Chapter Text
The lights in the practice room flickering were about to become Thame’s thirteenth reason as the abhorrent faux pine lino screeches under his feet.
Pivot.
Ball change.
Scuff the heel.
Jump to the right.
The lights taunt him once again, warm white temporarily cutting to black as his knees hit the floor, the thump mitigated by his sweats but the warm throb of bruising continues to reverberate through his kneecaps. Thame doesn’t even have the energy left to curse the world.
“You’re lagging behind Thame.”
“All those other schedules getting to your head, huh?”
“How can we debut you solo if you can barely shuffle from left to right?”
His palm hits the floor, fingernails gently scratching the plastic as he tries to muster the energy to stand once more. His elbow gives out, torso and cheek colliding with the ground; yet Thame can’t find it in himself to be mad.
For once, the companies’ neglect for proper insulation works in his favour – sweat mingling with dust as it cools his tempered cheek. He chooses instead to roll over onto his back, arm blindly reaching out for his backpack that had sat, abandoned, against the mirror.
The lights continue to flicker, photopsia dancing in blobby shapes across his vision as he rifles through his belongings. The small pill container bites into the palm of his hand as he tugs it out, the soft shaking of the tablets a haunting rhythm which joins the baritone buzzing of the room.
He grits his teeth together, inhaling sharply through his nose while fighting the child lock on the bottle. 160 pills: a new prescription he’d managed to pick up on his way from his apartment to the company this morning. It was enough.
It would be enough.
Jun could go start his acting career, Pepper could MC till his hearts’ content, Dylan could produce and become the ‘real’ rapper he’d always dreamed of being and Nano could become more talented than Thame could ever hope to be – a jack of all trades even.
The company name would be tarnished, but the members would at least get pity and media attention with the coverage of his sudden absence from this plane of life. They could release a little statement each and then take a couple months hiatus and capitalise afterwards, and Thame?
Well, he wouldn’t be here to worry about that anymore.
Left and right, pulled by a company having him sign contract after contract, fine print in ink so small he could barely make out the curves of the letters that cast away his future.
This would be his decision, and his decision only.
Swallowing the saliva that apprehensively pooled within his mouth, Thame presses the ridge of the pill bottle to his bottom lip, eyes fluttering closed as the room once again glitches into black.
“I don’t think you really want to do that, Nong.”
Thame’s eyebrows knit in the centre, pensive wrinkles shooting up his glabella like satyrs’ horns – his makeup artist would kill him if she saw him grimacing this hard.
“Trust me, you really don’t wanna be stuck here.”
Thame shoots up, dropping the bottle and allowing the pills to tumble out in a sweet cacophony as he searches for the owner of the voice. His eyes zero in on a man, hair primed to perfection and lips sweetened by the gentlest kisses of recently applied lip balm. His eyes shine brightly in the soft lighting; eyebrows gently furrowed with the most serious of expressions.
Thame narrows his eyes, “When the hell did you get in here?” He scrambles, trying to gather up the tablets and stuff them back into the bottle, fingers quaking more with every pill he hides away. The man chortles a little, shaking his head, “That doesn’t matter very much in the grand scheme of things.”
Thame takes the time to stuff his prescription back into his backpack, nose crinkling as he looks the man up and down. His shoulders are adorned by a crisp lemon coloured shirt, yet as he continues to rake his eyes upon the figure, splotches of red become visible, staining the white tank underneath and bleeding out into the yellow.
It centralises around his lower left abdomen, a gaping slash wound adorning what would have likely been perfection had it not been marred by cruelty. The man’s face becomes forlorn, a bloodied hand reaching to press over the area, as if he’s trying to hide it out of embarrassment.
“We need to get you to a hospital, stat,” Thame begins to panic, hauling himself off the floor and ignoring the creak in his back as he hurries over to the wounded. “It's fine, d-don’t worry!” he begins, arms shooting out in front of him as Thame reaches out to grab his wrist.
But their bodies never connect.
Where Thame expected there to be pallid skin covering flesh and bone, there was absolutely nothing.
His hand just flaccidly swipes through the air.
He tries once more, attempting to settle his hands on the man’s shoulders, wishing merely to shake some urgency into him. Yet, where he can see his hands touch the man’s cotton-clad figure, his neurons cease to fire.
He doesn’t feel anything… no woven fibres, no heat thrumming through muscles nor the toughness of a collarbone.
It’s like he’s not there at all.
“Thank you for your concern, Thame, but a hospital would’ve been helpful three or so years ago,” he chuckles lamely, arms coming up to wrap around himself as his thumbs gently card over the skin in circles – clearly a form of self-soothing.
Thame looks up at the man, his eyes blurring in slight disbelief, “You’re a…”
“Ghost is probably the correct term,” He smiles, but the placement is fake, the top left lip rising slightly too high for it to be one of joy, but doing it for Thame’s sake nonetheless.
“Okay… And I can see you?” Thame asks, head gently tilting to the side in moderate disbelief.
“You sure can, it's probably because you were about to…” The man coughs awkwardly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, a mannerism Thame knows all too well. He unknowingly mirrors the action, gently tugging at the hairs tickling the back of his neck as he brushes by.
“Yeah, uhm… Sorry you had to see that,” he apologises.
“It’s okay, I just… Didn’t want you to be stuck here, like me.”
Thame’s eyes meet the man’s own, sincerity lacing his pupils and eyebrows knitted in a way that makes Thame want to do nothing more than smooth out the grimace. “Why are you stuck here? If you don’t mind me asking… uh…”
“Po… You can just call me Po.”
Thame clears his throat with a small smile, “Well Po, why are you here then?”
The man smiles, heart shaped lips framing perfect teeth as his cheek bones rise, eyes forming crescent moons. He points down at his abdomen, lips forming a soft pout, “Is it not clear enough?”
Thame finds himself chuckling along with the man, rolling his eyes fondly as he walks himself over to the mirror, body sliding down it until he reaches the floor to sit. Po makes his way to sit cross legged besides him, both men craning their necks to look at each other.
“Not that, I mean... I guess I am curious, but why are you in the practice room?” Thame asks, raising his eyebrow. The dust in the room seems to shimmer as it settles on surfaces, flittering past Po’s face with an ethereal glow.
“It gets lonely otherwise… I’m the only one here, so I come into the practice rooms just to be with someone, or to listen to music – if I get exceptionally bored, I like watching the underpaid intern who replaced me struggle,” He chuckles, slightly emptily.
“It’s hard when you can’t touch things or interact with anyone.”
Thame’s throat tightens at the admission, but Po’s face stays forlorn as he turns to stare out at the practice room, “I can feel my phone in my pocket, but when I grab it, it’s exactly the same as it was when I died – no updates, no new music, no texts or emails… Nothing. If I flit about the company, sometimes I can watch a video over someone’s shoulder or listen to their music…” He trails off, bringing his knees up to wrap his arms around them.
“So, I’m the first person you’ve talked to in about three years?” Thame asks, still gazing at the man bathed in the warm light of the practice room. Po chuckles wetly, “You are, thank you… For chatting with me and not, y’know calling a psychic or a priest to cleanse my spirit away. Although…” he quirks an eyebrow and Thame finds himself half-smiling with a small huff.
“Why me though?” He asks softly, and Po turns to him, a pensive pout settling on his lips. “Believe me, if I knew, I probably wouldn’t still be stuck here,” He muses, prompting Thame to pull out his phone, swiping past the notifications to open up safari.
Po laughs, “Are you seriously going to google this? Maybe r/ivejustspokentoaghost might be better.” Thame shakes his head with a smile, filling the search bar quickly before rolling his eyes slightly at the AI overview.
“Something about unfinished business, blah, blah, blah…”
Po continues to laugh, a sound which Thame wishes he could sample for a song with its melodic rhythm, “If I could, I’d have swatted that phone out of your hands by now.” Thame glances over, barely repressing the urge to petulantly stick out his tongue, “Ha. Now that’s a shame.”
“Maybe…” Po starts, and Thame can see the man’s jaw move underneath his skin as he presses his teeth together before continuing, “Maybe it’s because you were trying to join me, it was upsetting thinking that you’d be stuck in this purgatory too and I couldn’t do anything. Plus, I like listening to Mars, watching your practices and company filmed content, it gives me something to do – if they didn’t have a leader, how would I get my dose of Mars content.”
The warm lights flicker as Po hypothesises, as if supporting his claims, “You heard me just as you were about to take them, and maybe the astral plane decided that it wasn’t your time.”
“I don’t think it should’ve been your time either.”
Po’s eyes well up with unshed tears, the lights flashing just long enough that Thame can spot one waltzing across his waterline, “Thank you,” he says breathily, bringing his own hand to press the tear back into his skin. “Seriously though, I really don’t think it was your time, and I’m glad that whatever force allowed me to stop you, did,” Po mentions, swallowing gently.
“Why? My group is falling apart, all my friends hate me, I’ve signed the next thirty years of my life away to ONER and I can barely dance according to the instructors,” He reels off, a heavy weight settling in his chest at the thought of his mounting disappointments.
Po smiles, “you might think that… but I know otherwise, Thame.”
Thame raises an eyebrow at the spirit, head lulling against the mirror. “I see everything in this building - I have a lot of spare time on my hands,” he continues, “Don’t give up Thame, that’s not truly what you want.”
Thame feels his walls crumbling, the concrete flaking with every word. His lips tremble slightly, nose twitching as he tries to hold back tears, “You don’t know that.”
“I do, because why would you be in this very room after fighting with your CEO for another MARS comeback if not for the will of wanting your friends back,” Po explains nonchalantly, shoulders rising with a small shrug, “You have the ability and the want to mend this, giving up now is just becoming the image you were resolute to avoid.”
Thame blinks his eyes shut, allowing the tears to trail down his nose, gently caressing his upper lip before leaving the taste of salt on his tongue. With a small exhale he allows the back of his head to collide with the mirrored wall, “How though?”
“Well, I think we can work that out between the two of us,” Po smiles, standing up, “But first, self-care.” Thame looks at him irrediculously, an inquisitive sound falling from his lips.
“You have to be the best version of yourself to pull this off, I’ve seen the way you’ve been struggling post practice – god that makes me sound weird – but trust me, I know where the good stuff is,” He holds out his hand before drawing it back as if burnt. “Shit, sorry, sometimes I forget,” He chuckles nervously as Thame uses the floor to help push himself up.
“It’s no worries, becoming a ghost can’t be the easiest transition,” Thame jokes, enjoying the friendly air between them both. “Yep, just remember that when I start walking through doors and then you start walking into them because I can’t open them,” He teases, phasing halfway through the door with a cheeky smile.
Thame gathers his backpack and follows with a chortle, his hand grabbing the cold doorhandle, causing goosebumps to rise on his arm. Po watches him exit the room, the pair walking in stride to the medical bay.
Thame taps his pass on the reader, it flashing red with a small buzz, “It needs a staff pass, I can’t get in.” Po hums and nods over to the plant besides the door, “Under there, Mick kept on losing his pass so he just shoves copies everywhere.”
Thame tilts his head but listens nonetheless, gently lifting the plastic pot and sliding his hand underneath. He feels around for a while until the familiar plastic of the card comes into contact with his fingertips. He slides it out, wincing at the scrape on the floor in the quiet hallway.
He turns back to find Po gone, heartbeat rising slightly at the absence of the spirit. He quickly unlocks the door to an empty med bay, eyes flickering around the dark room. He feels the wall for the light switch, squinting slightly as they turn on.
“Po? P’Po!?” He shouts into the room, looking around wildly. He can’t already be gone, they’d only just started talking, Po said he’d help him and –
“Over here!” The familiar voice calls from a shelf over, and through the medical supplies he can see a glint of Po’s lemon shirt. Thame drops his backpack and allows the door to click shut. The med bay is pristine, rows of supplies lined up and labelled meticulously by the inhouse practitioners.
He slinks over to Po, who points up at an inconspicuous white box on the top shelf, “In there, tiger balm pain patches, put one on your back,” He instructs, watching Thame use the bottom shelf as leverage to reach the box.
“Won’t the doctor know ones missing?” He asks, flicking the clips open with ease and grabbing a patch. Po shakes his head, “They used to be mine; I left them here because I used to get shoulder pain from editing for hours… I think they’re still in date – I bought new ones before… y’know,” He nods down to his lower abdomen.
Thame’s expression falters slightly as he checks the expiration date, “They’re still okay, thank you Po,” He says, flipping the box closed and looking at the label on top. The sticker is slightly yellowed with age but the ink is as clear as night.
Property of Pawat Nuenganan DO NOT TOUCH
Thame gently rubs his fingers over the label, the fine ridge barely differentiating it from the plastic. “Its been a while since I’ve seen my own handwriting,” He sighs kneeling down in front of the box, “I remember obsessing over the label, I wanted it to be perfectly squared, all letters exactly the same size as if it’d been printed, not written… I’d only worked here for a month then.”
The spirit reaches out to gently trace the letters with a finger, and Thame watches as the tip occasionally phases into the box. “Does it hurt?” He finds himself asking without a second thought, “Apologies if that’s insensitive to ask…”
Po chuckles, smile brightening up the dark corner of the medical room where the lights just can’t reach. “Don’t worry,” He takes a deep breath, “at the beginning it felt weird, humans still feel the weirdest – sometimes when they walk through my body it’s like I’m tangible again, but then it just gets stripped from me in seconds.”
Thame frowns at him, “Kinda like being on a rollercoaster then? That feeling when you drop?”
Po hums in agreement, “That’s a great way to put it actually… Other than that, I don’t feel anything,” He confirms and Thame raises an eyebrow, gaze falling to the stab wound on Po’s abdomen. “This only hurts when its… That day again,” he explains fingers gently tickling over the wound, “I don’t remember much to be fair, in between the adrenaline and the bleeding out – it was all pretty quick.”
Thame chortles slightly, ripping open the pain patch, “Is that supposed to make me feel better or?” Po settles for a simple eye roll in response before gesturing to the patch, “Just put it on.”
Thame lifts his shirt up, body twisting awkwardly in order to stick the patch on. It doesn’t lay flat, the adhesive bubbling in awkward ways as it attempts to adhere to his skin. With a small huff, Po steps forward, reaching out without a second thought, hands pressing down to smooth out the patch.
Cold hands.
Smooth palms connected to nimble fingers which erase the creases in the plastic, and press on the area so gently, as if they were cradling a newborn chick. Thame catches the moment Po registers the warmth of his skin underneath his hands, a gentle flush gracing the ghosts’ ears. Po’s thumb gently caresses the patch, the man clearly revelling in the feeling of contact after so long. Thame watches as the tears fall in streams down rosed cheeks, how his upper lip trembles softly at the sensation.
One exhale and Thame can feel the chill as Po’s hand phases through his back.
“Thank you, now it’ll actually help instead of just being decoration,” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood slightly. Po sniffles, letting out a soft laugh that curls into Thame’s eardrums, “You’re welcome, Thame,” A hand quickly wipes the snot dripping from his nose, “Now, you best go get some sleep, you’ve got a busy schedule tomorrow… I’ll see you around, okay?”
Thame nods, carefully placing the box back on the shelf, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Po, and you can help me sort everything out, you promise?”
Po nods with a gentle smile, “Of course I will… start with Jun, he’s been waiting for this for a while.”
Thame nods, pivoting on his heel to leave. He tries to ignore the way his heart fragments as he leaves Po, the company doors sliding shut, entrapping the ghost of a man he ought to have known earlier.