Day 6.
Nathan had officially stopped pretending things were normal.
At first, he'd told himself it was stress. Lack of sleep. Overwork. Maybe even the start of a slow, embarrassing mental breakdown. He'd Googled it, hallucinations from exhaustion, auditory misfires, random muscle twitches from too much caffeine. That was easier to believe than… this.
But by Day 6, denial felt pointless.
There was no logical explanation for the extra toothbrush sitting in his bathroom cup, the pale blue one that definitely wasn't his, appearing without fanfare next to his own worn-out green brush. Or the way his favorite hoodie, the oversized black one, kept ending up draped over the armrest, even though he'd left it folded at the back of his closet.
And the music. God, the music.
It played softly from the old speaker in the living room, warping in and out like a radio stuck between stations. One second, it was static. The next, it was a familiar song from his old playlists—tracks he hadn't touched in years.
Nathan didn't fight it anymore.
He talked to it now. The ghost. Or whatever it was.
"Morning," he muttered, scratching at his sleep-messed hair as he shuffled toward the kitchen, yawning wide enough to crack his jaw.
The coffee machine was already brewing.
Of course it was.
He smiled despite himself.
"Thanks," he added, grabbing his favorite chipped mug and pouring himself a cup like it was just another morning with an old roommate who had an irritating habit of getting up first.
The first sip? Perfect. Rich, dark, just the right amount of bite.
Nathan let the warmth pool in his chest, chasing off the last edges of sleep.
And then--
A soft tug at the hem of his t-shirt.
Not hard. Not sharp. Just… enough to get his attention.
Nathan froze for a heartbeat, then let out a long, dramatic sigh and turned slightly.
"No, I'm not staying in all day," he said, already anticipating the silent protest. "You're not keeping me here like some… cozy hostage."
Silence.
Then a cool drift of air slid across the back of his neck, light as breath, softer than a whisper.
Not threatening.
Not teasing.
Just… present.
Nathan smiled again. It was small and tired, but real.
"You're really clingy for someone who won't show themselves," he said, wandering over to the window and pushing the curtain aside. Morning light spilled across the floor, catching dust motes midair like tiny, lazy stars.
Behind him, there was a faint mechanical click.
Nathan turned just in time to see the toaster finish its work.
One single piece of toast popped up. Golden brown.
His.
Again.
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
Six days of this.
Six days of flickering lights, mysteriously folded laundry, and toast made just the way he liked it.
Six days of the kind of quiet company that filled the room without words or visible form.
He should've been creeped out.
Terrified, even.
Instead…
He was warm.
Safe, somehow.
Which was weird, considering his new "roommate" was the literal definition of dead.
Nathan moved to the counter, took the toast, and gave the air behind him a little nod of thanks.
"Y'know… most ghosts slam doors. Throw knives. Ruin your sanity." He bit into the toast. Perfect, again. "But you? You're like… domestic horror-lite. Haunted Airbnb with complimentary breakfast."
The light above the sink flickered once.
Nathan grinned. "Was that a laugh? God, you're cheesy."
There was no reply. There never was. Just more of that soft, persistent presence.
After breakfast, as Nathan pulled on his jacket, another tug came, this time at his sleeve, gentle but insistent.
He paused.
"I told you," he said, looping his scarf lazily around his neck, "I've got errands. Groceries don't buy themselves, you know. Unless you're planning on haunting the local market next?"
The air shifted again. Warmer this time. Like reluctant acceptance.
Nathan patted the air near his shoulder with a fond, mocking little tap. "I'll be back by lunch. Don't get too lonely."
As he opened the front door, he swore he felt the faintest brush of invisible fingertips against the side of his hand.
A goodbye.
Maybe even… a "be safe."
Nathan laughed again, stepping out into the chill of late morning.
Six days.
And somehow, this was starting to feel… normal.
---
By the time Nathan returned, grocery bags digging into his fingers, the apartment felt warmer than it should for mid-afternoon.
The faint smell of cinnamon drifted from the kitchen.
"Did you… bake?" he asked, laughing as he kicked the door shut behind him.
On the counter sat a plate of toast, slightly burnt at the edges, but the effort was obvious.
Nathan's heart tugged in his chest.
Dropping the bags, he walked over, touched the edge of the plate like it meant something sacred.
"Alright," he murmured, smiling to himself. "You win. Guess I really do have a ghost roommate now."