Love and Horror

Jiho sat in his apartment, his head in his hands, his entire body trembling.

It had been two hours since he got home.

Two hours since he walked the streets of Seoul with a ghost.

Two hours since no one had seen her but him.

Nari stood in front of the window, gazing at the city lights, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked peaceful, her posture relaxed.

Like nothing was wrong.

Like she wasn't dead.

Jiho's breathing was uneven, his chest tight. He had tried to keep himself together—to ignore her, to pretend this was normal.

But it wasn't.

It had never been.

And he couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop."

His voice cracked as it broke the silence.

Nari turned, her dark eyes softening. "What?"

Jiho's hands curled into fists. His whole body burned with frustration, fear, and something else he couldn't name.

"Stop acting like nothing happened."

Nari blinked, tilting her head. "Jiho—"

"You're dead!" His voice rose, raw and uneven. "I— I killed you! You're not supposed to be here! You shouldn't be—"

His breath hitched. His vision blurred.

Nari's expression remained calm.

Then, she took a slow step forward.

Jiho flinched.

But she didn't stop.

She walked toward him, her steps measured, her presence too real.

Until she was standing right in front of him.

Jiho's whole body tensed, his muscles locked in place. His breathing was ragged, shallow.

Nari reached out, cupping his face with both hands.

Her fingers were warm. Soft.

Jiho let out a shaky breath.

She smiled.

"I know."

His stomach dropped.

She knew.

She had always known.

Her thumbs brushed gently over his cheekbones, her gaze unwavering. "But I'm still here."

Jiho's head spun. "Why?"

Her grip tightened just slightly. "Because I love you."

His entire body froze.

His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out everything but her words.

"You don't have to be afraid," Nari whispered, her breath warm against his skin.

Jiho shuddered.

His throat locked. His pulse was erratic.

This was wrong.

This was so, so wrong.

She should hate him. She should be angry.

But instead, she held him gently, like he was something fragile.

And for the first time since she came back, Jiho felt something worse than fear.

Something worse than guilt.

He felt trapped.

Because Nari was never leaving.

No matter what he did.

No matter how much he screamed.

No matter how much he wanted to be free.

She wasn't going anywhere.

Jiho's breath stilled.

Nari's lips curled into a soft smile.

"Don't worry," she murmured.

Her arms wrapped around him in a slow, achingly familiar embrace.

"I'll never leave you."

Jiho stood in front of the familiar apartment door, his stomach in knots.

It had been two weeks since Nari's death. Two weeks of waking up to her voice, feeling her touch, pretending everything was normal.

But it wasn't.

She was still with him.

Even now, she stood beside him, smiling softly.

"You don't have to be nervous," she said, tilting her head. "They love you."

Jiho's hands clenched into fists.

They.

Her family.

He shouldn't be here.

He shouldn't have to do this.

But Nari had insisted. "You should see them. They miss you."

And Jiho—despite every screaming instinct in his body—agreed.

So here he was.

Standing outside her childhood home, preparing to face the parents of the girl he murdered.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately.

"Jiho?"

Nari's mother stood there, eyes red-rimmed, dark circles beneath them. She looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept in days.

Jiho felt his stomach churn.

"Hi, eomoni." His voice came out hoarse.

Her expression softened. "Oh, sweetheart."

Before he could react, she pulled him into a hug.

Jiho stiffened, his breath caught in his throat.

"I was so worried about you," she whispered. "You were the last person to see her, and then you disappeared. I thought—"

She cut herself off, swallowing hard.

Jiho slowly, mechanically, raised his arms and hugged her back.

Behind him, Nari watched. Smiling.

They sat in the living room, the scent of herbal tea lingering in the air. Nari's father sat across from him, his gaze weary, but kind.

"I'm glad you came," he said quietly. "She talked about you all the time, you know."

Jiho's throat tightened.

Nari sat beside him, her fingers brushing against his arm.

"Tell them," she whispered.

He flinched. "I… I miss her too," he forced out.

Her parents smiled sadly.

"She loved you so much," her mother murmured. "Even when she was upset, she always said you were the best thing in her life."

Jiho's hands curled around his cup.

His stomach twisted violently.

Because she was still here.

Sitting beside him.

Hearing everything.

And still, no one else could see her.

Jiho's fingers twitched against the ceramic cup in his hands. The warmth of the tea didn't reach his skin—it felt distant, like everything else in this house.

Everything felt wrong.

Nari's parents sat across from him, talking—telling stories, sharing memories, smiling.

And beside him, Nari watched.

Jiho could feel her gaze, the weight of it pressing against his skin. He didn't dare look at her.

Because she was enjoying this.

Being here. Being remembered.

Being alive in the only way she still could.

"Do you remember her first birthday with you?" Nari's mother asked, her voice laced with fondness. "She came home grinning for days."

Jiho forced a tight smile. "Yeah… I remember."

He did.

The way she dragged him around the entire city that day, laughing as she pulled him into bookstores, cafés, and riverside parks. How she had held his hand the entire time, like she was afraid he would disappear.

How she had cried happy tears when he surprised her with a necklace she'd mentioned months before.

She had been so easy to please.

So grateful for the smallest things.

Jiho's chest tightened.

He had pushed her off a cliff.

And now, she was watching him recall the memories.

The warmth of the past felt suffocating.

"She always said you made her the happiest girl in the whole world," Nari's mother continued, sipping her tea. "Even when she had bad days, she said as long as she had you, she'd be okay."

Jiho swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

His hands felt ice cold.

"She was always like that," her father murmured, running a tired hand through his graying hair. "Loyal to a fault."

Jiho flinched.

His pulse hammered against his ribs.

Loyal.

To a fault.

His grip tightened around the cup, the weight of it grounding him—keeping him from shattering.

Nari hummed beside him.

Slowly, cautiously, Jiho turned his head.

She was smiling.

Her fingers curled gently under her chin, her dark eyes gleaming.

She was waiting.

Waiting for him to break.

Jiho's stomach twisted violently. He needed to leave.

But Nari tilted her head, her gaze playful.

"Don't go yet," she murmured. "They still have so much more to tell you."

And Jiho knew.

He wasn't allowed to leave.

Not yet.

Not until she was done watching.

Jiho hadn't expected to see Nari's friends.

But when her mother suggested he visit them, he found himself unable to say no.

Or rather—Nari wouldn't let him.

"You should go," she had whispered in his ear, her fingers tracing the back of his neck as he sat in her parents' living room. "They'll want to see you."

So now, he sat in a quiet café, the weight in his chest growing heavier by the second.

Nari's friends—Minji, Soyeon, and Hana—sat across from him, their expressions a mix of sadness and warmth.

And beside him, Nari watched.

Jiho didn't move. Didn't acknowledge her.

But she was there. Always there.

Minji was the first to speak. "It still doesn't feel real."

Jiho forced a nod. "Yeah."

Soyeon stirred her drink absently. "She talked about you all the time, you know."

His fingers curled into his palms beneath the table.

"She really loved you," Hana added, her voice barely above a whisper. "Like… more than anything."

Jiho's throat tightened.

More than anything.

More than herself.

More than her own survival.

Jiho felt his breath stutter. He clenched his fists beneath the table, pressing his nails into his palms.

Nari leaned in closer.

"They knew me differently than you did," she murmured, her voice light, almost teasing.

Jiho didn't react.

He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

Minji exhaled, shaking her head. "She was… complicated, sometimes. I mean, she'd get insecure, overthink things—but at the end of the day, she just wanted to be loved."

Soyeon smiled sadly. "She always said she was hard to love, but we never believed her."

Jiho's pulse pounded in his ears.

He had believed her.

And he had proven her right.

"She was so afraid of losing you," Hana said softly.

Jiho's body locked up.

He didn't breathe.

Didn't blink.

"She said you were the only person who ever made her feel safe," Hana continued. "Like she finally had someone who wouldn't leave."

Jiho felt the world tilt.

His chest tightened, air refusing to fill his lungs.

Nari was grinning.

He knew it before he even turned his head.

But still—he looked.

And there she was.

Dark eyes gleaming. Smiling.

Waiting.

Jiho's hands shook.

Nari's gaze softened, her voice almost affectionate.

"Isn't it ironic?" she whispered.

His breath came out in short, uneven bursts.

She tilted her head, fingers tracing invisible shapes on the table.

"You were the person I trusted the most."

Jiho couldn't take it.

He pushed back his chair abruptly, the legs screeching against the floor.

The girls looked at him in surprise.

"I—I have to go," Jiho muttered, his voice hoarse.

Minji frowned. "Jiho, are you okay?"

He barely heard her.

His vision was blurring.

His skin felt too tight.

His stomach twisted violently as he stumbled out of the café, gasping for air.

He needed to breathe.

He needed to get away from her.

But even as he rushed down the street, heart pounding , he knew—

Nari was right behind him.

And she was still smiling.

Jiho sat on the floor of his apartment, his back pressed against the cold wall, his breaths coming out in uneven gasps.

His body felt heavy, like he had been carrying something too big, too unbearable, for too long.

His mind wouldn't stop replaying the words.

"She was afraid of losing you."

"She said you were the only person who ever made her feel safe."

"She always said you wouldn't leave."

Jiho let out a shaky breath, pressing his palms against his face.

They had seen her as someone who just wanted to be loved.

And Jiho… Jiho had taken that away from her.

"You were the person I trusted the most."

He squeezed his eyes shut. His nails dug into his scalp.

He wanted it to stop.

But it wouldn't.

Because Nari was still here.

He didn't have to look to know she was sitting across from him, legs folded neatly, watching him fall apart.

"Jiho."

His whole body tensed.

Her voice was soft. Sweet.

Like she wasn't a ghost. Like she wasn't something he had put in the ground.

Slowly, reluctantly, he looked up.

She was smiling.

She was always smiling.

"You're thinking too much again," she said lightly, tilting her head. "That's not good for you."

Jiho stared at her, his heart pounding violently against his ribs.

The weight of her presence, the wrongness of it, pressed down on him like a vice.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered.

Her expression didn't change. "Doing what?"

Jiho's fists clenched. "Being here. Acting like this. Like nothing happened."

Nari hummed softly. "Because nothing has changed."

His breath hitched.

She leaned in slightly, resting her chin on her palm.

"I'm still your girlfriend, Jiho," she said. "And you're still mine."

His stomach twisted.

"I killed you," he choked out. "I pushed you."

"I know," she murmured, her voice warm, gentle. "But I forgive you."

Jiho shuddered violently.

His throat tightened, something ugly clawing up his chest.

This was wrong.

She should hate him. She should want revenge. She should be a monster.

But she wasn't.

She was kind. Loving. Devoted.

And that was worse.

Because Jiho didn't deserve it.

"You should be gone," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Nari only smiled.

She shifted closer, pressing her forehead against his.

His body locked up, his pulse erratic.

"You don't really want that," she murmured.

Jiho's breath came out shaky, uneven.

His entire body felt weak.

He could still smell her shampoo. Feel the warmth of her skin.

And for just a second—just a fleeting, painful second—he let himself believe she was real.

That she never died. That they were still together.

Because if she left—what would be left of him?

Who was he without her?

Jiho's vision blurred.

Nari's lips curled into something soft, understanding.

"You're tired," she whispered.

Her fingers ran gently through his hair, soothing him.

"You don't have to think about anything anymore," she murmured. "Just let me take care of you."

Jiho's throat locked. His body trembled.

His arms twitched, resisting the instinct to hold her back.

Because wasn't this what he wanted?

Someone to take care of him?

Someone who wouldn't leave?

His breathing grew slow. Heavy.

And for the first time since she came back—he stopped fighting.