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The first few times it happens, Lando blames it on his own forgetfulness — because really, how else can he explain that his favourite pair of gym shorts, which he tore half of his apartment down in search of, was waiting for him, folded neatly on top of his bed, when he came home from his workout? Surely he must have placed it there himself; it’s not like there are other people living in his place.
He only really started to suspect something after an exhausting work meeting, to which he chose to walk on foot. It seemed like a good idea in the afternoon, with the sun shining through the clouds — it definitely did not seem like a good idea in the evening, when he was running back home in the pouring rain, the sun long gone behind dark clouds.
The elevator ride was unpleasant with his hair and clothes leaving small puddles of water under his feet. He finally opened his apartment, hands shaky from the cold, and immediately ran to take a warm shower and change his clothes into a warm pyjama.
Lando grabbed his laptop from his room, meaning to relax with a movie before bed. Immediately after walking into his living room, he was faced with a surprise — in the middle of his coffee table stood a steaming hot cup of cocoa.
Maybe he made the cocoa before the shower and forgot? But he was sure he spent at least twenty minutes there, after all this time the drink would be lukewarm at best.
“What the fuck?” Lando whispered, mostly to himself.
He inspected the drink, but it seemed completely normal, even made in his favourite yellow cup.
Eventually, he settled on a movie to watch and drank the cocoa, choosing not to overthink it too much. He felt too tired to give this more thought. Somewhere in the middle of the movie, he drifted off to sleep, curled up on the couch.
When he woke up, there was a blanket draped over his body. He swore the last time he saw it, it was on his bed.
After that, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He started noticing even more small things— like how the shirt he was sure he left on his chair wrinkled, ironed itself overnight, or how his dishes somehow cleaned themselves while he showered.
There were never any signs of anything in his small apartment being messed with— no sound of water running or anyone taking out the iron.
As much as Lando loved this mysterious help, it was getting more and more concerning with each small occurrence. He tried googling it, of course, looking up “things beinf done in my apartnent when i didnt do them help”, but the only thing that popped up was a recommendation to seek mental health support and various reddit posts about paranormal activities.
It really seemed ridiculous, but Lando couldn’t stop himself from reading through them.
*
A few days later, he finally makes the decision to tell someone about his issue. He feels a bit embarrassed , sure, but he had also seen enough physical proof of his apartment being messed with to be sure he wasn’t making things up.
“I have to tell you something, just… promise not to laugh?”
Lando says into his speaker, balancing his phone on his knee as he makes an attempt at folding his laundry.
“When have I ever laughed at you, mate?” Alex answers, sarcasm clear in his tone. “Sure, shoot.”
Lando huffs, choosing to ignore him. “I think there might be a ghost living in my apartment.”
There’s a muted laugh from the other side of the line.
Truly, Lando fully expected this response. He can’t really blame Alex for his reaction, but he feels his frustration rising regardless.
“Alex, I’m serious, mate!” he makes no effort to cover the annoyance in his voice, picking up his phone instead. “There’s been… all sorts of weird stuff happening in the apartment.” he says, face close to the speaker.
“Okay, fine, what has been happening? Have you lost something? Because I swear, that’s anything but paranormal.” Alex says, amusement clear in his voice.
“No, actually, it’s… kind of the opposite?” Lando says, voice unsure. Because really, how can he explain that, whatever entity lives in his house, is actually very polite?
“I’m a bit lost here, mate. What do you mean the opposite?”
“Well, sometimes, when I lose something, it just appears on my bed. I swear it’s never on my bed when I’m looking for it!” Lando is fully aware of how stupid this sounds, but he continues. “Or sometimes I wake up to clean dishes, even though I swear I left them dirty in the sink.”
“Are you sure you aren’t just doing things yourself and forgetting about them?” Alex asks, and it’s a fair question, really, but it makes Lando sigh in frustration.
“No, Alex. I’m sure.” he sighs, shoving the messily folded clothes into his drawer. “It’s not even bothering me, obviously. It’s just weird!”
“Tell him to google carbon monoxide leak!” a quiet, muffled voice Lando recognizes as George adds in the background.
“It’s not a gas leak! You guys aren’t helping.”
“Sure, mate.” Alex chuckles, “Do you want to grab dinner with us tonight? Maybe getting out of your apartment will help.”
“Whatever, okay.” Lando sighs, defeated.
“Open your windows before you leave just in case!” George’s muffled voice exclaims from the background. Before Lando can say anything, Alex hangs up.
He does end up opening the windows as he leaves to meet Alex and George.
*
Lando unlocks his apartment, yet again dripping water from his hair and onto the doormat. He had a nice dinner with Alex and George, but they got caught in a storm, cutting their meeting short.
Suddenly, he feels panic run through him— he remembers opening the window before he went out, and by now the water has surely dripped all over his floor. He runs in, going for his room immediately.
The sight that greets him makes him take out his phone to send a picture to Alex and George— the window is closed, and on the floor, neatly folded, lies one of his now half-wet towels.
Lando begins writing out a message on the group chat, but he’s quickly interrupted by a low noise from his kitchen. He stands for a moment, considering, before he whispers to himself: “fuck it”, and makes his way there.
In the kitchen, he stands for a moment, trying to figure out the source of the noise. After a moment, he notices that the kettle is on, and his favourite mug is on the table again, this time with a tea bag looking ready to be poured over.
In that moment, Lando feels the panic rise in his chest as it dawns on him that, firstly, there is definitely someone in his house, and secondly, that they are probably invisible.
He considers running — his body is screaming at him to do so. Yet, he feels paralyzed, stuck in the same spot of his kitchen, analyzing everything that’s happened in the past few weeks.
Slowly, he comes to a conclusion. All this time, he has not had a single bad experience with the Being in his house.
Actually, now that Lando considers it, the Being has actually been nothing but nice to him.
The kettle clicks as the water finishes boiling, pulling Lando from his thoughts. He continues standing in the same spot of his kitchen, watching in shock, as, for the first time, the mysterious nice gesture is done in front of his very eyes.
The kettle rises, as if by itself, and water is poured over his tea. Lando can only glare in shock as it happens, finally murmuring a small “Thank you.”
He eventually gains courage to move from his spot and inspect the cup on the table. It looks normal— as if he had just made it himself. “For everything. Not just the tea.” He adds, awkwardly late.
Nothing changes, but he can hear quiet footsteps come up to him from the table. He jumps a little as he feels a cold breeze-like sensation wrap itself around his arm for a moment, as if to squeeze it.
“So. You’re a ghost? Or something? Right?” He asks nervously. He hopes the acknowledgement is not impolite.
After a moment, there is a cold squeeze on his arm again. Lando decides to take it as a yes.
“I’m Lando. Nice to meet you.” He says, feeling his heart beat loudly in his chest. He is trying not to agitate the ghost, having no idea how they will react and what else they are capable of. “I wasn’t sure if you knew that... you probably did.” He says to the air in front of him, just in case.
Lando grabs the tea, noticing that it’s now a pleasant temperature to drink. He’s sure it couldn’t have naturally cooled off this quickly, but he decides not to mention it. Instead, he grabs his laptop again, setting it up on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Can you... interact with tech devices? Like, do you want to decide what we’ll watch?” He asks, staring hopefully into the space in front of him.
Lando stares as he types in YouTube into the search bar. He doesn’t know what else he expected from his request, but finding out that his ghost can, indeed, use modern technology leaves him a bit flabbergasted. Usually, when Lando heard about ghosts, they were the medieval kind from old stories. But really, nothing about this situation is usual, so he lets it go.
He watches as the ghost puts up the Nico Rosberg channel on YouTube and clicks on the latest video, a familiar voice filling the room.
“Damn, you know of him too? I guess I watch his videos a lot.” He finally says, still staring at the empty space in front of his laptop. Suddenly, an idea runs through his head.
“Wait, so can you type something in the notepad? So we can talk?” He asks, hopefully.
The video stops, and there is a short pause. For a bit, Lando worries he’s done something wrong, but after what seems to be a moment of consideration, the ghost opens the notepad app on Lando’s laptop.
Hi
A message appears on the screen.
“Hi” Lando responds towards the laptop. “What’s your name? If you want to tell me? It’s not a rude thing to ask of ghosts, right?”
Oscar.
Lando breathes out in relief. Apparently, it's acceptable to ask.
You talk a lot for someone who seems scared of me.
“Sorry?” Lando chuckles at the remark. “It’s the first time I’ve met a ghost, I don't exactly know what I'm doing.”
It’s ok.
Comes the response. Lando is starting to suspect the ghost might be even more awkward than him.
“How old are you?”
24. 22 when I died.
At first, Lando thinks it’s a typo— the ghost is young, younger than him, which leaves him shocked.
“Damn, I’m sorry. Like, about your death. My condolences. To you.”
Realistically, he knows not everyone gets to live a long life, but he can’t quite wrap his head around the idea of someone his age having already died.
“You’re younger than me.”
He finally states, after a moment of silence.
It’s okay, I got used to being a ghost. I just got unlucky. How old are you?
“Twenty-six. Is it okay if I ask about how you died?”
Car crash.
Just as Lando is finished reading, the notepad app is closed. Abruptly, the YouTube video starts back up, and he feels a light dip in the couch next to him.
“Sorry.”
He feels the now familiar cold sensation on his hand, squeezing. Lando hopes it’s in reassurance.
After a while of watching YouTube, Lando feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He’s already forgotten the photo he sent to Alex and George.
He sees a reply to his picture; it’s Alex, saying
honestly there might actually be a ghost at your place
Lando looks in the direction he assumes Oscar is sitting, looking at him questioningly.
“Can I tell them about you?”
He feels cold all over, as Oscar presumably leans in to type on his phone.
Sure
Appears in the message box, just to be deleted immediately after.
yea i talked to him hes nice
Lando sends. Immediately, he sees both of his friends typing bubbles appear. After a moment, George texts:
No way
Suddenly, he feels as his phone is lifted out of his hands. Oscar opens the selfie camera, takes a quick photo, and sends it to the group chat. For a moment, Lando is confused— Oscar is invisible, after all.
At first, he thinks about how it’s visible in the picture that he’s not holding the camera.
As he takes his phone back and zooms in on the picture, he sees something else— there are small orbs of light where Oscar is sitting, and his silhouette is visible, creating a blurry edge on the background.
WHAT THE FUCK
He sees a message flash on the chat before he puts his phone down.
“So do you, like... want to be friends?” he asks in Oscar’s direction.
This time, there is no hesitation as he feels the familiar cold squeeze on his arm.