All Chapters of Haunting Romantics : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Ben woke as though he had been pulled abruptly from deep water, his lungs burning as he dragged in a breath that felt too thin to satisfy him. The weight of the dream clung to him, not fading the way ordinary dreams did, but settling into his chest like a memory that had already begun to root itself there. For a long moment, he lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to separate what he had just seen from where he was now.His room slowly came into focus, the familiar shapes of the furniture emerging from the dimness, but the sense of her presence did not recede with waking. It lingered in the air around him, close enough to feel, heavy with emotion that had nowhere to go.Ben turned carefully onto his side, afraid that even a careless movement might disrupt whatever fragile equilibrium had formed between them.“You are all right,” he whispered, though he was not entirely sure whether he was speaking to her or to himself.The air beside him cooled faintly, a subtle response that nev

By the time evening settled over the house, Ben had stopped pretending that he was not unbelievably horny.The closeness of her presence followed him from room to room, an invisible thread tying his awareness to hers. It did not feel intrusive. It felt attentive, as though she were watching him not out of curiosity but out of something more personal and intent. Every movement he made seemed to register with her, and every time he felt the air cool beside him, his body responded with a quiet, involuntary awareness that he could no longer pretend was only emotional.He tried to distract himself with work, with small tasks that required focus, but the tension inside him only grew. The memory of her fear from the dream and the softness of her presence when he had woken that morning had braided together in his chest, forming something that was both protective and yearning. It left him restless, his thoughts circling back again and again to the invisible figure who lingered just beyond his

Ben realized the problem late in the afternoon. He could feel the closeness between the two of them, but something was missing.She was there. He could feel her the way he had come to recognize her presence now, a subtle pressure in the air that shifted when he moved, a cool attentiveness that followed him from room to room. But there was a restlessness to it that had not been there before, an unsettled quality that made it difficult for him to focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time.He set his tools down in the living room and leaned against the back of the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. Guessing had worked in the beginning. Interpreting flickers, chills, and sudden movements had felt almost intuitive at first, but now it felt insufficient, like trying to hold a conversation through a wall.He was hyperaware of the temperature changes. The lights would brighten just slightly, enough to catch his attention before dimming again.“I don’t actually know what you’re

She felt it before he even said it.The shift in him.The subtle change in the rhythm of his thoughts. The way his attention began to stretch outward rather than settle inward toward her. It was not sudden. It was gradual, like a tide pulling away from shore.He was going somewhere. Somewhere, she couldn’t follow.He had not spoken the words yet, but she felt the intention forming.She had learned him the way she once learned the weather. The tightening of his posture. The way he glanced toward the door. The faint hum of decision gathering behind his eyes.He was going to leave the house.The realization did not feel like jealousy.It felt like falling. A pit of dread opened inside her. He would leave, and she would remain here alone again, trapped inside the house with no way to measure the passage of time. He could be gone an hour or a year, and it would feel the same. Without him, time slowed to a thick crawl. He was her point of reference, her sense of motion, her proof that momen

Ben woke with a sharp inhale, his whole body jerking as though he had been pulled upward from deep water.The room's darkness was disorienting. For a moment, he felt misplaced inside his own skin, as if part of him had not fully returned. His chest heaved, sweat clinging to the back of his neck and dampening his shirt. His senses were still tangled in sunlight and dust and dread, caught somewhere between past and present.Then the ceiling came into focus.He was back in his room. In his house.Or rather, he was in her house.His heart pounded with the remnants of her fear, the echo of it still lodged in his ribs. He knew how stories like this ended. If movies and books were even remotely accurate, people did not become ghosts after peaceful deaths. Something violent had happened. Something final.She had died.Probably in this house.And after what he had just seen, he was certain that man had something to do with it.Panic began to build in his chest and throat, tight and rising. She