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Felix knows his house is haunted.
From the day he moved into the old brick house at the edge of the forest, he has heard the stories from his neighbours about the person who lived and died here fifty years ago.
There's a short stretch of beach behind the tree line in the backyard, the once white sand now a greyish colour, lazy waves brushing onto the shore. This beach—and this house—used to belong to the beloved Christopher Bang, a surfer and hometown hero who was quickly rising the ranks before his sudden death at age twenty-eight.
According to the tales, he was a notorious insomniac. He had gone out to the beach late one night to practice for an upcoming competition. The waves were rougher than he had expected, and he lost balance on his board and wiped out, his head colliding with a rock on his way down.
Chris is remembered fondly by the town, celebrated for his achievements and positive influence, even half a century later. His famous red and black surfboard is preserved in the local museum. Surfers and beach goers alike carry on his conservation efforts with a massive beach cleanup every year on his birthday.
Felix had been surprised to see the gravestone under the towering trees in his backyard, Chris's name carved into it. The surfer had always said he'd wanted to be buried at the beach—his favourite place in the world—and his wish had been granted.
His grave sits right at home, where he died doing what he loved. It's decorated with seashells and sand dollars, rocks with heartfelt messages written on them. Sometimes, Felix goes out to admire it; to take in how much of an impact Chris had on his community. He doesn't dare touch any of the gifts brought for him; he wouldn't want to anger his ghost.
Speaking of ghosts, tales of Chris's spirit lingering in this old house have been swirling around since his passing. Previous owners swore they've seen him standing at the back door, staring out at the beach, longing to surf again. Neighbours said they've seen the lights flicker on and off, even when the house was vacant.
Felix has only lived here a few months, and he's heard all the ghost stories. Part of him doesn't want to believe them, but the signs are too glaring to ignore. The floorboards creak when no one is walking, the curtains shift when the windows are closed, and an eerie wind whispers through the air in the middle of the night, sounding like a distant voice.
Call him paranoid, but all these strange patterns have spooked Felix enough to think that Chris's ghost might, in fact, be haunting this house. It's cliche—he knows that—but old rickety houses and ghosts go hand in hand, don't they?
Most people assume Felix is an expert on all things scary and supernatural, namely because of his appearance. His style veers very gothic—ink black hair, shadowy makeup, and a closet full of leather and fishnets.
Those preconceived notions aren't entirely unfounded—he enjoys books about witchcraft or vampirism every now and again. But put on a horror movie and he'll be hiding under a blanket clutching the nearest Bible in his hands.
Ironic, isn't it?
If Chris's ghost is in his midst, Felix hopes he's at least friendly. He seemed like such a caring, kind-hearted person when he was alive, so surely, he would be no different in the afterlife. A dead surfer is not intentionally trying to scare Felix from beyond the grave.
Right?
A gust of wind rattles the bedroom window, causing Felix to flinch and nearly drop the book in his hand. He snaps his head toward the noise, no one there but the half moon peeking through the tree branches, silver light mingling with the golden glow of his bedside lamp.
Felix sighs in relief, relaxing against the pillows stacked behind him and returning to his book. Not even a minute later, a cool breeze brushes right against his ear, and he startles upright with a yelp.
What the hell was that? How was that even possible? And why did he hear the faintest whisper of his name?
"I need to go to sleep," Felix decides aloud, setting his book on the nightstand and tucking himself under the blankets. He looks at the clock on the wall; it's past midnight, the time Chris usually decides to make the most noise and spook him half to death. The cold touch to his ear just now had to be Chris.
Silence falls over the room, peaceful enough that Felix feels comfortable drifting off to sleep—he'll keep the lamp on just in case. Then it happens again, a brush of cool air ghosting over his ear, a barely perceptible whisper of his name. Felix gasps, his spine snapping straight as he sits up again.
He's not the only one to startle. His cat has been lying at the foot of the bed for hours, and his sudden movement must have woken her from her blissful slumber. She scrambles over to Felix, black fur prickling with fear, and curls up on his lap over the blanket.
"Oh, don't be scared, Melanie. It's okay," Felix reassures, petting her soothingly until she starts to purr. He's not entirely confident in his words, however. His eyes dart cautiously around the room—no shadowy figures in sight. "It was just… the wind."
Or a ghost.
"Christopher?" Felix calls out, trying to adopt a stern tone despite the shivers crawling up his arms. "If you can hear me, I'm politely asking you to please stop scaring me and my cat. I know you're a ghost and everything, but it's starting to get weird. Just, like, hold off on the spooky shit for tonight so I can get some sleep, okay?"
He sits there and waits patiently as if Chris will respond to him, but nothing happens. No rattling windows, no icy caress to the shell of his ear, no "Sure, no worries, mate. I'll give it a rest." Just the quiet stillness of the night, the gentle sound of waves kissing the shore, and the soft rumble of Melanie's purrs.
Felix lets out a heavy sigh, feeling embarrassed that a ghost is giving him the cold shoulder. On the bright side, it's finally quiet again, and the room suddenly feels a little warmer.
Maybe Chris is a friendly ghost, after all.
With that taken care of, Felix scoops his cat into his arms, gets out of bed, and crosses the room to place her gently on her own bed. He snuggles back under the covers, lamp still on, and listens to the waves until sleep finally carries him away.
***
For the past hour, Melanie has been standing at the back door, meowing loudly and swiping at the air. Staring out the window is one of her favourite pastimes, but never for this long—or this noisily.
No matter how many times Felix places her somewhere else in the house or dangles a toy in front of her as a distraction, Melanie will always return to the back door. She's so quiet on her feet that Felix doesn't realize she's moved until he hears her high-pitched meows and turns to see her silhouette in front of the glass.
After relocating Melanie to her bed upstairs, Felix returns to the kitchen to tend to the simmering pot of chicken soup on the stove, skimming the foam off the top.
The weather is getting cooler, which means it's the perfect time for warm, hearty soups and stews on chilly nights. Just him, his cat, and the ghost of a dead surfer who lives in his walls—if he's down to join, that is.
Just as Felix places the lid back on the pot, another loud whine sounds from behind him. With an exasperated sigh, he turns around to see Melanie facing the back door once again, swiping a tiny paw in the air like she's playing with an invisible ball of yarn.
Are you serious? Felix thinks. He offered that little gremlin her favourite ball of yarn earlier, and she only showed interest for five minutes before going back to… whatever she's doing now.
"Melanie," Felix huffs, leaving the stove to cross the room and crouch beside his cat. "I don't know what's up with you today, but I'm trying to make dinner, and you're being very distracting."
He shoots Melanie an accusing look, and she turns her little head up to him, her slit-shaped hazel eyes wide as if surprised that Felix is annoyed by her antics.
"Oh, don't give me that look." Felix wills himself not to succumb to her cuteness—an effort that usually doesn't last long. "Care to explain yourself, young lady? What's over here that has you so fascinated? Outside? You don't even like going outside."
Gesturing a hand at the glass, Felix turns his gaze to the backyard just as Melanie does the same. It's a cloudy day, the sun making a valiant effort to peek through the veil of grey. The ocean is calm, waves gently cresting the shore, and the tall trees sway in the breeze.
Nothing out of the ordinary. So what is up with his cat?
Felix casts an expectant look at Melanie as if waiting for her to respond. But she just stares up at him blankly, then lays down on the floor as if in defeat, curling into a little black ball of fluff. Just like that, her cuteness is too powerful to resist, and Felix coos at her as he pets her back.
Melanie must have finally given up on whatever had her so occupied now that she's been stopped so many times. But if this is some kind of manipulation tactic, Felix is falling for it.
"There, that's better," he says softly, dropping a kiss to the top of Melanie's head before rising to his feet. "No more funny business, okay? Stay here and relax. It's almost dinnertime."
The kitchen smells divine by the time the soup is finished, savoury aromas surrounding Felix like a warm hug. This is exactly what this old house needs, a cozy, welcoming atmosphere to make it feel less like a haunted house and more like a home.
As Felix sets the table, he glances at the empty spot across from him, and suddenly, a funny idea comes to mind.
If Chris is lurking around like he usually does, Felix should invite him to join him for dinner. It had been a joke in his head, but now that he thinks about it, that might be a smart way to make nice with the ghost.
Being destined to haunt his old house for eternity must be an incredibly isolating existence. And watching Felix mill around, living his mundane, mortal life—cooking soup and taking care of his cat—can't be making Chris feel any better about his situation.
Sure, his creepy, ghostly activities in the middle of the night leave Felix with goosebumps, but for some reason, he feels a sense of empathy for Chris. Ghosts must have feelings, too, and if Chris is feeling lonely, letting him sit down for a bite to eat could be the kind gesture he's been waiting for.
A truce. Even an offering of friendship. Or maybe living in a haunted house has made Felix completely lose his marbles. Who knows? Certainly not Felix. And at this point, he doesn't care, either.
"Hey, Chris!" he calls out, looking around the room in case the ghost is nearby. "Do you want to have dinner with me? There's enough soup for both of us. I don't know if ghosts need food or anything, but you're welcome to sit down and hang out. I mean… if you want."
Despite never receiving a verbal response from Chris before, Felix waits for one anyway, scanning the room expectantly, ears tuned in to any unusual noises. It doesn't surprise him when all he gets is silence, but what does come as a shock is the twinge of disappointment he feels.
"Alright then," he shrugs, then moves back to the stove, using the ladle to dish out a bowl of soup for himself. "I guess I'll have to eat this delicious soup all by myself."
His attempt at reverse psychology doesn't seem to work. No ghostly sounds to be heard—not even a frigid gust of wind against his ear. Felix doesn't know why he would even want that when it always scares him out of his skin.
Hot bowl in hand, Felix turns to go to his seat at the table but stops dead in his tracks when he hears the loud groan of a chair scraping the floor. Frozen in place, he stares in disbelief as the chair at the other end of the table moves back on its own, as if someone were pulling it out to sit down.
Someone like… a ghost.
"What the fuck?" Felix breathes, heart hammering. He steps toward the table tentatively, putting his soup down before it can slip out of his hands. His eyes stay glued to the chair, which has stopped moving now, leaving the room eerily silent aside from his own thudding pulse.
Felix believed there was a ghost living in this house, but beyond the typical spooky shit Chris had been doing, he never thought that Chris would make his presence known this overtly. Groaning floorboards and barely perceptible whispers of Felix's name had been one thing. A chair moving on its own right in front of his eyes is a completely different story.
"Uh… Chris?" Felix says hesitantly, standing stock-still in front of his steaming bowl of soup. The thought of the ghost so close to him, staring back at him, sends a chill down his spine so cold that he shivers beneath his black sweater.
Against his better judgment, Felix decides to test the waters. "C-Chris, are you here?" he asks, his voice small and careful, hands clutching the back of his chair for support. "If you are, and you actually do want to have dinner with me, can you, uh… say something? Please?"
Silence crackles between Felix and the ghost, so tense he feels it in his bones, and it's unbearable. He's about to say something else—apologize to Chris for being so scared of him when ghosts probably can’t control their inherent scariness, even harmless ones—but a long, shrill meow diverts his attention to the back entrance.
This time, Felix is grateful for the interruption.
"Melanie, what is it this time?" Felix says as he pads toward the back door, his tone with her softer, more patient, despite his still racing heart. "If you're hungry, I'm about to make your dinner, so don't—"
The rest of his sentence dies in his throat when he sees the sight in front of him, eyes blown so wide they almost pop out of their sockets.
His precious black cat is floating in mid-air, crying out, and pawing at nothing. Just when Felix is about to spring into action and grab her, the faint outline of a human figure appears in the empty space around Melanie's flailing furry body.
It's a man, or at least the ghost of one, his translucent form a pale bluish grey. He emits a slight shimmer as the light from outside filters through his spectral form, making him look like something out of a hazy dream.
This is the ghost. This is Christopher Bang. In the flesh. Well… not really.
Felix gawks at him, eyes flitting up and down, blinking rapidly to ensure he isn't hallucinating. Chris looks exactly like he did in the old pictures he's seen of him: bleach blond hair that curls at the ends, soft brown eyes, and a handsome face that could make anyone fall head over heels in love. He's wearing a worn white t-shirt and navy-blue board shorts, his feet bare.
Once Felix is done ogling Chris from not even three meters away, he registers the fact that the ghost is holding his cat in his arms, gently shushing her to calm down. Melanie keeps scratching him before realizing that her efforts are ineffective on an incorporeal being. She relents and seems to warm up to the ghost quickly, nuzzling into his chest when he starts rocking her back and forth like a newborn baby.
"There there, kitty. I'm not gonna hurt you," Chris coos, the soft twang of his Australian accent sending a strange warmth in his chest. He stays rooted in place, still paralyzed by shock, as the ghost cradles his cat. "I'm sorry I scared you. It's okay now. You're safe, I promise."
Felix would almost find the sight endearing if his stomach weren't on the verge of ripping in half. He can't even think to decide what to do now that the ghost who haunts this house is standing right in front of him. Does he gasp? Scream? Faint? There are too many options.
It's at that moment when Chris acknowledges Felix's presence, lifting his head to look at him, eyes wide as if he hadn't expected to see him there. "Oh, uh… G'day, mate," he says with a warm yet sheepish smile. "I'd, um, like to take you up on that dinner offer. I was just a bit nervous to show myself. And your cat kept trying to scratch me for an hour, but I didn't mind because she's so adorable, and your soup smells really good, and—"
Chris stops rambling when Felix drops ungainly to his knees, a dull pain shooting through his legs on impact. His head is spinning, his vision blurring at the edges, the shock of seeing a bonafide ghost finally sinking in. His body has decided: the most logical reaction to this peculiar turn of events is to faint.
As his eyes close and his body slumps to the floor, he catches the sound of Melanie's tiny feet padding towards him—she must have jumped out of the ghost's arms to check on him. Then, he feels that familiar wintry chill near his ear, accompanied by Chris's concerned voice.
"Felix, are you okay?" The ghost's voice fades into an echo the further Felix drifts from consciousness. "…so sorry… please… wake up."
"Will… soon," Felix manages to mumble, sensing himself slipping under. "Go… have some soup."
***
When Felix comes to, he finds himself on the living room couch, a blanket draped over him. He sits up slowly and looks out the window; the sky is a little darker now. Melanie is curled up on the arm of the couch by his feet, sleeping soundly as if she hadn't seen her owner faint at the sight of a ghost.
Speaking of which, where is that ghost?
Now that Felix is awake and his head feels clearer, part of him wonders if Chris had been a figment of his imagination. But if he was, how did he end up on the couch when he passed out on the floor? Did Chris put him here?
"You're awake."
Felix flinches at the sound of Chris's voice, clutching the blanket instinctively. He whips his head around to find the ghost standing behind him, his relieved expression turning apologetic when he realizes he has scared Felix… again.
"Oh, sorry," he says, raising his hands in defense when Felix shoots him an irritated look. "I really don't mean to keep doing that. Please don't be mad at me, Felix. I'm sorry."
"How do you—" Felix is about to ask how Chris knows his name, but then he remembers the ghost has likely heard it several times since he moved in. He also has a mug with his name on it that he drinks from every morning, so there's that, too.
It takes a moment for Felix to formulate something else to say, and to adjust to the sight of the once invisible ghost standing right next to him. He sighs, his irritation subsiding along with the shock of Chris's appearance.
"I'm not mad at you," he says, pulling his knees to his chest. "I'm just… surprised that you actually exist—er, existed? I've heard stories about you haunting this place, but I didn't think I'd actually… see you."
Chris lets out a shy laugh. "Yeah, I usually stay invisible. You get used to it after being dead for fifty years, you know?"
No, Felix does not, in fact, know what it's like to be dead for half a century, but he nods anyway. This makes Chris chuckle softly again, even though Felix hadn't meant to be funny—must be a nervous habit that stayed with him in the afterlife.
"I really am sorry for scaring you, Felix," Chris says earnestly. "This time and all the other times before that." He moves to sit with Felix on the couch. The cool breeze that follows him smells like sea salt and stratosphere, more calming than eerie. "I've lived alone here for so long. I'm not used to having people around. I always end up scaring them away, but I don't do it on purpose."
Felix feels a tightness in his chest at the remorse on Chris's face, and when their eyes meet, that feeling eases up a little. He can tell the ghost truly is sorry just by the look in his eyes, so full of life and emotion, even though he's been dead for decades.
"I guess ghosts are just… inherently scary," Felix says, offering the ghost a small smile.
Chris smiles back. "I think you're right, unfortunately." He lets out a slow breath, looking askance before his eyes return to Felix. "I wish I could have some of your soup," he says, changing the subject, "but you were right about the whole ghost-don't-need-food thing, so all I could do was smell it. It smells delicious, by the way."
"Oh, um, thank you." Felix is flattered that Chris likes his cooking—at least the smell of it—but he's still a bit confused. "Did you put me here? You tucked me in?"
Chris nods. "Of course. I couldn't leave you on the floor. You'd catch a cold."
Melanie purrs softly in her sleep, reminding Felix of her presence. "It's past Mel's dinnertime," he realizes with a gasp. "I still have to feed—"
"It's okay, Felix. I fed her already," Chris interjects. Felix gives him a puzzled look, which makes him laugh. "I've watched you prepare her food every day," he explains. "I practically have the routine memorized, so I thought I'd take it off your hands this time. Um, I hope that's okay."
Felix's eyes volley between Chris and his cat, still snoozing peacefully, likely thanks to being fed by the ghost. He is lost for words for a moment, surprised by Chris's kind gesture. He really is a friendly ghost, giving Melanie her food, even after she'd been scratching at him for an hour.
"Thank you, Chris," he says. It feels so strange to say his name to his face and not to an empty void. "You really didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to," Chris insists. "Consider it an apology for spooking you all the time. I just didn't know how to approach you."
"Approach me?" Felix raises a brow. "What do you mean?"
The ghost suddenly looks timid, lowering his head slightly so his blond hair falls over his eyes. "You kind of fascinate me," he says. "I've never seen anyone who looks like you before."
Felix looks down at himself in his black sweater, white spider webs decorating the sleeves. He isn't wearing a lot of makeup today, just some black eyeliner, mascara, and a thin layer of red lip gloss. This is casual compared to his usual, more dramatic outfits.
"I'm just goth," he says, feeling his cheeks get warm. He absentmindedly brings a hand up to touch his face. "You don't think I look weird, do you?"
"N-no, no, not at all," Chris says, his wide eyes carrying a thousand apologies. "You look great, I like how you look. It's just—I never saw people like you when I was alive."
The more Felix thinks about it, the more sense it makes. He is the only goth in this cozy beach town. Chris must be thinking of the days when Felix wears black leather jackets over mesh tops, fishnets the colour of a blood moon covering his legs. Or when he puts on a full face of dark, striking makeup and steps into a pair of platform boots to go to the grocery store.
"I guess that's understandable," Felix says with a shrug, glancing off to the side. "I stick out like a sore thumb around here."
"In a good way." Chris says, compelling Felix to meet his eyes again, soft and sincere. "I actually think you're really pretty—Um, if you don't mind me saying that."
If ghosts can blush, that is what Chris is doing right now, his face taking on a faint pink hue. Felix can't help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. First, he finally meets the ghost living in his walls, and now, said ghost is calling him pretty. What a strange turn of events.
"I don't mind," Felix reassures, giving Chris a quick once-over. "You're not so bad yourself."
This makes the telltale flush on Chris's cheeks deepen. He lets out a sheepish laugh, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck as he averts his gaze from Felix, unsure about how to respond.
Felix is in the same boat. Should he even be flirting with someone whose grave is in his backyard? What are the ethics of human-ghost relationships? Most importantly, why is he even thinking about this in the first place?
"Your soup is still on the table," Chris finally breaks the silence. "It might be a bit lukewarm now, but I can bring it to you if you want."
"Yes, please. That'd be nice." Felix watches as Chris stands up and walks toward the kitchen, his spectral form phasing through the wall. He comes back through the doorway with Felix's soup, placing the bowl on the coffee table with a spoon and a napkin. "Thank you, Chris."
"Any time." Chris pauses for a moment, choosing his next words. "Really, if you ever need anything, just call out for me. I'll always be here."
Felix looks up at him, considering. "Because you can't leave the house?"
"Well—yeah." Chris says, and they both laugh. "But also, because I want to make up for scaring you to the point of fainting. I don't mind helping you around the house. We both live here, so I guess that makes us roommates, right?"
"Yeah, I guess it does." Without taking his eyes off Chris, Felix reaches for his soup and places it on his lap. It isn't steaming hot anymore, but it's warm enough that it doesn't need to be reheated. "Thanks for taking care of me, Chris," he says, smiling. "And my cat."
Chris glances over at Melanie, who is now stirring from her slumber with a slight twitch of her head. He chuckles fondly, a single short breath, then his eyes return to Felix. "No worries, mate."
With that, Felix lifts his bowl of soup closer to his face and takes a sip from his spoon. He hums at the taste of rich, savoury broth on his tongue, inwardly patting himself on the back for his excellent cooking skills.
"If you want, Chris, you can sit down and we can watch something together," Felix offers, but he doesn't get a response. He looks up from his soup to see the vacant spot where Chris had stood a second ago. The ghost disappeared without a sound. "Chris? Where did you go?"
The answer to that question is obvious; Chris is still somewhere in the house, unable to live outside these four brick walls. But Felix had hoped the ghost would at least give him a warning before vanishing into thin air.
With a sigh, Felix takes another spoonful of soup and eats in silence. Melanie moves to lay next to him, as if to assure him that he will see Chris again soon, that the ghost is only one call away.
Just then, Felix feels that unmistakable brush of cool air against his ear. Even with his sweater on, the sensation travels down his spine and around his waist like a hug. Felix wants to lean back into it, privately hoping Chris will appear behind him and hold him against his chest. But he stays where he is, not wanting his soup to slosh over the rim of the bowl.
Now that Felix has finally met the ghost face to face and gotten a glimpse of how friendly he truly is, he is not shivering in fear at the thought of him anymore. As crazy as it is to admit, despite Chris being here only a moment ago, Felix misses him.
***
It turns out having a ghost as a roommate is more amazing than Felix had expected
Over the past several weeks, Chris had slipped seamlessly into Felix's life, like he’d always belonged there. He helps around the house in ways Felix hadn’t even realize he needed—floating beside him in the kitchen while they cook together, passing ingredients through the air with theatrical flair, taste-testing things he technically can’t eat.
Chris cleans too, gliding around with a broom while humming off-key, and he even takes care of Melanie while Felix is at work.
The litter box, however, tested him. Felix once came home to find Chris standing over it, scooping dutifully, his face twisted into a look of profound suffering. He'd been smiling—determined and proud—but his eyes had betrayed him completely.
“She’s worth it,” Chris had said, voice strained, as if staring into the abyss. "And so are you."
Felix had laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall. It was just so endearing.
As they've grown closer, Felix found himself asking questions he probably shouldn’t have. But when you've finally made friends with the ghost who lives in your house, it's hard to hide your curiosity.
“So,” Felix had said one afternoon, trying extremely hard to sound casual, “when you’re invisible… do you watch me take showers? Or do you, like, see me get dressed?”
Chris had looked genuinely offended. “No! Of course not. I’m not a pervert.”
Felix had opened his mouth to tease him further, only for Chris to add, sheepish, “But, um… you do have really cute freckles on your back.”
"Oh… thanks." Felix had turned bright red and fled the room, making the excuse that he had to remove his makeup.
Somehow, after that, things only got easier. The ghostly sounds at night—the quiet footsteps, the faint breeze when Chris passes through a room—are still creepy on principle, but they no longer make Felix’s hair stand on end.
Melanie has decided Chris is safe as well, which seems like the highest possible endorsement. She greets him whenever he appears, rubbing her face against his leg even though she sometimes phases right through it.
Most of all, Felix loves Chris’s stories about his glory days. Tales of early mornings by the sea, sunburned shoulders, and waves that felt alive beneath his board. Chris talks about surfing the way some people talk about religion—reverent, devoted, and full of awe for the ocean that had given him everything.
Sometimes, Chris will sit on the edge of Felix’s bed at night and talk softly until Felix drifts off, his voice low and soothing, like the tide pulling him under. Felix would never admit it aloud, but those are his favourite moments.
And he would also never admit—well, not yet—that Chris is incredibly handsome, and that the ghost often makes appearances in his sweetest dreams.
One evening, after a long day at work, Felix decides to go down to the beach behind the house and explore. Chris had offered to cook dinner, insisting Felix deserved a break.
God, why does that ghost have to be so sweet and thoughtful and not scary all the time?
Felix wanders barefoot along the sand, stopping to admire the waves. They are rougher than usual farther down the shore, crashing with restless energy. He steps closer to let the water wash over his feet and up his legs, just below his knees. It's cold and sharp, causing him to shiver, but the sensation is grounding.
As he stands there, Felix finds himself thinking about Chris—at this point, what else is new? He imagines him in his old life—damp blond hair stuck to his face, muscles taut with motion beneath his wetsuit, riding the waves with the kind of joy that made the world fall away.
Chris had lived to surf. And he had died doing it.
Like the ghost stories Felix had heard, there have been moments when he has found Chris standing alone at the back door, staring through the trees at the ocean beyond. Always quiet. Always longing. Knowing he can never leave the house he is bound to haunt forever.
A tear slips down Felix’s cheek before he realizes it's there. He wipes it away quickly, leaving a smudge of mascara on his finger, and keeps walking, focusing on the sand squishing between his toes.
Then he hisses sharply and hops back, lifting his foot when he realizes he's stepped on something protruding from the sand. He curses under his breath, wishing he had decided to wear sandals before coming down here.
Slowly, he lowers his foot back down and squints his eyes, inspecting the culprit. He expects to find a rock or the blunt corner of a hermit crab's shell, but something so ordinary wouldn't be gleaming in the sand.
Felix reaches down and brushes the object free, eyes widening as he realizes what it is. A pearl, washed ashore and half-buried. He turns it over in his palm, mesmerized by how smooth and luminous it is. So impossibly perfect that he can't bare to put it down.
And then an idea strikes him. He doesn't have to leave this beautiful pearl in the sand. He can bring it back home. To Chris’s grave. Offer it to him as a token of his appreciation for his friendship.
Felix rinses the pearl in the ocean, then hurries back toward the house, heart beating faster than necessary. He kneels in the backyard, where the gravestone rests among shells and sand dollars left over time. Carefully, he places the pearl in the center. The only one.
He sits back on his heels, admiring it. Chris’s name is etched into the stone beneath his fingers. It's strange, knowing his body rests below the earth while his spirit lingers inside his house—cooking dinner, telling jokes, becoming something dangerously important to Felix's life.
With the pearl resting there, Felix hopes—quietly, and maybe foolishly—that he and Chris can be more than friends. And now he's once again contemplating the ethics of falling in love with a ghost.
Before he can dwell on it any further, he startles at the sight of a figure in his periphery. Chris is standing by the back door, not looking at the ocean, but straight at him.
Felix’s heart jumps. Even though he hasn’t done anything wrong, he feels caught anyway, heat creeping up his neck. This is the first time in a while that Chris has scared him. But then Chris smiles—soft, kind, unmistakably fond—and Felix very nearly melts into the sand.
Instead, he stands and brushes himself off, walks toward the back door, and steps inside, sliding the door shut behind him.
“Hey, Chris,” he says, suddenly very aware of how close the ghost is standing.
“There you are,” Chris says, brightening instantly. “I was wondering when you’d get back. Dinner’s ready.”
Felix glances past him and inhales deeply. “You made spicy miso ramen?”
Chris puffs up a little, clearly proud of himself. “Your favourite.”
“Thanks, Chris." Felix smiles, warmth blooming in his chest. "Seriously.”
They stand there for a second, the comfortable quiet stretching between them. Then Felix clears his throat. “And, um—thank you. For… everything. Helping around the house. Taking care of Melanie. Being my friend. It means a lot to me.”
Chris flushes at that, colour blooming across his cheeks like a sunset through fog—Felix still can't believe ghosts can blush. “Don't mention it, Felix,” he says softly. “And… thanks for not being afraid of me anymore. It’s nice, you know. Having a friend again after so long.”
Felix swallows, heart thumping. “I, uh—you probably saw already, but I got you something,” he says, gesturing a hand toward the backyard.
Chris follows his gaze. Even though he can’t step outside for a closer look, the grave is fully visible through the glass. His eyes soften the moment he sees the small yet prominent pearl glistening in the center.
“You found a pearl,” Chris says quietly, his tone laden with awe.
“Well, technically, I stepped on a pearl.”
Chris laughs, the sound light and fond. “That tracks.”
“It was just… really pretty,” Felix continues. “So, I thought I’d give it to you. As a way to show you how much I appreciate you.”
Felix stares at the grave for a moment longer, then looks back. Chris is already watching him, eyes full of something achingly tender. Felix is incredibly grateful for his foundation in that moment, concealing the pink flush spreading across his face.
“Thank you, Felix,” Chris says. "This is so sweet of you. I wish I could give you something in return.”
“You made me dinner,” Felix says lightly. “What else could you possibly give me?”
Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer. Felix barely has time to process it before he feels a cool hand press gently to his cheek. The touch sends a shiver through him—not cold or unpleasant. Comforting and anchoring, like the cool embrace of ocean-drenched sand beneath his feet.
“I could give you this,” Chris murmurs, his breath a gentle breeze against Felix's lips. Then he leans in and closes the space between them.
The kiss is slow and careful, like Chris is afraid Felix is the ghost who might disappear. Felix has only ever let himself vaguely wonder what it would be like to kiss a ghost, and now that he knows, he doesn’t want it to stop.
Chris tastes like the sea. His lips are plush and gentle, fitting against Felix’s perfectly. Felix melts into him, arms wrapping around Chris’s waist without phasing through, just holding on.
When they finally pull apart, Felix is smiling like a complete idiot. Thankfully, Chris looks just as lovesick, eyes crinkling at the corners from the force of his smile.
"I've wanted to do that for a while," Chris admits coyly. He brushes his thumb over Felix's cheek. "You're so beautiful, Lix."
Lix. The nickname sound so perfect coming from Chris's mouth. Felix wants to hear him say it again and again.
Instead of saying something normal in response, Felix blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Would it be weird for a human to date a ghost?” The moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes, lowering his head. “Sorry. I don't know what that was. That sounded… odd.”
“Maybe it would be a little weird,” Chris says, amused. Felix peeks up through his lashes just as Chris tips his chin back gently. “But it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s been tough being just friends with you, Felix.”
Relief washes over Felix like a wave. He smiles, feeling light as a feather knowing Chris feels the same way he feels for him. “Then let’s try being more than friends.”
Chris grins and pulls him close again, one hand resting at the small of his back. He pinches the hem of his black band tee between his fingers. “Does this mean you’d be cool with me watching you get dressed? And undressed?”
The insinuation and the teasing glint in Chris's eyes make Felix's heart flutter. “As long as you don’t jump-scare me,” he says in a warning yet playful tone, inwardly looking forward to putting on a show of taking off his clothes for Chris.
“Cross my heart.” The ghost places his free hand over his chest, then seems to remember something, and brings it back to his side. "Well—I guess technically, ghosts don't have hearts, but… You know what I mean."
Felix nods, endeared by the sentiment, and just how adorable Chris is when he gets flustered. He threads his fingers through Chris's blond curls and leans in for another kiss, only to be interrupted by a meow and a blur of black fur.
Melanie scampers over, tail high, a small ball of pink yarn clenched proudly in her mouth. She drops it at Chris’s feet and looks up expectantly.
Felix giggles. “I think she’s giving you a gift, too."
Chris stares at the yarn, then at Melanie, utterly baffled—and completely charmed. He bends down and scoops her up, hugging her so her head rests on his shoulder.
“Thank you, kitty,” he coos, nuzzling his nose into the top of her head. “I love it.”
Felix joins them, leaning into Chris’s side while Melanie settles comfortably in his other arm. Felix glances out at Chris's grave once more—the pearl gleaming among the rocks and seashells left there by all the other people who loved him.
He makes a mental note to add Melanie's offering to the pile later. Right now, Felix is more focused on enjoying a nice, hot dinner with his ghost boyfriend in the home they share.
Living in a haunted house doesn’t seem so scary anymore.