The moment North stepped into Arthit's dimly lit apartment, he let out a whistle of admiration. "Wow, stunning as hell." Arthit barely looked up from where he sat on the edge of his unmade bed.
"Just ordinary," he replied flatly.
Johan's boyfriend, who had tagged along out of curiosity, wandered around the room, peering at the minimal decor. His eyes landed on the large window covered by thick curtains, shutting out the sunlight. With a dramatic sigh, North turned to Arthit. "Why is it so gloomy in here, P'? Open the window already. What's the point of having one if you're just going to block it?"
Before Arthit could respond, North reached for the heavy drapes and yanked them open. Light flooded in, exposing the dust particles swirling in the air.
"I just got back," Arthit muttered, rubbing his temple as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.
North scrunched his nose. "Why does it smell so musty in here? Did something die?"
Arthit scoffed. "Musty, my ass. I live here just fine."
"Really?" North shot him a skeptical look before his gaze landed on a sleek glass enclosure positioned against the far wall. He leaned closer, eyes widening at the sight of the large, light-yellow ball python curled up inside.
"Wait, what does it eat?"
Arthit finally looked up. "Meat. Chicken. Stuff like that."
North raised an eyebrow. "How much did it cost?"
"Two or three hundred thousand, I think. This pattern's rare."
North let out a low whistle. "That much for a snake? What if it slithers out and falls from the building?"
Arthit shrugged. "Then we're screwed."
North shook his head, exhaling in amusement. "Are you really living alone on this floor?"
"Yeah, why?"
"But your new neighbor already moved in, right?"
Arthit frowned slightly. "Yeah, just the two of us now. Why?"
"Take care of my friend, alright?"
Arthit gave him a pointed look. "What for?"
North hesitated before lowering his voice. "Geez. Do you know anything about the room next door? People say it's haunted. Have you noticed anything?"
Arthit let out a tired sigh, already dreading the conversation. "Yeah. Every single night. Annoying as hell. Tell your friend if they don't stop dragging furniture around at three in the morning, I won't be able to sleep."
North's face paled. He took a deep breath, composing himself. "Wait, what? Every night? Then won't my friend be scared out of his mind?"
Arthit leaned back on his bed, resting his head against the wall. "If he's scared, why'd he move in?"
"He said he wasn't."
"Good. Then why'd he take the place? I thought I'd have this whole floor to myself until I graduate."
North scratched the back of his head. "Because the landlord offered him a seventy percent discount. He couldn't resist."
Arthit sat up, looking at him incredulously. "Seventy? That's more than my discount."
"Well... you live right next door."
Arthit huffed, unimpressed. "If I wanted a bigger discount, I'd move into that room myself."
North smirked. "Then do it."
"Too lazy to move my stuff. Forget it." He waved a dismissive hand. "Get out already. I'm going to sleep."
North checked his watch. "Now? It's still early."
"I'm sleeping. Get out. Shut the door."
"Fine." North turned toward the door but paused. "You up for some gaming tonight?"
"Yeah. After I wake up."
"Cool."
North left, closing the door behind him. The room fell silent again, save for the faint sound of the wind outside.
Arthit let out a slow breath, sinking back against his pillows. He didn't care who his new neighbor was as long as they didn't make things worse. The crying, the laughter, the dragging of furniture, and the sound of objects falling in the middle of the night—he was used to it by now.
Why didn't he just move out? Because he couldn't be bothered. Packing was a hassle, and besides, why should he be the one to leave? They were the ones who should have left first. Even after death, they were still causing trouble. Ridiculous. Too exhausted to dwell on it, Arthit closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him almost instantly.
~~~~
Daotok collapsed onto the bed, sighing as exhaustion sank into his bones. Hours of unpacking had left him drained, but at least the effort had been worth it. The new condo was stunning. The owner had replaced everything —the sofa, mattress, even the bathroom fixtures.
The space was more than generous, easily accommodating all his belongings. He had chosen this place for a reason, and soon, it would truly feel like home. With a groggy hand, he reached for his phone and dialed a number. The familiar voice on the other end answered almost immediately.
"What's up? Finished moving into the new place?"
"Yes, Dad. When can you drop Mr. Jeon off?"
"I'm busy this week. How about next week?"
"Alright."
"You didn't move into some shady, cheap room, did you? I don't trust those places."
"Don't worry about it. Let me talk to Daddy."
There was a short pause before a new voice, carrying a smooth British accent, replaced his father's. "When are you coming home?"
"Just got back. Could you send me a picture of Mr. Jeon?"
"Sure. How's the new place?"
"It's spacious. Very convenient."
"Good to hear. I'll visit when I can."
"Okay. Talk later."
"Alright."
Daotok ended the call and set the phone down, a small smile playing on his lips. The people he had just spoken to were his fathers. Dad, his biological father, had married Daddy, his British stepfather, and the three of them had formed a loving family. His mother had remarried as well, and while their family dynamics were unconventional to some, he wouldn't trade them for anything.
Shaking off the lingering thoughts, he glanced at the empty pet bed in the corner. Mr. Jeon wasn't here yet. The sleek black cat with one blind eye had been his constant companion ever since Daotok had found him near his old apartment. He was more than a pet; he was a missing piece of Daotok's heart, a reason to move forward. Moving into this larger space had been for Khun Jeon's sake as much as his own.
By the time he settled at his desk, the sky outside had darkened to a deep indigo. He switched on the lamp, grabbed his tablet, and got to work. Hours slipped by unnoticed, the rhythmic tapping of his stylus against the screen the only sound in the quiet room. It wasn't until nearly 10 PM that he stretched, rolling the tension from his shoulders. A shower seemed like a good idea, but as he reached for his bracelet, he hesitated.
The bracelet had been a gift from his grandmother, a tool to suppress his abilities. Daotok had always been different. He could sense emotions and energy that others couldn't.
It wasn't just a passive awareness—he could feel sadness, anger, even desperation as if they were his own. Over time, he had learned to control it, to tune it out unless he focused. But tonight, curiosity got the better of him. He removed the bracelet. A heavy, oppressive sensation settled over him instantly.
"Let's have a talk," he said, addressing the empty room.
Except it wasn't empty. Not to him. No reply came, but the atmosphere thickened, pressing down on his skin like damp cloth. He wasn't frightened, but he could sense their anger. Why? He had done nothing wrong—he was simply stating facts.
"I pay to live here," he continued calmly. "Which makes me the rightful tenant. Check the contract if you want. You have no right to this room. Please leave."
Still, silence. But the sensation remained. Annoying. He sighed, stripping off his clothes and heading to the bathroom. The moment his bare feet touched the tiles, he frowned. The floor was wet. He hadn't been in here since arriving.
"Water bills aren't cheap," he muttered, turning on the shower. "Next time, bring water from somewhere else." Steam curled around him as warm water cascaded down his back, washing away the tension. Just as he was beginning to relax, the light flickered. Once. Twice. Then went out completely.
He sighed. "Really?" Stepping out, he reached for the door. It didn't budge. Locked. From the outside.
His brow twitched. "Okay... First question: why would a ghost lock me in the bathroom? Second question: how the hell am I supposed to get out?"
A soft sob echoed behind him. The hairs on his arms stood on end. Turning slowly, he squinted into the darkness. A faint shadow hovered near the bathtub. His mind flicked to the rumors—a woman had been murdered here, her body found in that very tub.
"Are you naked?" he asked, voice deadpan. The sobbing continued.
"I'm naked too. Men and women shouldn't be naked together in the bathroom," he said, tightening his towel. "I'll close my eyes, okay?" More sobs.
"Look, I'll talk to you later. Right now, it's cold. Maybe I'll bring my computer and work in the bathroom instead. Is that okay?"
The crying grew louder. A faint click. The door unlocked.
Daotok stepped out, exhaling. "Do you want someone to talk to or not?" No answer. Just more quiet weeping.
"Okay. Wash your face. Be careful not to get puffy eyes."
The night continued much the same. He worked late, as usual, only pausing to exchange quiet words with Emma—his imaginary friend. At least, that's what he called her. A girl with wavy brown hair and hazel eyes, forever clutching a worn teddy bear. Unlike the others, she never scared him. Emma had been with him for as long as he could remember.
"Michael."
"What?"
"This room doesn't feel good."
"Noted."
She fell silent, watching as he worked. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught another figure lingering near his bed.
Donut
A ghost from the political science faculty, stabbed to death by his girlfriend. He had been standing there, watching Daotok for a while now. Daotok sighed, slipping a Buddha amulet around his neck. It should have been enough. Donut didn't move. Fine.
Daotok shoved his headphones on, blasting rain sounds. He had work to do. Ghost or no ghost, he had deadlines to meet. Nearly an hour had passed when a sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. It was past midnight.
Daotok stiffened, his fingers pausing over his keyboard. The only other person on this floor was his friend's boyfriend's friend. Surely, that guy wouldn't be knocking on his door at this hour, right? Deciding to ignore it, he turned up the volume on his headphones, drowning out the persistent knocking. But as the minutes dragged on, the sound grated on his nerves, a steady, insistent rhythm that refused to be ignored. Frustrated, he yanked off his headphones and stomped toward the door.
"Stop knocking," he said, voice calm but firm, hoping the unwelcome visitor would get the message. A pause. Then—
"Open the door."
Daotok sighed, already regretting engaging. "I'm not opening it. Stop knocking already."
"Open the damn door!" The knocking turned into furious pounding, rattling the doorframe.
He huffed, crossing his arms. "Why so aggressive? Are you lonely?"
"Lonely, my ass! Open the door, you jerk!"
Daotok smirked. "Why is this ghost so rude?"
"You idiot, I'm not a ghost! I'm the guy next door! Open the damn door!" That response caught him off guard. Oh. So, it really was the neighbor. He hesitated before leaning down to peek through the peephole. Sure enough, it was him. Daotok hadn't wanted to check before—just in case it was a ghost.
He exhaled through his nose and slowly unlocked the door. The neighbor stood there, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Is there something you need?"
"Tell that bastard in your room to stop dragging chairs! I can't sleep!"
Daotok blinked. "Dragging chairs? You mean... Donut?" He glanced over his shoulder at Donut, still at the wall, his nails scraped raw, bloody streaks trailing down the surface.
His hands were a mess, skin torn, blood dripping onto the floor. Hopefully, it wasn't real blood. He really didn't want to clean it up.
"I am not dragging chairs."
"I'm not talking about you! I mean the damn ghost in your room! Tell it to stop making weird noises!"
"Got it. I'll let him know."
The neighbor cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair before stomping back to his apartment. Daotok shut the door slowly, glancing around the room, confused. Who's dragging a chair?
And why didn't I hear it? Curious, he slipped off his bracelet, allowing himself to see beyond the veil. The moment he did, a woman materialized before him, a worn university uniform clinging to her frail frame. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs as she dragged a wooden chair toward the balcony.
Daotok's stomach twisted. She tied a rope to the clothes-drying rack, slipped her head into the noose, and with a choked sob, kicked the chair away. Her body jerked violently before hanging limp, swaying slightly with the phantom breeze. They say people who take their own lives are cursed to repeat the act forever. He sighed. How should I deal with this?
...
Okay, let's start with coffee. Without a second glance at the hanging woman, he grabbed his wallet and left his room, Emma trailing behind him like an amused shadow. They walked to the convenience store, picking up coffee and snacks, his mind still lingering on the scraping sound of the chair.
On the way back, an idea struck him. If the ghost already had a place to stand, she wouldn't need to drag the chair. Simple. Once inside, he grabbed an unused wooden shelf and placed it beneath the balcony railing. He considered using a chair, but he only had one—the one he was using. Problem solved, hopefully.
He slid his headphones back on, blocking out the world as he worked. Donut, still by the wall earlier, had stopped scratching. Now, he sat motionless on the bed, staring into nothing.
A loud crash from the balcony made Daotok jolt. He ripped off his headphones and rushed outside, fearing the wind had knocked something over.
Nothing seemed out of place. But when he glanced down at the lower balcony, he froze. A woman lay sprawled there, blood pooling beneath her still form. Fell off the balcony?
A memory clicked into place. That news report—about a medical student who had jumped to her death. Knowing ghosts, she would likely do it again. And as expected, another figure appeared beside him. He turned his head slowly. Bloodstained pajamas. Tear-streaked face.
A strangled sob left her lips before she lunged over the railing once more, vanishing into the void below. Daotok peered down. The corpse lay in the exact same position as before.
He exhaled through his nose. "If I ever die, I wouldn't want it to be by suicide. Having to go through this on repeat? That'd be so boring." With that, he returned to his room, the ghosts left to their cycles.
Hours passed. The chair-dragging noise had finally stopped. The only lingering disturbance was the faint, muffled sound of crying from the bathroom.
"The one in there is still crying," Emma remarked, perched beside him.
"They'll stop when they're tired," he muttered, eyes on his screen.
"Go comfort them."
"No way. I haven't finished my work."
"Michael, you're so cold."
"Mm."
He worked until exhaustion took over, stretching slightly before collapsing onto his bed. The moment his body hit the mattress, an unsettling feeling crawled over his skin.
Something was off. It felt like... he had taken someone's spot. Fine. I'll just move. He rolled over to the other side of the bed—only to roll right back. He couldn't sleep on that side. Whoever he was lying on, too bad. He could only sleep on the right side.
Sleep claimed him quickly, his body too drained to fight it. Sometime in the early morning, in that space between dreams and waking, he felt a presence near him. Donut sat at the edge of the bed, his dark eyes locked onto Daotok's face.
"I'm starving," he murmured. "Feed me." Even in the dream, Daotok barely reacted, mumbling a response before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.
"No money for offerings..."