Buyong

Ein was a hitman for hire—a shadow in the night, a death with insomnia, if you will. 

He had spent a lifetime turning away from care and affection, ignoring the deep-down ache to be held gently just once. To love without fearing it might crash. To live daring to hope for better days.

But having fought through everything bitter, survived up until this point, what was the point? There was nothing sweet for a killer. His life had no value, not even enough to try and end it himself. 

Even as Ein moved into his thirties, he was all but simply moving towards the inevitable end—just like the ends he’d caused. 

Ein had watched the life drain from dozens. Seeing a soul popping out of a dead body was a first.

And it wasn't just any soul—it had to be an irritatingly loud ghost, impossible to get rid of, and even harder to hate. 

✧ ✧ ✧

Adriel wasn’t one to let things go easily. He’d lived running from himself, bending backwards to keep things calm and people satisfied. But they never were. 

Going to bed, he’d often glance at the starry sky and wish to vanish from society. To turn invisible to judgmental pricks. To get a chance to act unapologetically himself, not fearing rejection.

All Adriel wanted was someone who could love him without any conditions, tolerate him no matter how ridiculous he was, stay by him even when his light was dim. 

But what he got was a sudden death in a grimy alleyway. How could it be? Dying! Without any warning! Before he could find love! What a waste!

Outraged by such a cruel turn of events, Adriel clawed at the reality, demanding life take him back. He would do anything to live again, fix his life and get a happy ending. Even if it meant pestering a grumpy hitman with manners as dry as the Sahara desert. 

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Disclaimer: This story is a very slow burn (possibly even emotional torture level >:D). So buckle up and enjoy the ride!

When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost

Ein entered the kitchen to find the shaman already there—sitting by the table, nursing a small cup of tea.

She looked him over. "What are you creeping around for? Like some ghost."

"Where's the medical kit?" he asked.

The shaman pointed at the left cabinet, acting nonchalant. Still, he caught her tracking his movements from the corner of his eye.

There was a certain elephant in the room. But he knew she wouldn't bring it up.

"You knew," Ein remarked, closing the cabinet after taking out the medical kit.

"Of course I knew. I may be old, but I've not gone senile," came a mildly bitter retort.

Ein furrowed his brow. Not once had he had the feeling that his grandmother knew more about his "occupation" than she let on. Hiding stuff flawlessly ran in the family, clearly.

Bearable