CHAPTER 2

Yibo woke up to the feeling of being watched.

Which wasn't new. But he was usually being watched by spirits from closets or ceilings, not a handsome, tragically polite dead man sitting cross-legged on his desk chair like he lived here.

"Morning," the ghost said.

Yibo screamed.

Just a little.

Just a very manly scream.

Xiao Zhan-because apparently that was his name-tilted his head with a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare. You were talking in your sleep. Something about cursed slippers and boiled eggs."

Yibo threw a pillow at him.

It phased through, of course.

"I thought I told you to leave," Yibo grumbled, flopping back onto the bed and dragging the blanket over his face.

"You did," Xiao Zhan agreed. "But I can't. I tried. The farther I walked, the more everything blurred. It's like I'm tied to you now."

Yibo made a muffled groan into the pillow. "This is why I don't make friends. Even ghosts get clingy."

_______________________________

Yibo had never been haunted in the kitchen before.

He stood by the stove, glaring at a pot of water. The noodles he dumped in looked more like a dare than dinner.

Behind him, Xiao Zhan hovered. Not literally-though that wouldn't have surprised Yibo at this point-but close enough to make his skin prickle. The ghost folded his arms, observing Yibo's culinary crimes with the quiet concern of someone watching a toddler operate heavy machinery.

"You're not even seasoning it," Xiao Zhan said, polite as ever.

"I like it plain."

"You're boiling the egg with the wrapper still on it."

"I'm....experimenting."

"Is this how you normally eat?"

Yibo stirred harder, pretending the noodles weren't sticking together like a horror movie prop. "Look, I didn't ask for your opinion or your ghostly cooking critiques. If you're going to haunt me, at least let me suffer in peace."

"I'm not haunting you."

"You're literally in my kitchen while I'm holding a ladle."

"Point taken."

A beat of silence passed. The water boiled aggressively, and Yibo jumped when a bubble popped too close to the edge. He hated this. All of this. He hated ghosts. He hated being watched. And most of all, he hated how not terrible it felt having someone else in the room.

Even if that someone was....mostly dead.

"You live alone?" Xiao Zhan asked quietly.

Yibo didn't answer right away. He poured the noodles into a bowl, sloshing hot water everywhere. "Yes."

"No parents?"

He hesitated. His jaw worked. "They're gone."

A pause.

"I'm sorry," Xiao Zhan said gently. "Was it recent?"

"Depends on how you define 'recent.'" Yibo picked at the eggshell, avoiding eye contact. "It was when I was ten. Car crash. But Grandpa always said it wasn't an accident. Something about consequences. Our bloodline sees ghosts. That makes us a target sometimes. Bad spirits. Curses. It's not a gift. It's a curse dressed up in ceremonial robes."

He dumped the whole mess into a chipped bowl and handed it to Xiao Zhan out of reflex before snatching it back. "Right. You can't eat. Forgot."

Xiao Zhan smiled faintly. "I can still teach."

He reached out-but stopped just short of touching the ladle. "Can I?"

Yibo blinked. "What, possess me and cook through my hands?"

"No! I meant....I can guide you. Step by step."

Yibo rolled his eyes but shoved the bowl aside. "Fine. Teach me, Ramen Whisperer."

______________________________

Over the next twenty minutes, Xiao Zhan directed gently from over Yibo's shoulder-water temperature, timing, seasoning packets in the right order (who knew?), how to crack an egg properly, and that, no, instant noodles do not require the intensity of a five-course meal.

Yibo burned the first batch. The second one, somehow, looked edible.

He took a cautious bite. Chewed. Blinked.

"This is....not bad."

"You sound shocked."

"I am."

Xiao Zhan smiled, and Yibo hated how that made his ears feel hot.

"So," Xiao Zhan said casually, leaning against the counter like a guy who hadn't died, "what do you do all day? When you're not being haunted or setting off fire alarms?"

Yibo shrugged. "I fix old things. Grandpa left behind boxes of talismans and spirit tools. I clean them. Sell some. Use a few. It pays the bills. Not glamorous."

"It's important," Xiao Zhan said. "Helping the dead find peace."

Yibo looked at him for a long moment. "Yeah. But it doesn't mean I like it."

He picked up the bowl again and took another bite, trying to pretend that something inside him wasn't shifting. That this wasn't the first time in years someone had stood beside him in a kitchen and just....stayed.

After the bowl was clean and the pot was only mildly scorched, Yibo leaned back against the counter with arms crossed. Xiao Zhan stood across from him, very much not eating, very much still glowing faintly in the kitchen light like he was part of a dream Yibo didn't sign up for.

He cleared his throat. "So....if you don't remember anything, what do you do remember?"

Xiao Zhan paused, thoughtful. "Nothing clear. Just....feelings. I know I wasn't ready to die. I think I fought to stay. But there was a fall. I remember falling."

"Do you think you were murdered?"

Xiao Zhan blinked. "That escalated quickly."

"I mean," Yibo shrugged, "you're rich-looking, you smell like expensive laundry, and you showed up in my hallway like a ghost with unfinished business. It's murder vibes."

"I'll take that as a compliment?"

Yibo grunted. His curiosity was getting the better of his nerves. Xiao Zhan wasn't like the usual ghosts. There were no violent auras, no temperature drops, no voices in the walls. Just....this unsettling calm. And a face so handsome it was starting to affect his internal systems.

Xiao Zhan tilted his head slightly, like he just remembered something. "Hey....I still don't know your name."

"Yibo," he said simply.

Xiao Zhan nodded. "That fits. Also, I think you're younger than me."

Yibo blinked. "You don't even remember how old you are."

"I can feel it," Xiao Zhan said, very sure of himself. "So until I figure out who I am, you can call me gege."

Yibo stared at him.

"Absolutely not."

"You thought about it," Xiao Zhan said, smiling.

Yibo pushed that last thought far, far down and opened the old chest Grandpa had left in the corner of the room. Inside: a mess of spiritual tools. Copper mirrors. Jade pendants. Charms with symbols in ink long faded.

"You wanna try something?" Yibo asked, grabbing a polished obsidian disk. "If you're stuck here, maybe we can get a reading. Figure out if you're cursed or just annoyingly persistent."

"I'm choosing to believe that wasn't an insult," Xiao Zhan said as he approached.

They sat on the floor, the tools spread out between them in a messy circle. The room was dim, lit only by a warm desk lamp. Xiao Zhan looked almost human in this light. Almost.

Yibo laid the obsidian disc in the center. "This one's supposed to reveal trapped spirits. If you see your own face in it, you're dead."

"I see your face," Xiao Zhan said.

They tried the copper mirror-nothing. The pendulum didn't swing. The paper talisman refused to burn.

"Maybe I'm just a really boring ghost," Xiao Zhan offered.

"Or too polite to register," Yibo muttered. "Even the spirit realm doesn't know what to do with you."

Then it happened.

Xiao Zhan leaned over the mirror again, a little closer this time. His shoulder brushed Yibo's.

Yibo's heart jolted.

He froze.

He was very aware of how close the ghost was. How warm his breath felt, even if it shouldn't have been warm. How ridiculously unfair it was that even the dead could smell faintly like citrus shampoo.

Xiao Zhan turned his head slightly. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Yibo said too fast. Too high.

His ears betrayed him by burning hot. He immediately pretended to be fascinated by a piece of string on the floor. "You're just-uh-you're really close."

"Oh. Sorry." Xiao Zhan shifted back. His expression softened, a little teasing. "You scare easy, don't you?"

"I see dead people," Yibo deadpanned. "I'm allowed to be twitchy."

Xiao Zhan chuckled. "You're interesting, Yibo."

Yibo didn't answer. Couldn't. His brain was still trying to reboot.

He coughed and stood up too quickly, almost knocking over the pendulum. "That's enough ghost science for one night."

Xiao Zhan stood too, watching him with that quiet, unreadable smile.

Yibo cleared his throat. "You sleep on the couch. Or the chair. Or....float in the ceiling. I don't care. Just don't hover over me while I sleep. I will scream again."

Xiao Zhan nodded. "Understood."

And as Yibo turned away, he could feel it-those eyes still on him. Still kind. Still curious.

He hated this.

He hated how his heart was still racing.

And worst of all-he hated that he was starting to hope this ghost would stay.

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