Chapter Text
It’s all in the timing.
The front door slams open at 10:06, rattling through the apartment like some fucking earthquake when hitting the dented sphere in the wall. At 10:08, that’s when the bed creaks from bodyweight, when Hoseok’s hand has already slipped past Jimin’s shirt, grazing and scratching and doing anything it can to elicit those pleasurable moans from the other.
It’s all in the timing, so Yoongi waits like a patient man. Watching from his chair in the corner—his lovely 1986 Lawson Style Armchair that’s been collecting dust in this apartment long since before he was—Yoongi pays attention to every detail about him. The way his eyebrows pinch together as he kisses someone, the way his hair lies against the pillows, the way he– the way he moves. The way he pants into Jimin’s mouth, like sweet, sweet prayer.
Yoongi can’t get turned on anymore, but if he could, it would be utterly lifeless inside his jeans. He fucking hates this. He hates watching him, always with someone new, always so hopeful, always so disappointed when it ends terribly. But Yoongi can’t help himself. If he lets Hoseok get comfortable here, then who’s to say he won’t forget about Yoongi? Who’s to say he won’t let his guard down and think he’s the one who owns this house?
No, we just can’t have that.
They’re making out again. Again. Grabbing at each other like wild animals until there’s barely anything left separating them. Jimin is pretty; Yoongi will say that much. He’s not acting desperate like Hoseok is, who’s always trying to rush things before the inevitable happens.
Everything is running quite smoothly for the two, actually, until Hoseok shoves a knee between Jimin’s legs, and Jimin’s hand starts reaching lower… and lower…
And that’s his cue. Yoongi raises a finger into the air.
3… 2…
Timed with a moan, the water bottle goes flying off the nightstand, clattering against the wall with a loud bang.
Jimin is the first one to jerk away. “What was that?”
Hoseok doesn’t bother moving, doesn’t even bother looking at the bottle rolling around in circles on the floor. He shakes his head once, groaning out a chipped noise of frustration, trying to continue wherever they left off. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Jimin lets it go too, because it’s normal, isn’t it? Shit falls. And maybe Hoseok is a big enough distraction that you shouldn’t have to worry about anything else in the room. Yoongi would understand it too if he were in Jimin’s shoes. If only.
He lets them get pretty far into the process, much further than he would allow on a regular day. His eyes stayed glued to Hoseok the entire time, the only thing ever worthy of his attention. The other’s skin—slick with sweat. Those soft moans of pleasure he lets out when Jimin sucks at his neck. Everything about it. He’s art. Pure fucking art.
Yoongi waits there until clothes start getting removed, and that’s when he decides he’s had enough. They have had enough. If Hoseok was expecting to get lucky tonight, he is sadly mistaken.
The only lucky one here, the only one to ever win in this situation, is Yoongi—who, no matter the outcome here, gets to soak in Hoseok’s presence like a drug. Unfortunately for his roommate, Hoseok being abidingly annoyed forever is the only fun thing keeping Yoongi trucking through the afterlife.
“Wait, wait, stop–” Jimin pushes Hoseok off by the chest. “I think I just heard something.”
“It’s fine…” The other whines, leaning back in for a kiss. “Weird shit happens here all the time.”
Yoongi huffs out a laugh to himself, deciding to knock something else down from the nightstand with a flick of his hand. Just for the hell of it.
This time, Jimin locks eyes with the lotion bottle just before it falls on its side. Barely half a second passes before he’s breaking into a scream. “Did you see that?! It moved!”
“Hey, hey, calm down–”
Jimin swats Hoseok’s hands away as the other tries to comfort him. Sitting up on his knees, he looks at Hoseok like he’s insane, insane for acting so fucking chill when the entire nightstand just moved–
“Look, it’s kind of hard to explain,” Hoseok starts, laughing nervously. “But this is normal, okay? It’s really not a big deal.”
Yoongi tries to conceal his laughter too, even if no one will ever hear him. Hoseok couldn’t sound less convincing if he tried. He always tries to act so tough and macho around the people he brings around, but Yoongi knows the truth—Hoseok is scared shitless.
“Your house is haunted?” Jimin gapes in disbelief. “Then why the fuck are you still saying here?! There’s a demon in your room!”
“We don’t think it’s a demon, necessarily-”
“How the fuck would you know?!”
Hoseok raises his hands in defense, trying his best to defuse the situation. “O-Okay, listen, it's an old apartment! And I’ve only been here a few months. I couldn’t find anything better, so…” He’s just trying to make the best of it. Yoongi commends his devotion, all things considered.
Jimin just gawks at him. “Well… You’re a lot braver than I am. I would rather live on the streets than room with a demon. Also— FUCK you for inviting me here! I don’t play with that paranormal shit.”
“It’s not that bad…”
“Yeah, that’s what they always say. Then the next thing you know, you’re waking up on the ceiling in flames.”
Hoseok reaches for a pillow to whack him across the head. “Quit freaking me out! Everything is fine! Soon I’m going to move out, and everything will be fine.”
Jimin laughs, “Yeah, and until then, let me just wait around to get attacked by the evil spirit,” he mocks in Hoseok's voice.
“We don’t think it’s evil…” Hoseok stresses. We hope. “It hasn’t really done anything crazy aside from messing with my stuff and doing shit to scare me. Also– even if I did move away, weird shit still happens to me even outside of here! Whenever I go outside. I have this weird feeling I’m always being watched. At class the other day, I swear to God I felt something breathing down my neck.”
Jimin has gone pale. Sick, deadly pale. His eyes widen beyond their limits as he screams at Hoseok, who’s so unwaveringly clueless! “That means it’s attached itself to you, you fucking idiot! That’s even worse!”
Hoseok still tries to defend himself, forever downplaying the situation for the sake of his own sanity. He admits that, yeah— this fucking sucks, but what can he do about it? This was the only place he could afford on such short notice, and even if he did go live with his friends instead, that would just make his commute into the city a nightmare. Just go ahead and sue him for trying to put his career first!
His tearful monologue seems to resonate with Jimin. The other isn’t shaking from fear anymore. He just looks… only mildly infuriated.
They’re sitting crisscrossed from each other on the bed. Jimin is staring at his hands in disbelief while Hoseok makes excuses for stuff that would normally put someone in the mental hospital.
In the end, Hoseok does what Hoseok does best. Deny and ignore. “So did you wanna… continue?”
Jimin gives him the most deadpan stare.
“Hoseok. I love you. You know I do. But what the fuck?”
“Well, everything was fine before!”
“Before you so kindly revealed to me you had a demon infestation!”
Hoseok just sighs, exasperated. “It really hasn’t been that bad lately,” he says, soft. “Something will happen like once a week if I’m unlucky, but it’s never anything crazy or dangerous. I really think that whatever this thing is, or things, it’s already gotten bored of me.”
Yoongi's lips lift into a grin, before he flicks off the lights.
“Okay. Nope!”
“Jimin! Hey, just wait a second–”
“I’ll see you at class, Hoseok,” the other says fast while putting on his shoes. “Just… Good luck, man. I really mean that.”
Then, Jimin is gone. Vanished through the door only 17 minutes after he arrived. Yoongi is a shadow lurking down Hoseok’s trail, following him back from the kitchen, back to the bedroom where Hoseok proceeds to throw his body on the bed and scream in frustration. He gets a few angry groans into his pillow before turning over and absolutely exploding, yelling into the thick, empty air– “GO TO FUCKING HELL ALREADY!! I hate you, you’re ruining my life! Suck a dick!!”
He stops, panting from his outburst, and just stares at the empty ceiling.
Instead of being angry for getting cockblocked—for probably the dozenth time—he suddenly looks terrified. He suddenly looks like he knows exactly where the ghost is sitting in his room.
“Please don’t kill me,” he continues in a weaker voice.
A smile finds its way onto Yoongi’s face then, as he curls up into his chair, to watch Hoseok with all the love in his eyes.
———
For the most part, Hoseok completely ignores Yoongi’s existence. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it’ll always be. Yoongi supposes that if he were the one renting a beat-up antique apartment on the quiet side of town, he'd try his damn best to pretend nothing was wrong too. Except Hoseok really doesn’t have anything to lose sleep over. It’s just Yoongi here. Just Yoongi, who would go above and beyond to protect Hoseok with his (after)life if it came down to it. Demonic possession doesn’t work like that. There’s not even a demon here. Yoongi is something different, something lesser. He’s a particle of dust and flesh floating around the room, confined to these four walls for the rest of eternity.
Hoseok is not the first roommate he’s messed with. How could he not help himself? Yoongi spent years watching the people before him— like that family of three who stayed for only half their lease, after they swore up and down their daughter was speaking to ghosts. Or what about that middle-aged veteran who tried performing an exorcism in the living room? Like the back of his hand, Yoongi remembers sitting there wholly confused as holy water kept getting splashed in his face.
After a while, it got boring to try and contact people. His efforts were useless. He was never going to convince anyone of who he was, of what he was.
So, as the name entails, he just faded into the background. A ghost. The realm of shadows, and aloneness, and nothing. Ghosts aren’t tied to the human world anymore, not entirely. They can choose where to exist, and sometimes, Yoongi chooses not to exist at all.
He never put a name to that place—the other side. It’s not heaven or hell or that strange in-between; it’s something softer. Quieter. It’s the same apartment he used to live in back when he was alive, just mellowed down, without all those annoying traffic sounds outside, or moldy leaks in the ceiling, or company– or friends–
That’s the only downside. In this mirrored world, it’s just Yoongi there. Just Yoongi, who had the pleasure of dying in this specific apartment unit.
It’s warmer on the other side. It’s where he’s meant to reside for eternity and beyond.
But he doesn’t. All that peace and quiet, yet he still chooses against it.
About three months ago, something pulled him back, back to the wonderful land of the living. Someone with their loud voice and even louder laugh. Yoongi materialized in the center of the kitchen, where a boy was unpacking his turquoise blue cutlery with the happiest smile on his face. There was another person standing across the room, someone the beautiful boy addressed as Namjoon. He told Hoseok that he could call ‘them’ anytime if he needed something, that they’re only a few hours down the road, and that they’ll drop everything at an instant to come help him.
Hoseok. Hoseok was his name, and he swore up and down that he would be fine out here on his own. His new job will be worth everything, and he won’t be that lonely, so stop worrying.
Yoongi made a decision right then and there. Hoseok won’t feel lonely ever again. He simply won’t allow it.
He’s just adorable. When he’s scared, when he cusses in the wrong direction, when he makes up stupid names to undermine Yoongi’s existence. Perhaps Hoseok thinks Yoongi will disappear if he bullies him enough. The problem is, Hoseok doesn’t know what the hell he’s bullying.
The other day, Jimin planted a seed in his head: Shit, what if it is a demonic spirit? What if Hoseok is cooked? What if he’s damn near fried? That would explain the scary looming presence following him all around town and the eyes on the back of his head.
To be fair, Yoongi doesn’t understand that either. It’s not like he got a manual for this shit. Maybe he did accidentally attach himself to Hoseok. Even if he still can’t leave this building, that doesn’t mean he can’t feel Hoseok even when he’s not at home. Like when he’s at the dance studio, Yoongi can feel it when something in Hoseok’s body hurts. He can feel every serotonin boost, every ache, every laugh that echoes somewhere in the back of his head.
Again, Yoongi is far from an expert. He hasn’t even been granted the pleasure of meeting another ghost in his afterlifetime, so he’s just been making shit up as he goes. But if he had to put an explanation to it… maybe once a ghost falls in love with a human, something in their souls attach to one another.
That would explain it. That would explain a lot, actually.
But again, what the hell does he know?
When Hoseok gets on the phone with someone, he stays on it for no less than five hours at a time. One could find it annoying, but luckily, Hoseok’s voice is just one of the billion things Yoongi adores about him. He could listen to him talk all day and night if he had to. Even if Yoongi did still have the option to speak and people would hear him, he would let Hoseok take full control over any conversation. That’s how enticing he is.
“You’re still coming down for my showcase, right?” Hoseok asks towards the speakerphone. It’s resting on the coffee table; background noise for the video game playing on the TV.
Taehyung, one of Hoseok’s closest friends, makes some noise of protest on the other side of the phone. “Of course we’re coming! That thing is like your child! The only thing you even care about anymore. Of course we’ll be there.”
Hoseok’s fingers dance around the control buttons. “It’s not the only thing I care about.”
“Yeah. It is. I’m surprised you even remembered my name. It’s Taehyung, by the way. Just in case you need help jogging the memory.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes, looking so goddamn attractive while doing so. He’s actually one of the prettiest people Yoongi has ever laid eyes on, even when he’s acting annoyed- “Shut up. That’s not true. You know how busy I’ve been.”
Taehyung’s voice mellows out, making this hum of sympathy before speaking again. “I know, hyung. You’ve worked really hard. We’re proud of you, me and Joon.”
“Thanks. Also– I haven’t been neglecting you! I talk to you literally every day.”
Taehyung makes a tsk tsk between the teeth. “Yes, but I never run out of things to talk about, so I need extra maintenance. That’s what hyung says.”
“Namjoon is even worse.”
“And that’s what I said too.”
The conversation drifts off into irrelevance. Yoongi is used to watching events unfold from afar. He’s used to holding no real weight in anything that happens in the real world; conversations, movements, shared looks—
But sometimes, if he sits there for long enough, his mind will trick itself into thinking he’s part of the fun too. Like he’s also on the other end of this phone call, and when he laughs at something funny Taehyung says, Taehyung can miraculously hear him somehow. Yoongi isn’t pathetically conversing with thin air in this misconstrued reality.
“So how's the thing?”
Yoongi is about to ask Taehyung ‘what thing?’ — but Hoseok beats him to it. It was hardly a race to begin with. Taehyung never would have heard Yoongi in a million years.
Hoseok’s hands jerk to a cold stop. Then his eyes do a long waltz across the room, glancing around in every direction, until landing directly on Yoongi and where he sits near the window. They linger on him for a second, but quickly drift away after a beat.
“The thing is fine. Don’t call it a thing.”
There’s humor in Taehyung’s voice; “The ‘person’ then,” he corrects. “Since you’re so damn convinced.”
The video character starts moving again, hopping from building to building so aimlessly. “I know it’s a person,” Hoseok states, with no hesitation or uncertainty about it. “Its personality is too… solidified. It watches me.”
Well, fuck Yoongi then. He doesn’t have anything else to do!
“Solidified, huh? That’s a way to put it.” There are some weird shuffling noises on Taehyung’s end of the call now. “Anything strange happen lately? Besides, you know, normal shit?”
Hoseok snaps, “No, Taehyung. Nothing strange has happened. Just the fact that my microwave started operating on its own, the tablecloth is gone, and the ceiling fan goes in the other direction now! But yeah, you know. Normal shit.”
Ah… that was a good one, Yoongi smiles to himself. He almost forgot about the tablecloth.
“Your ghost stole your tablecloth?”
“Yes!” Hoseok exclaims.
“Well… it was pretty ugly.”
See, that’s exactly what Yoongi thought! That’s why he threw it out the window last week.
“It doesn’t matter if it was ugly!” Hoseok cries, “It’s gone! It was my ugly tablecloth and I loved it and now it’s gone. This dude is straight-up robbing me now! What’s next, my TV gets chucked down the stairs?”
Don’t give Yoongi any ideas. That’d be pretty hilarious, actually.
“It’s just fucking with you, man. Still seems pretty harmless.”
Taehyung always sounds so fucking chill about everything, even Hoseok’s supernatural escapades. Honestly, Yoongi doesn’t blame Hoseok for going insane. Given how easily his friends will play into his delusions, yet still convince him he’s being way too dramatic, it’s simply a recipe for disaster, to put it lightly.
“Yeah, easy for you to say. You’re not living with a supernatural douchebag.” Hoseok is hissing out that last part, like he can see Yoongi’s shit-eating grin. “See, Namjoon understands the severity of this. You should be more like him.”
“Namjoon is one-hundred percent convinced you’re going to be axe murdered in your sleep. We need to have a balance here.”
Yoongi loves it when they theorize the methods for how he’s going to murder Hoseok one day. It’s as amusing as it is inspiring.
“Well, if by some chance I am axe murdered in my sleep, you can forget your invitation to my funeral. An accomplice in murder is an accomplice in death.”
Taehyung is quiet for a ridiculous amount of time.
“Not cool, man.”
Then Hoseok yawns, collapsing against the couch. He’s back to playing his video game, back to distant chatter.
In life, Yoongi believes he was a quiet person. He enjoyed spending time with people in an easy, mutual silence. No pressure to hold a conversation, no social judgment, no constant distractions.
With Hoseok, it’s easy to slip back into that role. He likes the quiet moments between them, like the early mornings over a fresh coffee, or when Hoseok is reading a book while Yoongi peers over his shoulder.
And yeah, those moments might be all the time, and completely unavoidable— the only type of moments Yoongi even gets now—
But Yoongi thinks, if he did still have the ability to talk, Hoseok and he could enjoy any type of silence as long as they were together.
With friends, Hoseok has this need to fill the space. It’s always something. Something stupid, probably.
“Do you think I’d have a lit funeral?” He mutters in question to Taehyung.
“Oh, for sure. We’re all getting wasted.”
Hoseok nods. “Okay, good.”
———
Yoongi never believed in a God. He didn’t see the point. In his eyes, the afterlife is what you make of it. You suffer the fate you think you deserve.
Memories of his human life are nothing but fuzzy dreams now. He thinks he can remember all the members of his family, and maybe some of the friends he used to have growing up, on a good day. But for the most part, the afterlife is nothing like he would have expected. It’s boring. There is no God, there is no devil; it’s just him. Him and him alone, stuck in this apartment forever.
And boredom can lead people to make some pretty rash decisions. It’s not Yoongi’s fault he latched onto Hoseok and made him the center of his world. There is no world! His eyes will find Hoseok in a room immediately at any given time, and if he’s the weird one for being a leech stuck to the other’s back, Yoongi doesn’t really care. Their relationship—he’s content with it.
“Mmm raspberry… Anything but raspberry.”
Yoongi smiles at him from the counter. Hoseok has this habit of talking to himself. No, like, seriously, Yoongi has never seen it this bad before.
“With some rice cakes. Yeah… Yeah, that’ll work.” Hoseok moves to the pantry.
It’s the worst time of day. Hoseok is packing breakfast before he heads to the studio for ten hours. This goddamn dance studio. He’s practically there all the time! The only time Yoongi ever gets to see him anymore is when class gets cancelled, and they can finally laze around the living room to watch 90s reruns.
Hoseok, as tiring as it can be, is the most dedicated, hard-working person Yoongi has ever known. He has melded his work-life balance into one, unified thing. All he cares about or talks about or watches is dancing. Performing, teaching lessons, making his own choreographies. This is what Hoseok is made up of. It’s his heart, that one passion you keep you moving through life, that motivates you past hardships, that drives your decisions.
Passion. Yoongi had one of those. Some days, he forgets what it was.
“Shoes, keys…” Hoseok is muttering to himself, patting his pockets to remember everything. “Phone and that’s it.” He’s already running late, and they have their big winter ensemble coming up soon. If he’s late, Jimin will have his head on a stake.
Okay, okay, he’s going. Yoongi watches from afar as Hoseok rushes the door. It’s on hectic mornings like these when Yoongi wishes he were normal. He wishes he could calm Hoseok down for a second, take him in his arms, whisper some words of encouragement, say he’ll pick up dinner on his way home today. Italian, just like Hoseok likes it.
It’s the worst feeling in the world. Sitting there. Invisible. Watching someone else move with a purpose.
If Hoseok knew even a fraction of the love Yoongi felt for him, Yoongi could be someone useful in his life. He would be able to stop Hoseok from worrying so much. His darling roommate is so condescending sometimes. He’s nitpicky with himself, always running back dance practice footage, always criticizing himself for not keeping up with chores, always, always being too obsessed with his appearance.
He has a reason to be obsessed, don’t get Yoongi wrong. But Hoseok doesn’t seem to have much confidence in himself, if the way his skin care routine comes straight from hell, and he spends way too much time standing in front of a mirror with a grimace.
It is about to send Yoongi over the edge. If he could manifest any part of his body becoming real again, he’d use his hand to smack some sense into Hoseok.
When the other twists the door open to leave, Yoongi turns to assess the room and decide where he’s going to rot for the day. Yesterday, he spent all ten hours on the living room carpet, and the day before that, he spent it curled up on the end of Hoseok’s bed. He might just go for the boring old couch, ready to stare at the ceiling for hours until unconsciousness takes him.
But when he stands in the direction of the living room, something catches his eye, something thrown haphazardly on the coffee table, something that should not be on the coffee table–
Twisting around, he telepathically jerks the front door out of Hoseok’s hand.
It lands on the wall with a loud slam, knocking Hoseok backwards out of shock. Then, frantically looking around, breathing fast, he slowly steps back into the room. Yoongi’s presence, it appears, sits like an afterthought on the back burner in Hoseok’s mind. You forget Yoongi’s here until he makes his presence known, and it’s really not often that Yoongi will toy with reality so blatantly or harshly as he did here.
But he had to. Hoseok couldn’t leave yet. He forgot something; that folder clipped so neatly together, lying next to yesterday’s dirty coffee mug.
His rehearsal notes. He needs those. He’s always whining to Taehyung about how a day in the studio is totally ruined without them.
Just to be sure Hoseok notices what he’s missing, Yoongi makes them conveniently slide off the table when he’s close enough to hear it. That’s when the trance seems to break, and instead of cautiously investigating a paranormal outbreak, he’s suddenly rushing to the living room carpet to gather the papers and stuff them into his bag. How could he forget?
And he’s still late. The morning commute isn’t getting any shorter. But right before he starts to stand, propped against the coffee table—
He looks around. Right at Yoongi, right at nothing.
He clutches the strap of that bag in a fist when walking to the door, leaving successfully this time.
Sometimes, Yoongi will just stand there, staring at a closed door, waiting until it reopens.