into academic excellence; he became, nevertheless, very knowledgeable in what transpired between life and death.
The first time he received a call, Jisung was still a toddler, playing in the neighborhood park with his kindergarten classmates. He was too short to reach the receiver of the payphone and too young to understand the ringing sound, so he just cried as loud as he could. Alerted, his teacher came by, carefully picking him up and bringing him back to safety.
This memory lingered long after the fact since he was given candy to calm down, and only the nicest kids deserved candy.
The second time, Jisung was much older, maybe 10 or 11. He was passing by the park on his way to cram school when the very same payphone rang, but that time Jisung was smart enough to notice two things.
First, payphones don't usually ring.
Second, no one used payphones anymore.
Which begged the question, why did the park even keep that rusted, useless payphone? Someone must have thought it was worth keeping as decoration, a memory of the good old times, but practically speaking, the payphone was nothing but a nuisance, and a loud one at that.
Jisung still picked up the call, since no one else seemed to be bothered by the incessant ringing. That's when a sudden gust of wind hit him, blowing his hair in all directions and chilling him to the bone.
"So there you are," he heard, not from the receiver, but behind him.
Turning around, he saw Lee Minho, eternally 80 years old, for the first time.
👻
"Sir, may I ask the reason you called me today?"
"Well, you see—the same as always. I was bored," Minho said between grunts, "And you're the only human I can call, so I summoned you to take me out of that boring graveyard. Now walk me somewhere nice."
The same as always. "You do realize that I have to attend school tomorrow and I cannot fail my exams this time?"
"Then you should be studying better! It's already 11 o'clock and you can't even take an old man for a walk? How are my knees supposed to get better?"
"Sir, you're dead." Seems silly that Jisung has to be the one reminding him of his non-existence all the time. "Your knees haven't changed in the last 100 years or so. Since you died."
"Aish, you know, I had faith in you when you were young, but you're turning out to be a very bad-mannered kid! If only you were a girl, at least you'd be kinder to me." He scratched his belly, always that same spot right below his ribcage. "Why would you keep reminding me of my tragic end like this."
Because you suck and I hate that I'm attached to you, Jisung wished he could say, but he didn't want to start a useless fight about something stupid with a ghost.
A ghost that was supposed to be his partner.
👻
Hidden in the small letters of TV commercials and newspaper advertisements lay a seemingly innocent phone number, 1-801-325-318, accompanied by a message, "Call when needed".
Most people ignored it completely, the offer too open and too good to be true. Those who truly needed to talk to someone, however, were less likely to take help for granted. They would dial the number, hoping that someone, anyone would pick up.
Usually, that person would be Felix, and the place they were calling was Haven Agency.
Humans are born alone and die alone, but that doesn't mean they need to be lonely. With that motto, the agency provided direct assistance to those in need, as long as they weren't asking for physical things, like money or gold.
(You see, the agency was run by the dead, and fortune wasn't something they cared about.)
Felix would assign each caller an agent, someone who had influence both in the realm of the living (by being alive) and in the realm of the dead (by being able to talk to spirits). Agents worked together with partners to figure out what their client's souls really needed, be that a warm hug or a slap on the face, no judgment.
In return, agents were given the chance to know when they were going to die, and how.
When Jisung turned 15, the minimum age to become an agent, Minho called him with a 'very good offer' that would 'make his life very interesting'. As an average teenager just looking for a place to belong, Jisung blindly accepted.
Turns out Minho died too old to be actually helpful in the field, his knees flaring up every time they had to cross the town, so Jisung had to do most of the work himself. That wouldn't be such an issue if only Minho could keep his mouth shut and his opinions to himself, but that was not in his plans.
After one year of service, Felix called him to ask for feedback, how they could improve their services for both agents and clients. Jisung wasn't sure of what to say, so he replied that everything was okay. He then asked if there was any way to change his partner.
"No, dear, I'm sorry—what you two have is beyond my jurisdiction. You'll have to work with him, or not work at all."
👻
They walked to the nearest convenience store to get drinks. Minho couldn't drink anything, of course, but he liked to pretend that he could, since 'back in his days' convenience stores were not a thing and Jisung 'would never know' how hard life really was before 'these modernities' came into play. Blah, blah, blah.
A table with two plastic chairs was available outside the store, but Jisung didn't want to stay for long. He finished his own banana milk before opening Minho's.
"Sir, I'm leaving town next week. And I'm quitting the agency."
"What?"
Another gulp. "I said I'm leaving town next week, and I'm quitting the agency."
"Yah, Han Jisung, are you crazy?" Minho yelled, but no one could hear him anyway, so Jisung didn't mind. "Do you know what that means to me?"
As expected, that's the only thing that mattered. "Yes. You'll be forever tied to the graveyard. No more late night walks. No more agency missions. No more calls."
"Exactly! Is that what you want?"
Hell yes, he thought. "My finals are the day after tomorrow. After that, there's no reason for my family to stay here anymore. I want to live somewhere else, experience something else. I want to live my own life, sir." He paused deliberately, following with, "I hope you understand."
Minho's existence in this plane was feeble, his skin transparent and his body nothing more than human-shaped mist, but his disappointment was nothing less than tangible.
Yet, he didn't say another word.
Jisung had expected it all: screams, accusations, curses. He mentally prepared himself for the worse of the worse, but he didn't prepare himself for silence. He wasn't sure if that hurt him more or less.
A final shake of Minho's near-empty bottle of banana milk announced it was time to leave.
"Let's go, I need to walk you home."
👻
Working with Minho wasn't bad all the time.
It was bad most of the time, Jisung wouldn't deny that, but very rarely they would be given cases that could melt even Minho's iron heart.
Those usually involved cute animals in one way or another, maybe a lost kitten that couldn't find its family, or a pet owner who missed their dog that had recently passed away.
He was actually useful in those cases. Becoming a ghost doesn't guarantee anyone the power to talk to animal spirits, but Minho could somehow communicate with them, or at least understand their emotions and frustrations.
That might have made their job easier, the only thing that should matter to him, but Jisung occasionally tasted blood in his mouth, his inner cheek tender from his unconscious biting.
He wondered if, had he been a cat, their relationship would have been better.
👻
Before announcing his plans to Minho, Jisung had already called the agency to request his withdrawal, giving them a two-week notice like any good employee.
Holding the engraved gold coin his partner had given him three years before, he rehearsed everything he wanted to say in his head one more time. He also fixed his hair, as if someone could see him through the phone line.
Thank you for calling Haven Agency.
The agency's upbeat jingle already sounded nostalgic to him. Felix had disclosed one day that his boss had written it himself. Apparently music was also a big thing in the spirit world.
Press 1 if you need help. Press 2 if we are already helping you. Press 3 if you want to say thanks. Press 0 if you are willing to help others.
He pressed 0 and inserted the coin, taking him to the agent hotline.
"Good evening," a familiar voice welcomed him, "this is Seo Changbin speaking, how can I help you?"
"This is agent Han Jisung, sector 37-127?"
"Ah, Jisungie! It's been a while, how are you doing?" Changbin had overseen quite a few of Jisung's cases over his first year, but they hadn't been in touch since his promotion to hiring manager. "How's Lee Minho, that cranky, senile old man?"
Jisung hadn't rehearsed an answer to that question.
"We're… good, sir. I hav–I have a request?" He could hear Changbin chuckle on the other side, probably at his overblown stiffness. "If that is okay?"
"Of course, kid, what do you have for me today?"
That was the moment. That was what he had been waiting for.
"I'd like to submit my agent withdrawal request, please."
But somehow it didn't feel as liberating as it should.
👻
No one in his family or in his (small) circle of friends knew that he could talk to ghosts and spirits, that he had a partner assigned to him at birth, that he was working with said partner on a spiritual job helping other people.
It was a solitary occupation by definition, and he had been warned as much from the very beginning.
Maybe that's why he resented Minho so much. If anyone could understand what Jisung was going through, it was him—but he didn't even try. He never really seemed to understand how special their bond was.
Fate had handed them something unique, something they could only experience together, but he threw it away before it could grow into anything.
Maybe both of them did.
👻
As promised, Jisung left the week after.
He waited by the payphone every night just in case Minho wanted to say his last words ('It was really nice working with you', 'I hope you have a successful life', 'I wish you the best going forward', 'I'm sorry I was a pain in the ass'), but he never called again.
For the first time in a while, Jisung was alone.
👻
The payphone was no more when Jisung finally returned, and the park he had known so well had become yet another monochromatic residential complex. So much had changed in the town, which had since become a city, that coming back didn't feel like coming home at all.
Moving around wasn't as easy as it had been when he was younger, only a teenager, roaming these streets on some sort of angelical mission—a past so distant he sometimes struggled to recollect his memories. Still, he pushed forward, heading to the only place where nothing ever really changes, because there, time has already expired.
He could identify a few new names, ages that felt too young to be there, dates that were so recent that the headstones were still fresh and free of moss. However, those were only small differences, things he could notice because he'd been there many times before. Overall, the place still looked the same as it did in his memory.
So did the ghost he came to visit.
"You're still here?" Jisung asked.
Minho grunted, upset to be disturbed during his solo game of gonggi. He really hadn't changed a thing since they last met, not even in his stubbornness to play a game he was terrible at. "Who dares bother me—Han Jisung, is that you?"
He looked genuinely surprised, perhaps even… satisfied. Content. "Good evening, sir." Old habits never die. "I thought you'd have given up and crossed to the afterlife by now."
"Aish, believe me, I tried," he yelled at the sky, "but they didn't let me, not an ounce of pity in their bodies."
Jisung chuckled at the thought of not even the spirits wanting Minho as their company. "Did you get kicked out for complaining too much?"
"If only," Minho shrugged, his hands trembling as he put away the pebbles in the fabric pouch he kept tied to his waist. "Now tell me, how old are you now, child? You look like you've seen better days."
"And you look like you've never seen a good day at all," Jisung replied dryly. "I'm 78 this year."
"So in the end I'm still older," Minho chuckled, but it soon turned into a rasping dry cough. "You've lived long."
"Technically, you've lived longer."
Minho laughed out loud. "Now, now, enough about me. Tell me where you've been."
And Jisung did. He told Minho of the life he lived the last 60 years; how he moved to another country with his family, attended university, experienced an entirely new culture, made new friends; how after all that, he returned for work, but to another city, where he met his wife; how they had three children together, who are now adults living their own lives, each with their own families; how he and his wife retired to the countryside, to enjoy the rest of the time they had together in peace; how his wife had passed away 3 years earlier of a heart attack, and he hasn't really recovered from that yet.
It was interesting how his entire existence on this plane could be summarized in only a few minutes, even though so many years had passed; how many of the struggles he went through weren't even worth mentioning, because in the end they were more insignificant than they had once seemed.
And, the most surprising of it all, how Minho listened.
"And now I'm here, because I have nowhere else to be," Jisung finished.
Minho nodded, pensive. "How long do you have left?"
"To live?" He waited for Minho's confirmation. "I don't know. I never asked."
"You never asked the agency?" Jisung shook his head. "So you worked for free? For three years?"
"I guess so," Jisung shrugged. "I didn't want to know whether I would live to become a grouchy old man like you."
Minho snorted. Jisung thought he had heard him say 'stupid', but the word never came out of Minho's mouth. "Did you hate me that much?"
"Honestly? Yes."
"It's not like I gave you many reasons to like me." Minho blew his nose unceremoniously. "I missed you, kid."
"Thank you," was the best reply Jisung could come up with, followed by, "Did you really?"
"I know I'm many things, but I'm not a liar," Minho rebuked. He was right. "How long has it been again?"
"60 years, sir."
"I lost count at 5. I'm gonna be honest with you, child. It's been hard. My knees still hurt every day, and the wound in my belly is still itchy, very uncomfortable." He scratched the spot as if reminding Jisung of his tragedy. "I don't want to be here, I'm tired. But I talked to them—to the people up high—and they just won't let me go. I talked to Felix, to Changbin, to everyone in that crazy agency, and no one could do anything for me, even though I worked my ass off for them." Maybe not a liar, but certainly a truth-bender. "So I'm stuck in this graveyard, and there's nothing I can do."
Jisung hadn't exactly asked, but he appreciated the full report. "Is there anywhere you want to go, sir?"
"Why?" Minho looked at him with tangible interest. "Are you taking me anywhere?"
"I don't have anything to do right now. I can't run anymore, but I can walk. We can go to the convenience store."
"Like the good old days?" Minho said as he approached him, an ugly smirk on his wrinkly face.
"No, not like the good old days. I'm also tired—of hating you." Jisung checked his wallet, wondering how much they were selling banana milk for these days. "I don't know why we were forced to be together in this universe, but I don't know if I'm going to live much longer, and I don't want to go still holding on to this juvenile grudge."
"You've always been a good kid, Jisung," Minho tried to pat his back, but Jisung could only feel a familiar cold breeze hitting him. "When you die, I hope you remember that."