Chapter Text
“I really,” said Jooyeon, “don’t understand why you guys are skulking around in an abandoned apartment building. Is the band club just a front for, like, a treasure-hunting club? An occultist club? I guess that’s probably why the others didn’t want to let me join, right? Because it’s a secret?”
Jiseok huffed, running a finger along a line of faded books on the shelf. “If you’re not gonna leave, you might as well make yourself useful and help me look.”
“What are we looking for, exactly?”
“I don’t know!” Jiseok rubbed his temple with his thumb, growing increasingly irate as he continued. “It’s in this room, I—I can feel it, but… it’ll be something old… some kind of… sentimental object… something with history, memories…”
Jooyeon was starting to wonder if Jiseok was entirely sane, but he found himself intrigued rather than put off by this prospect. In any case, he was curious about whatever was really going on here, and surely there was no harm in helping Jiseok look around, right?
Planting his free hand on his hip, Jooyeon shone his phone light in a circle to examine the room—the plain wooden wardrobe, the four-poster bed (at the end of which was a dark stain on the floor that Jooyeon wasn’t keen on investigating too closely), the shelves Jiseok was examining, a couple of dressers, and the vanity. Everything was coated in a thick blanket of dust—even the vanity mirror was so clouded that it only showed Jooyeon the vaguest suggestion of his reflection.
“Ah, this is the kind of mirror I like,” he commented. “The blur does wonders for my complexion.”
Jiseok didn’t answer, or even acknowledge the joke, which was a bit unfair because Jooyeon thought it was kind of a banger.
He glanced over to see Jiseok squinting intently as he shone his phone light on the yellowed pages of a book.
Well, whatever. Jooyeon turned back to the vanity and pulled open one of the side drawers. Empty. He pulled open the second.
It was not empty, and the only thing inside was so incongruous with everything else in the room that Jooyeon somehow knew right away that this was what Jiseok was looking for. It was a round, silver music box, about the size of Jooyeon’s palm, its exterior embossed with an ornate pattern of thorns and roses. Its surface was eerily immaculate, polished and shining under the phone light.
A strange feeling came over Jooyeon as he looked at it, drawing him in while raising gooseflesh across his arms. Too curious to do otherwise, he set his phone down on the vanity and carefully took the box into both hands.
Its metal surface was cold. It was heavy. On the bottom, there was a tiny crank.
It was a music box.
Carefully, he popped the lid open, just to see inside. He nearly dropped it out of fright when the mechanism began to whir, tiny tines catching on metal pins, and a cheerful, tinkling tune rang out through the room. The sound was preternaturally resonant in the dusty space.
It played for all of two seconds, and the following seconds of utter silence were ice-cold.
“Jooyeon.”
Still holding the music box, Jooyeon turned. Jiseok was half-hidden in the dusty shadows by the bookshelves, phone fallen to the floor, light-side-up. He was hunched over, fingertips pressed into his head. Jooyeon could hear his ragged breath, but his voice, when he spoke, was steady.
“You need to get out.”
“Jiseok? Are you okay?” Concerned, Jooyeon put the box down on the vanity and picked up his phone, taking a step towards him. “What’s wrong?”
“Get out!” Without looking up, Jiseok thrust out a hand, and Jooyeon could have sworn he felt the displaced air wash over him, sending a cold shiver down his spine. “Get… get Seungmin…” Jiseok clutched his head in both hands again, curling further into himself. His legs were visibly trembling. “Quickly!”
“Jiseok—”
“GO!”
The shout echoed through the room, and Jooyeon knew he wasn’t imagining it this time—the shockwave moved the dust on the floorboards, rippling out in a circle from Jiseok’s feet.
Jiseok let out a pained groan and dropped to his knees, clawing desperately at his head.
Fear was starting to take hold of Jooyeon, tracing its sharp claws between his ribs. He had no idea what was happening, and his confusion did nothing but augment his terror, but the strange feeling that had come over him while looking at the music box had set down roots in his gut and was telling him that this was no joke.
He didn’t want to leave Jiseok, but he didn’t know what else to do. So he turned and ran.
· · ♪ · ·
Earlier that week…
“Jiseok? Are you listening?”
Pulled from his fugue, Jiseok blinked and looked up. “Sorry, what?”
“You can take that as a no,” said Seungmin, leaning against the piano with his arms crossed.
Jiseok stuck his tongue out at him, then turned back to Gunil, who was standing at the lectern, drumsticks in hand (for some reason). “I was listening! Mostly. Abandoned apartment block, reports of strange noises, probably something… something…” Jiseok heard himself trail off as if it were someone else who had been speaking, mind going blank and eyes losing focus. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear splashing and laughter.
He fought against the feeling, gripping the edge of the desk he was sitting on, and within a few seconds, the fog had passed enough to allow him access to his own faculties again. “Something spooky,” he finished.
Gunil didn’t look convinced. Jiseok supposed he’d probably missed a few details.
Most clubs didn’t typically meet in the morning before classes, but the Gwisin High School Band Club wasn’t like other clubs—in practically every way imaginable—so, here they were, in the band room, having a quick briefing on the first day of the autumn semester before the homeroom bell had even rung.
It wasn’t technically a band room, per se: just an old, unused classroom that had been repurposed. The desks and most of the chairs had been stacked up and shoved against the walls to make room for guitar stands and cases, amps, leads, keyboards, the slightly out-of-tune upright piano, and the shabby drum kit. The blackboard was covered in random scribbles and reminders and sheets of music, post-it notes, and random polaroids stuck between the chalk marks using Jungsu’s paw-print washi tape.
To the uninitiated, the room surely looked like chaos—but it was their chaos.
Even though this was only supposed to be a quick morning meeting, Hyeongjun was in his usual chair with his guitar in his lap. “This is why I suggested planting more warding talismans in Jiseok’s pockets,” he said, then punctuated his words with a sinister chord.
Seungmin sighed. “If only he’d stay still for long enough.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” said Jiseok, “but that phantom was this close to escaping Jungsu-hyung’s ward, and I didn’t really want to find out what kind of chaos the ghost of a hysterical twelve-year-old could cause at a water park.
“It’s my fault for not drawing a strong enough ward,” Jungsu said dolefully from his spot beside Jiseok. “I really thought I could do it by myself…”
Jiseok spread his hands. “I mean, what am I here for, if not as an eminently possessable medium for all your exorcismly needs?”
“You wouldn’t be so eminently possessable if you stopped tossing aside your warding talisman at every given opportunity,” Seungmin pointed out. Jiseok was starting to feel annoyed with him and it wasn’t even eight o’clock.
“He’s not wrong, though,” said Hyeongjun. “Wraiths might be fine, but exorcising phantoms and revenants is cleaner and less dangerous with a vessel.”
“Less dangerous for everyone but the vessel,” said Jungsu, miserably staring at his knees.
“Why are you acting as if I died? I’m fine!” Jiseok insisted. “A bit cloudy from the fog, sure, but it’s not like I’m sleepwalking onto a train and waking up in Incheon like that one time.”
Gunil coughed loudly to get their attention. “To bring this conversation back to the point,” he said, “I think we should approach this new case with caution until we get a better sense of what it involves. If it’s a wraith or a weak phantom that we can handle without needing Jiseok to offer up his body—”
“Why must you put it like that?” Jiseok interrupted.
“—then we’ll prioritise it,” Gunil continued, ignoring him. “Otherwise, we’ll put it on the back burner until we’re sure that our eminently possessable medium is fully recovered.”
The thing with Gunil’s word was that it was law. He was their leader, so none of them were inclined to argue with him once he declared something. But even if any of them had objections, the bell chose that moment to ring and signal the beginning of the day. They agreed to meet again at lunch to go over the finer details of the case.
Clearly, Jungsu was feeling a fresh wave of guilt over how last week’s exorcism had gone, pulling Jiseok into a tight hug as the others trickled away to their respective homerooms.
“You’re freezing,” he said. “It’s like hugging a corpse. Jiseok, it’s been a week already, how bad was that thing?”
Jiseok tried to squirm out of Jungsu’s arms, but he was bigger than Jiseok and had a hug like a boa constrictor. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t bad at all!”
It was the truth, actually. The boy’s death had been an accident and his life fairly easy, so his ghost hadn’t left Jiseok with any lingering feelings of regret or yearning or resentment. Of the three classes of ghosts—wraiths, phantoms, and revenants—phantoms were typically of middling strength and didn’t always require a vessel, like Jiseok, to streamline the process of exorcism. This one had been stronger than average, which was why Jiseok had jumped in when he did, but it was certainly on the weaker end of all the ghosts he’d ever been possessed by. It had left him a lot less achy than usual.
But… it was true that the post-possession fog and lowered body temperature were persisting issues that shouldn’t have been as bad as they were, all considered. Jiseok had long started to think that the problem had more to do with him than anything else.
Finally, Jungsu pulled away, holding Jiseok by the shoulders and squinting at him. “I’m walking you home today,” he said.
“Okay, cool, do what you want, can I go to class now? I’m gonna be late.”
Jungsu ruffled his hair and sent him on his way.
It quickly became apparent to Jiseok that he wasn’t really in a fit state to even be at school today. Over the past week since the water-park ghost’s exorcism, he hadn’t really gotten a proper idea of how much the fog was impairing his ability to function—he’d mainly just hung around at home mindlessly watching Netflix and zoning out and drinking ginger tea whenever one or more of his friends came over and inevitably foisted it upon him.
He was a few paces down the hall from his homeroom when the fog started to come over him again. It started as a numb, tingling feeling in his fingertips, then progressed to a silent buzzing in the centre of his skull, which slowly expanded through his head like a shockwave, wiping out all thoughts as it went. By the time he reached the classroom door, everything had become distant and dreamlike, and it was an immense effort of will to not stumble as he crossed the classroom and slipped into his seat.
Jiseok was vaguely aware of the teacher introducing a new student, but everything was strange and incomprehensible as if his brain had forgotten how to parse sights and sounds. As best he could while feeling like a foreign spectator in his own body, he clenched his fists under his desk, repeating in his head like a mantra: I am Kwak Jiseok, I am Kwak Jiseok, I am Kwak Jiseok. It was a grounding mechanism; it helped him hold on to reality when it started to slip away. Or at least it was supposed to.
He’d thought he was in for a long and difficult battle, but as abruptly as it had come, the fog began to clear. His vision snapped into focus and the room became brighter, the sounds of his classmates’ chatter becoming clearer as if he’d just emerged from underwater.
“Can I sit here?”
He looked up. As he met the new student’s earnest brown eyes, a wave of warmth washed over him, so intense and relieving that he felt his shoulders relax. He hadn’t even noticed they were tensed. He hadn’t even realised he was cold until he felt that warmth.
Mind wiped blank in an entirely different way, Jiseok blinked up at the student. His hair was longish—probably as long as it could be before breaking regulations—and bleached to a sort of dusty blonde colour, like a powder-clean Kurt Cobain. He was lanky, though not super tall, and his awkward demeanour was instantly endearing.
Okay, so maybe he was kinda cute.
“Uh,” Jiseok said eloquently, once he finally remembered how to use his vocal cords. “Yeah! Of course.” He moved his bag off the chair, part of him lamenting the loss of the extra desk space, a much bigger part of him intrigued about this new arrival.
The new boy’s smile widened, growing into the shape of a heart and pushing his eyes into crescents. Jiseok felt a sort of kick in his chest.
“Thanks!” The boy sat down and held out a hand. “I’m Jooyeon, by the way. Lee Jooyeon. In case you didn’t catch that before—you looked a bit zoned out.”
Jiseok wasn’t sure how to feel about the idea that Jooyeon had been paying enough attention to notice such a thing. “Ah, yeah,” he laughed self-deprecatingly, taking Jooyeon’s hand to shake. “Didn’t get enough sleep last night. First day of semester, you know. I’m Kwak Jiseok.”
“Kwak Jiseok,” Jooyeon repeated, mouth forming each syllable as if handling something delicate. Jiseok felt his heart do some kind of complicated somersault in his chest. “Nice to meet you.”
He squeezed Jiseok’s hand once and released it. Something about the way he did it sparked a distant sense of familiarity in Jiseok, one that he couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe the fog was still affecting him after all—there was no way it had been dispelled so quickly when the episode had promised to be severe. But there was no harm in asking:
“Have we… met before?”
“Oh?” Jooyeon raised an eyebrow. “Do people still use that as a pick-up line?”
Jiseok felt his face flare with heat. “Wh-what? No, I just—”
Jooyeon laughed, reaching over to squeeze Jiseok’s wrist. “I’m joking, I’m joking! Sorry—that was just the first thing that came into my head and I kinda have no filter, so…” He scratched the back of his neck, his own cheeks notably pink. “Sorry. I’m from Daegu, actually.”
That explained the accent at least. “Oh,” said Jiseok. “Well… I guess I must have… confused you for someone else.”
“Guess so.”
“So what brings you to Seoul halfway through the year?”
“Well, you know.” Jooyeon’s smile turned strained. “Daegu wasn’t working out anymore, so… my parents got new jobs, and we’re starting a new life in Seoul. I guess.”
“Shit,” said Jiseok. “I’m sorry. That must suck to leave all your friends behind.”
“It’s alright.” Jooyeon shrugged. “Making new friends isn’t too hard. I’ve already made one.”
“Really? Who?”
Jooyeon cocked his head, sort of like a puppy, and pulled a wounded expression. “What, you don’t want to be my friend?” He grimaced. “Is the lack of filter a deal breaker? I’m genuinely really sorry about that…”
Jiseok blinked. A short laugh escaped him. “No, it’s fine, just… That easy, huh?”
“Why not?” Jooyeon’s smile returned in an instant. “Easiest way to do it, right? Spot someone you like the look of and go claim them as your friend—why complicate things?” He flashed that gummy grin again. Jiseok’s heart continued practising its acrobatics routine, but he was pointedly ignoring it.
“You know what, Lee Jooyeon?” he said, smiling back. “I like the way you think—lack of filter and all.”
For reasons Jiseok couldn’t fathom, the fog didn’t bother him again all throughout the first half of the day. He wasn’t upset about this fact—far from it: he felt better than he’d felt since before last week’s exorcism, more clear-headed and present and alive.
Maybe part of it had something to do with Jooyeon’s presence, somehow. Jiseok wasn’t sure he’d ever clicked with someone so easily before, whether it was because, as became quickly apparent, they shared a similar sense of humour and similar interests. During morning break, Jooyeon pointed at the Green Day badge on Jiseok’s bag and asked what his favourite album was, and then they spent the rest of the break trading bands they liked with increasing enthusiasm until reluctantly having to shut themselves up when the bell rang and the algebra teacher arrived.
Jooyeon turned out to be pretty lousy at algebra, but Jiseok was in such a good mood that he was glad to help him—and it was made up for in their next class, Korean history, when Jooyeon turned out to already know pretty much everything there was to know about the life and times of King Yeongjo, whispering interesting asides, additional facts, and little jokes to Jiseok all through class.
By the time the bell rang for lunch, Jooyeon already felt like someone he’d known his whole life.
“I promised to meet my friends, but you’re welcome to come with me,” Jiseok offered, knowing the others wouldn’t be pleased about it—but, whatever. They could discuss the new case after school or something. “Maybe you can claim them as your own friends, if you like the look of them.”
“I’d love to,” Jooyeon chuckled, “but I have to go talk with our homeroom teacher. Admin stuff for starting a new school in the middle of the year, you know.”
“Oh… okay. Well,” Jiseok waved his phone—they’d already added each other’s contacts, “let me know if you want to find me once that’s done.”
“Will do!”
Jooyeon grinned. Jiseok grinned back.
He left the classroom in high spirits, but when he was about halfway to the band room, he started to feel… off.
It began with a numbness in his fingers, then a thick, staticky fog spreading through his head and clouding his senses.
Not again, he thought dimly to himself. It was bad. Worse, even, than this morning’s episode.
It made no sense. He’d been fine all day—better than fine! What was happening to him?
I am Kwak Jiseok, he reminded himself as the hallway wavered before him. I am Kwak Jiseok…
Somehow, he made it to the band room. He pushed open the door and stumbled in and didn’t notice that he was on hands and knees until Jungsu and Gunil were helping him up. He could hear his friends’ worried voices, see them moving around him in blurry flashes, feel hands on him, arms around him, but his possession of his own body was tenuous at best.
Everything started to go dim.
I am… Kwak Jiseok… I am… Kwak… Ji…
· · ♪ · ·
“And here’s the club roster,” said Mrs Cho, handing Jooyeon a list of all the clubs the school had to offer. “Some clubs might be a little difficult to join halfway through the year, but if there’s anything you have a particular interest in, I’m sure we can find a way.”
Jooyeon cast his eye down the list. Photography club, literature club, baking club, chess club. “I guess the soccer club is off the cards for now, huh?”
Mrs Cho grimaced. “Their try-outs are every spring, I’m afraid.”
“Is there some sort of music club, or band club?”
“There’s the classical music appreciators club! They’re always accepting new members. And… there is a band club, but I think they’re closed to applicants.” Mrs Cho smiled apologetically. “Although, Jiseok is in the band club—I noticed you two getting along well this morning. Maybe you should ask him about it.”
Oh, now Jooyeon was definitely interested. This first day of school was proceeding with a kind of serendipity that made him partly relieved and partly anxious for the other shoe to drop—things never went this well for him. He’d just met Kwak Jiseok, and he already seemed too good to be true. Good looks, good brain, good music taste, and he was in the band club? There had to be a catch, right?
As Jooyeon had stood at the front of the classroom this morning, he’d cast his eyes over his new classmates and found them all wearing expressions in shades of bored and half asleep. There were a couple of empty desks, a few interesting faces, but none that snagged his gaze so keenly as the boy in the window seat in the second-to-last row. The boy with soft cheeks, full lips, and slightly messy black hair hanging in his round, dreamy eyes—literally dreamy; it looked like he was staring into somewhere that didn’t quite exist. He was almost shining, though maybe that had a lot to do with how the morning sunlight gleamed off his milk-tone skin.
And when he’d blinked up at Jooyeon, the dreaminess fading from his long-lashed eyes to reveal a sharp, astute gaze, his mouth dropping open in surprise to show two adorable bunny teeth, Jooyeon’s most deranged thought to date had waltzed through his mind: I need to know everything about him.
“I’ll do that,” Jooyeon said. “Thanks!”
Leaving the office, Jooyeon pulled out his phone, opening a brand new message screen.
Lee Jooyeon
↪ Heyyy :)
↪ Done with the admin stuff if you’re still willing to let me claim your friends (if I like the look of them)
↪ (I’m sure I will though you seem to have good taste hehe)
He slipped his phone into his trouser pocket along with his hand as he made his leisurely way towards where he thought the cafeteria probably was. He didn’t want to go too fast, in case Jiseok replied before he got there and said he was somewhere else and he had to turn around and go back the way he’d come.
As he meandered down an empty hallway on the second floor, he could hear voices floating out into the hall from the other side of a just-open door. Jooyeon wouldn’t have paid them any mind—it was none of his business after all—if not for one of the voices being familiar.
He stopped in his tracks, curiosity overtaking him and guiding his feet closer.
“—if it happens again? In class, or in the halls?”
“It won’t happen again! I’m telling you, one hundred percent serious, I’m fine now.”
“You said that this morning and you were clearly lying!”
There was a small, rectangular window in the door, affording Jooyeon a view of a sort of ramshackle band room—he could see desks and chairs stacked against the wall, an upright piano, and a couple of worn-out hi-hats. He couldn’t see any of the room’s occupants.
“Okay, I admit it—I lied,” said Jiseok’s voice, “and I’m sorry about that. But I’m telling the truth now, I swear!”
“Bit of a boy who cried wolf, aren’t you?”
Jiseok scoffed loudly. “Seungmin, please, if you’re gonna pretend to care, at least cut the irony.”
“Jiseok, that’s not fair,” said another unfamiliar voice—that was three so far. “We’re all worried. Just let Jungsu take you home, and after school, I’ll come over and we can discuss this more, okay?”
Leaning closer to the door, Jooyeon felt his brow furrow. Did Jiseok have some sort of health condition? Was it… terminal? Was that the catch—perfect boy, doomed to die young? With a sinking feeling, Jooyeon wondered if befriending him would be a mistake for his own heart. But he’d already initiated the friendship; what a reprehensible move it would be to ghost him now, especially if he really was sick.
“I am telling you, I’m fine,” Jiseok whined. “I don’t know what just happened, but it felt like—like… the final surge! You know what I’m talking about, right, Jungsu-hyung? Seungmin? The final surge of resistance that spirits give off right before they get sucked through the veil? The last push before victory! It was like that.”
Jooyeon’s brain struggled to keep up. Was Jiseok talking about a video game or something?
“Why are you so stubborn? I will carry you home if I have to, come here!”
Jiseok let out a squawk. Then there was the scrape of chair legs on floorboards, a clatter, a shout of “Don’t be a child!” and then—
There was no time for Jooyeon to get out of the way. The door swung open and a small body barrelled into his chest. His feet scrambled for purchase as he found himself in a stomach-dropping moment of free-fall, force and momentum carrying him over.
The floor drove the air from his lungs as he landed flat on his back.
“Ow, fuck! You okay?”
Jooyeon gasped like a fish and let out a cough. “Ow, fuck is right,” he grit out. But even as he struggled to fill his lungs, the air suddenly smelling vaguely of some kind of soap, he could feel his cheeks getting warm for another reason entirely.
Jiseok’s face was right above his, eyes wide and surprised, and Jooyeon could feel Jiseok’s chest heaving against his own because he was lying right on top of him on the floor. Then Jooyeon became aware of his hands, gripping Jiseok’s waist, having instinctively grabbed him mid-collision. It was a very slight waist, and it felt very nice to hold, but that was a very evil thought for Jooyeon’s brain to be presenting him with at this moment.
He let go as if dropping something hot.
“What the hell’s happening now?”
“Jiseok? Are you okay?”
Because this extremely compromising position couldn’t possibly go unwitnessed, four students filed out of the band room—three rather tall and one shorter, though he was quite broad.
Jiseok, who Jooyeon dully noticed had pink cheeks of his own, scrambled to his feet, offering Jooyeon a hand up.
“Uh—I was just passing by,” Jooyeon rushed to explain, rubbing his now-aching neck, “on my way from the office. And I thought I heard your voice, so I… yeah. I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he added quickly.
“Right,” said Jiseok, nervously wiping his hands on his trousers. “Well…” he turned to look at the others. “Guys, this is Jooyeon. He’s a new student in my class. Jooyeon, these are my friends.” He pointed at them each in order and listed off their names: “Gunil-hyung and Jungsu-hyung are in third year, and Hyeongjun and Seungmin are in our year.”
Gunil offered a friendly smile, Jungsu a shy wave, Hyeongjun a quiet nod, and Seungmin just stared with his piercing, fox-like eyes. The whole thing was only a little intimidating.
“N-nice to meet you,” said Jooyeon, dropping into a ninety-degree bow just to hide his still-burning face for a moment. “Is this—is this the band club?”
They all stared at him.
“It’s just—Mrs Cho was talking to me about clubs and I asked if there was a band club and she said that there was but that I should ask Jiseok about it and I saw the piano and drums through the window, so I just thought… yeah.” Jooyeon pressed his lips together. He couldn’t possibly dig this hole any deeper if he tried.
Taking mercy, Gunil chuckled amiably. “This is the band club, that’s very astute of you,” he said. “I’m the president, and Jungsu’s the secretary.”
“Oh. Cool!” said Jooyeon. “So, uh…” He glanced at Jiseok, then at the others. “Can I join?”