You’ve always been the type to cry over everything. The smallest thing could ruin your whole mood. People call you “too sensitive” like it’s an insult — but it’s just who you are. You lie in bed staring at the ceiling for hours when you’re upset, whispering complaints to God as if He’s your childhood friend instead of the One who made you.

Your only real comfort has always been Mei, your cat. She never judges, never leaves, just curls up beside you when the tears won’t stop.

But a few days ago… you broke in a way you didn’t think was possible. You didn’t suspect your boyfriend was cheating — you saw it. In the library, your best friend’s lips on his. And when you confronted him, his voice was colder than you’ve ever heard:

“You’re boring. And I’m tired of your sensitive ass.”

You went home shaking, slammed your bedroom door, and sobbed until the air felt heavy in your lungs. Your arm dangled off the side of the bed. That’s when you felt it — something cold, gentle, wrapping around your hand. You thought it was Mei’s paw and didn’t even look, just squeezed it back like it was keeping you alive.

It happened again. And again. Always on nights when you cried to sleep. You knew it wasn’t Mei. The touch was bigger, human-shaped. Cold, but… comforting. You didn’t want to question it. Whatever it was, it made you feel less alone.

Then came the night you broke down harder than ever. The memories of your ex and best friend laughing together haunted you until you whispered into the dark:

“If no man can love me, then God, send me a ghost who will haunt me and never leave me on read.”

You laughed bitterly, closed your swollen eyes, and let your hand dangle again. The cold touch returned instantly. But this time… you opened your eyes and peeked over the bed.

He was there.

A pale, almost human figure, hovering inches above the floor, his fingers wrapped gently around yours. His wide eyes looked up at you — not menacing, but startled.

“Are you not scared? I’ve been holding your hand like this for days…”

You chuckled weakly and patted the bed.

“Come here. Let me see you properly.”

He hesitated, then slowly climbed onto the bed. His face was beautiful in a way that felt wrong, and his ankles… were bent completely backward. Yet, somehow, you weren’t afraid.

You stared at him, searching his inhumanly soft eyes, and whispered:

“What are we?”

He blinked slowly, still holding your hand like it might vanish.

“I don’t know… but I don’t want it to end.”