Chapter Text
One of Mingyu’s earliest memories is the long gravel drive that leads from the road up to his grandparent’s house. He’s most familiar with it in the summer, with the trees lush and green on both sides of the road. He used to sit in the back seat of the car to lean his head out the window. He liked letting the warm air blow against his face and make a mess of his hair.
Today, the ride is more somber than the ones he used to take with his family. He’s alone and rather than an emerald world surrounding the car, the leaves have made a thin carpet on the ground as they start to shake free from the trees. Mingyu has never seen the farm in the fall, and the trees have all flushed bright oranges and reds. It makes for quite a sight, but it also adds to the slight chill in the air. The cool seems to have joined Mingyu in the car as well, in spite of the heat turned on high and the windows shut tight.
He knows his parents went to visit a few times after his grandmother passed; making sure the house was in order and there were no major problems that would send it tumbling down any time soon. But Mingyu never went along on those trips, nor the ones several years earlier when his grandfather got sick. So this marks his first time seeing the house as it is now; a hollowed out shell set back in the forest with a few acres of land and not a soul on it.
In spite of his mom’s assurances, before he left, Mingyu was half expecting a pile of rubble rather than a house. But when it rises into view at the end of the drive, it's upright and remarkably tidy from the outside. The lawn is overgrown and the fences need repair before they held an animal again. But his first sight of the farmhouse leaves Mingyu with a surprising sense of optimism.
It looks very much the way he remembers— painted a cheerful shade of blue with straight white trim and a porch big enough for a few chairs. There is a balcony on the back of the house, though it hangs off the attic, not the second story of the house. No one ever figured out the trick of getting on it without a ladder. It has an overflow of leaves and the paint is more worn. The gravel crunches under his tires as he parks his car, and Mingyu's struck by the fond familiarity of the sound.
When his grandmother passed away, his mother inherited the property. But she didn’t have the heart to sell the home she grew up in, and after cleaning it out, she decided to keep it. The house was long since paid for and if nothing else it was a problem that could keep for another day. For the last two years, it’s stood occupied and only barely attended to. So, when Mingyu ventured the idea of needing an escape, his mother was only too happy to offer him the farmhouse for as long as he wanted to use it.
That leaves Mingyu with the task of cleaning it up and making sure it actually still is livable, first. He steps out of the car, a shiver crawling up his spine at the shift from warm to cold. All he has with him is a large suitcase and a few boxes of necessities. Everything else is a day or two behind him in the care of movers. He planned to make the drive out himself first and put things in order before he had all the boxes to deal with as well.
The key to the farmhouse is already on his keys and he’s surprised by how well the door opens. He only has to give the wood a slight shove to loosen it but once free of the jamb it swings in without a groan.
Inside, it’s very much the place Mingyu remembers spending his summers when he was young. By the time he reached his teen years, he had other interests and more options for what to do with the summer. He spent less and less time out in the country. The curtains are more faded and there’s a layer of dust settled over things, but the furniture is much the same.
But the walls are bare and the room is unbearably quiet. He closes the door behind him, though he regrets it immediately. Chilly as it is outside, the air inside is oppressive. Past the entryway, the couch and chair in the living room are both covered with plastic and it only adds to the strange feeling Mingyu has about being here. It’s just been too long since he last saw it. The whole house had faded into his memories of childhood and it’s odd to see it now; left behind while he continued growing.
Rather than dwell on the oddness of it, Mingyu puts himself to the task of going through the house and opening the windows. It’ll be cold later, especially if he forgets to close any of them. The whole house seems to breathe a sigh of relief, the fresh air banishing the last of the eerie feeling in the air.
For a moment, Mingyu lingers in what must’ve been a guest room. It’s devoid of furniture now, save for a massive bookshelf that takes up almost the entire wall. Mingyu doesn’t remember it from being here when he was a child but he supposes it could be something he overlooked. Or maybe it came later— when he was young Mingyu was always trying to get his hands on something to read.
Either way, he likes it. It’ll be a good spot to put an office, even if he might not be using it very much for a while.
The master bathroom has a much larger tub than he remembered, though it’s still doubtful he would be able to fit. When he leans to push open the small bathroom window, he’s surprised by a series of rocks sitting on it. They’re all roughly the same size, polished until they shine in the afternoon sun, and sitting in a perfect line. Mingyu pauses, picking one up and rolling it between his fingers. It’s warm, the smooth surface flawless as well as he can tell. Curious, Mingyu sweeps the rest of them into his hand and deposits them onto the counter for later.
With the windows open, breathing fresh air into every room, Mingyu sets about his next task: Cleaning. He thought to pack enough cleaning supplies in his car to at least tackle the dust and the floors. And for making sure that there’s nothing lurking in the musty corners.
It takes Mingyu two hours to clean the house from bottom to top. Everything but the attic, which he doesn’t dare tackle by himself for fear of an unexpected housemate hiding up there.
When he finishes, he’s satisfied, if much dustier than he was before.
He settles on the clean couch, glad for the foreboding layer of plastic that was covering it up. There are several emails and texts waiting for him when he pulls out his phone but he ignores them. There’s service, though not much, and Mingyu is in no rush to find someone to hook the place up with the internet. He’ll have to see to it sometime but he’ll keep it around as an excuse for a little while, at least.
No internet means the emails from his publisher can go unanswered for a few more days. Mingyu swipes the evidence of the outside world away. The first thing he needs to do now that the place is clean is call his mom.
It only takes a few rings for her to pick up. “You said you'd call me when you got there.”
The immediate scolding takes Mingyu by surprise and he laughs, ducking his head forward. “Sorry. I thought I’d clean up a little first.”
“So the house still stands?” She asks. Mingyu hums, leaning his head back to examine the cobwebs still lingering in the corners.
“All upright,” Mingyu says, stretching out his long legs. “It shouldn’t be hard to move in as long as everything works.”
“Well I had the heat and power turned on for you,” she says. Mingyu can hear the sounds of her doing something in the kitchen— the sizzle of something hitting the heat of a pan. It reminds him, sharply, that he’s definitely hungry himself.
He doesn’t miss home— not yet. It helps that he’s lived on his own for years already. The quiet doesn’t trouble him. At least, living in the city it didn’t. Quiet out here in the country is different than the quiet that he’s used to.
“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay out there by yourself?” She asks, the concern in her voice reeling Mingyu’s attention back.
“It’s really not bad,” Mingyu says. “The driveway is pretty with all the trees changing color.”
The sun is beginning to sink and he’ll have to close all the windows before it gets too cold in the house. There’s still a mattress upstairs in the bedroom, but Mingyu feels very odd about using it. He’ll stick to the couch until the movers come to bring him his own.
“Do you know how long you’re gonna stay out there, honey?” This is a less immediate concern. It sits in the back of her voice, coal waiting to ignite into flame.
“Not yet,” Mingyu says, dragging his fingers over the fabric of the couch. He has enough of an advance to live off for awhile, as long as he’s careful with his money, and royalties enough to pay the bills and eat.
A few months of playing a hermit and he’ll want to go back, anyway. “Awhile, I guess. I need a break.”
“Well,” she says. Mingyu can hear plates clattering together and for a second he shuts his eyes and tries to picture what she might be making. He thinks of kimchi fried rice first and without permission, his stomach growls. “Take all the time you need. It’s better for a house to have someone in it.”
“I gotta stock up the fridge,” Mingyu says, pulling himself up to his feet with a sigh. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Don’t forget,” she says. “I love you, dear. Don’t get so caught up cleaning the place that you forget to rest.”
“I won’t,” Mingyu says. All her fretting makes him smile. “I love you, too.”
Mingyu hangs up the phone and then sets to work shutting all the windows before he goes out to find groceries.
The first few nights in the farmhouse offer Mingyu all the peace he was looking for. The house isn’t far from the nearby town— only a few minutes drive— but being set back from the road and surrounded by land makes it feel remote.
It is the perfect place to hide, and moving his things in and cleaning the place gives Mingyu something to focus his mind on. Anything other than his makeshift study with his laptop laying on the bare hardwood floor next to the monumental bookshelf. He’s avoided spending any time on it so far. The house doesn’t have internet yet, anyway, so checking his emails is a hassle. That only leaves the blank draft of his next book.
Mingyu isn’t ready to go back to having day-long staring contests with the blinking cursor yet.
After the movers bring his things out, Mingyu has several days to himself unpacking. For the most part, it’s relaxing. He puts on music and puts the house into working order, one room at a time.
But, as forgetful and clumsy as he is, Mingyu keeps finding things in the places he least expects them. Items he’s sure he packed in one labeled box turn up in another. Sometimes things he’s certain he didn’t unpack show up in drawers or on counters, leaving Mingyu wondering how they got there in the first place.
He writes it off, for the most part. Going through all his things is a long process and it makes sense that he might not remember everything. There’s no one else to mess around with things, anyway.
When a watch he was certain he packed with the rest of his accessories fails to turn up, Mingyu makes a sour face and puts it out of his mind.
Choi Hansol is the first person Mingyu meets in town. He’s young and ropey; moving like he’s poured out of a bottle. But he’s also charming, in an off-beat kind of way.
He works in the grocery store. His primary occupation seems to be standing at the check out counter and writing in a notebook with his headphones in. Mingyu hardly ever sees more than a handful of people in the store, so he supposes it doesn’t mind if one of the workers is a little bit of a slacker.
Hansol picks his head up a moment after Mingyu approaches the counter, a wide smile spreading over his face. “You’re still around, huh?”
“I am.” It’s the third or fourth time Mingyu has been to the shop— moving into a new house means stocking up on basic items. Most of them he doesn’t realize he’s missing until he needs them.
“You keeping all this food in a hotel room?” Hansol asks, the drawl of his voice a perfect match to the pace of him scanning Mingyu’s groceries. He still has the headphone in his ear, the wire connecting him to the phone in his pocket.
“No,” Mingyu says, shaking his head with a smile. “I’m, uh, new in the neighborhood.”
“That doesn’t happen often,” Hansol says. He sounds pleased rather than critical.
“What are you writing?” Mingyu asks because he’s been curious the last few times he came in. It seemed strange to ask but Hansol seems relaxed enough.
“Lyrics,” Hansol says, pausing in bagging Mingyu’s spices to adjust the headphone. “I’m a rapper.”
“Oh,” Mingyu says because he’s not sure how one responds to that, exactly.
“I’m not one of those guys who tattoos their face for attention or something,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s real stuff. I’m learning how to produce music, too.”
Mingyu nods along this time, leaning on the counter rather than reaching for his wallet. Hansol, for his part, seems happy to talk.
“What is it you do, then?” He asks, leaning his head to the side. “And where are you staying?”
“My family owns a small farm out here,” Mingyu says. “And I’m… between things right now, I guess.”
“A farm?” Hansol actually removes the earbud from his ear, blinking his doe-eyes. “You mean the old Kim place?”
“Yeah,” Mingyu says, though he’s not sure the house is old enough to qualify for that. “It belonged to my grandparents.”
“Cool,” Hansol says, tucking the last of Mingyu’s food in a now over-stuffed paper bag. “I’ve always wanted to check that place out.”
“Check it out?” Mingyu asks, furrowing his brow a little bit. “I don’t think it’d be fun to tour.”
“I’ve heard it’s haunted,” Hansol says, his shoulders lifting.
Mingyu purses his lips together. He’s heard that before— from other kids he met and befriended while staying over the summers. The rumor goes back further than Mingyu’s family and their ownership of the place. According to his mom, it’s always had spirits living in it. He doesn’t remember anything like that from growing up but Mingyu didn’t take much interest in ghosts as a kid.
He’s not very interested in them now, either. If it weren’t for his mom’s stories he’d dismiss the whole thing as a stupid teenage joke.
“I don’t think it is,” Mingyu says, finally, taking the change that Hansol hands back to him.
Hansol is still grinning, fitting the headphone back in place while Mingyu gathers his bags up. There are no other customers that Mingyu can see and Hansol is only too happy to go back to what he was working on. Now that he’s looking for it, Mingyu can see the fingers of his left hand tapping out a rhythm as he writes.
He leaves the little shop with a smile.
Something has been scratching around in the attic since Mingyu decided to head to bed and shut the lights off. The sound is inconstant but as soon as Mingyu begins drifting off again, it starts back up.
It sounds like something, or many somethings, have indeed decided to share the house with him. Mingyu drags the blanket up over his shoulder and presses his face into the pillow. The scratching is hard to ignore. Every time something starts moving on the floor above him Mingyu’s heart swells up to block his throat.
He should’ve given in and checked the attic several days ago. No doubt there’s evidence up there of his new guests setting up a comfortable, dry spot in one of the corners. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to fall asleep through sheer will, but the scratching resumes. It sounds almost like something scraping in circles above where he has the bed positioned.
Mingyu sits up and takes a moment to consider his options. He could keep trying to ignore the scratching and risk getting less sleep than he’s used to. He could go downstairs and occupy the couch for another night.
Or he could go up to the attic and try to scare off the source of the sound.
As soon as the idea occurs to him Mingyu’s stomach sinks. It’s the worst thing to do, but he’s already dragging himself out of bed for it. Maybe he’ll get lucky and it’ll be something easy to deal with.
It takes a little digging around to find a flashlight— he’s lucky he left one sitting in the bathroom after his adventure getting the sink working. But he too soon finds himself standing beneath the hatch that leads to the attic.
He’s only been up there once so far. It was in the middle of the afternoon and he was trying to figure out if it was even possible to get onto the balcony from the attic. As far as he could tell, nothing was ever built to actually lead out there. Other than a few boxes of things that his mom packed up and stowed away, the attic was empty and shut tight. Or so Mingyu had thought.
Crawling up through the hatch is a different experience than it was during the day. As dark as it is, they’re out far enough in the country that the night sky is wide and bright, the moon casting more light over the room than Mingyu was expecting. It makes the shadows deeper too— the whole room rich with cobwebs and gloom.
The scratching stopped when Mingyu was making his way down the hall with the flashlight in hand, but he still sweeps the pale beam of it over the room. Compared to the hollow blue light in the room already, it seems especially wan.
Still, all Mingyu can see is a small pile of what looks like marbles or polished rocks sitting on one of the windows. He didn’t notice them but he also wasn’t looking for them, either.
“If something is up here, um,” Mingyu says, the echo of his voice almost startling him off the ladder. “Can you keep it down? I need to sleep.”
He must be lacking in human contact much more severely than he thought. He hangs on the ladder for an extra moment, still, waiting for the darkness to answer back.
Nothing comes of it and after a moment, Mingyu ducks his head and sighs, climbing back down. He shuts the attic up and creeps his way back to bed, feet light on the old floor even though there’s no one in the house for him to wake.
A moment after his head hits the pillow, the sound starts up again.
“I can’t believe you moved three weeks ago and didn’t bother to get internet,” Jihoon says, squinting at his screen. He’s trying to make faces, but the connection isn’t what Mingyu's used to and his face is grainy and smudged. Still, the frown on his face is familiar enough that Mingyu doesn’t have to guess much at the rest of his expression. “Three weeks. You’re pretty much dead to me, now.”
“You could’ve called me,” Mingyu says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve had my phone.”
“I thought you weren’t answering,” Jihoon says, shaking his head. He’s cropped all his hair off again— his natural response to stress— and it looks like he did it himself this time since Mingyu wasn’t on hand to help. He’s done a botch job of it, but Mingyu doubts Jihoon could care less.
“I am for some people,” Mingyu says, shrugging his shoulders.
He’s put the study in some kind of order, though it doesn’t have a desk. He hasn’t yet been able to find one that looks right paired with the massive bookshelf. So, he’s sitting on the floor, legs spread out in front of him.
“Are you sick of the country yet?” Jihoon asks, leaning forward like he might be able to get a better look at the room. Mingyu's treated to the extreme zoom of his other eye and he has to bite back the urge to laugh.
“It’s not bad,” Mingyu says, looking around with a smile. “The people here are nice and I love how quiet it is.”
“Not bad?” Jihoon asks, sitting back in his seat again. “No gushing about the leaves or seeing a rabbit or anything? What’s wrong with it?”
“Ah,” Mingyu sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “The house is a bit… rougher than I expected.”
There’s a lot to do— between small repairs and making the place feel comfortable. But Mingyu can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else off about the house. Something he hasn’t found a way to explain yet.
Mingyu can hear the sound of Soonyoung clattering around in another room. It’s anyone’s guess what he’s doing; he has a talent for making plenty of noise doing even small tasks. The noise draws Jihoon’s attention and for a moment there’s a slight smile on his face.
“Yah,” Jihoon says, raising his voice. “Didn’t you wanna say hi to Mingyu?”
Soonyoung yells something indistinct in return. Mingyu can hear his approaching footsteps pounding over the thin floor of their shared apartment.
He hooks his chin over Jihoon’s shoulder, squishing their cheeks together and squeezing Jihoon’s arms to his sides. “Hi, Mingyu.”
“He says living in the middle of nowhere sucks,” Jihoon says, making a token struggle against Soonyoung hanging onto him. Soonyoung grins, leaning in closer to the camera.
“Really? Are you coming back?” He asks, sounding far too excited about that fact.
“It’s not bad!” Mingyu says, whining. “I’m just getting used to things.”
“What’s wrong?” Soonyoung asks, trying to make eye contact with the lens of the camera rather than the screen. Mingyu feels like he’s skyping his parents, not his former roommates.
“There’s a squirrel here or something,” Mingyu says, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “I keep finding weird pebbles and there are weird noises at night.”
“A squirrel is leaving you rocks?” Soonyoung says, finally looking properly at Mingyu’s face. “At night?”
“I don’t know what else it could be,” Mingyu says, throwing his hands up. “I haven’t seen anything and no one else is here but me.”
“It’s a ghost,” Soonyoung says, shaking Jihoon back and forth in his excitement. Jihoon shoves at Soonyoung’s arms, trying to worm his way free without success. “You didn’t tell me it was a haunted place.”
“That’s morbid,” Mingyu says, thought the same thought has been worming its way into his head as well. “It’s an animal trying to get warm.”
“Are there cold spots too?” Soonyoung says, his hands resting on Jihoon’s shoulders once Jihoon manages to shake him off.
“It’s an old place,” Mingyu says, shaking his head with a laugh. “It’s got nothing but cold spots.”
“Ghosts,” Soonyoung says, lowering his voice this time. Jihoon’s shoulders are shaking in quiet laughter. Soonyoung doesn’t seem to have noticed it. It’s just like Soonyoung to take something like this so seriously.
“You might need a ghost hunter,” Jihoon says, leaning his head back against Soonyoung’s shoulder. “You could really be a danger.”
“Well it didn’t try to hurt you, did it?” It takes Soonyoung a moment to catch on, though it only makes him smile all the more. It’s a sign of Jihoon indulging him, just like the way Jihoon’s hand runs up and down Soonyoung’s arm.
“No,” Mingyu says, fighting the urge to frown. It isn’t that the conversation troubles him, but it does make Mingyu realize how much he’s missed the two of them.
There are plenty of things in life that Mingyu was looking to get away from by coming out here, but it wasn’t these two. Something beeps loudly in the other room and Soonyoung bolts upright. He presses a quick, messy kiss to Jihoon’s temple before darting off into the other room. Jihoon laughs, curling his legs up in the expansive chair with him. It makes the flimsy desk that sits opposite his producing equipment shake.
When he looks back at the screen, something must show on Mingyu’s face.
“He misses you,” Jihoon says, glancing back at the door.
“Do you miss me?” Mingyu asks, leaning toward the screen. It’s easier to try and tease Jihoon than admit that he feels the same.
“Of course not,” Jihoon says, grabbing a black cap off the desk and scraping his hair out of his face before putting it on. “I love having a million more dishes to do and Soonyoung complaining every day I work late.”
“You work late every day,” Mingyu says, shaking his head.
Jihoon shrugs his shoulders. He goes quiet for a moment, dragging his fingers across the desk. Mingyu can sense him building up the courage to say something he doesn’t want to so he doesn’t say anything else either.
“Jeonghan called about you,” Jihoon says, staring down at his lap. “You didn’t tell him you moved?”
“He doesn’t really need to know,” Mingyu says, laughing nervously. “We never meet in person, really.”
“He’s your agent,” Jihoon says, his voice flat. “And he found out you moved from me.”
The emphasis makes Mingyu cringe, shaking his head. “I don’t have anything else to talk to him about so I haven’t…”
“You're dodging his calls,” Jihoon says. “He’s gonna drive out there if you don’t talk to him.”
Mingyu wants to shove the laptop away and hide behind his knees like a child. “I will. Soon.”
“It’s that bad?” Jihoon asks, his voice tipping toward sympathy. Mingyu doesn’t really want that either but it’s better than hearing his threats on Jeonghan’s behalf.
“Yeah,” Mingyu says, shrinking down a little further. “It’s that bad.”
Jihoon nods his head slowly, adjusting his hat once again. When there’s something emotional going on, he always likes to have something to do with his hands. Sometimes Mingyu feels like the habit has bled over to him too. Or maybe neither of them were good at sitting still to begin with.
“You’ll figure it out,” Jihoon says, leaving his pity down for iron confidence. It lifts Mingyu’s spirits a little. It doesn’t matter if he believes Jihoon or not— it’s enough that he doesn’t dare disappoint him.
“Thanks,” Mingyu says, laughing. “I should let you get back to work.”
Jihoon hums, his eyes roving over the screen. He hates goodbyes and Mingyu isn’t surprised when all he does is wave before ending the call.
Mingyu shuts his laptop and drags himself up off the floor, stretching. He really needs to find a desk to put in here.
Two more weeks of late night scratching and rooms that fill Mingyu with a strange chill and he’s almost glad to have the chance to talk to Hansol about it.
It turns out that Hansol still exists when he’s not manning the shop— which Mingyu has since learned belongs to his parents. He even offered to show Mingyu the best place in town for coffee.
So, when Mingyu sits down across from Hansol with a satisfyingly hot and bitter espresso, he’s sort of excited about the whole thing. It’s nice to have a friend— as much as he’s enjoyed the small town peace, it’s hard not to be lonely.
“You mean the place is really haunted?” Hansol asks, his head leaning to the side. He has a beanie pulled down almost over his eyebrows and a pair of round, violet sunglasses perched on his head. “Like, for real?”
“I don’t know,” Mingyu says, sighing out a single breath. “It’s weird. It could be tons of stuff.”
“But you think it’s a ghost,” Hansol says, leaning across the table with a grin.
“You want me to think it’s a ghost,” Mingyu says, taking a sip of the espresso. He wrinkles his nose at the taste but the heat spreads through his stomach and eases the bitterness in his mouth.
“That’s too complicated,” Hansol says, shaking his head. “What else would it be?”
“A lost bird,” Mingyu says, though the answer sits wrong with him. He’s not sure that it really is a ghost, but it isn’t one of the dozen other explanations Mingyu has tried to give himself.
“Anyway,” Hansol says, ignoring Mingyu’s flimsy excuse. “I know someone who can help you with this kinda stuff.”
“You know someone who deals with ghosts?” Mingyu asks. He can’t help but laugh, but Hansol doesn’t join him.
“A friend of mine,” Hansol says, nodding. “He’s really cool. I can hook you up.”
“If you think he can actually help,” Mingyu says, hedging a little. He has no idea if he actually needs the help of some kind of ghost hunter or psychic or whatever Hansol has in mind.
But he’d kill to get a full night’s sleep again, and if this can help Mingyu is willing to put up with a little bit more weirdness.
“Fine,” Mingyu says, peering at the gathered grounds in the bottom of his cup. “Give me his number.”
It turns out that Hansol’s friend, Xu Minghao, is Mingyu’s neighbor. He insists they have to talk about everything in person— on the phone he only gives Mingyu his address and a time to come by. His voice is crisp and soft and he sounds like he can’t be any older than Mingyu is.
Strangely, Mingyu finds himself excited as he drives down the short gravel stretch to the neighboring home. It’s cut through the woods and even though the house has sat unoccupied for years, the path is still clear of branches and easy to see.
The place is even smaller than Mingyu’s— a little cottage dwarfed by the trees around it. The clay roof is covered in lichen and thick vines are creeping up one of the sides. There’s a curl of smoke rising from the chimney and Mingyu can see an expansive garden behind the house.
He climbs out of the car slowly, pausing once again to take in the place.
There’s a charm to it, Mingyu decides. The door is a cheerful red, though it's started to peel from the elements. It thuds hollowly when Mingyu knocks on it.
The boy who opens the door is half a head shorter than Mingyu, his hair long and jet black, bangs dangling in his eyes. He leans on the door when he opens it, his gaze dragging over Mingyu, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
“Um,” Mingyu says, taken aback. “Hi. I’m Mingyu. I had an, uh, appointment.”
The smile fades.
“Neighbor with the haunting problem?” Minghao asks. In person, his voice is even softer. Mingyu finds himself leaning in slightly to try and hear him better.
“Yeah,” Mingyu says, rocking back onto his heels. “I guess. I don’t really know if that’s what the problem is or not…”
“Come in,” Minghao says, stepping out of the way. “I’ll make tea and you can tell me about it.”
While Minghao is brewing tea, Mingyu is sitting in his kitchen trying to take in the space. The cottage is cozy inside, with a cheerful fire burning in the hearth.
It’s also much more packed than Mingyu could have imagined— every surface of the living room is covered in books, or strange sparkling rocks, or what seems to be bits of bone. There are other trinkets too— a small dish full of keys, bits of silver and gold wire gathered up together, dried flowers hanging from a shelf.
Minghao, dressed in black, fits the surroundings perfectly. He’s so skinny that Mingyu can almost see the knobs of his spine through his knit turtleneck. There’s a grace to the way he moves and when Mingyu isn’t staring at the decor he’s stealing glances at the host.
He’s uncertain what kind of person Hansol sent him to see.
“So tell me about the house,” Minghao says, his back to Mingyu. He’s measuring out tea leaves into a tiny mesh basket.
“Um, it used to be my grandparents’,” Mingyu says, sitting upright like a puppet pulled by a string. Minghao must hear him jerk because there’s muted amusement in the way he looks back at Mingyu.
“Are they the ones haunting it?” He asks. He leans up on his toes, opening one of the upper cabinets to take down two thick stoneware mugs. Mingyu feels the need to stand up and offer his help but by the time he’s decided he should do it, Minghao drops back to his feet and sets them both on the counter.
“No,” Mingyu says, then clears his throat. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s it.”
“Okay,” Minghao says, nodding. He pours the tea, turning around to set one of the mugs carefully in front of Mingyu. The steam rising from the other one fogs the glasses on his face, sitting right on the tip of his nose. “So the energy you feel isn’t familiar to you?”
Mingyu’s tongue feels sticky— melted to the back of his teeth like candy.
“I guess not,” Mingyu says, staring at the surface of his tea. Minghao sets his own mug down before taking the seat across from Mingyu.
“You’re not sure what to believe,” Minghao says, folding his hands in his lap. He has long fingers and Mingyu notices a silver ring around his thumb.
“It could be anything,” Mingyu says, shrugging.
“It could be,” Minghao says, lifting the mug to his lips and blowing the steam in Mingyu’s direction.
Mingyu scowls, his leg bouncing under the table.
“I might be able to help even if it’s not a ghost,” Minghao says when Mingyu still doesn’t volunteer more information. He looks around the room, a smile on his face. “I know a little about keeping up with old houses.”
He looks less intimidating than when Mingyu first saw him. He has his sweater bunched around his palms to insulate his hands from the heat of the mug and the light outside has gone fuzzy and gray— clouds drifting in front of the sun.
“The place is a little weird,” he says finally, scraping his nail along the edge of the table in thought. “There’s a lot of scratching around at night but it could be an animal…”
“Like a mouse?” Minghao asks when Mingyu trails off.
“Bigger. I haven’t actually seen anything living up there, though,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “In the attic, I mean. It sounds like footsteps sometimes.
He didn’t mention that to Soonyoung or Hansol, worried it might make him sound like he was starting to lose it. But maybe talking to your ghost hunter is like talking to a therapist.
“Does it sound like that a lot?” Minghao asks, tipping his head to the side.
“Yeah,” Mingyu says, still embarrassed to admit it. “Like someone stomping around above me every night.”
“Anything else?” Minghao asks. Mingyu feels oddly encouraged talking to him; more comfortable than he expected to be.
By the time he finishes going over the various woes of the house, they've finished two cups of tea, the leaves cooling at the bottom of his mug.
“Well, I can't say for sure,” Minghao says once Mingyu has finished talking. “But it's worth looking into. I can do an investigation for you.”
“An investigation?” Mingyu asks, furrowing his brow. ”What does that mean?”
“To get a better idea of what's going on,” Minghao says, a small smile on his face. “It should only take staying a few nights.”
“Oh,” Mingyu says, heat rising up his neck. “With me, you mean?”
“You're welcome to stay too,” Minghao says, amused.
“It's fine,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “I mean, I'd be fine with it. If it would help.”
“I think it would,” Minghao says. He leans across the table, holding his hands out. “One more thing.”
Without thinking, Mingyu reaches out in return like he's expecting Minghao to hand him something. But Minghao has his hands open, palms upturned. Mingyu can see the shadow of a tattoo on the inside of his wrist but his sleeve covers the shape.
Minghao takes Mingyu's hands in his own. “I can read your palms.”
For a moment, Mingyu sits there with his hands in Minghao's, unsure how to respond. His heart is throbbing in his ears, beating too hard and too fast.
His skin is soft against Mingyu's. He forgets how to speak.
“I don't think so,” Mingyu says, pulling back slowly. His mouth feels like it's full of cotton. Minghao nods, dropping his hands back to his lap. If he's troubled by Mingyu's refusal, it doesn't show on his face.
“Okay,” Minghao says, standing up with a smile. “I'll call you next week.”
He follows Minghao out to the door, though it would be hard to get lost in such a small house.
"Um," he says, hesitating in the doorway. "What happens if it's really…"
"Haunted?" Minghao asks. He has his eyes on Mingyu like he's trying to pry something out of him. "I can help you cleanse it."
“Okay.” Mingyu nods his head slowly along, clearing his throat. He’s yet to figure out exactly what it is about Minghao that makes him feel so off-kilter.
Minghao opens the door with a smile, another thought seeming to linger on his tongue. After a moment he just shakes his head and smiles.
“It was good to meet you.” Mingyu gets the sense that he doesn’t really mean it. “I’ll call in a day or two.”
Mingyu nods, bowing his head awkwardly as he steps out of the house. It’s begun to drizzle but Mingyu stands there for a moment after the door swings shut to wonder exactly who he just invited to stay in his home. With him. Next week.