“Ugh, it’s cold.” Jimin hugs himself, shivering, as we walk down the stairs of the library building. Night has fallen, and a few orange streetlights illuminate the school. I don’t acknowledge the ghost next to me, of course. Dozens of other kids surround me, after all, chatting with each other about… things...that friends talk about, I suppose. I’ve forgotten what those conversations are even like.

A burst of laughter erupts from the few guys right behind me and I can’t help but squirm. Every time that happens, I have a sickening feeling that it’s about me. I know it’s not. But still.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Jimin asks, grounding me back in the present. I can feel him looking at me. Why does he keep asking things? Has he not taken the hint from the last nearly twelve hours during which I never replied to anything he said out loud? I stride down the hallway, fastening my pace. The bus is supposed to come at 10:03, and it’s almost never late. I don’t want to miss two busses in one day.

Luckily, just as I reach the bus stop only a few metres away from the back gate of the school, the 319 bus is pulling over. It’s the only bus that goes by the stop near my house. I line up behind a few other students from my school that probably ran all the way here to make sure they don’t miss the bus judging from how out of breath some of them seem. I don’t run. Draws too much attention.

When the door folds open, the first guy at the front of the line jumps on the bus with long, lanky legs that remind me of a grasshopper’s. He taps the card on the card reader. The reader responds in the same monotonous woman’s voice droning teen as the card is tapped. The same process happens a few times before I get to step into the bus and tap my card. The card reader unsurprisingly declares that I am a teen, as if my uniform and the fact I’m boarding when the high school students are typically dismissed aren’t enough. I realize Jimin has fallen silent. Finally, after hours of him talking, talking, talking, never shutting up…

I turn around and check, though, in case he’s actually left. Of course not. He’s still right behind me. I scan the bus, looking for an empty seat, but as expected there are none left at this time when everyone who goes to my school and lives in the direction of my house are boarding the bus. I settle with standing as I grab one of the triangular handles that dangle from the bar that goes above everyone’s head. Once the bus door closes with a click, I hold the safety grip tighter, and the bus driver adjusts his gearshift. The bus suddenly jolts to life and takes off like an inflated balloon let loose, prompting a collective murmuring of complaints to fill the bus. The driver doesn’t seem to mind, though—perhaps he’s in a hurry to reach his bathroom-slash-smoking break after the last stop.

I hear a faint ‘ow’, and I look to the source of the sound—although at this point I should really know better. Park Jimin has collapsed on the ground, slowly sinking down into the floor of the bus. A few kids’ legs stand through his body where he lies. He tries to push himself to his feet, but he seems to miscalculate the amount of force he can exert with his hand on the floor and ends up collapsing again as his arm passes through the floor helplessly. He pulls his hand out quickly while pressing down a little more carefully with the other and manages to pull himself up carefully after grabbing onto the orange bars by the seats. His troubles don’t end there, though.

The bus is completely packed, leaving virtually no room for the ghost to allot himself some personal space. With his torso half-through some random kid that looks to be a first year, he frowns. The bus hits a speed bump, and again, his feet slightly sink into the bus floor then reappear a few seconds later. He slowly pushes himself against the acrylic board attached right behind the driver, trying not to touch anyone. Having watched all of this silently, hoping it appears as though I’ve been staring at nothing, I sigh.

As if on cue, he notices my staring and looks at me back at me, wide-eyed. “Why?” he asks. I assume it’s directed towards my staring. I decide not to think into it and look away without saying anything—I’m not sure if I know the answer to that question myself, anyway. Still, the image of Jimin struggling to stay ‘afloat’ as the bus jolted to and fro replays in my head and makes my gut churn in discomfort.

When the bus stops, a few people leave and provide breathing space for those left behind, but I don’t go on a hunt for a seat to sit myself down in. Instead, I let go of the safety handle and shift my grip to the bar next to the seat right behind the driver. The girl sitting in the seat—I see from her nametag that she’s in second year—glances at me, but returns her attention to her phone after a few milliseconds. Jimin is still pressed to the acrylic board, but I now stand in between him and the crowd that fills the hallway of the bus, effectively shielding the man. He blinks in bemusement, but I simply hold the bar with my other hand and turn around so that my back faces him. At least no one’s going to suddenly stumble into him again. I’ve been annoyed enough today.

“Thanks,” I barely hear him whisper.

The bus stops again, the front door of the bus opening simultaneously with the one at the back. One middle-aged woman boards the bus through the front door as a dozen kids stumble out of it through the back door. The bus is now half empty. I spot a vacant seat right next to the back door. I don’t need to hurry to occupy the seat; everyone else is seated anyway. Jimin has detached himself from the board now and I expect him to take a seat somewhere now that there are some available. Instead, he chooses to stride halfway across the bus and grab the bar behind me, right by the back door. I take out my phone and check the time. 10:19 PM. I switch off my phone and lean my head against the window. The glass is vibrating at a weird frequency from the power of the engine. I close my eyes, trying to empty my head…

“So, do you like coffee?” he says, destroying my weak attempt at relaxing. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I could be sleeping right now, I think as I turn my phone back on, draw the pattern on the screen to unlock it, open another notepad and start typing.

No, it gives me cramps.

“Then what do you like?”

I consider writing you’re really nosy, aren’t you, but I decide to have some courtesy, for once. Soy milk, I type out quickly. He peers at the screen from behind.

“Oh, I like soy milk too. The sweetened type was my favourite.” The way he talks is so… reminiscent. The dead always manage to sound so pitiful and sad, with an unfair edge over us living whenever we wallow—they died. I type a short answer.

Me too.

“What do you mean, me too?”

I like it too.

Ding! The screen on the bus reads Next stop is: Four-way street. The pre-recorded lady, who sounds bored as hell as usual, announces this first in Korean, then in English, then in Mandarin, then in Japanese. Due to the five years of Japanese classes I took, plus the fact that it’s my selected subject for university entrance exams, I can actually understand the Japanese announcement fairly well. I press the red plastic button next to me and it lights up, making a beeping sound.

“We’re getting off here, right?” he asks.

I am. You don’t have to, I think to myself, not bothering to taking the time to type my thoughts out for him to read this time. It’s not like saying it would stop him from following me. As much as he can’t physically touch me, I can’t push him away by force either.

When the bus slows down, I stand up and stand in front of the door that slides open. I walk down the stairs, Jimin following suit. The bus doors seal tight behind us and it drives away, leaving only the smell of petroleum. The whoosh of cold air the bus leaves in its wake makes me shut my eyes for a few second, my body cringing at the cold.

“So cold,” Jimin bites out again, rubbing his bare arms vigorously.
 

“Same,” I mutter, though I’m dressed far more appropriately for the December weather with my layers of coats and leggings. I sigh. A white wisp of smoke escapes my lips. I glance to my side and see Jimin sighing as well, but nothing comes out of his mouth.  
 

I take out my phone again, cold fingers numbly pressing the home button. It’s 10:23, meaning my mom won’t be home for another few hours. She tutors until around one or two in the morning, and dad gets home around midnight, so… I have some time to myself, technically.

It’s then that I see the light of the convenience store right across the street like some holy beacon. The illuminated store seems to be luring me in. We have food! And drinks! And warmth! My stomach growls as I stare. Why am I so hungry again? Then I remember I dumped half my dinner earlier. Today was one of those days when they chose the most distasteful combination of side dishes to give us at school. The only good part was the egg tart, so a lot of the kids just ate the dessert, barely touching the real dinner. I check my skirt pocket, and the money is still there.
 

I stand at the crosswalk indecisively. The green light comes on. I take that as an indicator. I cross the road.
 

“Wait, isn’t your house that way?” Jimin points to the right, but I don’t answer him and continue crossing. It’s a long crosswalk and has the time countdown attached on the bottom of the streetlight. I have to quicken my pace in the last handful of seconds, half jogging to the curb. When I finish crossing, I see Jimin—who has, to no one’s surprise, followed me. The green number display hits 0 and the red light flickers to life. I look up at the sign of the convenience store, wondering again if this is the start of a series of bad choices. Eventually, my stomach growls again, and I shrug off my worries and walk up two metal stairs attached to the bottom of the door of the store and push the glass door open.
 

I hear a chime on the door. It’s a pretty big convenience store, with two microwaves, six seats inside and two tables outside. I glance at the fridge section but decide it’s too cold for that. I walk up to the counter, and I see the guy is again working. I say the guy because it’s always the same guy that works at this hour whenever I drop by after school. He’s fairly tall but slouches in a state of constant tiredness. Something about his eyes is so exhausted all the time, but I’d just assumed it was a common trait of convenience store workers that choose to take graveyard shifts.

I glance at the cigarette boxes stacked behind him and the small ad posters bragging about its fresh mint taste. How could tobacco taste ‘fresh’, I wonder, but how would I know if it actually did? I’ve never smoked and only know the smell second-handedly when I walk past people smoking on the streets. I return my attention to the part-time worker and point at the heating cabinet behind him.
 

“Can I have the sweetened soy milk, please?” The guy turns around and reaches for the cabinet without a reply.

Jimin appears by my side, again excited at something. “They have peach-flavoured milk now? I wanna try…” He trails off suddenly. I frown a bit and follow his line of vision, but only see the apathetic clerk beginning to turn back to face me.

Said clerk puts the bottled soy milk I asked for down on the counter. “That’ll be 1200 won,” he says in a monotonous voice.

I hand him two blue bills. He scans the item, puts it back on the counter, and punches in some numbers in the machine next to him while I stare at the candies off to the side of the counter and wonder if I can get away with buying some. It’s only 800 won. That’ll perfectly add up to the 2000 won that I just paid with...

The cash register opens with a satisfying click! He lifts the black plastic holding down the bills, puts the two paper bills in the machine and lets the plastic fall again. He takes out a 500 won coin and three 100 won coins. I hold out my hand and the silvery coins clatter as they fall onto my palm.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Kim Namjoon,” Jimin says suddenly.

I almost turn to Jimin instinctively as he speaks but I suppress my urge. Remember, Gyeowool, you’re right in front of someone else. You’re normal right now.

“Have a good night,” the clerk says, not even halfheartedly. I read the nametag on the convenience store vest the clerk is wearing. Kim Namjoon. That is his name.

“Namjoon,” Jimin calls again. I realize something, probably a bit too belatedly. I should have known from the moment Jimin’s excitement died suddenly just who this person is to him. This Kim Namjoon person, Jimin must have known him. Before he died.
 

And this Kim Namjoon person has no idea that his dead friend is right in front of him.
 

“Namjoon!” Jimin tries to slam his hand on the counter, forgetting that he can’t do that. His right hand sinks into the counter and Jimin loses balance, falling forward. Instinctively, I reach out to grab his arm, which of course proves to be wasted effort as his arm passes through my outstretched hand harmlessly. He collapses, phasing through the cabinets, but manages to press down on the counter with his left hand with just the right amount of force. He pushes himself up this way, his weight on his left hand. My eyes follow him. Are his eyes shining? I can’t tell clearly from this side, when he’s semi-transparent.

I realize that I’ve been staring at what would look like nothing to Kim Namjoon. Worried, I check if he’s looking at me suspiciously. Thankfully he’s a bit too preoccupied with the machine—the drawer seems to be refusing to close properly. He pushes hard, but it doesn’t budge. The coins make loud sounds against each other.

I look at Jimin again. He’s silent, eyes fixed on Namjoon. Then I look at Namjoon. I’m starting to feel a bit queasy for some reason. Maybe it’s how uncharacteristically uneasy Jimin looks. I’m not really used to him showing anything other than slight melancholy or childlike excitement.  

Namjoon notices my look this time. “Can I help you?” he asks, clearly needing help himself. I shake my head no. This entire exchange has got to be immensely awkward for him, more than it is for me.

I start to leave, but Jimin doesn’t follow. Maybe this is my chance to ditch him at last. Walk away, he wouldn’t notice! Yeah, walk far away. Far enough to avoid him forever. He’ll deal with his problems… somehow, right?

I turn around before I push the door open. Jimin is leaning across the counter, reaching out to Namjoon. Carefully this time, though, slow enough to touch his shoulder. His eyes are definitely shining at this point, grip incredibly gentle as to not accidentally pass through his friend. Namjoon doesn’t look up or acknowledge Jimin in any way, of course.

Why does he have to be so dumb, that Park Jimin? He should just accept that no one can see him. He’s dead, he’s even said it himself more than once! What does he even expect? That he’ll suddenly materialize as a living man again, unite with his friends, and live happily ever after?

That stopped being an option the moment you went and died.

As I push the door open, the chime sounds. I turn around one last time. Jimin pulls back from Namjoon at the sound of the chime, and he turns his head toward me. Our eyes meet again, like yesterday.

Appearance wise, he’s still stuck in the past, summer clothes hanging from his body as they probably have been for the last few months. I feel an uncomfortable twinge in my chest.

It’s not summer anymore, Park Jimin.

Move on.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of coins clattering on the floor. Namjoon disappears under the counter. I can hear him swearing under his breath.

My legs seem to have a mind of their own, returning me to the counter. “Uh… are you okay?” Namjoon is sweeping the coins on the floor, Jimin watching, still silent. The tired clerk looks up.
 

“...Yes,” Kim Namjoon replies with the most uncertain yes I have ever heard.

I take the phone out of my pocket and check the time. I still have plenty of time until I need to be home. Then I put the phone on the counter, screen down. Placing my backpack down off to the side, I kneel and start picking up the coins from the other side. When all the coins are back up on the counter, Namjoon bends down and picks up a disfigured piece of what must have been part of the money drawer.
 

“Thank you.” He nods at me in a half-bow.

“I can help you sort the coins back,” I offer.

“Oh, you don’t have to…” he says, probably out of courtesy because he clearly needs it.

“It’s alright,” I say as I start picking out the 10 won coins first, being easy to see with a noticeably different size and colour. He starts sorting the 500 and 100 won coins wordlessly. When I’m done with the 10 won coins, I help him finish making the piles of the other coins. As we finish sorting them into piles, he sweeps everything back to the broken drawer piece.
 

“Do you… uh…” I nod at the machine, cursing my lack of social skills once more. He seems to have understood my message and laughs humorlessly.

“I’ll… I’ll deal with it. The manager’s not going to be happy, though.” He puts the drawer down on the counter, heaving a weary sigh. Then he decides to be conversational. “Are you in third year now?”

He must recognize my name tag. I nod.

“So, 42nd year, is that right.” It isn’t a question, just clarification.

I nod again.

“I was 38th. My name tag was blue and white.” So, he’s four years older than me. The blue and white name tags are now worn by the kids moving into their second year. So he was a… year older than Jimin? I wonder if they knew each other in high school.

“Han Gyeowool,” Jimin says suddenly and I try my best to contain my surprise.

“You must be stressed, huh?” Namjoon asks right after, giving me no time to react to Jimin’s sudden interjection. I shrug in response to the clerk, trying my best to ignore the ghost for now.

“Everyone is, though,” I mutter.

“Yeah, that’s true. Don’t worry too much.” Namjoon picks up a 500 won coin and observes the crane on the back of the coin before dropping it back to the pile. Clank. “I failed my first entrance exam. Had to retake it the next year. Thought it was the worst year of my life. But after that passed, now I look back and think…that wasn’t the end of the world at all.” His eyes are dark.

I tap my fingers on the warm glass bottle of soy milk, then twist it open. The metal cap pops open. I take a sip, then put it back on the counter. I see slightly transparent hands reach out and try to grab it. They could be mistaken for those of a child’s, I muse. Jimin wraps both his hands around the bottle and bends over as if to smell the drink. He hadn’t elaborated on his interjection, confusingly enough. I look away before he notices my stare again.

In my mind, I see his desperation when he’d called for Namjoon, only for his friend to not hear him at all. His unreadable expression after he’d managed to touch Namjoon’s shoulder so gingerly. Even further back, I remember the way he had been standing in the middle of the road last night, completely lost, snow accumulating on his summer clothes and faded pink hair. Then I find my mouth moving against my will, but it seems to have a mind of its own as well.

“Do you know Park Jimin?” I blurt out.

_{dUn dunnNN and kim namjoon makes his entrance}

_{thanks as always for reading!! it means so much to see ppl enjoying something i've written..this is my first time posting something anywhere haha}

_{comment below if you have any questions as always ^^}