Work Text:
Death looks down at her list, a frown clouding her features.
Well, alright. She’s not the Death, so to speak. There are many others who work in her profession- it’s a normal thing, to be quite frank. As normal as taking lives can be. It’s really all she exists for, though, so it’s not like she knows any other name. Why would she? There’s nobody in the world who would have named her. It’s rare for her to so much as look at the other entities out there who reap souls (she’s not the most sociable of reapers if she’s being frank) so there’s no need for a nickname or anything. Death works just fine. It helps when her assignment is talkative.
The list for today is rather short, something she’s happy for, but what she’s not happy for are the small notes made next to each person. An old man in the morning, something she’s unbothered by; it seems a long time coming and he will certainly be surrounded by grandchildren, as she’s met him before when she took his wife, but in the afternoon and evening she’s got a couple young people, and that sort of thing never fails to put a damper on her mood. She doesn’t particularly care about the lives of the people she’s about to take them from, it’s just, it’s different when it’s kids. The younger girl who she’s got assigned for today isn’t going to be dying a happy death, she notes. Perhaps she can come earlier and make it more painless. Death in one’s sleep, or out of the blue, tends to be easier than dying in a fire. She’d much rather the girl die that way. But that all hinges on the old man.
There are a couple irrelevant names there, people who Death will gladly extinguish (it’s a petty thing but she finds pleasure in taking the lives of business men, or abusers) but the final name on the list makes her upset. Late evening, that one is set for, a young man in his early twenties. If Death were to place her own age, she’d say she’s around as old as the man, give or take a few. It doesn’t make a difference how old she is, she’s been working for as long as she’s been alive, and anyway, age is meaningless to someone who only exists to snuff out life. Still, though, it makes her sad to kill someone who might be a friend of hers, in a different world.
A silly thought. Generally, reapers don’t have friends.
She sighs, though, and tucks the paper into a pocket before closing her eyes to appear in the hospital room where the old man is lying, hooked up to an IV. Sure enough, he’s surrounded by people, all of them with a lot of love in their eyes. Curious, Death glances at the heart monitor. They always give her a certain morbid intrigue to see, considering that they’ll all end up the same by the time she’s leaving.
Deciding not to think about it, she slips through the people and stops at the man’s side. One touch, and he’ll be gone, but she likes to give them a moment to meet her eyes first. It makes the act feel kinder. There’s a moment of silence, but with glazed eyes the old man meets her gaze, and utters a name under his breath, reaching up a shaking hand towards her. Death doesn’t take it; he’ll be gone if she does, but she puts on a smile and nods her head. She can’t control what he sees, but likely he’s seeing the face of his old wife. It’s sweet, but he’ll be seeing his wife again in a moment, and it’s sort of odd to think that she won’t know what he’s talking about when he brings it up.
Still, the man smiles, looks at the people all around him, and mumbles that he’s ready, so Death reaches out and gently touches the side of his face.
It’s over like that.
She moves quickly throughout her jobs for the day, not wanting to waste any time. If she finishes early, which is an odd thing to think considering that her job is taking people away from the world of the living, she’ll get to rest for a little longer tonight, which is something she looks forward to, given that her life really has nothing else to show for itself. Her life is an oxymoron; something that should by all rights not be defined but is merely because some moron thought it was a good idea to personify death.
Whatever, dwelling on it is idiotic. She closes her eyes when she takes away the child, but otherwise manages to do her work efficiently. All up until she finds herself standing in front of the door of the young man she is set to take away. This is the last job of the day, so she should be quick about it.
She checks her list again though, just in case. Kaito Momota. This is definitely his apartment. He’s to die this evening of a lung disease he didn’t bother to go get treated. Young humans like him are foolish, Death decides. At least she can say she’s not like other people her age. Letting out a huff, she glides through the door and makes her way down the hall as though she’s been there a thousand times. She knows where he is, of course, because her powers allow her to. When she stops moving, she sees that he’s sitting on the couch in his living room, typing away at a laptop.
It’s entirely based on personal preference, but Death clears her throat, wanting him to know what’s about to happen to him. He turns his attention off of the laptop, alarm appearing on his face, and Death notes arbitrarily that his eyes are a pretty shade of purple. Lilac, perhaps, is the proper name of that shade. She doesn’t know why the thought surfaces, but it does.
“Oh! Uhm,” he seems to relax a bit, seeing her. “Hi, miss, can I help you?”
A strange reaction to seeing a random woman standing in your apartment, but Death has never been one to judge. “Not really,” she tells him with a shrug.
Momota blinks. “Well, okay.” he closes his laptop, likely as one ought to do in these situations. (She wouldn’t know.) “Uh… can I ask your name, and why you’re in my apartment?”
“...you can call me Death, I guess.” She fiddles with a piece of hair, which she apparently has. “And… I’m here because it’s your time to die.”
“Huh.” Rather than protesting, like a lot of people his age will do, Momota just frowns. “You don’t really look like Death.”
“What does Death look like, if not me?” She finds that funny, considering that she’ll usually take on the appearance of whoever will be the least startling or scary to the person she’s killing. That’s why she looked like that old man’s late wife, and later in the day, that little girl’s mother. She’s supposed to have taken on the form of someone who Momota cares a lot about, but it doesn’t seem like he recognises her, so it would probably be safer to say she looks like someone who he wouldn’t be afraid of.
“I dunno, I just- didn’t think Death would be so… pretty.”
Is that really what he’s thinking about when he’s about to die? Death stifles a groan, still feels her gaze sharpen when she looks at him. Momota chuckles, saying something about how he didn’t really mean it, but she figures he did mean it, and he’s just saying it to avoid her getting annoyed, so she doesn’t dignify the flimsy excuses with an answer. It won’t matter in a moment, anyway.
“Uh, but, anyway, you’re here to kill me, right?”
“...in a way.” She allows. “I don’t really kill you. That’s not how you die. You’re dying because of the disease you didn’t get checked out.”
“Aw, man, I figured it’d be something like that.” Momota sighs, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m sorry to tell you, but I can’t actually die right now.”
Death blinks. “What?”
“I mean, I’d love to,” the idiot has the audacity to take out his laptop, typing in a password and clicking around until he pulls up a schedule, turning the machine around to show it to her. “But my schedule is packed tight. I’m way too busy to die at the moment.”
“...Momota.” Death does groan now. People usually try to weasel their way out of it, but this particular excuse is new to her. “You’re always going to be busy. There’s never a good time to die, just a time, and this one is yours.”
“No, no, that’s not true.” He shakes his head. “I’m free next week, actually, so you should come around then, instead!”
“I can’t do that, you’re scheduled to die n-”
Momota cuts her off, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m sorry, I already told you! I can’t die right now, my schedule is just packed way too tight! I can’t make any allowances at the moment! Tell you what, though.” He grins, getting to his feet, and steps forward. “Come around at this time a week from now, okay? I’ll let you know if I’m still too busy by then. I’ll try to clear some space in my schedule, though, just for you!”
“...I’m… not allowed… to do that?” But even as she says it, she’s already losing the energy to argue with him. She could literally just touch him right now and be done with it, but something about the way he’s fluttering his dumb eyelashes at her makes her hesitate. Idiot. He’s making her job harder by acting like this. Who on earth decided to make reapers have emotions?
“I’m sure you can bend the rules a little bit! I’ve just got way too much to do!” He looks like a puppy. Death wants to die. (Ironic.) “Oh, and by the way, you still don’t look like a Death. You look like more of a Maki, so that’s what I’m gonna call you, okay?”
“Maki?” Death echoes, frowning. “Why do I look like a Maki?”
“You just do.” Momota shrugs, with a stupid smile, and Death sighs, because now she knows she’s going to have to wait another stupid week before reaping his stupid soul. Damn it all. She hopes she doesn’t get into trouble with any higher ups- though, she doesn’t see why she would, because they never seem to care about those types of things. So long as the souls are reaped eventually, it’s fine by them.
“Whatever.” She eventually sighs, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be back in a week. Seven days.” She turns around, starting to walk away. “Don’t be busy.” She calls over her shoulder, and she hears Momota laugh, an irritatingly pleasant sound.
“I won’t!”
---
“I’m too busy.” Momota tells her.
Today, she got here before he did, which is awkward because she’s technically supposed to know where he is, but since this isn’t on record, it’s not like she can just know. The records only show where a person will be when they’re going to die, not when they’re alive for a week afterwards. It’s pretty unprecedented, Death is certain of that much. Usually reapers don’t do stupid things, like letting their assigned souls live past the expiration date. But here she is. She at least managed to look intimidating, waiting right next to the front door when he unlocked it and stepped inside.
He’s still dressed in a suit and tie, suggesting he’s coming home from work, which is strange because he was wearing sweat pants and a tank top last time she saw him. Now, his purple hair is still as spiky as it was last week, but it looks more neatly styled than it was, perhaps because he was just around people. He looks dashing, Death thinks, but extinguishes the thought, because it’s annoying.
“You can’t be too busy.” She responds crossly. “You said that last week.”
“I know,” he sighs, looking apologetic, and already Death knows that no matter what he says next, she’s going to do whatever he asks of her. “But then my boss at work asked me to take on a really big project, and I said no, and I told her I have plans, but she asked what the plans are, and I couldn’t exactly say I’m planning on dying, so she brought out the puppy dog eyes, and then I pretty much had to do what she said.”
After a moment, Death sighs. “Fine. When are you done with the project?” She’s already tired of this, why is she being such a doormat? It took more convincing last time.
Momota considers an answer to her question. “Next week?” He offers sounding uncertain. “Maybe not, though, but it couldn’t hurt to check in on me.”
“Then I’ll be back next week.” With nothing else to say, she turns around, starting to leave, but he calls out to her.
“Wait, Maki!” And she stops, even though that’s not her name, just a dumb nickname he decided to give her. Feeling like a moron, she turns to face him. “Uh… do you want a drink or something? Do reapers even drink?”
That’s a strange offer considering she’s here to end his life. “Are you thinking about the words coming out of your mouth right now?” She asks, frowning and crossing her arms. “You did not just ask the personification of death to have a drink with you.”
“So maybe I did,” Momota grins, unabashed. “But I mean… you just look tired, I dunno. Thought maybe you could use a moment to unwind.” And like, he’s right, but he shouldn’t say it. He’s still literally inviting the person who’s going to be responsible for his death to sit down with him and do something as friendly- and borderline romantic, but she won’t go there- as having a drink together. “You don’t have to, though, it’s fine.”
“...you’re an idiot.” Death eventually mutters. “But fine, sure, if it’ll make you happy, I’ll have a drink with you.” It’s a stupid way to phrase it, because literally nothing that she’s here to do is meant to make him happy, but his face lights up and once again she can only think of puppies, so it’s not too bad of a decision.
And this is fine, she thinks as she watches him pour her a glass of vodka, right? He’s probably gonna die in a week, at her hands no less, so the least she can do is indulge him in some alcohol and conversation. Besides, if she really minds his company, she can literally just leave. She’s careful that their fingers don’t brush against each other when he hands her the cup and she takes it, bringing it to her lips with a small sip. She’s had spirits before, though she’s not particularly fond of human beverages, it doesn’t taste bad, so she keeps drinking it. Momota offers her a wide grin and drinks some of his own, sighing.
Since they’re here now, she might as well ask the question that’s been nagging her this whole time. “Hey.” She speaks up, averting her gaze. “I told you last week you’re dying because of the disease, right? Because you didn’t get it checked out. It’s probably not too late, now that I’ve left you alone for a week. Why didn’t you go and get it looked at? You probably could’ve saved yourself in a more substantial way than just delaying the inevitable.” She shrugs. “I mean, you’ll die eventually anyway, but still, I’m curious about it.”
As Momota ponders her inquiry, he shifts the drink in his hand, watching the liquid slosh around. “I dunno, it feels dishonest to tell you something and then go do something so that my life will be extended.” Yeah, okay, but she’s literally Death, and she also just couldn’t give half of a shit whether she has to kill him today or a year from now. If he manages to prolong his life, good for him. “Besides, I think I’m ready, so it doesn’t matter to me whether I die next year or next week. I just made too many commitments to die right now, y’know?” With that, he tips back the rest of the glass, lowering the empty cup to the counter.
“...you’re twenty four.” Death can’t help frowning. “Why are you ready to die at twenty four?”
“It’s probably silly to you, since these types of things are purely human struggles, but…” Momota shrugs, attempting to look as though he’s unbothered. “I used to think I was going to space, y’know? And I gave up on the fantasy ages ago, because with my constitution there’s no way I could be an astronaut, but I was still hoping I’d get to work with the stars in some way. Touch some foreign rock, or something, I dunno.” He pours himself another glass. “But things don’t really shape out that way. A friend of mine killed himself a while back, you probably don’t know who he is, but his name was Hoshi. Ryoma was his given name, but I always called him Hoshi.” His speech slurs together a little, not due to inebriation from the vodka despite the strength of the spirit but rather due to the speed with which he is attempting to express these thoughts. “And after he died, I just… stopped.”
Death knows who he’s talking about. She didn’t reap Hoshi’s soul herself (she hasn’t been assigned a suicide in a while, probably because she just can’t handle them) but she knows the reaper who took Hoshi’s soul away. They’re not exactly friends, because she doesn’t have friends, but she knows the reaper in question is nicknamed Saihara by some of his friends. He’s quiet and reserved, easily troubled. Reaping isn’t really cut out for him, but nobody really gets to choose.
“It’s been almost five years since then, and I should be over it, but… I’m not.” Momota finishes his second glass. “I figure, if I wasn’t able to be there for him, why should I live, y’know? But, I’m, not proactive about it, or anything,” he gives her a sideways look, as though Death is about to speak to him about it. “I just, it sucks, that’s all. That’s why I feel kind of ready. To die. And stuff.”
“Hm.” Death takes a generous sip of her own glass, mulling over his words in her head. “Well, I guess I can’t say anything about that since I’m going to reap your soul soon, but you probably shouldn’t give up because of something like that.” She shrugs. “Seems like it wasn’t really something you could’ve stopped.”
“Yeah.” Momota sighs. “It still sucks though.”
---
The next week, Death comes by, but he tells her he hasn’t finished the project yet. She’d suspect he’s just trying to put off dying some more, or something like that, but he’s surrounded by papers when she arrives, looking tired and overworked, so she figures he’s not lying about it. Besides, after the conversation they had, she doubts he’d try to keep himself alive, even if she did somehow manage to inspire him. She keeps him company, though, when he asks her to- not for any particular reason, but she doesn’t have any other jobs to do, so she might as well. Spare time should be spent somehow, right?
As that night draws to a close and she gets up to leave, Momota tells her to come back in a few days rather than a week, because he’ll be done with the project by then. Death nods, tells him she will, and disappears.
Three days later, as promised, Death slips through his door without a sound, only to come in to see Momota asleep on the couch. He looks peaceful like that, without all the weirdly charming smiles and forced laughs on his lips, and even though she should by all means just reap his soul then, she drops a blanket on his shoulders and writes him a note, to let him know that she stopped by but he wasn’t awake so she’ll be back the following evening. It should be fine. He probably won’t be busy then, and if he is, well… they’ll cross that bridge when they get there, she’s sure.
When she gets back to her residence of sorts, though, she finds herself wondering what exactly it is that she’s doing. It was different the others times, he actually had a reason to need to stay alive, but this time she literally just chose not to reap his soul because he looked younger sleeping like that. The familiar worries from his every day life were gone, and she had been unable to take his soul while he was that vulnerable.
She doesn’t have a problem with taking the lives away from weak people. It’s her job, she’ll reap anyone’s soul, regardless of circumstance. If they’re on her list, Death will take them away. It’s what she does. It’s what she does with small children with cancer and old women who are all alone in their homes surrounded by cats who will starve in their absence. She doesn’t care about these people whose souls she reaps- at least, not overtly. She cares about them to an extent, enough that she’ll pretend to be a loved one if they confuse her to be, or wait a moment before taking their hand so that they can give a last goodbye, but she doesn’t care enough to try to save them.
After all, everyone must pass eventually, right? Just some sooner than others.
Even so, there’s something different about Momota. Maybe it’s because he gave her a name, which he’s been dutifully calling her since, or maybe because he’s so young but he’s still ready, or maybe because he invited her to have a drink and told her she seems tired. Maybe because he didn’t check out that stupid disease and has every opportunity to but doesn’t because it feels dishonest. Nobody should care about being dishonest with Death. In fact, they should be happy about it. They should be proud to be. And yet there he is, Kaito Momota, defying all expectations. It’s as poetic as it is sad.
And she doesn’t want to kill him. She doesn’t want him to die. It’s such a jarring thought that she stops in her tracks, closing one hand into a fist and punching her skull with it, because his name is still on her list and it’s her job and he’s even ready for it, ready to give up on life, so why would she want him to keep living? She’s Death, it doesn’t make a difference to her, it never has in the past. But even as she thinks it, she knows it’s not true. It’s different this time. It’s different with Momota. Even if it is different, though, she knows that she’s going to have to take his life away tomorrow, or whenever he tells her, if he doesn’t find another reason to put it off.
Silently, she hopes he does.
---
The next evening, when she steps into Momota’s living room, she’s immediately struck by how different it feels. It’s cleaner, almost, like he’s been tidying up. When she sees him, he’s in the kitchen, standing behind the stove and boiling some water in a tea kettle. He lights up when their eyes make contact, which is utterly ridiculous because she’s literally Death, and takes one hand from the stove to wave at her. He’s not dressed up, he’s just wearing a t-shirt and long pajama pants and space themed slippers, but something about it just seems more personal, somehow, like they’re old friends, or something more intimate.
“Hey!” Momota greets brightly. “I’m making tea, want some?” She slowly nods her head, figuring that it can’t hurt. In her mind, she finds herself hoping, praying that he’ll tell her he has another reason why she can’t take his life today, but instead he just grins at her and looks back at the kettle, tossing a yell over his shoulder that she can make herself at home. The reason why she’s here doesn’t even cross his lips. It’s almost as though she’s a friend, not a powerful entity come to take his life.
The thought makes her sad. Death crosses the threshold between the kitchen and the living room and sits down on his couch. It smells nice, almost, like aftershave and campfire smoke, and she’s not sure why it would smell like the latter because it’s inside of an apartment, but all of a sudden Momota is out of the kitchen with a teapot and two cups perched precariously on his arms, smiling at her all the way as he comes over and takes a seat.
He leaves a safe distance between them so as to avoid touching, but otherwise his posture is open, like he trusts her completely. Death feels a bitter taste start to enter her mouth, swallows it down hard and hopes it’ll disappear because that’ll only make this ten times harder.
“Did you finish the project?” She asks quietly, accepting the cup of tea he hands her with a murmured thanks and sipping it. It’s probably too hot to drink but those things don’t bother her, as she doesn’t have a human tongue. Still, she makes a show of recoiling from the heat so that Momota doesn’t respond like a moron and drink his too early, because she’s sure he would. Honestly, humans require too much coddling.
“Yeah, I did!” He beams, blowing on his tea, and eventually lifting it to his lips and taking a careful sip. He seems to deem it safe to drink because he begins sipping from it more regularly, so Death doesn’t bother being cautious as she takes a longer drink. It’s chamomile tea, a flavour she quite likes; as far as human beverages go, it’s one of her favourites, truth be told, though she’s not really sure how Momota could’ve figured that out. “Yonaga- that’s my boss, her name is Angie Yonaga- was really fond of it, she gave me today off! I figured I’d better clean up a bit so you’d feel less swamped in my gross shit.”
To be honest, Death hasn’t minded so much. She nods regardless. “I see. I’m glad you finished it.” No, she’s not, really. She wants to ask him if he has anything else lined up, what his schedule looks like, if they should postpone today further- she wants to postpone today further- but she doesn’t, she keeps her stupid emotional mouth shut because it’s her job and she has to take his soul. She’s just grasping for excuses not to do the inevitable, at this point.
Momota seems happily unaware of her mental conflict, drinking his tea with ease. “Me too! It was a lot to deal with, I’m starting to think Yonaga puts that stuff on me to test my abilities as a worker, but I’m not so sure…” he laughs, shaking his head. “It’s hard to tell with her, she’s a bit of a cryptid!”
He rambles on, and Death is listening, but mostly she’s just watching his face as he talks. He pours himself more tea some of the way through a story he launched off in, looking remarkably happy, and eventually she does the same, finding herself rather thirsty for some reason. Momota’s expression is so animated, so full of life, it’s hard to picture what those handsome features would look like in death. She doesn’t personally guide their souls to the afterlife- that’s the job of another person, called Toujo on a more personal level but officially referred to as the River Keeper- but while it’s not unheard of for reapers to drop by on the more unstable souls they took, it’s rare that a reaper will stick around to see the body of the person whose life they just extinguished like a weak birthday candle flame.
And why would they stay? What reason would they have? Dead bodies are ugly, Death doesn’t like them- which, she supposes, is also ironic, considering her life’s purpose. They always look so pale and sunken in. Right now, Momota’s eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed. She can’t really imagine him any other way. The thought makes her stomach twinge. She won’t stick around to see his body after she’s reaped his soul, she won’t. Not just due to a personal preference, but in this case, because she couldn’t bear to see Momota like that, not after this time spent together. Is it stupid to think this way? Perhaps, but she knows she couldn’t stomach it.
“Anyway.” Momota finishes his story, lowering his teacup to the table with an air of finality about him. “Thanks for listening to me these past couple weeks, Maki. It’s weird, but I don’t think I’ve ever liked a person as much as I like you.”
Hesitant, Death responds, “If it’s any consolation, me too.”
Her words seem to have the desired effect; Momota starts to laugh, shaking his head at her. “But, really.” He clears his throat. “It’s meant a lot to me. It’s nice to see that people can be kind, y’know? Even if they are… like, reapers, and stuff.” She feels her gut clench at that; the sad light in his lilac eyes makes her feel lightheaded. “Anyway, thanks for being patient with me. I know it’s stupid to deny death just because I’ve got a tight schedule.” He takes a deep breath and looks her in the eyes, smiling. “I’m ready now.”
Ah. So, it’s time, then. Death feels a block starting to cement in her chest, ignoring it and nodding. Of course, she’s got to do it, now. No more excuses, no more delays. It’s an ugly feeling, this one, the feeling of disappointment and dread and preemptive guilt that she’s going to take someone as truly kind as Kaito Momota from the world. Someone who saw her in his house and asked why she was there instead of reaching for a gun. Someone who made her tea on the day he knows she’s here to kill him and complimented her, saying that she’s kind. He’s too good, the world doesn’t deserve him, but on a similar note, the world doesn’t deserve to lose him, either.
That was never hers to decide, though. Death swallows hard. “Where do you want me to touch you?” She asks. “Uh, one touch and you’ll be gone, so… yeah.” She clears her throat, suddenly finding it hard to breathe without wanting to cry.
“Hm…” Momota seems to be considering her offer in a very serious way, which is as endearing as it is horrifying. This is the last touch he’ll ever be alive for, of course it means a lot to him where it lands. “I’d ask for the hand, or something, but to be honest…” he pauses. “Maybe on the lips?”
“The lips?” Death echoes.
“Yeah, like,” he grins sheepishly. “It might be a bit poetic, y’know, a kiss from death took my life away or whatever. Cooler than some crummy disease by far.”
Well… she certainly doesn’t mind kissing him, but… for some reason it feels like that’ll just make everything exponentially worse later, though. Still, it would be cruel to deny him his final request. Shakily, she nods, pressing her lips together and hoping he can’t see how much this is tearing her apart. The last thing she needs is him trying to comfort her. That’ll just make everything harder, won’t it?
“Okay.” His voice is a lot softer now. “Whenever you’re ready, then, Maki.” He closes his eyes, and Death feels like if she has a heart, it’s just stopped in her chest. He’s so expectant, waiting for her to do it, to kiss him and then take him away from the world. It’s her responsibility, after all, her job. So she should do it. She’s a reaper, she’s Death. No more putting it off, no more acting like it’s not going to have to happen, no more ignoring it. Right here, right now, with the taste of chamomile tea still lingering on her tongue, she… she has to do it. Take Kaito Momota’s soul with a kiss.
She inhales, preparing herself, and leans forward to press their lips together.
“...Maki?”
She looks back over at him, and sees his eyes are open, filled with confusion. She finds it in herself to smile at him. She’s standing several feet away from the couch now, where she leapt off right before their lips met and landed farther away than she anticipated. Kaito was probably alerted by the lack of her weight on the couch. “Sorry, I just realised something,” she stammers out, hoping she doesn’t look as crazy as she feels. “I have something else scheduled, right now, something I need to go for right now. Another soul to reap, y’know?” She’s going to get into so much trouble for this. “So, I’ll, have to, take your soul later.”
Kaito blinks, and gosh he looks so baffled. “But-”
“I know! Shucks, I should’ve kept an eye on the time.” She lets out a strangled laugh. This isn’t allowed, she can’t do this. “Let me check my list and see if I’ve got any time to see you after this.” With shaking hands, she pulls out the piece of paper, staring down at the names there. His name is still at the top of the list. “Crap, I guess I don’t have any time the rest of this month, what a bummer.” She sighs, like she’s disappointed, shaking her head and tucking the list back into her pocket. “Maybe I’ll swing by in a month or so to take your soul then, but I gotta run, so-”
“Wait, Maki,” Kaito’s climbing up over the couch, and now he really looks concerned. “Are you even allowed to-”
No, she’s not, she’s not allowed, but she shoots away from him, as though his proximity will burn her. “In the meantime,” she tells him, and her voice sounds choked, like she’s on the verge of tears. “Why don’t you take care of yourself, huh? See a doctor, or something! Have a chat about that disease of yours.” She offers him a bright smile- or at least, one as bright as she can manage. “Just for fun, y’know?”
“Maki, I know what you’re doing, wait,” Kaito sounds so worried. “You can’t risk getting in trouble just because you-”
“Wow, look at the time!” She looks at an imaginary watch, finds nothing is there, but gives Kaito a crazed smile regardless. “I gotta run! See you in a month or so!” Then, because she can, she adds, “Or not.”
With that, before he can say anything else, she wills herself to return home, and when she’s certain that she’s no longer in his apartment, instead alone in her home, she collapses on the floor and starts to sob.
---
The next day, as Maki finishes taking an old grandmother’s soul, she pulls out her list, wondering who’s next, other than the obvious. But as she looks at the archaic handwriting all the names and details are written in, she watches Kaito Momota’s name disappear, and feels a smile creep onto her features as tears fill her eyes.
She’s going to get into so much trouble for it. It’s not allowed, not even slightly. Kaito was supposed to die. But it’s all worth it, she thinks, if he gets to live. And one day, if she doesn’t end up dead because of the stunt she pulled yesterday… maybe she’ll get to give him that kiss.