Nathan wasn't picky.
He wasn't spiritual.
And he damn sure didn't care if someone died in the tub or jumped out the window ten years ago.
As long as the rent was cheap, the roof didn't leak, and no nosy neighbors banged on his door at midnight asking for sugar, or small talk, he was in.
And so, when the landlord smiled with a twitch in his eye and said,
"Place comes with… a bit of history,"
Nathan only nodded.
"Does it come with working plumbing?"
"Yes."
"Then I don't care."
---
The apartment wasn't much.
Creaky floorboards, a faint smell of lavender that didn't come from him, and windows that stuck when you tried to open them.
But it was quiet.
Empty.
And more importantly, his.
The key fit in the lock with a hesitant click.
Like even the door wasn't sure he belonged there.
The air inside was stale, like no one had breathed here in a while.
Perfect.
No roommates. No expectations. No noise.
Just him, his bag, and a half-dead phone.
He dropped it all by the couch, a lumpy, secondhand thing covered in a white sheet, and sat down.
"I've had worse," he muttered.
The couch…
sank in deeper than expected.
Almost like it welcomed him.
---
Later that night…
Nathan lay on a mattress he'd dragged into the middle of the room.
There were no curtains, just the streetlight leaking in like a soft warning.
His eyes fluttered closed.
And that's when it began.
Not the horror.
Not the screams.
Just…
A hum.
Low. Warm. Like someone was sighing through the walls.
He sat up. Listened.
Nothing.
He laid back down.
The hum returned, closer this time. Near his neck.
Like a breath.
Still, no fear. Just irritation.
"Ghosts better know I don't do spooning," he muttered, pulling the blanket tighter.
A beat of silence.
Then----
The blanket slid slightly down his chest.
Not torn. Not yanked.
Just…
pulled back.
Slow.
Intentional.
Nathan froze.
"Okay," he whispered into the dark. "You wanna haunt someone, fine. Just don't touch my food."
Another pause.
The fridge door creaked open in the kitchen.
His eyes shot open.
"…oh you've gotta be kidding me."
Nathan didn't scream.
Didn't run.
Didn't even flinch.
He just blinked at the open fridge, still lying flat on the mattress.
"…If you're cold, get in line."
The fridge door eased itself shut again, soft, almost guilty.
Nathan sat up, rubbed his face, then looked at the spot beside him on the mattress.
There was a dent.
He hadn't moved.
The ghost… had sat down.
He squinted at the space, vaguely annoyed. "I don't do cuddles, Casper."
Silence.
Then, tap tap tap on the wall.
Three gentle knocks. As if amused.
He sighed.
"This better not be a pervy ghost."
---
By the third night, Nathan had a routine.
He cooked instant noodles. Ate in silence.
Left the second spoon out on the counter, just in case.
And every night, like clockwork, the ghost joined him.
Not visually.
But the dents in the couch deepened.
The light in the bathroom flickered with rhythm, one he now recognized as pacing.
And sometimes…
Sometimes he heard breathing near his neck when he wasn't paying attention.
Still didn't scare him.
But it did intrigue him.
---
On the fourth night, it got bold.
Nathan was brushing his teeth, staring at the fogged-up mirror when letters began to form.
No dripping blood.
No jump scares.
Just… steam handwriting.
"Nice lips."
Nathan spat into the sink, mouth foaming.
"Wow," he said flatly. "A ghost with rizz."
The mirror cleared itself slowly. The writing disappeared.
But behind him—
A figure.
Tall, faint. Barely visible in the fog. Just watching.
He turned around.
Nothing.
He exhaled.
"…Stop flirting or pay half the rent."
---
The next morning?
There was a cup of coffee on the counter.
Fresh. Still warm.
Made exactly how he liked it.
He froze mid-step.
"…You touched my coffee maker?"
A soft hum echoed through the kitchen vent.
Not malicious.
Playful.
Nathan sipped it anyway.
Tasted better than when he made it.
"Great," he muttered. "I'm being out-barista'd by a damn ghost."
---
That night, as Nathan climbed into bed, he left an unmistakable space open on the mattress. Not that he'd admit why. Not that he'd say it out loud. But the gap was there, just wide enough for someone else.
He lay on his side, staring at the wall, heart beating faster than it should.
The sheets shifted.
Just the slightest pull, like air moving, or something heavier, warmer, settling in beside him.
Not cold. Not sinister.
Just… present. Comfortably, undeniably there.
Nathan let out a soft, almost embarrassed sigh but didn't move away. If anything, he scooted back just an inch closer, as if inviting more of it.
Half-asleep, voice thick with exhaustion, he mumbled into his pillow, "If you're gonna spoon me, at least make breakfast again."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, as if in answer, the bedside lamp flickered once, soft, playful.
Almost like a laugh in the dark.