Chapter Text
On this bright morning, Donghyuck is in exceptionally high spirits. He flitters around his apartment, a buzz of motion and anticipation, all cheer and excitement. As he floats between the halls, he alternates between singing to no one in particular—silly pop tunes, earworms that never quite unstuck themselves—and laughing, a little maniacal, a little delighted.
After all, the new boy, Jaemin, is oh-so intriguing. Intriguing mannerisms, intriguing smile, and most of all: intriguing naivety. If Donghyuck’s feeling brave, brash, he’d even dare to call him the most intriguing tenant that they’ve had in years.
Except, no. He’s not feeling that brave, because then Renjun would chide him for jumping to conclusions too soon, punctuated to a whack on the shoulder, but he will think it very strongly. Think it with a laugh, bright and bubbling, sharp around the edges and mischievous at the core. Because life (or, uh, death? pseudo-life?) as a ghost leaves a lot to be desired, and Donghyuck believes that he’s allowed to have some fun when he can.
And Jaemin, wide eyes and wider smiles, signing the lease without a second thought, seems to be the perfect opportunity. Jaemin, impossibly optimistic, ignoring all of the cautionary tales that everyone who moves in is regaled with, the hushed stories of doors that slam shut and creaking that never seems to go away and voices ringing through the night. Of ghosts, they whisper, that have scared away every person who tries to live here.
Jaemin is charmingly oblivious, refreshingly new, and Donghyuck looks forward to all of the challenges that the boy presents.
Donghyuck mentions this to Renjun—his only ghostly companion and therefore the only one with the honor of listening to his thoughts—and is met with a pinch to the side paired with a curt sigh. It should be off-putting, but Donghyuck’s known Renjun for years, decades even, and the glint in his eye is unmistakable. Renjun anticipates the new kid just as much as Donghyuck. If not more. After all, if there’s anyone who likes a good challenge more than Donghyuck, it’s Renjun.
Their whole gig is horribly cliché, which Renjun is always quick to point out when he’s feeling particularly snippy. Like the plot of some shitty horror movie, one that Donghyuck would for sure scoff at if he’d watched it while still alive. One complete with crude sound effects, underpaid actors, and amateur scriptwriters.
The premise is this: they meet someone new who’s moving in, and after sizing them up they set out to make their stay as tortuous as possible, pulling out all the fanfare and flourishes that they can. A living hell even—assuming hell exists, that is, which they don’t know because they’re held back from a proper afterlife by some weird limbo.
Yeah.
And, well, being a ghost isn’t exactly exciting. Sure, contrary to some beliefs, they can roam around freely. But the last time they tried that, strayed away from their apartment after a particularly cute cat walked past their balcony, Donghyuck noticed Renjun… fading. Like, the ‘slowly being erased from reality’ kind of fading. And from the look of horror on Renjun’s face, it was safe to assume that the same was happening to him.
Turns out, the prospect of disappearing from the universe without any sort of fanfare is not only scary as fuck, but also bleak as hell—even bleaker than their typical prospects of eternity as ghostly beings. They never went too far from their apartment after that episode. So really, can you blame the two of them for trying to find whatever excitement they can in their existences?
No, you can’t.
And besides, Donghyuck reasons with a haughty sniff. It’s in awfully poor taste to speak ill of the dead. Hmph.
—
Na Jaemin moves in on an unassuming Tuesday set in the last few weeks of summer. It’s a beautiful day, really, and everything seems to be going in his favor: the skies are clear, the temperatures are pleasant, even the finicky elevator is miraculously working for once, an occurrence that had been rare even back when Donghyuck was alive.
Helping him get settled is a wide-eyed kid named Jisung, who Jaemin seems to be quite fond of, if the hair ruffles and heart-eyes are any indication. Donghyuck can barely count on one hand just how many times Jaemin is batted away by an unamused Jisung. An unamused Jisung who, although immune to Jaemin’s administrations, is instead fidgeting the whole time he’s there and looking around as if expecting to get jumped at any minute.
“Jaemin, are you, uh, sure this is a good idea?” he asks as he sets down a large box marked FRAGILE in big red handwriting. There are a few other boxes with the same lettering, and Donghyuck has the urge to stick his hands in one, rustle around, find out what could be so important. He holds off though, because he doesn’t want to rush into things. Not yet at least.
“What, you mean finally getting away from my terror of a roommate and getting a place to myself?” Jaemin quips back, setting down a box of his own and raising his arms to stretch.
“Oh—” Jisung scrunches his nose and gives a light shake of his head— “No, of course it’s not that. Fuck that guy, good riddance to him. It’s just.” Jisung hesitates, eyes darting around the room, before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “I heard that this place is, like, mad haunted. You know, windows-flying-open, slammed-doors-in-the-night kind of haunted.”
Donghyuck lets out a short chuckle. He’ll admit that Jisung is pretty spot on with his appraisal of the house, sure. They've certainly done their fair share of opening windows and slamming doors in their time here. But Jisung also looks like a scared chick as he speaks, tiny and startled, and the image is more than a little bit amusing.
Jaemin, a wry grin of his own blooming across his face, says, “Ah, those old rumors. Jisung, you know I don’t believe in ghosts, silly.” He adds a dismissive wave of his hands, fluttering and careless, and then says, “But if you’re scared, fear not! I’ll fight them off for you.”
Donghyuck meets Renjun’s gaze from where they’re floating above their heads and shoots him a grin of his own. He met with a scoff, a mixture of something fond, something long-suffering, something amused, but Donghyuck knows that he agrees with him. It’s always the non-believers who are always the most fun to mess with.
“Ugh, fine. But if anything happens, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”
“I’ll hold you to it, since ghosts aren’t real anyways!”
And Jisung drops it for the rest of his stay, seemingly placated by the thought of having something to rub in Jaemin’s face. Well, he’s seemingly placated, but he also keeps on darting glances around the room and shivering occasionally.
Renjun gives him points for having intact survival instincts. Donghyuck agrees with a laugh, and then remarks that it’s a shame Jaemin can’t say the same.
—
Donghyuck decides to begin with mostly unassuming pranks. Little things like opening windows in the middle of the night or jamming shut random cupboards or turning off the stove while Jaemin’s in the middle of cooking. Harmless, but annoying. Obnoxious. Designed to get under his skin, ruffle his feathers, rustle his jimmies. Thoroughly rustle his jimmies.
Renjun joins in with his own ploys as well, doing devious deeds such as switching the labels on his shampoo and conditioner (the horror), slipping fruit into odd places in the rest of the bathroom (shower oranges! oh, the horror), and changing his phone wallpaper to increasingly cursed photos of Teletubbies. Teletubbies, absolute nightmare fuel, Donghyuck truly is glad that Renjun is on his side and not Jaemin’s.
The Jaemin in question, however, apparently has the patience of an angel (if angels even exist) and barely bats an eye at the disturbances.
Well. If that won’t cut it, then so be it. Donghyuck has other tricks up his sleeve; Donghyuck knows how to up the ante.
Like now.
Ruining Na Jaemin’s Living Experience at Apartment 404 - Operation One:
This time around, Donghyuck is going for the classic ‘turn off the lights and flush the toilet while you’re in the shower’ trick. Jaemin, as always, is blissfully unaware of his impending doom, humming cheerfully under his breath as he scrubs away.
Gotcha, Donghyuck thinks, as he slips through the walls, flips the lightswitch, and flicks the toilet handle in record time. Oh, the benefits of not being bound to normal physics. He then prepares himself for Jaemin’s reaction: a shriek perhaps, or maybe a nice string of expletives. Disappointingly though, he’s met with nothing for all his trouble.
In fact, almost as if he can tell how obnoxious he’s being, the bastard keeps on humming as if nothing’s changed! And Donghyuck knows, from the time that he lived here and could still appreciate a nice shower, that the quality of this apartment is far too shitty to support two water sources at the same time. Meaning that Jaemin’s shower should be ice-cold by now, and Jaemin hates the cold if his heated blanket is anything to go by.
But no, Donghyuck’s efforts have gone to waste once more.
Well. Fine then, Donghyuck can go further.
—
Ruining Na Jaemin’s Living Experience at Apartment 404 - Operation Two:
Now, after doing some careful research, Donghyuck has learned key information on his target. Jaemin is a broke college student. By definition then, he’s hardwired to hate any unnecessary spending.
Which is where Donghyuck comes in. Yeah, that’s right. Donghyuck is going to invoke the horror of high utility bills. That’s got to get some sort of rise out of Jaemin.
He prepares carefully this time, locating every electronic that can be plugged in, every faucet or tap, every light switch: anything that might increase his spending. He finds all the outlets in the place and calculates which devices would use up the most power. After that it’s only a matter of waiting—and since Jaemin, as aforementioned, is a struggling college student, he has to leave the apartment for class sooner rather than later. Donghyuck’s opportunity is made.
At 10:00 am sharp, Jaemin exits the premises, and Donghyuck makes his move. On goes the living room light, on goes the kitchen sink, on goes the heating system. Donghyuck weaves through the halls, past a rather disgruntled Renjun that’s upset with all the commotion, and into the arms of resounding success. He can practically hear Jaemin’s bank account weeping already.
Or, so he thinks?
Because, moments after Donghyuck finally finishes setting everything up, he hears the sound of the door being unlocked.
Uh. What.
This isn’t part of the plan.
Jaemin enters while muttering under his breath, something like, silly me, how could I have forgotten my coat, and scans around the apartment. And then, to Donghyuck’s absolute horror, he begins going around and shutting off the taps and lamps, undoing everything Donghyuck had worked so hard to achieve.
What the fuck.
See, the normal laws of physics may not apply to Donghyuck—but he still gets mentally tired from doing things. And going through all of that trouble? Making sure you've hit every possible light switch, fully maximized your energy wasting potential? Oh, it’s absolutely exhausting.
So, fine. You’ve won this battle, Na Jaemin, grumbles Donghyuck. Again, adds the very unhelpful voice inside his head, but he brushes that off. Giving up means admitting defeat—both to a human, of all things, and to Renjun. Renjun who, although just as unsuccessful, shows no signs of letting up anytime soon. No, this is not a surrender, only a tactical retreat. Donghyuck is going to take a nice, refreshing nap and then tackle the problem with bigger and better strategies.
—
Ruining Na Jaemin’s Living Experience at Apartment 404 - Operation Three:
Okay, so it’s time to stop going so easy on him. It’s time to exploit Jaemin’s biggest weakness, his worst pet peeve.
Crumbs being left on his bed.
Something that Donghyuck has seen Jaemin berate Jisung about a thousand times over. There’s even a certain look Jaemin gets, which Donghyuck can now almost perfectly imitate, often for Renjun’s entertainment—his face pinches up, his eyebrows draw together, and his lips pucker together hilariously.
It’s golden. Donghyuck can’t wait to see it play out once more.
The set-up is simple this time too, none of the hassle that had accompanied the utility bill failure. It goes like this: Donghyuck sneaks a pack of crackers out of the cupboards—an easy feat, considering how generally unobservant Jaemin is—moves them to Jaemin’s bed, and goes to town all over Jaemin’s pristine sheets. A perfect, devious, and foolproof plan. So confident is Donghyuck in his scheme that he even invites Renjun to watch, dragging him to Jaemin’s room.
The man of the hour, Na Jaemin himself, enters. Donghyuck grabs onto Renjun’s hand in excitement. This is it. This is where he finally wins the ongoing competition with Renjun and chases away Jaemin once and for all.
Jaemin gets closer to the bed. Donghyuck’s thoughts are a blue resembling something like ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Closer. Closer still, and—
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Donghyuck deflates as Jaemin merely brushes the crumbs off his bed like they’re nothing, spirit crushed like a sad, leaky balloon. “Oh, come on,” he mutters. “Really? Not even that gets you?”
Renjun pries himself from Donghyuck’s grip and gives him a weak sympathy pat. “Tough luck man, maybe next time,” he says before floating off to do god-knows-what.
Donghyuck buries his head in his hands and screams.
It’s oddly cathartic, a bit like yelling into the void. Jaemin never noticing him provides this small comfort, at least.
—
“I don’t get it,” Donghyuck says, drooping with exasperation as he slumps in his stool at the kitchen counter. He needs a drink, he thinks idly—except wait, right, he’s a fucking ghost and that’s out of the picture. “Jaemin either is the most oblivious person on the planet or really, really doesn’t care about anything.”
After what Donghyuck dubs the crumb fiasco, he’d tried out a few other ideas, all resulting in varying levels of failure. Hence, the pity party.
“Probably the latter,” Renjun remarks dryly from the seat next to him. “I mean, you’re not exactly being the most subtle about what you’re doing.”
“Well—” Donghyuck heaves a sigh, a heavy, drawn out one that probably would’ve puffed up his bangs if his hair could still grow long enough to fall into his eyes— “Okay, fine. But you’d think he’d at least have some sort of reaction?”
(There’s one benefit of the spirit life, Donghyuck supposes. No need for haircuts if your hair never actually grows.
Except, can you even call it hair at this point? Is all of Donghyuck just made up of ghostly energy, or does he still have… body parts? Body part adjacents?
Okay, no, stop. That’s veering dangerously close to the realms of an existential crisis, and Donghyuck had enough of those fifty years ago when he died. Or, when he was reborn. Or—
You know what, nevermind.)
“It’s just that—I can’t get anything out of him—and it’s infuriating.” Donghyuck lays his head on the marble of the counter, like the melodramatic bitch he is. “I mean, this one time? I dumped coriander into his ramen, like a disgusting amount, and he didn’t even flinch—not at the coriander floating right in front of his eyes, not at the ramen being completely covered by the time I was done, not even at the taste!”
“Maybe he just really likes coriander?” Renjun reasons. He sounds almost exasperated, but it’s belied by the hand he rests on Donghyuck’s back that starts rubbing slow circles.
“No one in their right mind likes coriander, Renjun.” Donghyuck pauses, before shrugging off Renjun’s hand and sitting upright. “Maybe Jaemin is the real monster here, and we’re the helpless protagonists that need saving!”
Renjun blinks a few times, probably debating on whether or not to smack him, before saying, “Donghyuck. We’re ghosts. I don’t think anything short of an exorcist can hurt us.”
“Well, you never know!” Donghyuck shoots back, a little petulantly. He’s being silly, he knows that, but there also really isn’t anything better to do. After all, the list of options for ghostly recreation is claustrophobically small, and Donghyuck decided decades ago that he’d have to make his own fun. If not for his own sake, then for Renjun’s.
Donghyuck continues arguing with Renjun, pulling out his extensive, but not exhaustive list of Reasons Why Na Jaemin Cannot Be Real (including, but not limited to: who the fuck drinks six-shot Americanos with no water, but then turns around and orders boba with 100% sugar? who the fuck keeps entire boxes of sugar cubes next to their bed as a late-night snack? and who the fuck doesn’t like strawberry as a flavor? strawberry flavored things are the fucking food of the gods, what the fuck—) as Renjun mutters a you’re really hung up over his eating habits, aren’t you? quietly.
Neither of them clock on to the fact that the sound of Jaemin typing from the living room has stopped, as wrapped up in their debate as they are, until the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks through.
“You know,” says Jaemin as he leans against the countertop, eyes fixed directly at the two of them, arms crossed over his chest, and a grin tugging at the corner of his lips—the same grin that’d been in place when he admitted to Jisung that he didn’t believe in ghosts all those weeks ago. “As much as I enjoy the antics, if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked for it nicely. I don’t bite; I promise.”