"I'll. Do what you said."

Can he step inside?

Yes.  Jeremy's sitting crossed-legged on the ground.

"—Sorry.  I'm sorry."

Well now he's pissed off again. "Are you. What could you possibly have to be sorry about."

"Can't you just hit me instead of expecting me to—"

"You know I kinda felt like it but now I don't, I have no idea what you're actually sorry about because you never tell me shit, you make your own decisions and reach your own conclusions and invent your fucking excuses in your head and run the fuck away rather than facing me like a man and so for all I know you're just sorry that I hurt my fucking fingers trying to dig into the dirt."

He shakes his head.  "No, for—thinking, for daring to think I know better than you, when, when I also—" he has to break to swallow— "possessed, and, and killed you.  And for—I don't think I can ever be better than this, unless—I still think you should go.  I wish you would."

"Why."

His face scrunches up.  "Because—I'm just too broken, to damaged, to exist, I think, and—I don't know how to stop, but I can stop getting it on you."  He glances up at Oliver, for just a flash.

Oliver cannot see him, of course, but he's also trying to look away, awkwardly, and pretend not to be listening to one side of a very emotional conversation.

"Jeremy, you're a fucking idiot. And I'm really mad at you. And I'm extra mad because even if everything you said was true, you still have the fucking spell book and you're still the only way I have to prove to other people that ghosts are real so from a purely practical perspective you're fucking me and my goals over by trying to lock me out of the house. The house that I own."

"It's not my fault you left it here.  I gave it to you."  He braces for something.

"It's an asshole move. And it's extra an asshole move that you just ran away and wouldn't listen to me and, what, was I supposed to just accept it when my—friend decided to just stone wall me like that? Did you think I was gonna be fine?"

He curls into himself even more, wrapping his arms around himself.

When he speaks, there's obvious crying creeping its way into his tone.  "I don't think we're friends."

"Well I thought so so it would've hurt just the same."

"I don't want to exist.  But maybe the easiest way to that is to make three more truth spells, and then you can just—have the other guy.  Instead of me."

"Well I don't want to exist every other Tuesday, join the club."

"Um."

—oh shit he totally forgot Oliver was there.

Oh shit he just had this extremely embarrassing conversation in front of a near-stranger.

Goddamnit.

"I'm not actually a suicide risk," he clarifies to Oliver.

"Good... to... know? Um, sorry, you can—keep pretending I'm not here—"

"...Are you not a suicide risk for reasons other than knowing ghosts exist," he wonders flatly.

"I'm not a suicide risk because I've had suicidal days since I was eleven and never actively contemplated means of suicide nor took any steps beyond wistfully fantasising and those are the criteria. I'm the kind of suicidal where my therapist would not be a mandated reporter. If I had a therapist."

It really sounds like he maybe should have one!!!!!

"Your friend seems nice but are you sure you want him to stick around here."

"I'd feel really rude kicking him out after dragging him here for no good reason. Maybe we could all just go inside, Park Jipyeong said the house should have power now although possibly the wiring won't work or something. Also maybe you could do something to further prove ghosts are real to confirm it so he's super super I'm not just schizophrenic."

"I can probably make part of him cold if he picks a spot."