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atzfilm · 2 years ago

Text

love you to death (m);

pairing; death!mingi/f.reader

rating/genre; mature, fantasy/mythical, angst

summary; everyone who has ever loved you died horrifically. you’ve given up on love, until you find a man who keeps on saying he’s Death, willing to help you. for a price, of course.

word count; 25.5k

warnings; death (lots of it), illnesses, impending death, major character death, lots of angst, a lot of religious references (please do not read if you’re sensitive to this), suicide mentions (nothing happens), greek mythos mentioned (not accurate, just based around it)

You were loved in your dream last night. It was an indescribable feeling. The way their arms wrapped around you. The lack of fear expressed in your body. You felt their love through each fiber of your being. It was wondrous and calming. It was unlike anything you've ever experienced. For the first time in your short life, you felt safe. When you woke, the feeling still lingered. Like a soft kiss to your skin, telling you that it will be alright.

It was gone as quickly as it began.

Your fingers dig into your sheets. You squint from the rays streaming through the gap in your curtains. Soon, that ethereal feeling disappears with another breath. You rub your arms, throwing your legs over the bed's edge. The sinking despair seeps back into you as you stumble through your home. Making it through another long day.

It was your curse. To remain unloved until your last breath. You aren't sure when it started. Your childhood wasn't the greatest; your parents died before you were born. You were taken out of your mother's womb at a mere five months. And after that, it was history. People thought that both of your parents dying was just a coincidence. But then, unexplained occurrences often happen around you. Bodies dropping at the blink of an eye when they've gotten close to you. In the beginning, you cried. You couldn't understand why it happened. Why were you cursed to live this way? Did you do something horrendous in your past life? Those questions often drifted through your mind until it became a numb hum in the back of it. A reluctant acceptance.

You've had friends for only a moment. You're sure that back when you were in elementary school is when it became apparent that death followed you. Your friends died one by one. You were interviewed by the police the third time it happened, but nothing came of it. There was nothing they could prove that made you the culprit for these sudden deaths. Parents cursed at you anyway, calling you a child killer. You were moved from foster home to foster home when they learned of your background. You kept to yourself in the classroom, never had a friend of your own past your preteen years. You grew used to it. Being called weird wasn't anything new to you. And up to now, it's all you've ever known.

You stare into the mirror, lids heavy as you drag your brush over your teeth. You've settled for an online job; less people to deal with means less of a chance for someone to love you. The only other interaction you have with people aside from a webcam is in the markets to buy groceries. Unfortunately you couldn't quite afford ordering groceries online anymore, so the tense, quick trips to the store were what you had to do. You grew wiser each time you went. Made a list right before the trip and memorized where items were. Made paths that got you in and out quickly. And since today is your day off, it’s another run to the market for the week.

You wrap a scarf around your damp hair, balancing your toothbrush between your teeth as you tie it back. Once you’ve assured that it’s stuck in place, you spit out the foam, rinsing with the almost empty mouthwash and make it out the bathroom. Your eyes flick to your plants, still lively after years and years of taking care of them. The only living thing that you could keep in your house that can’t possibly love you back. You touch the leaves as you walk past, whispering good mornings. The tug of your sandals on your feet and you’re out the door. You grab your bike, adjusting your helmet on your head, then you’re off.

You live in a small, college neighborhood. Your neighbors are student roommates usually; each year another group thriving off the newfound freedom. And more often than not, they grow to despise you. Not for your lack of trying, though there is plenty of that. For the hellos that are ignored and the knocks on the door not answered. Someone being antisocial isn't new nor unexpected to them, but the blatant lack of acknowledgment of their existence seems to piss them off. But many want to be friends with you, inviting you to their parties or asking for directions to a particular place within the area. You did so, at first. And that only led to another death.

Another soul perishing at your hands.

The market is only a few blocks from your home, thankfully. You park your bike and lock it in the rack, grabbing your tote bag and entering the store. It's quiet enough, only elders shopping around this time. You've picked this time specifically for that. It's a morbid assumption, but older people are more often riddled with diseases and conditions that cause them to forget easily. It's enough for you to remain unknown in the neighborhood. They often assume you're a student shopping early.

You glance at the list, following the path you've already drawn out in your head. Produce, Aisle 2, Dairy, Aisle 7, Bakery. It's simple enough, your routine every time you enter. You stop outside Aisle 2, a blockage preventing you from entering. You grip your list in your hand. There's not enough food left on your shelves to last until tomorrow. But speaking to someone–

You close your eyes for a brief moment. It's fine. You can go to a different store for noodles. You turn on your heel, entering the other sections before checking out. Luckily this one has a self-checkout. It's not sensitive like the others, beeping each time you place a finger on the weighted scale.

How long did it take to get to the other market? You haven’t been in so long, though you should have in case something happened to this one. You tuck your groceries neatly in your bag, turning around. Your head immediately hits another, your body stumbling back and hitting the floor. Your apples scatter, panic immediately rising in your chest as you ignore the man you just bumped into. You scour the floor, throwing them in your tote despite how careful you were before. Your timing is messing up by the second, grabbing the last one you see on the floor. You look in your bag. One.. Three…

“You forgot one.”

You tense up. His voice is low, barely audible. You don’t turn up your gaze to meet his eyes, instead bowing slightly and grabbing the fruit from his hands. You’re careful not to touch, though your pinky slides across his thumb. Your thoughts don’t linger on it much, stepping around him and exiting the store.

The ride home feels prolonged despite how fast you’re pedaling. Cars beep around you as you make your way to your apartment, locking your bike on the rack and running up the steps to your home. You shut the door quickly, chest rising and falling. There’s no reason to be this afraid, that you know. Not one instance of people dying from you was because of ‘love at first sight’, but you’ve never wanted to take the chance. Because when you lower your guard for a brief moment, life just loves to hit you with the reality of your situation. No one can ever love you. And that means you will have to be lonely for the rest of your life.

You dump the tote bag on your counter, glancing over the items. It’s not enough to last you the whole week, so now you have to make time to take another trip. Preferably to a different market. You hold your head in your hands, eyes flicking to your plants. The lily seems a bit droopier today. Very much echoing your own mood. You clear your throat, rough from not speaking all day.

“You’re quieter than me today, Lily,” you move closer, touching the petal. It falls off and you widen your eyes, glancing at the soil. You slowly take her into the kitchen, touching her soil. She isn’t that moist, not enough to be overwatered, but you check anyway. Separating the soil from the roots, you see clear signs of root-rot. You sigh, leaning your elbows against the sink. “You can’t leave me too,” you murmur, slowly placing her back into her pot. A loud boom makes you jump, turning around and looking out your kitchen window.

Younger people, not far from your age, knock on your neighbor’s door. They hold bags in their hands, speaking to one another loudly. You’ve never seen them before (yes, you keep tabs on your neighbors), so you shut the blinds just as one of their gazes moves to your window. You tense up, walking over to your door and latching the top lock. Soon enough, you hear knocks.

“Yoo-hoo!” One of the men knocks again, ringing your doorbell over and over. “I know you’re in there.”

“Wooyoung can you stop being annoying for one day?” Another voice hisses, a low oof coming from said man. “Yeah, now stop ringing the bell.” He clears his throat. “Hi, sorry to bother you. Our friends next door aren’t home and we were wondering if we could drop this off to you so you can give it to them?”

You stare at the closed door. The options in your head only seem dire, though the chance of you knowing them outside of this brief interaction is minimal. They won’t ever see you again, and if they do you’re likely to ignore them. But opening the door to strangers even without your “condition” isn’t something smart to do. So you remain silent, staring at the door.

“Oh. I know this is a strange thing to ask, but we won’t be back in town for a few days and I know they need it right now—” he hesitates. “I can just leave it outside the door? And you can pick it up?”

“Why are we trusting a random woman to hold their shit? She could just steal it,” Wooyoung whispers, another painful sound falling from his lips. “What the hell, San!”

“First off, you don’t know how to whisper. And two, we’d know we gave it to her to hold, asshole. She isn’t just going to steal it and run. She lives here.”

“She could be a squatter.”

“You’re completely stupid, aren’t you?”

You open the door, a squeak falling from what you can only assume is Wooyoung. He holds his arm, rubbing it slowly as he grins at you. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, brown hair sticking up every which way, pajamas hanging from his frame. San looks a bit more put together, though he just wears sweats instead. He holds a package in his hand, smiling at you slightly.

“I really don’t mean to bother you and I know you must be busy. We just didn’t have many options left, and they really needed it. I know they’ll be home in the evening. If you don’t mind,” he looks at you, desperation in his eyes. Your eyes flick to the package in his hand. Bearing the responsibility of it is not what you want, but if it’d get them out of your hair…

You nod, pointing to a spot next to your shoe rack. He thanks you, placing it there and bowing quickly.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung adds, still holding his arm. “Are you a student? I mean, I really never see you around campus, so—”

“Really, Woo?” San frowns, looking at you. “Sorry about him, he really doesn’t know when to stop talking. I, uh, wrote our names on it so they know who it’s from. I actually put our phone numbers there too, in case they don’t show up by night. Though I’m sure they will.”

He stands there, hands tucked in his pockets. You glance in between them before nodding again. Recognition crosses his face, a quick glance to Wooyoung. They communicate with that brief look, Wooyoung walking back down the path before him. San thanks you again, bowing deeply before rushing after his friend. You watch as they both leave, walking back to the university. Their change in behavior is a bit strange, until you realize why. More than likely they think you can’t speak. It’s happened before. Just another thing you’ve gotten used to not doing. Having a conversation leads to dead ends, literally. They seemed nice enough. You take a glance at the package, seeing their names marked across the box.

“Oops,” you mumble, shutting the door behind you.

Aligning with the amazing luck you have, your neighbors haven't come home all night to get their package. You're a bit shocked– there hasn't been a time when they've stayed away. Were they on a vacation you didn't know about? Did they catch traffic on the way home? Either way, that package is still sitting by your door in the exact spot. You hadn't dared touch it. In fear of what’s inside or the repercussions of being curious you’re not too sure. Life has taught you that things don’t exactly happen for no reason, so the box will be sitting there. Forever, if it must.

You let out a sigh.

“Two idiots,” you murmur, slowly standing up from the couch. You enter the foyer, crouching down as you examine the box. It’s innocent enough, the outer appearance revealing nothing about what’s stored inside. Your eyes flick to the numbers on the box, a frown slowly etching itself on to your face. You have a phone, sure. And it’s one of the only things you’ve splurged on. But the only contacts you have in it are the landlord and police. You glance at the numbers, deciding to put them both in a group chat so you can send a quick message. And that’s it. No more communication.

You: Your friends haven’t showed up. Should I leave it on their steps or beneath their mailbox?

You pause, staring at the message. Is that enough information to not extend the conversation further? You slowly delete your message, retyping.

You: The package is still in my foyer. They haven’t come home yet, and this neighborhood isn’t busy enough for someone to steal it. I’ll leave it to the side of the door in case someone passes by or they may want to steal. Or you can come pick it up, I’ll leave it outside my door.

You reread it over and over. Maybe a little bit of information is better than a whole paragraph. You rub your face, eyes flicking over your screen. Perhaps the reason you don’t have friends is because you can’t draft a simple text. You delete the whole paragraph, sending a few words and hitting send.

You: They aren’t home and it’s almost 1am. What do you want me to do with the package?

You place your phone on the counter, grabbing an apple. You stare at it, waiting. College students are always up at strange hours of the night so you don’t doubt they’ve probably gotten it. You wait patiently.

Two hours.

You rub your eyes, the message still unread. Ah, they did say they were traveling out of town, why would they interrupt their trip to message a stranger back? You grab your phone, placing it on the charge and throwing yourself on the couch. You tuck your blanket over your head and beneath your chin so that only your face peeks out, and shut your eyes.

The loud horn of a truck wakes you up, your body rising to a sit as you rub your eyes.

You reach for your phone, blink again and again as you open your messages. There’s more than you expected; in fact, you’re sure there’s at least ten in your inbox. You rub your face, scrolling through the messages.

Unknown, sent at 3:41am: oh shit -san

San, sent at 3:41am: I really thought they were coming home, I’m sorry

San, sent at 3:52am: if you could keep it for a few days

San, sent at 3:52am: that’d be great

San, sent at 3:59am: I’m not too sure when woo and I will be back, thx!

Unknown, sent at 4:42am: hey!

Unknown, sent at 5:01am: oops, forgot to send the rest >:P

Unknown, sent at 5:19am: this is Wooyoung btw! Leaving it in your doorway is best kkk, idk when san is going to stop by? Might be a while, ill let you know :P

Wooyoung, sent at 6:00am: and um, sorry about this. and sorry for calling you a squatter, you seem like a good person! Also, sorry for messaging you so early, I never sleep hhh

San, sent at 8:03am: I took his phone away lol;-; let us know when you see these messages!

You snort, scrolling through the messages sent over and over. They seem to be bickering with one another, Wooyoung jesting and San scolding him often. It’s humorous, small giggles escaping your lips as you look through the chat. You’re about to send a message back when you see three little dots appear at the bottom. You stop typing, waiting for one of them to respond. After about thirty seconds of this, a message finally appears.

Wooyoung, sent at 9:13am: saw u typing >:)

You roll your eyes, sending your message.

You: I’ll keep it near my door. You can pick it up when you’re back just give me a few hours’ notice. Thanks.

The response is almost immediate.

Wooyoung: PERFECT. ttyl stranger

His chat bubbles disappear, your eyes flicking over it again and again. There’s nothing else, so you place your phone back on the table.

You hold the package out, the quick steps of San a bit alarming. It’s not only that he’s walking fast, no. He balances a cup between his teeth, hands tucked in his pockets to hide from the cold breeze of dawn. You were barely awake when they messaged you, two blinks away from falling back to sleep. He stumbles up your steps. Wooyoung is farther behind, taking his time as he eyes his friend. He’s tucked in a large overcoat, ears hidden underneath furry earmuffs, body trembling as he rubs his hands together. It’s barely into the middle of November, but you’re sure snow may come even before the start of next month.

San finally makes it up your steps and takes the cup from his mouth, dimples shining at you. Unlike Wooyoung, he wears only a light sweater. A shiver rolls down your spine just looking at him. He must be freezing, right? The blush coating his cheeks and red tips of his ears match the apples on your counter. You feel a bit bad, knowing you're only a few steps away from the heat of your home. But the last thing on your mind is inviting them in.

“They told me they were going away for a few days,” San shutters, taking the box from your hands. “I really didn’t know, I’m sorry about that.”

You wave him off, tucking your hands back in your pockets. “No big deal.”

“Holy shit, she can speak!” Wooyoung yells from the bottom of the steps, eyes wide. A grin plasters itself on his lips, eyes giddy. “I really thought you couldn’t.”

“Fucking Woo,” San rubs his face, sheepishly meeting your gaze. “He doesn’t really hold back, I’m sorry about him.”

You shrug your shoulders, taking a step back into your home. San glances at Wooyoung, before meeting your gaze. “We were thinking if you’d like, we can grab a coffee? Or whatever from the coffee shop down the street. I saw one of their disposables on your counter last week, so I thought that you’d enjoy it? Unless you don’t, and it was a first time thing. It’s, uh, your choice.” He tucks the package under his arm, rocking on his heels.

San definitely talks exactly like he texts. Wooyoung moves up the steps, lingering behind his friend. “We’re not taking no for an answer, stranger.”

You narrow your eyes. He means no harm in inviting you, that you know. But the looming thought of being friendly with them only makes your anxiety bubble in your chest. A coffee couldn’t do any harm, could it? They seem to read the look on your face, San scratching the edge of his hairline.

“Last time we bother you?” He murmurs, giving you a closed-lip smile. “No more packages?”

Your sigh is low enough not to be audible, reaching for your keys next to your door. Wooyoung pumps his fist in the air, stomping down your steps and running back to their car. San waits for you patiently, walking down first as you lock your door. Despite them being kind you don’t exactly trust them, eyes flicking to their car.

“I’ll meet you there,” You say, eyeing the car door. It’s freezing outside, your breaths fogging up your glasses resting on the tip of your nose. “It’s only a five minute walk.”

“I don’t want you to freeze to death,” San notes, standing just outside the driver’s door. “I know it’s weird to say, but I promise I won’t kidnap you.”

“That’s not convincing,” you take a step away from his car, nudging your head in the direction of the café. “I’ll be fine. I might get there before you with all of this traffic.” Before he could protest any longer, you turn on your heels, walking off to the café. You hear a sigh behind you and a door shut. You glance to the side, waving at them as they drive past you. There’s no doubt in your mind that you’d rather turn back around and head home. That’ll probably dissuade them from ever meeting with you again. Though, Wooyoung doesn’t seem like the type to just accept it. From his endless messages you could tell that he’d very likely show up at the foot of your doorstep, ready to break it down if necessary.

A slow breath escapes your lips, hands tucked in your coat pockets. “What have you gotten yourself into, y/n?” You mumble.

It’s quieter this morning. The café has fewer patrons than you expected, the warm sinking into your frame as you glance around. San and Wooyoung sit in a booth next to each other, leaving the opposite side free. You can only thank them, slow steps to the table. You rest your coat on the hook, sliding into the booth.

Wooyoung looks at you, almost jumping in his seat as you take your place. San rolls his eyes slowly, passing a menu to you. “I hope you don’t catch a cold,” he says. “It has to be below zero out there right now. At least let us give you a ride back?”

“Thank you, but no thanks,” you give him a slight grin, taking the menu from him and looking down. Sitting in the booth is already a step for you. Now spending time with other people? You would huff at the thought mere weeks ago. You stare down at the menu you’ve already memorized, eyeing your usual dish you often take-out.

“There’s way too many vegetables on this menu,” Wooyoung stares, frowning. “I mean, cucumbers shouldn’t be in anything, let alone almost every dish!”

“You’re looking at the vegetarian section, stupid,” San’s frown deepens. With the way he insults him you’d think he hated the man, but you can see the adoration in his eyes. All of it is just teasing. Wooyoung seems to know that as well, sticking his tongue out and flipping the menu over.

“What do you suggest then, y/n?” Wooyoung’s focus is now on you, your gaze panicked when you meet his eyes. You look back down at the menu, eyes flicking over. “It’s right down the street from your apartment so I’m sure you come here all the time.”

“I usually just get a coffee and pancakes,” you say. “Nothing special.”

“Pancakes sound like a good idea to me~” He hums, closing his menu. His positive energy is palpable, even soothing your own anxiety for this moment. You’re still nervous, reserved. But it feels different now, your body more relaxed. Still your eyes flick to the exit, hoping that this would be over soon.

“You said there’d be one box,” you sigh, watching him enter with another one. “There was no reason to lie.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, stacking the next one on top of the makeshift pile he made in the middle of the living room. A quick count makes that the tenth one, his body slumped over the pile as he groans about how unfair life is. You snort, glancing down the steps. San stands there, hands resting against his hips as he frowns.

“Stupid over there made me get out of bed for this.”

Wooyoung makes a disgruntled noise from on top of the pile. A mix between a lion and a dying bird. San rolls his eyes dramatically, stepping into your apartment.

You broke the promise to yourself. After that quick café run, they saw you often while visiting your neighbors. Soon, you started small conversations with them. Nothing crazy, just mentions of the weather or traffic getting there. You tried to ignore them, shutting your blinds whenever you saw the car. Locking your door and turning off the lights when they appeared out of nowhere. It’s not like you haven’t tried to get rid of them. But moving out of your home isn’t an option for you right now, so you had to settle with the fact that the duo wouldn’t be out of your hair for a while. You thought Wooyoung was persistent, but San matched it ten-fold. Knocking on your door whenever he liked, leaving trinkets or food in your mailbox for you to take. You grew accustomed to their presence in your life now, enough so that you’d consider them acquaintances. Friends, not exactly, and hopefully never. But you could handle them just as the relationship you have now.

Enough to dismiss your fears briefly.

“You’re going to crush the food,” you note, nudging his foot with your slipper. He waves you off, sinking to the floor. You hold open the door to San and he thanks you, entering your home. The bare walls and empty tables aren’t like that anymore; some of their belongings scattered about. You’ve told them countless times to take it to their own home and stop leaving it at your place. But of course they never listened, your cabinets filled with their coffee mugs, hoodies of theirs slung on the backs of your chairs. Their presence is slowly marking your home, the dull atmosphere dwindling away. San mentioned it once, but you could only shrug and tell him that you liked it minimalistic, easy to move whenever you decided to. The expression that crossed his face worried you briefly, but neither of you discussed it again.

“I’ll just buy more, that’s all,” A cheeky grin makes you push him off the pile, a loud scream as he hits the rug. “You’re more dramatic than me!”

Wooyoung sticks his tongue out, dragging his body across the floor. You only snicker as he makes his way to San, using him to stand up. San pushes his hand off, Woo falling to the ground once more. You can’t help but laugh loudly, hand covering your mouth as you look between them. San smiles back at you, brow raised.

“Now why would you hide a laugh that pretty?”

Your laugh slowly fades, body tensing up at his comment. Wooyoung seems to notice the change, pushing San’s leg as he stands.

“No one could beat my laugh,” he frowns. “My mom told me it’s magical.”

“A stretch,” San murmurs, earning another shove. You don’t laugh this time, rubbing your arms, desperate to rid of the concern that dwells in you. The conversation passes as if nothing were wrong. You allow it to, a quick thank you look at Wooyoung before you look through the boxes.

The night passes quickly, most clothing arranged in the proper places. San leaves first, explaining that he'll be back in the morning to drop it off at the donation center. Wooyoung lingers around longer. You can tell he has something on his mind, voice quieter than usual, fingers picking at the loose skin next to his nails. You pretend not to notice, cleaning the dishes in silence. There's not many, only yours since you own one of everything. They often use paper plates when they come over. He slowly makes his way over to you, sitting at your island. The stool scratches against the floor and he quickly apologies.

"y/n,” he rubs his hands, gazing at the table. “Why do you act this way around us?”

You pause in your washing for a moment, already knowing where the conversation is heading. You could end it now, tell him to get out and never speak to you again. But you don’t. Despite everything, you want to know what he’s actually going to say. If what your gut is telling you is true.

“And don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about, because you do.”

“I don’t,” you murmur. You hear the chair scratch against the floor, Wooyoung standing by you. He reaches over you, turning off the running water. “Woo–”

“Do you hate us or something?” He looks at you this time, jaw clenched. “I mean, we’re trying to be your friends here, y/n. You’re not a bad person, and we like being around you. Is it something we did? Every time we say something nice to you or compliment you, you shut down. It’s like you despise us for even thinking of saying anything of the sort. I just…” he sighs, rubbing his face. “I care about you–”

“Leave.” You drop the plate in the sink. It cracks, but you ignore it, turning to him. “Leave, Wooyoung. Don’t come back here.”

This isn’t what you want. You don’t want to push him away, you don’t want to witness the way he’s staring at you right now. He’s one of the most important people in your lift whether you’d like it or not. Though he says he cares about you, he doesn’t yet. You’d know if he does. But if he’s thinking of the word, thinking of leading himself down that path, it’ll only lead to his death. And you can’t have that.

“y/n,” His eyes widen. “What the fuck is going on?”

“We aren’t friends, Woo. We’ll never be friends. I’m moving out soon. And tell that to San too. There’s billions of people in the world, let’s not make this difficult, alright? You can be friends with someone else.”

His brows furrowed in shock as you stare, but you don’t back down, lips in a straight line. “I don’t get it. We’ve been hanging out this whole time? Pushing us away just like that. Are you being serious with me right now? This isn’t a joke, right?”

Oh, how much you wish it were.

“Wooyoung, sometimes people aren’t meant to be friends. And you have plenty, not being mine shouldn’t bother you this much.”

“But it does, y/n. I feel like you just…” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ll give you your space. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, but I’m not going to listen until you can speak straight with me.”

“I’ll leave your things outside my door. Either you or San can pick it up whenever you want.” It’s harsh, you know it is. But you doubt it’d deter Wooyoung. He’s rather persistent when it comes to relationships. So despite your words he seems to ignore them, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair.

“See you tomorrow,” he says simply, leaving your apartment. The door shuts loud, the bang making you jump. You hold your head in your hands, body shaking. It was bound to happen soon, you were going to push them away. But not this soon, not when you were enjoying it. You look down at the broken glass, lip quivering.

The next few days test your will. The rattling of your door knob at various hours of the day, sometimes banging against the wood. You’d be afraid if you weren’t sure that they wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. It’s hard to pretend as if you don’t care about them, eyes burning into your monitor as you work. Most times it only lasts a few minutes, but there was a time that you can’t get out of your mind. Wooyoung sat outside the door for over an hour, light taps ever so often to remind you that he was there. It was the morning after he left you alone. He begged to be let in, apologizing for everything he did (he did nothing) and that he’s sorry (there was no need). It hurt, listening to his small voice through the wood, light sobs as he asked for forgiveness. You almost broke until San came, pulling him off your steps and driving away.

You wish you could tell them why you can’t be friends. Why, despite how much you desire it, they can’t be in your life anymore.

Today though, you take a break from your somber apartment and into a nearby park. A quick glance around and you find only elderly people taking morning walks. Just a moment to settle your mind, before you continue your apartment hunting. You’re the least bit thankful that you have a remote job that can be so easily adjusted to fit another schedule. This time, you hope to move far enough away that even if San and Wooyoung did somehow find out where you’ve gone, it’d be too much of a trek to attempt to follow after you.

“Are you shitting me?”

Your eyes flick open, head turning to the voice. San stands there, hands tucked in his pockets as he stares at you. You’ve just gotten a text from him this morning, about Wooyoung’s condition. He’s fallen ill and wants to see you. Knowing that you’ve sped up your house searching, desperate enough that you’re thinking of living in a motel until you find something. But seeing San standing in front of you, tired eyes and heavy bags underneath, it makes you want to cry.

He’s the last person you want to see.

You stand, eyes steady on him as he moves closer. He looks exhausted from looks alone, his hair unkempt from what looks like his fingers combing through over and over. “Why are you running away from us? I thought we were friends–”

“We were never friends, San. I can’t be friends with you.”

“So what then, huh?” He stops walking, hands loose on his sides. “You just kick us out of your life because we’re getting too close? You’ve been doing that your whole life, y/n. You’ve been pushing everyone away that cares about you in even the slightest way. Why can’t we just be your friends? Why is that so hard?”

“People who care about me don’t get happy endings, San. I can’t have you caring and then something happens to you, alright? I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to you. That’s why I’ve been pushing away. Just forget about me.”

“Is it because of your past?”

You stop backing up this time.

“The people dying? Is it because you’re scared of what could happen to us? y/n, we aren’t going to die just because we’re friends.”

“Did you do a background check on me?”

He swallows slowly. “You were being strange. I needed to know what was going on with you. You didn’t kill all those people, y/n.”

“But I did,” you shout, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I did, San. Not on purpose, but I did. And if that happens to you or Wooyoung, I don’t think I’d be able to handle that. You mean too much for me to just accept what’s going to happen. Wooyoung is sick. He’s sick because of me. So I need to put distance between all of us, so that he can get better. He doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him right now.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” San sighs loudly. “He’s ill on his own, you didn’t do this to him.”

“I did. I let him care about me, and that’s what happens to people who do. And I’m happy you’re not sick, but I don’t want you to even remotely come close to caring enough about me for it to happen, alright?”

“Let me in,” his voice is desperate, steps moving closer to you. “Tell me what’s going on with you. We could fix it together–”

“We can’t. You can’t,” you hold your palm up to him. “I’m sorry, San.”

He drops his hands, running his fingers through his hair. “So that’s it? We’re done?”

You nod slowly, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll drop off the rest of your things at the post office and ship them to you.”

He shakes his head, “No. Don’t need them. I’d say I’ll see you around, but I don’t think you’d let me,” he backs up slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “You know, if you were going to pull this, you could have at least told us you didn’t want any friends. Because this shit hurts, y/n. Just when we’re getting close, you cut ties. Like we mean nothing to you. Do we mean nothing to you?”

You keep your gaze to the ground. “We don’t even know each other.”

“Answer the question.”

“No, San. You don’t mean anything to me.”

He scoffs dryly. “Right. Whenever you’re over this that you’re going through, let me know. Unlike you, I still want to be friends, y/n. You mean enough to me that I don’t want to throw it away.” San slowly walks away, giving you his back as he turns around the corner. You crumble once he’s out of sight, falling to your knees. Your hands press against your face as you sob, heaving into your palms.

It’s selfish of you not to tell them why, tell them that you’d love to be friends with them. But you can’t. Not that now you’re on the edge of caring to the point where you’re afraid they will die when they love you. Wooyoung is close to it, and you can’t do anything about it. You rub your face, eyes still moist.

“Sadness is a difficult emotion to go through, is it not?”

You whip your head up, the sheer height in front of you making your head bend back. He looks down at you, eyes hidden behind dark shades resting against his nose. He keeps his hands tucked in his trench coat pocket, head tilted as he stares down at you. His hair rests against his head neatly, brow raised as he stares at you.

“Does she not speak?”

You back up from him, slowly getting to your feet. Odd, you think. It’s not the first thing someone would do when seeing a stranger cry. And yet here he is, emotions hidden away as he watches you think. You’re too riddled with your emotions to notice how strange this situation is, dusting off your pants.

“Not quite the conversation I’d want to have while crying,” you say. His lips curve into a small grin. “Do you need something?”

He shrugs, glancing just behind you. “You were interrupting me. Standing in the way of someone walking isn’t courteous, you know.”

You move to the side and he bows slightly, long steps forward. Something strange rests against his back, strapped into a holder on his coat. You glance around, wondering if anyone else sees this man walking around with a scythe on him. But no, everyone minds their own business, carrying on with their lives. You’re about to mind your own as well, until you notice him sitting next to an older woman. You pride yourself on your hearing, sitting on a bench as you watch him.

“It is a cold afternoon,” he starts, humming a tune. “A pity.”

“That it is, young man,” she holds a tissue up to her nose, blowing it loudly. “I forgot my gloves my grandson gave me. He always takes care of me, I feel bad that I forget so much.”

The man laughs, his smile slowly slipping from his face. You find it odd how quick he changes, lips resting into a straight line as he continues to hum. He stops, reaching into his jacket pocket. You hold your phone tight in your hand, until you see gloves appear as he hands it to her. She takes it, but he holds tight, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you as forgetful as you say?” he gives her the same look he gave you, though there’s no amusement as he utters it. “Has your memory forsaken you?”

She doesn’t notice the change in tone, body shaking as she chuckles. “That’s an understatement, son. Don’t remember the first thing I did today.”

You laugh to yourself at her words. The man doesn’t seem amused in the slightest, eyes narrowing for a moment before he sighs. “Oh Jihyeon, do you not know that lying is one of the greatest sins?”

“Excuse me? How do you know my name?”

He stands, throwing the gloves to the ground. “Ah, but then again, it wouldn’t shock me. If you can kill a man for starting a relationship with another, I doubt you’d let a little lie linger in your head. But it’d be peculiar to forget something that dreadful, would it not?” He looks down at her, waiting patiently. He takes in her silence, another loud sigh escaping him. “Will you continue to fib until your last breath? Have you not read that bible you keep tucked in your purse? You promised Him that you wouldn’t commit debauchery again, but here we stand. You, speechless, and I, giving you a chance to finally confess. Now little Jihyeon, listen carefully: lie to me again, and neither I nor He will give you leniency.”

She grips her back, glaring up at him. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, son, but – “

With ease, he grabs the handle of his scythe, the sharp curve of the blade only inches away from her next. You gasp loudly, hands pressed against your mouth to muffle your scream. It seems as if no one else in the park notices or says a word, passing by the two as if nothing is happening. The man clicks his tongue.

“You merit a fate worse than Death, but I’m sure you would enjoy afflicting souls too much for it to be a punishment. So instead, one of Them will help your transcendence to Hell.”

You push away the initial shock, gripping your phone and quickly dialing the police. But as you press your hands on the screen, they don’t seem to move the way they like, frozen in place. The one time you actually need them you can’t move? Furious, you look around to the others. As you begin to stand, a force holds you in your spot, preventing movement. What the heck is going on?

The man leans down, holding his hand against the cheek of the older woman. His scythe stays in its spot even as he lets it go. His other hand took off his sunglasses. The woman gasps, gripping his sleeve. But she can no longer speak, body crumbling into ash on the bench. She disappears into the air once you blink; remnants of herself left as dust on the wooden bench. He crouches down, finger running along the dust on the bench. He places his glasses back on, head turning to you, brow raised.

“Now how about we have a small chat, human?”

You couldn’t say a word as he walked around the small room. You’re not sure how you’ve gotten here, blinking and suddenly appearing in the area. Your phone is nowhere to be found, lost somewhere between the park and here. A light tap on the table pulls you out of your daze, the man placing a small drink in front of you. You don’t dare touch it, hands pressed between your thighs as you stare at the table.

“Apologies for not shielding you,” he starts, pushing back the tails of his overcoat to rest on the chair across from you. He still wears his sunglasses, though the room doesn’t shed an ounce of light besides candles scattered about. “Humans are not often able to see me roaming unless they are close to Death.”

“Are you going to kill me like you did to that woman?” You mumble, fear coursing through your limbs. It serves you right, after all. Though you involuntarily caused the start of a rope of murders, it was still your doing.

“I don’t mean to follow the clichés, but,” he takes a sip, thinking. “If I desired your demise, it would have been dealt with.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Why?” He furrows his brows. “You’ve called upon me.”

“I don’t even know you–”

He leans forward as you tense up, sliding a bit back. He hasn’t taken off his glasses since you’ve met him, and you can’t see his eyes through them so you haven’t the slightest idea if he’s even meeting your gaze.

“I am Death, human. I presume you’d recognize me since I have cleaned up your messes for a while. And I am to meet with one of your friends soon enough. Jung Wooyoung, correct?” His brow raises, watching as you take a deep breath. “Choi San seems to be moving into that spot much quicker, no?”

“Please,” your fingers grip the table in front of you, lips trembling. “Can you not spare them? They’ve done nothing, I’ve pushed them away.”

“Pushing them away doesn’t give you reprieve. It may delay the inevitable, but they will grow to love you. Something like that doesn’t stop because you’re away from them. From your past I can see that well.”

“Why? Why is this happening to me?” You hold your head in your hands. “I don’t want them gone, I want them to stay alive. They deserve a greater life than I. Would it be possible,” you look at him, watching as he takes a small sip. “Could I trade places with them? Will my death be enough to prevent theirs?”

“You are trying to bargain with me? Not unfamiliar,” he murmurs. “But strange coming from you. Do you not fear me?” He asks. Those five words reside in you for a brief moment, dwelling in your mind. Fear is not something you’d describe seeing him. At first, yes. But now your head is filled with questions. “Do you not fear Death?”

“No,” you say, and his brow raises.

“You dare stare into the face of death and not tremble in utter fear? Aren’t you a brave little human?”

You keep your gaze steady, knowing that looking away is what he’d like for you to do. “If it’s possible for you to lift my curse, I would like that. That is all.”

“I’m often cursed for what I represent,” he says, raising his hand. A glass slowly forms from the air, resting delicately between his fingers. “There is an inane fear of death. The end of many things. Loves, friendships, hardships, revelations and regrets. They all come to a halt once death is placed on the table. I’ve grown used to the dread etched in their eyes as I come to take them back to where they began. My mother warned me of what I would become when I was young, but I did not realize the utter disgust that people would feel toward me when I approached them. I am the embodiment of human trepidation. Many tremble in the face of cessation. It is something that I have grown accustomed to. But I can’t help but marvel at you.” He tilts his head. You can’t see his eyes behind the thick layer of shade. But you can feel his stare meeting yours.

“And why is that?” Tone hushed, breaths heavy. “Why do you marvel at me?”

“You wouldn’t know this, but all humans have a particular aroma. It is hard to describe exactly, but it’s a taste in the air. It makes it easier for me to figure out who I will be taking to their afterlife. But you… you are quite fascinating. Because in place of the sullied air of humans, you smell taintless. Purity in its truest form. Not even human offspring fresh from their mothers smell like you.” He leans forward, hands folded together.

“For the first time in a millenia, I do not taste sin.”

“You must be mistaken,” you shake your head. “I am filled with it. I am cursed.”

“Ah, that you are,” he nods in agreement. “That is all that I can taste that is remotely sinful. But it is not part of your being, so there is nothing I can do to solve your issue.”

“So I am stuck like this?” You say, and he nods, but pausing slightly.

“Not necessarily. If you were to die, your curse may dissipate. But your time is not near, and I cannot influence that decision if you so desire it. It is out of my hands,” he shrugs, taking a long breath. “That is the answer that I have.”

“There’s nothing I can do?” You swallow, a brief cold rolling over your skin. “Nothing at all?”

He purses his lips, “There is one. But it will come at a price.”

“I’ve dealt with seeing people that care about me die my whole life, another price wouldn’t change that.”

He leans forward now, standing on his feet. His palm presses against the table, glasses disappearing from view. Although yours still sits in front of you, full. He doesn’t move closer to you, strides meeting at the far wall. His hand brushes against the brick, the shine of sun somehow peeking through the cracks.

“Have you heard of the human woman, Medusa?” He asks. You nod, realizing that you should say something since his gaze isn’t upon yours, you open your mouth. He doesn’t let you say a word, though, continuing. “She is my mother. I am her damned offspring. Because she was cursed, I was born cursed as well. That is why I wear this eyewear,” his hand touches the edge of them. "Her ailment was passed down to her only son. It is why I never remove them, even when I'm at rest. But I'm not going on this diatribe for your sympathy. Because of it, I can never remove them. So," he turns to you. "In exchange for removing your curse, you give me your eyes."

You tense up. He notices immediately, laughing. "You will not have mine. You will just lose your sight. You'll never gaze upon anything again for your lifetime. It is a great loss, so I don't expect an answer immediately."

"Yes."

He laughs dryly, "You haven't thought it over–"

"There is no need. I have lived like this my whole life. I couldn't have friends, couldn't grow close to anyone. It all ended fatally. I've been alone my whole life. And now that I have San and Wooyoung… I don't want to let them go. I have suffered long enough. And if I have to sacrifice my sight, then so be it. A low price for what I've been dealt."

The man doesn't say anything. You wonder if he's backing out of the idea. If he changed it once he noticed how desperate you are to change yourself.

"Alright."

"Can I request something in exchange?" Your voice is low this time. He seems to sense the worry but he doesn't point it out, humming. "You can't fall in love with me," you say to him. Hushed voice, trembling fingers. "I want you to swear to me that you won't. Swear it."

"This is a silly promise."

"You have to swear it!" Your words are a bit desperate now. "Remain as you are with me. Tell me at this moment that you will not think of me in any other way than a mere stranger, and I will agree to this arrangement. This is all that I ask of you, sir."

He watches as you falter underneath his gaze, the last of your words coming out more pitiful than need be. In hindsight, he presumed that it was a warning only to protect your heart. He couldn't have realized how much you wanted to protect his. But there he is, hand reaching to clasp yours, eyes steady.

Speaking a promise that would grow to be quite difficult to keep.

"I swear to you with every breath that I take that I will not let my heart fall for yours. I pledge that I will treat you as I am now, and that I will never think of you more than a damned human. And in exchange, you will give me your sight, so that I may finally see the sun once more."

Your shoulders slump down, the speed of your heart taking a breather. Utter relief draws into your face as you nod.

"I accept."

–

He let you leave soon after that. A step through the exit put you back in the same spot you were before, though this time it’s darker out. Time seemed to pass quickly in his home, the street lights illuminating the park. You tuck yourself further into your sweater, fingers brushing against the phone in your pocket. Ah, so he did take it somehow. In all honesty the best choice would have been to call the police, but now you know that it wouldn’t be possible. What would you even say? Hello, you saw Death kill someone and now he wants your sight? You snort at the thought, shaking your head.

He didn’t explain much else to you once that was finished, just saying that he’d contact you when he was ready. And he seems to be able to read your thoughts, immediately mentioning that you’re still under the curse, and your friends' lives are still at risk. It makes sense, you haven’t completed your end of the bargain, but you hoped that you could. Whenever this is done, seeing San and Wooyoung again would make everything better. You hope they can accept your apology.

Well, not see. You can’t conjure a different word right now. “You never quite pay attention to your surroundings, do you?”

You flinch at his voice, eyes flicking to the side. Death stands there, hands tucked in his coat as he walks alongside you.

“I’ve been walking with you for quite a while now. Are your thoughts so interesting that you can’t bear to reflect on your life at this moment?” He points to the crosswalk sign, a red hand staring back at you. “You were going to cross on red, human. Death would be swift.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t my time?” You furrow your brows, taking a step back from the curb. He nods in agreement, glancing at a car that passes.

“It’s not. That car would have swerved out of the way, causing a massive collison. You would have six deaths on your hands from that alone,” his head turns to you. “And I’m sure that would displease you greatly.”

"Sarcasm?" You scoff, staring at the walking sign. Begging for it to turn red so you don't have to stand here next to him. Though you can't imagine him leaving just because of that.

“Perhaps,” he shrugs. “But that is up to you. And from your previous interactions with death, it’s unlikely that you wouldn’t be affected when it happens again.”

He’s irritating to say the least. Who knew that Death incarnate would be this infuriating? You glance at him from the corner of your eye, turning down your street. You stop just as your eyes move to your front door. San’s car sits there, condensation coating the windows. He’s probably sat there all night, waiting for you to arrive. Death shifts his head to where you’re looking, brow lifting.

“That is Choi San.”

“He’s supposed to be with Wooyoung,” You murmur. “Why the hell is he here?”

“Your friend is persistent. It’s admirable,” he nods. “Though it may be a hindrance to you. I have not started the process of removing your curse.”

“I know that.”

“Then what will you do?”

You look up at him. The thought is silly in itself, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. The worst thing he could say to you is no. “Could you help?”

A frown coats his lips. “I do not meddle in human affairs.”

“Then what do you consider our deal to be if not human affairs?”

“It does not include me solving your simpleton issues because you cannot face them yourself. Even the mere suggestion is laughable,” he scoffs. “Are all humans this desperate for redemption? If he cannot accept that you’re cursed, then you should not desire his presence.”

“I can’t tell him that.”

“And why is that?”

You stare at him, hard, until he nods slowly. “Ah, the risk of being attached. Your life seems difficult.”

“My life is not what I’m worried about.”

“That is selfless. It is a shame that not many think like you,” he leans against the sign, head turned to San’s car. “Watching humans for centuries has made me realize that most of you are too involved in your own lives to worry about others. And if you do, it is for selfish reasons. You are different, in that sense. Your soul being a slate of goodness makes you stand out. Though you still have your own reasoning, it is overshadowed by good.”

“You’re speaking about me as if I'm this pillar of pureness. I have lied before, I have made mistakes. Like right now, I’m trying to get your help so that I can avoid San.”

“But the root reasoning as to why is good. You don’t want him to die. That’s why you prefer I intervene,” He swallows. “But I’ve involved myself enough with you today. They won’t like it if this continues.” He bows his head slightly. “I will be on my way.”

With that, he’s gone.

You keep your windows closed, lights off. San was fast asleep when you walked by, head tilted to the side as he snored. He left the windows open a crack, thankfully. Your first thought was to scold him, tell him that he’s being silly. But you only glanced to make sure he was breathing before entering your home. He would have called if it were an emergency. And despite your hesitance, you sit in the living room. Directly across from the window that overlooks his car. Your neighborhood is safe enough, but you still worry even if you don’t want to see him yet. Your phone buzzes on the counter, and you grab it, glancing at the message.

Woo: I know you’re not responding to my messages, but if san is there could you let me know pls? <3

You swallow slowly, thumb hovering over the box to respond. You shouldn’t, you should ignore him for now. But your heart overrules your head’s desires, immediately messaging back.

You: He’s fine, I can see him from my window. Call him so he can go back home.

There isn’t a pause in his response.

Woo: thank you for taking care of him

Nothing else is said. He doesn’t try to pry into your life, beg for a reconciliation that you cannot give him just yet. It makes you feel a bit ill, his change of tone. It is not his fault, you wouldn’t dare put this on him. Perhaps you’ve succeeded in pushing him away. You grip your phone, glancing out the window. San is awake, speaking to who you can only presume is Wooyoung. You shouldn’t do what you’re about to do. You slowly step to the window, lifting up the blinds to watch as he starts up the car. He doesn’t look at your apartment right away, hands gripping the steering wheel as he loses himself in his thoughts. Finally, he looks right at your apartment, eyes meeting yours.

They widen for a moment, briefly perturbed at seeing you staring back at him. He unbuckles his seatbelt, the door swinging open. Before you can utter a word, he’s several steps up to your door, jiggling the knob. You open your door. He pushes himself inside, arms wrapping around your body as he grips you tightly. He hasn’t touched you since you’ve met, his embrace warm as he holds you. It’s an unfamiliar feeling though you don’t hate it. It just the first time someone has given you any physical affection.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply, hands shaking as he holds you. You’re still stiff, unwilling to overcome that last hump and give him an embrace back. Instead, you pat his shoulder. He holds you for a moment longer, before letting go, eyes scanning yours. “I knew I fucked up right when I left you there. But when I came back you were already gone, so I panicked and drove back to your house. You didn’t come all night and I was fucking terrified. I might have called the police if I didn’t see you just now-”

“You don’t have to do this, San,” you say softly, swallowing. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Not after what I’ve done to you and Woo.”

“I don’t, but I will. I’ve been so hurt that I didn’t listen to your words as they are. It’s your fault for abandoning us just like that, but it’s my fault for not seeing your reasoning. If you want to keep your distance, that's fine by me, but if you ever want to be friends again, I hope that you don’t hesitate to pick up that phone and call us.” He glances at the device in your hand. “Wooyoung is devastated but he still cares about you. I hope that you’d see it in your heart to care about us too.”

This was a bad idea from the start. Of course you care, you adore them. You want to be friends forever if you could. “Right now just isn’t a good time for me.”

“So you need time?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “Okay. I can give you that. Just, don’t move away for the sake of us. We’ll keep our distance, and you take your time. Do whatever you have to do.”

His kindness is so deep you wonder how you’re the one with the pure soul. But you just slowly nod, agreeing to his words. He embraces you once more before stepping out, running to his car and driving off. You rest your head against the closed door, hoping that Death can somehow speed up this agonizing process.

“What’s your end goal, Mingi?” Yunho rests on his stool, fingers brushing against the bottles on his shelf. Mingi arrived home not too long ago, coat resting on the rack next to his entrance. He barely held in his sigh when he noticed his friend in his home, Yunho’s hands tucked in his pockets as he examined his shelves. Yunho has been there plenty of times. Nothing has changed for years. “The human is cursed. The only way to lift it is through death,” he gestures to him, “Or transferring it to someone else. And I’m sure They won’t like that.”

Mingi holds a pen between his lips, reading over his book. “It’s nothing of your concern.”

“Is it not? Just because you are the deliverer of Death, does not mean you’re absolved from any repercussions with it. Like yesterday,” he balances the bottle on his index finger. “The woman was going to kill people but you stopped her. Preventing six deaths, just like that. They aren’t happy with you.”

“Why are you here? Your duty is elsewhere.” His words make Mingi’s blood run cold. They never pay much mind to things he does, just like his mother. Why would They watch now? Does it have to do with you, or something else?

“It’s merely a warning. You’ve been a close friend of mine for longer than I can remember. Dying for a reason such as this would be dreadful. And there’s talk,” Yunho places the bottle back in its place, turning to him. “y/n is an interesting human. They’ve been watching her journey, seeing how she reacts to her circumstances. With your appearance around her, it has brought quite a stir. You have to tread lightly. Everyone is watching you now. ”

“Even you?” Mingi quirks his brow. “You are the last person I’ve expected to see here. I’d thought at least Mother would come to warn me.”

“No one has seen her in a millenia,” Yunho says simply. “And I’m coming to you as a friend, Mingi. Centuries are only a blink in time. Having you dead before that wouldn’t sit well with me.”

“Is it that, or do you not want to take my place?” Yunho’s silent, and Mingi takes that as his answer. “I do not plan on involving myself anymore than I am right now. I will lift her curse, and I will lift mine. There’s nothing more than that. And I have involved myself with her countless times to transport the souls that loved her. This is nothing new.”

Yunho moves closer to him, taking the book from his fingers. He glances over the page once, before shutting it, leaning down to stare at Mingi. Even he cannot witness his eyes, but he just stares into the shades. “I heard the desperation in her voice, Mingi. You’ve already made mistakes before. One like this could have enough recoil to affect more than just yourself. Remember that. Do not fall in love with that woman.”

“I do not know love–”

“And that makes it all the more vital. You’ve seen humans love enough to know when it’s coming. Prevent it, Mingi. We do not need the bringer of Death to fall for the charm of a human.”

“I will not. Why do you doubt me?”

Yunho narrows his eyes before stepping back. “I’m glad that’s clear. I would hate to be the one to end Death. But if I am tasked with it, I cannot say no.”

“You would kill your lifelong friend?” Though Mingi’s voice drips with sarcasm, there’s a hint of truth in it. Have they followed the rules for so long that they’d accept an unjust one?

“It’s not my decision to make, Mingi. You know that.” He stretches his arms, sighing. “I’ve been away from my post far too long. I hope to see you a while from now. Don’t make me come any earlier than that,” his words are sincere, though harsh. Mingi doesn’t say any more, so Yunho exits his home. Mingi reaches for his closed novel, fingers flicking back to the page. His eyes flick through the text, settling on one particular line.

–

The looming idea of Death rests on your shoulders, but you don’t let it stop you. He will take your sight away, remove the glimpses of life from your eyes so that you don’t have to suffer anymore. It is a high price to pay, but you don’t hate it. Though you will miss your sight, you take the chances that you haven’t before. The list of market items in your notes is no longer there, replaced with things you’ve wanted to do but were too scared to. The small events are silly, things you probably could’ve done before. But fear drowned itself in your veins, preventing you from making the slightest step.

So here you are, standing outside of an amusement park. No one is with you, but you don’t mind it. Your fingers grip your phone tightly as you step up to the ticket teller, holding out the qr code for them to scan.

“Are you alright, miss?” She asks, brows furrowed. The old you wouldn’t utter a word, but you’ve turned over a new leaf. Speaking to people shouldn’t be as terrifying as you make it.

“First time here,” you say simply. The three words come out awkward, some vowels lower than others. But she only nods, a wide grin on her lips.

“Then I hope you enjoy yourself, miss! We only have one life to live, and I think it’s brave of you to come here alone. Have fun!” She opens the gate, gesturing for you to enter. The two of you bow to one another, your steps quick as you cross the barrier. To say it’s overwhelming is an understatement.

Crowds of people laugh together as they run for rides. Children crying when their parents say no, students giggling as they point to another group. Your mind buzzes at the overstimulation, hand rubbing your phone case as you make your slow steps. It’s silly to think that people are watching you, but the thought crosses your mind. You find an empty seat next to the entrance of a rollercoaster, sitting down as you gaze at the people.

“Do you plan on resting here the whole time?”3

You jump, turning to Death sitting next to you. The warm temperature doesn’t seem to affect him, legs crossed as he sits in his long, black overcoat, the same glasses pressed against his face. From the side profile you still cannot see his eyes, the arm of his shades masking it. It bothers you a bit, not knowing where exactly he’s looking.

“I’m fine where I am,” you murmur.

“Oh?” He hums, tilting his head as he gazes into the crowd. “People often die in these places. I’m a bit surprised that you stumbled into one. Knowing that you don’t like leaving your home.”

“Have you decided when to take my sight?”

“Change of conversation?” His brow raises. “I have yet to discuss it with the others. They aren’t elated with my decision making. It might take a while for approval. The son of Medusa isn’t exactly praised and nurtured.” He stands, head turning down to you. “I have another life to end. It is not a miserable one, if you’d like to join.”

“And why would I want that?” You frown.

“Because you think of me as some monster who kills innocents. That woman from before was more of one than I’d ever be. I would like you to see who I am outside of the torturous acts.” He shrugs. “It might change your mind about me.”

“Why do you care about what I think?”

He chuckles low, rubbing his face, “I do not care what you think is true or not. This is for your peace of mind, not mine. Though I cannot read your thoughts, I can tell you do not care for my presence. Perhaps witnessing me bringing peace to a tired soul will lessen that.”

You don’t respond, following him through the park. No one acknowledges his presence, but they do step aside when he’s just in front of them. It’s odd, knowing that you’re the only person who could see him right now. Did everyone think you were talking to yourself? You frown, sitting where he tells you as he crosses the center, meeting a person on the opposite side.

From your spot, you can see how he rests next to the older man. Speak to him in a low voice, giving brief smiles. Laughing at the man’s jokes. The man begins to cry after a few minutes of speaking. It tugs at your heart, already fighting back your own tears. But Death doesn’t say anything else to him. He places his hand upon his, squeezing it lightly. A few words are whispered to the older man. His tears dry up slowly, using the back of his hand to wipe away the rest that linger on his cheeks. He pats Death’s hand with his other free one, standing. Death follows his lead, staying in his spot as the older man walks away. You follow him, until he disappears into the distance, a soft light left in his wake. He adjusts his suit jacket, slowly making his way to you.

“You look perturbed,” he says, standing a bit away from you. “Did that only grow your hesitancy towards me?”

“Quite the opposite. Everyone fears you, fears the thought of you… but you do not express fear to others. You are kind to them when they pass. It’s nothing like I thought.”

He laughs, shaking his head, “Death is often depicted as such. Fortunately for you, I do not live up to the tales. I am merciful. Though your kind is innately selfish, humans have suffered in their lives often, dealing with the twists and turns of being mortal. A reprieve is warranted,” he watches as a family passes by, eyes overcast. “I was not always this kind, you see. I was angry, being given this role. But after thousands of years, it grows on you. They are the last being that you see on this plane, why treat them as if they haven’t struggled? I do not want them to walk into the afterlife filled with woe. If they can laugh once more before they take that step, I will allow it.”

“You are odd,” you say. His head turns to you, eyes still unseen. But somehow, you can feel how they linger on your figure. “But I’m not a stranger to that. It is refreshing.”

“And you call me the odd one,” he teases. You let a smile slip from your lips. You don’t see how his brows furrow, eyes focused on the way your lips turn in glee. But as long as the moment felt, it’s gone within a blink. “Shall we bring you back to your home? Or are you going to continue to sulk on a bench?”

“I’m afraid,” you say, the thought of doing anything out of the ordinary a bit much. Before entering you believed that you could ride the rollercoasters, enjoy your time before you can’t see it anymore. But taking that first step is terrifying. Death leans down, eyes meeting yours.

“If it makes you feel any better, you will not die today, and you will not cause the death of another.”

It does lessen your heartache for a brief moment. Enough for you to take a slow breath, glancing around. The massive coasters loom in the distance, nervousness sinking back into your skin. “Will you ride the ferris wheel with me?”

His lips quivers, “What?”

“Will you?” you turn to him, gazing up into his shades. “Only for this one ride, nothing more. You can disappear if you’d like after that.”

Yunho’s words linger at the back of his mind as he stares down at you, warning him. He should deny the request immediately. In fact, he shouldn’t even be speaking with you more than necessary. His lips drop into a frown. Why is he even considering it? Death does not meander around humans, join them in their silly pastimes. He scoffs at himself at even the idea of riding on the machine with you. But he can also see how tense you are, how you grip your phone as if it’s the only lifeline you have. He would have suggested for you to spend this time with your friends, but you have none. What a pitiful life. He ignores the blaring warning signs, a sigh escaping his lips.

“One. We will go on the ferris wheel, then I will leave you to your own devices.”

A relieved look rests in your eyes, quickly nodding. “Of course.”

The line is short. The operator lets you on on your own, shutting the door right behind you. You move to the middle of the seat, Death taking his place on the opposite side of you. The carriage seems to register his added weight, balancing itself out with ease. Your nerves are less now, gaze to the outside of the carriage.

“Do you have a name?” You ask, eyes still cast outside. “It feels a bit puerile calling you Death each time I address you.”

“My name isn’t necessary for you to know,” he says. His head is straight forward, though you’re not too sure if he’s staring directly at you. “And what does that matter? I am the deliverer of ends, so addressing me as such is correct.”

“Is it a secret, then?” A teasing smile rests on your lips, flicking to his face before looking back out. “Do I have some sort of power over you if I say your name?”

“Things like that are tall tales. There is no such thing as power to a name. I just do not see it as a necessity for you. I am to lift your curse, and lift mine. Then we will never see each other again.”

Your smile slips, hands tucked in between your thighs. “I’ve said too much.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for curiosity. We all have it, creatures of many kinds. But there are boundaries that need to be set between us. My name is of no importance, and I hope you never ask again. Consequences happen in the blink of an eye. There are things scarier than death itself, human. I know you are well aware of that.”

“I think I have experience with a lot of things, yeah,” your voice is teasing, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. The conversation is cut right in the middle, your eyes widening as you lean over the side of the carriage. “It’s beautiful.”

He follows, the scenery of the city staring back at the two of you. He lingers on it for a brief moment, before turning back to you. A youthfulness rests in your eyes, the reflection of the city illuminating your face. It has a bit of a childish wonder to it, fingers gripping the ledge as you stare out. Though he feels sorry for humans, their lives so short that there’s a slim chance to experience everything you want, he stays away. Interfering with their lives is the opposite of what he can do. Only bring them to the place they belong, then repeat the process over and over until humanity is extinct. Sitting here watching you is exactly the opposite of what he should be doing. And if that’s the case, why can’t he look away?

“It’s cold up here, isn’t it?” You look to Death, brows furrowed once you see that he’s no longer there. Excitement slowly falls from your face, hands letting go of the side. There’s no reason for you to be upset about this. He told you he was to leave after this.

So why does it bother you so?

You are becoming a burden.

It is not your fault in the slightest, no. You’re doing your part, listening to his words and heeding his warnings. Following what he tells you to do. In a sense, you’re perfecting your role in this transaction. But his thoughts, formerly occupied by work alone, are slowly drifting away to you. What you’re doing, how you’re behaving, if you’ve caused another death; those are the simple ones. But it’s shifting to: if you’ve eaten, have you left your apartment this week, did you cry today? Frivolous things, thoughts not necessary for what he needs to do to save you.

He tucks his hands into his pocket, the wind chill from the open window making him shiver. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this cold. He glances at the lights lining the streets, humans preparing for the holiday season. In the beginning it was a bit silly to him, but now he understands. It's a time for reprieve, for happiness lost throughout the year. Though it's only momentarily, he can see it now.

"You're oddly quiet," Yunho points out. Mingi’s frown only deepens when they meet each other's gaze. He knows that They are wary of the relationship he has with you. And he doesn’t mind seeing Yunho since they’re friends. But having him watch his every move doesn’t exactly feel ideal. Especially since they’ve approved Mingi’s bidding. Why have Yunho along for the ride?

“Do you not have better things to do?” Mingi points out, glancing at his door. He’s told you his address and you said you were on your way, but it’s been hours. “I’d rather not have her alarmed that there’s someone other than myself involved with this.”

“Why do you care so deeply for the human’s feelings?” Yunho quirks a brow, leaning against a pillar. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were falling for her.”

Mingi’s eyes narrow. “I’m glad you do know me well, then.”

“Mingi,” Yunho moves from his spot. “I know you want to get rid of your ailment, but this way isn’t the correct one.”

“Then what is? Suffering for another thousand years? You do not understand, Yunho,” Mingi touches his glasses, fingers dragging along the outline of the frames. “You have free reign to enjoy anything you’d like. To indulge in your pastimes. She is one of the only beings on this planet who can understand what suffering I must endure. Though our pains may be different, they align in ways you’ll never comprehend. So if I can take away her suffering and mine at once, then I will do it.”

“Do you not realize your words?” Yunho presses, jaw clenched. “Her suffering. You even mentioned it before yours. Mingi,” he rubs his face, thinking. “What do you expect me to do? To report back? Because if I utter the words you just told me, you will be punished severely.”

“It was a sentence, Yunho,” he says simply. “Don’t take it for more than what it was.”

“If you do not love her, then you care enough. That I can tell from a mere sentence, as you put it. But I will keep that information to myself. A sentence changes things, you know. Ah,” Yunho glances at the door. Just as he does so, the bell rings. “It is my time to depart. Though you do not see me, watch yourself Mingi. I am not the only one assigned to you.”

“All of these watchers for a mere immortal,” Mingi snorts, shaking his head. “As if there aren't more dire things to be attentive to.”

“Then you should be flattered,” Yunho teases, turning down his hallway. “You are quite important in comparison!” With that he disappears, leaving Mingi to answer the door.

You glance at your phone, looking back up at his home. You’re sure this is the place. At least it’s what your maps said. You were transported here and back before, so the outside isn’t familiar. For a bringer of Death, it’s odd to see plants lining the walkway. Trees looming over the cobblestone, succulents alive and well. Unlike yours, of course. Your lily is on her last leg, sitting against your window desperate for light. A bit funny in comparison if you linger on the thought. You hear the door click, eyes meeting the man just behind it. He wears the same thing he always does, though lacking the trenchcoat that embraces his figure. His collared shirt is a satin black, sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows. Exposing tattoos decorating his skin. He opens the door wider, gesturing for you to enter.

You bow slightly, stepping around him to enter. He closes the door quietly, following you from a comfortable distance into his home. You aren’t as closed off as you were entering his home previously, so you take a glance around as he meanders into the kitchen, sitting on the edge of his couch. Everything is quite minimalistic, browns and forest greens covering the space. Nothing personal, not that you expected it. Your homes mirror each other in that sense. No attachments, nothing preventing you from staying longer than necessary.

“To keep you informed,” He starts, holding out a cup of tea. You thank him, taking it and holding it close. “I was given approval. But my curse cannot just be lifted with ease. I need to find someone deserving of a curse like mine. It will be arduous and tedious, but I will try my hardest to complete it on time,” he sits on the edge of his chair, arms crossed against his chest. His shades are different from the usual ones he wears, these smaller against his face. If you stared hard enough, you could see a bit of his eyelashes peeking up from the top. But you don’t, too wary of turning into stone.

“Will the curse will just continue then?” You ask, taking a sip of the tea.

He shrugs, “It’s too powerful to just disappear. My mother will carry her curse to the end of time, and after that.” He pauses in his words. You look up from your drink, noticing the strange look on his face. Though his eyes aren’t visible to you, the furrow of his brows and resting lips tell you enough. “It is a miracle that my request was accepted at all, human. Things don’t often pan out the way I’d like them to. Even if I have consent, we have to watch ourselves. They can decide against it anytime They like. I am not… exactly pleased at how easily They accepted my request.”

“Have They denied you before?”

His lips curve into a small grin. Nothing humorous or happy within the expression. “The number of times They’ve denied me could fill this entire room, human. It’s odd that They haven’t backed out on their word even now. I do not trust it.”

An immortal being like him being this on edge over their acceptance makes you worry. Could they reverse your curse when they take it away? Or even before, would they say no?

“They will not place the curse back upon you,” his head faces you. “If They take it away it will be gone from your soul for good. There’s no need for that kind of worry.”

“If you are unsure about everything else, how are you sure about this?”

He chuckles dryly, “If They felt as if you were a risk, or you were entitled to the curse, it would not be lifted at all. Which is why we will take every precaution necessary.” He turns around, lifting a small, green journal off the table. He passes it to you, and you take it, glancing down at the cover. It’s filled with intricate designs, sewn into the cover of it. Your fingers run along the lines as he continues. “That diary has a list of things you cannot do while undergoing this trial period. Though your soul is of purest form, I would like to assure that it remains so until I have found someone else to suffer for eternity," he pauses. "Why are you giving that strange look?”

You hold the journal close, brows furrowed. “It’s odd the way you speak of it. Cursing someone for eternity, that shouldn’t be spoken of lightly. Is there anyone even deserving of that much suffering? How can you continue on knowing someone else will be like you? Or like me?”

“That is the difference between you and I. My soul is drenched in filth and sin. Once I took my first breath I was confined to this life. So, do you believe that I would care in the slightest who would take it from me? I have experienced evil incarnate, human. Your understanding of wickedness compared to mine is completely unalike. I do not care about the future sufferer.”

Your eyes narrow at that. “You say these things to me. You say you don't care. But there has to be a part of you that does, Death. You cared for that person at the amusement park. You understand my suffering, as well as other humans. You say you don't care but it doesn't seem to be true."

His head faces you, cup placed on the small island. You keep your gaze down, a bit afraid that you've overstepped again. Just because he offered doesn't mean he cannot change his mind. And if he does, you doubt there's anything you can do to change it. He seems like the stubborn type. Your confidence falters when you're in his presence. Though it wasn't exactly high in the first place.

"My duty requires me to care somewhat, that much I agree with."

He ends it at that. No more poking, prolonging the conversation. He told you there's a line between you that you can't cross, and he's holding up his side of the bargain. You should follow along as well, pushing aside your curiosities. He cannot fall in love with you. Explicitly said so. Perhaps that is the root of your wandering thoughts? Knowing that there isn't a way for him to love you, platonically or romantically. Gives you a burst of energy. The solemn resting face he has doesn't exactly allow for that, though. So you only nod, taking another sip.

"Is San and Wooyoung, are they still… Are they dying?" The last word is hard to speak, knowing they were close to it the last time you spoke to Death.

"Yes," he says simply. "Your separation from them doesn't change much since they care. San has been unwell, human. Though I do not and will not pry in your affairs, he is resting at home often now. I would say check up on him, but that would be against your agenda."

"It would," you let out a breath, the cup shaking in your grip. "I'll read your journal, Death. I'll follow anything that I need to. Until you find whomever you're going to place this curse upon. I'll wait."

He nods slowly, "Very well. In the meantime, you should enjoy your life, human. A loss of sight would be quite difficult to adjust to, especially since you're so used to seeing. This is a mere suggestion, of course. But do the things that you were afraid of doing. It may help you through this time. Or make it pass quickly."

It's strange how he says he's nothing to you, but treats you as if you're friends, as if he truly cares. Sure, you didn't plan on leaving your apartment until he was ready to lift your curse. And his suggestion is a good idea. But coming from him, the stone-like man… Well, it is a bit humorous.

Your nose wrinkles.

"Yes sir."

He scoffs, "This isn't a command."

You place your cup on a coaster he laid out, nodding. "I know that. But it feels morbid to call you Death each time we speak. And you're much older than me, so sir it is." You grin. You're teasing now, hoping that he notices.

"Death is preferable."

"Amazing and noted, sir."

"Human," he says it as if it's your name. It's annoyed you to no end, how he doesn't utter your actual name. But he wants the boundary and so do you. His hands grip the edge of his island, head tilted. "I don't enjoy your silly games."

You shrug, standing, “Not a surprise to me, immortal.”

His brows furrow at that, head at a slight tilt. “Is that your way of pestering me?”

“You call me human, I call you immortal. Since we don’t like to use names,” Your lip can’t help but quirk on the side. Knowing the chance of him falling in love with you or caring for you at all is minimal, it’s easy to speak to him. The stress doesn't linger like it does with others. It's a bit… calming being around him. Even with the looming threat of consequences resting upon your shoulders. "But I don't have time to continue speaking about this. Work is in an hour," you say simply. "In eight hours I'll be available."

He doesn't say anything, even as you give him a quick bow, stepping out of his home. The click of the door makes his eyes shake, questions resting in his mind. You're a strange one. He doesn't quite understand how you work. Sure, most humans are predictable and you were in the beginning too, but now he isn't too sure. This feeling; there's no other way to call it but comforting. And he hasn't felt that in a millenia. He glances at your tea cup, half empty. He knows humans in and out. Except you. And he doesn't appreciate that in the slightest.

Especially when you rudely leave the home, not waiting for him to speak. Though that may partially be his fault. He was swarmed so deeply in his thoughts and emotions he couldn't utter a word. He places the cup in the sink lightly, leaning against the ceramic framing.

"Hell," he whistles, pushing his hair from his face. Yunho is right, though he’d never admit it to his face. Something odd is happening with him and he doesn’t particularly enjoy it. Nor does he hate it. But what he does dislike is being in this odd limbo with his emotions, unsure of what to make of them. And he hates to admit it even more that he enjoys being around you. Enjoys. He almost scoffs at the word.

His chest swims.

You balance Lily in your hands, placing her in her new pot with cycled dirt. It’s not much, but you’ve seen her grow over the past few weeks, shedding the dead leaves from the summertime. You hope the heat lamp is enough to have her last for a while. Your phone buzzes, a new message from the groupchat with San and Woo. You haven’t left it because you want them to know you’re working on it. They message it often, not expecting a response from you, but wanting you updated on the happenings in their lives. You’ve kept the read receipts on, just for them to note that you’re not ignoring them. Completely, at least.

You open the chat, a paragraph from San on Wooyoung’s condition. It’s worsened, that you know from visiting him in secret. You hate to see him lying on that bed, different wires and tubes tied up and around him. Though he isn’t critical, he’s been placed in a medically induced coma, his condition not looking great. Your hands shake as you skim over the paragraph, San explaining that the doctors are still unsure what’s happening. Wooyoung’s always been healthy, and a scare like this just doesn’t make sense. Your eyes flick to the last sentence, thumb hovering over it.

He’ll never blame you for this, y/n. And neither will I. We love you.

San hasn’t spoken up about his condition and there isn’t any way for you to see him without ruining everything. But if he loves you, or is close to it, he’d be in the hospital, just like Wooyoung. He seems to have noticed that you opened the message, his chat bubble appearing. San is taking a while to finish, so you continue cleaning around your home.

A knock on the door interrupts your session, your eyes peering into the peephole. Your brows furrow, swinging open the door.

Death stands there in oddly casual wear for someone like him; a granite turtleneck tucked into dress pants, black shoes. He holds an umbrella in his free hand, the other tucked into his pocket. It’s freezing outside, the shiver traveling through you as you stand there. He tilts his head, a different pair of glasses resting on his nose. It’s a darker gray. If you peer deep enough, you could see the outline of his eyes.

“I can tell you’re not accustomed to guests,” his lip quirks. “We’ve been standing here for over a minute and you still haven’t invited me into your home.”

You open your mouth to speak, but stop. You’ve read several books in your lifetime, and all of them mention how you’re not supposed to say enter your home to a stranger. He seems to notice the hesitance in your eyes, stepping around your frozen figure and entering. You hold in a snort, closing your door. He glances at you as he takes off his shoes, placing his umbrella on your holder.

“Make yourself right at home, I suppose,” you frown, staring at his back as he takes in your apartment. His eyes flick to your plants, landing on Lily. He doesn’t say a word nor does it touch it, turning back to you. “Why are you here?”

“You haven’t left your home in days.”

“I’m abiding by your own words from the journal. Why risk it?”

His brows furrow, “I did not say remain in your habit for an extended period of time. Being cautious does not mean you have to forgo everything you may enjoy, or desire to partake in. And I explicitly expressed that you spend your last days with your sight seeing or experiencing things before it’s removed forever.”

You roll your eyes, resting against the curve of your sofa. “There’s nothing I want to do.”

“Doubtful.”

“You don’t even know me.”

There’s an odd look on his face, lifting one brow. “You are quite a silly one. No matter. I’ve come to lead you out of your home.”

“I’m on lunch I can’t just leave–”

“Will you let frivolous human things hold you back from seeing what you’d like?"

“What you call frivolous is what I call survival. I can’t just drop everything and go. I need money to live.”

“Ah, that?” He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet. Without another word, he steps closer, reaching for your crossed arm. His hand is warm, placing it between your fingers before stepping back. “It holds a credit card. I am wealthy by human standards, so you may use it wherever you like.” You don’t dare open his wallet. He only sighs deeper, taking it from your hands and opening it. He flashes a black card, holding it out to you. Your eyes widen, staring at the name on it; initials engraved on the back in bold. “You seem alarmed.”

“You’re giving me a black card. Do you have any idea what this means?” You look at him. His brows are still furrowed, so you continue. “An unlimited amount of credit? I can’t… only people who are wealthy can hold a card like this. I can’t take this from you. Especially with my name on it.” It feels heavy in your hand, the metal shining as you stare at it. You hold it out to him but he doesn’t reach for it, taking a step back.

“You needn’t worry about that,” he shakes his head. “I’ve lived longer than this currency has existed, human. The money means nothing to me. And you now have your own card underneath my finances.”

What the hell is going on?

You shake your head again, placing the card on the coffee table, “I’m not taking it.”

“Did you not say you were worried about your living situation? Will this not help you survive?”

“I…” It will, completely. All of your financial worries will dissipate into nothing, only leaving the lingering emptiness of not having anyone to be friendly with. Except for Death himself, and he isn’t exactly open to the idea. “I will not accept.”

“Humans and your dignity,” he murmurs, placing the wallet back on the table. You notice your name sewn into the leather, tailored to you. Why he cares so much is beyond your comprehension, but it still makes you unnerved. What changed in the time you’ve spent with him? All you’ve done is talk, maybe make a few jokes that aren't well received. And now he gives you access to his endless supply of funds? You rub your arms, goosebumps slowly forming on the skin. You are only a nuisance to him, nothing more. He can’t care. He doesn’t even know how to.

So you ignore the way your throat tightens, the way your hands tremble looking at him. He doesn’t know how to love, and you cannot love yourself. And that is as far as it can go.

–

“It is entirely a disaster in here,” you note, glancing at the piles of books in his personal library. You hold back a sneeze, pinching your nose. “When was the last time you’ve dusted? All of these books seem centuries old.” Your gaze moves to a novel sitting on the edge of a table, Shakespeare clearing written across the cover. “Perhaps even more.”

“Years of spending time on Earth has allowed me to indulge in the literature that your minds provide,” he says, picking up a novel from the floor. It’s so old that the words have faded, dust embedded into the spine. “It is a strange place in there, you know.”

You laugh, not noticing how his grin cracks at yours.

He failed.

Well, not entirely. He hasn't felt the chills or the sickness that you told him to others who have loved you prior. Nothing that has kept him bedridden for days until illness took his life. No, he hasn't made it that far yet. But he does like you. He likes the way your nose scrunches in disgust when you see the mess in his bookkeep. The way you gasp slightly each time you find out new information. The way that you smile, a bit hesitant, until it encases your expression, eyes crinkled. He finds it endearing. And he's delighted each time he gets to witness it.

It's the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

He cannot fall for you. There's the curse of course, but that is only the beginning. Desiring a human. It is a sin. It's happened once before and caused turmoil throughout the gods. He never thought that he'd be the one to do that. But there he was. Stirring his tea, watching you walk up the steps to his home. Elated to see you. He caught himself displaying a brief smile on his lips when he noticed your shiver from the cold. No wonder there's an influx of dead, cursed souls around you.

People often say that they think of the one they love at every given hour, every minute, every second. But Death, oh does he hate the spaces between those seconds. They feel much longer to him. The flickers of thought that do nothing but burden his mind of things that cannot be. The moments of time within seconds where he only thinks of you.

It is too easy to fall in love with you.

So he is determined to not be one of them.

He found someone to place the curse on, only days away from removing your sight and leaving your presence completely. He should be glad; less risk for himself. And he will finally be able to take off the glasses that have been stuck to his face for ages. It’s a win for the both of you. You can finally visit your friends, watch them recover. He should be happy. He really, truly should be.

And if that’s the case, why does this horrible feeling encase his soul?

“That deep in your thoughts you cannot hear me?” You tease, head tilted as you stare up at him. He hasn’t told you his given name, afraid that passing the barrier may lead to your demise. Yunho hasn’t even visited him recently. That alone terrifies him to no end. Why are They not saying anything? Is there something that he’s forgetting? You haven’t done anything remotely sinful, and neither has he. Is it a sign that They’ve given up? “Death?”

He looks down to you, your warm eyes meeting him with concern. He passes you the book in his hands, making sure to not touch you. The last time he did he couldn’t stop thinking of it, chest tight even now at the mere thought.

“It’s quite a mess in here, I’m not sure why you’d want to explore it.”

“I have my sight for only a few more days, it’s best to make use of it. And since you haven’t touched this room in centuries, it’ll take me a while to go through it all. It’ll occupy me for the next few days.”

“I’m a bit shocked you’d like to spend your last days with sight in an old library.”

“Believe it or not,” you pick up a book from the floor, a bit surprised it’s a manhwa. You flip through, before looking at him, “I do love to read.”

He left you alone soon after that. You sit in the middle of the floor, legs crossed as you clean off the books with a cloth, arranging them in their own separate piles. You noticed immediately how he liked to arrange them, his favorite books worn and torn in several places. You kept those to the side, standing and placing the newer-looking ones on the already dusted shelves. He was right, there had to be hundreds of books in the long room, piles and piles that seemed never ending.

You move to the next shelf, noticing that there’s just journals resting on these. A part of you wants to explore, see what goes on in his head. But some things are too personal to be revealed, so you move on to the next.

“Your soul is more pure than you give it credit for,” his voice appears behind you, and you jump, turning to look at him. He holds a plate in his hands, lunch resting just on top of it. “You’ve been in here for hours without nutrients. It’d be rather unfortunate if you died before reaching your goal.”

“Thank you,” you take it from his hands. He nods, stepping around you. His hand lingers on the bookshelf, plucking one of the older journals sitting on a top shelf. One you couldn’t reach, mind you, but nevertheless. He flips over the cover, humming softly.

“It’s an older one. When I was around five hundred years old,” he looks to you. “Not much to speak about back then.” He turns the journal to you. Shapes and odd symbols stare back at you, nothing you can comprehend. In all honesty it just looks like scribbles. “And not too sure what this says.”

“Do you not remember?” Your brows furrow.

His lips curve into a slight grin, “Would you recall anything from thousands of years ago? A long life doesn’t mean a long memory. The farthest I can think back is a little over a hundred. Some key events that go past that. But not everything.”

“I never thought about that.” It makes sense. You can barely remember what you did last week, let alone a year or so ago. Though your life is rather mundane, especially in comparison to the man in front of you.

“Though most immortals can remember thousands of years,” he says, placing it back on the top. “I’m rather unique in that sense. Since I was born a human, I have a lot of limitations. Thought processes are one of those weaknesses. It’s rather annoying,” his frown deepens. “You haven’t the slightest idea how small your brains are.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult the human race,” you snicker, taking a bite of your sandwich. It looks like he bought it from somewhere, probably the deli you saw on the way over. “So you don’t remember most of these books then?”

He nods, “Correct. A lot of the languages are no longer in my vernacular. It isn’t as interesting as the films you watch. It’s hard to remember things even as an immortal. If I don’t use the language often I’d have to learn it over again. Right now I only know around fifty or so.”

You cough, blinking at him. “Fifty?”

“I’m sure I’ve spoken hundreds in my time alive. And I’m not fluent in all of them. But knowing a few key phrases is enough for me. I don’t need to be excellent, I only bring souls to where they need to go.”

Right, the Death thing and all. You haven’t asked anything about that, knowing it isn’t your place. Even with the growing curiosity. He leaves at random intervals in the day to do his duty. Sometimes it’s as if it doesn’t affect him, and others… The darkened expression on his face says enough. He doesn’t let it linger much, disappearing after a few minutes or so. But you can tell it’s hard to do. It’s not a job you’d wish upon anyone.

“You have that strange expression on your face again,” he says, gaze glued to a journal in his hands. “Don’t allow those unnecessary thoughts to linger.”

“Easier said than done,” you mumble. Your eyes are on the table as he moves closer, his palm resting on the wood. Rings of various metals and designs rest on his outstretched fingers, some with languages you can’t point out. He rests his other hand next to it, forcing you to look up. He leans down, meeting your eyes with his darkened ones. “I don’t know how to force myself to not have emotions.”

“Do not pity me, human.”

“You’re stuck. In this cycle of Death. How could I not? No one chooses who they’re born to, that I know. But placing this curse on an innocent child is…”

“The same thing happened to you, and you do not pity yourself.”

“Because I have accepted it.”

“And you believe that I haven’t accepted mine? I do not enjoy bringing souls to their death, human. It’s not fun for me, but it is what I must endure. Just like you, though yours will be lifted and I will be stuck with mine. At least I'll be able to meet their gazes now." He moves back, one hand still resting against the wood. “It is the least I can ask for.”

You pity him, no matter how much he insists on you not. It’s hard to just push those emotions away. He was born into this position, and all you are left with is a lack of sight. You adjust yourself in your seat, eyes cast down. “Do you enjoy this?”

“Enjoy?” His brows furrow. “Enjoy what?”

“This pretending not to care. Pretending that you will be fine with it when anyone with eyes can see that you’re not.”

His lips lift, “In a few days you won’t be able to see it at all.”

“Humor isn’t going to make me stop pitying you.”

“It’s not humor, human. It’s just the simple truth,” he sighs loudly, cracking his neck. He rubs it slowly. “And I don’t care. Not as much as I used to. What will that do but delay the inevitable? If you wanted to know, at some point I did care. I rebelled against it. That only led to me suffering more. You haven’t the slightest idea what it feels like to be stuck in a standing crypt for half a century.”

“That’s-”

“Don’t,” he notes, shaking his finger at you. “The gods are listening. Be mindful of your words. Thoughts are nothing we can control, but what we say willingly is. Keep that in mind." He takes another journal off the shelf, flipping through. "It was painful. The only reason I was let out was because of my mother. She felt that it was enough time and released me. And as you might have already guessed, it's a rare occurrence for me to ignore the gods' wishes."

"I understand." There's nothing you can say to make his pain less, especially since it spans over a thousand years. You're sure that even yourself would be complacent in your position. He wants change, that you can see from the removal of his stone curse, but not to the point where he leaves his role as Death. "Thank you for helping me."

"It is a positive for us both," he says simply.

"I know that. But still, thank you. You didn't have to say a word about it but you did. You helped me. You're giving me a chance to learn how to let people love me, and how to love them back. I know I haven't lived as long as you, but I can only thank you for understanding how I might feel," you move around him, grabbing your clothes and wiping off a shelf. He doesn't respond to you and you don't expect it, the tapping of his steps fading as he leaves you alone in the room. Once the door clicks shut, you drop the cloth. The trembling of your hands makes you suck in a breath, holding back the tears that threaten to fall. You haven't cried this much in years, not since you were a mere child realizing that no one could care for you. Being around Death, seeing your almost friends suffering, all of it just weighs on you. You'd rather his curse not continue to another, but there's little options left. And you believe that it's your right to be a little selfish.

The tear slides down your cheek, running your hands over your skin to catch it before it begins its long descent. You're caring for Death too much when you know he will no longer be in your life. You're breaking your own promise to him, and you're not sure what to do. He's right about most things. Except one. Emotions are uncontrollable. The tightness in your chest when you think of him is unfamiliar. It's a feeling you've rejected your whole life. Quite ironic how it happens with the one person that it cannot.

There's no way you can love him.

–

"It's frigid, my hands are shaking," you shiver, glancing to the side. Death stands there, hands tucked in his pockets as he looks up at the building. You've passed by it often, your fear overriding everything else. Museums are often occupied by wandering, lost souls. You wouldn't dare be the one to pull anyone down deeper. He ignores your complaints, taking two steps at a time. You grind your teeth, pausing for a moment before following behind him. The guard waves him in without the fee, bowing at you slightly. You bow, brows furrowed once you enter.

"You didn't have to pay?"

He shrugs, "I am one of their highest donors. I've already paid enough for several lifetimes. Ah, there it is,” he looks back at you, turning a corner. You struggle to catch up, hands wrapped around a brochure you took from an employee. You almost hit his body when you turn the corner, catching yourself. He faces the painting in silence. You follow his gaze, staring up at the painting. It’s massive; filling half of the wall. It depicts an angel, in its arms a demon-like creature. You can barely see the child’s face, covered mostly by shadows casted. He tilts his head as he stares up at it.

“This was a painting of me,” he says softly, pointing to the child. “That angel was a depiction of one of the gods holding me when I was just born. Believe it or not, I didn’t have any afflictions first pulled from my mother’s womb. But They decided that it must be so. An innocent child, could you imagine that?” He looks at you. “Well, perhaps you can.”

“My curse is nothing like yours,” you say softly, moving closer to the painting. The lines are harsh around the child, bold in their strokes. Angry, even. If it weren’t so high up, you’d like to touch the dried paint, feel how angry the painter was who made it. You turn to look at him. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“And neither did you,” his voice is low, hesitant.

“How long ago did you paint this?” You ask. A laugh escapes his lips.

“A wise human,” he notes. “Several centuries ago. I was angry for hundreds of years. Painting was one of the few outlets I had to myself. Paintings have happened since the very beginning of time, in one form or another. It helped a lot when I couldn’t handle my own thoughts. I’m sure this paint is mixed with my tears,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “Though I’m not as angry as I once was, I sometimes come in here to remind myself. I felt things strongly before. I hurt. It grounds me, helps dig through the muck and wretchedness of the world.”

The conversation slowly mellows out as you follow him around the museum. Anything you ask about the paintings he tells you with ease, almost too easily. You can tell he didn’t lie; he definitely came here often. It makes your stomach twist, knowing that you’ve missed out on so much because you were afraid of the outside world. Afraid of meeting people. You took it too far, and now you don’t have a chance to get some of that time back. Meeting Wooyoung and San changed your life, yes, but you wished that maybe, if you were strong enough back then, you could see the world. Before you’ll never see it again.

“What is one thing that you’ve always wanted to do?” He asks after a brief moment.

“Is this a trick question?” You ask, brow raised. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I mean, I never really thought of it.”

“Don’t be silly, human. All of these years with your own thoughts, and you haven’t had one desire? Nothing at all?”

“Is it that unbelievable?”

“It is. Now, tell me.”

You pause. Though you enjoy listening to his words, whenever he pries into yours makes you nervous. There’s often something else between his words, other things he means. Him asking a question like this unsettles you. He leans down to your height, his height matching yours. Though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s staring directly into yours.

“I can tell when you’re thinking too hard, human. This isn’t a trick.”

“No one has ever asked me what I wanted,” you say simply, swallowing slowly.

“Entirely your fault,” he notes, straightening himself. “It’s better for you to enjoy your last moments, than wallow in sorrow at a life lost. I know it may be difficult for you to think of something for yourself. Selfishness in that regard does not run through you. But I am giving you a chance. It would be wise of you to take it.”

“Seoul Tower,” you say softly, fingers digging into your sleeves. “I was always afraid of going there because of all the people lingering around. I don’t think I’m that afraid anymore.”

“Fear is often a hindrance in everyday acts. Though yours is more worrisome than most, a part of it is irrational. You know that no one would love you at mere sight, but on the off chance it does happen, you’d blame yourself for it. It is an endless cycle, leading you to where you are now.” Strangely, a smile decorates his lips. It is slight, yes, but it is still there. A bit hidden behind the shadow of a sculpture on his face. “Close your eyes for a moment, human.”

You look at him weary, brows furrowed. He waits, head slightly tilted. You overcome the bit of stubbornness within you, shutting your eyes. You feel his hand slowly encase yours, fingers curled into one another. His touch is soft, smooth. Warm. And if you were bold enough to say it, it felt a bit loving. A quick tug pulls you against his body, his other arm wrapping around your torso, pressing your back against his chest. He covers your eyes with his free hand. You feel as he leans down, lips close enough to your ear to touch. He doesn’t, though.

“Open your eyes, human,” he removes his hand, fingers still interlocked with yours. You open your eyes, heart almost dropping at the sight.

The two of you stand at the top of Seoul tower, the sky suddenly dark, starry city lights flickering around you. You move closer to the windows, the darkened interior only making it bright. “It’s…” you trail off, hand trembling against the glass. You’ve dreamed of being at the top since you were a child, desperately yearning to see the city below. As you grew, you settled with the fact that you wouldn’t ever stand at the top. And yet here you are, alone with a man who calls himself Death, watching lives move around you.

“I can understand why you’d want to see this,” he says, moving closer to you. You tense, realizing that his fingers are still embraced in yours. You almost let go, but he tightens his hold, shaking his head. “If you let go, we’ll be back at the museum. I should have warned you earlier.” The way his tone changed, it’s as if he feels pity for you. Having to settle with holding him when you feel the exact opposite. His touch is strangely calming. "I apologize for the misstep."

"I don't mind it," you say simply, grip tightening. His heart flutters at your words, face almost showing it. “I’m just amazed that there’s no one around at this time.”

His lips lift, “Oh there are plenty of stargazing humans. I have just hidden them from your view so that you may enjoy it on your own. Years worth of avoidance doesn’t diminish in just a few nights.” He rotates his finger, a brief gathering of a crowd around you, noises picking up. But just as he does it they disappear once more, leaving the two of you alone. “And I can see why you don’t enjoy it. They’re quite a nuisance.”

You laugh, looking back at the city. It’s one of the last things you’ll ever see, one of the last moments in time you’ll ever experience. The moment should be somber, spirits down. But instead, you’re all but gratefully, gaze moving back to him. Though you can’t tell if he’s looking at you, the way he cocks his head, as if asking you a question, is enough to know that he’s meeting your own eyes.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything back. No you’re welcome, not even an acknowledgement that you’ve uttered the words. And you don’t expect anything at all, continuing to stare out into the night. He doesn’t mention how warm your hands feel when they’re entwined in his, nor the way you subtly tighten it, as if to make sure he’s still there with you.

“Is death quiet?” You ask. “Should I be afraid?”

“Your loss of sight isn’t your death, human.” He knows that you’re not asking that, though for some odd reason he doesn’t want to answer why he’s worried about you bringing up the topic. You’re not dying, not anytime soon. He’s made sure of that. “Worry not.”

“I know that, you’ve told me explicitly. I just… I mean, will it hurt? Will I be alone in my thoughts as my life fades? Should I be scared of that day to come?”

He tilts his head, thinking. You keep yours resting against the glass. It’d be humorous if he weren’t so confused as to why you’re bringing up such a conversation at a time like this. “Death is scary,” he says simply. “You lose everything you’ve known just like that. At least, that’s what humans tell me when I bring them to their designated place in the afterlife. They are scared of what’s to come, scared that they will miss what it is to be human.”

“And what do you believe?” You turn to him. Your voice is still, steady. Though you show no fear on your features, he can feel it. “I… If something were to happen to Wooyoung, I don’t want it to hurt. I don’t want it to scare him. I’ve lost so many people over the years because I wasn’t careful with their feelings. I made the mistake of letting them in. I’d be afraid if I suddenly became ill, then died."

"If I may," he interrupts. "None of the humans died by your hands. It is more complicated than that. Trust when I say that the only humans you should be worried for right now are the pair you know. Letting yourself fall back down into that hole of despair will only make you feel worse."

"Then? How am I to pretend that I didn't see them pass? How can you ask me to forget the poor souls that perished in front of me?" You let go of his hand out of anger. The scene immediately pulls you back into the museum. You pay no mind to passers-by. "You expect me to pretend that it doesn't hurt me, knowing what I've done?"

"I'm saying that it's no fault of your own. Why can't you just trust my words–"

"You expect me to just blindly follow the words of a reaper of Death? Is that what you think? You've seen people die over and over so it may not affect you, but it hurts me. It hurts me so much."

"You think as if each death is filled with woe and trepidation. That is not the case, human. Not everything is negative. I have told you several times without fail that not all death is horrid. I have shown you that it could be beautiful."

You scoff, grabbing your back off the leather seat in front of the painting. "How could death performed due to my influence be beautiful? They've passed on because they've loved me. It's the most wretched thing I can think of."

Death holds his fists tight on his sides. You've seen him irritated, sure, but this void. Lack of emotion. It oddly reminds you of when you first met how. How easily he spoke of your curse, how he didn't care about anything you told him. You should be elated, jumping out your shoes seeing him not care for you. Instead, it only places fear in your heart.

You say no more, turning on your heel. Just as you push and exit through the doors, you're on top of a roof. Your heart drops as you almost fall over the edge. You hold back a scream, stumbling back. Your body hits a solid man, turning back and seeing Death stand there.

"Let me go." Your tone is stern. "I don't need this, whatever you're doing. We stay on our own until we must be together. And then we won't have to see each other anymore."

"You haven't let me express myself and instead interpreted my broken sentences for truths when I barely spoke half of it," His steps to you are slow, your fingers gripping the ledge. He leaves barely a few inches between the two of you. "Why must you defy me at every turn? All of this would have been much easier if you just listened to me. Once. If you just listened, nothing would be like this."

He moves back, fingerings dragging along his sculpted hair. It messes it up, strands sticking every which way.

"I've forgotten how stubborn humans are. In the end none of you are gods, none of you listen to reasoning beyond your own pitiful knowledge and only follow what you know. The limits that you hold yourself too, forcing yourself into these boxes you've created with your own desires and thoughts, unwilling to move past it unless you're on your last breath. Humanity is insufferable."

"You could let me go and not have to deal with it any longer," you feel small on this extensive roof. Sure, you could run, but it seems like he wouldn't let you go an inch without his ranting heard. And if you're honest, some of his words ring true.

"You do not understand what I'm telling you. I have forfeited so many things so that we could be free of our heavy burdens. So that you may walk this Earth free to love and be loved. Death takes, never gives. And yet here I am, sacrificing my own being for your benefit."

"I have no asked you to do this–"

"When you were in my home, figuratively on your knees in front of my eyes and begging to be free of this curse the gods gave you, I could have said no. I could have ushered you away and let you continue to live your life, eventually forgetting about the being named Death that didn't care at all for your feelings. I could have done that. I could have done it all."

He's saying so much and so little. If you were to see his eyes now you're sure they'd be desperate in their gaze, begging you to understand what he's telling you.

"What are you saying to me, Death?"

He moves quickly to you now, your body pressed against the ledge. He places a trembling hand against your back, the other holding himself up so that you're not unwillingly pushed against him. He leans down.

"I did not want to love you."

You can feel the strength of his words by how he holds you– gentle, but steady. Despite the way his lips trembled he didn't move.

"You promised you wouldn't. You don't love me," your voice is soft, nervous. Fingers digging into the fabric of your pants. Your gaze doesn't dare match his. Out of anger, no. But the fear of the truth. He couldn't possibly love you. Perhaps he cares. Maybe liking you a bit. But love, he cannot. He would be dying.

"Death cannot die," His voice breaks off your train of thought. The soft touch of his hand envelopes yours. You don't resist, even as his lips move to the side of your face, a breath away from your ear. "I could love you endlessly and it wouldn't hurt me in the slightest. I made that promise with you so that you'd stay true to your own. So that you wouldn't be afraid."

"You lied."

"You would have doubted the truth."

"I want to run."

"Then I will run with you."

Your breath hitches. "And if I didn't let you?"

"I'd very reluctantly release you from my binds, human. It is as simple as that."

A laugh behind you makes you tense. Without another word, Death presses you against his body tightly, staring at the intruder. You could barely turn around until he lets you, meeting the eyes of someone new. You haven't seen this man before. Locks of blond hair frame his face, disappearing beneath his coat collar. He holds a scythe in his hand, the other tucked in his pocket. He doesn't say much, sitting on the edge where you just were, lazy meeting your gaze.

"It's unfortunate that we've met this way, y/n."

"Who–"

"Leave," Death interrupts you. "We still have two days until the curse is lifted. She hasn't done anything wrong."

"Ah, but you have. Were you not in a pact with her? Do not fall in love. She said it simply, and you agreed because you thought you'd never do it. Now look at where we are," he gestures around the three of you. “On top of an old building, her last breaths were taken in the presence of two immortals. It is definitely a story to tell if she truly had any relatives or friends. Quite unfortunate that she does not. Not any fault of her own, of course.” His grin is strangely wide and gleeful despite the words. He lifts himself off the ledge, seemingly matching the height of the man who stands next to you.

“We’ve done nothing, Yunho.”

“We, what an interesting word choice. I have warned you countless times what was to come if you grew closer. You know this and yet you let it continue,” his smile slips as he moves to you. “You were not meant to die this way, but the gods proclaimed it so it must be done.”

“You’ve followed their words your whole life. When will you decide that their words aren’t set in stone?”

“We’ve talked about this-”

“And?” Death insists. “You will kill an innocent?”

“I don’t have a choice in the matter, that you know well. If I do not perform this I will perish myself,” Yunho looks to you, lips in a straight line, lightheartedness gone. “I want you to be happy with her, Mingi. I want you to enjoy every waking moment, every new experience of new love, new infatuation. I want you to experience it all, as your greatest friend. But as a reaper of death, I cannot allow it.” He stares at the weapon in his hand, his thumb dragging along the handle. The fear in your heart only grew as he stared at his weapon. There’s sympathy in his words, that you could tell. But between that was genuine and unrelenting truth. He didn’t want to do this, no. But he had no other choice. A part of you respected that, him living his truth. All of you were burdened with one thing or another. Yours was love, Death’s- no, Mingi’s, his was Death itself. And Yunho, loyalty. Though you barely know him, it’s an odd trio.

Mingi opens his mouth to speak, but he stumbles back, hands letting go of you as he tries to steady himself on the ground. Yunho walks toward you, head tilted as he stares.

“The gods have watched you for a while, y/n. It is a sight to see you in person. Wondrous, in fact,” he smiles at you lightly, head tilting down. Is he bowing to you? “Having the gods focused on your life is an honor, you see. Not many get the chance to be blessed by their influence.”

“Is this what you call blessed?” You could only scoff at his words, shaking your head. “A blessing should not feel like a curse.”

“A blessing and a curse, are they not one in the same?” His brow quirks, sliding to his friend behind you. You follow his gaze, perspiration coating Mingi’s forehead as he struggles to stand. His fingers dig into the concrete, cracks echoing around you. You try moving forward but he shakes his head, forcing you to stop in place.

“Death-”

“He can only help himself, pretty,” Yunho says, moving next to you. You tense up, his hand resting on your shoulder as he watches Mingi. “His sheer will is what’s keeping him cemented to the roof. If he gave up, he’d be able to save you. Unfortunate.” His grip tightens. You can feel his nails digging into your skin, a cry spilling from you as you fall to your knees. Yunho keeps his hold, ignoring how you claw at his hands. “Will you now defy the will of the gods? You’re no longer wanted on this Earth, human. Your time is complete.”

“No…” you feel the tears falling down your cheek as he pulls you up, pain shooting throughout your body. “Please,” you beg, looking into his eyes.

“Yunho.” Mingi struggles, lifting his head. “Let her go, she’s done nothing.”

“You are above me in rank, Mingi. So in continuing to respect you, I warned you beforehand. Falling in love with a forgotten creature is what you were warned of countless times. And yet you continued anyway. You continued to fall in love with her,” Yunho looks down at you with pity. “Both of your curses would have been lifted but you couldn’t resist her charm.”

“She is no immortal.”

This time Yunho laughs, “You think They would curse an innocent soul out of pure enjoyment? Or a strange test? My dear friend, y/n is not a normal human. Her soul has been cursed for eternity. Do you not recognize it?” Yunho pushes you to the ground beneath his feet, his hold gone. You cough, unable to move. His words make no sense in your own head. You’ve been a human your whole life, there’s nothing that is godly about you.

“She is a human.”

“Half-human. Her mother was an empusa. Fed on her father and sucked the life from him then ate him. In fear that she would be just like the abomination that was her mother, they’ve cursed her very being. She was born before the gods could stop it, and was thereafter cursed for eternity. Her soul is older than even yours, Mingi. Any one who encounters her dies just as they love her so their soul is still pure before being devoured by her true nature. We would have been rid of her if you just followed what you were supposed to. Not fall in love despite her allure. But you did anyway. You fell in love with the creature, and now you must watch her die.”

He presses his heel into your back, an inhuman scream coming from you. Mingi’s brows furrow as he looks at you in pain.

“She’s nothing like her mother, her soul is pure.”

“That you’re correct about. Her soul is not tainted yet,” Yunho murmurs, leaning down. “She hasn’t eaten anyone yet, so it is sin free.”

“Why would the gods torture a being that has done nothing wrong? They can rid her of the curse entirely and be free of the empusa. It would be that simple-”

“Some things even the gods cannot interfere with,” he says softly. “An empusa are beyond their own strengths. No god could get rid of her even if they’d like. Her soul is eternal. Her mother existed before Them. It would be impossible to just get rid of it, so a curse was needed to keep her in check. You just needed to not fall in love, Mingi. That would have removed it all. But you fell for the charm.”

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Mingi’s voice is desperate now as he looks at you. “You said she cannot die, what’s the use of restarting her life again? It will only lead down the same path.”

Yunho pauses, eyes narrowing. “We would have more time to come up with a solution for her presence. The underworld would have been a good place but her mother assured that she wouldn’t be able to enter it. Is it not a tragedy the way you love it,” Yunho’s tone is sorrowful now. “If it were anything else I’d weep at the sight of his everlasting love for a being he barely knows the true nature of. You can love a devil as much as you’d like, Mingi, and it can love you back. But this does not stop its very being. You are death incarnate, you know the consequences of loving evil.”

Yunho lifts his scythe, pity in his eyes as he looks down at you. “Beg for your life so that you may be able to repent.”

You say nothing, silenced by their back and forth. Your mother is a demon-like creature, and your father was innocent. But because of your heritage, because of the choices they’ve made, you’re stuck like this. A cursed soul, forced to live your short lives and reborn again and again, until the destruction of this world and thereafter. You don’t beg, there’s no use. The only thing you can think of is looking at the man you love just beside you, his eyes still covered by the thick shades.

You wonder how your friends are doing, how Wooyoung will be once your soul is gone if for a brief moment. How San would be healthy once more. Able to live their lives without the lingering chance of you appearing again. Why are you not afraid? You worried for death mere moments ago, why are you so settled in it? Is it because the ones you care for will no longer be threatened by your presence? Or is it because the first time in your short life, you’re finally settled in your own feelings? None of it is your fault, none. It is your mother’s. All of the lives gone is your mother’s fault. And you couldn’t be more grateful for that.

But you still have one request.

“If I may,” you whisper softly, lip lifting slightly. “If you would give me the honor of seeing your eyes just once.”

“y/n…” his voice wavers, lip trembling. “You-”

“You have such a pretty name, Mingi,” your lips are in a bloody grin now, tears falling to the concrete beneath you. “I’m sure your eyes match it.”

“You will be stone for eternity.”

“And if my last sight is you, I will be grateful for all of that eternity.”

“I will not,” he says, shaking his head. “I could not live knowing you were in a frozen state. I will not. I’m sorry,” he moves his head down. You imagine that he’s closing his eyes, his gaze forever lost on you.

“Then will you look at me as Yunho takes this life away?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Could you grant that last wish of mine?”

“I-”

“You are one of the few beings on this planet that has made me feel like I could be loved,” your body shakes as you say the words, each one coming out between a sob. “I want you to remember me as the woman who hated looking at the dust in your library, who enjoyed listening to you tell me about your past, who nagged you when you added me on your financials. I want you to remember me as the woman who was too scared to step outside of her home to buy groceries. I want you to remember me as the human who loved you more than you’d ever know. I want you to remember me this way, Mingi, alright?” You turn your head to Yunho, nodding.

Without another word, he lifts his scythe. The last thing you hear is Mingi’s screams just as your eyes shut.

It was an indescribable feeling. The way his arms wrapped around you. The lack of fear expressed in your body. You feel their love through each fiber of your being. It was wondrous and calming. It was unlike anything you've ever experienced. For the first time in your short life, you feel safe. When you woke, the feeling still lingered. Like a soft kiss to your skin, telling you that it will be alright.

You gasp, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you. A hand holds you steady, the other resting on your back as you breathe. You look up, tensing once you see Mingi sitting on the edge of your bed. He keeps his glasses on, brows furrowed as he stares at you.

“You’ve been out for a while, y/n.”

You still. Your name. He says it simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if he never avoided it in the first place. It’s a change, a big one. Your thoughts are scattered, but one large, lingering one rests in your head. How are you alive?

“He didn’t kill you,” Mingi starts, letting you go. “He split your soul. The cursed one is in the underworld, trapped. He left the human you residing here on Earth. It was a risk, a large one. The gods believed that he wouldn’t be able to do it so They told him to remove your soul completely, but he wanted to try it out. His words were true, there was a chance you weren’t coming back into this body. But in the end, he saved you. You’re no longer cursed.”

You touch your neck, feeling the length of new scar lines across it, wincing slightly. Could it be scarred over this quickly? Has this not happened only moments ago?

“You’ve been in the hospital for a week,” Mingi continues. “Your friends visited you. They just left for home but are coming back soon with other things.”

“Do they know who you are?” You ask. His brows furrow.

“No. I told them I was someone you knew. The strange one, Wooyoung, thought I was your estranged husband, as he put it. But San was the more wary one. After a few hours of convincing them that we were close, they let me take care of you.”

What can you say to him? From what his words tell you, you’re okay now. Your friends are healthy enough to come visit you. The curse must be lifted partially, if not fully. But there’s so much that’s happened. And yet here he sits, glasses still perched on the tip of his nose. He reaches out to touch you again, but you lift your hand, stopping him in his place.

"You do not love me." Yunho’s words linger still.

Mingi’s brows come together. "How can you tell me what I love?"

"If your words are true, if you truly love me then it must be a horrible experience. Loving someone who cannot love you the way you're meant to be loved must feel wretched." It’s true. All of your life you’ve been afraid of the emotion alone.

"Is that so?" His hand rests on yours, lifting it so that it touches the expanse of his chest. He lets it reside on his left side, just above his heart. The beats felt on your palm, residing within your own body. "My mother often told me that one day I would know what love felt like. I would never get it from her because her soul was too damned to feel even a bit motherly toward me. The first time I’ve felt my heart beat was when you entered my home and walked along the dusty bookshelves, asking me something other than what my duty is. And it just continued on after that. My dear human, if loving you makes me feel this way, then I don't mind it in the slightest."

"Neither of us know what it means to love. You could just have indigestion," your words are teasing, though there is a monumental volume of apprehension lining the curves of each letter. "We barely know one another."

"I've known you for longer than you've known me," His head tilts. "I've paid no mind to your existence because it is what the gods demanded of me. But now that I have, I can see why they were insistent on other reapers taking care of your killings. I would have been too enamored to continue on with you like this," His fingers slip into yours, letting his head rest against your forehead. "You are a vixen."

“I want your first love to be someone that’ll be able to love you back, Mingi.”

“Oh how I do love the way you say my name,” his lips lift. “Promise that you’d say it again.”

“Mingi,” you move away, "Everything I want to say to you crumbles between my lips and disappears into the winding wind," you grip his hand, gaze looming on the buttons lining his sweater. "It is a battle between me questioning myself on if I should look at you with this much desire, or if I should push you deeper away into the crevices of my mind so that I would move on. But the deeper that I push, the more the cracks form. The more my longing for you drips to the ground, grows into seeds I cannot pull out."

Mingi cups your chin, lifting it so that you can look at his face. His teeth dig into his lips as he anxiously waits for you to continue, fingers trembling against your skin. Death shaken at the core by a mere human is a laughable offense. No one would believe it if you were to ever tell the tale.

"Does this mean that you yearn for me as much as I do for you?"

"It means," your hand travels along the outline of his body, before mirroring the same hold that he had on you. "That through this frenzied despair I have realized that I do love the reaper of Death more than I ever should, and it fucking terrifies me to no end that his want for me will never match the inane craving that I have for him. That this love for you scares me, truly. That you will one day grow tired of me and move on to someone who would love you less."

"My dear," His lip curves into a grin. "If you think of your love like this, then I must be lucky to have a woman like you who wants me in such a way."

A knock makes you pull away from him. Wooyoung stands there, balancing a basket between his fingers. His brow raises as he looks at Mingi, before meeting your gaze. “I thought you were dead.” His hair is a deeper red. You can see how much healthier he looks, cheeks full and gaze wide.

“Woo,” San hisses, appearing behind him. His shoulders release the tension once he meets your eyes. “You’re awake. I bought a set of utensils and bowls for your kitchen, since we’ll be over more often now.” He notes, glancing at Mingi, “I apologize for Wooyoung, he’s often unable to read the room. Like right now,” he grips his arm, pulling him from the doorway. You hear commotion in the kitchen, your front door slamming shut, leaving the two of you alone.

You can feel your face burning as you look back at Mingi. A sly smile captures his lips. Without another word, he takes his glasses off. Deep, brown eyes stare back at you, a beauty mark just underneath one of them. They hold so much as they meet your gaze, blinking slowly, flicking all over your face before meeting your gaze once more. You can see the panic lessen until there is none, hands lifting to cup your face. A laugh escapes his lips, then another. His eyes begin to moisten, thumb dragging across your skin.

His curse has been lifted.

“I can finally see you,” his breaths are hushed, hands trembling. “I can finally look at you.” Without another word, he pulls you close, gaze now on the curve of your lips. “May I kiss you, my dear y/n?”

“No,” you say, and his eyes widen. You laugh, pulling him against you as you fall back against the mattress. You ignore how your heart beats, hands trembling as you hold his face. “I just wanted to see what your eyes looked like panicked.”

A groan echoes in his chest, “A vixen was an accurate description of you.”

“I love you,” you say.

Relief rests in his eyes. Without any hesitation, “And I love you.”

___

tags: @atiny68 @yunhofingers @mingi-banana @berryfiavoured @mingki1117 @user1117sword @sankatchu @potaeto-writes-on-wp @a1sh1teruu @atinytease @mingkilovur @junglewoos @nolxverlikeme @dysftopia @jenniiee-tm @marievllr-abg @charreddonuts @rdiamond2727@mirror-juliet @rge-nini @fireheaurt

#fic: love you to death #mingi x reader #song mingi x reader #platonic:#wooyoung x reader #san x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez fluff

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