"Thank you. I can't wait to read these." NamJoon tapped the stack of three books that sat next to his plate on my dining room table and then relaxed back into this chair. Smiling at me. Warm. Happy. "And I've really enjoyed this meal. I...really like talking to you."

"Yeah. The conversation's been great." It was a big surprise. I'd expected things to be awkward. To be grasping for things to say. Tongue tied.

But he was better read than I'd expected and more knowledgeable. He knew about a lot of things, not just math and mystery novels. It made him interesting to talk to.

And he...understood the things that I talked about when it came to psychology. He found them fascinating. It wasn't what I'd expected. It was very satisfying to speak my thoughts, ideas and opinions aloud. It was something I'd never been able to do. I'd avoided people and the outside world since I'd started seeing ghosts. I didn't have friends.

The closest thing I'd ever had was HoSeok. But with him, talking about psychology had been talking about work. So the topic had been off the table. Not that we'd done a lot of talking, anyway.

NamJoon's eyes shifted from me and traveled around the room. Taking in the wards that covered the walls. Littered every surface. "Did you make all this stuff?"

It wasn't the first time he'd taken a moment to check out my wards, but it was the first time he'd asked about them. "I made most of it. It's my hobby. Keeping your hands busy is powerful. It can quiet your mind and give you space to really think."

He nodded. Reached into his pocket and pulled out the peach pit rose that I'd given him. Sat it on the table. "Did you make this?"

I watched it wobble on the table after he released it. Very relieved that he was carrying it with him. "No, I bought it. My carving skills aren't that great. Hold on a sec."

I went into the living room to grab a small basket full of carved peach pits. He pushed his place out of the way so that I could set them on the table in front of him. "These are some of the ones I've done."

He looked through the carvings. Murmured at what he found. Finally pulled one out and held it on his fingers. Rubbed it with the pad of his thumb.

"That's a salamander." I felt a little breathless. It meant something that he'd pulled one out and was paying attention to it. It meant that it would be especially powerful in protecting him. "You can have it."

He nodded. His eyes not leaving the carving. "I like it. I know it might sound silly, but...I think the rose has helped me. I feel more comfortable when I have it with me. I would like to keep this one. Thank you."

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Started explaining his feelings with logical psychology. "Just knowing you have a good luck charm or something like that can really help you to feel better. More confident. It's a psychological phenomenon. Like the placebo effect."

He was nodding. Taking a last look at the salamander before slipping it into one pocket and the rose into the other. "I hope that works with the carvings in my house. You did a lot of work today. I wouldn't want it to be wasted."

"I believe it'll work. You'll have to let me know right away if you notice a difference."

He'd decided that he'd get the most benefit from a change in his bedroom since he'd been having a lot of trouble sleeping. I'd spent several hours working on fixing the carvings nearest his bed. Erasing the wrong marks with wood filler. Adding to the carvings where necessary.

"I'm surprised that you're so artistic...or is it more like arts and crafts? Crafty? I really didn't expect it."

His eyes and voice reflected that he was still trying to figure me out. To make all the pieces come together. It probably didn't help that his eyes kept straying back to a large ward that hung on the wall behind me. A length of heavy chain, the kind you'd find at a construction site, was draped across the wall like a banner. Multiple ribbons were tied to each link of the chain, every one of them covered in symbols written with a mixture of my blood and black ink.

If I was an artist, if I was into arts and crafts, most of my works were far from pretty. HoSeok had used the word 'disturbing' and I was watching very carefully to see how NamJoon reacted.

It was like a psychological experiment. He liked me. He seemed to find me intriguing. He'd grown more interested in me during our dinner conversation. So he was turning over the odd things about me. The strange 'art' that I made. The fact that they covered every possible surface in my home. The fact that I didn't leave my house. He was looking at all of them from different directions. Finding the right angle to make them acceptable. Just as HoSeok had done when he'd labeled me bohemian.

I was creative. Artistic. A free spirit. Eccentric. Fascinating. He was avoiding dozens of negative ways to describe me and the things I did. All to make it okay for him to be attracted to me. To get closer to me.

It was good. I wanted to get closer to him, too. He was nice. He was fun to talk to. We'd get along very well. I'd push things forward to a certain point, until we were having sex. Then I'd stop. Leave it at that. Allow no feelings to take root and grow. No deep connections to spawn.

It wasn't a perfect plan. He probably wouldn't want to be my fuck friend for the rest of his life. He'd meet someone else and move on just like HoSeok had done. But it would help now. It would help for as long as it lasted. And I'd learn from it. When he was ready to move on, hopefully I'd be better prepared to find someone to replace him.

"Why don't we wash the dishes together? I helped make the mess, I'd better help clean up." He was smiling again. Temptingly. Dimples appearing in his cheeks. My heart suddenly dipped.

I'd always been focusing on so many different things. Getting information. Finding the right words to say when I wasn't used to conversing. Passing off lies about practicing for a play. The wards, the ghosts, the danger. I hadn't looked at him properly. I hadn't seen him. I'd seen a list of annoyances and problems to be solved.

Even that night I was looking at him as a solution to my problem. A patch for the hole in my aura. I'd had a lot of fun talking to him, but that had felt like nothing more than a perk. But this, his curving lips, gently flushing cheeks, sparkling eyes...I wanted him.

My skin was tingling, my body heating up, my heart pounding a little faster, blood quickening, breath shortening. This was awareness. This was desire. I tried to step outside myself, to look at it, to analyze it, but that was impossible. I was caught up in it. Lost to it. Trapped by his gaze. Ensnared by the sound of his voice.

It made doing dishes together a task fraught with emotion. He washed. I rinsed and stacked the dishes in the drainer. He talked. I did my best to keep up. While my mind raced. Bounced from one inappropriate thought to another. While my heart skipped, plunged, soared. Drawn by his voice, his laughter and deep chuckles.

It was a new feeling. Not desire and attraction, I'd felt those before. They were nothing new. With HoSeok they'd been pure and straightforward. With NamJoon, they were tangled up with other feelings, clouded by the things I'd learned about him, the things I liked that drew me nearer, made me want to learn more. By curiosity and confusion, expectation and apprehension.

And the nervous high of the unknown. Did he want me? He wanted me, right? That's why he'd asked me out. Why he was there. Why a little star shone in his eyes. Why there was so much enthusiasm in his voice and animation in his movements.

But what would happen? When would it happen? How would it happen? I didn't know anything about dating. This was only the first one, and I was sure it wouldn't be like the day HoSeok got flirty and we had a little talk and just went for it. This was different. This was slow. Like playing a game with hidden cards and blurred intentions.

It was exhilarating and scary all at the same time. I was full of the hope of what could be and fear of what might not happen, so worried that I might make a wrong move. I couldn't help but wonder if it was supposed to feel this way. On television people were generally cool and quippy or a clumsy, nervous, goofball. Was I a goofball? Could he tell? Would he mind? How was I supposed to carry on an intelligent conversation when I felt as if I was standing on the edge of a tippy boat?

When I finally followed him to the front door, I was actually feeling relieved that he was leaving. I needed time to calm down and put things in perspective. It felt as if everything was racing forward, my heart and mind set to high speed, even as we walked placidly through my house.

He turned to me when we reached the door. A gentle smile on his face. "I've been meaning to tell you that you look really good tonight."

"Thanks."

I'd ordered some clothes online. A pair of black slacks and a black button up shirt with a faint purple stripe. And I'd taken a shower. And I'd cleaned my house. I'd done all the things a person should do when they were preparing for a date. I was doing my best to make things work.

He raised a hand and slowly drew a knuckle down a long lumpy line under my shirt. "You don't have to hide your necklaces. I like them. They're like a signpost that points to your inner layers."

All I could do was nod. His nearness and the deep hush in his voice had my breath locked in my throat. My body frozen.

"And this one." The pad of his thumb fell on a larger bump in the center of my chest. "This one's a peach pit?"

"Yeah." My voice came out rough as I forced my vocal cords to move. "It's really old. More than three hundred years. It was carved by a Chinese monk."

"I want to see it next time. I want a closer look."

His hand was rising. His thumb hooking under my chin, tilting my face up. He was there. So close. Descending. His mouth touched mine. Slightly off, hitting awkwardly and then sliding into place, fitting perfectly..

I was sighing. My whole body relaxing. Melting. His lips were so warm. Moving gently over mine. Light. Tentative. And I could feel it. The way that the movement of his lips on mine was slipping through my veins. Healing me. Strengthening me.

It was all too brief. I wanted and needed so much more. But he was pulling away. A flush coloring his cheeks. He raised his hand to rub his fingers over his nose. "I'd like to do this again soon. Maybe we can watch a movie or something?"

"Yeah." I somehow managed to speak. "That sounds good."

I wanted to step back into his arms. Pull his lips down to mine. Close my eyes and take everything I needed. But that would be wrong. I had to follow the rules and I wasn't even sure of what they were. I had to follow NamJoon's lead.

"And you're coming over tomorrow to work on the carvings again?" When I nodded he reached for the doorknob. A big smile on his face. "I'll be looking forward to seeing you then. Goodnight."

He opened the door onto the night. Wails and shrieks pierced the air. The ghosts were especially loud. Riled up by the kiss. By the scent of passion when so many of them were clinging to this world because of love. By the happiness and exhilaration that must have been coloring our auras. By the promise that the hole in my aura would soon disappear. Maybe it had already begun to shrink.

I stepped out on the porch. Gave NamJoon a smile and a wave and a goodnight. Feeling a little hopeful and just plain belligerent. If Namjoon hadn't been there, I'd have turned and flipped the ghosts off.