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Chapter One
The house smelled of dust and lemon polish, a strange combination of neglect and recent, frantic effort. Leo dragged his last cardboard box—labeled, ironically, "MISC. LIFE STUFF"—up the narrow, creaking staircase and into his new bedroom. He was eighteen, technically an adult, but the house loomed around him, massive and hollow, a monument to a past life he hadn't lived.

His parents were downstairs arguing about where the sofa should go, their voices muffled by floorboards and distance. Leo ignored them. He was drawn to a different sound: a subtle, almost musical hum coming from a door tucked into the far corner of his bedroom ceiling. A pull-down attic staircase.

He dropped the box and grabbed the cord, pulling the stairs down with a loud whump that echoed through the quiet space. Dust rained down. A gust of cold air, smelling faintly of old paper and something strangely sweet like ozone, rushed past his face.

He paused, heart thumping not with fear, but curiosity. The darkness above seemed to beckon him.

Leo climbed the stairs, one tentative step at a time. The attic was a dim cavern under the eaves, lit only by a single, grime-caked skylight. It was empty save for a few forgotten trunks and a layer of shadow that clung to the corners.

He was about to turn around, disappointed, when he heard it—a sigh, soft as a breath of wind.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice shaking just slightly.

A figure materialized from the gloom near the skylight. It wasn't a shadow or a monster, but a guy, leaning casually against a support beam. He looked about Leo's age, with messy hair and clothes that seemed a decade out of style. He was pale, almost translucent in the weak light, and a faint, electric blue aura shimmered around his edges.

The stranger didn't look scared or angry; he looked bored.

"Took you long enough," the ghost said, pushing off the beam and floating a millimeter above the floorboards. "I was beginning to think you’d never come up here."

Leo yelped, stumbling back a step and nearly tumbling off the top of the pull-down stairs. He threw his hands up in defense, his brain struggling to process the impossible image of a person floating slightly off the ground, shimmering like a heat haze.

“Who—what are you?” he stuttered, his eyes wide.

The floating guy rolled his eyes with a world-weary sigh, as if dealing with a terrified new tenant was the most tedious part of his afterlife.

“The name’s Arthur,” he said, his voice dry and slightl

y echoing. “And what I am is the current, very bored occupant of this dust trap. The better question is, who are you, and why are you interrupting my nap?”

Leo lowered his hands slowly, his initial panic giving way to sheer confusion. Arthur didn't seem menacing, just... well, moody.

"I'm Leo," he said, finding his footing on the top step again. "My family just moved in. Downstairs. You know, where the actual floors are." He pointed toward the staircase. "Are you... a squatter? Wait, no, you're clear." He squinted. "You're a ghost."

Arthur floated a little closer, a flicker of something that might have been amusement crossing his pale features. "Sharp kid. You figured it out. Now, are you going to scream for your parents, or are we going to talk like two normal guys who happen to be standing in slightly different dimensions?"

“U-uhm.. We can just talk I guess..” Leo stutters.

Arthur tilted his head, a wry grin touching his lips. “Good. Screaming is messy, and I hate when the new tenants make a fuss. Management usually sends in an exorcist, and those guys are so last century.”

Leo swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the ghost, trying to find a normal place to look—anywhere other than the spot where Arthur's feet weren't touching the floor.

"Okay," Leo started, pushing himself fully into the attic space and taking a careful step away from the stairs. "So... you live here? In the attic?"

"Live is a strong word," Arthur said, drifting over to an old, dusty window pane and looking out at the neighborhood trees. The light from the skylight seemed to pass through him, highlighting the faint wallpaper visible behind his silhouette. "I linger. I haunt. I mostly just pass the time until something interesting happens. You qualify as marginally interesting."

"Oh, thanks," Leo muttered, running a hand through his hair. He tried to process the absurdity of talking to a sarcastic spirit. "How long have you been... lingering?"

Arthur turned back, his expression shifting from boredom to something a little more contemplative. "Since nineteen ninety-three. I was eighteen. Just like you, apparently." He sighed, a sound that seemed to pull the cold air toward them. "Died right here, actually."

Leo froze, a chill independent of Arthur’s spectral presence running down his spine. "Here? In this room?"

"Yep." Arthur gestured vaguely to the center of the dusty floorboards. "Fell off the ladder while trying to fix the antenna. Dumb way to go, honestly. Now, I'm stuck haunt

ing a house that smells like lemon polish and old dreams." He floated back toward Leo, a genuine spark of curiosity in his eyes now. "So, Leo. What's your story? Escaping the 'rents? Trying to find yourself? Or just looking for some attic space to make out with your girlfriend?"

Leo felt a blush creep up his neck. "N-neither. I'm just here. And I don't have a girlfriend." He paused, then added quickly, "Or a boyfriend, for that matter. I'm single."

A slow smile spread across Arthur’s translucent face, the expression making him seem less like a scary ghost and more like a handsome, slightly faded picture. "Single, huh? Well, that's good to know. It gets lonely up here, Leo."

"Yeah, I bet it does," Leo repeated, the chill in the air suddenly feeling less supernatural and more... intimate.

He was acutely aware of how close Arthur had drifted—within arm’s reach, though reaching out would likely be futile. The space between them was humming with unspoken tension, a strange mix of disbelief and an immediate, undeniable pull.

"So, what do you do all day?" Leo asked, desperate to change the subject but keep the conversation going. "Watch the dust motes?"

Arthur chuckled, the sound a low, resonant echo. "Pretty much. And wait for the occasional attractive new tenant to climb the stairs. You’re only the third in thirty years." He paused, letting the implication hang in the quiet attic. "You going to hang around, or run downstairs and tell your parents you found the local spook?"

Leo looked at Arthur's eyes, which held a depth of loneliness he recognized instantly. The house was already isolating, and he’d only been there an hour. Arthur had been here for decades.
"I'll hang around," Leo said softly. He managed a small smile. "I could use a friend who understands what it's like to feel invisible sometimes."

Arthur’s smile returned, brighter this time, a genuine light in the dim attic. "Deal. Welcome to the neighborhood, Leo. Mind closing the stairs? I think your mom just called your name."

"Right." Leo nodded, taking one last look at Arthur before carefully backing up to the ladder, already planning his next trip upstairs. This house just got a lot more interesting.

Leo carefully navigated the steep steps back down to his bedroom, the attic door slamming shut above him with a definitive click that seemed to seal away a secret world.

He stood in his bedroom for a moment, chest rising and falling, running a hand through his hair again to make sure he was ful

ly present. His hands still felt cold from the attic air, but his heart felt surprisingly warm. He had met someone—someone impossible, yes, but someone who had been waiting for decades just to talk. The thought was absurd, but undeniably captivating.

“Leo! Dinner’s almost ready!” his mom’s voice echoed up from the first floor.

He sighed, smoothing his shirt. The scent of an oven preheating mixed with the fading smell of lemon polish. The mundane reality of moving in was waiting for him.

He walked down the main staircase, the conversation with Arthur already replaying in his mind. He wasn't scared anymore. He was curious. He found himself wondering about the logistics of their situation—the nature of Arthur's existence, the history of this house, the stark, intriguing differences between their worlds.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw his dad still fiddling with a dusty light fixture in the living room.

"Find anything interesting up there, son?" his dad asked, not looking up from his work.
Leo paused at the dining room entrance, a small, private smile touching his lips.

"No," Leo said, the lie rolling off his tongue easily. "Just a lot of dust. And an old trunk. Nothing much."

He headed into the kitchen, his mind already drifting back up to the eaves, making plans to sneak back up to the attic after everyone went to sleep.

of?

the story I'm writing

oh cool

necro yaoi(i think) 🥀💔💀🙏

I got the idea for this story from a dream I had 😭🙏

ok
you dream of dead x human yaoi....noted.

it was just one time 😔

i'm writing this in my notebook
idk why it says death note

AAAUUUGGHH- *dies*

ok

😭

explain

explain what

Its peak, is it gonna be romance?

yeahhh

hmmmm, ive never read yaoi before but im kinda interested in the way you write. keep em coming