I press my hands against my ears, trying to muffle the sound. It doesn’t work. Their voices are too loud. Listen to me, just once! They circle around me. Closer. Closer. What do I do? I don’t want this. Leave, please leave, leave me alone, I can’t handle this…

I’m fourteen. I start crying.

-
 

“Tell me.” It’s spoken like a command now. This Kim Namjoon definitely frightens me more than I’d like. “Who were you talking to, Han Gyeowool?”

Deep breath in, Gyeowool. It’s okay. It’s not my voice I hear in my head. Don’t be scared. Be brave, don’t just sit and cry. I’m suddenly seven again. I just scraped my knees. I beam at my dad. He was so tall back then, towering over me. In reality, he’s always had a height that barely scrapes average for a man his age.

Never! I yell excitedly, the pain in my knees seemingly irrelevant.

His sturdy arms pick me up from the ground. That’s my daughter. He kisses my cheek. His stubble makes it itchy. I don’t stop smiling.

Back to the present. I’m eighteen, no, nineteen today. I look straight at Kim Namjoon. Deep breath in. I’m not scared.

“You think I’m a lunatic, right?” Saying the words out loud prods at scars that haven’t had time to heal properly.

“Everybody has their reasons,” he replies nonchalantly. Tiredness seems to weigh on the man’s slouched shoulders.

“But you’d think I’m mad if I were to say something crazy.” I don’t even bother forming it as a question.

“Depends.” He pauses. I wonder if he can at least feel the presence of his late friend right beside him, who now watches Namjoon with wide eyes. “Depends on if it makes sense.”

“What makes sense to you?”

“Anything logical. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable…”

“Must be the truth.” I finish the quote. Sherlock Holmes.

“So. Tell me your logic.” He makes a gesture, pointing his right hand at me. “Convince me that you’re not insane.”

Convince him. How? He can’t see Jimin. He can’t hear Jimin. He won't notice Jimin no matter what I do. It’s only me that can see Jimin. I’m the only one that can prove his existence.

And I really don’t know how.

“You… you know… you know what happens when someone dies?” I start out, stammering. Namjoon doesn’t say anything, eyes still on me. Say something. Deep breath in, Gyeowool. It’s no big deal.

“When someone dies, they, they usually leave.” I look up at the sky. I’m actually not sure if the ones that left are ‘up there’. I don’t know what happens after. I notice the sky getting brighter. The sun must be rising. “And they don’t come back.”

There’s still no reply from Namjoon. I swallow and continue.

“But some people, some people choose to stay…here.” I look down. I meet Jimin’s eyes. He’s silent as well, listening to me. Our eyes must hold identical looks of alarm—if I blow it here, there go my plans of helping Jimin at all—but I try to stay composed. My palms are sweaty now. I wipe them on my pants before swallowing the lump in my throat.

“They usually stay because they… have something they wanted to do. Or something they want to do.” I’m still looking at Jimin when I say this. He finally looks away. “But they’re, like, dead. So they’re not like us. We’re alive, we’re… we’re real.” Jimin is still looking away.

I chew the inside of my cheek. Words are failing to get across what I’m trying to say, so I press down on the empty paper box in front of me in demonstration. The box flattens. “See, I can do that, but if the dead ones were to try, their hands would just…pass through.”

“And you’re telling me all of this because…” Kim Namjoon definitely knows why at this point. He just wants me to confirm his suspicions. Maybe he’s always known. He has those kinds of eyes, the ones that can see through all  lies.

Those very eyes see through his friend as well.

“Jimin is here,” I blurt out, pointing at where he is sitting.

Namjoon lifts his eyes from me, following the direction that my finger leads him. He’s now facing Jimin. The ghost meekly holds up his hand and waves pathetically. Namjoon doesn’t wave back. He stares at the blank space for so long that I start to worry he had turned into a rock on the spot.

I brace myself for the laugh. Bull, I can already imagine him saying. Ludicrous.

You can see ghosts?

Instead, Namjoon speaks, eyes fixed where Jimin should be at.

“You know when he dyed his hair?” he asks in a quieter voice. “When he dyed it pink. Bright pink,” he adds.

“No,” I reply, thankful that I don’t need to lie anymore.

“We all said it was hideous.” Now I can hear the pain in his voice. I remember thinking he sounded too apathetic before, wondering if they were even friends. “He was going to dye it back to black after we came back.”

But he never came back. I take the paper box and crumple the edges as Namjoon maintains his stare at what would merely be empty air to him. I wait for him to continue.

He doesn’t.

It’s Jimin who breaks the silence. For me. For Namjoon, it’s probably still silent. The day is turning ever brighter as the seconds pass.

“Kim Namjoon,” Jimin calls softly. He knows he can’t hear him.

Namjoon’s blankly staring at Jimin. I wish he knew that he was.

“Kim Namjoon,” Jimin repeats, voice more unstable. He rises from the ground.

“Park Jimin,” I say out loud, knowing how stupid it likely looks to Namjoon. Namjoon follows the path of my eyes. I reach out my hand toward Jimin. “He’s…”

I bite my lip. I really must sound crazy. “He’s still here.”

Namjoon looks back at me. “I really wish you were telling the truth.” His voice suddenly sounds raspier. Maybe it’s just my imagination.

Well, I am. I look at Jimin. His eyes are glistening. But no tears roll down his cheeks. He then looks far away, maybe towards the sun. The first sunrise of the year is here. Time for new beginnings. Starting over.

Park Jimin’s outfit is still stuck in the summer of last year.

“Can you tell him something?” Jimin asks. It doesn’t get on my nerves as much anymore. I promised I’d help, after all. “Tell him I don’t blame him for anything.”

“He…” I really don’t know why I’m the one tearing up. It makes my voice thick. “He wants me to tell you that… that he doesn’t blame you.”

Namjoon’s eyes are blank. “He doesn’t blame me,” he repeats emptily.

“Yes,” I say more confidently. I’m not sure where this confidence is coming from. Not sure if it’s to boost his confidence or mine.

“He can hear you, right?” Again, not a real question, just confirmation. Kim Namjoon knows.

“He can hear everything. Me, you, cars, TV, everything.” I look at Jimin. It’s weird to be able to look at the dead in public without fearing someone would pick out something weird from my behaviour.

“Park Ji—” Namjoon starts to speak but ends it with an empty huff that resembles something between a sigh or a laugh.

“He’s here.” I point straight at Jimin. “Right here. He’s listening.”

“Why’d he say he doesn’t… blame me?” Namjoon doesn’t know the answer to this one. I wish I knew what they mean by blame. What did Namjoon do? Push Jimin off a cliff?

“Classic Kim Namjoon would only blame himself,” Jimin says. Is it bitterness I hear in his voice?

I’m again a parrot, repeating his sentence word for word. “Classic Kim Namjoon...would only blame himself.”

Then I look at Namjoon worriedly. He now has both his hands on his head, looking down at the table. I hope he’s okay. He seems to be shaking a little bit.

“How are the others?” Jimin asks. “Are they okay?”

“He asks how the others are.” I repeat his words. “Are they okay?”

“I hope...” Namjoon’s voice is shaky. He’s not looking up. “I hope they are.”

“What do you mean, you hope? Where are they? What happened afterwards? You should know, you know how they are! You survived!” Jimin is yelling now, voice rising in volume and intensity with every word. I want to stop for a moment and tell him to calm down. But why does it matter? Namjoon can’t hear him anyway.

“He asks what you mean by you ‘hope’.” I modify his outburst and deliver a more toned-down version. I don’t think telling him that Jimin is angry is going to help. I look at Jimin meaningfully, hoping my thoughts get through to him silently.

“They’re… they’re all alive. As far as I know.” Namjoon’s fingers dig deeper into his black hair. “I’m sorry, Jimin, I’m sorry…”

Namjoon repeats the word sorry over and over. The scary, alert man who seems to know everything has melted away right before my eyes. I look at Jimin, worried that he’s going to have another angry outburst. He doesn’t. He looks a bit shocked at his own actions, anger slowly fading away into remorse, and puts his hand on his sobbing friend’s shoulder. Namjoon doesn’t look up, of course.

He can’t feel it.

“His hand, it’s…” I put my hand where Jimin’s is. “It’s right here.”

I feel the convenience store clerk’s shoulder beneath his vest and shirt. It shakes as he cries into his hands. I wish I knew what to do. Something more than just this, something more than…

“I’m sorry,” is all I say to Namjoon.

“I…” Namjoon struggles to say through the tears. “I… I’m so sorry…”

Jimin sighs. “I told you it’s fine,” he says. “It’s been months. It’s okay.”

“He says it’s okay,” I tell Namjoon.

“That’s because he’s Park Jimin!” Namjoon roars as he looks up. His eyes are so red. He doesn’t scare me anymore. I’m taken aback, but not because he screamed.

Because he believes it.

He believes I can see ghosts.

“It’s not okay, Han Gyeowool.” Namjoon’s face is wet with tears. “You know what I did? You know?” he demands. As if I should know.

I slowly shake my head.

“I…” Namjoon withers mid-sentence and buries his face in his hands again. Sobs. Jimin pats his friend’s shoulder gently with his ghostly hand.

“Classic Kim Namjoon,” Jimin mumbles. I’m not sure if it was to himself or to me. Namjoon doesn’t seem like he could stop crying. His breathing is heavier now and I’m worried he won’t be able to stabilize his breath ever again. How was I scared of this man even a short while ago?

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault,” Jimin assures once more. Namjoon can’t hear it. “It’s alright…”

I pat Namjoon’s shoulder with my hand for Jimin.

“He really doesn’t blame you.” I try to say this in my most comforting voice which is sorely rusty from lack of usage. Namjoon doesn’t look mature and collected anymore. He’s just a little kid now, forced to grow up.

“He… him…” Namjoon again fails to finish his sentence. “Park Jimin,” he calls. Now with a bit more confidence.

“I’m here.”

“He says he’s here.” I repeat.

“Jimin,” Namjoon says again. His voice is nothing close to stable, but I hear improvement.

“Yep, listening.”

“He’s listening,” I say.

“They’re all alive,” Namjoon continues. “Only you…you didn’t make it.”

I can feel that Jimin wants to ask more. But he doesn’t.

“I saw you dead,” Namjoon croaks. “I was...I was barely hurt. But you died. On the spot. Your blood was everywhere. All over me.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon repeats, again. “I’m sorry for everyone. I can’t… how could I look them in the face again and joke around, laugh like nothing happened when I can see with my own damned eyes what I’ve done to them?”

I feel like I’m an intruder in a conversation that should be private. But I’m the only one that can be here for both of them. Namjoon inhales, then starts to speak again.

“I saw Seokjin at the hospital. He had a bandage on his face. That’s all I saw. ” Namjoon pauses. Then continues. “Hoseok, I think...I think he’s fully recovered since then. He’s the only one I’m sure of.”

The silence is only filled by Namjoon’s shaky breathing. At least his words are starting to sound less slurred. He continues speaking.

“Yoongi.” He stops once again. Both Jimin and I wait for him to continue.

“Yoongi’s fine too.” Namjoon manages to say after a long pause. “His injuries weren’t as serious. Taehyung...as for Taehyung, I’m sorry, I really don’t know.”

I feel something drop in my chest even though I don’t even know these people. But Taehyung. That was the one that Jimin had specifically pointed out on that day.

I look at Jimin to check if he’s okay. Surprisingly, he’s calm. Or at least seems calm. His hand is still on Namjoon’s shoulder. I mentally try to count how many people were mentioned. I had lost track somewhere in the middle, the names flying over my head.

“And… Jungkook.” I thought Namjoon had recovered from the crying, but I guess I was wrong. At the word Jungkook, he breaks down again. He sounds so distraught, like agony grips every part of his being. I really have no clue what to do, so I just watch and wait for him to continue.

“Jimin, how am I supposed to ever see that kid again?” Namjoon cries. “How, knowing what I’ve done…”

“You didn’t do anything, that’s what he keeps saying…” I start, only to be cut off by Namjoon’s bellowing.

“Then who is he going to blame for his ed life, Jimin?” Namjoon cries. “What’s he going to blame, his luck? What did he ever do, what’d the kid ever do, Jimin?”

He really believes what I said? I find myself questioning this. No adult has ever believed me, no matter what I say. It was stupid child’s play, the meaningless words of a kid. Nothing more.

“What have I done,” Namjoon finally mutters as he swallows his faltered sobs. His voice is calm at last. He looks up. Sees me. Then again, he laughs emptily. “I’m sorry, Gyeowool,” he says. “You didn’t need to see this.”

“No, I’m sorry.” That’s the best reply I can come up with. “I, uh, I… I wish I could help.”

“It’s okay,” he says, obviously not okay. “You don’t even know any of us. You didn't know Jimin before he died either, did you?” Again. Statement, not question.

I nod. “But I… I have human decency.” I stress the word human decency as I stare at Jimin. He’s not looking at me. Pretty good comeback though, don’t you agree, Jimin? “So I’m worried.”

“But what can you do?” Namjoon sighs. “No one can do anything. What’s done… is done.”

What’s done is done. Jimin’s dead. Whatever happened to the others, it’s all in the past. No one can change the past. The way Namjoon says it is so similar to what I tell myself every day that it scares me.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” He speaks in the general direction of where I pointed a while ago. “That’s all I know.”

He never specified what happened to the final person, Jungkook. I don’t want to question Namjoon too much right now, though. I stand up. Jimin looks at me, startled.

“We’ll… we’ll give you some time.” I say we without consulting Jimin. “Jimin’s going to be with me always. Uh…”

Namjoon looks at me. He’s a mess.

“When’s your shift? What days?”

“Every,” Namjoon replies shortly.

“I, uh, we’ll give you a bit. Are you always on night shift?”

Namjoon nods.

“If, like, you want to say anything, or ask something…” I trail off. “Do you have your phone?”

Namjoon takes out a phone from his pocket. He unlocks the phone, opens the keypad, then slides it over to me. I didn’t even say I was going to give him my number. He really can see through people. Or at least, see through me.

I type in my number. 010-2347-1037. I tap the call button and hang up as soon as I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket.

“That’s my number,” I say like it requires explanation. “You can text me. But remember I’ve still got school. Busy schedule...”

“Of course.” His voice is calm now. He sounds like the Kim Namjoon that scared me less earlier.

I’m glad.

“We’ll… uh… see you.” I awkwardly push my chair in. I hear the chair screech across the ground. Jimin looks at me.

“Come.” I wave over Jimin. “You don’t want to be too far away from me. Or we’ll have a repeat of last time.”

Jimin takes one last look at Namjoon. “Bye, Namjoon,” he says quietly.

“Bye,” Namjoon says, and it almost sounds like he’s replying to Jimin, which makes my heart skip a beat. But his eyes are fixed on me. He has no clue.

“Bye.”

Namjoon slowly lifts himself to stand, then drags his feet as he returns to the store. As the chime sounds, the door swings closed, leaving only Jimin and I in the early morning cold.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks when Namjoon disappears. “A repeat of last time?”

“I left you to freeze.” The words leave me without much thought.

“So you knew?” Jimin’s voice is bitter, accusatory. I don’t have time to think about that.

“How far were you able to go? Like, before. Before you noticed I could see you. Before you started following me around.” I‘m wording questions in the worst way possible, but I don’t know how else to ask. “From what point could you not proceed?”

“Oh.” Jimin’s contempt seems to fade at the question. He takes a moment, pondering. I briefly worry that he wasn’t able to decipher the meaning of my words from what I said. Then he continues.

“I...I couldn’t get off the road.”

The road where you died. Right.

“You’re not supposed to leave there,” I explain. “You’re not allowed to.”

“Then how… why…” He looks down at his open palms. Why are you here now?

“Because you chased me.” My shoulders feel a bit lighter as I say this out loud.

“I didn’t chase you, Gyeowool, get your facts straight.” Jimin looks up and peers into my eyes, something of a pout in his tone. Again with this—I can never tell if he’s joking or actually mad.

“Okay, you followed me,” I correct myself. “And there’s a… certain area around me where you can… exist the way you are. Move around, interact, all that.”

Jimin stays quiet, listening.

“I’m not sure how big, but as soon as a ghost that enters that area gets too far away from me—“

The ghost’s steady look is starting to make me a little too uneasy. I look away before continuing.

“They freeze. Can’t move, can’t talk, can’t do anything. They become fainter. All they can do is…” I trail off. He’ll know this better than I do.

“Watch,” Jimin finishes.

I nod.

He speaks again, though. “You didn’t have to come back.”

His words take me by surprise. I look at him. He’s saying this matter-of-factly. I huff out a small incredulous laugh.

“Whatever happened to human decency?” I stress those words again.

“You didn’t care in the first place.”

I can’t really deny that statement, can I?

“And when you ditched me, you knew I wouldn’t be able to do any harm,” Jimin continues.

“Yeah,” I answer honestly.

“So why’d you suddenly start caring?” he asks. “Why’d you come back?”

I’d like to ask myself that question as well. I look at him. Instead of answering, I subconsciously scan the ghost in front of me again. Pink hair. Short sleeved, black-striped T-shirt. My eyes travel down to his shorts, bare calves, and flip flops.  

“You should have died with a jacket on,” is all I manage to say.

“I wish I’d known to prepare beforehand.” This time, I’m sure he’s smiling.

_{welp i guess inspiration only hits past 12 for me because i ended up writing this from 2 to 4 again...oh well}

_{wow so much angst in the past couple chapters huh!?! not to worry...it gets a bit lighter after this. ((as light as a story about ghosts can be, that is))}

_{thanks for reading as always! for all the canadian readers out there, make sure to wear your poppies today ^^}