devil or ghost? ;

A sigh leaves your lips as you walked down the hallway. "Jimin. Get your ass out of that room." you said, fatigue trailing off your tongue.

You needed sleep.

There was no way you'd ever enter that one room, and Jimin probably knew that. "B-but promise me you won't whack me," a timid voice echoed down the corridor.

An idea struck you.

You rushed to your room and picked a few country erasers - which you used to play games with - and walked stealthily back to your original spot.

Holding the erasers in one hand, a mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. On the other hand, you crossed your index finger over your middle finger.

"I promise," your tone was light and sneaky. The door squeaks open and a familiar turquoise-headed ghost pops its head out.

"Come on out,"

Your soothing tone assured the little ghost, luring him out. Once he moved away from the door, you pulled out the hand that you hid behind you.

Jimin's eyes were as large as soccer balls. Your eyes gleamed under the cove lights as you pick them up one by one, aiming it at the poor, helpless boy.

"H-hey! You-" he paused, hiding behind the door, using it as a shield. "You promised!"

You threw the last country eraser at the door before bursting out into fits of laughter. "This," you raised your fingers, "When I do this, it means I didn't really promise," you grinned, victory sprouted within you.

"That's not fair!" a pout formed on Jimin's lips as he walked out. His eyes darted to your hands, making sure there weren't any more of those 'bullets'.

"Strawberry, about that deal, we have to seal it up."

"What do you mean?" you frowned as he took a few steps towards you.

"You agree, right?"

"Yeah, what do you mean by-"

"Don't freak out,"

Jimin interrupts, placing his hands on the sides of your face. His palm cups your cheeks, fingers gripping your temple. He took another step forward and something soft met your forehead. His hands seemed to be able to conduct electricity. Every touch from him sent shivers down your spine.

You forgot how to breathe.

Jimin placed a soft, tender kiss on your forehead. Y/n.exe has stopped working. Your heart threatened to pump out of your ribcage as Jimin held his posture.

Seconds later, he detached his lips from your forehead and stared into your orbs.

There is was again.

The blue shade that flashed past his silver iris. His gaze was deep, dark, and enticing. The world seems to come to a halt as you stared back. You felt so small under his gaze. Inquisitiveness and exhilaration ran through your veins.

There was something, something he was trying to hide. It was almost as if the man in front of you was trying to up an act.

just what was he trying to conceal?

"There," he murmurs breathlessly, not breaking eye contact. "You can't break this deal," a smile formed on his lips.

"And what if I do? What? Are you gonna eat my soul or something?" you snickered, trying to lighten up the mood.

The spirit grinned.

Oh no. You did make a deal with the devil.

"Your soul will belong to me. Don't take it lightly, soursop, if your soul belongs to me, it means you serve me. Which also means, you'll live in hell with me." Jimin removed his hands from your face, walking back into your bedroom.

"W-wait, but you're a ghost, a ghost that those dreadful looking round things weren't looking for, so why would I have to go to hell? You aren't Satan or his minion demons." you trailed after the ghost, demanding for answers.

There was no way, no way were you ever going to hell. It was bad enough having a ghost living in your house.

"You made a deal with the devil, peaches,"

"You're a ghost!" you snarled, fury bubbling within you as you stared at the smirking wraith.

Did he have identity issues?

He'd argue back when you called him a devil, and now he's agreeing that he's those fat red thingies?

"We won't have to live in hell, if we don't get caught," Jimin replied, making himself comfortable on your bed.

God, the spectre never stops beating about the bush. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, let's go to bed, shall we?" Jimin pats the side of your bed, lying exactly where he did when you jabbed him in the jaw.

"Get off, park. You're sleeping on the couch," you glowered, smacking him in the head.

Your 'visitor' yelped, curling himself into a ball with his hands thrown over his head. "But you have two beds!" he protested.

"And this is mine. Furthermore, this is my house, you'll do as I say,"

A loud whine was heard from the cowering figure before he poofs out of your room.

Finally, peace. You snuggled into the one thing that never failed to make you feel safe - your blanket. But today, something else was the reason for the sense of security that wrapped around you.

There was one thought that lingered in your mind before you fell asleep.

What did he mean by not getting caught?

-

"Rise and shine, my cabbage," a familiar honey liked voice rang in your ears. You groaned inwardly, squirming on the bed. It was hot and uncomfortable.

The spirit stifled a laugh. "Brussels sprouts, we have things to do,"

Why does that voice sound so familiar?

"You have a good taste in colours," his tone was teasing, as if he was trying to flirt with you.

You didn't bother to open your eyes. You were tired. The last thing you wanted to do was to be woken up by some ghost that lived in your house.

"Especially when it comes to the colours of the bras you buy,"

Your eyes shot open and your saliva went down the wrong hole. What?! You sat up straight, letting out choked coughs while locking eyes with a smirking Jimin.

He was checking you out, eyes traveling up and down your body. You picked the huge, fluffy pillow on your side and threw it at him.

"Get out!" you screamed at the laughing spectre. What. The. Heck. You looked down, only to realise that your shirt had crawled its way up your body when you were squirming on the bed.

Red flushed your pale cheeks, both in anger and in embarrassment. Dang it, park jimin.

Cabbage? Brussels sprout? What was he? The king of naming others after fruits and vegetables?

You groaned softly as you stretching, a few cracks and pops left your body as you twisted it. You could barely memorise mathematical formulas and there that little punk was, naming fruits and vegetables you've probably never heard of.

"Jimin?" you called, walking down the hallway to the dining table. The turquoise-blue-headed male was sitting on a chair, pressing numbers on the cellphone you had left on the table last night.

"Do ghosts need to eat?" you yawned, grabbing a few eggs from the fridge. He just hums, vigorously pressing on your phone screen.

He better not break it.

"Jimin," you sighed, placing the brown, oval-shaped egg onto the table. The hard shell made a soft tok as it touched the table.

"We don't need to, but we can," he responded, still fascinated with your mobile. Why does it look like he has never seen a phone before?

You shrugged, that's good. More food for you, and you didn't have to waste money on him. You were about to head to the kitchen but Jimin's cheery voice stopped you.

"Broccoli, what does 'disabled' mean? Does that mean I got your password right? Why is this rectangular thing black?"

You froze.

"Why is it so chilly?" Jimin questions, shivering as he poked at the black screen.

You turned around, fixing your vexatious and glassy gaze on the oblivious boy. As if the spirit could feel your icy glares, he looked up.

Oh, only if looks could kill.

Jimin gulped, "D-did I do anything wrong?" he whispers, not risking the chance of angering you further.

You pursed your lips. A crack filled the tensed air. You were so frustrated to the extent that the eggs in your hand had cracked.

As they say, let's not waste food.

Jimin stared at you, then at the egg. Without hesitating, you threw all four eggs at the shrieking male.

"What-"

He ran, trying to avoid the eggs that were being thrown at him.

"Did-"

A half yelp, half screech resonated in the air. The corner of your lips rose as you eyed the running-drenched-in-egg-white-and-yolk spirit.

He runs behind the sofa, attempting to use it as shelter. "You mad lady! What did I do-"

Bingo.

He was too busy yelling to realise you were in close proximity, and that gave you the chance to shoot an egg into his open mouth.

"Pumpkin!" Jimin spat out the cracked egg, using his fingers to rub off the raw ovalbumin off his tongue. You guffawed at the soaked spirit.

While he was busy, you shot the last egg at his turquoise-blue shining hair. It cracked open and the insides were now flowing down his face.

His head shot up, eyes deadly menacing.

Oh no.