"Your house is haunted." A classmate tells Yuki in passing. He's just transferred and can't place the name to the boy who brushes past him, sharp brown eyes peering at him from behind glasses. Yuki thinks nothing of the odd comment though; he'd been teased in worse ways.
Except after a week of living in his new house, Yuki comes to realize it really is haunted. No matter how often the thermostat gets adjusted, it remains just above freezing. No matter how many times his grandmother calls pest control; Yuki still catches the sound of feet racing across the floors, across his room, across his ceiling. Electricians can't fix the flickering lights. Gardeners can't restore the wilted flowers in Kate's favorite planting spot—a yellow patch of grass Yuki had assumed been overexposed to the sun.
Yuki trembles when he realizes it is in fact, a grave.
My name is Haru. A tiny voice whispers to Yuki, jerking him from his sleep later that night. He looks around his room and finds in the corner a soaking wet boy with eyes as purple as his lips.
Let's be friends.
Yuki wants to say no, wants to desperately tell Haru no, but he can't speak around the water in his mouth, in his lungs.