Chapter Text
The first clue Dennis got on why his apartment was so cheap came from the bathroom mirror.
“DIE” it read, in angry blood red letters.
“Well then,” Dennis thought.
“My name is Dennis, it’s very nice to meet you,” he said out loud. He wasn’t sure whatever haunted the house was even sentient, it certainly wasn’t friendly, but it never hurt to be polite.
The next day, he bought an Ouija board.
It turned out that he didn’t need the Ouija board after all.
The ghost looked young. No older than 16. The sight of it breaks his heart a little, where he didn’t know he had one.
It smiled and said, “I’m gonna gut you like a fish and put you on display right here in this bathroom.”
And all Dennis could think of was the number of apartments he was rejected from, the apologetic smiles and the little record in his pocket. And he thought I don’t want to lose this. He thought I can’t.
So Dennis said, “Would you like to see a card trick first?”
He performed over two mugs of coffee, cheap instant shit but carefully made. The sweet aroma hung in the air as he held out a card and asked: “was it the Starve Venom Dragon?”
“You ever plan to just finish the job? I can help you if you don’t have the guts,” the ghost whispered beside his ear.
Hearing that was, somehow, surprisingly comforting. It was, ironically, the closest thing he can afford to real counseling.
“Nah,” Dennis let out a little laugh, putting the razor away, “I’m just weighing my options.”
“You want to die?” The ghost asked.
“No,” the magician shook his head, “but living is pretty exhausting sometimes.”
“This is unfair,” the ghost, presumably displeased, threw a roll of toilet paper at Dennis’s head, which bounced off and unraveled itself on the tiled floor pathetically, “you’re alive and you’re not even enjoying it.”
At that moment, Dennis felt immense empathy with the roll of toilet paper on the ground.
Dennis shrugged, “Sorry. Kind of silly, I know.”
“What do you do out there?” the ghost asked.
Dennis shrugs, “life stuff. I work, mostly.”
“And here I thought you liked your job.”
“It gets me paid,” he shrugged. He remembered a time when he was younger, back when he was the same age as Yuri, when he looked at the television screen and saw the performance of Sakaki Yusho. He remembered wild dreams of the spotlight of Broadway, of Hollywood. He remembered the dim light of the bar, the dull glint of pistols, bills and bags passed from under the counter, the dampness of hot, drunken breath against his neck.
“I wanted to be a Pro-Duelist,” said Yuri, “back when I was alive.“
“Like, with the cardgame?” Dennis asked.
“Yeah,” the ghost nodded.
Dennis let out a chuckle, and he thought his dreams were ridiculous. This, of course, earned him a slam against the wall and a shattered cologne bottle. The smell of suffocating sweetness spread across the room.
“Haha, sorry, sorry,” he caught his breath, “I just, didn’t expect to hear that, I suppose. Not a typical career choice.”
“Hey,” Dennis laughed against the ceramic tiles, he could see Yuri in the reflection, standing over him, “let’s go out somewhere, together. There gotta be a Tournament happening somewhere in town. Maybe get dinner after?”
“I can’t leave this house,” said Yuri.
“That’d be a problem, wouldn’t it?” Dennis picked himself up from the floor, “how ‘bout if you possess me?”
“I thought you didn’t want to die.”
“Wait, would that kill me?”
“No, but how would you know I wouldn’t leap out the window in your body?”
“Well, you haven’t killed me yet,” Dennis brushed himself off and re-rolled the toilet paper, using some of it to soak the cologne. He wondered, briefly, if it’ll last if he put it in a zip-lock bag. He’d just have to carry a piece of toilet paper in his pocket every time he goes to work.
“‘Sides,” he smiled, a row of straight white teeth, “there are things more interesting than murder out there.”
“Yeah,” the ghost said, “I guess there are.” Yuri had the widest grin on its face, and through the mirror reflection, Dennis could see that he was beautiful.