Since Min-seo agreed to this strange, almost absurd deal, my ghostly life had gained purpose but lost peace. I, Cheon-woo, a ghost with almost nothing left to lose, suddenly found myself bound not only to Do-yun but also to Min-seo. My world had become the studio in Mangwon-dong, where the smell of developer, dust, a faint must of old paper, and the inevitable pain that never left the walls of that old building lingered.
***
I sat on the edge of his work table, as if I needed to feel support, though ghosts have no weight. Min-seo edited photographs, ignoring me, but I could see his body tense every time I floated closer or silently called Do-yun's name. Every movement of his hands felt like a shot to my soul — quick, methodical, cold.
Finally, he set aside the mouse, leaned back in his chair, and spoke without looking at me.
— I need to explain the rules to you, Cheon-woo. And you have to follow them. Otherwise, I'll quit.
— Speak, — I was ready to accept any terms, even if it cost me the remnants of my dignity.
Min-seo drew a deep breath. His face looked pale, like paper under the lamp, and I wanted to touch him — though I knew my hands would pass through the air, as if his skin were an enchanting illusion.
— Since childhood, I've seen what I shouldn't see. Not just you, not just those who are bound. I see shadows — remnants of emotions stuck in the air, in old houses, in photographs. This isn't a gift. It's a curse. It makes the world too loud. To avoid going insane, I learned to block it.
I wanted to ask why he couldn't block me, but the question got stuck somewhere between past and present.
— Why can't you block me?
Min-seo finally looked at me. His gaze was cold, but not cruel. Just a weary acknowledgment of fact.
— Because you're not a shadow. You're an echo. You're bound too tightly. Your energy pulses, especially when you're near Do-yun. You're like a spotlight in a dark room.
I felt the cold void of my existence compress in my chest. He called me… an echo. Not a ghost. Not a shadow. An echo. And in that word was truth, painful like a knife — I couldn't leave until his life began to stir.
— So that's why you became a photographer? To work with shadows you can control?
Min-seo nodded slightly.
— I capture what I see. What doesn't hurt. I work with light because it doesn't lie. You… you are a lie. You should have left. You're disrupting the balance. And the stronger you are here, the worse it is for Do-yun.
His words hit harder than any physical blow. I stayed silent, trying to gather even a fragment of my own presence.
— Why? I'm trying to help him!
— Because your presence, even invisible, doesn't let him close the chapter. He can't forget you because you're here. You draw his pain, and he draws your attachment. We have to work quickly, Cheon-woo. We must convince him that you've gone, so that you can truly leave.
For the first time, I realized a terrible truth. I thought I stayed for Do-yun. But maybe I stayed for myself — out of fear of loneliness, out of a desire to keep his grief under control. My love had become his prison.
— Fine. What are the rules? — I asked quietly, almost whispering, as if afraid to breach the invisible boundaries of the room.
Min-seo listed them slowly, as if carving them into the air:
1.Do not enter our apartment until Do-yun calls me himself.
2.Do not speak of my death to Do-yun unless it is my exact phrase, conveyed by Min-seo.
3.Do not interfere with their personal interactions. I can give advice, but decisions are made by Min-seo.
4.No emotions during work. My jealousy and anger only complicate things, make me more noticeable, and exhaust Min-seo.
— That seems fair, — I had to agree, even though my chest was boiling.
***
Min-seo shifted topics. His voice became sharper, like a steel knife cutting through air:
— Now — the past. We cannot help Do-yun without knowing why we are here.
— You mean our quarrel? — I asked, trying to anticipate where he was going.
— No. Our quarrel. Mine and Do-yun's. Why we broke up. Why he pushed me away, if I was his best friend and… — he stopped without saying "first love."
I felt a pang of jealousy but restrained myself, remembering rule #4.
— You must remember, — I said, — it was when I first appeared. He didn't push you away. He just made a choice.
Min-seo shook his head.
— You don't understand. We were more than friends. We were… mirrors. And then he just slammed the door. Gave me no explanation. I need to know, so I don't cause him more pain.
I saw their story from another angle — Min-seo's side, a victim of Do-yun's closed heart as well.
— Fine. You're right, — I said. — You were friends from freshman year. You helped him with music, he helped you with stories. You were inseparable. You brought him his first cup of coffee that he didn't spill. And then…
I remembered that evening. Do-yun came home after meeting Min-seo, his face flushed.
— Min-seo said he loves me. He said it wasn't just friendship. He said he waited two years.
— And you? — I asked, holding his hands in thought.
— I don't know, Cheon-woo. I feel… tenderness. I can't be without him. But I don't love him like you. You are my anchor. He is the sail.
Do-yun chose me then — the anchor, calmness, reliability. He abruptly cut ties with Min-seo to avoid giving false hope. Harsh, but typical of him.
— Do-yun was afraid, — I explained to Min-seo. — Afraid that you were his past. He chose me for his adult life. He gave no explanation because he knew: if you tried to convince him, he would surrender.
Min-seo listened, eyes fixed on an invisible point on the wall, processing every word.
— He ran. As always. And I thought I had simply annoyed him, — his smile was empty, sad.
— Now you know. Use it. He trusts you because you are part of his past, which he cherished.
Min-seo looked up.
— Then the plan is this. I won't tell him that you weren't angry with him. I'll say I don't blame him for choosing you. I must lift his oldest guilt so he can release the new one.
I was stunned. A brilliant move, built on Min-seo's deep, sacrificial love.
— But… that's a lie. You were angry.
— Yes. Angry, — Min-seo looked at me, and a fire flashed in his eyes. — But I swore to myself I would never again be the cause of his tears. Even if that means lying to you — a dead man.
I felt my ghostly shell grow cold. Min-seo was not just a guide. He was my rival, willing to make the bitterest sacrifice for Do-yun.
______________________
"Sometimes saving someone requires lies, and sometimes love shows not in what we hold, but in what we release. I am just an echo, but even an echo can learn to watch, wait, and trust those still living."