Chapter Text
The problem with Jung Hoseok’s life has always been that he’s dirt-cheap.
It’s an issue that his friends feel personally affronted by every time he tries to skive off paying the food bill by making bets or humiliating himself; it’s an issue his parents get extremely touchy about, scolding him about how he makes it look like their family is so poor that they can’t even afford to buy him new things; and it’s a problem that he himself acknowledges, after walking a whole three hours (because buying a new bike tyre was a WHOLE 33,000 won) to get a used Playstation 4 for like 40,000 won. The thing is, Hoseok knows that money is power, and as much as his family like to insist that they have money for the things that he wants, Hoseok knows that they often don’t, not with his low-income parents having to pay the expenses for his sister’s stint in the highest ranking law-school in America. And after attending that one economics class in high school, and having Namjoon as a partner for the whole semester, he’s been thoroughly convinced that life would all be so much easier if humanity went back to bartering.
Okay, that last part is a lie--he’s tried bartering for a whole week with Sunghak before giving up, after discovering that getting equivalent value exchanges is near impossible--but still, Hoseok knows that capitalism is a rigged system, and he knows that there are some things that can’t have a value put upon them, and he refuses to play by the rules of consumerism and trends in Korea. He can get by life just fine without spending exorbitant amounts of money on things.
But sometimes, just sometimes, it can come back to bite him in the ass. Like now, as he stands outside his new apartment, heavy box of books balanced on his knee, as he attempts to push the door open, jangling frustratedly at the lock with his keys. He’s pretty sure the door is jammed. This is not a good sign for an already stressful day.
“Need a hand?” asks a slightly nasally voice behind him, and Hoseok whirls around, almost dropping the box. Then his face splits into a grin.
“Oh my god, Junhongie?” he asks, with a huge grin. “Oh my, it’s been years! How are you?” Hoseok says, feeling his excitement build, despite the state of his morning. “I’d shake your hand, but, well.”
“You’re a little occupied, yeah.” Junhong says, with a wide grin that makes his face look spectacularly cute. He’s grown taller since Hoseok had last seen him, five years ago, at the dance academy in Gwangju, where they had spent countless nights working on developing their basic dance skills together, and he looks more self-assured too, more comfortable in his skin. It’s a good look on him, even if the frizzy blonde hair isn’t. “What are you doing?”
Hoseok rolls his eyes. “I’m breaking into this house. What does it look like I’m doing, Junhongie? I live here now.”
Junhong laughs, pushing away a few curly strands of hair away from his eyes. “Just checking, you know. Can never be too careful.” he says, now with a look in his eyes that knows he’s the butt of the joke, but doesn’t really mind. Junhong is the sort of absent-minded that Hoseok seems to attract in all of his closest friends, but it means he has some of the most interesting conversations with the younger dancer. “Let me help, I bet it’s jammed.”
And because the world hates him, the door opens seamlessly once Junhong presses the key in and pushed in with his shoulder. And Junhong is thin, skinny in a way that Hoseok had never been, so he has no idea where the strength to do that came from. Hoseok grins anyway, gratefully.
“Man, I need to work out more if I want to compete with that.” Hoseok jokes, as he drops the box in his doorway, and frowns suddenly as he scans the hallway of the decently sized apartment. There’s a fine layer of dust over everything in the house, as if people haven’t touched it in a while. That strikes Hoseok as odd, considering the apartment was something close to 350,000 won a month, a price usually applicable to goshiwon instead of an officetel like this [1]. Doesn’t it make more sense for people to be actively fighting to get a nice apartment like this for cheap? As much as his obsession with finding a good bargain is abnormal, he’s sure he’s not the only thrifty, recently-graduated performing arts student hanging around Seoul for a chance to hit it big. And this apartment is in prime location, in the heart of Hongdae, with a prime price.
Something is wrong, he knows.
But Hoseok ignores any potential problems, as he always has done so, for bargains, and turns back around. “So Junhongie, how are you? What are you doing here?”
Junhong laughs, softly, sticking his hands into his jean pockets. “My friend Jongup-hyung, he lives next to you. I was coming to treat him to brunch, he just got hired into the dance programme in the studio downstairs after a couple of months of pestering, so he deserves it.”
Hoseok stares at Junhong for a moment, before shaking his head. It’s a small world. “What are the chances? I also got hired into the dance instructor programme downstairs.” he says, cheerily, as he heads back to outside, to make it towards his car to unload more of his stuff. “You should introduce me today, let’s all go for brunch. But I need to unpack my stuff, so maybe we can do it another time?”
Junhong grins, softly, following Hoseok easily. “Need a hand with your stuff, hyung? It’s the weekend, Jongup-hyung can lie in a bit. I’ll help you, then we can all go together.”
It’s a perfect offer, something Hoseok is extremely happy about, so he bounces momentarily on his feet, pumping his fists. “You’re the best, Junhongie.” he declares cheerily, as they both thunder down the stairwell, to get to work. It’s slow work, having to climb up and down four flights of stairs for every couple of boxes, especially when the boxes weigh so much, but Hoseok counts himself lucky to have help. Namjoon had been unavailable to help him unload some of the boxes, too busy at his job at the newspaper station, and Seokjin hadn’t even replied to his texts, and carrying up the pieces of Hoseok’s couches and bed frame would have been extremely difficult without Junhong’s help.
And it’s easy to chat with Junhong as he climbs the stairs, little bits of trivia about their elder siblings (Junhong’s brother’s doing military service already, which makes Hoseok a little insecure, considering they’re the same age), things about their dance education (Junhong goes to the rival performing arts university, no wonder Hoseok hasn’t heard about him being around) and about their friend groups (somehow Junhong has picked up rapping and is in a rock and hip-hop band, something that is both a shock and not surprising, at the same time).
So all of the hard work goes by quickly with good company, and the hour ends, and all of Hoseok’s stuff is unloaded and his car is now properly parked in the underground lot. “Thanks so much for your help,” Hoseok says emphatically, wiping the sweat off his forehead, as they wearily make their way up the stairs again, to get Jongup and go for breakfast. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it so quickly if it wasn’t for your help, I owe you my life.” He makes a vaguely dramatic gesture to the side, as if he’s a damsel in distress, but it’s not as enthusiastic as it would have been on any other day. He’s too drained to do anything more theatric.
“Always a pleasure, hyung.” says Junhong, shyly, face red from a mixture of embarrassment and previous exertion. “Besides, I reckon we’ll be seeing each other a lot!” Pulling out his keys, he barges straight into Jongup’s room, pausing only to kick off his shoes. Hoseok follows a little more hesitantly, noting the relatively-neat state of the room and the dance posters across the wall, of Joaquin Cortes and Martha Graham with a little bit of approval. He thinks he’ll get along with Jongup during their dance teachings, and that’s always good.
There are sleepy groans of annoyance from Jongup’s room, that Hoseok ignores in favour of studying the trophies along Jongup’s wall for jazz dance, and some more informal trinkets, the sort that Hoseok instantly recognizes as the prizes received in underground hiphop circuits. His opinion of Jongup had just increased by a lot, and Hoseok turns around to greet the sleepy looking Jongup, who emerges from his room, in a tank-top and sweats.
The first thing that Hoseok notes is that he’s extremely fit, with muscles for days, and if Hoseok didn’t hate going to the gym so much and paying the exorbitant membership fees, he’d have joined, just to feel less inadequate about the state of his own body. The second thing he notes is the look of concern in Jongup’s eyes. “Hi! I’m Jung Hoseok, I’ll be your coworker and neighbour, so I hope we’ll get along.” Hoseok says, cheerily, but is summarily ignored as Jongup stalks up to him and stares at him, as if looking over him, carefully.
Hoseok grins, a little more uncertain now, as he repeats his greetings, but Jongup ignores that again and instead says, firmly. “You moved in next door, right?”
“Yeap, that’s the meaning of neighbour.” Hoseok says, carefully and just a little sarcastically, smile dropping a little, as he exchanges a look with Junhong, who looks equally perplexed.
“I don’t think the landlady told you, because she got tired of people running away and refusing to rent the place when they heard. But there was this guy, some producer dude who used to live there. Who also died in there. And every single tenant since has said the place is haunted by his spirit, who makes it impossible for them to sleep.” Jongup says, his voice almost flat and his stare unbroken by something as petty as blinking.
Hoseok gulps, softly but forces a grin onto his face and hopes it doesn’t look like a grimace of fear. “Hahahahaha, really funny.” he says, nervously, “This is just a hazing joke, right? No need for that, I’m not a college student anymore.”
“His spirit’s supposed to be really loud.” Jongup says, gently, “You should invest in earplugs or something if you want to be good for early morning dance classes. And bleach. I hear the blood drips down the mirrors too.”
Just the thought of that sends a shudder down Hoseok’s spine, but he forces himself to straighten and frown down at Jongup. Muscly or not, appreciator of quality dance or not, this sort of behaviour is just annoying. “Look,” Hoseok says, crossing his arms over his chest, “You don’t need to lie to me to scare me away from your position or something. I want us to work together, you don’t need to make up shit about a ghost, that’s making a really bad impression.”
Jongup just tilts his head. “If it were just a lie, why do you think that the officetel is so cheap and so empty?” he asks, softly, before turning around on his heel and heading towards his bathroom, in an instant. Hoseok blinks on his retreat and stares at Junhong questioningly, who just shrugs, helplessly.
“Hyung’s really weird sometimes, but he’s better once you get to know him?” Junhong says, as if it’s a question, and Hoseok just shoves his hands into his pockets. It’s been a truly eventful day, and it hasn’t even gone past noon yet.
-
Brunch goes a little better than Hoseok had expected. Jongup is much nicer and less creepy when he’s got some coffee and food in him, with small, sleepy smiles at Hoseok’s ridiculous puns, and an easy confidence to his whole body, despite being a lot quieter than Hoseok is used to in his friends. Junhong loves him, and Hoseok can tell just by how much attention he pays to Jongup, and the easy nature to their banter. Hoseok learns that Jongup occasionally sings for their rock group, and that he and Junhong did their modern dance final project together, something that Hoseok desperately wants a video of.
And then he comes home, some leftovers in hand, and starts to clean and unpack. Thankfully, wetwipes are cheap and he has lots of them, so he gets to work cleaning and disinfecting the whole apartment from head to toe, despite the ache in his calves and lower back. It’s hard work, and Hoseok pauses to take a catnap against the fridge at one point, but the officetel looks spick and span by the time the evening rolls around, and Hoseok feels ready to attack the other things left to be done.
His first priority is to put together the pieces of his bed, despite the slightly desperate urge by now, to set up his wifi router and check his twitter account, so he distracts himself with Chris Brown songs, as he starts to screw the wooden slats of the frame in. He’s gotten very handy with fixing and making stuff ever since he’s become friends with Namjoon, and there were perks to it. Sometimes.
Suddenly, the song switches, Suicidal Thoughts by Biggie and Hoseok frowns, as he glances down towards his hands, shaking slightly as he screwed the bed together.
Like a creeping, slow fog, through Hoseok’s blood and mind, Jongup’s words about the producer who’d died here, run through his mind, and Hoseok shivers again. It’s a cruel story to tell, especially when Hoseok’s very much afraid of ghosts and supernatural horrors. Hoseok’s afraid of a lot of things, mind, but ghosts and vampires and demons are high up on the list, after bugs and heights. He knows in his heart of hearts that they aren’t real, and that Jongup is probably playing a cruel trick on him. Maybe it’s a move-in hazing thing, that every newbie to the building receives, but Hoseok is worried. Doesn’t know how to react. Jongup seemed like a decent enough guy, especially after having eaten with him and Hosoek can’t think of him pranking him.
But this can’t be real, either. So with a firm gulp and a sharp exhale of breath, Hoseok picks up the screwdriver again and sets back towards doing real work. There’s a lot to do before he’s done, and dwelling on possibly imaginary ghosts is not the best use of his time.
-
It’s been a long day of non-stop work. Hoseok’s put together his bed all by himself, properly assembled his couch cushions together, cleaned the entire apartment from top to bottom, set up the wifi network and stocked his fridge with the essential in life (mainly milk, bread, eggs and cereal. No matter what Namjoon says, breakfast foods are for always).
He’s honestly just ready to sleep for a whole week, but he has even more to unpack and lay out over the next couple of days, so Hoseok just lets himself have the luxury of nine hours on his alarm clock. It’s more than he ever usually lets himself have, with a billion other things to get done during the day, but he reckons he deserves it for his non-stop hard work. It’s difficult work trying to move into an apartment all on his lonesome. Even with Junhong’s initial help, it had still been hard.
So he’d really hoped to sleep. Unfortunately, life’s determined to prove him wrong.
Hoseok stirs instead, at the ungodly time of 2am, to the sound of shuffling and banging outside his room, piercing through his hazy dreams, and he frowns sleepily before he realizes that no, the noises aren’t coming from the neighbour’s room, but from his own front room. What. He carefully shuffles out of bed and edges towards the hallway, grabbing one of the spare slabs of wood, leftover from not quite making his bed right, and trembles softly. He doesn’t know how to fight, he’d never paid attention during their school’s mandatory taekwondo classes, preferring to goof off with his friends in the back, never having even imagined that this will be necessary. But yet. Here he is. This is terrifying, and Hoseok is not ready, will probably never be ready. But he steels himself, taking a deep breath anyway, squeezes his eyes shut and swings the wood outwards, in a large baseball strike, as he stepped into the living room.
He doesn’t hit anything.
Hoseok opens his eyes, and blinks. In the centre of his room is a small man, with bright blonde hair, almost white in the dim living room, and small, catlike eyes, narrowed towards Hoseok’s couch, which he seems to be dragging forward, for whatever unfathomable reason. He’s wearing some out of season fashion, with skinny jeans that aren’t ripped in a billion places, and the floral patterns that had been in a couple of years ago, and he’s extraordinarily pale. Hoseok hadn’t really been imagining this, when he’d been thinking ‘robber’, but that’s not even the most unusual part. No, that would be the fact that the man is entirely translucent, and that Hoseok can see his unpacked boxes through the man’s torso.
And look, Hoseok has never ever denied being a scaredy-cat, and faced with what seems to be a god to honest ghost, he does what any decent human would do, and that is, falls to the floor and screams, loudly.
“Oh my god, shut up, your voice is louder than a fire alarm siren.” snaps the ghost stepping forward over Hoseok, looming rather ominously over Hoseok’s figure. Even though it’s not really his instinct, Hoseok obeys, snapping his jaw forcibly, though he can’t quite keep the whimpers of fear and the shaky breathing to himself, the anxious sounds all too loud in the silence of his living room.
“Wha--” Hoseok asks, nervously, as it looks like the ghost is just studying him for a long while, looking more and more scary, as his eyebrows furrow even further down.
“For someone so pretty, you have really shitty taste interior decoration.” says the ghost evenly, stepping away from Hoseok, with a look of disgust on his face. Hoseok blinks in surprise.
What.
“I mean look at this.” the ghost continues, sweeping his hand over the room as if to show it off to Hoseok, “You put the sofa right in front of the window! That’s like the number one rule of what not to do. And that box is your bookcase, I can tell, but if you put it next to anything except the stereo, you will be an imbecile of the highest proportions, okay? Bookcases always go next to electrical equipment, were you raised in a barn?”
What. What is going on? He feels kind of blindsided by the whole thing honestly, not really helped by how sleepy he feels. Hoseok has never met a ghost in his life, a fact he’s quite happy about, but he’s also rather sure that ghosts like this aren’t supposed to sound like Hoseok’s most fussy aunties, back in Gwangju. The ghost is talking to him about Feng Shui at 2am, as if that’s the most important part of this whole situation.
“And let’s not even forget your sofa’s atrocious colour scheme. The walls are light blue, baby blue. The table is black and crooked, which is bad luck, by the way. And then your sofa has the most garish shades of pink, yellow and orange I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life and death. That’s got to be the worst thing I’ve had the misfortune of witnessing with my own two eyes, and the previous tenant owned a rainbow coloured zebra-striped bedspread.” The ghost has started to walk around in his rant, prodding and kicking at the sofa with distaste and a curled nose. Hoseok has never actually seen someone do that in real life, but there’s a first time for everything.
And honestly, by this point, the fear has long since melted into a disgruntled sense of annoyance at every word that exits out of the ghost’s mouth. And the insults against his couch are the last straw for sleep-deprived, sore Hoseok, whose heartrate is slowly reducing to a more reasonable rate. “Hey, you try and finding a couch that comfortable and big for just 30,000won! It’s my apartment anyway, who the fuck are you to come in and judge, with your shitty fashion sense?!”
The ghost gives him a look, tugging down on his floral shirt. “I lived here first.” he says, voice flat, and the blonde hair brushing against the slightly dark eyes makes him look very threatening. If it isn’t for the childish words leaving his mouth, Hoseok might feel intimidated enough to back down.
As it is, it’s very easy for Hoseok to retort: “Well, you’re not paying rent anymore, so stop complaining.” The ghost snaps his jaw closed, slowly, as if he isn’t used to having somebody argue back at him, and Hoseok scowls, as he gets up, brushes himself off and huffs, dramatically. “I’m going back to bed. It’s too early for this sort of nonsense.”
The ghosts lets him go in confused silence, and Hoseok flops back onto his bed, feeling a mixture between really fucking baffled, and really really annoyed. Still, the call of sleep is greater than anything else, and he slips back into sleep, easily.
-
A really elaborate dream. A really awfully real dream he’d had in the middle of the night about having met a ghost, is the only explanation for this. He’d just been freaked out about Jongup’s stupid jokes yesterday, and that had influenced his dreams. It had been like...psychosomatic or some shit. It has to be. Hoseok stares up at his reflection in the mirror. There are dark circles under his eyes, and a still vaguely annoyed expression over his long face.
He blinks at himself, before scowling. No. Definitely an awful dream.
He manages to convince himself of it for approximately a minute more, until he walks out in the living room, and sees the sofa awkwardly placed in the centre of the room, away from the back wall where Hoseok had definitely placed it yesterday. Fuck. Hoseok stares around him for a few moments, in paranoia, but there are no signs of the translucent ghost in the light of morning, so Hoseok dismisses it.
He’d started sleepwalking last night, got unhappy because of the Feng Shui shit his aunties usually liked to spew at him, and he’d moved the sofa. Simple. Easy. A perfectly neat solution to all of his problems.
....if he ignores the fact that he’s never once sleepwalked in his life, because he slept like a log, to the point where his elder sister had always thought he was dead in the mornings.
“Fuck.” Hoseok moans, as he turns away from the room, to get some cereal. He doesn’t want to think about this.
But Jongup doesn’t plan to let Hoseok live peacefully, as Hoseok treks outside to go and check out the laundry room and see if the prices are cheap enough to justify using. When he gets there, Jongup is already there, pulling his washing clothes out to load them into the dryer, looking a little sleepy. “Oh hi hyung.” he says, sleepily, “You okay? I heard screams last night.”
Hoseok smiles gently back at him, bending down to inspect the instructions on the machines and trying to hide the feeling of fear about how the ghost had loomed over him, as if it was going to kill him. “Oh yeah, just had a bad nightmare.” he says, with a laugh, “I haven’t unpacked yet, so everything looks scary in the dark. I must have gone to bed stressed, haha.”
Jongup looks concerned, pausing in his task to reach over and pat Hoseok’s elbow. It’s awkward, but very sweet. “Careful hyung, it might be the ghost. You should show him that you’re the boss, okay? You’re too nice to lose as a neighbour.” His voice is very earnest and serious, but Hoseok feels uneasy anyway, so it takes a lot of effort to smile at Jongup and pretend that he isn’t scared out of his wits.
“Of course, Jongguppie.” he beams, straightening up, patting the machine gently. Cheap enough to use, that certainly makes his life easier. It will have been a pain in the ass to find a cheap washer-dryer for his clothes that he can fit inside his apartment and still have room for the rest of his stuff. “Have a good day!”
He walks out, a disturbed look on his face as he heads back to his apartment. He can’t afford to dwell on ghosts and strange neighbours, he has things to unpack.
-
Even if the chance of this all being a horrible, awful dream seems have to have severely decreased over time, Hoseok still has hope for being able to sleep well. It’s been another busy day of moving and unpacking things everywhere. Putting up the small bookcase for all of his dance and business books and the random novels that Namjoon always recommends him, that he never has time to read, setting up his speakers to practise at home (though when he has a studio under his feet, he doubts that he has the need to dance in his house, but just in case), putting out the little trinkets that his mother and friends like to tease him about, but all secretly love, like his tiny bearbrick collection and the silly momentos from their holidays abroad.
Hard work. Hoseok rewards himself with take-out jajangmyeon and sweet-and-sour-pork, and it’s the best meal that Hoseok’s eaten in a really long time, even if it is by himself, in the corner of his still sterile-smelling apartment.
“...do they sell cheap candles? That will help the mood and the smell?” Hoseok murmurs to himself, as he cleans his bowls and leaves them on the dishrack. He has yet to paper his kitchen cupboards: that’s a task for tomorrow, and then he can started putting all of his cutlery and plates and cooking equipment away. But his living room has a little more life, as does his bedroom, slowly coming together. Hoseok’s grateful that he moved in a few days before the dance core sessions start, it means he can dedicate time to getting himself and his house in order.
It’s weird, to not have danced for two whole days now, but Hoseok ignores the queer feeling in his bones and heads to bed, perchance to dream.
.....sadly, even if he wants to dream, it’s clearly not going to happen, because once more at 2am, Hoseok hears the loud shuffle and groaning and creaking from the living room. He takes a moment to breathe through his nose and try to work through the crankiness slowly starting to fill his veins, before he walks out of his room, blearily, to where the pale ghost is yet again shifting his sofa from the back wall, into the centre again, manoeuvring around the table.
Hoseok has the distinct sensation of fear in his bones: the pale apparition still brings up the memory of way too many scary movies watched at too-young an age, and dark nights where his sister had wound him up, but more than afraid, he feels annoyed by his presence.
“Yah.” Hoseok complains, feeling exhausted and vaguely murderous, “Do you seriously have nothing better to do than move my furniture?”
The ghost whirls around, surprised, before registering who exactly is berating him, and the surprised expression which had almost looked cute, turns into one of thoroughly disgusted annoyance. “You! I can’t believe you not only moved your sofa back, but had the audacity to not put your stereo next to the bookcase.” He has one of the most expressive faces that Hoseok’s ever seen, he doesn’t know anybody who can truly emote that many nuances of disgusted and affronted like this ghost can. “And what the fuck is this vase? It looks like a twelve-year old with depth-perception problems and colour-blindness made it, it’s disgusting. The only redeeming factor of this whole thing is the bearbrick collection and even that it’s kind of creepy, because there are so fucking many.”
Okay. At least the ghost doesn’t have something that awful to say about his bearbricks. If he had, Hoseok might just have had to kill him for a second time. Instead, the one question that’s really been bugging Hoseok through all of this comes to his tongue, instead of the logical insults he should have retorted with. “....why the hell do you care?”
“It’s bad luck, ten years of bad luck to have this sofa here.” The ghost answers, without even pausing. “Also, this is just plain ugly. It’s an assault on my eyes.” Again, a look of disgust better suited to a chaebol mother-in-law than a twenty-something year old ghost in his house.
“You’re a ghost. You’re literally dead. How much more bad luck can you get?” Hoseok says, and it’s probably not the smartest thing he’s said, but screw that. He can barely keep his eyes properly open on his guest and his limbs ache from the exertion of two days of moving.
“Don’t be facetious.” The ghost replies, tersely, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll get the bad luck if you let these remain here. And I like you. You have a good taste in music. And you don’t snore.”
There’s something rather surreal about getting a ghost’s approval. “Thanks?” The ghost smiles at him, and it’s surprisingly cute, all gummy and elated, so bright that Hoseok can’t help but smile back in return, the dimple smile that always makes him look slightly constipated, if cute. If there had been any ounce of fear left in Hoseok at this weird instance, it’s now gone. “Okay. Not that I’m complaining.” Hoseok says, softly, “But uhh. Is that the reason I’m not being tormented with blood down the bathroom mirror, and creepy messages in my toast and endless hauntings?”
“No?” asks the ghost, looking confused with wide eyes and a slightly dopey expression. “I didn’t do any of that! I might have like...shown up in front of the previous tenant’s bed and tried to get rid of his bedspread every now and then because it was an abomination to mankind and didn’t belong on my bed, and maybe like...tried to cover up their rhinestone-encrusted mirror with shaving cream, because that was fucking atrocious. But I ain’t out to kill anybody here.”
Hoseok blinks. He really can’t make this up, not even if he tries. This is too fucking surreal. He’s not the imaginative one in his group of friends, just the loud, boisterous one. Which means that this is real. He’s not dreaming, or sleepwalking or anything. There is a god-to-honest ghost in his apartment, that Hoseok is not running away screaming from, because said ghost prefers to critique the furniture aesthetics and bitch like an old woman while doing so.
“I need to sit down.” Hoseok mumbles, staggering over to the couch and sinking his head down into his hands, incredulity filling his veins. “This is real. This is fucking real. It’s 2am, and I’m chatting with a ghost in my pajamas, who hates my furniture choices. What the fuck?”
The ghost watches him with bemused eyes, perching awkwardly on the edge of the couch next to Hoseok, as if it physically pains him to be anywhere near the colour scheme. “There there.” the ghost says, reaching out to pat Hoseok’s back, his hand sliding straight through Hoseok’s chest. There’s a sharp swooping of cold through Hoseok’s back and chest, and he shivers violently, scowling petulantly at the ghost, who withdraws his hands, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry. I always forget.”
“Always is how long?” asks Hoseok, looking at the ghost properly now. From closer up, he’s got some of the prettiest skin Hoseok’s ever seen, and Hoseok isn’t really sure whether that’s because the ghost is dead or whether he was just naturally blessed when alive. There’s also a tinge of eyeshadow and eyeliner around his translucent eyes, and his hands, now settling in his lap, are firm and pretty, with neatly trimmed nails and even joints. The sort of hand that would probably be nice to hold, now that Hoseok thinks about it. A shame that he’s a ghost, really.
The ghost tilts his head back, neck bobbing up and down, for whatever reason. Hoseok is certain that ghosts have no need of spit. “A year and a half now? I think? Not exactly sure when I died, but yeah. Like a year and a half.”
Unexpected. “That’s young.” Hoseok says, widening his eyes, dramatically. “I was like expecting you were seventy from the way you were acting.”
The ghost simply raises an eyebrow in Hoseok’s direction, and Hoseok can’t take it anymore. He takes himself so seriously, and Hoseok is pissing himself at how pretentious this fucker really is. The ghost looks even more affronted as Hoseok slumps forward from the force of his laughter, so Hoseok forces himself to get a little more control over himself, though he’s still guffawing inbetween a few breaths. “My name’s Jung Hoseok.” he manages to squeeze out, with a shallow bow. “You?”
The ghosts shrugs, eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Can’t remember.” he murmurs. “But Hoseok’s a nice name.”
“What do you mean you can’t remember it?” Hoseok sobers a little more, at how pensive the face of the ghost is.
The ghost is haughty, crossing his hands across his chest, in a very firm humph. “Just that, ain’t it? I don’t remember shit about being alive. I just woke up one night and I’m dead and trapped in this fucking apartment, which I know is mine only because of the landlady trying to sell off this house after an unfortunate death here. No name, no age, no nothing.”
“Yet you know the rules of Feng Shui.” Hoseok retorts, lifting an eyebrow. He knows Feng Shui better than some of Hoseok’s aunts too, if all things are to be considered. “You gotta remember something.”
“Well I don’t, alright?!” snaps the ghost and he looks angry now, face growing a little more opaque, around his ears and cheeks, making him look more coloured. “Fuck off.”
Hoseok raises his hands, in concession. “Sorry.” Hoseok says, and it’s half-sarcastic, but the ghost seems more placated anyway, sort of glowing a little in the darkness of Hoseok’s front room. “I could...give you one?”
The ghost blinks, slow and and even, before turning to face Hoseok properly. “I’d like that.” he says, softly and if there had been any thought of giving him a gag name, or joking about something to do with Feng Shui, it vanishes at the sincerity he’s met with. Oh. “Yoongi.” Hoseok says, the words slipping out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “Because you glow.”
“Oh.” The ghost says, and there’s a vaguely stunned look on his face, as if astounded. “That feels right. I like that. Yoongi. Nice to meet you Hoseok, I’m Yoongi.” His mouth makes a weird shape, like a turtle, as he carefully pronounces his name, testing out the way it sounds. For a ghost that’s been bitching about Hoseok’s life choices for some time, it’s almost sweet.
“I would say it’s nice to meet you but it really isn’t, under the circumstances.” Hoseok says, with a forlorn sigh. “Please stop moving furniture at 2am. I’m sleeping. I need the sleep. I know it’s a weird concept for a ghost, but I really need sleep. If you have to move things, do it when I’m not already asleep?”
Yoongi exhales, as if it’s such a difficult feat for him. “I usually feel most solid around 2am. But sure, I guess. I’ll let you sleep.”
There are so many questions in that, but Hoseok’s eyes are starting to gum together from sleep, and if he isn’t careful, he will collapse on the floor and start sleeping there, so he just raises a hand in silent gratitude and heads back to bed, a small smile on his face.
-
When he wakes again, Hoseok is assured that he is only partly crazy about whatever the hell happens at 2am every night, because again, his sofa is weirdly wedged in the middle of the floor, where Yoongi had moved it last night. Hoseok actually really likes the sofa: it’s fairly soft and comfy for its age, and floppable, but he can’t help but feel a little insecure about it, after two nights of being woken up because of it.
Briefly, he considers ditching it, before reminding himself that Yoongi may or may not be real, and doesn’t even pay rent, and therefore has no say. He sits himself down on the sofa with cereal, maybe a little too forcefully, but the way it moulds around him is so worth it.
“So.” Hoseok says, uncertainly to the air. “Do you only show up at night or....?”
There’s a long silence, in which Hoseok feels really stupid as he digs into his food and tries to drown himself a little bit in unsweetened cheerios, before a loud voice of; “No, not really,” comes from behind him.
It takes Hoseok a little while to stop coughing up milk from his poor abused lungs, but the raspy, low laughter from the invisible Yoongi at his side is incredibly obnoxious. “You couldn’t have waited until I finished my spoonful?” demands Hoseok, placing his cereal down on the table, so he can grab some tissues to clean up the milk spillage. He feels a little weak and silly, especially to be talking to thin air, but also sort of infuriated. That’s happening a lot.
“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I was helping the sofa to its inevitable death. Maybe after that, you’ll get a sofa that matches the colourscheme...” Yoongi murmurs, and his voice is mostly amused as it gets closer to Hoseok’s ear.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Hoseok says, fiercely, almost ripping the roll of tissue paper in half as he tries to get a square to mop up his mess. “Why are you invisible?”
Yoongi hums pensively, as Hoseok scrubs furiously at the pink and yellow splashes of colour, on the worn fabric. “It takes more energy for me to be visible during the daytime. I compete with the sun, and I lose. So I’m invisible.”
That’s a sort of terrifying prospect. “So that means you’ve been hovering around invisible during the daytime for the past few days??” Hoseok demands, straightening upwards, in horror. Yoongi had made that comment about his music tastes... “Wait no, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.”
A little disquieted, Hoseok stands up, appetite firmly quashed by having inhaled half of his milk and discovered this. “Okay.” Hoseok says, voice a little quavery. “We gotta set up some rules then, man.”
Yoongi makes an irritated noise from the other side of Hoseok and Hoseok crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s simple roommate rules, man!” Hoseok says, hotly, “And they’re triply needed when you’re sharing a house with a fucking invisible ghost! Give me a break.”
There’s another irritated huff from behind his ear, as Hoseok heads into the kitchen, to wash up his bowl and the front of his shirt. “Look,” Hoseok says, a little more placatingly, as the smell of the lavender disinfectant he’d sprayed yesterday fills his nose and calms him a little, “You can give me a couple ground rules too, as long as they aren’t unreasonable. I won’t mind so much.” He’s a little apprehensive about this though, so he quickly adds, “No furniture changes though.”
Yoongi huffs again from close by, but exhales, heavily. “Alright. Whatever. Hit me with your best shot.”
“Okay, okay.” Hoseok says, rinsing out his bowls, “First. I guess. No being invisible in my bathroom. Ever. You’re a ghost, you don’t really need to be in there and there’s nothing interesting in there. So no.”
A light hum of agreement. “I need a verbal agreement.” Hoseok presses, a little firmly. He’s had too many people (read: Dawon, on multiple occasions) slip out of deals because they’d never verbally agreed on them.
“Fine, fine, no bathrooms.”
“Okay, then. And you’re allowed in my bedroom, whatever, just knock or something. You know. Because. Stuff.” Hoseok murmurs, feeling very awkward, but thankfully, Yoongi agrees without much fuss or teasing. “Umm, also. Give a guy a warning before you show up somewhere? You freaked me the hell out this morning, and well. I can still die, even if you can’t anymore.”
Yoongi laughs, lowly, from the vague location of the kitchen counter. “I’ll give it a try, but sometimes I can’t help if you get too wrapped up in stuff to hear me.” Hoseok can’t see the ghost boy, but he’s sure that he’s smiling.
“Okay, okay, don’t freak out my guests either. Everyone says that keeping your friends from college is decided during the first year away from campus, and I need all of the friends I can get, to help me destress after classes with snotty kids.” Hoseok was only half kidding. Classes with the kids was probably going to be fun, because dancing was always fun and necessary to his being. But still. Just in case. His feet started to twitch a little, just thinking about dance, and Hoseok couldn’t help but guiltily curl them up. He hadn’t danced in almost five days now and he could feel the loss across his legs, almost uncomfortable.
“Am I not a friend?” Yoongi asks, mock-hurt and Hoseok doesn’t even bother deigning that with an answer.
“No furniture moving at night. Seriously. I need to sleep.” Hoseok explains, shaking off his wet hands in the sink, as the soap carefully sinks down the sides. Sometimes, being cheap and being a clean-freak collide too often, and although clean-freak usually wins out, knowing how much money on soap is being washed down the drain always makes him wince a little. But now, it helps gain him sympathy, because a slightly wounded noise comes from Yoongi’s general direction and Yoongi murmurs a repentant agreement.
“That’s basically it, I guess.” Hoseok says, as he heads to his bedroom. He’ll shower later on today, and work on kitchen lining too, but his feet still twitch with phantom dance steps. Stupid. He’d been so focused on ghosts and moving in, that he’d forgot that he’s becoming a freaking dance teacher. He has to start choreos and make sure he’s limber and get Jongup for a proper lunch to talk about their lesson plans. “You?” he asks, stripping off his shirt quickly, to find a looser tank top, that allows for lots of sweat.
“No country music. No trot, none of the loud yankee-yee-haw either.” Yoongi mumbles, disgustedly, and Hoseok can already imagine the disgusted curl of his lip at that, and the thought makes him stifle a snigger into his snapback. “No electropop, that’s a blaspheme against the God of Music.”
At this, Hoseok can’t help but laugh. He’s equally against country music, but he’s never had much problem with electropop, loving a good old girlgroup dance as much as anybody. Still, by the vehemence with which these music genres are stated out, Hoseok knows that the hatred is very genuine. “Alright. Any other music types that would make God cry?”
“The BeeGees. And Nickelback.” Yoongi says, very seriously and Hoseok is suddenly struck by an overwhelming curiosity to search up who they are, and why Yoongi sounds hushed and horrified while speaking their names, as if they’re so taboo. Instead, Hoseok switches out his pyjama pants for some stretchy dance leggings, thick enough to pass off as skinny jeans upon passing examination. “That’s not allowed in this house.”
“That’s fine, I don’t even know who they are.” Hoseok accepts, tousling his hair back using the small, slightly cracked table-side mirror, quickly, so he can slide his snapback on. “Other things?”
“No loud TV, that’s really annoying, especially since I can’t escape sound very well in this apartment.” Yoongi says after a couple of moments contemplation, during which, Hoseok roots around for his keys, hidden somewhere under the pile of barely unpacked stuff on his bedroom desk and chair. “And you seem to be doing it okay, but remember to always clean your dishes in the sink, because they get gross.”
“Right? The food sticks to the edges and it smells and urgh.” says Hoseok turning around, feeling a stab of kinship with Yoongi suddenly, over their mutual dislike of unclean dishes. “Yeah, I won’t forget, but if I do, just give me a shout and I’ll clean them.” He says, firmly, as he finds his keys finally, underneath a pair of Calvin Klein underwear his sister had bought for him and grabs a jacket, in case he decides to sweat-practise.
“And seriously. Do something about that fucking sofa? It gives me the heebie-jeebies, and I’m a fucking ghost. I really don’t have anything to be afraid of anything.” Yoongi complains, voice dangerously close to Hoseok’s ear, as if he’s whispering really close to Hoseok’s ear. The imagination of his pretty lips close to Hoseok are probably not the things Hoseok should be thinking about a ghost, so he just exhales, and laughs.
“You wish.” Hoseok laughs, low and easy, grabbing his phone from the kitchen counter, as he slips out to the front door, “Actually. I got another rule. Unless you’re paying rent, you can’t critique furniture choices.”
“Wait, what, no that’s not fair, I’m not agreeing to that!” Yoongi complains, but Hoseok just grins widely, waves obnoxiously and swings out the door, to head downstairs. As expected, Yoongi can’t or doesn’t follow him down. Hoseok whistles a little cheerfully, mind already slipping towards warmups he needs to do and just how much he’ll need to stretch to get rid of the burn of the previous couple days.
-
It’s the evening of the next day, that Hoseok gets a text from Namjoon finally, that he’s got the evening off from tutoring study sessions for once. This means of course, that he’s coming over with alcohol to break in Hoseok’s apartment. It’s slightly inconvenient, as far as timings go, because Hoseok starts classes the next day and really shouldn’t start off with a hangover on the first day, but well. Namjoon is Namjoon, and is just as stubborn as Hoseok himself is, so Hoseok just sighs, frees his schedule and texts a vague apology to Jongup, who may or may not need to lead the morning classes more than he was otherwise supposed to.
Thankfully, Jongup, who becomes nicer and nicer with every conversation they have without talking about the ghost from his apartment, doesn't seem to mind, and says that even if Hoseok doesn’t actually make it to class, he’ll cover for him and tell the director that Hoseok was there. It’s a touching gesture, but Hoseok knows he won’t miss the first day of classes, regardless of whether he’s throwing up or not.
He doesn’t plan to get that drunk though. It’s much more fun to be a little tipsy, and watch Namjoon get crazily drunk and start to sing in off-key, lewd tunes. So much blackmail material hidden in that, after all.
The problem though, with having a quiet ghost in your apartment though, is that Hoseok’s sort of liable to forget that Yoongi’s around, until Yoongi pays him a compliment on his absent-minded singing while papering the cabinets (“you’ve got a future in that if you wanted, you know”), snarkily comments on his furniture positions (“i see your desk still isn’t oriented towards the east yet. that gives you more light as well, you moron”), or shows up to lean over Hoseok’s shoulder when he’s trying to sink into Misty Copeland’s autobiography, (“huh, are all dancers are pretty as you?”).
And that’s exactly what happens, when Namjoon shows up at 6pm, cheeks pink from exertion and hair messy. Hoseok does completely forget about his mysterious visitor, as he welcomes Namjoon, chicken and what looks to be a large bottle of vodka, various fruit juices and grenadine.
“God, Hoseok, how the fuck are you already unpacked? It’s been like. Five days.” Namjoon asks, looking around, as he dumps his stuff on the coffee table, making himself at home as always.
“I’m not a lazy-ass like you.” Hoseok retorts, but he can feel the smile tugging at his lips, and he pulls Namjoon into a half-unwilling hug. Namjoon both loves and hates hugs, so Hoseok deals with his awkward flailing for a couple of seconds, before flouncing into the kitchen to grab them some cutlery. “Also dude, you owe me like fifteen-thousand favours for skipping out on helping me move in. I carried your goddamn bookboxes up ten flights of stairs, you owe me equivalent manual labour, use your big stupid muscles for something important.”
“Hey.” Namjoon protests looking a little hurt, “Give me a break, I had work. I can’t skip on my paycheque for something small like this, no matter how much I like you. Jackson loves me, but I’m also sure he would never let it down if I missed out on rent.”
Hoseok pauses, before accepting that. Jackson doesn’t often get mad, preferring to laugh off most of his troubles, but he’s also built like a solid, firm wall, so Hoseok doesn’t really want to think about getting on his wrong side either. “Yeah. Whatever. I don’t mind, but you still definitely owe me.” Hoseok places the glasses down on the table, as Namjoon uncorks all of the bottles, with an ease he has for few things in his life. “How has work been though?”
“Slow.” Namjoon admits, as he carefully teases off the glass lid over the grenadine. “Been mostly reporting on neighbourhood mysteries and stuff for now, since most of the main scoops are by other people, but I think I’ll be moving up a little. They want to give me my own column soon, just to get me some practice, since barely anybody reads columns either. I don’t know the theme yet, but well. I’ll figure it out, yeah?”
Namjoon’s smile is not exactly pleasant, but there’s also enough tenseness to his shoulders that Hoseok lets it go. That feels like a topic best left for when they’re a little drunker. “Well, better than nothing. And work on the novel?” At this, Namjoon visibly slumps forward and Hoseok winces. “That bad, huh?”
“I can’t think of anything to continue to plot somewhere so it doesn’t feel like a trite middle-aged crisis sort of novel.” Namjoon moans, softly, as he pours out the vodka into one of the glasses, haphazardly sploshing orange and raspberry juice into it. “It’s like I’m completely barren. I think my job is sucking out my soul. Like there’s only a ghost of me left and it’s certainly not the ghost that writes novels.”
“Trust me,” Yoongi’s voice comes from beside Hoseok, “You’d know if you were a ghost.”
Namjoon blinks, and Hoseok feels his reassuring smile falter before it can even spread over his face. “What was that?” Namjoon asks slowly.
“Nothing.” Hoseok says, easily, “Look, the novel is probably just a temporary setback, how long have you been sleep--”
“Saying ‘nothing’ automatically guarantees that you heard it.” Namjoon points out, amused, as he takes a sip from his glass, “If you couldn’t hear that, you would have said ‘what noise? Namjoon, you nutter, you’re drunk already’. But you didn’t. So. I’ll say it again. What was that?”
“Smart, isn’t he?” Yoongi says, and Hoseok can hear the grin in his voice, “No wonder you’re a reporter.”
Namjoon’s tongue swipes over his lips nervously, as he takes another sip of his glass. “So, you’re a ghost?” he asks, curiously, “It’s nice to meet you, I guess. Are you an invisible one?” He doesn’t even seem the slightest bit phazed, and Hoseok feels an irrational, irritated part of him resenting how calm Namjoon is about this, compared to Hoseok. Suppressing it under a long-suffering sigh, Hoseok fills his own glass with vodka and juice, taking a long sip.
“Only in the light.” Yoongi answers, and in response to this, Namjoon pulls his long limbs up, switches off the light and looks expectantly around the room. Hoseok doesn’t even move and at Namjoon’s gasp, just lazily sends a gaze over to Yoongi, who’s practically preening, from where he’s leaning against the bookcase.
“So.” Hoseok starts conversationally, “When our roommate rules say ‘don’t scare my visitors by showing up’, you’d expect some sort of remorse or something.”
Yoongi just crosses his arms across his chest and lifts a single eyebrow at Hoseok, unimpressed. “He doesn’t really look very scared. He looks kind of happy actually.” Yoongi’s got a point, Namjoon’s giving Yoongi a very appraising look, for somebody’s who’s supposedly happily dating Jackson Wang. Of course, it might also be the face he makes when he’s examining a particularly interesting puppy that he wants to bring home to try and make his dog love him again, but they’re similar enough that Hoseok doesn’t think it matters.
“That’s his equivalent of a resting bitch-face. We call it the resting-buddha face. It’s inaccurate to reality.” Hoseok snarks instead, draining his glass inordinately fast. Nope, it’s decided, he’s getting a little drunk today.
“Now now girls,” Namjoon soothes, with his low, amused voice, “There’s plenty of me to go around. No need to get jealous.”
Yoongi and Hoseok snort in unison at that, and Hoseok, despite his slight annoyance, can’t help but look up and grin at Yoongi. “Sure, Namjoon.” Hoseok says, skeptically, “Sit your ass down. You too Yoongi, let’s do introductions like normal fucking people.”
“As opposed to weird fucking people? Because fucking’s technically a normal part of human existence.” Namjoon clarifies, and Hoseok exhales, long-suffering. He doesn't even need to look at Namjoon to know that his glass of vodka is empty, Namjoon is a notorious light-weight, for all of his love of alcohol. Namjoon doesn’t reach black-out drunk for a long time, of course, but he starts spouting nonsense at a higher frequency with just a little alcohol in his system. Hoseok would suspect it’s just a placebo effect that loosens Namjoon’s tongue so quickly, but he has no way to be sure. He’d failed Lab Sciences in school, after all.
Yoongi however, just laughs, low and husky, and Hoseok’s stomach rolls, both unpleasant and soft at the same time. “He’s more interesting than you, Hoseok. Can I file for a roommate change?”
“Nah, you’d have to ask the landlady, and she’d run away screaming from the sight of your ugly face.” Hoseok says, rolling his eyes, “Stuck with me.”
“Shame.” Yoongi says, but there’s a gummy grin on his face to prove that he clearly doesn’t mean a word he’s saying. The reassurance is surprisingly comforting, Hoseok must be really people-deprived to be seeking the approval of a ghost.
“Yoongi, this is Namjoon, my limp noodle of a best friend. We’ve been stuck together since first year of university, and as much as I’ve suffered, I’ve never made a better decision than to sit next to him on the first day of lectures.” Hoseok introduces, and Namjoon smiles winsomely, nodding his head in slight respect. Yoongi nods back. “Namjoon, this is the ghost that lives in my apartment, who’s currently missing his memory. I called him Yoongi, but who knows what his actual name is?”
“Nice to meet you, Yoongi.” Namjoon murmurs, with a nod, before frowning a little. “But. Isn’t that easy enough to look up? If you died here...?” Yoongi and Hoseok both nod, and Namjoon roots around in his pocket for his phone, pulling it out with a triumphant wave. “Sunshine Deer Apartments, death.” he says, out loud, quickly typing it into his googlebar.
“First result, website and article courteously provided by my employer. Composer Min Yoongi, 24, murdered in his own apartment. Easy.” Namjoon looks up from his phone and Hoseok stares at him, in confusion and just a little bit of shell-shock, fingers trembling around his second glass of vodka. At his side, Yoongi gapes, equally confused. “You mean...you didn’t think to just...naver search deaths in this area to figure out the identity of your ghost?” It’s not often that Namjoon is the one judging Hoseok, but this time is a little bit of an exception.
“No?” Hoseok says, a little strangled, “More importantly than that, how the fuck did I get his name right?” Yoongi nods sharply at this as well, looking more translucent than before.
Namjoon shrugs, languidly, though there’s a sharp look in his eyes. “How should I know? You’re a secret psychic? You thought he looked like a Yoongi and his parents did as well? I’m not sure, that sounds like a question for your heart.” Normally, Hoseok would laugh or call him a moron, but he feels a little shaken right now, that’s a large coincidence. No wonder Yoongi had thought it felt right.
Taking pity on them, Namjoon just smiles. “Want me to read the whole article?”
“Please.” Yoongi says, earnestly, and he leans forward, eyes wide and lips parted. It’s both cute and kind of pitiful, and Hoseok bites his lip, as he turns his attention back to Namjoon.
“The article dates back like a year and a half, I guess. December 2014. Rising Composer Min Yoongi was found dead in his apartment, in what looks a deliberate murder attempt, with three deep lacerations across the centre of his chest, according to the SMPA. The incident occurred in the early hours of the 14th, but the body wasn't found until almost twenty-four hours later, when close friend, Kim Taehyung broke into the apartment, after receiving no communications.” Namjoon shoots a concerned look towards Yoongi, that Hoseok follows, but Yoongi’s expression is blank, so Namjoon clears his throat and continues.
“‘It’s not weird for Yoongi-hyung to not respond my messages for long periods of time, he’s not usually good with people or texting,’ Kim revealed, ‘But we were supposed to meet, and if Yoongi-hyung cancels on those appointments, he always texts me in advance. So I was a bit worried, and he always leaves his spare key in really obvious places, so I just climbed in and found him in the living room.’ Fuck. That’s an awful way to find out. If it was more than twenty-four hours, there’d have been flies and shit--” Namjoon breaks off suddenly, looking awfully guilty, after Hoseok’s kick to his leg, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind it very much, even as he frowns, heavily.
“Yeah, keep going.” Yoongi urges, as Namjoon’s silence extends for a bit.
Namjoon clears his throat, looking a little apprehensive, but continues to read. “Police are still searching for the suspect, but by the force of the blade through his chest, they suspect a male in his thirties and urge anybody with any more information about this murder to step forward, since there are currently not very many leads. Huh. Does this ring any bells, Yoongi?”
Simply shrugging, Yoongi pushes himself up to float instead, legs coming up to lotus position above Hoseok’s head. “Nothing. You’d think I’d remember something. But. Maybe that’s the point? Since I die, it’s like. A new life. I’m not supposed to remember.”
Licking his lips, Hoseok shakes his head. “Usually ghost lore is the opposite. The ghost’s on Earth because there’s something unfinished about their old life, which means they can’t move on.”
“That’s western ghost lore though.” Namjoon interjects, “Buddhist culture says that ghosts are part of reincarnation, a lower form than even animals--”
“Yeah, well.” Hoseok interrupts him, rolling his eyes, “Buddhists ghosts are hungry. Always hungry, for people, for food, for houses, anything. Yoongi hasn’t eaten or consumed anything. He’s not a buddhist ghost.”
“Either way,” Yoongi says mildly, “I’d rather like to know who murdered me. Is there an update on my death?” Namjoon and Hoseok both exchange glances, and down the dregs of their glasses in unison.
"Seokjin-hyung works at the station, right?" asks Hoseok, as he refills his glass with juice, without the vodka this time. "I could pop down and give him a visit, ask about Yoongi's death. Or you know. You could, Namjoon, you have a better cause, as a reporter on the streets, and all."
"You should." Namjoon says, morosely, tipping his head back to stare at Hoseok's ceiling intently. "It's still awkward between us."
"What, since you guys hooked up?" Hoseok asks, a little slyly, and feels a little bit of cruel satisfaction as Namjoon buries his head in his elbows, only a slight hint of red skin peeking through. Yoongi, who's gingerly perched himself down on the sofa, despite his distaste, pats Namjoon on the back, making Namjoon shudder from cold. It's an even more asshole move than Hoseok reminding Namjoon of his faux-pas, and Hoseok is struck with the realization that he and Yoongi are a great tag-team of doom.
"Fuck, I was drunk as hell and didn’t realize how weird he was going to be about it....whatever. He's kind of an asshole, the rose-tinted glasses are fully off, now I don't have a huge-ass crush on him." Namjoon mumbles into his elbow, a little miserably. "Anyway, that's your job Hoseokie, sorry."
Hoseok shrugs. It's not a hardship for him. Seokjin is funny, neat and efficient in a way that's both really different and intensely similar to what he is, so he gets along with Seokjin quite well, but he sees how Namjoon and Seokjin sometimes completely dance past each other. "You check out other stuff. Maybe this Kim Taehyung dude."
Namjoon blinks. "What reason would I have to seek out Taehyung-sshi? This is like. More than a year after Yoongi's death. It would be weird."
"An estranged ex?" Hoseok asks, with a shrug, "You broke up badly, so didn't think about him for a while, but when you searched him up, you saw he was dead and were distraught? So you seek out the guy in the article to ask more about him?"
Shaking his head, Namjoon sinks back against the sofa. "Fuck no, Hoseokie." he complains, "There are so many things wrong with that, that I don't even know where to begin. One, I can't act. Two, I seriously can't act. Three, I know nothing about Kim Taehyung, which I should know as Yoongi's ex. Four, he will never ever believe me. Five, what if Yoongi's not even gay? Six, I can't act. This could go wrong in oh-so-many ways that I don't want to think about."
Yoongi coughs, a little delicately, his toes twitching as Namjoon and Hoseok turn to look at him. "Well." he says, softly, "If it helps a little, I can say for certain, I'm definitely gay."
Hoseok stares at him, long and steady, and Namjoon coughs, a little awkwardly. “Well.” Hoseok says, to cross over the silence, “T-that’s sorted. Joonie. That’s easy from there.”
“But Hoseokie, I really can’t act.” Namjoon whines, “It would end badly, and I don’t even want to think about how much Kim Taehyung might freak out about the amnesiac ghost of his dead best friend, because you and I would freak out so badly.”
Namjoon has a point, even if Hoseok really doesn’t like it, and Hoseok can’t help but sneak a look towards the placid Yoongi perched on top of the couch, eyes more intent on them than his relaxed posture let on. With a slow sigh, Hoseok exhales and downs his vodka, feeling the room finally starting to be a little more unsteady. “Fine, I’ll go and see them both. But that means you have to do what you do best: research. I need to know as much about Kim Taehyung and Min Yoongi from social media as you can find, so I don’t embarrass myself.”
“You’re an embarrassment everyday, Jung Hoseok.” Namjoon retorts, staggering to his feet, almost tripping over Hoseok’s coffee table in the process. “J-just. More than usual when you haven’t got a shit about what you’re saying.” And then he starts giggling, face screwed up into that weird scrunched-up look that Namjoon swore is intentional, but probably isn’t.
“Look who’s calling me an embarrassment, you can’t even stand, you drunk fool.” This is not mentioning the fact that Hoseok himself cannot stand, but at least Hoseok isn’t drunk enough to think that he can.
Namjoon doesn’t seem to have a retort for this, and staggers over to Hoseok’s bathroom instead, wordlessly. “Fucking dick.” Hoseok stagewhispers, conspiratorially to Yoongi, who just grins widely, and pats his back. What a nice ghost. Hoseok has to tell him that. “You’re a really nice ghost. I’m glad to have a ghost that doesn’t scare the shit out of me. That sounds like it should be a song, actually, you know Fall Out Boy, and their really long titles? You like music. Are there songs about good ghosts?”
Yoongi stares at him for a couple of moments, before bursting out into laughter. Hoseok isn’t quite sure what’s so funny, but Yoongi has a pretty voice and wide, gummy, infectious grins, and Hoseok quickly finds himself unable to stop himself laughing.
“You better not be laughing at me.” Namjoon grumbles, as he staggers out of the bathroom. His jeans are on backwards, and Hoseok can see the label sticking out, and even if it probably shouldn’t be as funny as it is, Hoseok flops onto the ground and laughs even louder, until he can’t feel his face anymore.
-
In case nobody has told you, dear reader, drinking before your first day on the job is a bad idea. Even if your lovely coworker is planning to cover for you, it is a terrible idea. To this day, Hoseok is unaware of exactly how he managed to keep the smile on his face throughout the day’s sporadic classes, manage to demonstrate basic dance moves and not fall over what felt like two numb left feet, but it is done by sheer force of will, a liberal dosage of painkillers and energy drinks and workaholic vengeance, and it isn’t an experience that Hoseok is eager to ever repeat again.
When he returns to his apartment, Hoseok doesn’t even bothering removing his shoes before punting himself over the arms of the chair and flopping, face-first, into the vividly neon upholstery. They aren’t the nicest colours to be seen when he’s fighting off a headache, but Hoseok reminds himself ‘cheap’ and ‘you’re thinking like Yoongi’ and ‘painful’ and he subsides into mild groans of pain instead, eyes firmly shut.
“You’re pitiful.” Yoongi murmurs by his ear, gravely voice loud and irritating against Hoseok’s poor ears, as the hangover really hits him, now that the painkillers are wearing off.
Hoseok makes a vague whining sound in Yoongi’s direction and prays that the ghost spares him some small amount of mercy in this instance by moving away and not talking for another good two hours. Despite Hoseok’s slight inability to breathe in this position, and the sharp stabbing pain slowly starting to build in his temples, Hoseok’s rather enjoying his position. It’s a good time for a nap. Peaceful.
He’s on the verge of maybe drifting off, when he feels a cold, wet substance touch the back of his neck, slimy and gross. Hoseok starts up with a short shriek of distress, despite how much pain it causes him, and hears Yoongi tutting as his heartrate starts to climb.
“Chill man.” Yoongi says, awkwardly, and Hoseok squints through his eyes suspiciously at the now, suddenly, corporeal ghost, holding up a wet towel in one hand, and Hoseok’s favourite fluffy blankets in the other. “You look like hell, so...”
Hoseok subsides, and flops back into the couch, into a slightly more comfortable position, where Yoongi carefully drapes the wet towel over Hoseok’s forehead and unceremoniously dumps the blankets on top of Hoseok. Even if it’s not the most caring, it’s something that Hoseok hadn’t expected from the ghost, and he can’t help but smile at him, gently.
“Thanks.” he says, softly, smiling at Yoongi even though it hurts.
“No, just get better.” Yoongi says, dismissively, though his cheeks get a little more opaque. “I’d cook for you or call take out, but both of those will end badly, I think.”
Hoseok imagines the takeout boy delivering some jjajangmyeon to a translucent person, and the thought makes him snort, almost dislodging his towel over his forehead. Yoongi tuts again, sounding once more like a 70-year old woman instead of a guy only a couple of years older than Hoseok, and readjusts the towel over Hoseok’s head.
“Silly.” Yoongi chides.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok says, letting his eyes drift shut, to feel the coolness of the towel and the warmth of the blanket contrast across his aching body. “You’re sort of older than me, if the article’s right. Should I call you hyung? Yoongi-hyung?”
There’s a long pause, as Hoseok wriggles in his blanket, trying to get a little more comfortable against the sofa. “I like that.” Yoongi replies, finally, “I’m your hyung.”
“Take care of me~” Hoseok trills, before wincing. The chirpiness is easy enough to pull off on normal days, but the high-pitched voice hurts not only his throat, but also his ears with this hangover. There’s a long pause for a while, but Hoseok, despite having felt sleepy earlier, doesn’t feel very sleepy now. “I’d have liked to have had a hyung.” Hoseok confides, softly, unsure if Yoongi is still around, but needing to say it anyway. “I have a noona, and Dawon-noona is so lovely and sweet, but she’s so busy jet-setting and making money and trying to help the family, that she never really got time to take after me alone. Junhong’s elder brother would help him out and tease him in equal intervals, but when Junhongie first got drunk, he took a day off work to make Junhong kongnamul gukbap and feed it to him [2]. He took pictures and teased him mercilessly afterwards, but you know. He did it anyway.”
Hoseok wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this. “Thank you.” he finishes with, softly and a little lame. Still. He’s a grateful. Ghosts aren’t obligated to take care of humans, but here Yoongi is.
He drifts off into a fitful sleep, but he thinks he hears a ‘’you’re welcome seok-seok” in his dreams.
-
The thing about going to visit Seokjin for information is that it’s always expensive, which is why Hoseok is almost always opposed to it. He’s done this twice before, usually something to do with getting Seokjin pliant enough to tell him something very personal about himself so Namjoon would stop fretting, but it’s a first for interrogating Seokjin about something work-related. So Hoseok, with a little regret, buys them both sweet and sour pork, and goes to visit at the police station, biting down on his lip.
Usually Seokjin is the one feeding them, reluctantly accepting hyung-responsibility and taking control over the bill, but this exception chafes at Hoseok’s rules about money. Why is he here?
Right. Yoongi. The ghost had been unnaturally cheerful that morning when Hoseok had told him about his plans to maybe visit Seokjin and any doubt had disappeared, faced with Yoongi’s gummy, translucent smile. Okay. So maybe it’s a little silly to feel so attached to the opinion of a ghost, but Yoongi has a really nice smile, and Hoseok is also kind of weak for nice ghost smiles.
...not that many ghosts have smiled in a particularly kind way (nor has Hoseok stuck around long enough to see any other ghosts smile), so maybe it’s just this one. That’s okay, Hoseok can live with that.
“I’m looking for Seokjin? Kim Seokjin?” he asks at the front desk, politely. The receptionist is sort of pretty, with lipstick the same shade as Dawon’s and she quickly waves him forward, towards a rather busy-looking room, and Hoseok quickly enters, hoping that he blends in a little, despite his t-shirt and jeans. Seokjin’s at a small cubicle, staring at a stack of paper with despondence, rather looking like he hoped they’d open up and eat him, and Hoseok feels like he’d arrived at a suitable time to save Seokjin from himself.
“Hey hyung.” Hoseok says, voice amused, dropping the stack of food on top of Seokjin’s paperwork, “Need a break?”
Seokjin’s eyes widen and he smiles widely at Hoseok, with that actor smile that never really fails to dazzle Hoseok, no matter how often he sees it. “Hey Hobi.” he says, surprise clouding his tone, as he pulls off his hat, to ruffle through his tousled hair, “I haven’t seen you in a while? How did moving go? I got swallowed by work, otherwise I’d have been right there.”
Hoseok shakes off Seokjin’s worries and leans back carefully against the wall of Seokjin’s cubicle, grinning a little as Seokjin immediately unboxes the food and takes in a deep sniff of the box. Some thins never change. “It’s been good! I found a good place in Hongdae, actually! The dance studio, the one I was telling you about, the one that does legit underground dancing competitions at night and does ballet and hip-hop during the day? There’s a bunch of officetels above the complex and I got one of those for real cheap, once I accepted employment.”
Seokjin’s eyes widen, in that way he always does when he’s listening to people properly, around a mouthful of pork, and he hastily swallows. “No way,” he says, in a hushed voice, “You really managed to get a job at a dance studio and a decent apartment out of it?”
“Right?” Hoseok says, feeling the excitement burst out of his voice, at such an enthusiastic reception. He loves talking with Seokjin because his excitement always feels multiplied in that way that Seokjin always manages so well. No wonder Seokjin’s a policeman, he always puts Hoseok at ease, even if they can occasionally still get awkward about things together. “It’s so cool, and even if you and Joon couldn’t help me move in, one of the other dance instructors’ friends is an old dance friend from Gwangju? Can you believe the odds?”
His shoulders evidently freeze up at the mention of Namjoon, but Seokjin keeps smiling and eating anyway, holding out his chopsticks for Hoseok to take a bite, savouring the feeling of pork. “That’s ridiculously lucky.” Seokjin agrees, easily enough, “Sorry I couldn’t be around though. We’ve been dealing with this huge extortion case around here. I bet you saw in the news? All those entertainment company CEOS being charged of embezzlement and mistreatment of employees. Lots of statements to collect and paperwork to sift through. Everybody’s been on overtime.” Seokjin shakes his head, licking the sauce off his lips, grim look on his face, “Terrible stuff, terrible stuff.”
Sympathetically nodding, Hoseok steals another piece of pork and picks up a piece of paper, recognizing the name of a famous dance team, working for some of the poorer idol groups in the world. “That sucks, I hadn’t actually heard about it.” Hoseok murmurs, placing the paper back down again, “But then, that’s the reason I refused to get involved with the big idol studios. I got recruited by JYP for my choreo, you know? But I turned them down, because it’s all corruption to the bottom.”
“Bottoms up to that.” Seokjin replies, darkly, as he stuffs three whole slices of pork in his mouth, and swallows with little to no difficulty, before realizing the pun and collapsing into laughter. Hoseok’s lips twitch at the sides, but only because of Seokjin’s surprised face, and not because of the inadvertent pun. “The worst part is,” Seokjin says, recovering a little, “It’s one of the best puns I’ve ever made and it wasn’t intentional.”
Hoseok laughs at this, and it lets a wave of amusement fall over his shoulders. He and Seokjin can go like this for a long time, stupid comments and funny dances and victory routines, but he’s really here for another purpose, so he doesn’t immediately respond, choosing instead to mess with the corners of one of Seokjin’s paper stacks. Seokjin’s many things, but he’s very adept at recognizing when the mood changes, and his laughter dies away, slowly, smile turning a little wry.
“It wasn’t just a social visit, right?” Seokjin asks, gently, closing the half-eaten pork box. “What did you need from me, Hoseokie?” Gone is the guy who’d roomed with Hoseok throughout college and babied Hoseok whenever he was down. This is the Kim Seokjin who’s a police police-officer, coaxing information out of the scared civilians, taking on the burden of knowledge into his arms, and as foreign as it feels, Hoseok knows that this is the Kim Seokjin he needs.
“There’s a case. About a guy who was murdered in my apartment a couple years back. Min Yoongi. I wanted to know about the details of his case? Whether they ever found who killed him? The internet doesn’t have anything further, beyond report of his death, and I wanted to know if the police had anything besides that.” Hoseok murmurs, feeling surprisingly composed for this.
Seokjin blinks, once, twice, clearly surprised, for anybody looking for signs, before he stands up fluidly, not asking any of the questions that Hoseok had been expecting, as he grabs his keys. Hoseok quickly stumbled after his deft steps, down the corridors that Seokjin navigates with ease. Glancing left and right, Seokjin unlocks a door and pulls Hoseok in with him quickly, locking the door again from the inside.
“You’re lucky that I have key access to everywhere, even if I’m not always technically supposed to be there.” Seokjin says, quietly heading over to the corner catalogue computer near the side of the room, typing in an access code. “What’s your guy’s name again?”
“Min Yoongi,” Hoseok says, leaning down over Seokjin’s shoulder, hooking his chin over Seokjin’s broad shoulders, as the computer slowly trawls through searches and brings up his files.
Name: Min Yoongi
Subject CSS #: 1778-Y65
Index Date: 13-07-2015
Date of Birth: 09-03-1993
Date of Death: 12-07-2015
Address: Apt #10, 125 Haengdang 1(il)-dong, Seongdong-gu, Seoul
RRN: 930309-1567377
Occupation: Composer
Height: 176cm
Weight: 59kg
Hairlength: Short
Hair Colour: Blond
Skin Tone: Pale
Eye Colour: Dark Brown
Notes: Murdered in apartment. Motive unknown, Stab wounds in three locations. From behind, some sort of ambush. Door forced open. No prints or DNA evidence around the apartment. No witnesses and interviewed suspects have no motives or believable alibis. No evident enemies.
Cased closed until further evidence gathered.
Hoseok groans, in disappointment, and moves away. Nothing. Not even a single lead.
“You know,” Seokjin comments, looking over the document, “There’s a hint in this, I think. It’s very clearly a murder. But whoever murdered him is clever enough to break in without any noticeable traces? They could have made this look like an accident and chose not to. Chose to make it obvious that this is a murder. That’s a clue in itself?”
It’s a consolation if anything, and Hoseok recognizes it. “Thank you anyway, Seokjin-hyung.” he murmurs, clapping a hand to Seokjin’s shoulder, glancing over the report once more, before noticing a small detail that could save him. “Are there transcripts of the interviews with the suspects?” Hoseok asks, fingers running over the small sentence, biting down on his lip.
Seokjin gives him a long look, expression unreadable over his porcelain face. “This is a lot of work for somebody who died in the apartment you live in.” he says, quietly.
Hoseok’s glance falls to his feet. Time to lie. It’s hard to fool Seokjin, but Hoseok’s pretty good at this. “It’s just. There’s this picture of him in the corner of my apartment. And he’s so youngand pretty and he’s the reason that I get such a cheap price on the officetel. Nobody else wanted to buy a place where somebody got murdered. And like. It’s stupid, I know. But I feel like I owe it to figure out how he died.” Voice shaky, hands clenching in and out, and well, it’s not that hard to fake the emotion in his voice. Just thinking about someone murdering the annoying, funny, pretty ghost in his apartment makes him sad and confused.
Seokjin’s face is twisted into a sad smile. “You always did have a bleeding heart.” he says, softly, as he taps some more buttons on the old computer, “Somehow, I keep thinking it ought to have been you right here, trying to save the world, not me.” Straightening a little, before Hoseok can get in a word edgeways, he logs out, quickly. “Sent to your email. Now come on, get out of here before I get in trouble for slacking with the stuff I have to trawl through.”
For a moment, Hoseok considers saying something, anything to alleviate whatever struggles are going through his head, but in the end, just exhales. “Thank you hyung.” he says, quietly, “It means a lot to me.”
Seokjin doesn’t reply, just nods, in acquiescence.