Summary: a cold hearted teenage psychic doesn’t care for simple humans. So why do these humans care for her so much?
Info: reader is mostly talking through telepathy. Yes this is implied Saiki k!reader. Reader has green colored glasses and you can see her for having pink hair or not. Although pink hair is mentioned.
Genre: friendship // fluff // Drabble
Wc: 204
“..I want pudding.” You said into their heads, using telepathy. The party, they paused whatever they were doing. Seeing you stand there with that same cold-hearted stare.
Immediately the others rushed to find you some, leaving you to think about how it even came to being part of the party.
It wasn’t sad enough to be dragged into some bullshit all because you happened to be in the same lab Eleven escaped out of.
You were 000, zero. Strange right? Well, you’ve seen more things than being called a zero. You were simply an anomaly.
So why care for others when you can just care for yourself? Well, it’s hard to know when literally the group you’re now associated with cares for you more than they do themselves.
Being dragged into their troubles with demogorgans, Vecna, the mindflayer, etc. you didn’t expect them to be on your soft side. Well, Mike isn’t really fully on it despite SAYING he is.
Your purple soulless eyes, pink hair and green glasses are what made you known around Hawkins, you could’ve changed your appearance easily, making people forget about you. But even if you did, you’ll just end up alone. So why care… why do you care…. About them.
A fun little idea that’s very quickly written. Apologies for mistakes, I should be sleeping but brain wouldn’t allow.
Your alarm is blaring. It’s loud and obnoxious and screams for you to wake. You don’t want to but you have to “seize the day” as one would say. You turn to your side and hit snooze though, shutting it up and deciding that five more minutes won’t hurt. You had such a wonderful dream that you want to get back to it. It was about you being rich and never having to work another day in your life.
“Yer gonna be late again for work, lass.”
Your eyes pop open as you scream, balling your fist and punching the man that lays down on your bed. Your fist phases right on through though and he laughs so loudly that you wished you could actually hit him.
“Ah, ouch, lass. That hurt.” He feigns pain, rubbing his face and he grins like the Cheshire Cat itself.
“Johnny,” you rub your temples. Your want for sleeping in is fleeting, “how many times do I have to tell you. The beds off limits.” Glaring at your ghostly companion.
“Ye said, Johnny, make sure I stay awake even when my alarm goes off,” he mimics your voice horribly, really laying on an abnormally high pitch to make you wish you couldn’t hear. He places a hand against his cheek and the other comes around to tap your forehead. You shiver when you can feel the cool sensation, you’ve never gotten used to that. “S’not my fault ye keep sleepin’ in.”
“Yeah, yeah,” flinching when your alarm goes off once more. You groan even louder than before as you turn the alarm off. You sit and rub your face till it hurts. “Alright,” you feel his hand pressing and nudging on your back. You swipe at him like a hissing cat and tumble off your welcoming, warm bed. He laughs and lays still as you move around sluggishly. You walk out of your room even when you can hear your bed weeping for you and head to your kitchen.
Grabbing a tea bag, a mug, and pouring water from the sink in it before placing it in the microwave. Pressing the buttons and you watch the light flicker on the mug spinning slowly. There’s a growing heavy weight against your back, it press well against your shoulder and even when you try to shove him away. He doesn’t budge, a mountain of cold, hard steel that doesn’t move even when you say his name. “Simon,” you whine, trying to push him away but alas, your hands phase through him just like it did with Johnny.
“You need a kettle,” he says with so much disappointment in his brown eyes. There’s an atrocity happening before him, actually it’s happened many times. You’ve flat out refused to even boil the water on at least a pot. “I feel like I’m dying again just watching this.” He leans ever more and you’re damn near fused to your counter.
“Okay, okay,” the microwave beeps and you open it to grab your mug. Wincing and trying to hold the hot ceramic handle without it peeling your skin off. “I’ll buy a kettle this time around.” You say as you have many times over, “can you move? Please?” You hear him sigh like he’s suffering and he leaves. Disappears off into the nether and probably won’t come back until you pour him a glass of his favorite whiskey as an apology. “Fucking Brit’s.” Grumbling your annoyance as you dump your sugar and stir it in the cooling liquid. Not even bothering to blow as you drink it. You don’t really get the difference but somehow it’s always an offense when Simon sees you do that.
“He’s right,” John sits on your recliner. A cigar in hand and even though he’s as ghostly as the others he manages to find a way to smoke in your house. “That’s no way to drink a tea.” Of course he’d jump in on this, though you think he might only do that just to get a rise out of you.
“Buy me a kettle and make me a tea.” Holding the mug against your face. Drinking it defiantly and Kyle comes through a wall as quickly as you say that.
“You banned us from making drinks or food.” Holding a finger out as he nods in making his point. John grunts in agreement, smoke somehow puffing around in swirls.
“For good reason, Kyle.” The last time they tried to do anything it was a mess. And not in the incompetent way but more in the paranormal why is everything floating kinda way. “There was tomato sauce splattered on my ceiling! The ceiling,” placing your mug down on the counter. “I had to get a ladder to clean it.”
“Didnae ken that would happen when I touched the damn thing.” You hear Johnny somewhere in the room but have yet to spot him. Probably hovering in a dark spot as usual when he plans on scaring you by grabbing you. He seems miffed about the incident since he’s the main reason why they’re all banned. “Ye were sick at the time. We just wanted to help.”
That makes you feel a little guilty. Your ghosts do try to help around as much as they can but sometimes their paranormalness doesn’t always work well in your house nor around objects. So far they’ve been able to touch you with no problem but with other things though… somtimes they will float or get weird with the temperature, your hairbrush has been freezing cold here lately… one of them probably snooped around your bathroom again. You’ve gotten as used to your roommates as best as you can. Your ability allows you to see and hear hem as clear as day while others can’t. It’s a blessing and a curse with your wonderful little ability despite the learning curve.
The curve being that there’s ghosts in your house.
“Ah, shit,” Kyle pulls you from your thoughts. “You need to hurry, you’re gonna be running late again.” Kyle, ever the one to keep you on your goals quickly points that out as he looks at the time.
“Oh, son of a bitch!” You fly down the hall back to your room to get dressed. Forgoing buying breakfast on the way even when John yells for you to do so. You hobble to get your shoes on and nearly roll out your door to get to your car. Not even bothering to lock your house since your ghostly apparitions won’t allow an intruder to do harm. You slam your foot on the gas after reversing and drive off to your job. Blasting music down the road to get your mood right for the next eight hours.
ft. Chenle, Renjun, Yangyang, & Ten as supporting cast
summary:
Born with the ability to see ghosts, you’ve spent your days guiding lost souls to the afterlife. This time around, however, everything taught to you is flipped on its head when a ghost finds you first. Polite, kind, and mysteriously tied to your side, Jeno remembers little more than his name–and the fact that he’s not dead. At least, not yet.
warnings: mentions of death (no graphic descriptions; mostly existentialism & grief), ghost fighting/hunting, minor horror elements
playlist: supernatural (ariana grande) | body & soul (emotional oranges) | juna (clairo) | 4me4me (malcolm todd) | echo (the marias) | out of time (the weeknd)
a/n: Happy Halloween everyone! this kind of AU is super different and new for me heh - hope you guys enjoy! ( ◠‿◠ )♡
On your days off from being a guide for the dead, you prefer to stay in and disconnect from the outside world entirely. No after-hours working, no late nights writing, and no ghosts to worry about.
That’s what you’d like to focus on, anyway, if your boss wasn’t blowing up your phone with emails essentially all saying the same thing: File your paperwork.
“Bureaucracy,” you mutter as you type away on your laptop. A movie rolls in the background as you detail the previous day’s events. While you understand the need to document the time, place, and method in which you shuttled spirits to their next stop in the afterlife, you hate writing reports. Referring to each spirit with a case number feels less like objective evidence and more like impersonal erasure of their history and personality from when they were alive.
You’ve gotten through three quarters of the way when your phone vibrates with a message from your coworker, Chenle.
Hey, wanna see a movie with me and Renjun later? It’s a new indie film that’s out. Ton of drama around it, apparently, but it’s getting great reviews. Breakout rookie, too.
You frown at your phone. You feel bad, since you end up turning down at least half of his requests to hang out, but you really do need this time to be alone. The surge in cases lately leaves you with little social capacity in your free time.
Sorry can’t make it, need to finish a report. You know I usually just go for re-runs, anyway.
The response comes immediately: Rude, but I get it. What’s on for tonight?
You hesitate. You could easily lie, but you opt to tell the truth.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Wow, depressing, he responds, but somehow so you
You snort. I’m going to take that as a compliment. Have fun!
Another immediate response. You too. Sucks that you’re writing reports, but at least it will get Ten off your ass.
Your boss, Ten, continuously refers to you as one of his top performers, but you have a hard time believing it. You’re surprised that he still says it in the first place, considering you never finish reports on time and disagree with most of his suggested approaches. At this point, you’re surprised that the Spirit Hunters allow you to practice under their discretion.
You sigh for the millionth time as you add the final touches on your document. Shutting your laptop closed, you lean back against your couch and release a deep exhale. On days like these, you question if life will always be this cyclical and mundane. Work, evade, decompress, then always work again.
Then, your lamp on the end table crashes to the floor. You open your eyes to complete darkness in your apartment.
A chill runs down your spine–the long, creeping kind that sends your instincts into high alert. You know this sensation well; you’re sure that you’re within the presence of a ghost.
You fish in your pocket to get a hand on Renjun’s newest technology–supposedly the contraption could capture and contain ghosts, but you still haven’t put it to use. Such methods are usually too violent for your liking, even when they’re conveniently portable.
Still, you don’t know what you’re dealing with, and it can’t hurt to have something violent on hand. You fumble around in the dark until your hands find the lightswitch to the kitchen lights.
You brace yourself as your eyes adjust to the light, and you swing the hand holding Renjun’s invention back behind your head. There, hunched over the pieces of your broken lamp, is the wispy apparition of a man around your age.
“Oh!” He says while looking over his shoulder. “I thought I could pick up the pieces while you looked for the lightswitch, but…” He looks down at the muted hues of his form. “I’m not very effective like this.”
You let out a deep breath of relief. Your shoulder lowers, and you place Renjun’s invention on the kitchen counter. “...Don’t worry about the lamp,” you say. “It’s just thrifted, anyway.”
The ghost’s shoulders relax. “Well, that’s a relief, then.”
Your brain takes in all of the facts in front of you. He holds his posture high and has a very clean cut appearance–styled hair, expensive watch–and he remains near your broken lamp with his hands tucked in his pockets. Paired with the strong structure of his face, he would give the impression of an intimidating man with influence–if it weren’t for his sheepish demeanor. His facial expression wide and head tilted, he reminds you of a dog waiting for his next command.
“...What’s your name?” You ask.
“Jeno.”
“Nice to meet you, Jeno.” Your words come out clipped and light, like you’re talking to a child. “How did you find your way into my apartment?”
He squints at you. “I don’t know.”
“You…don’t know.” You wrinkle your nose. In almost every instance, you sought out the spirits of the dead yourself; the entire purpose for joining Ten’s agency was so that people called you in for help. Otherwise, it’s much too hard to find any organically. There had been one coincidence when a neighbor passed away a few doors down–you’d run straight into the ghost instead of the physical person in the hallway–but that was it. Never in all these years had a ghost sought you out first. Let alone spawn in the comfort of your own home.
Jeno raises his palms in the air. “I only remember regaining consciousness in your kitchen just now. Nothing else.”
You frown, although it’s more to yourself than at him. Amnesia? It’s not uncommon immediately following death, but you hadn’t encountered a case like this in a long time.
Most souls are able to find their way off the mortal plane of their own volition. The stragglers left behind typically suffer from some form of unfulfillment; vengeful ghosts immediately seek out their target, and remorseful ghosts attach themselves to the closest connection of their regrets or unrealized dreams. On very rare occasions, you encounter true lost souls with no connection at all to their mortal selves.
You can work with memory loss. However, that doesn’t answer your central question.
“Have we met somewhere before?”
He shrugs. “If we have, I don’t remember.”
“Right,” you swallow. You’re sure that you’ve never seen or met this man in your entire life. Of all your loved ones that have already crossed over, you’ve never once been the target of one’s post-mortem attachment. Why now, with a complete stranger?
You cross your arms. “I understand that you’ve lost your memories, but is there really nothing else calling to you? No urge to find someone or something specific? Even if you don’t know exactly what that would be?”
“I was curious about where I ended up,” he hesitates. “I, uh, can’t make it too far away from you, though. I tried.”
Your blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”
“Stand by the front door and I’ll show you.”
You shuffle to the door and linger at the entrance, arms crossed. Jeno floats through your living room and in the direction of the hallway leading to your bedroom, but he stops in place right before he makes it to the turn.
“I can’t go any farther,” he announces.
You don’t respond. Instead, you march back to your couch and open your laptop. You log into the Spirit Hunters’ internal portal and start parsing through archived case files.
“...Tethered spirits…” you hum to yourself. “Hauntings, maybe?”
Jeno edges closer to you, although he maintains a respectful distance away. He eventually opts to float just above the seat of your armchair.
“You’re actually very relaxed about my…state," he observes. “Everything, really.”
“Ah, my manners have left me.” You state your name. “You can consider me your guide, of sorts. I find and assist lost souls to find closure before moving onto the afterlife.” Your eyes squint at him. “You found me, though–for whatever reason.”
Jeno blinks at you. “Not sure if this is just a gap in my memory, but are people who...help spirits...common knowledge?”
“Definitely not. Most people can’t see ghosts without some sort of assistive device,” you explain. “My sight is a family trait–I’ve been able to see the spirits of the deceased since birth.”
“That’s cool, I think. Well–having that sort of family tradition is definitely unique. There’s, um, just one thing…” Jeno bites his lip. “I’m not dead.”
Goosebumps prickle on the surface of your skin. Denial is common, but something about his firmness unsettles you. You chalk it up to your least favorite part of the job–many newly deceased spirits are confused and unaware that they have partially transcended the mortal plane.
“If I’m seeing your spirit like this, then you must be dead,” you assert. Your heart sinks for him; you’ve broken the news to other metaphysical beings many times, but it doesn’t get any easier. “I know it might be hard to think about, but we can work together and figure out what you need.”
“What I need is for you to help me figure out who’s trying to kill me,” he says back. “Like I said, I’m not dead.”
“How are you sure that you’re not?” You ask calmly. “If you’re going to make bold claims, I need to know on what basis.”
“I–” He hesitates. “I just know.”
You shoot him a half-smile. “That’s not evidence.”
Jeno doesn’t respond, crossing his arms and glaring at one of the far walls.
Guilt flashes through you at the silent treatment, but you know the enforcement of cold, hard facts is a harsh reality that both of you need to face. Acknowledgement is the first step to acceptance for Jeno, and it does you no good to let yourself be swayed by the ghost’s emotional state.
You close your laptop and rise to your feet. “That’s a wrap for me tonight. I’ll start on your case tomorrow.”
You consider explicitly telling Jeno to stay out of your room while you sleep, but the stoic look on his face tells you that he’ll likely spend the entire night ruminating here. It’s clear, even from this brief interaction, that Jeno is not any form of vengeful or malicious ghost. He’s gentle, lost, and, for an inexplicable reason, now tied to you.
He doesn’t say a word as you make your way to your bedroom. Even as you get ready for bed and settle under the covers, you can’t shake the feeling that this case is different. Amnesia, a physical tether, and the persisting notion that he’s alive–something about Jeno’s case is rather supernatural, indeed.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The next day, things don’t go much better. Jeno sits–well, floats across from you as you cycle him through your typical procedural questions with the same result: no answers and no memories.
Strangely, he does recall current events with none of the emotional attachment. Sure, he remembers specific politicians and controversies, but he doesn’t have an opinion on the state of politics as a whole. Yes, he can objectively identify the biggest artists of this year, but the name of his favorite band remains just on the tip of his tongue. A normal member of society missing any personal history or attachments.
“This time around, let’s just try associating certain concepts together. It might give us a hint about your personality,” you explain. “Or jog your memory. So, when I say a word, just say whatever comes to mind.”
Jeno nods. He looks miserable, and you’re sure that you’re not looking your best either. Hours of this have worn you both down, and you’re one failure away from jumping straight to the big guns.
Still, you have to try. “Love?”
“Nothing,” Jeno says.
“Death?”
His eyes skip to you in open disapproval. “You’re kidding.”
“Death,” you repeat.
He enunciates every word without breaking eye contact. “Nothing. Not dead.”
You click your tongue. “Family.”
“Annoying.”
“There’s something.” You type a few notes into your laptop before shutting it closed. You shoot a quick text on your phone before packing up your things to go.
“What, you’re not going to ask me about any other words?” Jeno snorts. He floats higher and higher as he gets more riled up. “Murder? Afterlife? Girlfriend?”
“A guy that looks like you would enjoy bragging about the success in your love life, huh?” You reply without looking up from your phone, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re clearly not receptive, which makes the exercise useless. Your mind’s blocked.”
“Of course it’s blocked–I don’t remember anything!” Jeno argues while waving his arms for emphasis. At this point, he’s risen so high that his back is parallel with the ceiling. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Hmm.” Now that’s something you could work with. “So no urge to find someone important?”
“Uh,” Jeno looks away, and a faint gray-pink color fills his cheeks. “No, I don’t think so.”
You smile in spite of your frustration. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the shy type. You look like a total womanizer.”
He wrinkles his nose. “As if.”
“Well, you can test the shy act on my friend.” You put on a coat at the door and grab your bag.
He descends from the ceiling to follow you. “Is there someone else who can see me?”
“Yup. You just gotta know someone with the right lineage. Or tools,” you add. “Lucky for you, I have a large network of special abilities in both.”
No thanks to the Spirit Hunters, you think to yourself.
While the Spirit Hunters connected you with new talent like Chenle and Renjun to work with, most of your contacts were from your childhood. Families with abilities tend to stick together, and your family has been close to the Liu family for generations.
Yangyang’s current place sits in the center of the city via a fifteen minute walk from your apartment. You walk up the stairs and place your hand on the doorknob without hesitation.
“Shouldn’t you knock?” Jeno’s voice is laced with confusion.
“I texted him,” you say, as if that explains everything.
“Yangyang!” You call out while walking through the front door. “I brought the ghost I was talking about!”
“In here!” He calls back from the kitchen around the corner. There’s a faint burning smell permeating the air. You take a deep breath; lavender and cinnamon, possibly. The aroma is comforting, at first, but it quickly transitions to too much as you feel pressure building in your nose.
“Good god, get some ventilation in here!” You cover your nose and side eye Jeno. “...Think you can open some windows?”
Jeno rolls his eyes, but all nearby windows slide open.
“Thanks.” You walk into Yangyang’s kitchen. He’s hovering over a large kitchen pot on the stove. The contents are so green that your eyes squint from the bright light emitting from the liquid. He stirs at the concoction with a wooden spoon.
“I thought you would be, you know, actually cooking something,” you say as you lean against his fridge. “Until I smelled the lavender. I’m still confused on how such a talented witch can be so good at potions but so bad at cooking.”
“Witches are real?” Jeno asks, his mouth agape.
“You know I don’t consider myself a witch.” Yangyang points the wooden spoon at your face. “Do you want me to help you or not?”
“Sorry.” You bow so low that your head passes the plane of the countertop. “Please assist me, grand sorcerer.”
Yangyang shakes his head and turns off the stove. He transfers the pot away from the still-hot burner. “This is why I’m your only friend. Go sit down in the living room.”
“Chenle and Renjun are my friends,” you spit back as you settle into a space on the floor in front of his couch. “Kind of.”
“Doesn’t count since they’re technically your coworkers, and you barely see them outside of work,” he says as he drifts into the room. Yangyang finds a spot in the space across from you. His gaze locks onto Jeno, who’s still hovering near the kitchen. “Please, sit down.”
“I can’t sit,” Jeno replies.
Yangyang points to the space next to you. “Hover in front of me, then.”
Jeno does as he’s told.
“This only works if my intentions are properly set,” Yangyang explains to Jeno. “My name is Yangyang, and I’m going to sense and tap into your energy.”
“What…does that mean?” Jeno asks. He looks at you, brow furrowed and puzzlement burning in his eyes, but you merely smile back in amusement.
Yangyang doesn’t answer. Your friend takes out a green bundle and lights the end of it. The tips of the plant burn a small flame, which Yangyang immediately blows out to leave smoldering ends. Yangyang traces the plant around the space with his eyes closed.
Jeno turns to you now. “What on earth is he doing?”
“It’s rosemary and sage,” you say without taking your eyes off the building smoke. “He’s purifying the space and ensuring there’s no outside negative energy that can interfere with his reading. Just stay put when he focuses.”
To Jeno’s credit, he doesn’t say anything else as Yangyang focuses in silence. You close your eyes, too–your family had always hoped for a secondary gift outside of clairvoyance for you, but sight ended up being your singular ability. Yangyang was considered gifted within his family lineage; he came from two prominent sorcerer families and manifested abilities from both. You enjoy basking in other people’s talents, even if only for a moment.
You open your eyes and peek to your right, only to find Jeno already staring at you. You’re taken off guard by how beautiful his features are up close. Given that his current state leaves him partially translucent, you can only imagine how good looking he must be in person with full saturation.
You raise an eyebrow. Yes? You mouth.
He looks away.
“Alright,” Yangyang says before you can tease Jeno further. “Ready?”
“Been ready,” you grin.
Yangyang glares at you–he always insists on being professional during readings, even though you’ve been friends for so long–but he continues. “Your energy is very faint, but genuine and steady. From what I’m able to ascertain, you’re a reliable person that’s sensitive to those around you.”
You lean forward. “What do you mean by faint?”
“Usually those with a low sense of self have an aura fainter than others. For example, yours is so strong that it’s distracting and kind of annoying.” He eyes you, and you stick out your tongue at him. “Jeno’s energy is abnormal, considering that everything else about it seems very consistent and strong. I think it’s safe to say that he doesn’t have most of his memories–if any.”
You roll your head back and groan. “Sense of truth?”
“Steadfast.”
“General aura essence?”
“Fluffy, somehow,” Yangyang says with a straight face.
Your impression of Jeno as a curious puppy from last night pops back in your head. You burst into laughter.
Jeno’s head whips between the two of you. “You thought I was lying about losing my memories?!”
“Not lying, necessarily. Confused, maybe. Nothing personal–just something I like to confirm. Ghosts aren’t exactly the best primary sources, even if you think you’re telling the truth.” You wave your hand over his shoulder as you make a patting motion. “Yangyang, are there any other energies present that you can detect?”
“Nothing on you,” Yangyang squints at Jeno next. “Him…I don’t immediately see anything else present, but I’m feeling something. It’s subtle, but somewhere else. Maybe he was cursed when he was still alive, and now there’s a trace of it left with his spirit.”
You squint at Jeno. “Any curses you know about?”
He shakes his head.
“Thought so.” You start to rise onto your knees. “Thanks, Yangyang–”
“Wait,” Jeno interrupts. “Are you able to tell if I’m still alive?”
Yangyang’s eyes widen. “You think you’re alive?”
You wish that Jeno had a physical mouth for you to cover. Sure, you trust Yangyang with your life, which is why he’s always one of your go-to consultants, but it’s bad practice. Other resources aren’t so trustworthy. It could take only a few whispers of this through your line of work for this case to escalate out of your grasp.
“I have no evidence,” Jeno says. Deep lines accompany his frown; he must’ve taken your words from the other night to heart. “I just have a feeling that it’s not over.”
“I see.” Yangyang focuses on Jeno’s form again, but then deflates. “Sorry. As I am, my abilities can’t differentiate between the living and the dead since I focus on energies. Your energy is essentially the same foundation during and after life, so I can’t tell the difference.”
Jeno’s shoulders slump forward. “I should’ve figured. Thank you anyway.”
As you rise to stand, Yangyang squares his shoulders to the two of you. The expression on his face is resolute and firm. “Be careful.”
“Be careful?” You frown. “I thought Jeno was safe. Fluffy, even.”
“He is. It’s the trace of that other…thing that makes me nervous.” Yangyang shakes his head. “Just…be careful while you do your usual due diligence. I’m probably just paranoid.”
“I appreciate it. I’ll be careful,” You respond with a small smile. You continue your path toward Yangyang’s door, calling over your shoulder. “Again, thanks for the help. Invoice Ten for me, would you?”
“How you hold down this job is beyond me,” Yangyang rolls his eyes. “I got it.”
You continue your path down the sidewalk directly outside of Yangyang’s house. You’d been able to respond with an easy confidence to his face, but now dread swirls around in your gut. A potential trace of a curse still present after death and Yangyang’s cleansing? What exactly are you dealing with?
Jeno catches your attention again. He’s floating next to you at an equal pace to your stride. He stares across all the details of your face. “Are you feeling anxious after what Yangyang said?”
“Obvious, huh?” You huff, but you look away. You don’t know how you feel about Jeno’s propensity for reading your emotions less than twenty-four hours after meeting. “There’s a lot of weird details surrounding your case that I’ve barely seen in my career. Let alone wrapped up in one ghost.”
Jeno puffs out his chest. “Maybe because I’m not dead.”
You shoot him a pointed look. “Or maybe your living self messed up a ton of things before passing on, and neither of us realize that we’ve been set up to clean up the mess.”
“Harsh,” he mutters.
“Anyway, look,” you say to him. “Notice anything weird?”
He tilts his head. “We’re…in a garden?”
You’re standing in the middle of the community garden closest to Yangyang’s house. The area is so lush that it appears more tropical-like with bright pops of flowers juxtaposing against deep green. You can see rows of vegetables in planters budding from a stone’s toss away, and the surrounding area is completely devoid of people. A wooden gazebo sits in the center of the garden with brown doors closing off the opening.
“As your guide, I know you’re not ready yet,” you state. “However, I do feel as though it’s my duty to acquaint you with the door to the next life.”
Jeno stays quiet, although his outline drifts a few feet away from the wooden structure.
“For those in the mortal plane without sight or the tools to see, this gazebo appears as a fountain,” you explain. “When souls are stuck on earth, this is the one-way door that allows them to pass forward.”
“If it’s one-way, then does anyone know what happens if you were to pass through?”
“I can see it and open the gate, but I can’t go through it.” You swipe your hand at his arm, but the limb passes through his forearm easily. “Like this, kind of. I tried. I just pass in and out.”
Jeno stares at your hand protruding through his, as if he’s just registered his state as a ghost.
“I’m not ready,” he says. He glances at the gazebo sidelong, his form hovering a couple of inches higher.
“I know.”
“If you’re able to open it,” he hesitates. “What’s stopping you from using one of those machines and forcing me to the other side?”
He’s smart. Other spirits were usually more blindly trusting in you, but you can respect his need to ensure your honesty. “My practice forbids it. Our entire mission is built on acting as true guides and allowing the spirits to retain their free will.”
Jeno tilts his head. “Our? So there’s a lot of you, then.”
You flinch. You hadn’t meant to let it slip at all, but old habits were hard to break. “There used to be, a few generations ago. I’m the only one left practicing, and most of my coworkers say I’m doing it the hard way.”
Jeno thinks before speaking. “It’s the hardest, maybe, but it’s the most humane.”
You eye the gazebo’s structure. All of your coworkers treat it as the endgame for their missions. For you, however, it’s your past, present, and future. You visited first as a child, face it constantly in your direct line of work, and, when it’s your time, will eventually walk through it yourself. It’s something unexplainable, to have this door between lives interlinked with your own various life stages. “Doing this is the most humane way, yes, but also the most painful.”
Jeno must catch on to the bittersweet tone in your voice, since he hangs on your last words.
Instead, you clear your throat. “I just wanted to show you the door. Tomorrow’s another day, and we can use it to try and find who you are.”
You finally tear your gaze from the gazebo, only to find Jeno’s brown eyes roaming over you. “Thank you,” he says.
You smirk, reaching desperately for your usual humor. “For literally taking you to death’s door?”
“For taking the painful way. It makes all the difference for me, at least.”
Heat rises and spreads across your chest so fast that your eyes widen. Jeno’s smile is small, yet the warmth and gratefulness is so genuine that any witty response dies in your throat. For the first time in years, you fight back the urge to cry. You don’t let yourself.
“Thanks, Jeno.” You swallow the lump building in your throat. “I hope it pays off for both of us.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The sun’s barely risen over the horizon when you crack open your laptop to work. You’re sifting through tens of cases for some sort of lead–recently concluded hauntings, curses, or even reports of possessions in the area. All that turns up, unfortunately, are mild cases; nothing as ominous as Yangyang suggested.
“Still in your pajamas?” Jeno asks when you enter the living room in a daze.
“Huh,” you glance at the bright sunlight glaring through your windows, then at the plaid print of your pajama pants. “That’s a first.”
He frowns. “So this isn’t normal?”
The undercurrent of his question is obvious: What’s wrong with my case? Do I even have a chance?
“The pants are comfy,” you answer quickly, then change the subject. “Did leaving the TV on last night work?”
To help alleviate Jeno’s restlessness at ghosthood amidst being trapped in a small apartment, you’d experimented with multiple stimuli. Last night’s solution was to simply leave the TV running overnight, as to allow Jeno to at least focus on anything else.
“Actually, yes–wait,” he interrupts himself. “Don’t try to distract me. It’s not going well, is it?”
You sigh. “All cases take time, Jeno.”
“But I’m guessing that most cases don’t keep you up at night like this,” he shoots back. “Or take this long.”
It’s true; it’s been weeks since Jeno first appeared in your apartment, and you still don’t have a lead. Along with analyzing real-time reports, you’d tried to dig into his identity. You figured Jeno’s name would fare better than no name at all, considering his name’s uniqueness, but it hadn’t changed things in the slightest. You couldn’t find any records of a Jeno living in this city, and typing Jeno into search engines only popped up unrelated results and suggestions of Did You Mean: Juno?
You cross your arms. “Not knowing your identity does set me back. It just means I need to be creative.”
He crosses his arms back. “You’re not looking very creative.”
Your feet shuffle as you shift your weight back and forth. The time spent together has done nothing to acclimate you to Jeno’s earnest nature nor his intuition. He never once buys into the laidback and composed persona that you’ve crafted to keep your vulnerabilities shielded from others. At times, you feel as though it’s some sort of otherworldly trade-off; you see through his physical form, and in turn he’s able to see through you. All of you, it seems.
Even now, staring at each other in tense silence, you don’t know what to make of it. For someone in an amnesiac ghost state, he’s awfully more concerned with you over himself. It’s annoying, especially when the amnesiac ghost in question becomes more emboldened to sass you with each passing day.
You’re grateful when your phone vibrates on the table, allowing you to break the moment.
“Renjun,” you say, scratching at the back of your neck. “What’s up?”
“Hey.” Renjun’s somber voice over the phone immediately evokes your alertness. “I know you’re busy investigating that one ghost, but something’s come up.”
“What happened?” You walk to your room and start laying out work clothes for the day. Even Jeno, who prefers to stay away from your room, lingers in the doorway.
Renjun takes a long, shaky breath over the phone. “There’s been a call, and I think you should be the one to take it.”
A cold shock shoots up your arms. “Personal?”
“...Yes.”
Your throat constricts, and you forget to breathe before rasping out: “Who?”
“Your cousin,” Renjun says. “Sana. She was recently spotted in the cafe on Main and 3rd. She’s showing signs of being vengeful, but I was hoping that maybe…”
Death’s door flashes in your mind’s eye. “I understand. I'll check it out.”
Your body moves on its own to change and gather all of the necessary equipment. It’s you driving and going through the motions, but you barely register that it’s happening until you pull in front of the cafe. The entire block has been closed down, and Renjun waits for you outside.
“Hi.” He manages a grim smile. “She’s driven out all of the level one hunters. I wanted to give you the chance to handle this in the way you want to, considering you’re her next of kin.”
Jeno’s followed your silence since ending the phone call with respect, but now you feel his eyes linger on you.
You ignore it. “I appreciate it,” you say to Renjun. “I’m going to try to de-escalate, but I’ll call you in if…it’s unavoidable.”
Your friend nods, but the discomfort on his face is clear as day.
You slowly turn the handle and press the weight of your arm into the door. It creaks open to a dim room lit only by the outside sunlight leaking through half-open blinds. Your cousin, Sana, perches on top of the counter next to an espresso machine. You take cautious steps towards her until you’re standing in the center of the room.
“Took you long enough,” she smiles. “Brought a friend too?”
You think she means Renjun, but you follow her gaze to Jeno lingering by the entrance. His body is bisected by the door itself so that you’re only looking at his right side. Immediately, you understand what’s happening.
“You can just come in,” you assert. “There’s no avoiding it.”
Sana raises her eyebrows. “A tether?”
“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Enough about him, though. Don’t you think terrorizing a bunch of new hunters is a little cruel? They’re basically kids.”
“How else was I supposed to get your attention?” She rolls her eyes. “I was hoping to create a tether with you, but I guess that spot was already taken. I got stuck here, instead.”
“Sorry,” Jeno pipes up from his corner.
You grit your teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me it was time? You promised.”
You’d known that your cousin only had so much time left–she’d already surpassed the initial prognosis, but the extra time had lulled you into complacency.
She shrugs. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I could barely swallow, let alone speak. This is a much easier avenue.”
“It’s not easy for me,” you choke out.
“I’m going to the door right after this. Alone, as I promised you.” Sana's eyes soften. “This is just to say goodbye, really.”
Panic rises to your chest.
Months ago, you’d rehearsed the things you would say to her. At the time, you had a million drafts of a million speeches: some reminiscing on your shared memories, others promising to live on for her, and the angriest picking at old fights. Anything to stall the inevitable. Now that Sana’s ghost smiles at you, wispy outline and all, you don’t know what to say.
“I don’t know how to do this alone,” you blurt into the silence.
“When you think about it, we really didn’t work together much.” Sana reasons with you. “Your sight was always sharper than mine, anyway.”
“You know what I mean.” Flashes of your memories cause your emotions to heighten. “When I lost my parents, then yours, then everyone else one-by-one, you were right there by my side. We were supposed to make it together.”
Her voice comes out soft. “I know.”
The room is so quiet that you can hear your own breath, but you press forward. “I know you fought hard, but I needed you here more. Who am I to maintain this practice alone? I might as well just go too.”
That makes Sana leave the countertop and float to your side. Before you know it, a cool sensation washes over the back of your neck. Sana makes a stroking motion against your hair, although her hand freezes your skin with each pass through.
“You know, you never said any of this to me when I was alive,” she says softly. “Not when I was sick, and not when I was improving.”
“It wasn’t about me.”
“To me, everything was about you. You always carried yourself well, even after losing your parents, and you picked up the family business like it was the easiest thing in the world. Leading the souls and breaking the tie, or whatever the old geezers used to say.”
“Lead the soul, break the tie,” you sniffle. “I never did that properly. It’s too hard for me. Not that anything else came easy, either.”
“It is hard,” she agrees. “And this won’t be easy, either. You have to promise me that you’ll find someone to bear this burden with you. Don’t try to do things alone this time.”
“It’s going to be impossible to find someone crazy enough to want anything to do with my real life,” you scoff.
For a flash of a moment, Sana’s eyes dart at something over your shoulder. “I’m sure that person is closer than you think. The most important thing is that you let them in.”
“Fine.” You wipe away your tears with an angry glare. “I hate you for not staying with me, and I hate you for using your last moments to boss me around. And…”
“...And?”
“I love you too much to ignore what you say,” you finish. “I’ll try.”
“There you go,” she coos.
You both stay like that for a while. You sniffle while Sana strokes your head to comfort you. Despite the ice-cold feeling following her every touch, it’s comforting nonetheless.
“I’m going now,” Sana announces softly when your tears have finally dried up.
Your head snaps up. “You really don’t want me to go with you to the door?”
She shakes her head. “You’ve done enough for others. I can handle it.”
Just like that, Sana nods in acknowledgment to Jeno in the corner before floating to the entrance, as if to actually open the door.
“I love you!” She calls out with a wide grin. Her outline seems to glimmer with gold hues, but you’re sure it’s a trick of the light. “Tell your friend not to chase me down with that weird contraption, okay?”
You and Jeno both report your witness statements to Renjun, who graciously offers to write the report and file the paperwork. The numbness in your body follows you home and through your whole post-work routine. The tears come back only when you curl in bed, comforted by the soft sheets and distant white noise of the TV you don’t remember turning on.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You stumble through your front door after another wasted day of investigation. You’d followed what you thought was a lead on Jeno’s family, but, like always, it had led to a dead end.
“It’s okay,” Jeno floats around you. “I thought that would work too.”
Lately, Jeno had stopped moping about his current state. In fact, he maintains a steady sense of cheerfulness that bewilders you. You suspect that the sudden spike of optimism after Sana’s passing is more than coincidental, but you see no worth in asking directly. Who are you to stop something that puts you both at ease?
Plopping on the couch and kicking your feet up on the coffee table, you browse through movie options endlessly until you hover on a classic.
“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” Jeno reads out loud. “That title seems too long.”
Your jaw drops. “You’re joking.”
He shrugs. “I haven’t seen it.”
“Well now we’re watching it,” you state while starting the movie. “It’s a bit of a weird one, but it’s good.”
You manage to stay quiet throughout the entire movie, opting to watch Jeno’s reactions to all of your favorite parts. It’s like watching it with fresh eyes, in a way, to see his nose scrunch up at some moments and his jaw hang open during the twists.
When the credits roll, you lean forward and finally let yourself speak. “What did you think?”
“Good.” Jeno crosses his arms without taking his eyes off the screen. “More philosophical than I realized it would be.”
“Since you have a unique perspective on this, what’s your take?” If it were anyone else, you’d never ask this question, but you’re well acquainted with Jeno’s openness. “If you found out that your amnesia was due to intentionally blocking painful memories, what would you do?”
“I would ask for them back,” he answers without hesitation.
You raise an eyebrow. “Every time?”
“Every time.”
“Why?”
“Well,” he pauses. “Even though I don’t remember most things, I do know that the sum of all my memories made me who I am. Good and bad. It’s worth remembering both.”
“Interesting,” you murmur.
In all honesty, you’re jealous of how resolute and instant his answers are. For all of the poking and prodding at Jeno that you’ve done since meeting him, he’s never once wavered in giving you an answer. Beneath the sweet and shy exterior is always a stubborn, decisive guy.
“This is the movie you were watching on the day we met, right?” He asks suddenly.
“Yes.” You’re not sure why your mouth won’t stop moving, but you add, “It’s my go-to movie for tough cases that are family or romance heavy.”
“Go-to movie?”
“It’s just a tradition. Sometimes movies are the only thing that can get me to wind down and sleep, so I watch a movie that reminds me of the ghost I just worked with.” You don’t mention that this tradition in particular was started by Sana in your teen years. It feels good to talk about her, even if it’s indirect.
“Huh,” he thinks for a moment. “What would my movie be?”
“Casper,” you respond.
“The friendly ghost?”
You nod. “Except you’re Jeno, the even-friendlier ghost.”
His face puckers, but he doesn’t let your teasing derail his seriousness. “You never watched one after Sana,” he points out.
You click through the list of movies, as if to pick something else. “This works, doing it now.”
He watches you for a second. “Would you choose to keep your memories?”
“It’s different circumstances for me,” you say. “I would choose my family every time, no matter how painful it is for me. I’m not supposed to, technically–a main pillar of our work is covered by one mantra: Lead the soul, break the tie. So I shouldn’t, but I carry them with me every day. I could never forget them.”
Jeno nods without responding, which makes hot embarrassment climb up your neck. Were you too honest? When did you become comfortable being so vulnerable and sentimental in front of him?
You cough and continue. “I don’t care about romantic partners, though. They can erase that any day.”
“What?” Jeno blinks. “Isn’t that the whole point of the movie we just watched?”
“I just haven’t cared enough about any of them,” you shrug.
Jeno stares at you, bewildered. “Okay, so you dated, but have you never been in love?”
You let it slip before you realize what you’re saying. “Maybe not, but I was close. Once.”
There’s something about Jeno’s presence that feels as though all of your inhibitions have eroded away. All that’s left is you, pouring the stories so long held close to your chest.
“He was normal. No sight, but his mom was a Spirit Hunter so he kind of knew the deal. He liked me because I was different. Then…”
Jeno waits for you to continue. “Then?”
The rest of your words burst out. “Then I lost family members one-by-one, whether in the line of work or by natural causes, and suddenly I was too different. Too freakish to love.” You let out a slow exhale. “Told me as much and said I was cursed.”
Jeno says nothing, but his hands ball into fists until they’re shaking. His arm muscles cord with the increased tension.
“It’s okay,” you anticipate his defensiveness over you with a grin. “I punched him in the face.”
“Thank god.”
“But I’ve rambled too much about my loser ex,” you sigh. Your hand fiddles with the edge of your shirt. “Can’t say it’s that intriguing; more so sad.”
“Well, I don’t know. Punching your loser ex is intriguing enough to me,” Jeno smiles. “Besides, you’re an interesting person overall. You command everyone’s attention pretty much immediately.”
It’s his innocent moments that feel like the low hanging fruit for you to mess with him. “Sounds like it’s more that you’re the one paying attention,” you grin. “You interested?”
You’re expecting him to roll his eyes at you or change the subject away, as always. Instead, Jeno leans forward, an equally mischievous smile widening across his face. “And what if I am?”
You recoil at the proximity, yanking your head back as if he could actually steal a kiss. Your heartbeat roars in your ears as butterflies frenzy in your stomach.
For one thing, you’re not used to this level of engagement. Most of your friends laugh and roll their eyes at your antics, but they never flirt back. For another thing, it’s the distinct seriousness in his eyes that tells you he’s not joking. Any trace of puppy-like innocence found before has settled into a cool confidence.
“I would tell you…that sucks because you’re a ghost,” you say lamely. The words come out much too fast to pass as an organic joke. You’ve totally lost.
Jeno laughs regardless. “Something tells me that our dynamic wouldn’t change much.”
“If you weren’t a ghost?” You scoff, finding your footing. “You think that our dynamic wouldn’t change if you weren’t a ghost forced to be within a 20-foot radius of me?”
“You might not know what to do,” he shoots back. “I’m just saying that my feel–attitude toward you wouldn’t change. I’d act the same. In person, with memories–anything.”
You don’t know that for sure, you think bitterly, but heat rises up your body.
“You pick the next one,” you say as you throw the remote at him.
Jeno moves on easily from your back and forth, unfazed as he uses his abilities to flip through the streaming options. “I kind of want to watch something new,” Jeno says with raised eyebrows. “Will that mess up your re-run routine?”
It’s the small details that make you feel seen. You tuck your legs up and hug your knees into your chest. “Since you watched one of my movies, I’ll allow a new viewing. Just for tonight,” you say with a sniff. “I’m feeling adventurous.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Once your grief shifts from a sharp sting to a faint thrum, you decide to take a break from the safety of your apartment.
“You’re going spirit hunting while I’m still tied to you?” Jeno asks.
“Just because you’re in denial doesn’t mean that I need to halt the rest of my work,” you huff while preparing your equipment. “And don’t phrase it like I’m hunting to kill. I’m responding to a call, thank you.”
Jeno rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Ghostbuster.”
It’s not uncommon for you to work on multiple cases at once, but Jeno’s tether had kept you rather preoccupied. You’re really not working one of your normal jobs, anyways–for the first time in years, Chenle has asked for backup on a call he received the night before.
“Thanks for making it,” Chenle grins at you when you step out of your car. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have the immediate support of my favorite Psychic Psychologist in case this goes left.”
“Funny.” You toss him a pair of goggles. “You’re lucky that I still carry a pair even though I don’t need it.”
“That’s why I like working with you, despite your creepy spirit connections. You’re always prepared.” Chenle fumbles with the goggles, adjusting the straps as he’s putting them on. When he finally gets himself situated, he does a double take at the apparition over your shoulder. “Did you pick up a hitchhiker on the way here or something?”
“Jeno.” He says. “Nice to meet you.”
“...Chenle.” Your coworker looks at you with wide eyes. “Are you sure you want him here?”
Right. You don’t know what you were expecting; for the first time, the gossip train has failed Chenle. Renjun must have withheld the information due to Sana, and there’s no other way Chenle could have found out. He never consulted sorcerers, ruling out YangYang, and you’d been decisively behind on your paperwork.
“I can’t leave him anywhere else, even if I wanted to,” you supply. “He’ll deal with it.”
Chenle blinks once. Twice. “I’ve heard about tethers, but I never thought I’d actually see one. Considering, you know…”
“Considering you kill on sight?”
“Hey,” Chenle raises his hands in surrender. “They’re already dead.”
A familiar twinge of annoyance pulls at your gut. While Chenle’s a good guy overall, his philosophy reflects that of most Spirit Hunters; concise yet total subjugation of the spirit. In other words, the complete opposite of you.
You’re about to fire back, but Jeno beats you to it. “I prefer not being killed on sight, personally.”
His interruption just stokes your anger further. “I would prefer if everyone would just focus on the issue at hand without wasting my time.”
“Wow,” Chenle snorts and glances over at Jeno. “Good luck, man. Seems like she’s a lot meaner to you than her usual clients.”
“Still pleasant enough overall,” Jeno shrugs as he brushes it off.
You ignore their comments and turn your attention to the empty department store in front of you. “What’s the deal here? I didn’t have time to look at the case file.”
“Reports of some haunted rooms.” Chenle says, his face turning serious. “Female ghost, apparently, and it’s bad enough that it’s impacted their business. According to some talks I had with the neighbors, the girl had a secret relationship with the owner’s son.”
“So, a jilted lover.” You frown. “You can’t handle that by yourself?”
Chenle hesitates before talking at a slow cadence. “It’s really just one aspect…”
You raise your eyebrows. “Out with it, or I’m leaving.”
“She attacks anyone on sight,” your coworker admits. “Full steam ahead with complete tunnel vision. It makes it impossible for someone to take her alone…”
“...which is why you’ve asked for backup,” you finish. “Lovely. If you knew you just needed bait, you should’ve asked one of the juniors.”
“It was an open invitation to all. I just happened to call you first, and you opted to volunteer despite being on another job.” Chenle’s eyes flit back over to Jeno as he frowns. He doesn’t seem quite sure what to make of the ghost. While Renjun had a lot of direct interactions with benign ghosts due to his research for his inventions, Chenle had no interest in anything except catching the worst of the worst.
You sigh. “He’s coming regardless, so you might as well get used to it.” You do one last check of your equipment before talking over your shoulder to Jeno directly. “This is going to be a massive change in pace, so don’t freak out. I’m going to be the diversion, and Chenle’s going to use that opportunity to capture the spirit from behind.”
“Isn’t this game plan for me to dictate?” Chenle whines.
You ignore him. “Just don’t put yourself in the direct path, okay? I haven’t seen Renjun’s device in action, so just be careful enough that you don’t get sucked in.”
“Got it, but…” Jeno purses his lips. “What about you?”
“Once again, this is my job.” You put your hands on your hips, but you can’t help the small smile that rises to your face. “I have Yangyang’s ward and some of my own techniques. Trust the process.”
Jeno hums, but you can tell that he’s actively doubting the process.
You’re about to ask what else is on his mind–after all, he’s really been so different, lately–but Chenle interrupts you by loudly clearing his throat.
“The sensors are showing she’s on the second floor in one of the dressing rooms,” Chenle informs you. “Head up first; I’ll be close behind.”
“How brave,” you joke before taking off into a jog. “See you inside, then!”
While you’d expected the usual ambiance of a haunted building–dark and eerie–the store lights overhead burn your eyes upon entering. The business in question must be a department store, as you pass clothing racks and shoe displays on your way up. The only thing that reveals the inoperability is the lack of customers along with the stationary escalator. Even a faint hum of elevator music bounces off the white walls and vinyl floors.
As your feet tap tap tap against the metallic escalator steps, you feel a cool sensation intermittently brushing against your arm. You pause at the very top to peer behind yourself, only to see the muted color of Jeno’s hand grasping for your wrist.
“You realize doing that only distracts me, right?” You whisper. “I’m not stopping.”
“I think you took this job too soon,” Jeno says in a low voice. He’s so close that his hand passes through your arm, and he leans toward you so that the left side of his chest slightly overlaps your right.
The coolness bites at your skin, and your breath catches. “I’m fine. It’s not your decision to make, regardless.”
“Regardless, I know you, and I know you’re not okay.”
It’s a standoff as you glare at each other. His eyes drift over your face with an intensity that makes your heart rate spike. For a moment, even within this strange liminal space, Jeno commands all your focus. From the deep shade of brown eyes up close, the turn of his cupid’s bow, and the defined contours of his face, your thoughts are scattering. You wish, with a sudden and jarring impulse, that his physical body was here–whether for the purpose of pushing him away or pulling him close, you’re unsure.
The moment breaks as a loud crash echoes from across the second floor. You curse and crouch behind the nearest rack filled with floor length dresses.
You inch a hanger along to peek through the mound of dresses. Across the way is the outline of a young woman emerging from one of the dressing rooms. She’s rather petite for a malignant ghost, but you have the sneaking suspicion that something is off.
Chenle sneaks behind a display on the other side of the escalator. He turns off the safety on Renjun’s device and glances over at you, nodding when you lock eyes.
Here goes nothing, you think.
“Hey!” You call out as you jump out of your hiding space.
The spirit raises her head to gaze at you, but she doesn’t move.
You’re waving your arms out back and forth now. “Over here!”
Her head merely tilts as she stares at you wordlessly. You’re halfway through forming words to yell at Chenle that you’ve got it all wrong, dumbass when the spirit begins rapidly growing in size.
“What the fuck?” Jeno gasps.
It’s more than growing; her entire shape is shifting and morphing while darkening by the moment. It’s more than a ghost, you realize as its form oozes into an amorphous shape with a large, single eyeball in the center.
It’s a wraith.
After its transformation the wraith rests for a second. Then, it lunges.
Simultaneously, your nervous system kicks into high gear as your body moves on its own accord. You sprint in the opposite direction in a straight line; it’s the only place you can go, considering that Chenle’s whole plan hinges on attacking from the back.
Speaking of Chenle, you have no idea where he is. After erratic movements to evade the wraith and running for your life, there’s still no sign of your coworker. He’s late.
You burn out. You’re fast, but the wraith gains on you as it screeches and bounds behind your every move. Your blood rushes in your ears and your lungs burn from the effort. You don’t have much left in you.
Then, finally, you hear a shout.
“Hang in there!” Chenle yells while pointing the capture technology from the distance. “Get in here, freak!”
You’re relieved, but the surprise of his presence causes you to misstep; you slip on the tile and stumble on the floor.
The wraith nearly pulses in delight as it reaches for you. In this moment, you realize that there’s no way it’s in the range of Chenle’s weapon. The wraith is going to reach you before Chenle can get it.
The dark mass swirls closer and closer towards you, until a flash of dull color partially obscures your vision.
“Hey,” Jeno grins, moving back and forth laterally before floating up towards the ceiling. “This is a better target, right? More dynamic?”
Get out of the way, idiot, you want to scream, but the words don’t escape your dry throat.
The wraith stops and follows his motions like a cat. Your fight-or-flight instincts are sure that it’s going to go back to you, the living target, but you gasp as it bounds after Jeno’s retreating figure.
“Don’t fuck this up, Chenle!” You hear him call out as he flashes toward your friend.
“No, don’t!” You scream at the same time. At this point, your pleas are directed at both of them. For Jeno to stay uninvolved, and for Chenle to not deploy the capture technology with Jeno in its direct path.
Chenle unleashes the machine. The wraith shrieks as it swirls towards the device. A flash of bright light nearly blinds you as it deploys, and you’re forced to cover your face with your hands to protect your vision.
It’s minutes before you’re able to open your eyes again. Dread weighs down your stomach, and you’re scared to see the results. You look up while holding your breath.
The first thing you see is Chenle leaning against the railing next to the escalator.
Chenle pants while shaking the cylindrical device around. “Got it,” he rasps.
The second thing you see is Jeno’s silhouette floating directly above Chenle’s head. His smile is victorious, albeit a little sheepish.
“Got it,” he echoes.
You exhale hard as the rest of your body collapses to the floor. Jeno’s over in an instant, his face hovering over yours.
“Did it get to you at all?” He asks, worry lines wrinkling his forehead.
You sit up, his question pulling you out of the energy drain. “Did it get to me?” You shriek. “You should’ve been worrying about it getting to you! Or Chenle getting you accidentally! Are you stupid? I told you to stay out of the direct path!”
“Right,” he runs a hand through his hair, “but, well, I turned at the last minute. So, technically, floating above Chenle’s head was no longer within the direct path.”
If looks could kill, you could’ve created three new spirits of the dead.
Chenle crawls over to you. “Don’t be mad at him,” he says through heavy breaths. “He saved both of us.”
Shouts echo from the bottom floor, followed by the sounds of footsteps racing up the escalator.
You turn to Chenle, eyes wide, but he shakes his head.
“I called more backup on the way up,” he explains. “The sensor’s readings were off the charts after we entered. Be mad at me if anything, but not Jeno.”
“I can be mad at all of you,” a familiar voice says. A blanket drops around your shoulders.
“Renjun!” You gasp as he wraps Chenle in a matching shock blanket.
“Let’s get you both out of here,” he mutters while bringing you both to your feet. You lean on his left shoulder while Chenle takes the right. “I’ll take all three of you idiots home.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
After a few days of recovery and a full spiritual cleansing from Yangyang, Chenle and Renjun visit your apartment to iron out the details of the report.
“This sucks,” Chenle complains. “This case has so much paperwork now.”
“That’s what happens when you involve so many other people without getting the proper protocols and approvals first,” Renjun chides. “Including another ghost. Another ghost adds like three pages minimum, I swear.”
“I’d help write if I could. Maybe I could try to use a keyboard with my influence?” Jeno offers.
Renjun shakes his head. “Not your job.”
You stay quiet. You hadn’t said much, over the past few days. You’d slept pretty much the whole time, save for eating. Your coworkers forcing their way into your apartment was the most you’ve seen of anyone except for Jeno.
Renjun eyes you. “You sure you’re good to meet right now?”
You shake yourself mentally and force a smile to your face. “Peachy.”
Your friend’s eyes squint at you, but he says nothing.
In reality, everything is far from peachy. You’re mad at everyone–Renjun for forcing you to do paperwork after the experience, Jeno for putting himself at risk, and Chenle for making Jeno put himself at risk. Above everything, you’re the most frustrated with yourself. What kind of guide were you to be rescued by the spirit you’re meant to be guiding?
“Alright, no more long faces,” Chenle says while raising his hand in the air. “We finished it and lived to tell the tale. That’s an accomplishment!”
You meet his high five with reluctant contact.
“Hell yeah,” Chenle cheers. He then stares at Jeno before also slowly raising his hand.
“Um,” Jeno stares at Chenle’s palm. “You sure?”
He nods. “Try it, dude.”
Jeno’s hand passes through Chenle, who shudders at the contact.
“They never mentioned how cold it is," he mutters.
Jeno turns to you with a smile. “We make a pretty good team, huh? Who would’ve thought a ghost and spirit hunter combination would work?”
“Saying it worked is pretty generous,” you say. “We got lucky.”
“Well, in reality, you’re lucky that I was there,” Jeno points out.
The claim quickly devolves into an argument stretching between the two of you.
“I have a question!” Chenle interjects.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What is it, Chenle?”
“You don’t know Jeno’s full identity yet, right?”
“...Not yet,” you confess.
“Since you’ve been putting in all this research into his identity, is it safe to assume you’ve already checked his resemblance to that one actor? The one from the indie movie I was trying to get you to see?”
Your stomach drops. “You recognize him?”
“Kinda. Well, not for sure,” Chenle frowns. “He looks a lot like this breakout actor fans have been talking about.”
You type Jeno into the search bar. Nothing of substance. Next, your fingers type in Jeno followed by the movie name while your mind races. Sure enough, Jeno’s face finally pops up on the search results. There’s various pictures of him pulled from the movie or pap pictures taken on set, but there’s no images of him at any carpeted events.
You look at your supernatural companion. “You’re an actor?”
Jeno runs a hand through his hair by habit. While you’d seen him frustrated before, his expression is downright distraught. “I don’t know. Aren’t you the movie buff?”
“I gravitate towards my classics!” You defend yourself. “I see a new movie twice a year!”
“Usually because I suggest it,” Chenle chimes in. “You’re welcome.”
“Not now,” you hiss at him. You continue clicking around gossip forums and article titles until you find what you’re looking for.
Debut Actor In Accident Prior to Film Festival, reads the article. His name isn’t mentioned at all, but a scroll down into the comments tell you the uncensored details—everything from Jeno's accident to the sudden death of his co-star on set weeks earlier.. Your heart spikes as you read through the details of what’s been reported, and you read everything in shock.
“You’ve been in a coma for months. You don’t live here, which is why I couldn’t find you, but you’ve been filming here. The day you got hit lines up with the day you showed up in my apartment,” you say even though Jeno’s been reading everything over your shoulder. Your entire face feels numb. “You’re hospitalized, but you’re alive.”
Silence weighs on the atmosphere. After all his stubbornness since appearing in your space, the Jeno from months ago would’ve pointed in your face and said I told you so. You would’ve expected and even accepted it. Now, he freezes in place. It’s only by the faint pulse of light emitted by his form that tells you he’s present.
Jeno’s brow furrows. “I’m…alive?”
“You’re very much alive,” you nod.
Any moment now, you think. A cheer or a glimmer of hope to brighten his face.
Jeno doesn’t speak at first. His gaze goes somewhere you can’t follow—a flash of relief followed by panic.
His frown deepens. “What about you?”
Your heart jumps while your stomach plummets. Everything, every feeling, comes together in contradictory pairs. Tempered fondness tinged by dread. Hope amidst an ache you can’t pin down.
“What about me?” You repeat with bated breath.
“I feel like we’ve been doing great,” he explains before pausing. “Working together, I mean. I was even able to help you and Chenle with the most recent case.”
Chenle clears his throat, and Renjun feigns interest in something on his computer screen.
“You shouldn’t be concerned with that,” you say. “I did all of this before you, and I will continue to do this after you.”
“After me,” he holds the words in his mouth like he’s eating rotten fruit.
“You’re alive,” you emphasize. “Isn’t that what you’ve been insisting this whole time?”
“Well yes, but–”
“There’s no but, Jeno,” you cut him off sharply. You don’t let him finish; you can’t let him finish. If he says what you think he’s going to say, then it will shatter the delicate control that you’ve struggled to maintain since he showed up in your apartment. “You are alive, which means that we must try to reunite your soul with your body.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Off the heels of finding out Jeno’s alive, Chenle and Renjun join the effort in trying to find any possible connection from his past. They never explain why, but your messages are now constantly flooded with new leads by the hour.
You don’t complain. You struggle to focus on anything, and Jeno’s not much better. You’ve barely talked since your initial argument following the news.
Even now, about to meet up with Jeno’s sister, talking with your ghost companion is like pulling teeth.
“Are there any topics you don’t want me to talk about?” You ask him on the car ride over.
“Not particularly,” he says back. “If we’re really going to try reuniting with my body at the hospital today, all of these questions might not even be necessary.”
Thanks to Chenle’s effort, Jeno’s older sister had agreed to meet you at a nearby cafe to his current hospital. You’re not quite sure what to expect, but if things went well Jeno might have the real possibility of reuniting with his body.
You’ve dressed in your most professional outfit, as if you work a normal office job. You’ve rehearsed what you should open with–something formal without coming off as suspicious.
Instead, when she sees your face, Jeno’s sister says your name first as she shakes your hand. “I think your colleague said you were some sort of reporter, but you’re a spirit hunter, right?”
You gape at her. “Erm…yes in name, but how did you…?”
“Jeno was looking into contacting you,” she explains. “Before his accident, that is.”
It takes every fiber of your self-control to not turn to look at Jeno himself. You clear your throat before responding. “He was?”
She nods. “He was convinced something was haunting him on set. He seemed hell bent on reaching out to you after they wrapped, but then he got hit right after.”
“I see,” you say with a calmness you don’t really feel. “Is there anyone in his life that passed away before his accident?”
She shakes her head. “Not that I can really think of. We had an uncle pass away a few months before, and his co-star had that unexpected death mid-filming. Other than that, I can’t think of anyone. Jeno wasn’t superstitious at all, so I was confused why he was so insistent about finding a psychic.”
“Do you remember any conversations with Jeno about your uncle or his co-star? Did he have a good relationship with both?”
“Really great relationship with both,” she says with a nod. “Both were great mentors to him.”
Your conversation with his sister wraps up incredibly quickly after that. She adds you to the visitation before parting ways with you in the hospital lobby.
“Thanks for your time,” you say with a smile.
Jeno’s sister adjusts the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Do you think my brother was cursed?” She asks. Unbeknownst to her, Jeno hovers right over her shoulder.
“I’m not sure,” you lie, “but that’s what I’m here to find out. I’ll be in contact.”
You receive a visitor's badge and take the next elevator up alone.
“You were going to contact me,” you say out loud. It’s the first words you’ve said to Jeno since the car. “Talk about bizarre. I can’t believe that was strong enough to create a tether.”
“When you asked if there was an urge to find someone, I didn’t know how to answer,” Jeno finally responds. “When I came to, all I felt was a sense of relief. Like I’d finally found you, even though I had no idea of who you were and why I needed to find you.”
Jeno’s face is so red that you can see it clear as day. Your own face feels hot to the touch.
“Well, it checks out with how stubborn you are,” you laugh off the bashful atmosphere. “It got us to where we are now, at least.”
Jeno’s room is at the end of the hallway on the third floor. Your steps slow down as you approach the door.
“Well, we’ll see how this works.” You glance at Jeno. “Ready?”
He nods.
You turn the handle and push against the door, but it doesn’t budge.
“What on earth…?” You knock on the door. “Hello?”
No response. You turn the door handle again and shove your full weight against the door, but it doesn’t budge. It’s as if there’s an anvil propped against the door.
“I can’t get in. Can you try and pass through?” You ask Jeno.
He frowns and tries to phase through the door. However, his form literally bounces off the boundary of the door. He tries again through the wall instead, only for the same thing to happen. It doesn’t matter which door, wall, or even window he tries to enter through. You and Jeno cannot get in.
On your last attempt at knocking the door over, you feel a cold presence seeping from the inner room. The hairs on your neck stand on end, and you feel a second entity trying to push against your psyche.
“Shit,” you gasp. You look at Jeno, eyes wide. “We need to go.”
You rush out of the hospital until the sense of doom fully fades.
“I don’t understand,” Jeno says, his face pale. “Why can’t we get in?”
“It feels like a ward, but we already know that no sorcerer or spirit hunter has been to your room.” You grimace. “We’ve confirmed it. Your body is officially cursed, and whatever’s cursing you doesn’t want us to come in.”
In the following days, you throw yourself deep into your research like never before. You’re digging into any person that could’ve interacted with Jeno in the last few months, sure, but you’re also brushing up on curses in general.
In your desperation, you even resort to watching Jeno’s movie to get a sense of how many scenes he did with each co-star. It’s surreal, watching a solid Jeno acting with a personality completely opposing his real-life demeanor. This character is a troubled and rough soul–all darkness and angst.
“Chenle is right,” you say under your breath. “You are a great breakout actor.”
Jeno shrugs. “I guess I’m glad that my only performance was a memorable one.”
It’s an innocent comment with no malice or resentment lining it whatsoever, but you feel like you’ve been slapped. You rise from your seat and grab a glass of water from your kitchen.
“Whoa,” Jeno says as he follows you. “What’s with the sudden jerkiness?”
You grip the countertop tightly as you release a shaky breath. To your horror, tears begin to drip down your cheeks one-by-one.
“What’s wrong?” Jeno asks, his eyes wide. “What did I say?”
“What if there’s no way to get you back into your body?” Your voice wavers. “Am I supposed to make sure you pass through the door, then? Even though you’re still alive?”
Jeno had insisted that he was alive since day one, but now the reality of the situation slaps you in the face. You didn’t know such a thing was possible, let alone how you’re supposed to deal with it. The mental image of Jeno passing through the door while his physical body exhales its last breath makes you sick to your stomach. He deserves better–you want to do better by him.
You try to collect yourself and raise your glass for a drink, but the water sloshes toward the edge with each shake of your hands.
Jeno’s hand comes up around the cup. It stops the glass, but it passes through your hand easily. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself.”
Stubbornly, you manage to take a gulp of water. “It’s not okay, Jeno.”
“Maybe we’re thinking of it in a way that’s too black-and-white,” he says.
You have no idea what he’s suggesting, but any words die before they can be released. You stare at him in silence.
“I could stay with you instead,” Jeno’s voice comes out soft. “I don’t have to pick one or the other.”
It’s like a plug has been pulled. All of your pent up conflict swirls into angry tears that drip down your cheeks. “Don’t be an idiot. I can’t let you just haunt the world aimlessly while your real body lives.”
“What are you going to do about it? Capture me and send me barreling through death's door into the afterlife?” He frowns.
“It’s just…wrong. Both ways,” you say. “If you stay in this limbo, it feels like you’re asking me to choose between expelling your soul or letting your physical self waste away.”
“To me, it’s an easy choice,” Jeno responds, resolute. “I only get to be with you in one of them.”
“But that way requires sacrifice.” A frustrated grunt catches in the back of your throat. “You’ll remain alive on a technicality, but you’ll never regain your original memories. You’ll be tied to me at all times, but you’ll never be able to touch me.”
A pause. “Do you want me to touch you?”
Your skin tingles at the mere thought.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you hiss. You wipe at the corners of your eyes before any tears can even escape. “I cannot, in good conscience nor duty, allow you to put your soul in that position.”
Jeno’s eyes soften even as his mouth stiffens into a flat line. “There’s just so many things I want to do with you. I feel like I’ve seen a different side of you every day, yet it’s never enough.”
You can’t help the sniffles now. Your shoulders twitch with each exhale.
“I want nothing more than to feel your skin on mine,” he says. Jeno raises his hand up to cup the side of your face. You lean into it, but your head contacts nothing even as your skin freezes. “Even if I’m not able to return to my body, I still can’t leave you. I feel like it’s my duty to stay with you and protect you in whatever way I can.”
It feels like hundreds of needles are stabbing through your heart. You long for the physical contact; just imagining the comfort of his embrace isn’t enough. It’s a sick yearning for something you’ve never had.
It’s this deep ache that makes you whisper: “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to feel comfortable sharing your innermost thoughts with me. I want you to feel comfortable leaning and relying on me.” His smile is bittersweet. “More than anything, I want you to be happy. I want to be the one making you happy.”
You want that too. More than anything.
It’s because you want it so badly that you refuse to say it out loud. You care about him too much to relegate him as your permanent companion. You have someone ready to give up his world for yours, yet all of your principles forbid it.
“Life and fate are delicate scales,” you mutter. “If your soul wanders while your body decays, something will break.”
He frowns. “Scales?”
"Life and death can't be cheated," you explain. "If we disrupt the natural order of things, there will be consequences. Eventually."
He knows that you have him beat with your expertise. However, he still murmurs. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
You choke back another sob along with the words: I don’t want you to leave.
Instead, you turn your back and walk towards your room. “I’m going to consult some old contacts,” you say. “Someone has to know how to get your body back.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You pace in front of Ten’s office door. The clock on the far wall reads 7:59AM. One minute to go. Really, there’s nothing stopping you from opening the door and strolling in, but you want to maintain a calm front to your boss. You’d even told Jeno to stay at the furthest point of your boundary with him for privacy.
Seconds before the clock turns 8:00AM, the door swings open with a loud creak.
Ten stands on the other side with his hand on his hip. “Are you going to come in yet?”
“Sorry,” you mutter as you shuffle into the space. “Didn’t want to bother you too early.”
“You’re bothering me more by pacing back and forth outside of my door,” he snorts, then double takes when his eyes scan over your wrinkled shirt and tired eyes. “You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks.” You roll your eyes. Leave it to Ten to be honest. “I need help with my case, which is obviously why I called this meeting.”
“Speaking of,” Ten leans forward in his chair and rests his chin against his hands. “How's your ghost boyfriend?”
“Oh no, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s—”
Ten cuts you off before you can finish your defense. His eyes are bored yet sharp. “I don’t want to know what weird supernatural label you’ve put on it. I’m assuming you’re having trouble finding his body?”
Renjun and Chenle must have told him. While Ten allows you the freedom to investigate and handle things your own way, you’ve long suspected that he had his methods to monitor you.
Regardless, you don’t mind in this case. Easier to explain. “Yes. Aside from the real-life difficulty of entering a celebrity’s hospital room without relation, I can feel something repelling me. I’m not sure if it’s something related to Jeno.”
“Something related to Jeno,” Ten repeats. “You mean, in the sense that he doesn’t want to go back to his body?”
“...Yes.” Heat climbs up your neck and pools in your cheeks and ears. This is not something that you’d want to talk to your boss about in a million years. Sure, you’re not getting granular into the details, but it’s not hard to figure out.
Ten doesn’t seem to bask in your embarrassment. Instead, he hums while resting back in his chair. “He doesn’t seem to have a lot of spiritual power, correct?”
You shake your head. “He’s harmless. Yangyang cleansed both of us as well. He said he could detect something like a curse from when Jeno was alive, but since he’s been alive this entire time…”
“You think that there’s a curse on his body.”
“Yes. That, or Jeno himself is preventing me.”
“You don’t work often with malicious spirits or wraiths, correct?” Ten asks.
“No.” Any signs of spirits with ill will had you calling Renjun or Chenle to handle it. You could handle one yourself, in theory, but it would require a sorcerer like Yangyang for protection. Wraiths, like the one encountered in the department store, were completely out of the question to handle alone.
“Well, there are some cases with benign spirits also,” Ten mutters to himself before raising his head back to address you. “Do you recall your case last year with the twins?”
“Of course.” Last year’s case was a textbook instance of conjoined spiritual attachment, where the spirits of two sisters had been linked following a tragic accident.
Ten’s eyes bore into you. “What was the root case of their attachment?”
You think for a moment. “Both sisters died with overwhelming guilt on behalf of the other. The first sister hated herself for causing the accident, while the other regretted her inaction toward preventing it.”
“Exactly!”
You stare at his wild burst of enthusiasm. “I don’t understand how that helps.”
He sighs. “Come on, remove your mindset from the traditional perspective. While the twins were benign spirits, it can happen with any spirit. We never talk about conjoined malicious spirits or wraiths because not only are they incredibly rare, but because we don’t care to find the root case as carefully.” Ten pauses before speaking carefully. “I don’t think it’s a curse. Was anyone else involved in Jeno’s accident?”
“He was alone, and it was truly an accident. Drunk driver,” you say, but your head is spinning at Ten’s information. “Jeno came to me alone, and he’s good. How could he be conjoined? Wouldn’t I have noticed another tethered spirit?”
Ten holds up a slender finger. “First thing: Both don’t need to be malicious. One is enough. Second thing: I think he’s in the process of being conjoined, but his body being alive is the only thing preventing that.”
Your blood runs cold with the realization. “The other spirit is blocking Jeno’s spirit until his body dies.”
Ten nods. “Most likely.”
Shit, you think. Shit shit shit.
How could you, however brief, entertain the notion of Jeno staying as a ghost by your side? Not only have you put his physical body on the line, but he would be tethered to another ghost upon death. If unable to separate them, you’d have to shove them through death’s door together against Jeno’s will. If his will could withstand the will of something more vengeful and malicious.
Your stomach churns. Your chair scrapes against the floor as you rise to your feet. “Thank you, Ten. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this before.”
“It’s whatever. I just want my best worker back,” Ten waves away the praise. “I know we do things differently than how you were raised, but I truly believe that different perspectives strengthen us for situations like this.”
It’s rather philosophical for Ten, but you’re inclined to agree. “Thank you again. I will report back on my findings, hopefully when it’s all over.”
“You’d better make it to his body sooner rather than later,” Ten calls after you as you exit. “Don’t be afraid to use the others for backup either!"
You call back in assent, ignoring the anxiety growing within your chest. You fear failing, but you also fear what you'll lose if you succeed.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“Sensors…first aid kit…wards…” You say out loud as you parse through the contents of your equipment bag. “I think that’s everything. Hopefully Renjun and Chenle bring everything else that they wanted to work on.”
Jeno grunts in acknowledgment.
The engine rumbles as you turn the ignition. You glance at Jeno over your shoulder.
“How are you feeling?” You ask.
He hums again.
“Jeno.” You drop your voice. “You should be happy. You’re getting your body back. You won’t be a ghost anymore.”
The car shakes slightly as you pass over a speed bump. The only sound in the car is the light music flowing through your speakers.
“You haven’t seemed particularly happy either. Especially after your talk with Ten.” Jeno crosses his arms.
You gape at him through the rearview mirror. “Are you pouting?”
He looks away. “No.”
“I told you everything that I learned from that conversation,” you say with an exasperated sigh. “This will be a happy occasion, once we overcome the spirit guarding you.”
“Even so,” he says. “You look like you want nothing to do with me. You’ve avoided me at every turn, and that’s with me being bound to you.”
He’s not completely incorrect. You have been avoiding him, but all of the reasons lie with yourself first.
You turn into the hospital parking lot and park into the first spot you see. The car’s barely off when you whip around to face Jeno with a glare.
“First and foremost, I’m doing my job,” you assert. “Right now, my focus is reuniting your spirit with your body so you can get your memories back and return to your normal life.”
“Tell me one thing.” His voice lowers. “Are you included within my normal life?”
“Not now, Jeno. Please.” This is exactly what you wanted to avoid.
“If not now, then when?” He argues. “You say nothing is wrong, but you’re acting like this is the end.”
You choose each word carefully. “We don’t know how you’ll react after reuniting with your memories.”
“This again,” he snorts. “You don’t know how I’ll react, but I do. I may not have my memories, but I know I will still want to be with you. That won’t change.”
You give him a sad smile. “Our memories are us. You might change your mind once you see everything in context.”
“I won’t,” he insists.
“It’s possible,” you push back.
“Think about it,” he says. His eyes shine with determination. “My soul isn’t even tied to my physical body. It’s tied to you. It wants to be with you.”
“It wanted me to solve the mystery of your curse,” you respond. “There’s no other reason for it.”
A cool sensation washes over your hand as Jeno’s passes through yours. “I know you won’t admit it, but I know you care about me too. You don’t want me to go.”
Your eyes flick to his angrily. “You must go, or I failed as your guide. End of discussion.”
You yank your car door open and stumble out without hearing his response. Luckily, he gives you the space. Your heart aches. Jeno’s right, of course–you don’t want him to go. He insists that his memories won’t change his feelings, but his openness to abandoning his body reveals his true belief: Jeno’s memories are a wild card, and neither of you truly know how it will change things. You fear giving yourself to Jeno only to immediately lose him again.
You’re thankful to see Renjun and Chenle pull up minutes later. You take a deep breath and relax your body.
Renjun’s all business immediately. “Do you have Yangyang’s wards?”
You ruffle through the bag and hand them over.
“I’m heading up first,” he says. “They should dismantle whatever repelled you within ten minutes. Get everything ready with Chenle first, then head up when you’re ready.”
He’s gone in a flash.
“Hello to you too,” you say to his retreating back.
“He stayed up late modifying some of his tools.” Chenle says as he climbs out of the car. “Not sure he slept at all, actually.”
“Whatever gives him more confidence that we can actually catch this thing.” You lean against the car and watch as Chenle puts on his goggles. “Any specific strategy for today?”
“We’re pretty limited by the room itself,” he thinks aloud. “First, Renjun deploys the wards and we hope that Yangyang’s magic is able to rip a hole in that spiritual block. From there, we might have to…open the door and hope for the best.”
You shudder. “I hope it’s nothing like the one from the department store.”
“You and me both.” Chenle nods to a spot over your shoulder; peeking over confirms that Jeno’s finally emerged from the inside of the car. “You both ready for this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you mutter. “Let’s do this.”
Getting into the hospital is much easier than you expected. You’re not sure what Renjun did when he entered, but there’s no staff around when you enter. It’s too easy to slink upstairs to Jeno’s floor without bumping into a soul.
Creepy, you think. It reminds you too much of the atmosphere in the department store.
Chenle must think the same thing, as he pulls out his sensor. The device starts with a faint beep that escalates and amplifies into a constant ring as the elevator rises.
When the doors open with a ding, you slink out into the hallway easily. You turn down the aisle towards Jeno’s room, heart racing as you see a familiar body splayed onto the ground.
“Shit, Renjun!” You gasp as your party rushes over to your coworker.
You lift his torso so that he’s propped up against the wall outside of the room. His face is pale, and his breaths shallow.
“I’m okay,” he coughs. “Yangyang’s stupid magic just had some recoil. Knocked the wind out of me. It worked, though. I think.”
You glance at the door. Sure enough, there’s a big hole blown through the center of the door itself. The room behind the hole is completely dark from the lack of light inside, save for the faint beams of light leaking in from the hallway. Glass from the door window scatters on the floor, and the scent in the air is a little smoky.
“Um,” Chenle’s own face pales in a mirror of Renjun’s. “Shit, did anything come out? Should I just open it?”
“It’s still there. No need to worry about me, either.” A weak hand waves a familiar capsule in the air. “I can protect myself with this, if the thing decides to come out.”
You both stare at him, then each other. It’s absolutely insane, but what else can you do? There’s no way he’ll be able to outrun a wraith if need be.
“Do you want to do the honors?” Chenle asks.
Your gaze connects with Jeno’s. His eyes are wide with a silent plea: Don’t.
It motivates you to step forward. “I will. Stay behind unless it gets violent.”
You take a deep breath. You still grip onto the door handle despite the hole blasted through the center. “One…two…three!”
You push through the door. The lights flicker on with the motion of the door. You gasp at the sight in front of you.
There, standing between you and Jeno’s body laid across the hospital bed, is the spirit of his co-star. The same balding, middle aged man that Jeno’s sister thought was a mentor figure to her brother.
“Good evening!” The spirit smiles at you. He’s still wearing his costume from set; a fact that sends a shiver down your spine. “Your friend had a mighty big entrance there, blowing through the door like that. It nearly blew my head off.”
“Forgive him, he was just trying to get in.” You step forward cautiously. “May I ask why you’re in front of this man’s body?”
“Oh, quite.” His smile turns empty. His beady eyes bore into you. “I’m waiting until he dies. People were expecting him to adopt my legacy, since I took him under my wing, but I never quite liked his attitude. They let anyone act these days, it seems.”
“I see.” The ghost is reciting his reasoning, but all of his emotions and words are empty. If there's a soul there, it remains in fragments only.
You reach into your pocket to grasp Renjun’s device. The ghost’s eyes snap to the movement before inspecting your face with narrowed eyes.
“I don’t think I know you,” he says. “A friend of his?”
“Of sorts,” you say. You release the safety. “More of a fan waiting to meet him in the flesh, really.”
“Well that won’t do,” the ghost says. His outline pulses and expands in front of your eyes. “We’re not open to meet and greets.”
Jeno’s voice yells your name. “Get out of his way, now!”
Both you and the wraith’s head snap towards Jeno, who’s appeared in the doorway.
“Damn it Jeno, I said stay behind–!”
The wraith rumbles in what sounds like a laugh. “Perfect,” it drawls. “I can finally deal with you myself!”
You sprint out of the door before it has a chance to lunge. The lights in the hallway flicker as you hear the screeching behind you. You’re not so much running for yourself as much as you are for Jeno’s sake; if you don’t get ahead, then he doesn’t have a chance due to the invisible leash between you.
The hallway blurs. The wraith screeches—too close. You don’t look back. You turn one corner sharply, and then another, and then you quickly lose track of your position. You pray that either Chenle’s able to keep up or that you’re somehow headed in the correct direction.
“Stop running!” It bellows.
“I don’t even remember you!” Jeno calls back. “But from what I saw, you were a shit actor anyway!”
Finally, like a light at the end of the tunnel, your eyes focus on Renjun posted at the end of the hallway. You could pivot to another turn, but another idea takes hold as you barrel straight forward.
“Chenle, your ass better be close by!” You shriek as you sprint towards Renjun. “Jeno–!”
“I know!” He shouts back.
The two of you sprint straight toward Renjun, who has his device pointed at the ready for your cue. You continue full steam ahead, ignoring the crashes and high pitched screams behind you.
Then, instead of blazing past the entrance to Jeno’s hospital door, you change your trajectory. “Now!” You scream as you veer suddenly to the left, sliding into the room and away from Renjun. Jeno’s spirit flies right in front of you, completely safe from the line of fire.
The light from Renjun’s device makes your eyes water from its searing brightness. The wraith swirls closer to it slowly, but it’s able to resist more than the one you’d seen at the store. As it gets pulled past the doorway, its head suddenly twists to leer at you.
Your heart gets caught in your throat. You make a move for your own device, but then you hear a yell accompanied by another flash of light closing in from the other direction.
It must be Chenle, you realize. Sure enough, the counteracting beam of light closes in from the other side. The spirit tries to resist, but eventually it’s forced into Renjun’s capture device with a final scream into the unknown. Renjun seals the device tightly with the lock mechanism.
You blink as both lights disappear. The wraith is gone now–all that’s left is you, Jeno, and your two coworkers panting with hands shaking around their equipment.
“He’s gone,” you gasp, shaking yourself. You look up at Jeno. “You’re finally free.”
Chenle and Renjun both look worse for wear, but they still rise to wobbling feet and shuffle towards the exit.
“You don’t have to leave immediately,” you insist, alarmed at their sluggish moments.
Renjun shakes his head. “We’ll just wait outside. You guys should close it out together alone, just like how you started.”
Just like that, they’re hobbling down the hallway for the exit. The door swings closed, despite the gaping hole through the center. You turn your attention to the rest of the room.
Jeno–rather, Jeno’s body–lays on the hospital bed. His chest rises and falls, and the monitor at his side measures a steady, normal heart rate. There’s no frown lines or signs of anything wrong on his face; the real Jeno seems completely at peace.
“Like what you see?” Ghost Jeno asks behind your ear. His eyes crinkle into half moons as you jump from his proximity.
“I’ve just never seen one of my ghosts in person before,” you breathe. “You know, considering everyone else is actually dead.”
“And here I thought you would say I look better than in the movie,” he pouts.
In all honesty, he does look better in real life. You’d go as far to say that neither the movie or his pictures do him justice. From his sculpted facial features to the smoothness of his skin, he looks more like a piece of artwork than a human. If ghost Jeno was enough to make your heart cartwheel, being in the same room as his physical self makes it tumble in your chest.
Ghost Jeno floats over his body so that he hovers in a direct mirror. “So…how does this work?”
Your brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“How do I…” He claps his hands together. “Merge back? Are you supposed to do something?”
“Why would I have to do something?” You ask. “Shouldn’t you try climbing back into it first?”
He raises his hands up. “You’re the spirit expert. Since I’m tied to you I thought maybe there would be some other requirements. You could always try kissing my body in my sleep? Disney style?”
In spite of yourself, a smile tugs at your lips. “If I have to start kissing people as part of the job, I think I’ll have to go out of business.”
Jeno raises his eyebrows. “But you’d try it this once, right? For me?”
“Stop stalling.” Heat floods your face, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Just try. The easiest method first, thank you.”
“Okay.” His expression softens. “I’m going to try and go back now.”
You stare at each other, suspended in the moment. You’re sure, then, that you’re both thinking the same thing.
“I’ll probably stay long enough to confirm it works,” you say slowly. “I should probably leave before the real you wakes up, just in case…”
“No,” Jeno says. “I’m definitely going to remember you.”
Your smile flattens. “You can’t guarantee that.”
“I just have a feeling,” he says. “So please stay.”
Every cell of your body urges you to leave. If you were attuned to the voices already passed over into the afterlife, you’re sure that you would hear every Spirit Hunter before you screaming to respect tradition. Lead the soul, break the tie.
But that’s the thing: you’re alone in this world, and you’re severed from those who have crossed over. It’s the sincerity in Jeno’s eyes that reminds you of who’s been here with you during these last few months. Even if all of these memories together become solely yours to carry, you can at least honor this last moment together.
Against all logic and dogma, your gut trust in Jeno leads you to say: “Okay.”
His silhouette relaxes. “Alright,” he says. “See you later.”
You watch, breath held, as his soul finally connects with his body. His physical body twitches as he makes contact, but nothing else happens as Jeno’s ghost submerges into himself. His body catches its breath–your heart drops–but after a brief moment, he continues the same, deep breathing in and out.
You walk to the side of his bed. Examining the area around him, there’s no trace of Jeno’s ghost; he must have been accepted, you determine.
As Jeno shows no signs of waking up, you linger at his bedside, unsure of what to do. Sure, you’d promised that you’d stay, but what did that mean? Sit at his side until he woke up? What if he didn’t remember you, and he woke up to a complete stranger staring at him?
You take another look at the smooth lines in his face and soften. Jeno has a whole bank of memories to parse through. Sure, your time together had meant a lot to both of you, but you wonder how much of that devotion belonged solely to the ghost. A part of you still fears seeing the look on his face–confusion, yes, but more so indifference.
I stayed, you think. I stayed and made sure the transfer was successful. I can leave, for now, and come back to visit when he’s awake.
It’s a weak promise to yourself; you know that if you leave now, it will be infinitely difficult to find the courage to come back and face him later. You stop to brush one of his stray hairs back into place before leaving.
“Bye for now,” you whisper.
As you turn away, a hand snaps over your wrist and yanks you back around.
“You said you would stay,” Jeno croaks. One of his eyes squints at you. “Liar.”
The words barely stammer out. “I-I was going to come back–”
Jeno pulls you into his chest, both arms cradling around you gently. You’re so used to the transience and lightness of his ghost form that this physicality feels the opposite–firm and solid. Here.
“Jeno…?”
“I’m just happy that I can finally hold you,” his voice muffles into the crook of your shoulder. “I would’ve stayed by your side forever as a ghost, regardless, but this is way better.”
“Yeah,” you sniffle. A few tears fall down your cheeks and drip onto his hospital gown. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”
“I told you I had a gut feeling,” Jeno says as he pulls away. He cradles your face in his hands and wipes the tears away with the pads of his fingers. “Have some faith.”
“I’m sorry,” you breathe through the hiccups.
His hands pull your face to his, and your lips brush together in a soft touch. Everything about kissing him is warm and comforting and right. You feel his heart beating underneath your hand on his chest, its quickening confirmed by the increased faint beeping of the monitor next to him.
“Don’t be sorry.” Jeno rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve already forgiven you.”
Your eyes wander over his pale and tired face. You realize, in this moment and through his words, the discrepancy in faith between Jeno and yourself. While you had forced the distance between you every step of the way, he’d pushed back with conviction. Jeno’s given you no room to doubt his commitment–if anything, you’re the evasive one.
You cup his face with one hand, and your thumb strokes his cheek slowly. “Hey?”
Jeno raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I love you,” you whisper. It’s your leap of faith; overcoming the fear that comes with letting yourself be loved.
The startled look on his face is priceless. “Whoa,” Jeno says, eyes wide. “I–wow–”
Your entire body feels as though it’ll burst into flames. “Too soon?”
“No, never,” Jeno pulls you into his chest. The beeping on his heart monitor rapid-fires. “I just thought it would be too soon for you.”
“It would be, normally,” you admit, “but nothing about our circumstances is quite normal. It deserves an exception.”
“True,” he grins ear to ear. “I love you too. I’m all yours–clearly. Body and soul.”
Your heart sings. You have no idea what comes next–you’re not sure how you’re going to explain this to Jeno’s family, and you’re also not sure if being with a previous ghost client somehow violates some sort of HR rule–but you can’t bring yourself to care.
For so long, you’ve ached to be seen. Now you can say with the utmost certainty that you’ve found someone who understands you and accepts you fully, body and soul.
Summary: Y/n makes a living as a fortune teller and Harry is trying to get answers about his future. When they meet, something inexplicable happens to them both.
A/N: A soft and sweet read for y'all! This is Halloween vibes but nothing scary or dark. This was first posted on Patreon last October. 🎃 Be on the lookout for next week's giveaway and discount to join my Patreon 🎃
Her crystal ball let off a subtle glow from a small slice of sun poking through a strategic gap in her window curtains as she floated her fingers over the clear amethyst sphere. "He's someone you already know. Someone you wouldn't expect. I can see that he's already in love with you but he's never spoken of it for fear of losing your friendship."
"What's his name? Who is it?" The woman leaned in to look into the ball to see if she could get a glimpse of what Y/n was seeing.
Y/n sat back into her chair and looked at her client, "That I can't say. The ball will only reveal so much. I do know he's a friend to you. Someone you trust wholeheartedly."
"Can I book another appointment? Next week?"
Y/n smiled with a nod. "Of course."
Divination wasn't a perfect practice but so many who came to her were looking for answers and often she could help them –at least in the sense that they felt heard and hopeful upon leaving. Though, sometimes her patrons would leave disappointed, wanting exact names and dates. And sometimes Y/n got it wrong.
Crystal ball gazing and tarot reading were her specialty. But mostly it was luck and the act of cold reading. She had spiritual gifts, yes, but if she were to be completely frank, she was just more intuned than most and paid close attention to subtle cues from her clients which made guessing truths about them quite easy.
And she was surprised at how many bought into it when she first decided to try it out on a whim. How many believed that she could read the future. No one would have guessed that she'd make quite the successful little business from being a quasi-therapist and playing pretend with people.
Well, Y/n wouldn't exactly call it playing pretend. She did really pick up energy and sometimes she'd have clear readings on people. She was visited by ghosts and had dreams that foretold occurrences. Sometimes she'd be at the grocery store and see someone who had a spirit attached to them, following behind them in the freezer aisle.
Of course, plenty of people laughed at her and made fun of what she did but if they only knew how much money she was making they might close their mouths. It was a job and a hard one at that. Not just anyone could sit down and do what Y/n did.
She had a handful of clients every day. The front of her house was set up for her business and she'd take each customer in knowing they were humans with real emotions and concerns. She wasn't a grifter. She truly cared and took her work seriously, even if part of it had nothing to do with psychic abilities.
During the cooler months, her business brought in the most money, though. Especially in October before Halloween. Often she'd have to turn away any walk-ins during that time because she was too booked up each day. Sometimes she'd have 6 or 7 clients and that was her max. Once in a while, she'd let someone in after hours if they seemed especially distraught.
Her next client was a new customer and he wanted a tarot reading – And maybe like palm reading or something?… – he added in as she noted what he'd like over the phone. Y/n was preparing for his arrival by cleansing the space. She'd placed her cards on the old table with its dark purple velvet cloth atop. She blew out the incense she'd lit to warm up the place (and to make it smell nice) and stocked her drink fridge (free water and sodas for her paying clients).
Most people visited her because they wanted to know about love. When would they find their soulmate? Who was it they were meant to be with? Were they doomed to die alone? Did they already know the person?
Love was the big seller. Y/n advertised that way as well. Everyone was looking for love, even married couples. It was what drove and inspired most of humanity.
And while the man hadn't specified that that was what he wanted a reading for, he did mention that he was feeling lost and uncertain about his future. It was usually revealed to her what exactly the patron wanted after they arrived so she'd see, but she had a hunch that love might be part of it.
Her buzzer rang when she was in her kitchen sipping up a bit of hot tea with honey to ready her throat for an hour of talking. She took a breath and straightened her back to stand with confidence (it was a very important thing to convey certainty in her skill to anyone paying) and then walked through to her front room to answer her door.
Immediately she felt the air shift around her when she looked into his green eyes. He was familiar to her. She knew him somehow.
"Welcome, Harry, I'm Y/n," she gestured to allow him to enter her home and closed the door behind him when he stepped in.
"Make yourself comfortable. I have beverages if you're thirsty here," she waved her hand in front of the mini refrigerator, "and we'll be over there for your reading. Yours is the chair with the red cushions. I'll let you settle and I'll be right back."
It was her usual greeting and spiel. She liked to let her guests acquaint themselves with her space alone for a moment so they felt more comfortable. But this time Y/n really did need to step away for a moment to regain composure out of his view. For herself.
She walked into her quiet kitchen and clutched her mug for another sip. Who was he? How did she know him? Was this one of her psychic impressions?
It was hard to place. Maybe she had met him before and couldn't recollect? Or was it something deeper? A past life maybe…
Regardless, she had business to conduct and a paying customer was waiting. Looking at herself in the hallway mirror she fixed her hair and blinked her eyes. She needed to mentally prepare for what was about to happen. Because one thing she did know was that this wouldn't be any ordinary reading.
Harry was already seated in the red velvet chair with a bottle of water sat on the table in front of him.
"Thank you for trusting me with your time today," she smiled as she sat down across from him.
He nodded, "Thank you for your time. Um… I've never done anything like this before. I'm a little nervous. Not really sure I believe in any of it to be honest."
"Most people don't believe in this kind of thing. Some come in just to talk and get perspective and leave with a bit of inspiration or hope. I offer my gifts without judgment and without unrealistic expectations."
His eyes… his eyes! She was spellbound. There was so much depth and connection there. And his voice was familiar too. She'd heard him whispering to her in her dreams. A soothing baritone full of warmth and patience. She did know him. She knew this man. But how?
"You're really good at this," he smiled. "I already feel better."
"Good. Okay, Harry…" She picked up the stack of cards and began shuffling, "So you mentioned you're feeling lost in life. You'd like us to focus on the future?"
He cleared his throat, those pretty green eyes still looking into hers, she was wavering just at his gaze, "Yeah. I think so. I uh," he scratched the back of his neck, his thick knit sweater looked cozy, "My uh… well I've had a series of bad luck lately. My grandmother passed a couple of months ago. I was taking care of her because no one else really had time to. And my fiance, at that time, she was getting upset that I wasn't spending enough time with her. She'd get angry that I'd go right after work to my grandmother's house to help her make meals, watch TV with her, get her set up for the nurse who'd visit in the mornings…
"Sometimes I'd wind up staying overnight with her and that really got Tamora mad. She broke up with me right before my grandmother died. She gave me back the engagement ring but I was so upset I went out and got drunk, which I never do, but I lost the ring and it had been so expensive. It was in my pocket and I forgot to stick it somewhere safe before… And that night I didn't go to see my grandmother and that's when she passed. I just… can't seem to get over the guilt of everything. I feel hopeless. Tamora and I were so good together at one time. We were happy."
Y/n listened to Harry's story and she couldn't help but feel deeply for the man. He seemed so genuine, so vulnerable.
"I'm sorry that happened to you. You tried to do the right thing but it seemed to just not be enough. That's how life can be. No matter what we do, no matter how good we are, sometimes there are obstacles we can't control. What would you like to focus on with this reading specifically? Love? Hope for the future? Or maybe there's something else you'd like to concentrate on?"
"Maybe hope for the future. Everything just feels so grim right now. I don't even miss Tamora, to be honest. I think her breaking up with me was a long time coming. Maybe we drifted apart at some point and I didn't realize it until more recently. But I felt like I had my life on track just a few months ago and now it's just… I'm feeling stuck."
"Okay. We'll focus on illumination and clarity for you. A way to move past the stuck feeling."
He nodded as he looked down at the cards Y/n had fanned out toward him in her hands.
"I'll have you pull five cards. Take a breath and focus on the questions and what we want to learn for this reading," she inhaled with her eyes on his and watched his chest expand, "For your first, we'll ask -what is happening in this moment?"
Harry took a card and placed it down face up on the table and then looked up at Y/n, "It says, The Wheel of Fortune."
"It can mean transition, cycles of life, inevitable change. We'll see once we get the rest out on the table. For your next one, we'll ask -how can I get through this time with grace?"
His second card was the Devil, but upside down. Harry's brows pinched together.
"This the Devil card in reverse. It's about freedom and release. Restoring your control."
He let out a breath, "Reverse… So if it's upside down it means something different?"
"Yes. Exactly. And all this winds up all making sense once all the cards are out. Your next card we'll ask -what is the lesson I should learn?"
Harry hovered his hand over the fanned-out deck and pulled a card. The Tower card in reverse.
"Generally this means disaster, upheaval, and broken promises, but your card is reversed so this will be something like disaster avoided and overcoming fear of change."
For his fourth Y/n had him ask -what things are leaving? To which he pulled The Hanged Man.
"This can be sacrifice, martyrdom. Now for your final card. Ask -what is arriving at this time?"
He flattened his lips together and took a moment before plucking his fifth card. The Lovers Meeting.
Y/n paused looking at his spread of cards. It was as if the reading was for her in a way. But her intentions had been properly set for the man in front of her. Not herself.
She pointed at the final card, "Lovers Meeting. This can be about partnerships. New unions. New love."
She let her eyes linger on his as she said it. She felt like something was beckoning her to reach across to him and take his hand, but she didn't know why. He was magnetic. His presence was immense. Resisting her urge to touch his hand she blinked and looked back down at the cards.
"Now, with everything here in front of us we can make sense of the cards and I'm seeing good things. For example, your first card is about what's happening in your present and this suggests inevitable change and cycles of life. You've been through a lot lately and this seems fitting. You're right where you need to be because then for your next card here, it's restorative for you. The past has brought you here, right now. You're releasing what's been and entering into a new way - with your third card pointing to you letting go of your fear of change after having avoided disaster. I'm thinking this might mean Tamora. She was a safe person for you for a season. But maybe that's not what you needed in the long run. Her presence might have been a hindrance. Her breaking up with you is the new change to release you and having done that avoided causing you more strife or harm. Disaster averted," Y/n laughed, "Disaster might be a dramatic way to put it but the cards allow for nuance, so maybe not disaster, but you've dodged a bullet."
Harry nodded, "Yeah. That sounds right actually. She was safe. I did love her, um, but it was more about sticking with what I knew. She and I got along and it was easy with her. I didn't have to get out of my comfort zone."
"And that could be why you say you don't even miss her. You already knew subconsciously that you two had nothing more left for one another. The card is the lesson and it's saying you've avoided something bad in life and now you're free to change and choose.
"Then we have The Hanged Man. Things you're leaving behind. Sacrifice. This could mean that you were sacrificing yourself to be someone you aren't. Maybe you were with Tamora and pretending. You no longer have to sacrifice yourself to be that person. Or it could point to your grandmother's passing. She's gone and you get to move on. You no longer need to carry the burden of taking care of her. She's releasing you to enjoy your life now. It's your time."
Harry sniffed and picked up his plastic water bottle, chugging a gulp down before nodding.
"And of course, what's coming? What's arriving now for you? The Lovers Meeting suggests you could be meeting someone new, a business partner, friend, lover… Whatever it is, means good things. It's something to look forward to."
"Meeting someone new... Well," he grinned, "I've met you today. So off to a good start with that one, I think."
"Yeah. That's a good way to look at it."
The pair smiled at one another for a few beats before Harry blinked and his expression became serious, "I have a strange question. I feel like… Like maybe we've met? You seem so familiar. I don't remember meeting you but I can't shake the feeling that we know each other. You sound familiar, and you look like someone I know but I can't place it."
Y/n's brows raised and she nodded, "Interesting. I don't think we have met. At least… not in this life. Oddly enough," she looked down at the scattered cards and then back up at Harry, "I feel the same way. I did the moment I looked at you when I opened the door. You seem very familiar to me and I can't fugure why."
"In this life…" Harry spoke softly, eyes squinted, "Do you believe in past lives?"
She nodded, "I do. I mean look at what I do for a living, Harry," she laughed. "I know you probably think I'm a kook but yes. I believe in things like past lives."
"I've never really thought about a past life. What does it mean when it feels like this? When you meet someone who could be from a past life? It's never happened to me before. At least I guess not."
"We meet people from past lives all the time we just don't usually recognize them. And I'm not saying for certain that that is what this familiarity is… but it's something to ponder."
"But we recognize each other. We must have been very close then. If that's what it is. A past life thing."
"I would assume that we did know one another very well. That's… It's hard to say but yes. Possibly."
"What are the other possibilities?"
Y/n shrugged and began to push the cards back together to stack, "Maybe we've seen one another in passing. You live in the area?"
He nodded, "Yeah maybe that's it. Saw you at the gym or something."
Y/n sputtered a laugh and shook her head, "You'll never find me in one of those places. Too much testosterone and pheromones. I'm too sensitive to hang around in a gym where everyone's working up their endorphins. I prefer to do yoga in my sunroom. Take walks at night."
She watched his eyes lower over her dress. It wasn't a revealing dress but it made her suddenly aware of the way she looked. He was taking in her appearance. Assessing.
"So you don't like testosterone?" He teased, the edge of his lip quirked up.
"Not usually. Men make me nervous."
He frowned, "I'm not making you nervous am I?"
Quickly shaking her head she stacked the cards neatly on the table, "No. Not at all. Your presence is very calming. You are open and vulnerable. I just mean that I've dealt with… men are strange a lot of the time. Aggressive. Fragile egos. Easily angered or completely apathetic. But not you."
"I can understand that. You'll get no argument from me there."
He really was self-possessed and gentle. She could tell he was curious and patient.
She let her gaze linger on him as smiled. She really felt drawn. And knowing he found her familiar as well made her wonder if he was also experiencing the same kind of pull she was.
"Would you –like a palm reading still? Or we can do another card reading and focus on something different?"
"Yeah. Um, a palm reading, I think."
Y/n pushed her chair back so they could sit closer. It was easier for her to get a better look if she was sat near whoever she was reading. Placing herself at the corner of the table next to him, she reached out with her palm up, "Place your hand in my palm, face up."
"Which hand?" Harry lifted both of his hands and flipped them around.
"I'll do both so whichever one you want to do first."
He slowly placed his hand in hers, palm up. Y/n felt energetic heat from him instantly. And not the heat from his hand, as it was cool to the touch. But it was heat from him. A heat that passed through to her blood and her pith. The startling sensation made her gasp softly and Harry winced as he looked at her.
"That… that's normal?" He had a surprised expression on his face.
Y/n parted her lips and blinked, shaking her head, "No. Did… you're feeling that?"
He nodded looking from her hand to her eyes, "Yes. Like a… I don't know… a surge of something. It's making my heart pound."
"Me too. Um… Hold on…" Y/n slid her hand away and placed her palms on the table flat to collect her thoughts. It had been too much. There was no way she could read him without distraction if she was feeling that kind of energy off him.
"I'm sorry. I don't know–"
Y/n lifted her hand and shook her head, "Don't be sorry. This isn't your fault. I think maybe there's a psychic or empathic connection somehow. We're both picking up on it. Something very unique. That's never happened to me before. I read a lot of palms and never have I felt energy like that."
She felt like if she touched him for a few seconds longer they'd be unable to stop. They'd be connected and fuse together or something. Though, logically she knew that was impossible but whatever it was had been beyond her own understanding. It was a force outside of her control.
Harry placed his palm on the table next to hers, his fingers spread apart, "Do you know what that meant? Ever since I stepped in here there's been a really profound –feeling."
"Well, it can mean different things I guess. But this is very," she cocked her head and looked down at his hand, "… peculiar. I think we should try again. Knowing what it might feel like we'll be prepared this time. Unless you don't want to."
"Okay. Yeah. I want to. I think we should too."
Biting her lip Y/n watched him turn his palm up and she drew the pads of her fingers over his digits. The same energetic jolt reached in through her skin and spread through her body in soft waves.
"You have what we call in palmistry as air hands. It means you're curious and are able to analyze and communicate well. You like to keep busy or else you're anxious and uncomfortable. Um…" She swallowed thickly, trying to concentrate on reading but her heart was lobbing in her chest and she could feel her eyes blurring with moisture, emotion.
"Air hands…" He whispered, his eyes on her face, "And what kind of hands do you have?"
She looked up at him and inhaled, "Water. There are four kinds. Earth, fire, air, and water."
She watched him clench his jaw as he scooted to the edge of his chair, his knee knocking into hers, "You're… I can't describe it. This sensation –like emotion…"
"I can't either. I may not be able to do this properly, Harry. I'm kind of overwhelmed…"
He licked his pink lips and his irises wended down her face to her mouth, her fingers still pressing into his, "Is it okay if I…"
She heard him inhale a shaky breath and she knew exactly what he was going to ask because it was almost as if she could hear the words come out before he spoke them. A kiss to see. To feel it deeper. Just to make sure. A kiss to quell the bizarre draw.
Lifting up his free hand with hers, she brought his palm up to her face and leaned in closer, "Yes. Please."
When their lips met they both understood what it was that had them feeling such a deep and enigmatic pull. There was no longer a question about a past life or having crossed paths unknowingly. It was cosmic design. They were always going to find each other. Their souls were connected in every life. And this life had brought them together again just as it was meant to.
She felt his fingers draw gently around the side of her neck and into the hair at her nape and she placed her hand on his chest over his heart. They were the lovers in the fortune. Meeting again in a new life. A reconvening once more.
Y/n gasped a breath as she parted from the kiss, keeping her eyes pinned to his as she slid her fingers between his digits, "I'm… I don't know. I'm kind of stunned."
"What do we do? I don't want to go yet."
"Then don't. We have a lot of catching up to do."
Harry nodded and smiled. His chest was rising and falling just as rapidly as Y/n's, "Okay. What now?"
Y/n grinned, "How about some tea?"
.
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Simon isn’t certain why he kills. It doesn’t matter, the end result is the same. But if he had to guess— it’s from the agony of seeing his reflection in other people’s eyes. Seen by many, and yet never understood. It feels like there’s a cloudy, amniotic membrane between him and the rest of the world. Nothing he sees feels clear. How can he be the only one who feels this way?
Until your prodding causes a ripple in his psyche. He can feel your fingers rending his scalp and creating pressure behind his eyes as he shares his vision. You don’t realize it, maybe, but every time you see into someone else, a little bit of you leaks through the crack as well. He doesn’t have the gift, so he can’t glean much, but he can see a flash every so often. As you look at your reflection in a car window, as the investigation files are shoved into your face in a stack of Manila folders.
You can see the world through his eyes. You must be able to understand him. You can feel as he feels and watch as it all goes by. You’re the only one who can understand him.
As a part of the investigation, you’re taken into protection. Of course, he’s found you in the real world at this point. You’ve seen yourself through his eyes, through the moving gaps in crowds of people. Always accompanied by covertly dressed men. Men who are keeping you from him. His anger burns against your cerebellum. It’s acrid and invasive and nauseating. It’s like a hot cup of vomit poured down a heating vent. To have the thing you want so close, and yet kept a world away.
He learns how to push the things he sees through the crack between your minds. So you can see them even when you’re not trying to look. It gives him a mind numbingly painful migraine, but it’s worth it, to send you these love letters. You feel the heave of his chest as he looks down, a load of his cum splattered generously over a picture of you that you don’t remember being taken. It’s from less than 24 hours ago. He rubs the wet stain into your cheek with his thumb.
“We’ll be able to do this f’real soon, birdie. Just wait f’me. Be there before y’know it. Those toy soldiers can’t keep y’from your man forever.”
A/N: So, this was a request from like 2023? Apologies that it took me so long to get to it, it was perhaps my first ever request and it has been staring at me from my inbox for a while. I recently finally found the will to write again so I hope you enjoy this!
Warnings: Hints of violence, battle scenes, walkman (I don't know how they work so I took some creative liberties), gore, graphic depictions of violence (for a little bit only), Female POV, mentions of music from 1999 (like Michael Jackson)
Though they came from the same parents, Rick O’Connel and his sister were as different as the night and day. While he inherited their parent’s adventurous spirit, she had her grandparent’s fascination with mysticism and magic. The same magic that wove its way through Hamunaptra, dark and velvety, thrumming with undead life. All her life, she’d been surrounded by mystical artefacts from around the world, learning about their purposes, their properties, rituals of the past, long gone, yet the deities they were attached to laid dormant, waiting.
She was passionate about archaeology, speaking dead languages as naturally as her own tongue. Accompanying archaeologists on digs, she had gained quite a repertoire within the archaeological community.
Her phone rang early in the morning, her brother asking for help on a dig at the mysterious Hamunaptra. The scrolls called the place cursed, yet she could taste destiny calling to her. The strings of fate beaconing her towards the cursed remains, so she packed her bags, taking the quickest flight to Egypt, eager to assist.
As soon as her feet touched the ground of Hamunaptra, she felt the stale magic in the ruins, its rotten taste coating her mouth as she tried keeping her composure. Something was wrong in this place; their presence was violating the site. He brother acknowledged her concerns, telling her he felt it too but he was focused on fulfilling the woman, Evelyn’s wishes in finding the book of Amun-Ra.
“Brother, be careful as you dig. These sands hide more than scorpions,” she warned, ominously, accompanying them as they walked through the unending tunnels of Hamunaptra.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll be careful, lil sis. Don’t worry,” her brother answered trying to reassure her, cautiously watching out for traps within the walls and floors.
~
As night slowly drew closer, the two separate camps settled into the tent when they were attacked by the dessert nomads. Men in black, charging into the camp, killing the diggers one by one. Guns blazed as the men attacked the camps. Rick fought the masked chieftain of the nomads. He was pushed away, landing on his back. The chieftain approached him with his sword, intending to end his life when he was blocked by a smaller body attacking him. It was her, Rick’s sister wielding a sword fiercely against the chieftain.
Their swords clashed against each other in a dance of death. Every attack he made, she blocked successfully, and every time she slashed against him, he evaded her sword. It was as if they’d fought before, weaving past each other, their blades dancing against each other.
“You’re good, for a nomad,” she exclaimed, slashing through one of his sleeves.
He paused before charging at her, his blade cutting into her shoulder as she wove away from him.
“You’re good, for a foreigner,” he said, a smirk tingeing his voice.
She smirked, charging at him when her brother yelled, “STOP!”
Both their gazes turned towards him, a lit dynamite in his hands, willing to take them all with him, showing he’d not back down. The chieftain stared, wide eyed as the spark moved along the wick, yelling to the suicidal man, “Yallah! We will shed no more blood, but you must leave. Leave this place or die. You have one day.”
Stating his, he called his forces to retreat, the mysterious figure melding with the night, as if he were never there. She stared, watching him leave as her brother extinguished the dynamite before checking her cut.
Soon, she sat bandaged, huddled around the dancing flames. The two camps came to a temporary truce, deciding to stay together at night for protection. Sighing she thought about the mysterious stranger who wielded his sword with power and grace. Recalling his movements against the sand, his formidable strikes. He was a fighter. But what was a trained fighter like him doing among the dunes?
~
Dawn broke slowly, as the dig continued. The mismatch band of archaeologists and treasure hunters disregarding the grace of the chieftain the night before.
“I think we should leave. This place…it gives me a bad feeling. We shouldn’t be here. It’s not like the other sites, whatever is buried here, it must remain here,” she whispered to her brother, pulling him aside before they went into the tunnels once again.
“I know, but I can’t leave her…She saved my life,” he said, strapping his gun against his waist.
“Is it just because she saved you…or because you’ve fallen for her?” She asked, a teasing smirk on her face.
“Shut up!” He yelled, averting his eyes from her as she laughed at his red face.
~
The moment the black sarcophagus was opened, she felt a wave of nausea hit her. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. Reading the inscription within, ‘Death is only the beginning’ sent a chill down her spine. Grasping her brother’s arm, she told him urgently, “We should leave. Right now. We can’t be in here. Close him. Now!” He stared at her questioningly, but trusted her instincts. Whatever she felt, whatever scared her must’ve been serious.
He nodded, leading them away from the ominous sarcophagus cautiously.
Night quickly fell as the camps sat with each other around the fire, trading stories with whiskey-tinged lips. The alcohol making them friendlier, more willing to exist together and for a moment, there was peace within the cursed ruins.
The quiet was quickly broken by Evie stealing the book of the dead and reading from it. The archeologist, panicked, screamed for her to stop, but it was too late. He was awake and the end had come.
A swarm of locusts emerged, drawing the mismatched group to seek shelter within the cursed walls of Hamunaptra. Their group got split up within the walls with Evie getting separated from the rest.
They found a way around, to her, only to be faced with the grotesque form of the mummy they had previously discovered. The mummy looked at her, whispering with wide eyes, “Priestess.”
She stared at the being, horrified as she pulled Evie away from him, her brother shooting the creature in the face before barely escaping.
“WHAT WAS THAT?!” she yelled, exhausted and frustrated. They escaped the mummy but the danger was not over yet. Surrounded by natives in black, the chieftain stepped forward, answering her question, “We told you to leave or die. You refused. Now you may have killed us all. You have unleashed a creature we have feared for more than three thousand years.”
“Relax, I got him,” Rick said, smugly.
“No, you incapacitated him. No mortal weapon can kill this creature. He is not of this world,” he said, turning to his men, motioning them to bring someone forward. Burns soon emerged, his eyes and tongue gouged out. The rest were horrified, Rick immediately going to attack the chieftain but his siter hold him back, “Wait! No, they didn’t do this,” she said, soothing her brother. “Explain,” she said to the chieftain, her voice steely.
“We saved him, before the creature could finish its work. Now, leave all of you before he finishes you all. Yallah Imshi!” He said, dismissively, commanding his men to go forward, hunting the creature.
“I said, I got him,” her brother insisted to the chieftain.
The chieftain looked him dead in the eye and stated, seriously, “Know this, this creature is the bringer of death. He will never eat, he will never sleep and he will never stop.” The group watched as the chieftain walked away, his dark figure blending seamlessly into the shadowy corners of the ruins.
~
She sat in her room; her desk scattered with errant pieces of paper and artefacts of ages long gone as she stared at the map of Hamunaptra. The elusive city practically erased from all known maps, yet she was able to find a replica of it, hidden away between dusty tomes long-forgotten. The words of the chieftain swirled in her mind; his warning sat heavily in her chest. The image of the creature emerged before her eyes again as he called her “Priestess”. Sighing she walked to her balcony overlooking the busy street as she tried to dismiss the questions swirling in her mind. What was the creature? What did he mean? And most importantly, what did the chieftain’s warnings mean? As her doubts began to emerge once again, an image in black crossed her eye. She spotted him, the same chieftain who issued the warning, slowly slinking through the streets, blending within the crowd. Hastily she rushed from her room, chasing the elusive man.
Through the bustling streets of the city, she followed the chieftain slowly, trying to blend into the shadows as much as possible when she lost track of him around a corner. She looked around, trying to find the elusive man, when she turned around, coming face-to-barrel with the man. “Why are you following me?” He asked her, his barrel pointed at her forehead.
She stared at him, dead in the eyes, “I need to know more about the creature you fear.”
“Why?” He asked, suspiciously.
“When we opened that coffin, I felt darkness unlike any other I have felt on any dig, an all-consuming rage and pain. The creature looked at me and called me ‘priestess’. Does that mean anything to you?”
At her last words, the chieftain stared at her, wide-eyed as he lowered his gun. “You need to come with me,” he said with finality, dragging her with him till they reached the Museum of Antiquities.
“What’s your name?” she asked, conversationally. “Ardeth Bey,” he mumbled, looking around the room for something, or rather, someone. “Well, Ardeth Bey,” she said, testing the syllables in her mouth cheekily, “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, if we weren’t being hunted by a resurrected mummy.”
He smirked at the woman, enjoying her humor before quickly looking away, mumbling, “I would’ve preferred not being hunted by an ancient mummy at all, but yes meeting you has been…agreeable.”
Quickly moving through the corridors, he found who he was looking for, the curator at the Museum, Terence Bey, “Hello old friend,” he greeted the man, “I am afraid we need to talk.”
The man looked at Ardeth’s serious face, “Ardeth. What happened? And who is this?”
“The monster has risen, and he has taken an interest in her and her compatriots,” Ardeth said, grimly, glancing at the woman beside him.
“This is bad, very, very bad,” Terence said as he paced worriedly, trying to figure out a plan before halting, the second half of Ardeth’s sentence registering as he asked, “And what do you mean taken an interest in her?”
“He called me ‘Priestess’ when he saw me in the tomb,” she answered, glancing at the elder man’s widening eyes. “No…It cannot be, but…” he mumbled, bewildered as he rushed from the room, searching through shelves of books and scrolls as he searched for something.
“Aha!” he screamed, finally finding what he was looking for. Pulling forth an old fragment of paper he was about to start reading when a commotion halted him. Rick and his friends had made their way to the Museum. They glanced around looking for any signs of life till they were face-to-face with Ardeth, Terence and Rick’s sister. Bewildered but unwilling to back down, he drew his gun, pointing at the chieftain.
The curator addressed the group, “Ms. Carnahagn, Gentlemen.”
“What is he doing here?” asked Evie, glancing at the man draped in black, “And what are you doing here?” she asked Rick’s sister, staring accusatively at the woman, making her slightly uncomfortable.
“Would you really like to know or would you rather just…shoot us?” Terence asked rhetorically as Rick lowered his gun, saying that he was willing to take a small leap of faith.
The elder man led the group to the tomb display of Seti the Fist. Sitting on Seti’s throne, he began speaking, “We are part of a secret society. For 3000 years we have guarded the city of the dead, sworn at manhood to do anything and all in our power to stop the high priest Imhotep from being reborn into this world.” Ardeth chimed in, saying, “And now because of you, we have failed.”
“And you think this justifies the killing of innocent people?” Evie interjected, her moral superiority glazed in every word.
“To stop this creature, let me think,” Terence asked rhetorically before both Ardeth and him answered, “YES!”
“Question,” Rick asked, raising a finger, “Why doesn’t he like cats?”
“Well, cats are the guardians of the underworld. He will fear them till he is fully regenerated,” the older man answered. “And then he will fear nothing,” Ardeth chimed in.
“Yeah, and you know how he gets himself fully regenerated?” Daniels, asked in a panicked voice, while Henderson stared at the barrel of his gun, adding, “By killing everyone who opened that chest,”
“And sucking ‘em dry, that’s how!” Daniels completed, his southern drawl peaking under the panic.
“When I saw him alive at Hamunaptra, he called me ‘Anck-su-namun’,” Evie said, causing the Medjai and the curator to stare at each other in shock as Evie continued, “And right now in Mr. Burns’ quarters he tried to kiss me.”
“It was because of his love for Anck-su-namun that he was cursed,” the curator said in realization as the pieces started to fall into place. “Apparently after 3000 years…” he trailed off. “He is still in love with her,” Ardeth finished.
“Yes, and that’s very romantic, but what has that got to do with me?” Evie asked, fingers nervously toying with her necklace as she peered at the two men.
“Perhaps he will once again try to raise her from the dead,” Ardeth said, turning towards the curator in realization. “Yes,” the older man agreed, nodding solemnly, “…and it appears he’s already chosen his human sacrifice,” he finished as both turned to look at the young woman.
“But what does it mean, for me?” Rick’s sister chimed in, reminding them of her presence, “He called me ‘Priestess’. What does it mean?”
“Ahh, yes, you,” he exclaimed, before pulling out the paper he had previously retrieved from the shelves, “It says here, for the ritual to work, he will need two things, a human sacrifice and a priestess of the living. Someone with a connection to the afterlife, someone who can see more clearly than mere mortal eyes. Someone like…” he trailed off. “Me?” she asked incredulously. “Yes, you. Imhotep will need a bridge connecting to the afterlife to bring the soul of Anck-su-namun back to this world. The most potent of these bridges are priestesses of Isis, but since the cult of Isis is long gone, an alternative is someone with the ‘sight’, the ability to sense the dead, to see through the veil,” the curator finished.
“And if I do not agree to be the bridge?” she asked, trying to weigh her options.
Ardeth stared at her grimly before responding, “The last priestess he took for the ritual was found with her tongue cut and her eyes removed. A condition to keep her compliant and unable to chant the protective magic taught by the priestesses.”
Her expression faltered, feeling sorrow at the cruelty wrought on the poor priestess while being devastated about her own future if she refused to comply.
“Bad luck, old mum,” Jonathan said slowly as the words of the Medjai sunk in.
“On the contrary,” the curator said thoughtfully, “it may just give us the time we need to kill the creature.”
“We will need all the help we can get,” Ardeth interjected gazing at the skylight above as the moon hid the sun, bathing the earth in darkness. “His powers are growing,” she said, feeling a shiver of dread running down her spine as Imhotep’s magic enveloped the very air they breathed.
“And he stretched forth his hand towards the heavens and there was darkness across the land of Egypt,” Jonathan quoted.
~
Time slipped like the desert sand as Imhotep’s powers grew stronger. His attempts at acquiring the two women grew more frequent. One his sacrifice and the other, the priestess. After the death of Henderson, only Daniels remained as the last survivor who had opened the cursed tomb. The group once more rushed to the museum, hoping to find any clue on how to kill the creature, once and for all.
“According to legend, the black book the Americans found at Hamunaptra is supposed to bring people back from the dead. Until now, it’s a notion I was unwilling to believe,” Evie explained as Ardeth and Terence walked ahead, leading the group up a series of staircases.
“Believe it, sister. That’s what brought our buddy back to life,” Rick said sarcastically.
“I’ve heard this theory,” Rick’s sister exclaimed, face lighting up as she continued, “You’re thinking that if the black book can bring dead people back to life, then the golden book should be able to kill him.”
“That’s the myth,” Evie agreed before continuing, “Now we just need to find out where the gold book is hidden.”
As she finished her sentence, chants from a distance caught the attention of the group. Garbled voices forming one word, perhaps a curse, a prayer or something worse, for the populace walked along the street in unison, carrying weapons as they said the verb which was all three, “Imhotep.” The accursed name of the creature rang across the walls of the museum as the last plague dawned upon Egypt.
“Last but not least, my favorite plague, boils and sores,” Jonathan said, looking down at the disfigured people as they marched through the streets, weapons drawn.
“They have become his slaves. So, it has begun, the beginning of the end,” Ardeth stated, watching.
“Not quite yet it hasn’t. Come on,” Evie said with determination, surging through the halls till she stood before an inscription.
“According to Bembridge scholars, the golden book of Amun-Ra is located inside the statue of Anubis,” Evie said, trying to read the inscription and decipher it.
“That’s where we found the black book,” Daniels interjected, watching both women translate the inscriptions intently.
“Exactly,” the O’Connell sibling said, continuing her search for the text that pointed them to the golden book.
“Looks like the old boys at Bembridge were mistaken,” Jonathan quipped.
“Yes, the mixed the book up. Mixed up where they were buried,” Evie said, reading intently.
“So, if the black book is inside the statue of Anubis, then the golden book must be inside…” Evie trailed off as the doors to the museum burst open. The mob of Imhotep’s followers quickly rushed in, destroying artefacts as they hunted for the group.
“Quicker, Evie,” Jonathan said with urgency.
“Patience is a virtue,” she sang back as Jonathan rushed out to bring the car around.
“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed as Rick’s sister continued, “The golden Book of Amun-Ra is at Hamunaptra inside the statue of Horus!”
“Take that Bembridge scholars!” Evie exclaimed, grinning in triumph as she was pulled away.
Ardeth quickly grabbed the younger woman as well, dragging her through hidden corridors as they fled to the car. “Not so tightly,” she hissed into his ear as he rolled his eyes, loosening his grip.
Soon, the group were outside, quickly getting into the car as Benji screamed for Imhotep, alarming the almost-regenerated creature of their escape. Jonathan revved the engine as a mob of infected chased after the group, torches and sickles in hand.
They wove their way through the narrow lanes of the city, swerving hastily, shaking off the controlled men who had piled onto the car. Rick punched a man hanging from the car, dislodging him from the vehicle while his sister and Ardeth punched another. The curator also attacked the men, pushing off two while the car swerved dangerously. Two of the infected grabbed Daniels, pulling from the car and effectively delivering him into the hands of Imhotep.
The final piece to his regeneration was in his hands as the husk of what was once Daniels remained crumpled in an abandoned street. Imhotep had fully regenerated and now there was nothing that would stop him.
~
As the creature absorbed the remnants of Daniels, he was finally whole, she felt it ringing through her. His magic had changed; it had grown stronger, more potent, final. She gasped, holding onto Ardeth’s arm as the car increased its speed, her eyes glazed as if seeing more than what was before her, rasping out her next grim words, “He is complete. And now he will come for us.”
Ardeth looked at the woman clasping his hand as he steadied her. It was only now that he truly saw her as she held his hand in a car overrun by boil-plagued men. She gasped as one of the infected attempted to grab the Medjai from behind as she moved to shoot the being quickly. Ardeth ducked slightly, looking at the woman, impressed while slightly bowing in gratitude. She smirked lightly, blowing the smoke from her gun.
Suddenly, the car swerved once more, as the inhabitants were forced to abandon the vehicle being overrun. Soon the rag-tag group were surrounded by Imhotep’s army, the hordes approaching them with menacing steps and empty eyes, their only purpose to serve their undead master. The group backed away, attempting to escape, yet they found themselves cornered.
Soon the crowd split, giving way to a being swathed with black robes, his posture regal as he approached the group, eyes roaming over them as they finally landed on her, Evie, his prize, the final piece to resurrecting his beloved. Glancing beside her he saw the priestess, she looked the same as she did when he walked in the realm of men, breathing. Her disapproving gaze and set eyes were familiar to the man. He slowly raised his hand towards both of the women, with Benji translating his words, “Come with me my princess, it is time to make you mine. Forever.”
“For all eternity, idiot,” Evie corrected.
“Come, priestess, my princess, take my hand, and I will spare your friends,” Benji continued translating.
“Oh dear,” Evie said, worried as she looked at the surrounding mob. “Have you got any ideas, Rick?” his sister chimed in as she weighed her options.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” Rick said seriously, as his brows contorted, struggling to find a solution to the mess they had landed in.
“Well, you better think of something fast, because if he turns me into a mummy, you’re the first one I’m coming after,” Evie whispered harshly to the man, threatening him even as her life hung in the balance.
Chuckling, his sister exclaimed, “I like her,” momentarily forgetting their situation as Evie moved closer to her, grasping her hand in comfort and nodding at her. Her eyes shining with hesitance and fear, yet beneath it lied determination, strong enough to undo even the pyramids themselves.
Both the women started walking towards the creature, as Evie laid her hand in his, his once rotting corpse now covered in warm flesh just as hers. The priestess stood beside Evie, as if guarding her from danger as the pair looked back at the group.
She glanced at Ardeth once before her brother forced her gaze back to him as he drew his weapon to shoot, yet Ardeth stopped him, grasping his wrist to prevent his rash actions. “Don’t! He still has to take us to Hamunaptra to perform the ritual,” Evie warned.
“She is right,” Ardeth’s accented words rung through the air as he continued, “Live today, fight tomorrow.” The Medjai said, glancing at the younger O’Connel, as if silently vowing to fight for her, to protect her.
Slowly, the temperamental man lowered his gun, putting it back in his holster as he looked the creature dead in the eye, promising, “I’ll be seeing you again.” The creature merely smirked in victory as he turned away, commanding the hordes to attack the diminishing group.
Quickly Rick pulled open a drain, escorting Jonathan and Ardeth through it as Terence stayed behind, battling the infected denizens and allowing for their escape. He breathed his last in battle as did the Medjai before him. Ardeth heard the pain-filled screams of the man echoing through the grates as the horde overtook him, ripping him apart. Perhaps it would never leave him, the sounds of his mentor’s final moments in agony, yet he sent a silent prayer to the gods to protect his soul as he passed on.
~
Imhotep walked through the musty halls of Hamunaptra with ease, navigating the paths of the ancient city with familiar steps, leading them to the ritual chamber, the very same one where he failed the first time. Overcome with memories of his lost love and the hom-dai he was determined to succeed, vowing to never surrender.
Evie was chained to the sacrificial table next to the corpse of his long-gone lover. He glanced at her, slowly caressing her delicate features as he promised to bring her back, to right his failures.
The priestess, on the other hand, was chained to a throne-like seat, facing the murky black liquid of the pool below, a signifier of the veil between life and death. A veil which she would gaze through and eventually tear.
Imhotep summoned his priests to ensure the ceremony went undisturbed. Then he began preparing for the ritual, placing Anck-su-namun’s canopic jars with reverence, arranging them in sequence to ensure that the sacrifice would be accepted.
Soon, the time came, as he climbed up the altar, his hands barely caressing Anck-su-namun’s face in the same manner he did when they were alive. Unlocking the black book of the dead, he started reading the incantations, his priests surrounding the altar as they moved in tandem with the priest’s chanting.
~
Armed and ready, the trio made their way through Hamnuaptra, looking for the two women taken by the creature when suddenly hands burst through the floor, clawing their way to the surface. The men were faced with the decrepit bodies of Imhotep’s priests.
“Who the hell are these guys?” Rick asked, glacing at the approaching mummies.
“Priests, Imhotep’s priests,” Ardeth replied, realizing who the mummies were.
“Alright then,” Rick said, nonchalantly as the trio started shooting at the mummies, quickly making their escape as they searched for the statue of Horus.
Finally, they found the elusive statue, frantically digging underneath as the groans of mummies rang louder within the chambers. They dug till they came across a wooden box containing the golden book. Their key to defeating the creature.
“The book of Amun-Ra,” Jonathan said, gazing at the golden cover with awe.
They were soon broken out of their stupor by a gunshot. Ardeth kept firing at the approaching mummies of Imhotep’s priests. Soon his ammunition ran out. He turned towards the two men, screaming, “Save the girls. Kill the creature,” before running into the narrow path filled with mummies.
Rick soon set off a stick of dynamite, burying the mummies beneath the stone and sealing the fate of Ardeth Bay in a single act.
~
The ritual had begun as she stared into the murky waters, her reflection distorted in the tar-like substance. For a few moments she could see more that what was visible to her, she saw the previous priestess who looked eerily similar to herself. A tiny young girl chained to the same throne as she thrashed, refusing to cooperate. She saw her fear and her pain as Imhotep punished her for her refusal. She watched as her tongue was removed, blood splattering against the floor as she choked. Yet, Imhotep kept her eyes intact, till the veil was pierced and Anck-su-namun’s soul emerged. Later, he ordered one of his priests to remove her eyes, damaging her for all eternity.
She broke out of the vision as she witnessed the chants, Imhotep’s voice growing louder as his magic saturated the air. His voice carried promises of offering, of sacrifice, as the creature talked about a trade. A sacrifice and a new body to absorb for his dearly beloved.
Slowly the murky waters started moving of their own volition. As she glanced into the moving abyss, she saw visions, of the past, of the scales of Anubis, of the afterlife. She saw visions of the past, past lives where she saw a stranger with kind brown eyes and a sweet smile. Memories of a modest house, within the city square as children ran around. The ornate walls of the temple of Isis as she led the morning prayers, humming and chanting in favor of their goddess. Finally, she saw the soul of Anck-su-namun, the veil had been broken, the ritual was almost complete.
The mysterious liquid surged, embodied by the form of the priest’s beloved, rising above her body, before returning as her corpse gasped for air. After three thousand years, she finally breathed air through her dust-ridden bandages.
She screamed in agony as her rotting corpse was filled with feeling once more, her lungs aching with every breath, her hollow eyes seeing for the first time in centuries, glancing around the room, till they landed on a familiar face, Nefertiri, the princess she had once battled, now her sacrifice.
Imhotep quickly leaned over the altar, his hands raised, clasping his dagger as he said, with finality, “With your death, Anck-su-namun shall live. And I shall be invincible!”
Evie and the younger O’Connel’s screams merged together as the dark blade within the priest’s hands started to descend rapidly. Tears spilled down her face as she watched, chained from her throne, vowing vengeance on the creature when suddenly Jonathan’s enthusiastic voice echoed through the chamber, screaming with the excitement of a child, “I found it, Evie! I found it!”
Imhotep turned rapidly towards the voice, his eyes widening as he saw the golden book clutched in the hands of the skinny Brit. “The Book of Amun-Ra,” he said with awe, lowering his dagger as he approached the man.
“Open the book, Jonathan,” O’Connel’s sister said, frantically, “It’s the only way to defeat him!”
Jonathan grasped at the book frantically, trying to open its goldenKal pages as Imhotep approached, menacingly, when he suddenly realized, “I can’t open it. It’s locked or something! We need the key!”
“It’s in his robes!” Evie’s voice supplied helpfully as Rick slowly moved towards his sister, cutting her free before quickly approaching the altar, slamming the sword against the chains that kept Evie bound.
Imhotep realized too late that Jonathan was merely a distraction as he commanded his priests to attack Rick. He masterfully defended himself against the army of Imhotep’s priests, dismembering re-animated mummies in all possible directions as Evie struggled to free herself from her remaining shackle.
Just as he thought all the mummies were defeated, he was pulled to the floor by the writhing torso of one of the priests while another held him down. A third mummy approached with a large tomb-stone, dragging his feet slowly from the sheer weight of the tombstone, each menacing step closer to his goal of finally crushing the seemingly unkillable O’Connel, when suddenly a swift wind cut the mummy’s feet, causing him to be crushed by the very same tomb-stone he carried.
Rick’s sister stood beside the crushed mummy, clutching a sword as she looked at her brother, “Need a hand?” She smirked at the elder man as she pierced through the mummies holding him down, “I hope you know; you’re never living this down. Getting pinned by mummies, honestly,” she said, extending her hand towards him.
“Yeah, yeah. Less talking, more fighting, lil sis,” Rick said, grasping her hand and rising to his feet. She quickly walked towards Evie, swinging her newly found sword at her remaining shackle, freeing the woman.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully, rubbing her wrist.
Meanwhile, Jonathan was in a corner, reading the cover of the book of Amun-Ra, “Here’s an inscription. Rashem…uh Rashem…” he mumbled to himself, slowly translating the text when he realized what the next symbols meant, he exclaimed, “Rashemulu Kashka!”
As soon as he finished the last syllable, two doors swung open, a battalion of pharaonic knights marched in, their weapons drawn as they awaited commands. Imhotep glanced at them, smiling as he ordered them to attack the group. Without completing the inscription, the soldiers were his to command, as the tether to the reader, Jonathan, had not been created.
The soldiers approached the O’Connel siblings and Evie at the altar, weapons drawn as Rick sarcastically exclaimed, “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.”
“Do something, Jonathan,” Evie said, worriedly glancing at the mummified knights quickly approaching them.
“Me?!” Jonathan said, quickly backing away.
“Yes you! You can command them!” The younger O’Connel chimed in.
“You have got to be joking!” He exclaimed; his voice tinged with fear and hesitance as he clutched the book tighter to his chest.
“Finish the inscription, idiot. Then you can command them!” Evie ordered.
“Right,” Jonathan said, before quickly ducking away, trying to find a corner to read the inscription in.
The soldiers approached rapidly when Anck-su-namun suddenly appeared from behind with Imhotep’s abandoned dagger, attempting to stab Evie and complete the sacrifice. Evie dodged quickly, running away as she evaded the mummy’s attempts at murdering her, while Rick and his sister drew their swords, readying themselves to battle the knights.
Rick screamed at the knights in an attempt to intimidate them, yet when they growled back, their jaws unhinged unnaturally, he quickly ran away, buying himself time as he battled them. His siter remained in the chamber, battling the remaining knights as she tried to get closer to Jonathan. Finally, she caught up with the skinny man, his brows furrowed as he tried to read the inscription. His eyes lit up as he saw her, quickly approaching her as he pointed to the symbol of a stork-like bird. “I can’t figure out this last symbol. It’s a-uh a bird. A stork.”
She quickly glanced at the inscription, reading it as if it were her own tongue, “Amenophus.”
“Ah yes, I see,” he said, grinning before clearing his throat and commanding, “Huta-shem Amenophus!”
The knights instantly stopped, halting as they slowly withdrew their weapons moments before they scarred Rick, or worse. Imhotep tried desperately to command the nights, but he failed. Now that the inscription was fully read, they were tethered to Jonathan’s command, and command he did, “Fakushka Anck-su-namun!”
As the command left his lips, the knights turned with purpose once more, finding the female mummy and finishing her once again. Imhotep was torn between obtaining the book of Amun-Ra and helping his lover, ultimately choosing to go to her, yet he was too late. Once again, he was forced to watch his beloved’s death, as her screams echoed through the chamber.
Angrily he turned to the pair, Jonathan cowering behind the O’Connel sister as Imhotep threw her against the chamber, his rage directed at Jonathan, “NOW YOU DIE!” He said, choking Jonathan.
His vision started blurring as the creature lifted him off the ground, when suddenly Rick appeared, cutting Imhotep’s arm off and drawing his attention towards him.
Jonathan quickly grabbed the key for the book as Imhotep threw Rick across the chambers, just as he did his sister, quickly re-attaching his arm.
“Evie! I’ve got it!” Jonathan exclaimed, giddily as he ran towards her, quickly opening the book as they searched through the pages. Rick’s sister joined the pair, her eyes skimming the pages, fluent in the language as she stopped and pointed at an inscription. “It’s this one,” she said, her voice radiating with familiarity as if she herself had written the book.
Evie quickly looked at the inscription nodding, before both of them read it together, their voices minging with the magic within the words, “Kaadesh mal, Kaadesh mal. Paradoos, Paradoos.”
Suddenly, a smokey portal emerged at the top of the staircase, Anubis had come once again to claim the soul of Imhotep. The priestess bowed within the presence of the god, showing respect to the deity who felt familiar and strange at the same time. Imhotep’s soul was carried away by Anubis quickly, descending into the afterlife once more, yet his body remained.
“I thought you said it’d kill him,” Rick said, staring at the creature walking towards them with determined steps.
“It worked,” his sister said confidently.
Rick moved forward, quickly stabbing the creature as he stumbled back into the murky waters of the very waters the priestess was forced to stare into. The veil between this world and the next.
“He’s mortal,” Evie said, as his body returned to its original form, yet before he was completely swallowed by the waters, he muttered his final words, “Death is only the beginning.”
~
Hamunaptra started crumbling as the group quickly made their escape. They ran through the winding corridors till they reached outside.
Hamunaptra and all its riches had been swallowed by the desert sands, making it a myth once more. The small group stood watching as the city disappeared from their sights when suddenly a hand clutched Jonathan, frightening the man.
He quickly turned around to find the Medjai they thought was dead within the tunnels. “Oh, thank you. Thank you very much,” he said sarcastically, clutching his heart after the brief scare.
“You have earned the respect and gratitude of me and my people,” he said, as he glanced at the group from atop his camel.
“Well, it was nothing,” Jonathan said, shaking his head nonchalantly.
“May Allah smile upon you always,” Ardeth said.
“Where will you go now?” the younger O’Connel asked him.
“Home,” he said wistfully as he began turning his camel around.
“Will I see you again?” She called out after him.
“If Allah wills it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as he watched the woman.
“And if I will it?” she asked, tilting her head at the Medjai.
“Then perhaps even fate would bend to your will,” he said, smirking at the younger woman before continuing, “I know, I would.”
Jonathan coughed, shuddering at the cheesy exchange, “Oh for heaven’s sake, must everyone fall in love in the middle of collapsing ruins?”
“Well, does fate happen to have an address or a phone number?” she asked, rolling her eyes at Jonathans comment yet unwilling to let the man with deep brown eyes vanish without a trace.
He smiled before throwing a small pouch towards her.
She caught it, slowly opening it, “What’s this? Usually, people have business cards not business pouches,” she joked, slightly. On opening the pouch, she found bird feed within.
“Bird feed?” she asked, incredulously.
Ardeth smirked slightly, “Horus, my falcon, will find you if I ever must. You will need this, if you wish for his cooperation.”
Her eyes lit up, “So, Horus is your messenger?”
“Among other things,” he replied, his voice low. “Do not lose it. He will know.”
“Oh perfect, a flying postman,” Rick muttered sarcastically as he watched the exchange.
“Well then,” she smiled, “I look forward to meeting Horus in the very near future.”
The Medjai smiled at the younger woman before bowing slightly and turning away.
~
The days had passed in a blur as her brother and Evie bathed in the light of new love, while Jonathan gleefully went through the treasure found on the camel’s back, calculating their worth and what he’d do with his share. She hadn’t seen the elusive Medjai yet, glancing at the small pouch she kept close to her, a solid reminder of his promise.
When she saw him again, she found herself on the roof of an old building she’d found during her days exploring. The building housed a few families but it overlooked the city, its warm lights twinkled against the darkness of the desert, as if a thousand lamps illuminating little paths in the dark. Each light was a word in its own, of countless tiny worlds created by the people illuminated inside, mulling about, occupied with their daily tasks unaware of how close the world had come to destruction.
It was peaceful, quiet. So, when she felt the wind shift behind her, she moved before she thought, brandishing her dagger towards the presence, only to find her dagger blocked by the sword of the elusive Medjai. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he said grinning at her.
Realizing who it was she quickly withdrew her dagger, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you rather enjoy being on the other end of my blade.”
“And do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Know better,” he asked before charging at her once more. She swiftly blocked his sword as she tried getting close enough to slash him, yet he remained out of reach. The clash of metal rang through the night as the two figures blurred across the roof-top, yet neither struck to wound. It was almost familiar, a conversation that only the two could understand.
“Someone’s nostalgic,” she said, looking into his eyes as he evaded her once more, recalling their first fight. His eyes were filled with amusement, as if he were enjoying their fight more than he let on.
“What can I say? I haven’t met a fighter as fluid as you,” he said smirking.
“Oh, so you’ve been thinking about me? How flattering,” she said, grinning as she evaded another swipe.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he tsked.
“I don’t need to. I have you,” she smirked as she finally disarmed him, pointing her dagger to his throat.
She quirked an eyebrow, smirking as she commanded, “Yield.”
“You’re too cocky for your own good,” he said, glancing at the dagger then her.
“And you have no more options,” she said smugly.
Sighing, he looked into her eyes for a few moments before finally uttering, “I yield.” The words were soft, almost a whisper as they carried across the night. Her victory felt sweet, yet she his tone sent a shiver down her spine, as if promising battles in the future. Her face slowly bloomed into a smile, she couldn’t wait.
~
Weeks passed and finally the time came to bid farewell to her brother. Evie had been recruited for another dig at a different site and Rick had no intention of leaving her alone, lest she raise a second bout of apocalyptic mummies. Jonathan, on the other hand, intended on living freely and spending his new-found fortune, refusing to spend another day with the ‘revolting love-birds’.
So, that left her, in a beautiful city that was rebuilding after Imhotep’s wreckage, and a few weeks of vacation before her next dig. She decided to stay in the city, explore the contemporary culture and be a simple tourist for once. She rented a nice room in a hotel, locking the books away in a hidden safe lest anyone break in and steal them.
She found herself wandering through the marketplace as the merchants offered her overpriced trinkets as she wandered from stall to stall. Soon she came across a tiny stall with an older woman selling toys. Rows upon rows of tiny handmade dolls for children, some made from cloth and others from clay. She picked up one of the clay dolls when a voice sounded behind her, “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”
She turned around quickly to see the Medjai draped in his classic black robes, leaning against a shaded stall. “Ardeth!” she said, happy to see the elusive man, “Are you stalking me?” She asked teasingly as she turned towards the man.
“I am merely observing you,” he said, as he watched her.
“I’d say it was good to see you, but I wouldn’t want to be called a liar,” she challenged.
“I think that is the lie, my friend,” he called back mockingly. She raised her hands in mock surrender, smiling before calling him over. “Why’d you say you wouldn’t pick up one of the toys if you were me?” she asked curiously. “You are not from here,” he said frankly, “the shopkeepers can tell instantly, that’s why they offer you unfair prices,” he clarified.
“Aww, are you worried about me, the poor damsel, being swindled?” she asked, pretending to swoon. He chuckled slightly, amused at her antics while catching her as she swayed. “That’s what I get for being a concerned friend,” he said, teasing her as she straightened her back, turning back towards the stall with toys.
The pair stood side-by-side silently looking at the toys. Rows upon rows of toys in all shapes in sizes, some imitations of children, animals even vehicles. Her eyes lit up quickly as she pointed towards the back, whispering to the older woman about what she wished to purchase in fluent Arabic. He stared at her wide-eyed as she bargained with the older woman, bringing the price down to less than half of what the toy was probably worth. When she was finally satisfied wit the price the woman offered, she smiled and nodded her head, carefully removing her money from its hiding place before paying the woman.
She turned around with her package, a satisfied grin on her face as she saw the surprised Medjai staring between her and the parcel, as if resurrecting mummies were completely plausible but her speaking Arabic was not.
Tilting her head she asked, “Surprised?”
“When did you learn Arabic?” He asked her, impressed and surprised at the same time.
“Our grandparents were avid travelers, yet their greatest love was Egypt. They loved travelling here and made many fond memories here. I suppose they wanted some part of their happiness to be shared with us, so they taught us Arabic. Though Rick is rusty, I’m quite fluent,” she said, taking a step towards him before and continuing, “I think they were right.”
“Right about what?” Ardeth asked curiously as the woman paused, looking into his eyes, “I’ve made many fond memories here, some I cherish and others, I don’t want to part from.” The Medjai caught onto her implication quickly, as her eyes stared into his intensely, leaning closer slightly as she murmured the end of her sentence.
Slowly she blinked, grinning as she stepped away from the man, their proximity only catching her attention now. “Come, I want to see some of the other stalls!” She said, grasping his wrist as she dragged the powerful Medjai through the street. The fond eyes of the shopkeepers trailed after the laughing woman dragging the gruff-looking taller man behind her.
The pair wove through the bustling streets, buying trinkets and tasting delicacies till the sun began setting in an ethereal spiral of reds and oranges against the dunes. They found themselves sitting on the steps of a crumbling building, watching the sun slowly bleed into the horizon.
“She’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes watching the colors swirl across the clouds.
“Yes, she is,” he said, watching the sky before glancing at her. “Your brother and the others have left Egypt,” he stated.
“Yeah, just the other day,” she confirmed.
After a few moments, he inhaled, asking, “You didn’t join them?”
She turned to the man, smirking as he avoided looking at her, “Ardeth Bay! Are you trying to rush me out of this city? What? Afraid I’m gonna cause more trouble?”
He sharply turned towards her, smirking, “You always cause trouble.”
Her mouth opened in mock offense as she pointed at him, “How dare you? I am a delightfully upstanding citizen, Ardeth. Also, for your information, I have a few weeks of vacation before my next dig, so I wanted to explore the city.”
“I see,” he said, nodding, ignoring the first half of her sentence.
“But,” she began, “I wouldn’t say no to a handsome guide to lead me through the city…If he isn’t too busy with Medjai matters?”
“I think he could find some time in his busy schedule of, what did you say? ‘Medjai Matters’,” he answered, chucking as he thought of the places he wished to show her. His thoughts drifted to the night he had fought her, her sword moving elegantly in the moonlight as she swiped at him. A demon in her own right, as her sword slashed through his favorite robes.
Once the sun completely set and the stars hung high in the sky, the pair made their way back to the hotel, the Medjai guarding the young woman till they approached the gates of the elaborate building.
“Thank you for today,” she said gratefully.
He smiled at her, bowing slightly as he affirmed that he enjoyed the day as well before disappearing into the night. She watched his retreating back till he disappeared from her sights. Sighing, she carried the souvenirs she bought in her room, looking forward to the next time she saw the man.
~
“Have you ever thought of what life would be like if you weren’t a Medjai?” she asked, stroking Horus’ feathers as he pecked at the bird-feed Ardeth had previously given her.
“Starting with difficult questions right out the gate, hmm?” he evaded, smirking slightly as he glanced at the woman beside him.
“Humor me,” she said, sipping her drink as she passed him her flask.
Sighing he took a sip, savouring the burn. Perhaps it was the alcohol or the way she peered at him with her gorgeous eyes that had him spilling his secrets that he had buried long ago. “I don’t know, honestly. As a child, being a Medjai was an honor, it still is. It was all that I had wished to be, trained for since I could walk. When I finally reached manhood and my father placed the ancestral blade in my hand as I took my vow, I felt like I was finally fulfilling my purpose,” he paused, almost reminiscing about the past long-gone before rubbing a palm across his face and continuing, “But it has been years since then, and sometimes in the dead of night when the desert is cold and I patrol the city of the dead alone, I wonder if there was a different path for me. Perhaps one with someone I’d return home to. But that is merely a dream,” he said, taking a long sip from the flask again as he turned towards her. “Did that satisfy your curiosity?”
She rested her head against his shoulder, sighing before saying, “Hmm, for now. But if you were given the choice, what would you do now?”
He furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought as he contemplated what he could do. He had been raised to be a soldier, to be a Medjai and life apart from his title almost seemed like a mirage. “I think I’d be an explorer, or an archaeologist,” he said, chucking as he tapped her nose, “It seems fun enough and your lot get into enough trouble with it.”
“Hey! That was rude!” she said with mock offence.
“Well, it’s my hypothetical. I could choose to be a chicken-man as an answer too,” he said seriously, his deadpan as he looked into her eyes caused her to burst into a fit of giggles, picturing the Medjai as a chicken-man.
As her laughter subsided, she added, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’d be a good explorer. You’re too morally just for something so morally dubious.”
“Oh? Then what do you think I’d be?”
“Well, I think you’d be a Historian or a Philosopher,” she said with conviction.
“Why do you say that?” He asked curiously. He thought that she’d have cast him as a warrior or a soldier, especially considering his experience.
“From what I know of you, Ardeth. You hold onto the past, the forgotten past as sacred threads in a world which has long forgotten. You understand more than your tough exterior lets on. You are fiercely loyal to your vow and to the past and to protecting humanity from those who would seek to harm it. I think you would be good at protecting the past, perhaps in a different capacity than you’re used to. Plus, I can picture you teaching children and adults alike about history,” she said, chucking as she continued, “Though, I imagine the adults would have a few more black eyes going around during your lessons.”
“I-I did not think of it that way,” he said, contemplating.
“It’s okay, sometimes we get stuck inside ourselves so much that we do not see what others do. Which reminds me. I have something for you,” she said, rising from their cozy nook near the window. She returned holding wooden pieces in her hands.
“What is it?” he asked, glancing curiously at the pieces.
Smiling softly, she answered, “It’s a star puzzle. I thought you’d like it, since you like looking at the stars.”
He glanced at her, eyes full of affection before returning to the puzzle within her hands. “How do you solve it?”
“Well,” she said dramatically, “It comes with a tale, a story if you will,” she said, slotting the first pieces together.
“Once upon a time, there was a young man, a prince who wished to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land,” she said, slotting a few more pieces together.
“So, he climbed on top of the tallest tower to catch a shooting star,” she glanced up at him, leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, “and he did.”
“But in his excitement, he accidentally dropped the star and it shattered into a million pieces,” she slotted another piece in place, the malformed wood beginning to form the shape of a star.
“So, he frantically put the pieces back together to prove his love and devotion to her,” she said, placing the last piece to form the star. Holding it in one hand, she looked at its shape before placing it in his palm, “…and they lived happily ever after.”
“It is a lovely tale,” he stated, glancing at the star in his palm. “Try solving it,” she encouraged as he stared at the puzzle, contemplative.
“I’d rather keep it,” he said, nodding his head slightly, “Afterall, it is not everyday a princess gives you a star.”
She grinned, smacking his arm lightly as her cheeks grew warm. He was a charmer for sure, intent on giving her a heart attack at any rate, yet as she watched him gently roll the star in the palm of his hand, staring at the piece with child-like awe as if afraid to undo the puzzle, she realized that perhaps his charm wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
~
The pair met often on her balcony, simply gazing at the bustling city as night fell and talking, about their hopes, dreams and everything in between. Among the smoky haze of incense in her room and the gauzy curtains bellowing gently across her balcony the pair whispered secrets, younger than the desert yet held close to their hearts.
She sipped a sweet-smelling alcohol, a local brew he brought from her which was slowly becoming her favorite, while he sipped the scotch, she always carried on her.
“What kind of music do you like?” she asked, breathing deeply as the comfortable silence set between the pair.
He hummed thoughtfully before answering, “I don’t think you would know it.”
Sensing a challenge, she leaned forward, smirking at the man, “Try me.”
Leaning towards her, he whispered, “The songs of my people, typically played during festivals or weddings. And yours?”
Raising her hands in mock defeat, she said, “On the rare occasions I do get to enjoy the radio during digs, I like listening to music. It helps fill the silence. My current favorite is ‘Bailamos’ by Enrique. Come stand up,” pulling the man up as she walked inside, leaving the balcony door open as she placed a cassette in her Walkman (WM-40), explaining how the device worked to the man.
“Oh! I have one that I think you’ll really like,” she said as ‘Walk like an Egyptian’ blasted from the device. Smiling goofily she posed, imitating snakes with her hands as she walked like a poor imitation of a Pharaonic Egyptian. Ardeth looked both horrified and amused as she pranced around the room, moving to the music.
“You know Egyptians do not walk like that?” He asked incredulously. She laughed at him before cheekily asking, “They don’t?! The inscriptions must have it wrong then.”
He chuckled at her counter, watching her move as the song slowly ended. “Modern music….is…. well, something.”
“Aw, come on, I haven’t even shown you the good music. Trust me, this was just for fun. I promise the next one will be better,” she said, playing some of Michael Jackson’s hits, moving with the up-beat music.
“You cannot disagree with the king of pop, Ardeth. Admit it, it’s good, isn’t it?” she asked, looking at his stoic face slowly melt into a small grin as he admitted, “It’s a little good.”
She laughed gleefully at his reluctant acceptance before the song shifted. “Oh! This is my jam!” she exclaimed as the macarena played through the device, startling the man. Her playlist was certainly the most chaotic mix of music he had heard, with no reason or rhyme behind the rapidly changing themes, a reflection of their creator.
“Come on!” she yelled, pulling him towards her from his position beside the wall, demonstrating the steps of the macarena as the beat continued. He awkwardly followed her directions, quickly taking to the steps as his hands moved with inexperience, his face reddening as he danced with the beat.
“Shake your money maker!” her voice filled with mirth as she watched the intimidating medjai follow her directions and dance the macarena. She got an unexpected amount of joy from watching him dance, his awkward gait as he mimicked her movements was a joy to behold from the typically put-together medjai.
The little device decided to then put Ardeth out of his misery, figuring that this was the perfect moment to play ‘Every breath you take’. The atmosphere softened as she slowed her energetic movements, choosing instead to sway with the music in the center of the room.
Ardeth gazed at her, her eyes shut as is imagining she were in a far-away land. He was so focused on her, he almost missed the lyrics, “…every move you make, every breath you take, I’ll be watching you.”
“Your people enjoy songs about stalking,” the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. Her eyes flew open as she stared at him, her expression a mix of humor and disbelief as she processed his words, realizing what the lyrics implied, “Wha-NO! It’s- It’s romantic, okay, its supposed to be romantic.”
“I don’t think romance requires being watched by your lover constantly,” he countered.
“You watch me,” she replied.
“That’s different,” he defended, his eyes moving away from her as he looked at the wallpaper, finding it to be the most interesting thing in the world.
“How so?” she challenged.
“Because, I’m making sure you don’t get into more trouble or worse, burn the city down,” he said.
“Oh? Are you sure? Because from where I’m standing, I’m beginning to think you like watching me,” she teased, grinning and leaning forward.
He turned his head away from her, afraid of meeting her eyes, “That’s preposterous! I would never- “
“It’s okay,” she cut him off abruptly, “I like it, my little stalker,” she said grinning as she pecked his cheek before turning back to the device, changing the song. The first notes of ‘As long as you love me’ by the Backstreet Boys slowly filled the warm evening.
His eyes widened as he stared at her retreating figure, stunned by her audacious actions. Stalking towards her, he grasped her waist, slowly turning her around. He cupped her face, grazing her cheek with his thumb as he leaned in, placing a delicate kiss against her lips, afraid to shatter their blooming friendship.
Stunned by his boldness, yet refusing to let the man pull away she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him closer as she deepened the kiss, their bodies slightly swaying to the music.
Eventually the pair ran out of air, parting briefly as she rested her cheek against him, still holding him close as she softly sang along to the lyrics, “I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, what you did, as long as you love me.” She gazed at him, adoration clear in her eyes; he wished the moment would never end, the pair in her room on this perfect night, swaying to American pop music.
"Its just gonna be a cute little one shot fic" is what I said when I started now ive got two more chapters planned and possibly more oh my god what have I done
