CHAPTER 1

The lights in Yibo's hallway flickered again.

He didn't move at first. Didn't blink. He just stared at the ceiling light like it had personally offended him.

It wasn't the first time this week. The old bulbs in the apartment liked to act possessed, but tonight....tonight felt different. The air had a pressure to it. A weight that pressed against his ribs, cold and quiet.

He sat at his desk, hoodie sleeves pulled over his fingers, dry ramen crumbs on his keyboard, and the distinct feeling that someone-something-was watching him.

Yibo swallowed. Loudly.

Then came the footsteps.

Slow. One at a time. A creak....pause another creak.

Right outside his door.

His spine locked up. His eyes darted toward the hallway. The lights flickered again. Once. Twice. Then-buzz-they snapped off.

Every part of him screamed: Don't check. Don’t look. Don’t be stupid.

Naturally, Yibo stood up. Salt jar in one hand, toothbrush in the other.

The door to his room creaked open an inch, all by itself.

Yibo flinched so hard he nearly dropped both weapons. He took one cautious step back, eyes wide, breath caught. He knew the drill. Ghosts liked to announce themselves like that. Lights. Sounds. That cold pit-of-your-stomach sensation like gravity forgot where down was.

And then he saw it.

A figure. Standing still in the hallway light. Backlit like a movie villain.

It didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there, shadowed from the neck up. The light refused to touch his face, like even electricity was too scared.

Yibo wanted to bolt. To run. But his legs weren't cooperating.

The figure took one step forward.

Yibo yelped-loud, undignified-and threw the toothbrush.

It passed through the stranger's head without resistance.

Yibo stared. The figure stared back.

That was new. Ghosts usually didn't look so....intact.

The man had clear, gentle features. Neat hair. Soft eyes. Clothes that were clean and expensive-looking, like he'd just walked out of a business lounge instead of the afterlife.

He even looked apologetic. "I'm sorry if I frightened you," the man said, voice calm and completely at odds with the way Yibo's heart was punching his ribs.

Yibo stumbled back until his knees hit the bed frame. "Who the hell are you?" he managed to choke out.

The man didn't come any closer. "I don't know exactly. I just woke up like this. No one else can see me. Then I saw you."

Of course he did. Yibo always had to be the special one. Thanks, Grandpa. What a fantastic gift.

Yibo dropped to his knees and scrambled for the box under his bed, fingers fumbling through his cleansing supplies like his life depended on it. Sage stick. Incense. Protective charm. Emergency whistle-because hey, ghosts hated loud noises, and it had worked once in high school.

He lit the sage with trembling hands. Started waving it wildly in the stranger's direction. "Back! Get out! Return to the spirit realm or wherever you came from!"

The man just stood there. Eyes kind. A little puzzled. "That smells really nice," he said.

Yibo glared at him through the smoke. "Why aren't you choking? Ghosts are supposed to choke!"

"I don't think I'm....fully dead."

Yibo stopped mid-waft. "Excuse me?"

The man's expression shifted. Something sad flickered across his face. "I think I'm in between. Not alive. But not gone, either. I don't remember what happened to me. I don't remember my name."

Yibo, who definitely hadn't just trembled at that, sat down on the floor with a grunt. "You've got the wrong guy. I don't do ghost therapy."

"You're the only one who can see me," the man replied, voice still maddeningly gentle. "Please. I don't want to be alone."

Yibo groaned into his hands. Of course the ghost was hot. Of course he was polite. Of course he was helpless in that sad, soft-spoken, upper-class way.

This was how horror stories turned into dramas.

And Yibo? Yibo had a bad feeling he was about to star in one.

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