Sehun’s rescue went more smoothly than any so far. Chanyeol didn’t even have to cut himself - Sehun was so startled by the appearance of such an oddly-dressed spectre in front of him that he didn’t even attempt to climb the bookcase. Though the windows rattled and the books trembled threateningly, the scene was so short, so close to the grandfather clock’s chime, that it was over before the house could make another attempt to kill. Sehun popped into existence with his folio of letters still in his hand, confused as anything.

And that was when Chanyeol realized that it was not even nine in the morning, and if his guess was correct, Sehun would not fade until sundown, around six. That meant they had nine full hours.

Because it was going to be such a long day, when Chanyeol was explaining what had happened, he left out Kyungsoo. Sehun did ask - of course he asked - but Chanyeol only told Sehun that he had already released Kyungsoo’s ghost, and said nothing about their conversation or the letter Kyungsoo had left. If he told Sehun about it now, Sehun would be unable to think about anything else for the rest of the day, and, rather selfishly, Chanyeol wanted him to be undistracted. He found himself embarrassingly excited at the idea of company, even just for a few hours.

“So,” Chanyeol said, as they moved into the main body of the house. “You have an extra day on Earth, one hundred and thirty years in the future. How would you like to spend it?”

Wide-eyed, staring at the changes that had been made over the years, Sehun didn’t answer at first. Finally, he met Chanyeol’s eyes.

“I certainly don’t want to spend it here, in this damned house,” he said decisively. “Can we go down to the village? I’d like to see what the future is like.”

Chanyeol grinned at him. “Good thing you’re about my size,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get you dressed and I’ll take you out on the town.”

Showing Sehun the future was incredibly fun. Chanyeol didn’t realize how much he took for granted - everything from elastic waistbands to fully paved roads was new and exciting to Sehun. He actually laughed when Chanyeol revved his car’s engine, and begged Chanyeol to teach him to drive it.

Chanyeol took him to a coffee shop for breakfast, and let him pick out at least twice as many pastries as he should be eating, though he did warn Sehun that he probably should be a little careful unless he wanted to spend his last day sick to his stomach. He didn’t actually know if ghosts could get sick, but Zitao had felt the pain from his sprained ankles, so he figured it was better to be safe.

They spent the morning talking over coffee, about technology in the future, about the manor, about themselves. Sehun mentioned Kyungsoo several times, but if Chanyeol hadn’t read the letters, he never would have known how deeply Sehun’s feelings went. Sehun was clearly used to hiding them.

After coffee, they took a walk through the town, and Sehun pointed out everything that was still there from his time, which was more than Chanyeol really had expected. A lot had changed, but quite a lot actually hadn’t, and Sehun’s perspective on it was fascinating.

They turned some heads as they walked, too, which Chanyeol attributed entirely to how stunning Sehun looked in skinny jeans, one of Chanyeol’s classier pinstriped button-down shirts, and a leather jacket to ward off the October chill. Sehun had exclaimed over how light and form-fitting the clothes were, how flattering, but it was clear now that he wasn’t really used to having the long, thin lines of his body on display like this.

“People are staring at me,” he muttered, as a pair of high-school-age girls giggled behind their hands. “Do I stand out so much?”

“Only because you are so handsome,” Chanyeol teased, and Sehun flushed and smiled shyly at him. “Well… it could also be your hair. Long hair went out of style decades ago.”

Sehun ran his hand through his waist-length, smooth black hair, an unconscious motion. “It isn’t because they think that we…?”

The hesitance in Sehun’s tone finished the sentence for him. “I doubt it,” Chanyeol said, jostling his shoulder companionably. “It’s hardly unusual for two young men to walk down the street together. But even if they did, it might not be a very big deal.” He smiled. “Society’s views on romance between men is changing. It’s a slow change, not everyone can accept it, but it isn’t something that absolutely must be hidden in every circumstance. Not anymore.”

Sehun drew in a deep breath, and blew out a sigh. “Then I was born a hundred and thirty years too early,” he muttered.

“Maybe.” Chanyeol held out his hand. “It’s your last day on Earth… Do you want to try out some romance?”

Biting his lip, Sehun considered it. Slowly, he took Chanyeol’s hand, wound their fingers together.

It was a start. Chanyeol grinned at him, and they started walking again.

Keeping in mind that Sehun had never had the opportunity to act out romance with someone, Chanyeol made an extra effort to be sweet and gentlemanly. It wasn’t really too much of a stretch to treat Sehun the way he would a boyfriend, to touch him and hold doors for him and flirt. Sehun was flushed pink, but he seemed to be enjoying the attention, and Chanyeol found he really liked giving it. It had been a long time since he had felt he was able to be flirty and romantic with someone.

He found a really nice restaurant and treated Sehun to a full, gourmet late lunch, feeding him morsels with his own chopsticks and tangling their legs together. Sehun laughed, still blushing, but returned the gesture, offering Chanyeol a bit of steak and letting his fingers trail along the side of Chanyeol’s knee under the table.

They went to a park afterwards to walk, and Chanyeol took advantage of the relative solitude to pull Sehun close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I might be getting a little carried away with this game,” he admitted, laughing.

“I don’t mind,” Sehun said. “It’s freedom I’ve never had before. Even if it’s only for one day, even if this is all the time I have left, it’s better than never knowing what this feels like.” He bit his lip. “I wish that I could have had this with... Before.”

Chanyeol slowed, then halted, partially hidden from the rest of the park by a cove of trees. “I wish you could stay,” he said. “It’s so ing unfair, your entire life was taken from you. You should have had a future.”

Tentatively, Sehun took both of Chanyeol’s hands in his own, holding them lightly in the space between their bodies. “You’re lonely, aren’t you?” he said softly.

Chanyeol blinked at him. “What?”

“That house, it’s far too big for one person. It was too big for the dozen people who lived there with me, I can’t imagine how silent it is for you.” He squeezed Chanyeol’s hands, brought Chanyeol’s fingers up to his mouth and pressed a kiss lightly to his knuckles. Chanyeol’s breath caught. “I am the pampered son of a very rich man, and yet no one has ever been so attentive to me as you have been in the last few hours alone. You need someone, Chanyeol, someone to care for and who will care for you. You aren’t the kind of person who should be alone.”

Dropping his gaze, Chanyeol studied their hands. “I had someone,” he admitted. “Someone I thought was perfect for me, someone I wanted to be with forever.” He sighed. “The problem was, I wasn’t perfect for him.” Oddly, this wasn’t as painful to talk about as it usually was. Chanyeol had been too preoccupied to really think much about Minho lately. “He left me, and I think he made the right decision. He’ll be happier with someone else.”

“But what about you?” Sehun asked.

Chanyeol shrugged. “I’m fine. I know how to be alone.” He flashed a rueful smile. “Besides, the manor keeps me pretty darn busy.”

Making a small, unhappy noise, Sehun swooped in and kissed Chanyeol, lightly, but right on the lips.

Surprised, Chanyeol allowed it, and then realized he was standing there like a moron and tugged Sehun closer. The kiss was sweet, chaste. Lovely. When they broke apart, Chanyeol rested his head against the side of Sehun’s.

“I don’t like to think that the manor might take you the way it’s taken so many others,” Sehun whispered. “You deserve to live, Chanyeol. You should run.”

Chanyeol took a deep breath. “If I run,” he said, “you will be pulled back into your torment, reliving your death every week. And so will all of the others I have saved.” Sehun made another unhappy noise, and Chanyeol smiled a little, rueful. “There are still at least six more ghosts locked in torment. They all deserve to be saved, too. What is the risk of my life, against the souls of eleven others?”

Long arms squeezed him tightly. “I hope you can do it,” Sehun said. “And when you do, burn the house to the ground. It’s evil.”

Chanyeol didn’t really know what to say to that, so instead, he just kissed Sehun again.

The day went by too quickly. As the afternoon wore on, Sehun started to look uncomfortable, fidgeting, and when Chanyeol asked him what was wrong, he said, “I think I have to get back to the manor.”

Just like that, anxiety was fluttering in Chanyeol’s chest. He held Sehun’s hand the entire drive home.

When they got inside, Chanyeol took Sehun back to his sitting room and pulled him down onto the couch. Sehun all but crawled into his lap, his shoulders shuddering, and Chanyeol held him tightly and tried not to think about the ticking clock.

“There’s something I need to show you,” he said.

Just as he had when Kyungsoo was reading Sehun’s letter, Chanyeol moved over to the windows as Sehun read Kyungsoo’s. It took all he had not to burst into tears at the sight of the fading sunlight cutting through the trees - he had never dreaded a sunset more.

“Why… why didn’t you show me this earlier?” Sehun asked quietly.

Turning, Chanyeol regarded him. Sehun’s eyes were wet, his mouth trembling a little, and something inside Chanyeol broke. “I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn’t want to spend the day with me,” he admitted.

Sehun huffed out a breath. “What was that you said, about you being fine alone?” he asked. Chanyeol winced, but Sehun reached out a hand, so Chanyeol went to the couch and let him cuddle into his side. “He loved me,” Sehun said, in tones of disbelief. “There were more words than that, but that’s basically what it all comes down to. He loved me. He said he would be waiting for me, on the other side of the light.”

Chanyeol had suspected as much, but it was good to know. “Does that make it less scary?”

“Hah. Yes, in a way. Yes, it does.” Sehun’s hands balled into Chanyeol’s shirt. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you behind.”

Oh, God. “If I don’t stay,” Chanyeol said, “if I don’t beat this thing, then both of you will be right back here again, trapped, and you’ll forget that you love each other. More than ever before, I cannot fail.”

Sehun sat up. “I believe that you might even be able to do it,” he said. “I hope you will. Please don’t die.” He leaned in and kissed Chanyeol, harder than before. Chanyeol kissed him back, memorizing the feeling.

Too soon, Sehun pulled away, looked to the side. “Oh,” he said, very softly.

Chanyeol covered his mouth with one hand. He couldn’t even speak. Sehun flashed him a teary smile and stood.

“I have to go,” he said. “Chanyeol… Thank you. It was the best last day anyone could have asked for.”

He took a step forward and faded away, and Chanyeol burst into tears, wracking, horrible sobs that came from deep inside his gut. The room darkened as the sun disappeared, and still Chanyeol cried, lost in the knowledge that Sehun was dead, never to return.

The blanket slid around his shoulders. Chanyeol buried himself in it, pulling it close around him, wishing like hell that he could cry into Kris’s shoulder instead. But he couldn’t, so as Kris sat next to him, solemn-faced, with a translucent, chilly hand resting on Chanyeol’s knee, he took what comfort the blanket could give him.

Chanyeol knew that the easy bits were behind him when he shocked awake on Friday morning to the sound of a scream, so high and horrible that he wasn’t certain if he’d heard it with his ears or only in his dreams. The heart-pounding sense of dread was pretty darn real, though, as was his heated, flushed, sweaty skin and the feeling like he couldn’t draw in enough air no matter how hard he gasped. His windows were steamed over, as if he’d a heat lamp inside his bedroom, and only when he stumbled out onto the back patio could he breathe normally again.

It was so cold outside that his breath came out as fog, and Chanyeol in the frigid air gratefully, bracing his hands on his knees. He glared back at the house, cranky at being awoken in such an ugly way.

“If you’re trying to piss me off,” he muttered, “it’s working. Keep it up.”

Once he had his breath back and his body temperature was back down to something manageable, Chanyeol went back inside and started up his coffee machine.

He had five ghosts left, besides Kris. For two he had names, but wasn’t sure how to predict when they would appear; the other three he knew when they would appear but he had no names. He figured that those three would probably be a better bet for being able to find information, so he decided he was going to spend the morning, at least, down in the town, digging through records.

Chanyeol knew that it would be safer for him to spend as much time away from the house as possible, but he still had no real idea when Kim Jongdae would appear, or what other clues he might gather from the house, so he was planning to stick around as much as he could manage. The more he learned, the faster he could get the rest of the spirits taken care of, the sooner he would be really safe.

Jongdae’s obituary had said that the fire had started in the “late afternoon,” and Lu Han’s scene took place after sundown, so Chanyeol figured he could reasonably be away for the mornings, anyway. Once his coffee was ready, he packed it up in a travel mug and hit the road.

Knowing that the jumper was the first ghost to die narrowed Chanyeol’s date range down somewhat, which was helpful. Kris died in 1837, and the next ghost, as far as Chanyeol could tell, was Lu Han in 1879. A 40-year range was still quite a lot, but Chanyeol had the names of several of the owners of the manor during that time, so maybe cross-referencing would turn something up.

‘Maybe’ was the operative word, as it turned out. Chanyeol was in the city’s records for five hours straight, but the fact of the matter was, the records from that far back were just too spotty, too incomplete. There was no mention of a young man having died at Dragon Manor during that time, let alone one of the right age and cause of death. He was pretty certain he’d ruled out any time past about 1870-ish, which was where the records were more complete, but that wasn’t really a whole lot of help. Frustrated, he decided to call it a day, and headed back to the manor.

When he pulled up to the house, the first thing he noticed was that the sunlight was gone, hidden away by foreboding-looking stormclouds. He thought that was kind of odd - and found himself to be correct when he checked his phone, and saw that the weather for his coordinates was supposedly sunny and warm.

Then, he noticed the light in the tower.

Not the third floor library, like last time. Not the bedroom, either. The tiny, sixth-floor room at the very top of the stairs, lit with what appeared to be a single, flickering candle, dancing murkily behind the dirty glass.

“Kris,” Chanyeol breathed, and burst into a jog.

He detoured quickly through his bedroom and picked up his recently-sharpened axe, just in case; the memory of getting locked into that room was still fresh in his mind. With it in hand - held firmly up near the blade, sharp edge pointed away from himself - he dragged the heavy bookcase open and started up the spiral staircase.

The stairs rocked dangerously under his feet. There was no reason for them to be doing that, Chanyeol had just re-bolted them down only a few days ago, so he grit his teeth and doubled his pace, getting himself up those stairs as fast as his long legs could carry him.

The trapdoor at the top was latched, and wouldn’t budge under Chanyeol’s hands. “No, you don’t,” he muttered, and wedged the blade of the axe under the latch. It took some muscle, but he was able to lever the latch open, and he pushed the trapdoor up and warily peeked over the floorline.

It was Kris, as he’d guessed. Half-stripped down and curled up against the wall of the tiny room, crying into his upbent knees. There was ghostly blood on the floor, dripping from cuts and welts across his torso and arms, pooling shallowly around the equally-ghostly candleholder that sat by his side.

Chanyeol climbed into the room. The trapdoor snapped shut behind him, too fast to be natural, but Chanyeol didn’t care. If he had to chop his way out later, he would. All that mattered was in front of him.

“Kris,” Chanyeol murmured. “Hey. Kris, can you hear me?”

There was no answer. This was pretty clearly a memory, so chances were good Kris wouldn’t be able to communicate with him until it was over, or almost over. Chanyeol sat at Kris’s side, thankful he was still wearing his outdoor jacket. The room was already chilly from the wind blowing through the broken window, without even considering the extra chill from sitting so close to a ghost.

Had the tower room been locked like this on purpose? Was Kris reliving the memory of being imprisoned in his own home? Alone, so high up, in a room too small to even lay down flat… Chanyeol couldn’t even imagine it.

“It’s okay,” Chanyeol said, uselessly. He had no idea if Kris could hear him, but if there was a chance, he was going to try. “It’ll be over soon. It’s going to be alright.”

Kris continued to cry, senseless to his comfort. Chanyeol stayed right where he was, holding silent vigil over him, until the candle burned down and Kris’s spectre finally faded.

Amber insisted on coming over the next day. It had been a few weeks, and though her tone was cheerful, Chanyeol could tell she was determined to check up on him.

She wanted to see the improvements he’d made to the house, so Chanyeol took her around a little bit, showing her the new floor-height table in the breakfast room, the restoration work he’d done on the front door, the recently replaced lighting in the library. He took her into his bedroom to show her the new curtains he’d finally installed, and realized a little too late that the axe was still sitting next to his nightstand; as she went over to the windows to look at the view, he quickly kicked it underneath the bed.

“What’s that?” Amber asked, and Chanyeol jumped a little, guilty.

“What’s what?” he asked, trying for innocent.

She gave him an odd look, and reached around his shoulder. “That,” she said, pulling back with paper in her hand.

Oh. . “It’s... um.”

Amber eyed the drawing. “This is you,” she said. “Someone drew you? Damn, this is really good.” She cocked her head and turned the paper, looking at it from a different angle. “They even captured the way your mouth hangs open to the right when you snore. Dude, who are you letting draw you while you sleep?”

Flushing red, Chanyeol plucked the drawing from her hands and put it back on his dresser. “No one, it’s nothing,” he said, very stupidly and obviously.

Propping her hands on her hips, Amber gave him an eyebrow. “You’re seeing someone,” she guessed. “And you haven’t told me.”

“It’s not like that,” Chanyeol protested, but he knew exactly how fake he sounded. Quickly, he scrambled for an explanation. “It’s - I’m not really - look, we’re taking it slow, okay? After what happened with Minho, I’m not jumping into anything without being really sure.”

Mentioning his ex did the trick. Amber immediately softened. “Okay,” she said, “I’m sorry. I get it.” She sat on the edge of his bed, looking at him expectantly. “So? What’s their name? How did you meet them?”

Crap. Chanyeol flopped onto the bed next to her. “His name is Kris,” he said, and then immediately regretted it. He was only digging himself deeper. “I, uh. I met him down in the town. He lives sort of… nearby.”

Amber’s lips twitched at the corners. “You are so red right now.”

, Chanyeol dropped his face into his hands. “Please don’t tease me about this,” he whined.

“But it’s so cute!” Amber pounded his back delightedly. “Okay, okay, I won’t give you the fifth degree. But I’m glad you have something going on, even if you’re not sure what, yet.” She squinted at him. “He better treat you right, or I’m coming for his .”

Chanyeol chuckled at the image. “He’s got his own problems, you know? But... I think he’s trying.” As he said it, he realized how true it actually was, and sobered. “He is. He’s trying to be good to me.”

And if Chanyeol succeeded at what he intended to do… Kris would pass on, walk into the light. He’d be gone forever.

.

Chanyeol was pretty sure the house was trying to kill him, and it didn’t seem to care too much if Amber noticed.

The first time, he wasn’t completely certain it was the house at all. He choked on his rice at dinner, coughing and spluttering, and it wasn’t exactly the first time he’d tried to breathe his food but the timing of it seemed awfully suspect.

The second time, he stumbled on his way down the stairs. It was a bad fall, and he tumbled quite a ways down, but he was able to catch himself on the railing and stop before he hurt himself too badly. Amber about his clumsiness, but Chanyeol couldn’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t just tripped, but something had purposely tripped him.

But the third time, Chanyeol knew it was the house, because as they were headed to the west wing so Chanyeol could show off the two-story library, Kris suddenly appeared in the hallway off to the side, a spectre in the fading light of dusk. Chanyeol paused, surprised to see him, but Amber kept going - and screamed.

Chanyeol jerked back to reality and rushed to her side. A section of the floor that he knew he’d crossed several times had given out, and Amber had caught herself on the nearby windowsill before she’d gone completely through the floor. His heart in his throat, Chanyeol hauled her up and out of the hole, supporting her weight until she determined that her leg wasn’t hurt, her jeans un-torn.

“, dude,” she said, looking up at him wide-eyed. “It’s a good thing I’m not any heavier than I am!” She said it lightly, covering the tremble in her voice, but Chanyeol realized she was absolutely right. If he had gone first, he would have crashed all the way into the basement.

He looked over his shoulder, but Kris was gone. Thank you, he mouthed, just in case the ghost was still watching. To Amber, he said, “Maybe it’s a sign that you should get going, huh? It’s getting kind of late.”

Amber protested, but it was getting kind of late, and she had a long drive ahead. After Chanyeol examined her ankle, just to be absolutely certain she wasn’t downplaying a more serious injury, they said their goodnights and Chanyeol walked Amber out to her car.

As Amber pulled away, Chanyeol turned and glared at the house. “She has nothing to do with any of this,” he said. “You leave her the alone.”

Thunder crashed in a barely-clouded sky. Chanyeol pursed his lips angrily, but his heartbeat was flying in his ears. He wouldn’t be having Amber over anymore, then. Not until he was certain it was safe.

He tried to ignore the thought that tonight might be the last time he would see her. There was no way to know, and dwelling on it would paralyze him. Still, he pulled out his phone and shot her a quick text.

Let me know when you get home. <3

He was tucking his phone back into his pocket and turning to head back into the house when he heard something that didn’t belong, something that made him freeze in place.

A horse’s whinny.

“What?” He turned towards the sound, eyes wide, and his eyes got wider as he realized what he was seeing. A ghostly carriage pulled by two lovely horses, clip-clopping daintily up the driveway, translucent in the moonlight.

It was so strange, so out of place, that it wasn’t until Chanyeol heard a terrified scream and pounding footsteps that he realized what was happening. He turned back towards the house and saw a flash of pale robes running past the gallery windows.

He had seconds. His hand went to his pocket, but of course the craft knife wasn’t there. A horrible and too-familiar roar sounded, and Chanyeol caught a glimpse of orange stripes flashing by the windows just as the horses screamed in fright, reared, and charged.

Chanyeol crouched low and scraped his palm over the rough pavement as hard as he could, ripping off layers of skin. Pain shot through his palm, the door to the manor opened, and Chanyeol screamed “Lu Han!” and took off at a dead sprint.

Adrenaline made time seem to slow, but Chanyeol couldn’t afford to hesitate. Lu Han glanced in front of himself, terror written all over his face, and focused on Chanyeol just as Chanyeol dived, making sure his bloody hand hit Lu Han’s ghostly form first. Lu Han became corporeal as Chanyeol barrelled into him, knocking them both to the ground. The carriage, now also deadly real, thundered by, mere centimeters from Chanyeol’s feet.

Then, he heard the roar, and felt the thud of the ground as a huge tiger leaped from the front door and landed right next to them. He was on his feet so fast he didn’t even remember getting up, sheer adrenaline giving him the strength to haul Lu Han up after him and shove him back towards the house. Lu Han ran, and Chanyeol turned to face the tiger, thinking desperately that he only had to keep it distracted long enough for the grandfather clock to chime.

Snarling, the tiger advanced on him. Wishing like hell he had his axe, Chanyeol backed away, moving perpendicular to the house in an attempt to keep its attention off of Lu Han as the terrified young man reached the doors. Lu Han opened the door, and the click-thunk-creak made the tiger turn towards him, ears perking up.

Chanyeol backed up another few steps and clapped his hands sharply, wincing as the action drove tiny bits of asphalt into his scraped hand. Yellow eyes turned back to him, and advanced.

The garages? No, the porte-cochere was a dead end and it would take him too long to lift the rusted old garage doors. The garage where he’d saved Zitao had the busted-out window, but there was no way to close it and the tiger would have no issues following him in that way.

There was a side door, though. Right there, not too far. But it was locked, and he didn’t have his keys on him.

He took another step back, trying not to move too suddenly, trying to judge from the tiger’s body language how close it was to pouncing. “Kris,” he called, as loudly as he dared. “Kris, please. If you can hear me…” The tiger snarled, and Chanyeol swallowed down the hitch in his voice. “Please unlock the side door?”

The tiger crouched, muscles bunching under fur, and Chanyeol took off.

The door wasn’t far - ten strides, if that - but the tiger was way faster. Chanyeol hit the door, and the tiger hit him. He screamed as huge claws raked down his side and hip.

The door opened. Chanyeol stumbled inside and slammed it shut in the tiger’s face, pressing his back to it and trying to hold himself together as the worst pain he’d ever felt made him want to collapse to the ground and shake to pieces. The door thunked as the tiger threw itself against it, and Chanyeol cried out again, sinking to the ground as his legs gave out completely.

It took everything - everything - he had, but fear made him push through the pain and brace his good leg against the floor, wedging himself against the door to keep the tiger out.

The minutes seemed to go on forever, and Chanyeol’s vision was blurring. He was losing a lot of blood - how much? Had the house already done him in? No, not now, not before he was done!

Chanyeol heard the chime of the grandfather clock, and passed out there, right on the floor of the east wing hallway.

Chanyeol’s first thought when he came to was huh, I’m alive.

His second thought was wait, AM I alive? Am I a ghost?!

His third thought was less of a thought, and more of an instinctive bolt-upright-and-gasp combo that was cut short by the shooting pains all up and down his right side. He cried out, winced, and collapsed back onto the floor, noting distantly that someone had put a pillow under his head.

And his side was cold. Really cold.

Chanyeol looked. Kris was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him, his berobed form seeming to float oddly, not quite in contact with the wood floorboards. One of his hands was resting on Chanyeol’s hip, right over a wadded-up, bloodsoaked item of clothing that Chanyeol didn't recognize, laying over his side. Chanyeol lifted it carefully, revealing three three nasty parallel lacerations down his side. He grimaced, feeling ill, and pressed the cloth back to his skin, trying to keep pressure on the wound.

“You need a doctor,” Kris murmured. “The chill is slowing the bleeding but there isn’t anything else I can do.”

Yeah. He felt woozy from blood loss, and it ing hurt. “Lu Han?” he asked.

“Safe, and alive. Thanks to you.” Kris frowned. “That was reckless. If I hadn’t heard you…”

Chanyeol didn’t answer him, because frankly, his entire life was reckless these days. Carefully, he turned himself enough to get his phone out of his pocket and called emergency services.

After he’d told them where he was and how to find the house, he collapsed back against the pillow. “It hurts,” he whispered.

Kris’s brow compressed. “I know,” he said. “I wish I could help.”

“You’re here,” Chanyeol murmured. “That helps.” He furrowed his own brow. “Are you more… in focus?”

A completely un-humorous laugh. “You’re bleeding,” Kris said. “A lot. The house is feeding on you. So, yes.” His expression twisted up. “As you grow weaker, I will grow stronger.”

Chanyeol tried on a smile. “At least something good comes of it,” he said.

Kris’s expression cycled through half a dozen emotions, but before he could answer, footsteps interrupted them. Lu Han knelt at Chanyeol’s side, bringing with him the blanket from Chanyeol’s sitting room, which he wrapped carefully around Chanyeol’s good side, avoiding his injury. Chanyeol cuddled into it.

Lu Han’s outer robe was missing, which explained exactly what Chanyeol was currently using to soak up his own blood. Pushing Chanyeol’s hands out of the way, Lu Han put both of his own on the robe, holding the pressure against Chanyeol’s wounds.

“Hi,” Chanyeol said, still groggy. “You alright?”

Lu Han didn’t answer him, and to Chanyeol’s surprise, glanced towards Kris, as if for help. “He doesn’t speak much Korean,” Kris said. He said something in Mandarin, and Lu Han answered, flashing a tight smile down at Chanyeol as he did so. Chanyeol didn’t have to know him well to see he was really worried about Chanyeol’s injury. “Yes, he’s fine. Better than before, even.”

“He can see you,” Chanyeol breathed.

“Yes. I told you, I am growing stronger.” Kris glanced at Lu Han. “And he could see me before, in any case.”

Chanyeol glanced between them. “Does he know…?”

“I explained it to him. He knows where he is, and when, and for how long.” Chanyeol tried to sit up, so Kris tried to put a hand on his chest, as if to push him back down. When he couldn’t make contact, he made a frustrated noise. Lu Han did it for him, urging Chanyeol to relax.

Reaching out, Chanyeol took Lu Han’s hand in his own. As with the other ghosts, the fact that they were total strangers didn’t matter; Lu Han gratefully clasped his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said, as Kris began to translate for him. “I won’t be able to stay with you tonight. I need to go to the hospital.”

Lu Han shook his head and answered. “You have given me a night of peace,” Kris translated. “I know now that it was all real, and I was not losing my mind. You don’t know what a weight that lifts from me.”

Sirens were approaching. Chanyeol thought to himself vaguely that the ambulance must have broken a lot of speed limits to get all the way out to him this quickly. “I am sorry to ask this of you,” Chanyeol said, “but please, I am trying to find the names of all of the ghosts who have died here. If there’s anything you can tell me…?”

Cocking his head, Lu Han thought about it. “I don’t think so,” he said, through Kris. “I am sorry. I thought it was all in my mind; it never occurred to me to look into the history of the house for clues.”

Chanyeol deflated. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll figure it out. You can stay in my room tonight if you wish. I’ll try to be back before sunrise, but if I am not…” He flashed a smile. “It was very nice to meet you.”

A knock on the front door. Lu Han got up and answered it, silently leading the paramedics to where Chanyeol lay.

Kris stayed right where he was, at Chanyeol’s side. The paramedics didn’t see him, moved through him as if he wasn’t there. As they got Chanyeol up into the stretcher and wheeled him out of the house, Kris and Lu Han walked beside him, all the way out to the driveway. Lu Han bowed his thanks to the paramedics and went back inside, but Kris stayed there, watching, until Chanyeol was driven down the driveway and out of sight.

Chanyeol was kept confined to a hospital bed for three days.

It was restful, but boring as . He didn’t want to have to explain what had happened to anyone - not his sister, and certainly not Amber - so he hadn’t told anyone he was there. To the doctors, he lied through his teeth, saying that he’d had an accident while working on the house. They clearly didn’t believe him, but he refused to say more, so they just treated the wounds without comment.

On the afternoon of the third day, a physical therapist came and tested his ability to walk. He was admonished over and over to be careful, warned that if he twisted the wrong way or banged his hip or stretched too much that the wounds could re-open, despite the sutures holding his skin closed.

Finally, on Wednesday afternoon, Chanyeol was released. With antibiotics, painkillers, and scar-minimizing cream in hand, he took a taxi back to the house and stiffly walked himself up the stairs.

He hesitated at the door. His car was right there, and he had his phone and his wallet, all that he needed to start over. If he left right now, he never had to come back. He didn’t really owe this house anything, he didn’t owe the spirits that were left anything. He’d already sacrificed sleep, tears, blood, flesh, for what?

Glancing to the side, Chanyeol’s gaze landed on the side door. He’d called Kris’s name, and Kris had saved his life. Was he really going to give up after that?

Chanyeol entered the manor.

The foyer was silent. Chanyeol had half-expected to see the tiger pacing in the great room beyond, but there was, of course, nothing there.

“Kris?”

No answer. Disappointed and uneasy, Chanyeol made his way back to his bedroom to change.

To his surprise, there was something sitting out on his bed. His notebook, opened to a page near the back, with his pen lying crosswise on it. Curious, Chanyeol sat down on the bed and picked it up.

It was a short note, written in Chinese, with an odd little drawing underneath it, like a crude map. Pulling out his phone, Chanyeol quickly downloaded a text translation app. It took a few minutes for it to install, and a few more for him to figure out how to use it, and then a few more for it to work out the translation from the photo he snapped.

I thought of this after you were already gone. I hope that it helps you. Go to the north along this road, walk for about half of an hour. There is a graveyard.

Thank you for saving me. Good luck, friend. - Han

Since he was still hopeful that he could accidentally stumble across Kim Jongdae’s scene, Chanyeol waited until the next morning to follow up on Lu Han’s clue. It was getting colder and Chanyeol was all too aware that he needed to heal as quickly as possible, so instead of walking up the road, he drove.

The graveyard was right where Lu Han had said it would be, a little ways off from the road, overgrown, and old. Chanyeol was pretty sure no one had been buried in this particular graveyard for decades, and very few of the graves had any kind of flowers or offerings.

Pulling his coat closer around him, Chanyeol started to walk up and down the rows.

It took a while, and he wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. He stopped often, doing math on the dates of birth and death, looking for any young men who were 25 or 26 when they died.

About halfway back, he finally found something. A family plot, with a huge, elaborate marker, very fancy. One of the names on it was Kim Junmyeon - born May 22, 1827, and died March 25, 1854.

Chanyeol did the math. This man had died two months before his 27th birthday, and - he checked - yes, March 25, 1845 was a Saturday. Was this his jumper?

It was a better clue than anything else he had so far, so Chanyeol took a photo of the grave marker, and added Kim Junmyeon’s name to his little chart, with a question mark. He could give it a shot, anyway.

“Thanks, Lu Han,” Chanyeol whispered, and kept walking.

He didn’t really expect to find much more - one clue was already more than he had frankly anticipated - but as he walked further back into the graveyard and the temperature under the trees dropped, Chanyeol spotted another large family plot, this one with multiple stones.

Wu.

Shocked, he stopped, and examined the plot.

It was only three graves, and the furthest one to the left was damaged. The grave itself appeared to have been torn up at some point, the ground angled differently than the surroundings and grass refusing to grow over it. The headstone was broken in such a way so that only part of the “Wu” was visible. But the dates were still readable - November 6, 1810, to November 6, 1837.

He’d died on his birthday. His twenty-seventh birthday.

None of the information Chanyeol had found until now had listed Kris’s date of birth, and so he hadn’t put that together before, but this made a number of puzzle pieces click into place, all in a rush. Lu Han had died the night before his twenty-seventh birthday, and Kim Junmyeon two months before. The frozen ghost, he’d screamed something about only having to make it one more night.

One of the first questions Kris had asked him was, how old are you?

Was there a deadline? A literal deadline? Chanyeol would turn twenty-seven in one month and three days… Was that how long he had to live?

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