I don't know why or even how I developed a sixth sense, but for whatever reason, it began a few nights after the death of my late-boyfriend. 

Kim Jongin was my high school sweetheart; my one and only; the only person I ever imagined spending the rest of my life with. He was the type of person I trusted so well that I could speak to him for hours on end every day about my dreams, wishes, and aspirations. We flowed together so well that at times, it was a miracle we weren't the same person. While I had dreamed of working for entertainment and journalism, he aspired to be a dancer and a model. He certainly had the looks for it, and nobody could argue otherwise. He had these bright, chocolate eyes and soft hair paired with the most perfect set of full-lips. I assume other men were jealous of him because he was severely picked on and only found solace in the girls who desired him. I was lucky enough to capture him and keep him as my own. In return, he did the same for me.

As awful as it sounds, it did not come as a surprise to me when he was found dead. It was fall evening and he had finally been confirmed to work for Shinhwa Agency. It was one of the best modelling companies in our country and word had spread out like wild-fire that a new trainee had been accepted. Some say he had committed suicide because of the pressure, but I've always believed he was murdered. In particular, I had reason to believe it was a fellow class-mate as many were proven severely jealous of Jongin's good looks and fortune. It was from this day onward that I became unreasonably obsessed with the afterlife and ached to learn more about Jongin's place in death. Had he found his way to heaven? Had his soul and spirit been gnawed on by a sea of maggots down under? Had he reincarnated into a colourful, long-winged bird? Or was he a completely other person?

These concerns heightened the first night I was first visited by a spirit. Particularly familiar and eerily gentle, it was this night that forever changed my outlook on ghosts. It happened a few nights after Jongin's death, where I was aquatinted with little blue specks of light illuminated by the gold of the moon. The specks would shimmer and dance in the night air - a sight so beautiful and rare that it offered me endless palpitations and novacaine to numb me whole. The numbness would only fade as soon as I felt pressure beside me and witnessed the cool specks of dust as they sprinkled close to my ear and tickled my brain. I discovered over and over that the spirit was a man, for his voice was deeper than any woman's, and his company would leave the bed feeling heavier than usual. While his voice was deeper, it was always soft and demure whenever it echoed into my ear and it had this marvellous potential to lull me into a deep sleep. 

I go by Myungsoo now. Kim Myungsoo, he'd say.

The most irking part about Myungsoo's visits was the undying familiarity. He haunted the most physcogically intimate parts of me, but he did it in the best way. Every night was like being visited by an ethereal force stronger than life itself; an ethereal force that knew how to break me on command and alter every human emotion I had. He was strong enough to hold me down, but gentle enough to ease my inner worries. His presence was like a tidal-wave of memories and experiences that him and I both shared, and it always stilled my fast-beating heart. In his voice, I could hear laughter, anger, sadness, and love all in one. In each particle he offered the moon's light, I would see a single memory, so strong in feeling but so vague in description. I felt as if I knew Myungsoo all too well.

In this situation, the most logical thing for me to do was to research the afterlife, and university was where I went in search of answers. Majoring in religion with a sharp focus in afterlife had given me endless possibilities but, like most problems, offered no guaranteed answers. 

A couple of years later, I finally managed to move on. A press conference involving one of the most renowned professor's of religion brought one of my colleagues, Lee Howon, and I together. We both studied religion immensely with our focus on what supposedly happens when a body "dies". For an entire year, we met at a coffee shop every single day and never left until our brown paper folders were filled with research we could show our professors. It was a symbiotic relationship. Howon fed off my experiences with ghosts and I fed off the extensive knowledge he gained through his four year degree.

Howon was handsome in both mind and body. He had this remarkable ability to make even ugly words sound pretty so it was incredibly difficult (at least at the beginning of our relationship) to be angry with him. He was usually calm which contrasted my personality on multiple levels. I was an anxiety-filled over-thinker whereas he simplified problems and didn't think twice about them. I always figured that was the reason he was never comfortable speaking about Jongin. He said a similar situation had happened to his own friend and since it was in the far-gone past, it wasn't worth talking about anymore. While I had always respected that, a part of me craved confrontation so I could finally put the poisonous guilt I had at ease. Howon was always there though and he was never mean or filled with bitter rage. In that respect, I felt lucky.

By the end of my four year degree, we were both researchers for the university living in a flat near one of our city's rivers. Dating and living together was certainly a benefit, but only to an extent. With love there always comes hatred and unfortunately, the latter seemed more prominent as the months went by. 

This particular night, I had the privilege of a taking a well-needed break from my work. Howon had brought me to one of my favourite Italian restaurants - one of those places where they give you a fresh bread basket and your first glass of red wine for free. Having just graduated and being buried in mounds of debt, we didn't normally splurge. Our relationship was often strained by our financial situation which would come up in almost every fight we had. However, I made a mental promise to myself that I wouldn't let anything ruin tonight. 

It was a short-lived promise. As of late, my visions of Myungsoo became more severe. No longer would I see specks of blue light floating in mid-air, but the light would have a voice I could respond to. Myungsoo would no longer leave in the blink of the eye, but he would stay for hours a night, allowing me to speak to him. Conversating with an entity who may or may not be there was admittedly a pain for Howon. He expressed his displeasure every morning when he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and groggily chugged down lukewarm coffee. Even now, when I looked across the table from him, I could see his overly-tired eyes and knew avoiding a fight would be impossible.

I suppose he really wanted to get his mind off of things and decided that a relaxing dinner with alcohol would be the way to do it. I sat at the table with my fingers wrapped around the stem of the crystal glass, swirling the crimson red in my palm with a sigh. I could feel the tension for it was as thick as the napkin in my lap; so thick I could cut it with my steak knife. I took a drink and thought over the fights we had because of Myungsoo. It never got easier.

"I know I said I wouldn't bring this up tonight," Howon started, his brows furrowing as if he was planning the words before he spoke them. "So let me get this out of the way. I think we have to take a break. I'm going to stay at my brother's place for awhile... You know, until all this stops."

"What? My heart plummeted. "Until all this stops?" 

He felt the need to chug down his drink, which was understandable considering the overemotional type of person he was dealing with. After placing the glass down, he nodded.

"You think this is something I can stop? Really?" I asked in shock, slamming the glass down before I could spill it on him.

"Don't make a scene, Sora," he hushed, looking around the room anxiously. 

"How can you expect me not to make a scene? My parents think I'm psychotic and now my boyfriend-"

"Nobody thinks you're psychotic," he interrupted with earnest. "I just don't want to get angry at you one day. I mean, think about it, babe. Every night I'm laying in bed with my girlfriend and listen as she calls out for another man. A ghost, you say."

"Don't give me that ," I hissed with undeniable traces of venom in my voice. "You know exactly what you were getting into when you started dating me. I am ed up, alright? I know it. You don't have to convince me otherwise, but don't you dare sit here acting all jealous of a ghost."

Howon poured himself another glass of wine until the bottle in front of us was nearly empty. He took another sip of wine and then a few more. The beverage must have stung his throat because he made a sour face, turning his eyes away. "This is why I'm always afraid to voice my opinion out on the subject. You act absolutely crazy." 

"Crazy? You told me we would go through this together. Howon, believe me, if I could I would put all this to a halt in a second. You think I like losing sleep over this? It's been happening for years for heaven's sake." 

The corner of his lips lifted into a half-smirk and he scoffed. "You want it to stop? So stop welcoming him then! Your problem is that you don't want to let him go because a part of you believes it's Jongin. You're still not over that little-"

"Don't you dare say anything about him. Don't you dare," I sneered. "You're not allowed to talk about him. You know nothing about him and never will."

By the time the waiter came with the check, I had already slammed a 50 on the table and made my way out. 

"Sora!" Howon called out from inside the restaurant. Seconds later, I could see him racing out with my umbrella and jacket in hand. "Come on. This isn't how I wanted tonight to go. Can't we talk about this like adults?"

I turned around in my fury. It was the last straw for me. "You know something, Howon? I've dealt with a lot of you've put me through in the past. Multiple times you've avoided the topic of Jongin's death, you don't tell me where you got your scars or if you did the story is always different, your need to stay late almost every night at work... You ask for a 'break' because you're jealous of a god damn GHOST!" 

He stopped in his tracks and waved down a taxi cab for me, half-listening to my rant as if he had heard it many times before. Before he could make his way over to the cab, I had already opened the door.

"Admit it, Sora! You're not over him!" he called out. 

"You're getting another ride home. I don't need this !" I shouted, slamming the car door behind me.

It was a frustratingly long and exhausting trip home. The cab was stuck in traffic for so long that it seemed more like a parking lot than a road.  Mental exhaustion had overwhelmed me, and all I wanted to do was lay in my bed at home but instead the driver insisted to conversate with me. One-word answers and averted eye-contact were my only saving graces and half an hour later, I was finally in my sanctuary - alone, and awaiting Myungsoo.

I had slipped on Howon's t-shirt and hurried into bed with my cell phone in hand. It was always like this after a fight. I would stare at my phone for a text or call that would never come. Instead of rereading our old conversations like I usually did, I threw my phone to the side and gazed at my window.  I waited to see the splurge of gold and blue light fusing into one. I waited for the pressure near my feet and the lips against my ear. I waited for Myungsoo, because he was the only one who understood. 

But tonight was different. I didn't see his colours. Instead, I saw the blue specks of light take the form of a figure. It was a tall, slender, and mysterious form that brushed along the white curtains until it was visible to my eye. Raven black hair fell in front of his eyes, and his rounded face was soft and pale against the moonlight's glow. His eyes were sad - the kind of sad that you feel deep within, the kind that's impossible to root out no matter how hard you try. It was a sadness that seemed to stay within him and refused to escape, like a dark abyss that attempted to surface no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

I squinted my eyes to make sure I wasn't dreaming and forced my torso up off the comfort of my pillows. I was not paralyzed like I usually was. My body was able to move and respond freely. Finally, I could see him in his truest form. 

"Myungsoo?" I whispered in question, making my way over to him.

The young man stayed in his place, his hands running through the curtains. He gazed at the contents of my room like it was the first time he had ever seen something like this. Or perhaps, it was like he missed it. When I reached forward, he brought his hand close to my face and shook his head. 

"No," he said. That voice - it was like I had heard it 1000 times before. "Stay still and shut your eyes."

I reluctantly did what he told me, my entire body freezing in anticipation of what he'd do next. A pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around my form. He no longer felt transparent, but I could feel the physical components of his limbs. He was firm in his squeeze, and his hands rested modestly on my waist, holding me to him. We stayed like this for several minutes until he pulled back and left a kiss on top of my head. By the time I had opened my eyes, he had already made his escape. 

I curled my fingers around the windowsill and stood bewildered, gazing at him with sincere earnest. He floated in mid-air, above all the busied taxis and street lights. I had never seen anything like it? "Am I dreaming...?" I asked breathlessly. 

"You will be," he smirked playfully, blowing out specks of blue dust in my direction. "Remember me."

A wave of sleep overcame me and before I knew it, the drowsiness was more prominent than ever. As I watched him disappear, floating like an angel towards the lake by my house, I sighed heavily. The April rain finally started to fall and so with an easy click, I shut my window and relished in the new-found silence. The blue-dust and scent of fresh rain combined made me dizzy and like a puppy searching for it's Master, I stumbled back to my bed. 

Moments later, I shut my eyes and fell asleep, the dull sound of the fresh rain pattering against the window beating in my ears.

That night, I dreamt of a man named Tao.

Author Note: WOW! That was incredibly fun to write. If you ended up reading to the end of the first chapter, please comment who your bias is and you might see them later on in the story.  Also worth noting - I didn't have the time to edit the first chapter but hopefully you don't catch any errors. I'm currenly on a two week hiatus so I seldom have time to write. That is all - thanks for reading!