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Jeongin wakes up with a start, a forced inhale getting clogged in his throat, rendering him a hacking mess at the ungodly hours of dusk. Horrifyingly vivid images from his nightmare flit through his mind’s eye, what could be the hundredth instance of his brother meeting a merciless, bloody end right in front of him.
The nightmares began a few nights after his older brother’s disappearance. A month and counting and his family’s decided that there is simply no hope left. Whether his body is rotting away beneath some random patch of dirt in the middle of the woods or he’s barely hanging on by a thread in some psycho’s basement, Jeongin’s parents have simply given up. Part of him gets them; it’s hard clinging onto some desperate hope, praying his brother is alive and just waiting to be found. But there’s no leads, no suspects, not even an atom of a trace. One day he’s joking around with Jeongin over breakfast, the next he’s just… gone.
Realistically, Jeongin knows, in the deepest pit of his mind where his rationality clutches on with the dying wisps of its claws, his brother’s gone for good. But there’s also this feeling— this sixth sense, you could say—that it’s not as straightforward as a psychotic kidnapping or cold-blooded murder. Though, anyone else would simply call him desperate.
Jeongin refuses to budge. His brother’s still out there, his mind screams. His nightmares only fuel his determination to find him. To find the truth.
He throws on a sweatshirt that’s been draped on the back of his chair for well over a week now, a poor shield against the late night frost he’s met with once he tiptoes out the front door and escapes into the city. It’s silent, eerily so, a navy shadow sheathing the earth in an almost tangible fog. He swallows thickly, head turning this way and that, a familiar routine he’s built up over the past few days. Not a soul in sight, not even a stray cat or the buzzing of an insect. Just him and the dead of Seoul.
He starts to walk down the familiar pavement, a path well-acquainted, with steady steps; left foot then right then left again. His eyes are fixed ahead, watching the midnight shadow part with his every step to make way. He trots through neon lit signs and loud chatter before slowing to a stroll once the voices ebb away into nothingness once again.
He halts in front of high metal bars, blocking away the inexplicable chill that seems to emanate from the enclosed field of worn away gravestones and scattered oak. A shiver racks his whole body, and as he opens the gate, he slips through the slightest gap; he thinks he’ll never really get used to the nausea that settles deep in his belly every time he steps inside, almost like he’s walking into another dimension, a different world.
He pulls his phone out his pocket and turns on the flashlight, training it ahead of him and weaving through the headstones as he ventures deeper inside the cemetery with a one-track mind, only stopping when he spots the plaque that has a shine to it which most of the graves don’t. That’s because only last week did his family decide to hold an empty-casket funeral for his older brother. Jeongin didn’t attend, and contrary to his expectations, his parents didn’t push him to.
He switches off the light, letting darkness engulf his senses once again, the faint moonlight aiding him in making out the outline of the gravestone which bears the engraving, ‘ Yang Jeongsoo 1998-2023 Beloved son, brother and friend’, and his face screws up in instinctual protest of the decided truth.
“You're not dead.” Jeongin mutters, shaky with a kind of feral anger that ignites every cell in his body at the mere thought of his brother’s disappearance. “You can't be.” He repeats, has been for the handful of times he’s come to this same spot, standing stock still facing his missing brother’s empty grave. “You’ll be back, hyung, I know you will. I’ll find you. I’ll find out who did this. You're still alive, I know it—”
“Nope.” A foreign voice makes Jeongin recoil violently, choking out a gasp as he whips his head in every direction, hands fumbling with his phone as he attempts to turn on the flashlight.
After a painful stretch of time he finally gets it on, adrenaline speeding through him in a deluge when the light shines on a man perched on top of the gravestone on his right. His immediate thought is the man must be a fucking psycho for hanging around the cemetery and sitting on gravestones at 2 am midnight. He realizes it’s a tad hypocritical considering how he too is loitering around a grave and screaming into the void, but at least he isn’t being immoral.
“What the fuck?” are the first words he’s able to muster, escaping him in an incredulous exhale.
“Ay, a bit rude, aren’t you?” he gets a better look at the man; short black hair, big eyes, sickly pale skin that almost looks translucent under the white flash. Jeongin thinks he’s just hallucinating when the light seems to pierce right through the figure.
“Are you crazy? Why’re you sitting on a gravestone in the mid—”
“In the middle of the night, yes, yes. Rich, coming from you. ” the man pointedly drags his eyes over Jeongin, a judgemental quirk to his lips.
“At least I'm not lounging around on someone’s grave like some deranged psycho.” Jeongin sneers, the pounding of his heart calming down ever so slightly, though he's still very guarded, a foot pivoted, ready to make a run for it at the barest sign of danger.
“Whatever helps you sleep, kid. Your brother’s dead though, just so you know.” the man says nonchalantly, scanning his nails, completely oblivious to the raging fury bubbling inside Jeongin.
“ What did you just say?” Jeongin grits, seething, hands balled into fists as he suppresses the urge to lunge at the man.
The man looks up then, meeting his eyes dead-on, lips pulling into a Cheshire grin. “Little bro, your. Brother. Is. Dead.” the man drawls, punctuating every single word with a patronizing amusement coloring his tone.
With an animalistic growl, Jeongin drops his phone on the dirt and dives forward, fist swinging towards the grinning madman. He’s sure the man doesn’t move since he saw him remain seated with that infuriating grin on his face even as Jeongin closed the distance. Yet, when he throws a punch, right on target, where he’s sure the man’s face is, it doesn’t connect with anything. No sickening smack of bone against bone. Just thin air. A little… cold maybe, but air nonetheless.
Dread takes seed in his chest, rapidly blooming into horror when he steps back, his joints suddenly feeling creaky and robotic, and he sees the man’s still in his spot, unmoved. He begins to inch back, slowly, body feeling like it weighs a metric ton and legs refusing to cooperate.
“Wh-what are you?” he whispers, a strangled stutter.
The man’s grin widens, almost manic in nature, and he finally shifts to uncross his legs and jump off the stone. Jeongin shrieks, leaping backwards and tripping over his feet to land on his butt, hands planted on the dirt behind him, immediately groping around in search of his previously discarded phone.
“Why, I’m just your neighborhood Casper of course.” The man flashes his teeth, what should be a textbook friendly grin looking increasingly more sinister as the realization dawns on Jeongin.
“ Gh-ghost?! ” Jeongin squeaks, eyes practically bulging out his sockets from sheer terror.
“ Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” the man cheers, mocking and exaggerated.
“F-fuck you!” Jeongin’s trembling all over, finally finding his phone and squeezing it tightly. Every cell of his being is screaming at him to run, but he’s frozen by fear and all he can do is helplessly watch as the ghost pads over to him, tantalizingly slow.
“Hmm.” the man halts right in front of Jeongin, towering over him, a menacing aura seeping out his translucent figure. “You wanna find out what happened to him, don’t you?” the man tilts his head in faux sincerity.
Jeongin’s brows furrow in puzzlement, not really following where the question was leading. Though, he supposes he does want to know what happened to his brother—not that he'd take a ghost's word for it. He gives a jerky nod nonetheless, curious enough to see where this goes.
“Meet me at Yonghwa palace.”
Jeongin’s face twists in contemplation as he tries to recall the familiar name which is on the tip of his tongue. “Yonghwa…” He pauses, before realization finally strikes him and his eyes widen in disbelief. “The abandoned mansion? Where the entire family was murdered ?!” He exclaims, exasperated horror crawling under his skin at the blank look the ghost flashes at him. “You're shitting me, why the fuck would i follow a fucking— whatever you are—to an abandoned murder house?!”
The man scoffs. “Bit rude, I have a name, y’know?”
“What?” Jeongin feels befuddled by the ghost’s sudden fixation.
“ Minho. I'm not just a ‘ whatever’ .” Minho rolls his eyes.
“O–kay…still not following your creepy ass to a fucking abandoned house.” Jeongin practically jumps to his feet, making quick work of turning around, ready to make a run for it.
“Your loss.” Minho shrugs, unbothered, and something about that irks Jeongin, but he isn't ready to start a fight with a ghost who could potentially send him to the afterlife—or worse—so he just wordlessly bolts in the direction of the gate, praying to God that the ghost didn't decide to turn violent and chase him down.
He only glances back once in trepidation, fearful that the ghost might be chasing him, but to his relief there is no specter in sight and he swiftly slips out the gate and into the ghostless night.
He can't fall asleep, thoughts circling back to the paranormal encounter he's just had and what it all means. Minho says that he knows what happened to his brother, and Jeongin would be lying if he says he isn't a little curious, but he isn't so moronic that he’ll take a fucking poltergeists word for anything. Especially not when it tries to lure him into a deserted murder mansion—Jeongin’s watched enough horror movies to know that agreeing would be the stupidest move ever.
But when the next day rolls around and he’s going through his mundane daily routine, all he can do is think about that rude ghost and his proposal.
Against his better judgment, Jeongin ends up going to the cemetery again, telling himself that it's for his own mental need and not for a chance to talk to the ghost again.
He stands at the gate, phone’s flashlight set to the max and illuminating the stretch of headstones surrounding him. He scans the yard, looking to see if the ghost from the night before is there or not but his search comes up empty. He deflates, tense muscles unwinding in relief (and a hint of disappointment) and he takes a step forward.
“You're here again.”
Jeongin screams, jerking so hard he flies off the ground for a second and drops his phone.
“ Jesus, if I had eardrums they'd burst cuz of you.” Minho says, zooming in front of Jeongin with an irritated twist of his features.
“ Fuck you !” Jeongin exclaims, both hands clutching at his chest and heaving breaths in an attempt to calm his galloping heart.
Minho pointedly rakes his eyes from Jeongin’s face down to his legs then back up to his face with an all too smug smirk. “I wouldn't be opposed.”
Jeongin has many questions, especially on how exactly a ghost could fuck a human being—he realizes as he has that thought that there are way more important matters at hand—but decides against entertaining them and leans down to pick up his pitiful phone. He shoots the ghost his most intimidating glare and stomps towards his brother’s gravestone.
Minho follows, quietly chuckling behind him, and when Jeongin halts, he rounds him and stops right in front. This time, he doesn't desecrate some random person’s grave by perching atop their stone and Jeongin internally appreciates that.
“So…here to find out what happened or are you going to scream at the empty grave again?” Minho asks conversationally.
Jeongin scowls. “What I do is none of your business. Go away.” He whips his head to the front so that he’s looking anywhere but at the smug-faced poltergeist.
“Is that so…well then, if I wanna stay here, that too is none of your business. It's a cemetery. Public property, kid.”
“ Not a fucking kid.” Jeongin grits out, resolutely staring at the engraving of his brother’s name.
“You are to me.” Minho sing-songs.
The poor excuse of a conversation dies down then; no more of Minho urging Jeongin to go to that house or provoking him about his brother. Just silence.
Silence is how the time passes until Jeongin decides he’s had enough of wordlessly standing in the middle of the cemetery at unholy hours of the morning. He stalks away without so much as a glance in Minho’s direction. The ghost takes no offense, simply tracks his departure with a Cheshire grin.
It becomes an odd addition to his routine, something Jeongin is fearfully aware of; get through his day, struggle to fall asleep, sneak out to the cemetery and loiter by his brother’s grave, accompanied by the unwanted presence of the annoying specter. Minho’s persistence in talking slowly chips away at Jeongin’s walls and before he even realizes, he’s started to reply to his drivel.
Minho’s apparently an over-sharer, divulging in Jeongin the most random anecdotes from his life, talking about a bunch of people like his friends or family or colleagues, things Jeongin pretends to take zero interest in despite absorbing every single word. A lot of oddly familiar names pop up, names Jeongin can assign faces to despite how he probably shouldn’t. Chan and Seungmin are common names, surely. Just because his brother’s best friends also share the same names, doesn’t allude to any deeper connection with Minho. Jeongin doesn’t recall a ‘Minho’ in his brother’s life, none that resemble the handsome, cat-like man who’s positively fuming as he recounts some past incident with his Seungmin where the latter apparently shoved ice down his pants because he was complaining too much about the temperature.
“Serves you right.” Jeongin splutters a laugh, a sound startled out of him.
“Oh, fuck you. Kim Seungmin would fucking love an annoying brat like you.” Minho scoffs.
Jeongin freezes, feels his heart stop pumping for a millisecond as the name echoes in the empty chambers of his skull.
No way could this be their Kim Seungm—
“Kim Seungmin?” his voice pitches way too loud and stern for the dead of the night, effectively catching even Minho off-guard enough to have his incessant grumbling die down. He raises a questioning brow, assessing Jeongin’s shaken countenance as the latter fumbles to gather any coherent thoughts. “Kim Seungmin, law graduate, photography hobbyist, friends with Jeongsoo-hyung since grade school—”
“ Bingo !” Minho shoots him a finger gun but Jeongin doesn’t have it in him to react to his irritating bullshit, a disturbing nausea settling deep in the pits of his stomach.
“You knew Jeongsoo?” Jeongin’s voice quivers, words choked out from the growing lump in his throat. Minho doesn’t comment, simply looking more amused as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“Yeup. Through Seungmin, aka my best friend. Wasn’t super close with Jeongsoo but we hung out a fair few times with the boys.”
Jeongin hunches over from where he’s situated on the ground, arms coming up to hug himself, squeezing at his trembling shoulders in a vain attempt at stopping them. He only shakes more.
“And…how do you know my brother’s dead?” he asks, head drooping down, face buried between his raised knees, voice faint and wispy.
“Again, Jeongin-ah,” Minho says, voice infinitely softer than it has ever been when speaking to Jeongin with his characteristic snark. Jeongin doesn’t have the mind to pay attention to the familiarity and endearment with which he says his name. “It’s not something I can tell you.”
Jeongin snaps his head up, eyes wide and bloodshot with unbridled fury as he pins the ghost with his glare. “And why is that?! Why can’t you just fucking tell me? Why are you trying to lure me into that fucking murder house?!”
Minho’s unfazed, that same enraging smug smirk adorning his lips. “The universe works in mysterious ways, Jeongin-ah. I don’t have an answer for that.”
Jeongin shoots up into a standing position, body trembling from anger instead of fear like before—or perhaps, an amalgamation of the two. Oftentimes, the emotions go hand in hand, fear kickstarting his fight-or-flight and throwing him into a maddened frenzy.
He balls his fists by his side, knuckles peeking through the already pale flesh. “ Fuck you and your fucking riddles and nonsensical bullshit about my brother’s supposed death. Now you’re telling me you were friends and you know something and can’t tell me?! ‘ The universe works in mysterious ways’? Who in their right fucking mind will buy this shit? Fucking die again for all I care, I better not catch another glimpse of you in my life!” he bellows out into the void of night, thinks he sees something shift in the ghost’s face, expression going steely and smirk tightening into something alarmingly cold.
“Noted.” is all Minho monotones before dematerializing, melding into the night sky.
Jeongin’s left heaving from the dregs of anger burning furiously within him, body pivoting backwards before he bursts into a run, flashing out the cemetery gates, feet pounding on the sidewalks as he rushes back home. He doesn’t bother keeping quiet as he goes inside and flings his shoes off his feet, doesn’t bother keeping them back on the rack before he speeds into his bedroom and flops onto the mattress, burying a silent scream in his pillow.
He doesn’t go to the cemetery anymore, not for another week, the longest he’s gone without visiting his brother’s empty casket ever since the funeral. The names ‘Minho’ and ‘Yonghwa’ circle his mind non stop at every second of every day, the nightmares picking up their game and getting infinitely worse than they already were. He doesn’t get a moment of actual rest and by the time he makes up his mind to march into the abandoned mansion, he’s running on pure adrenaline and desperation for the truth.
Yonghwa Palace is pretty close to the cemetery itself, the graveyard practically a garden of death for the mansion. An instinctual fear creeps up his spine as soon as he stops in front of the gates of the home, blaring at him to turn away and run, get away as far from the sinister place as he possibly can. He isn’t inclined to listen.
He tiptoes through the gate, rusty metal creaking a deafening noise in the middle of the night, making him wince in distaste as he walks inside. As expected, the front doors are guarded with police tape, cautioning anyone from trespassing into the crime scene. It’s been well over a few years since the tragedy already, though the state has no intention of opening the doors to the place anytime soon.
He easily dislodges the door-lock with a few strong bangs of a hammer he was smart enough to carry and maneuvers his body over the tape, stepping inside the gigantic house. The temperature seems to drop a few degrees immediately, an otherworldly frost almost. He shivers, full-bodied and out of his control the deeper he stalks inside the house. It’s too dark, the only parts of the house he can make out being the expensive tiles his phone’s flashlight shines on and the large, winding staircase he’s approaching.
Halfway up the staircase, he pauses, a fleeting shadow caught in the corner of his eye. His left hand finds purchase on the railing on reflex as he scans his surroundings with the limited light. His breath catches in his throat when it shines upon a figure, a face all too familiar, an unnatural translucence to the skin and ghastly laceration across the throat, wound gaping open and painted in blood.
“J-jeongsoo—” Jeongin’s heart is battering against his ribcage, chest heaving as he hyperventilates, choking on air when an invisible force wraps around his neck and squeezes as the rest of his body is rendered immovable.
He can feel every cell in his body yet he can’t move, an inexplicable force paralyzing his muscles and keeping him trapped in place, perched precariously on the very edge of the step, significantly high up from the floor. Jeongsoo—or whatever’s left of him in the state he’s in—is slowly approaching Jeongin, face betraying no emotion, completely dull and deadpan. Jeongin can’t tear his eyes away from the slice on his neck, the reality of his brother’s death pounding into him at the force of a train, crushing him inch by agonizing inch as his vision begins to blur from the lack of air.
All of a sudden it’s as if he’s being yanked up to the surface from underwater as he hears his name being yelled into his eardrum and the invisible hold on his body lets go. It’s too abrupt and by the time he regains consciousness, he’s already falling, body careening backwards before he can move his fingers to hold onto the railing. His brother’s ghost is gone and his vision is instead replaced by Lee Minho , who’s gawking at him in panic, spectral body set in motion towards him. Jeongin screws his eyes shut in anticipation of the impending impact with the hard floor but instead finds his back making contact with a soft body, icy even through his thick jacket.
He passes out, the last thing the remnants of his consciousness registering being the unintelligible mutterings of a voice he finds both incredibly annoying and oddly soothing.
He comes to with a start, body pillowed on concrete, gasping for air. Immediately, he sits up, head whipping every which way to know where he is before his eyes land on Minho, sitting a distance away from him on his left.
“Minho!” Jeongin screeches, scrambling to move closer to the startled ghost, catching him off-guard by referring to him by his name instead of some insulting alternative to demons and the likes.
“Jeongin-ah, are you stupid?! ” isn’t what Jeongin was exactly expecting, though he figures after what had transpired he deserves it. He still winces, feeling more than a little mortified.
“You wanted me to go—”
“Yeah, with me knowing you were gonna be there! I wasn’t there, if I hadn’t made it in time—”
“Minho.” Jeongin says, soft yet unwavering, eyes trained on the ground as he inhales a stuttering breath. “ Please. Just tell me what’s going on.” then a beat before he adds, “ Including how the fuck I didn’t break my bones falling off the stairs.”
Minho holds his stare for a tantalizingly dragged out moment, face carefully impassive before he breaks out into a long suffering sigh. Jeongin doesn’t bother restraining an eye-roll.
“So, my brother was walking you back to your place, and on the way, you two find an… old lady? Who needed help carrying something, to this fucking abandoned mansion—”
“We were drunk—” Minho grumbles futilely as Jeongin continues.
“And you get brutally murdered by whatever spirit or demon or whatever the fuck, and are stuck here as evil spirits until someone puts you to rest by…burning your remains?” Jeongin summarizes, voice painted in disbelief. “The fuck is this, Supernatural?”
“Man, I loved that show. Until I started living it.” Minho comments. “As a fucking ghost.”
“So—why aren’t you evil? But, my brother is? And—”
“I don’t know, Jeongin-ah. I really don’t. I don’t even know why I can only speak of my death when I'm within the bounds of this mansion, and I can’t even leave the vicinity of the graveyard. It’s all just—I dunno—weird ghost rules or something. I don’t have any answers, all I know is that there’s a decent chance I’ll at least be free if you set fire to my dead body. And if that doesn’t work…well, shit.” Minho shrugs.
Jeongin shoots him an empathetic grimace. “And, how were you able to save me? I mean, right now you’re back to being…” Jeongin swipes a hand through Minho’s forearm, flesh going right through the ghost’s holographic body.
“Sometimes I can become corporeal, but for very brief moments. I feel like I just died all over again when I do though, it’s very draining.”
“Huh.” Jeongin says unceremoniously.
“Yeup.” Minho replies, popping the ‘p’.
“I’ll help.” Jeongin interrupts the silence after a long minute, seemingly having made up his mind. He looks up and catches Minho already facing him, a pretty smile unlike all his smug, teasing ones gracing his lips. Jeongin smiles back. “I help free you two.