Çetžak spends the rest of the evening together with Laž’ar. He sits with them on the couch, helping them with their history homework. He may not be too knowledgeable about current events, nor any events in the past several decades, but some history is easier. He can also wake the child up whenever they are beginning to nod off.

Once Laž’ar is finished with their schoolwork, they look at Çetžak with much expectation. Çetžak looks back in confusion until Laž’ar pokes him with his pen.

“Won’t you try the clothes? Just for a little?”

“Oh.” He nods cordially. “Of course.”

Çetžak picks out some garments that feel familiar in some ways, although they are also very foreign to him. While he changes, Laž’ar moves the table and places himself in one of the armchairs to watch.

When Çetžak returns, he’s met with applause.

“You make that look like it’s worth millions! I bet you can pull off anything!”

Çetžak smiles sheepishly at the clearly exaggerated and rather misplaced praise and goes through several more garments as requested by Laž’ar, getting the same positive response.

Eventually, though, Laž’ar’s visible fatigue is too much for the child. Çetžak expected this would happen, but the child held on longer than he thought they would despite bringing him out with them.

Somewhat regretfully, he tells Laž’ar, “I think it’s time for me to leave.”

Barely opening his eyes to look, Laž’ar hums sleepily.

Çetžak can’t simply leave them unconscious while seated when there is a proper bed for them, so he makes sure Laž’ar prepares for bed. Laž’ar follows him to the door, dressed in his nightwear, lids heavy. He leans against the doorframe, seemingly to keep himself standing up.

“Take care, hmm? I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“I will let nothing hurt me,” he responded with a slight smile.

Laž’ar unexpectedly embraces him. He freezes, not knowing how to react.

He returns it, then steps out. The door closes behind him. He waits for a long time before hearing the click of the lock. Satisfied, Çetžak steps away from the door and in the flickering lights of the hallway, he steps toward the elevator before the lights shut down.

The next day may arrive.

Early in the morning, a woman stumbles into the elevator. She’s in a dress with heels in one hand and a handbag in the other. Once out again, she tiredly approaches her apartment.

The light in the hall is dim and flickers like the bulbs might need changing soon, and she nearly misses a young man in his late teens or early twenties standing there, near her own home.

“Good morning,” he greets her.

“Good morning. You’re up early.”

The youth smiles. “You are awake quite late.”

She smiles a little, mostly self-mockingly, and turns to the door.

The lock clicks as she’s about to put the key in. She expects for a moment that someone is opening the door for her, but nothing happens. She tries it. It’s open.

“How strange…”

“Did your child forget to lock?”

“I… wouldn’t think so. You don’t think it opened by itself, do you?”

The youth thinks before he smiles. “I think that sometimes strange things happen, but there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She stares at him, sensing something’s off with him. He looks like any other youth dressed in jeans and a loose shirt, even if it’s difficult to see him properly as he’s standing in the shadows and the lights flicker.

She forces a smile, nods goodbye, and enters the apartment. She hurriedly locks the door.

As Laž’ar opens his eyes, the lights in his room flicker to life. He gets out of bed, thinking he’ll have to ask his mother to call an electrician about the broken lights.

He notices there’s a mess outside of his room. He looks around and finds his mother on the couch. She’s fallen asleep sitting up, but at least a blanket is covering her shoulders.

He sighs and picks up all the things she’s left around, including the half-eaten food on the coffee table.

He puts the dishes in the dishwasher, a little curious why his mother would stay up. He is clearly at home, so who was she waiting for?

Making as little sound as possible, he prepares for school and throws his bag over his shoulder. He steps out of the building to find Çetžak waiting outside in the rising sun.

“Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Happy birthday, Laž’ar.”

With some early rays of sunlight warming up Çetžak’s features, he looks very soft as he takes something out of his pocket. It’s not wrapped, so Laž’ar can instantly see it’s a small box. He takes it and is amazed by how it has an intricate design. It’s quite heavy and definitely not paper.

“Can I open it?”

“Yes, you may open it now.”

He opens the small box. Within, he finds a bracelet. He picks it up and looks at it. It’s rather simple, and the marbled beads in blue are smooth to touch.

Despite clearly seeing it and just as well understanding why he received it, he still asks, “What’s this?”

“A gift. Take it. Wear it.”

Laž’ar happily obliges and puts the bracelet on his wrist. “Thanks, it’s very pretty.”

Çetžak doesn’t say anything for a good while, but Laž’ar senses he wants to say something. Perhaps he’s gathering courage, perhaps it’s difficult to express. Doesn’t matter; Laž’ar had time and patience to wait.

“Would you like me to remain with you?” he finally asks.

Laž’ar chuckles. “Sure! Why not?”

Çetžak raises his hand and strokes Laž’ar’s hair. “Then I will always stay by your side.” He pauses. “Should I walk you to school? As long as the sun doesn’t rise too high, I have time.”

“Okay! Let’s go!”

Back then, his family had been afraid of evil spirits. Most of the various treasures meant to keep them away were useless. Çetžak knew this well.

But there was one item he knew was not a scam from some questionable exorcist. No. There was a beaded necklace his mother used to carry around, even if she seldom wore it properly.

At the time, it had seemed like an eccentric habit to Çetžak, but now he was thankful.

The beads weren’t discoloured but needed some care, so on the night before All Hallow’s Eve, Çetžak took the bracelet apart to clean each individual bead.

The string was too old and rotting away, so, with much care, Çetžak searched the mansion for a suitable string that would last for many decades more. The string he found was far too short for the purpose. He could only carefully choose which beads to add, weigh the beads and string in hand, and consider wrist size so as not to make it too long, short or uncomfortable.

Once done, he had repurposed the treasure his mother had carried into a protective charm for Laž’ar. That Laž’ar’s birthday happened to be close made things easy for him.

He didn’t know when that was, so he decided he’d give it on All Soul’s Day.

And Çetžak didn’t go back on his silent promise. Even if he hesitated a little, perhaps seeing Laž’ar’s mother before giving it away convinced him that this was right.

Now, as Laž’ar walks to school, Çetžak is next to them. From time to time, he glances at Laž’ar’s wrists. It does make him slightly uncomfortable, as if there was an instinctual aversion to the item, yet his wish to stay by Laž’ar’s side is too overpowering.

After all, he wants it so much that it has become his reason to exist. To protect Laž’ar is his sole purpose. He’ll never rest before he knows Laž’ar lives a good life, safe and sound, with no one ever harming them.

But he has claimed his little imp as his. No one will be able to make him leave.

The sun is slowly rising, and Çetžak feels the rays. He wouldn’t call it painful, but rather a discomfort that urges him to remove his presence. He changes sides, walking in the shadow, while Laž’ar can walk in the light.

Laž’ar is very good to him. There is no question why he does this, just acceptance.

As they are about to reach the school grounds, Çetžak stops.

Laž’ar notices and turns to him. “What’s wrong?”

“It is time to go. The sun will rise too much.”

“Oh.”

“But as we have arranged prior, I shall accompany you during your birthday celebration.”

“Please do!”

When Laž’ar gets out of his last class, he’s surprised to see Çetžak standing a short distance away from his classroom. The light’s no good, though, because he looks a little hazy.

Bright lights really are bad for the eyes. Maybe he ought to take after Çetžak and avoid them more. He should also complain to the school someday. But not on his birthday, and definitely not right after he finished his last class for the day.

He wants to go home so he can celebrate with Retnüir, Khanuk, and — of course — Çetžak.

Çetžak has clearly seen him and waves to him, then points in the direction of the door further down the hall. Laž’ar nods. Seeing this, Çetžak turns away from Laž’ar. Laž’ar approaches his locker.

The door down the hall slams shut and a classmate next to Laž’ar jumps in fright.

“Someone just left through the door; what did you get so scared for?”

The classmate looks around. “But who?”

“The guy who was over there?” Laž’ar points where Çetžak had been standing.

Several classmates look in the same direction. Apparently, they all must have been focused on leaving, because no one but Laž’ar had seen him.

Rude.

Annoyed by his classmates’ lack of basic observation skills, he hurries out, ignoring the few calling after him, asking where he’s going and saying they wanted to celebrate with him.

Çetžak stands in the shadows outside, smiling softly at him as he approaches. They need to say nothing, and Çetžak walks him home in silence.

He doesn’t expect Çetžak to say: “I will need to go now, but I will return later.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just that the sun has yet to set. I should not be out wandering so much.”

“Oh, right! You should have gone home already, right?”

“Something in that fashion.”

“Then I won’t hold you up any longer. Come when it’s convenient, okay?”

The hand Çetžak places on his head is ice-cold, but he only strokes Laž’ar’s hair twice before he puts his hand in the coat pocket.

“I shall return before your eyes swiftly,” Çetžak tells him.

Retnüir is already there when Laž’ar gets home. He got out of class earlier than Laž’ar today, so he went straight to Laž’ar’s. Laž’ar’s mother let him in when he arrived, and they made a cake together while waiting for the birthday child.

Retnüir hurries to drag Laž’ar away from the kitchen when he tries to enter. Meanwhile, Laž’ar’s mother puts the gifts and cake away.

Right as Retnüir is about to let go, certain that Laž’ar wouldn’t try to enter the kitchen again, he feels something freezing touch his hand. His eyes instantly turn to Laž’ar’s wrist.

A beaded bracelet.

Not just that, but something that looks positively cursed. He lets go faster than he has time to think.

“Where did you get that?!” he exclaims.

Laž’ar’s eyes widen slightly, his smile frozen. He raises his hand and looks at his wrist.

“It was a gift.”

“From who? Take it off!”

Laž’ar pauses. The clock in the sitting room ticks. Half a minute. A minute. Two.

It’s clear he doesn’t want to say anything and wouldn’t listen to reason. Despite feeling that the beads are too cold to touch, Retnüir tries to take the bracelet off. However, the remote on the coffee table crashes into the wall.

Retnüir retracts his hand. It’s definitely a cursed bracelet.

Laž’ar looks at the remote that has fallen onto the floor. Retnüir is very certain the expression on his face holds absolutely no fear and just curiosity.

“Take…” Retnüir swallows. “Laž’ar, take it off.”

“It was a gift,” Laž’ar repeats as he reaches for the remote as if it hadn’t just flown off the table by itself and slammed into the wall. He seems to have the same attitude towards it as he would have if a cat had pushed it off the table. As he places the remote on the table again, he says, “I’ll wear it.”

“I think you should take—”

A vase topples over.

Laž’ar just about catches it. “Damn. Is there a mini earthquake or something?” He puts it back in place. “I want to wear it. Çetžak gave it to me.”

“That guy’s no good. That bracelet’s clearly curs—”

Retnüir clams up when he sees the window handle move upward slowly, almost as if threatening him. When he stays silent, the handle returns to its position.

“It’s probably not an earthquake,” he squeezes out, then tests the waters by adding, “but maybe the building’s haunted?”

Laž’ar laughs. “What the hell, Ret? You really think ghosts are real? You should grow up.”

Before Retnüir has time to scold this reckless kid, the apartment door opens, and Khanuk shouts a greeting. Laž’ar hurries over there, while Retnüir doesn’t know where to go. He’s too frightened to go anywhere.

Thankfully, Khanuk joins him in the living room and he moves closer to him. He refuses to leave his side for the rest of the evening while also pointedly avoiding looking at Laž’ar’s wrist.

He jumps when the lights flicker after Laž’ar makes a joke.

“Khanuk,” he whispers when they’re alone for a moment, “would you believe me if I say this place is haunted?”

Unfortunately, Khanuk has no time to answer, because Laž’ar returns with two glasses of soda.

“Mum said she’ll have to go soon, so we’ll have to eat the cake ourselves.”

“Why can’t we do it now?” Khanuk asks.

“Çetžak hasn’t arrived yet.”

Retnüir takes his glass, feeling annoyed. “Let’s not wait for—”

Çetžak steps into the room as if he just materialised at the mention of his name. “Laž’ar.”

Laž’ar turns around. “Çetžak!” He beams a smile. “When did you arrive?”

“Just now, naturally. Can your mother eat cake with you now?”

“Your timing is perfect, actually!”

Retnüir and Khanuk look at each other. Retnüir sees in Khanuk’s expression they think the same thing: Khanuk had a habit of locking the front door when entering, so they would have known if someone arrived.

They turn to see Çetžak look at them both while Laž’ar’s going to share the good news with his mother. A dark smile plays at his lips as he places a pale finger in front of his blue-tinted lips.

Shhhh.

The End.

Author’s Notes

When I wrote this a year ago, I had this wish to make it increasingly creepier and darker as it progressed. Whether I managed, I can’t say. At least it ends darker than it began.

I hope it does, anyway.

I also hope there were enough hints to give away Çetžak’s nature as a ghost. And that he’s a ghost (and not a vampire or something like that).

I also, originally, thought of having something like an epilogue, which would give some insight into what happens next but also some insights into why Çetžak stayed at the mansion. I decided against it. Of course, that leaves this on a very open-ended note, but I hope that doesn’t ruin the end but rather allows people to make up their own ideas about Çetžak never leaving Laž’ar’s side.

I never tire of Laž’ar. You’ll definitely see him again, in a different setting, many times more. Because who said an author can’t write about the same character a thousand times in a thousand different settings?

Laž’ar isn’t affected by horror. He’ll jump when there are jump scares, but other than some thrill, he doesn’t feel much.

This year, the films aren’t as mild as the previous ones, and he glances at Retnüir.

Sure enough, his chosen big brother has at some point got his hands on a cushion and now hides behind it, jumping at any sudden noises.

It seems Retnüir’s truly scared of ghosts.

Well, if Retnüir refuses to admit it and continues to push his own luck, what is Laž’ar supposed to do about it? He’s not going to pretend he can’t handle horror. Getting Retnüir to admit it seems like a fun endeavour anyway.

He grabs another slice of pizza. There are also some dishes his mother made before she had to head to work. It should have been enough for more than four people, but Laž’ar doesn’t seem to be able to satisfy his hunger. His friends don’t seem to have noted anything odd, so perhaps he’s overthinking it and just ate poorly earlier. It’s made him so hungry that his appetite is even unaffected by the bloody scenes.

That’s probably it.

A chill seems to run down his spine. He instinctively turns to look at Çetžak. He’s looking at him, the light of the TV casting shadows that make him look inhuman, especially when a red light hits, giving his otherwise black eyes a red, almost demonic tint while his skin somehow looks even paler than usual.

It’s captivating. More so than the films themselves. He wants to reach up to see if this demonic view is real. It’s a silly thought.

“Do you want some?” Laž’ar asks and raises his hand with the slices.

Before Çetžak can answer, a screech from the TV startles Laž’ar. He jumps and nearly drops his food.

He hears a low chuckle, and the chill of Çetžak’s arm envelops him in a reassuring manner.

“Did that frighten you?”

Laž’ar side-eyes him. Çetžak’s constitution must be especially strong because he has shown no signs of getting startled even once. “No,” he tells him.

It’s becoming quite late at night.

Çetžak can see the other three yawn from time to time, and especially Laž’ar does it frequently.

“Will you be able to sleep like this?” he asks them. “Or does this scare you too much?”

Hearing the question, Laž’ar’s eyes narrow into crescents, a smile tugging at their lips as they look at Çetžak. Their expression is full of mischievous intent. It’s the most adorable thing Çetžak has seen. He wants to protect it. Obtain it.

“What if I say I did get scared?” Laž’ar asks softly.

Çetžak freezes, then lowers his head. He focuses on how Laž’ar’s body radiates heat. It’s so comfortable. It has been very long since he could regularly feel any warmth at all. He whispers, “I shall protect you from everything that scares you.”

Laž’ar hums. “And if you scare me, what would you do?”

“What would you want me to do?”

“Nothing in particular,” Laž’ar tells him. “Everyone can be frightening at times. It’s about why you scared me, not that you did.”

“Have I ever frightened you?”

Çetžak can hear Laž’ar’s smile in his reply. “Never.”

All is well, then.

He glances toward Khanuk, who’s giving him a cautious look. It’s no matter that he overheard them, Çetžak determines.

Laž’ar unexpectedly wakes up around six in the morning. He rubs his eyes and looks around, feeling a bit disoriented and very confused.

Retnüir is still hugging a cushion, a frown on his face. He is likely having a nightmare. Khanuk looks completely knocked out, drooling on the armrest he’s leaning his head against.

He gets up. He’s uncertain when he fell asleep, and he’s hazy about what happened before he fell asleep, but he can accept this. It’s not the first time he’s fallen asleep to the genre. Besides, it was a good sleep, despite waking up on the couch, squeezed into it together with Khanuk.

As he’s technically the host, he boils water to make coffee for his friends after a change of clothes.

Khanuk’s, oddly enough, the first one to wake up from the scent of coffee. He comes into the kitchen while stretching. Laž’ar stops taking out ingredients for breakfast to greet him.

“Where’s your friend?”

“He probably went home? He said he could only stay during the evening and still stayed until past midnight, at least. Most likely to something like 2 in the morning. Perhaps he needed to go to school.”

“Laž’ar, that friend… Something’s off about him.”

“He speaks a bit strangely, but that’s it, isn’t it?”

“His clothes didn’t seem that modern.”

“Maybe he likes the look? Besides, he didn’t wear anything that would actually be out of fashion.”

Khanuk fell quiet, then took some bread slices to put in the toaster. Laž’ar studies him apprehensively.

Why would they be so hostile against Çetžak? He’s such a nice guy. A true gentleman, really. Nothing on this planet could change that impression, Laž’ar’s sure.

“When and how did you meet him?”

“Just a while ago. He lives…” Laž’ar hesitates, but likely not long enough for Khanuk to notice, “…in the area of the haunted mansion.”

“That so?”

“Yeah?”

“We only went there like a week ago. How close can you even get in this short time?”

“Khanuk, come on, man! Some people you just click with!”

“And some friends you don’t make. There’s really something off about him.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. I can choose my own friends! Man, you two really ruin the fun, don’t you? First Ret and now you!”

“I’ve had my share of bad friends, Laž’ar. I know when I see someone bad, all right?”

Laž’ar can’t help but feel upset. “I hope you also see the door because I don’t want to see you!”

The lights in the kitchen flicker before the entire apartment is shrouded in darkness. For a moment, Laž’ar stares at Khanuk. He’s about to ask what’s going on when the lights outside go out as well.

Laž’ar gazes as the entire area becomes black, and he can only see the lights further away within the city from the window.

“What, the power went out?” they hear Retnüir ask incredulously from the living room.

“Uh, yeah, seems like it.” Khanuk’s voice sounds a little strained.

Laž’ar laughs. “What a coincidence! I said I didn’t want to see you, and now I can’t.”

That is too funny to him.

Khanuk laughs with him, but it sounds nervous. “That’s a coincidence, all right.”

“Did you watch too many ghost stories? There’s nothing odd about a power outage. Wait a bit — I’ll get some light for you guys.”

Laž’ar touches the counter to find a cabinet where they keep candles. He puts one in a holder and lights it up. He places some tea lights on a dish and puts it on the dining table.

Candle in hand, he goes to get his phone on the coffee table in front of the TV. He leaves the candle for Retnüir in there and uses his phone to light up his path to the bedroom, where he digs out an old torchlight and some batteries.

Finally, he gets another one from his mother’s room and a lantern she kept on a shelf.

He gives Retnüir one of the torches.

“Let’s just have breakfast and head out. There’s no point in staying home if I have no lights or anything.”

Retnüir nods.

“Gotcha!” Khanuk half-shouts from the kitchen.

Laž’ar returns from school in the evening. They take the elevator and approach the door. They seem to be in a good mood, unlike how they felt in the morning.

When Laž’ar takes out the house key, Çetžak steps out of the shadows.

“Are you home now?”

Laž’ar jumps and stares at him with wide eyes over his shoulder.

“Did I startle you?” Çetžak can’t help but ask.

Laž’ar shakes their head, then takes a shaky breath.

“When will I get used to you sneaking up on me all the time?” They laugh. “You really have a knack for giving surprises.”

“My apologies.”

Laž’ar hurries over to him and takes his hand. “Oh, no, don’t worry about it! I think it’s cool. You’re like a ninja or assassin.”

“Not like a ghost?”

“Ah? Did what Ret and Khanuk say get to you? No, you’re not like a ghost if that’s not what you want to be like.” A twinkle appears in Laž’ar’s eyes, and he leans closer. “Would you haunt me if you were a ghost?”

“Yes,” Çetžak says without hesitation. It’s only natural. He wants to always be by Laž’ar’s side.

Laž’ar’s stunned, then laughs helplessly. “You really need more friends.”

No, he doesn’t.

He only needs Laž’ar by his side. He hasn’t been happy in so long, so why would he leave his happiness?

He doesn’t say this. Instead, he takes the key out of Laž’ar’s hand, feeling the warmth of their fingers like a pleasant wave. He puts the key into the lock. With a click, the door’s open, and he holds the door for Laž’ar.

“Thanks,” Laž’ar says cheerily as they enter their home.

“How was school today?”

Laž’ar puts away his bag and turns to Çetžak. “It was all right.”

He studies Çetžak for some time, then speaks again. “Would you like some new clothes? I’m too short, but we can go shopping for clothes.”

Çetžak contemplates this. There is still sun outside, if only a little, so he shakes his head. “Not right now. Perhaps in a little while. Do you wish to eat something first?”

“Sure! Want to eat together? I think there are still some leftovers from last night.”

Çetžak truly hasn’t had any appetite in many years, but seeing Laž’ar’s expression, his heart softens. He can’t help but agree.

He helps Laž’ar set the table, but when Laž’ar asks him to use the magic reheating device, he politely declines. He’s afraid he might break it, and he’s not sure what such a strange invention may cost.

Thus, Laž’ar handles the reheating and places a variety of foreign food on the plates.

He can’t say what it tastes like but he takes in the pure joy radiating from Laž’ar. It warms his cold limbs and makes him want to be closer. To soak in that warmth.

Whatever Laž’ar wants, Laž’ar should get. This person should be treated like royalty, spoiled by everyone like the country’s most beloved child.

But that’s not the case, Çetžak understands. That’s something he has to fix, he determines.

The sun has set by the time they’re finished, and it’s not long before the stores will close, but Laž’ar doesn’t mind. He doesn’t feel like Çetžak needs other clothes. He looks good in what he wears.

However, he also can’t allow anyone to bully him. Especially not his other friends.

He may have told Khanuk that Çetžak might like to wear this, but he feels it’s actually not that Çetžak likes it, as much as it’s the only thing he owns. His parents seem to have a peculiar taste.

Çetžak would likely be happy with whatever Laž’ar got him, so he’ll have to choose carefully. Perhaps some basics today, and then work from there, who knows?

They enter a shopping centre in the centre of the city. It’s one that stays open late and will do. Nothing particularly fancy or unique, but good enough.

“Are you good with jeans?” he asks as they enter a store.

“Yes.”

“Great!”

They go through the store to get to the men’s department, and Laž’ar immediately starts browsing the various designs, sometimes holding a pair of jeans up to determine if they’re good enough.

“What size are you?” he suddenly asks.

Çetžak doesn’t immediately reply. He then points at a pair. “That one.”

Laž’ar’s quiet for a moment, just staring at his friend. “How about we have you try them on to make sure?”

“We have little time, no? It is the size of that one, Laž’ar. I am certain.”

Laž’ar picks the pair up and checks the size. He’s hesitant, but he still chooses to believe that Çetžak somehow just knew. Perhaps he saw it before.

He picks a few pairs, then grabs Çetžak’s wrist. He jolts at first, but after the initial surprise has left him, Çetžak obediently follows along wherever Laž’ar brings him. He lets Laž’ar pick what he wants and only ever points at anything when Laž’ar asks for a size.

Perhaps he’s afraid of germs and doesn’t want to touch anything at the store?

Well, that’s all right.

They’re out within an hour, Laž’ar holding several bags of clothes. Not all are for his stealthy friend. On their way home, he doesn’t make Çetžak carry anything.

And Çetžak doesn’t offer to either.

Khanuk’s last lecture is late today. His professor — or whoever schedules these things — just had to schedule the lecture at seven in the evening. On Halloween.

But between a late lecture on Halloween and a scolding that could last just as long, he’d never choose Retnüir’s anger over boredom.

As he steps out of the classroom with forty, fifty other students, he opens up the group chat between him, li’l Laž and Retty. Despite the surrounding noise, he taps the voice message button.

“Guys, I just got out of class. I should be at Laž’s in like twenty minutes, half an hour, something like that. Could one of you order some pizza? I’m famished.”

A minute later, he receives a message back.

Retty: Go eat something first, dumbass.

Khanuk laughs and records a new voice message. “Thanks Retnüir. I knew I could count on you to feed your best friend.”

“You wish. I’m your babysitter,” is the angry response he listens to on the bus. “You better be there within twenty-five minutes.”

Exactly twenty-three minutes later, Khanuk meets up with a terribly annoyed Retnüir, who had come to the bus stop for him. He is carrying two pizzas to share between them and Laž’ar.

Khanuk takes the food off Retnüir’s hands with a grin. “Let’s head to Laž’ar’s. I wanna eat right now.”

“Sure. But you picked nothing too bad, right? Laž’ar’s only fifteen.”

“Don’t worry. I made sure even a seven-year-old would be able to sleep.”

Khanuk sees Retnüir narrow his eyes dangerously.

“…or maybe not seven. But fifteen should be fine. Promise.”

Retnüir huffs. “I doubt it.”

“It’s not like we’ll actually sleep.”

Entirely as expected, Retnüir rolls his eyes.

They reach the apartment complex where Laž’ar lives. Compared to the area where the two of them live, the building looks old and dilapidated, but they understand the circumstances. As far as they know, Laž’ar’s father is apparently married to some other woman, and Laž’ar’s mother has contact with neither him nor her family.

They started this tradition to ensure Laž’ar wouldn’t be lonely because of this, and that many would celebrate Halloween. Meanwhile, Laž’ar’s birthday was just days later, and it wasn’t certain it would be celebrated.

Only last year did they make it a film marathon, though. For the two or three years before that, Retnüir refused with the argument that Laž’ar’s too young, and they also couldn’t just whisk away a kid to go trick-and-treating with him without his mother’s permission.

They take the squeaky elevator to the floor Laž’ar lives on and then approach the door. Khanuk opts for knocking rather than ringing the doorbell. It opens, and Laž’ar smiles brightly at them both.

“Pizza!”

Khanuk laughs and is about to say something when he pauses.

Behind Laž’ar stands someone about their age, pale as death, with lips that might be a hint too purple and eyes catching no light. He’s staring at Khanuk with an empty expression.

A chill runs down his spine when Laž’ar says, “This is Çetžak. He arrived a moment before you did. You must have just missed him riding the elevator, right?”

No, they definitely had not. The elevator door had been open downstairs for them to see when they had entered the building. There was no one there.

For some reason, Khanuk turns a little pale, and he stares at Çetžak with a strange look. Laž’ar turns to him as well.

“Do you know each other?”

Çetžak shakes his head. “‘Tis the first time we meet like this.”

Laž’ar looks at Khanuk in confusion.

“I’m just hungry,” Khanuk squeezes out before he adds some noticeably false enthusiasm. “And Retty bought pizza! Oh, but we only have two.”

Laž’ar smiled. “That’s okay. I have some more food, actually. Besides,” he turns to Çetžak, “you don’t eat pizza, do you?”

“I do not.”

“See? No problems there!”

Khanuk wears an even odder expression, but he pushes Retnüir in through the door and makes a beeline to the kitchen with him.

Laž’ar can only ask Çetžak, “What’s that about?”

Çetžak shakes his head, indicating he doesn’t know.

Laž’ar closes the distance, peering up at him with a mischievous smile. “How could you not know something like this? You’re the reason they seem to avoid me now. Woe me, what am I supposed to do with you?”

Çetžak blinks, then places his hand on Laž’ar’s head, stroking his hair. “You can do whatever you want, Laž’ar. I would never be offended.” The softness in his voice is unmistakable. “But I would never think you would try to offend me, either.”

Laž’ar chuckles. “What are you, really, my guardian angel?”

Çetžak pauses minutely, enough for Laž’ar to notice. The expression also stiffens just as much before softening.

“If that is what you want me to be.”

Laž’ar senses that Çetžak left out something at the end. He doesn’t pursue it or ponder what it could be. Everyone has secrets. Who is he to pry?

What Çetžak doesn’t say is perhaps more his wish, rather than Laž’ar’s. And it’s Laž’ar’s wishes that matter, not his. As long as he can be with Laž’ar, he’ll do anything they want. Anything for this little creature, this beautiful thing, this living being, this wonderful imp.

But the words still linger on his tongue.

For as long as you live, I will let no one ever harm you.

He wishes he could say it. He won’t.

He lets his hand slide down the back of Laž’ar’s head. It rests momentarily at the back of his neck. An urge rises in his heart, but he stifles it, locking it away.

No one could harm his little imp.

He raises his hand again, stroking Laž’ar’s head once more. Then his hand slides to Laž’ar’s upper back. This puts him at ease. He can feel the heartbeats and the blood flowing. As long as Laž’ar is well, everything will be good.

“What are you doing?”

Çetžak stares blankly at the one called Retnüir while letting his hand fall. He already misses the warmth that only someone as lively as Laž’ar would have.

“Is something the matter?” he asks after a moment.

Retnüir narrows his eyes. It makes the chubby boy look like he’s squinting behind his glasses.

He’s obviously not as brilliant as Laž’ar, but he seems to be much more observant of other things. He grabs Laž’ar’s arm and pulls him away from Çetžak.

“Who are you?”

The words could have been like daggers, considering the sharpness with which they are said. It’s more a threat than a question. Çetžak isn’t threatened by it, however. Why would he be?

“Didn’t I say this is Çetžak?” Laž’ar asks, tilting his head, eyes filled with the innocence and naivety of a child.

It’s so very charming.

“He’s another friend of mine,” Laž’ar adds.

“Friend?”

“Why else would he be here?”

Retnüir glares at Çetžak. “Go away.”

Çetžak ignores him and looks back at Laž’ar, who looks up at him with arms spread in an “I don’t know what to do with him” gesture.

“Laž’ar has not told me to leave, so I shall stay.”

Letting go of Laž’ar, Retnüir takes a step forward. His jaw is tight, and his fingers quiver.

He’s frightened, Çetžak realises.

The boy makes a movement to grab Çetžak by the collar.

He does approve of protecting Laž’ar. He doesn’t approve of taking Laž’ar away from him. The lights of the sitting room flicker a little as anger rises in his heart. He avoids the hand that freezes for a moment, then smoothly moves to stand next to Laž’ar.

“Ret, you’re overreacting. I can have other friends, you know?”

Retnüir stares at Çetžak, then turns to Laž’ar, speaking in a measured manner, “You need to choose your friends very, very carefully, Laž’ar. You never know who — or what — may latch onto you.”

Çetžak lowers his gaze.

“Now you’re being rude. Damn it, Retnüir. We were going to have fun, and now you’re trying to kick my friend out.”

Retnüir swallows. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s just watch the film. But just so you know, I don’t want to sit anywhere near…”

Retnüir motions toward Çetžak. It’s offensive, but it’s not towards Laž’ar. He also knows this boy wants to protect Laž’ar. That’s fine. Çetžak has his Laž’ar, and Laž’ar isn’t unhappy.

“Come on, can’t you be a little nicer? You’re totally my big bro, I promise, but don’t be this overprotective. Please and thank you.”

“Whatever,” Retnüir spits out.

“What’s going on?”

It’s Khanuk. He also seems to sense something, but he is more considerate, perhaps. Or he is uncertain what to make of Çetžak.

“Ret’s being an arse. Khanuk, do something about it. He’s trying to kick Çetžak out!”

“Retty, don’t be like that. Our li’l Laž is growing up. Let him make new friends. He’s not stupid and can judge people just fine.”

Retnüir doesn’t seem convinced but only lets out an angry grunt before he approaches an armchair and sits down on it as if he’s silently protesting this entire event. Meanwhile, Khanuk places slices of some sort of bread with toppings on them and a tray of glasses filled with some unknown beverages on the low table and sits down on the couch.

He smiles at them. “Come on, now. Are we gonna have this marathon or what?”

Laž’ar shines up. “We are!” He grabs Çetžak’s wrist and pulls him along, sitting down on the sofa. “Besides, I’m starving!”

Çetžak doesn’t mind this Khanuk so much, so he gives him the benefit of sitting on Laž’ar’s other side. Retnüir refuses to look away from him, glaring at him as if he’d simply fade away like that.

Naturally, he can’t just fade away.

For the next few days, Laž’ar returns to the so-called haunted mansion to visit Çetžak every evening.

When he returns today, there is light shining from a window on the second floor, and he can vaguely make out a silhouette in the window.

He can’t help but smile.

Most of the mansion isn’t in use, but a housekeeper must come a few times a week to keep the place clean. Çetžak’s parents don’t seem to really care, because Laž’ar hasn’t seen even a hint of them.

Having a busy mother who works nights, it’s not like he doesn’t get it can be hard. So, as long as he’s home before something like four in the morning, his mother would never know he wasn’t at home when he was supposed to.

Even if she found out, she wouldn’t really say anything.

He walks through the iron gate with no reservation, but instead of the main entrance, he walks to a side door. It doesn’t have the lavishness of the main entrance. 

Çetžak showed him it’s faster to get to his living “quarter”, as he called it.

Sometimes Çetžak speaks a bit strangely. This occasional odd phrase, or that word Laž’ar has never heard a living person say before but has read once or twice in literary class.

But that’s all right! Laž’ar understands him, and he figures Çetžak’s parents must be pretty rich, so it might be, like, an… upper-upper class thing?

Çetžak doesn’t seem like some rich brat otherwise, so Laž’ar likes him a lot.

“Good evening.”

Laž’ar jumps and looks behind him. Çetžak stands a few steps away from the door. Where did he come from?!

“Hi, hello, good evening!” Only after he finishes speaking does Laž’ar realise he actually whispered from the scare.

“Did I frighten you?”

“You sneak up on me like that, of course, I’d get a little surprised! Don’t just tip-toe over to say hello behind me while we’re in darkness.”

Çetžak smiles softly and closes the distance. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Laž’ar thinks that he should probably feel threatened by Çetžak looming over him like this, yet his far stronger thought is that Çetžak is pretty good-looking.

The moonlight makes his pale skin look almost translucent, and the entire person otherworldly. That’s one-of-a-kind handsomeness you don’t see every day! Laž’ar is certain about this.

“It is almost All Soul’s Day.”

For a moment, Laž’ar can’t keep up. “All souls…? Oh, yes! Halloween! That’s tomorrow!”

“All Soul’s Day is two days after.”

“I see! I didn’t know that. That’s my birthday, by the way!”

“So you were born during Allhallowtide.”

“That seems to be the case?” Laž’ar laughs. “Maybe that means I’d attract ghosts if they were real?”

“Perhaps that could be the case, but who knows?”

“Never mind that. Are you free tomorrow? Ret and Khanuk are coming over for a film marathon.”

“I have no plans.”

“Why don’t you come over?”

Çetžak thinks for a moment, then nods. “If Laž’ar will not be bothered by my presence, please do not mind if I do.”

Laž’ar tsks. “Why would I invite you if I’d get bothered?”

Çetžak raises his hand. It’s cold as it brushes against Laž’ar’s cheek. He pats Laž’ar’s head, stroking his hair in a friendly manner. “Some would be bothered even if they invited me. Especially if they invited me.”

“That’s silly!”

Çetžak retracts his hand and looks toward the gate. “How about we take a walk today?”

Laž’ar nods. His phone shouldn’t shut down at random then.

As the sun sinks below the horizon, Çetžak watches Laž’ar open the gate again. He glances back at the mansion.

He hasn’t left the grounds of his home for so very long. He no longer remembers why, but he had no reason to until now. He also doesn’t want to confine Laž’ar to the mansion, so stepping outside makes sense. Besides, if he no longer knew why he ought to remain, why would he remain in the first place?

Laž’ar must notice his pause because they look at him curiously.

“I made sure the lights were off,” he explained. “They are.”

“Oh! That’s good! You use candles a lot, so it could be bad if you left them burning.”

Çetžak smiles as he steps through the gate and enters the light of the outside. The lamps are blinding, and he raises his hand to shield his eyes.

“These are brighter than candles. Must be annoying going outside in the evening and get blinded every time.”

“I mostly stay at home in the evenings.”

Laž’ar hums. “Do you have a curfew?”

Çetžak needs a moment to think. “I do. But there is time left before then. Do you?”

Laž’ar laughs a little. “Technically, I do. But no one’s at home, so I can stay out past then.”

“Why do you live alone?”

Çetžak feels worried. Laž’ar shouldn’t be alone. He deserves people to care for them and serve them like the child of a monarch.

“I don’t. My mother works nights, so she’s not home until early morning. Nothing stranger than that.”

“I see.”

He’s still not at ease. He says nothing about it.

The two of them go down the street, side by side. Whenever dogs or cats notice them, they bark, whine, or hiss.

This confuses Laž’ar. “I wonder what’s wrong with them.”

“Perhaps they have things to say,” he glares at a dog, which backs off with a whine, “but no one to understand them.”

Laž’ar looks at Çetžak. “Do you have something to say?”

He can’t bear it when Laž’ar looks so genuinely concerned. “I have many things to say, but few are important.”

“Everything you want to say is important. Even if it isn’t to anyone else, it is to me.”

There’s a mischievous look in Laž’ar’s eyes, and he speaks in a flippant manner, but Çetžak can only see the corners of Laž’ar’s mouth moving up without true teasing.

He averts his eyes, tacitly accepting Laž’ar’s words.

Not too far from the mansion, there’s a park. Because Çetžak told Laž’ar to pick their destination, this is where they go.

He thought of something else first, but the dogs barking at them changed his mind. If they had to deal with animals like that, finding a more secluded location would be better.

The light of the park is dim and spooky, without many lamp posts. He believes Çetžak would enjoy this better as he keeps the lights at the mansion dim. Sometimes it’s like the candles are exhausted and wish for a holiday.

So perhaps Çetžak prefers somewhere without the city street lights.

Çetžak looks around. “Is this park new?”

Laž’ar laughs. “If you consider twenty, thirty years new?”

“So not quite, then?”

“No.” Laž’ar’s confused. “Haven’t you been here before?”

“I have not explored the area around the mansion. I can get everything I need there.”

“You should go out more.”

Çetžak looks at Laž’ar with a soft — almost fond — expression. “I will go anywhere you bring me.”

This tickles Laž’ar’s mischievous heart. He needs to tease him.

As he smiles, his eyes turn crescent, his impishness on full display.

“What if I bring you to hell?”

“I would gladly go with you, nonetheless.”

Laž’ar doesn’t expect this response, and he is stunned into silence.

After an awkward silence, he asks tentatively, “What about heaven?”

Çetžak pauses, visibly troubled. “If heaven does not let me in, then I will still follow you, even if it is by force.”

Laž’ar feels there’s something very off with that statement, but he can’t say what part doesn’t feel strange to hear, so he can’t tell what’s wrong.

Perhaps it’s nothing.

They fall into silence after this, mindlessly walking. It’s decorated by the people living nearby. There are a few pumpkins here, some skulls there. Spiders and webs hang off leafless branches, and someone had hung a skeleton up in one. It almost looks like it hung itself.

Laž’ar is startled when he sees this. The skeleton wears clothes, so at first glance, it doesn’t look like another decoration. But when looking closer at it, and daring to touch it, it’s really just plastic.

It’s then he realises Çetžak’s looking at it intensely. Not with fear but something else.

Whatever it is, it doesn’t concern Laž’ar.

They walk for a little over an hour, and they exit at the other end of the park.

Laž’ar sees the flickering light of a vending machine which sells drinks and snacks.

“Wait here!”

He goes over to it, and after thinking for a while, he buys a couple of drinks. Bottles in hand, he returns to Çetžak, who studies him as if he’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

Perhaps he’d been too cooped up, and right now someone friendly who doesn’t think his house is haunted is the most fascinating — what does Laž’ar know?

He motions toward a bench. “How about we go sit there for a while?”

“It is cold. Sitting may not be suitable.”

Laž’ar considers this. “There’s a bridge over the pond. Wanna go there then?”

“If you wish to go there, then I will gladly follow.”

Laž’ar shakes his head with a silent laugh, then walks back to the small bridge together with Çetžak.

He holds up the bottles while leaning against the railing.

“Which one would you want?”

Çetžak studies them both, then points. “This one.”

Laž’ar hands the pumpkin tea-flavoured drink to him, but Çetžak doesn’t take it. After an awkward moment, he places it on the railing next to Çetžak. He now holds a blood-red raspberry-strawberry drink.

He opens it and takes a taste.

Not bad.

He drinks a third of it right away.

It’s strange, but he started feeling incredibly thirsty ever since they left the mansion. Maybe he didn’t drink enough while at home? That must be it.

Feeling better, he asks, “So what do you usually do?”

“Read. Play chess with myself.”

“Oh, so that chess game is yours?”

Çetžak nods. “I rarely have an opponent, so I have grown accustomed to playing by myself. Some of the games take months because I wait between each move.”

“Teach me some time. I won’t be great, but it should be better than playing by yourself, right?”

Çetžak smiles again. Moonlight hits him, illuminating him in a way that makes it look like he might disperse into smoke.

Well, that’s a ridiculous thought.

“If you desire to indulge me in such a way, then I can only humbly accept you as my student.”

“This student humbly requests my teacher not to be too harsh on me. I’m not a strategist.”

“I would never be harsh on you, Laž’ar.” 

Laž’ar empties the bottle and drops it into the bin near the bridge.

“I like spending time with you, you know—” 

He turns back to Çetžak who still stands on the bridge. Perhaps it’s a bit foggy and perhaps Laž’ar’s tired, because Çetžak really does look hazy to him.

He approaches him as he speaks. “It’s getting a little late. I should go home.”

Çetžak nods. “That sounds good. I will walk you to where we need to part.”

Laž’ar notices Çetžak hasn’t touched the drink. No matter. He bought it without considering what Çetžak might like. He takes the bottle, receiving an apologetic smile from Çetžak in return.

“All right.” Laž’ar smiles. “Let’s go.”

They’re not far from the mansion, but the route back is a little longer. Çetžak follows Laž’ar anywhere he goes — until they stop.

“My bus stop’s over there,” they point forward, “the mansion’s that way.” They point to the right now.

Çetžak nods.

“So we’ll have to split here, but we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

He doesn’t want to leave Laž’ar. Not now. Not anytime.

Why should he go back? What’s there to see, when Laž’ar gives him so much more, even during brief moments?

Çetžak nods once more. “Of course.”

Laž’ar smiles brightly. “And on my birthday!”

Çetžak nods yet again. “Naturally.”

“Great! I’ll see you then. Bye!”

Çetžak watches Laž’ar as they wave to him, then turn. They hurry away, not turning again.

Çetžak doesn’t look away once.

He doesn’t want Laž’ar to leave.

Çetžak doesn’t want to leave Laž’ar.

He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t.