CHAPTER 3

Yibo wasn't sure what was worse having a ghost follow him everywhere, or having this ghost follow him everywhere.

He sat in the middle row of his Intro to Kinesiology lecture, one leg bouncing, pretending to pay attention. Next to him, Xiao Zhan sat too comfortably for someone not enrolled.

Actually, "sat" wasn't the right word. Xiao Zhan was leaned in, hovering over Yibo's shoulder, face tilted with quiet curiosity like he was grading Yibo's penmanship.

"You write your 'a' like a 9," he said helpfully.

Yibo ignored him.

"You also doodle when you're distracted."

"I'm not distracted," Yibo muttered.

Xiao Zhan pointed to a series of doodled spirals in the margin. "What are these? A portal? A curse? Oh-do they come alive if I stare long enough?"

"They're stress spirals."

"From me?"

"Yes."

"Aw." Xiao Zhan looked far too pleased.

Yibo didn't say anything. He just kept scribbling in the corner of his notes until Xiao Zhan got bored and straightened up, glancing around the room like a kid on a field trip.

"I missed this," Xiao Zhan said suddenly. "Classrooms. The smell of paper and pens."

The words hung in the space between them, soft and nostalgic.

Yibo kept writing, but the edge of his pen slowed. His spirals in the margin stretched out.

"Do you have a favorite subject?" Xiao Zhan asked, voice low, like he didn't want to disturb the air.

Yibo shrugged. "Not really."

"That's a lie," Xiao Zhan said lightly, amused. "You write more neatly when you're focused. You like body mechanics. You focus when the professor talks about joints and muscles."

Yibo hesitated. "I guess."

"Kinesiology?"

Yibo nodded, not looking at him. "It used to make sense to me. Back when I trained."

Xiao Zhan straightened slightly. "You trained?"

"I was an athlete."

Something flickered across his face the-quick, unreadable. His pen moved again, but the writing was looser now.

Xiao Zhan leaned in just enough to see. "What kind of athlete?"

"Track. Sprinting," Yibo said, keeping his tone casual, like he was naming a random item off a list.

Xiao Zhan studied him quietly for a moment. His smile softened, not teasing this time. "You must've been good."

"I was fast." Yibo's eyes stayed on his notebook.

Xiao Zhan opened his mouth like he might ask more, but stopped. The way Yibo's shoulders had shifted-stiffer, drawn in-told him enough. Whatever made him stop, it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Not here. Not now.

So he didn't ask.

He sat back, gaze drifting toward the window. "I was in drama club."

That made Yibo glance sideways. ".....Really?"

"I liked pretending to be other people," Xiao Zhan said with a small shrug. "Different lives. Different endings."

Yibo made a small noise that might've been a scoff or a laugh. "Explains a lot."

Xiao Zhan grinned. "Doesn't it?"

Their professor's voice echoed from the front, half-muffled. Yibo's pen stilled, then started again-back to scribbles, back to spirals.

Xiao Zhan didn't say anything more. But he stayed close.

And this time, Yibo didn't shift away.

______________________________

After class, Yibo slipped out without waiting for the crowd to clear. He didn't like the press of bodies or the noise of people pretending to be interesting. He preferred quiet corners, shade, and breathing room.

He found a bench tucked under a tree, halfway cracked and crooked on one side, and settled down with a microwaved sandwich and a can of coffee. The sandwich was barely warm and the bread had that sad bend it always got when you over-zapped it.

Xiao Zhan followed.

Of course he did.

He sat beside Yibo like it was the most natural thing in the world-legs crossed neatly, spine straight, posture too perfect for someone who didn't technically exist.

"You always eat alone?" he asked, glancing around like he was still mapping out the living world.

Yibo shrugged. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't like crowds."

"Well," Xiao Zhan said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of campus, "you sit in class with twenty other people."

"They don't annoy me. I like that."

Xiao Zhan tilted his head, eyes thoughtful. "Do you have friends?"

Yibo raised a brow without answering.

"Okay, okay, dumb question," Xiao Zhan said, holding up both hands. "What about....a girlfriend? Lover?"

Yibo gave him a long, unimpressed look.

"What?" Xiao Zhan asked, grinning like he hadn't just crossed several personal boundaries in one breath. "You're handsome. You walk around and people do glance at you."

Yibo looked away. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying. Someone should've snapped you up already."

"Maybe I repel people."

"Is it the hoodie?" Xiao Zhan teased, nudging his arm.

"It's my sparkling personality."

Xiao Zhan let out a soft laugh. It wasn't loud or exaggerated-just warm and real. It sat between them in the open air like it belonged there.

"I think you're interesting," he said after a pause.

Yibo didn't look at him. "Yeah, well. You're dead. You don't count."

"Debatable." Xiao Zhan murmured, shoulder lightly brushing Yibo's. "I'm still making you blush."

"I'm not-" Yibo stopped, groaned, and bit into his sandwich like it could save him from this conversation.

His ears were warm again. He could feel it. Damned traitor ears.

Why did this ghost talk so much?

______________________________

The rest of the day was worse.

Xiao Zhan, apparently still discovering what ghosthood meant, decided to test his limits. Enthusiastically.

He walked through walls. Through people. Through trees.

The lights flickered every time he passed under one. One poor girl near the vending machines yelped and spun around, clutching her phone like it might protect her from invisible death.

Yibo watched from a distance with a sigh that came from somewhere deep and exhausted.

Xiao Zhan tried touching random object-benches, lockers, classroom doors. A vending machine gave a sad hum and refused to dispense anything. A projector in one lecture hall flickered violently and died on the spot.

"That one shocked me," Xiao Zhan said, pulling his hand back. "Is that normal?"

"No," Yibo replied without looking up. "Stop touching things."

"You never let me have any fun."

"You're not supposed to have fun. You're supposed to float around being tragic and memory-less."

Xiao Zhan beamed and continued pushing on a door handle that clearly wasn't built for incorporeal interaction. "You think I'm tragic?"

"I think you're a lot."

They passed by the track. The sky was shifting now-less blue, more gold, the kind of late afternoon light that made even cracked pavement look soft.

Yibo slowed a little. Just enough to notice the runners on the field. Short bursts of speed. The echo of whistles. Sneakers against rubber.

He didn't stop. But his gaze lingered.

Xiao Zhan turned to look too, then turned back to watch Yibo instead.

Not openly. Just a glance. Quiet. Curious. Like he was standing in front of something delicate and half-forgotten.

Yibo said nothing. His expression didn't change, but his hands had gone still at his sides.