Jongdae wasn’t sure if he should cry or laugh hysterically, both would hinder him from finishing his assignment for sure.

He sniffled pathetically, rubbing the heels of his hands through his face, sighing deeply. He dropped back on his chair and his neck strained painfully when his head knocked back. He knew he should’ve started his assignment earlier, but there was just so much he had to do first until he remembered his paper that made out a high percentage of his final module grade. And this one teacher always wanted to have the students’ hand in anything in print, PDFs weren’t even accepted. How unfair was that to students that weren’t able to make it to certain times because of work or illness?

Jongdae really, really had a strong dislike for that specific teacher. He didn’t care how strict or apathetic his teachers could be as long as they had the knowledge of a walking encyclopaedia, and this wasn’t the case for this specific teacher-. But students were never exempt from that teacher at least once in their lifetime as a student. He did not want to retake that seminar ever again…

Jongdae pulled his torso forwards again and pulled the strings of his hoodie shut until only his nose stuck out of it and he bound the strings together before dropping his head onto the surface of his desk and the papers strewn across. He sighed again. Maybe he just bites into the poisoned apple and retakes that module next semester. Alcohol also sounded like a plan.

 

He pushed his chair back, before getting up, trotting over to where his kitchen was located, trusting his muscle memory to not bump into anything that might break on his way to the kitchen before finally loosening the strings and seeing bits and pieces through his hoodie hole. He trudged back to his desk, a bottle of wine under his arm and a block of cheese in his hand, the knife unceremoniously stuck into it. He halted; he wasn’t sure, but he felt weird in his room for a split second and dipped his head back, so he could see more through the small space he had created. Were his papers different? He shrugged his shoulders.

Sitting down, he unscrewed the bottle of wine and took a sip before cutting off a generous piece of cheese. Was it getting colder? He glanced over to his heater, but it was still to a generous 3. He looked at his papers while munching on cheese and washing it down with another sip of wine. Something caught his eyes and he squinted at his paper, the neck of the bottle still between his lips and he angled it to the side, so he could take a better look.

In something that could only be described as intelligible, he made out a few words and signs next to his own writing. He knew he hadn’t written that, because he was able to recognise his own handwriting despite how messy it was. He looked around his room, but he was alone, should be at least. His roommates were all out and no one would step into his room unannounced.

 

He looked at the equation scribbled with some notes beside it again. It did make sense though, but he wouldn’t know until he calculated it. Turns out it was right, and the notes explained it fairly easily once he had been able to decipher what was written there. But one answer wouldn’t get him to the finish line nor anywhere close to it and he still had a bunch to finish.

 

The next time he looked at the clock, he had a mental breakdown and his eyes just filled with tears of their own accord. He rubbed his eyes aggressively with the sleeves of his hoodie. Maybe he should just retake the seminar or wait for an opportunity to be able to finish that seminar under another lecturer…

 

He didn’t register it at first when the room suddenly colder and he subconsciously pulled the blanket tighter around himself while still sniffling, the words and numbers on his papers indecipherably and hidden behind a veil of tears. Only when the cold came only from one side, did he finally manage to recognise the foreign feeling and glanced to his side, the scraping of a chair on his hardwood floor a strange sound in the stillness of the apartment at two something in the morning.

There, next to him, sat a young man who pulled on his glasses and reached for Jongdae’s papers. He ran a hand through his hair while sighing to himself.

Jongdae’s brain refused to acknowledge the fact that he could see through the man, that there was a milky white sheen, and he could see the wand behind the band, looking through him. His breath hitched when the man glanced at him, angling his body towards Jongdae. Whatever the strange man was, Jongdae’s brain was purely unable to catch up with it. He glanced down and he couldn’t see the man’s feet nor lower legs. The man grabbed a pen from the table, and it seemed weird in his hand. Like it was out of the world with his solid form and colour.

 

The man looked at Jongdae with something akin to pity and he shook his head lightly, his hair falling back into his face, and he pulled the hair back again with an annoyed sigh. Jongdae didn’t even pull back when an ice-cold hand reached for his chin and redirected his whole face to the paper between them.

 

The man’s soft was very soft and felt weirdly replaced with how warm it felt and the coldness the body of the man—of the ghost, Jongdae’s brain finally decided to submit—spread. He explained everything to Jongdae with such a calmness that it lulled Jongdae in a sense of comfort and brought his palpitated heart and mind down. He explained it over and over again until he could make sure that Jongdae understood it and he quizzed him every once in a while, after finishing other exercises just to see if Jongdae really understood it.

The next time Jongdae looked at the clock, it was almost five in the morning and he saw the sun rising in the reflections of the windows in the buildings opposite him. That’s when he finally decided to speak to the ghost next to him outside of his papers.

“Erm, thank you, Mr —” He hesitantly started.

“Kim Junmyeon, but you can call me Junmyeon, Jongdae.” The ghost, Junmyeon, answered with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

Jongdae didn’t question why the man knew his name, he was a ghost after all. “Thank you Junmyeon. May I ask why you know so much about the topic?”

Junmyeon let out tinkling laughter, “I’d assume you ask me how I did, but this is a way nicer question. I’m a professor doctor and I taught this subject, before I died, all the time.”

“How did you?”

“How did I what? Teaching?” Junmyeon rested his chin on his palm and regarded Jongdae with a tilt of his head, smiling softly at him.

“No, dying I mean.” Jongdae absolutely disregarded matter-of-factly that it might come off as rude.

“Nothing grand, I did of an anaphylactic shock because I didn’t know I was allergic to pineapple. I went forty-seven years without ever consuming pineapple and the one time I didn’t think about it, I had pineapple and died. Thank god I don’t look the way I died, bloated up an idiot. I was alone, so no one found me. And no worries, I didn’t die in this apartment. I just wandered around and usually settle with young people studying the exact things I taught in university.” Junmyeon shrugged his shoulders while recounting the absurd way he died.

“You’re forty?!” Jongdae’s eyes bulged, and the man looked nowhere near mid-forty. He looked like he was in his thirties and unfairly good.

“Yes, I am, and you should get some sleep now before you have to hand in your paper, I’ll wake you up so you don’t miss it.” Jongdae hadn’t realised that Junmyeon had pulled him up and ushered him to his bed, pulling the covers over him and settling over the blanket, throwing his arm and leg over the cuddled-up form of Jongdae who didn’t question anything anymore. “I’ll wake you up, no worries.”

“Junmyeon? Will you still be here when I wake up?” Jongdae asked with an uncharacteristically small voice.

“Haha, sleep now,” Junmyeon tightened his hold on Jongdae who soon fell into a dreamless slumber.

 

Once he awoke, he jolted up and the weight of the situation finally had settled it. He had seen a ghost! He had talked to a ghost! And a ghost had helped him with his assignment!

Frantically, he looked around, recognising the fact that he still had enough time to hand in his paper till the start of the seminar, but Junmyeon was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t promised Jongdae that he would still be there in the morning. Jongdae felt somewhat down after that, Junmyeon had seemed nice, but maybe it was just a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he had.

 

His lecturer was delighted with his paper but didn’t try to show it, Jongdae knew his lecturer didn’t like Jongdae too much. But even this win over the man couldn’t lift Jongdae’s spirits and once he trotted back home to the still empty apartment, he wanted to cry and he only wanted to drown his sorrows inside his blanket cocoon. But once he saw a ghostly apparition lounging on his bed and flipping through one of his books, Jongdae plummeted into the person and hugged the living daylight out of them, not registering that he could actually touch them.

“, I thought you’re gone, Junmyeon.” He cried into the man’s chest.

Junmyeon just laughed fondly at that, and ruffled his hair, “Sorry about that, I didn’t promise I’d be there in the morning because I never know where I end up, but I’m here now, Jongdae.”

 

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