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The last thing the man could remember was the sharp pain prickling all over his body as he hit the surface of the water —there was the instinctive survival reflex of thrashing and thriving to rise back to land, but the overwhelming pain dragged him down to the depths below, knocking the air out of his lungs.
He could recall the bubbling feeling of helplessness, his vision slowly fading into pitch black as he sunk, as well as the confusion and disorientation of shattered light through murky water, filled with floating specks.
There was one lone thought — of how long he’d taken to ponder , to prepare himself to actually jump—and the anticlimactic presentiment of it all when it had actually happened.
Yes, it was painful—the way the muscles around his larynx clamped down and tightened, effectively causing him to choke on water—and the first involuntary breath underwater, suffocating.
But it was quick . in the grand scheme of things, and it was more … meaningless than he’d liked it to be, and it echoed just how miniscule he was in the vast entirety of all that is living. His death didn’t matter—the world would stop to acknowledge him for a brief moment, and carry on with the natural order of things.
They tell you life flashes by your eyes moments before death, but truth be told, what beckoned him to jump—and what overwhelmed the natural reflex to stay alive, was the immense grief weighing over his shoulders, and there was nothing to look forward to at that point.
For something so greatly feared, and a topic often avoided, death was pretty anticlimactic—like a movie with a great peaking climax, but the excitement goes into a continuously downward slope from there.
When you’re in the spur of the moment, contemplating your life—you think about a lot of things. You wonder if people will actually remember you, revere you, and you reach a sad, finalized truth where—okay, maybe they only really do care when you’re gone.
Overwhelmed by sadness, you usually don’t think about what comes after.
“Why did you do it?”
He opens his eyes, and he is back to where he stood before—behind the steel railing on the verge of rusting—and he remembered the coarse texture of corroding metal on his palm before he jumped, staring down at the river below, and the specks of moonlight reflected from above.
The man turns to his side, and he sees a girl with intense onyx eyes staring back at him.
There was something eerie about her, in the way that she carried herself—almost ghost-like, and how her eyes were darker than any other substance he’d ever had the luxury of gracing eyes upon in all the years he was alive. Those vantablack hues called out to him, causing a shiver to run down his spine in a very inhumane sense.
A staggering image of korean beauty, in the form of deathly-pale skin, blood red lips, and striking eyes that seemed to be so void of life—and the flowing white dress framing her delicate figure.
“.. Are you..?” He starts, and the effort to speak is futile because he’s back to trying to scramble for words moments later.
“I’m here to take you away.” The girl stated matter-of-factly, her voice deep and dripping in finality. “That’s what you wanted, right?”
“I—I mean..”
“She doesn’t like it, you know.” Death heaved a sigh, and her brow furrowed slightly in thought. “I don’t either, for the record. There’s plenty of time to be dead, so what’s the point in rushing it?”
The man frowned, his face twisting into a bitter expression.
“I don’t matter to anyone.” He shook his head. “And nobody ever really did care about me. All my life, I’ve felt like an outcast.”
“That’s what they all say,” The ghostly woman shook her head. “Trivial woes—and men are always so quick to assert that brave, and independent facade.”
“Surely, I’m not the first person you’ve spoken to about this.” The male chuckled drily. “So it’s only natural you’d be desensitized by now.”
A scoff escapes the girl’s lips.
“You mortals are almost always too close to the image to see the bigger picture forming.”
The beat of silence was enough of a determinant for Eunseong. She reaches out to touch him, causing his body to dissolve into specks of light, flittering away with the gust of wind that seemed to breeze past her.
The way his body easily disintegrated in her palm was a nice metaphor to life, she liked to think—everything you’ve built upon, all of it is easy to crumble, and it should only be more of a reason to treasure it.
Yes, she was the physical manifestation of death—but her entire purpose of existence was more of a responsibility than a hobby. Life was further beautiful, in every sense of the word.
(But Eunseong would never admit to that out loud.)
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Life is beautiful, in every sense of the word. She holds herself in a specially regal way, all gentle smiles and creased eyes. Her hair cascades down her back in silky purple, and her eyes are like kaleidoscopes that reflect the different colors of the rainbow.
She is the epitome of kindness, because she develops an attachment for every living thing and fondly refers to them as her children.
“Goeun,” Eunseong would call out once, in a garden of green overflowing with life and all that is beautiful, and she’d only wince at the forced smile Life fixes on her face as she froze midway, into admiring white chrysanthemum blooms that were cradled gently in her dainty hands.
It’s only natural, because they were complete opposites—but she can’t help the perturbed feeling.
For someone who is apathetic, Eunseong always found herself feeling a little nervous around her counterpart—and she was confident to some extent that Goeun might have found her presence a little annoying, by the trail of death she’d inevitably carry around with her.
“Do you hate Eunseong?” her voice comes out a little teenier than she would’ve liked, because it echoed the weakness in her heart— the thought alone that, okay, maybe she wasn’t the most emotionless person ever.
(She refers to herself in third person when she’s nervous— often unconsciously, and it’s an odd habit she’s had a great difficulty in dropping.)
Eunseong hates how she waits for an answer with bated breath, because these things shouldn’t matter to her at all, but her palms are kind of a little clammy now.
She shouldn’t feel the need to acquire any validation from anyone , because that was such a human thing to do.
Goeun is way too nice for her own good, and it shows by the way her expression twists bitterly—her eyes drooping apologetically as the smile slowly slipped off her face, replaced by a sincerely sad frown—and Eunseong is kind of bothered by the sudden dim to the older’s natural glow.
It’s present in the way Goeun can’t bring herself to speak, or to scramble for words—she’s just, completely utterly silent, and that was already pretty much enough of an answer for Eunseong.
Besides, she doesn’t think she’d be able to handle hearing an answer anyway. Eunseong isn’t disturbed by the idea of death, horror movies are kid’s cartoons for her, and she finds skeletons funny—but Goeun vocalizing some sort of dissatisfaction for her might be some kind of irrational phobia.
So she nods consecutively in understanding, biting her bottom lip—and she stares back at Goeun, not meaning to show that pained expression on her face, because it’s unfair , and she does not find any joy in what she does anyway.
Eunseong is embarrassed, and it shows in the way her face turns a few shades redder—from the warmth that started to seep into her cheeks, into the base of her neck.
Not dignifying a response, she leaves, and Goeun doesn’t stop her.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
“It’s just, so so awkward, Seoyoung.” Eunseong frowned, and there was also something kind of annoying in the way her feet seemed to dangle childishly off the edge of the shore’s boardwalk, her eyes trained on the sunset-painted sky off the horizon.
It made her feel like a kid, the embarrassing height—and the personification of death shouldn’t be anything but intimidating. She shouldn’t be internally cursing at her lack of height, or whining at the way her feet could barely touch the floor whenever she’d sit on a chair.
Seoyoung laughs—and it’s a throaty laughter that edges into the silence in declining volume. It’s short and respectful in an attractive manner—not long and winded in a sense that it would cut the general flow of a conversation, but enough to make one's heart flutter.
“It’s been that way since forever,” The blonde girl comments with a shake of her head. “Shouldn’t you be used to that by now? I mean, she’s always been like that.”
“She doesn’t treat you like that.”
And it shouldn’t matter, how Goeun seemed to treat Eunseong differently in comparison to the others—but it upsets her greatly. It shows by the way she’d unconsciously pout, or puff her cheeks at the thought alone.
The sunset giving way for the vast darkness of the night to rise reflected the disappointment in her chest—because Life’s hatred for her never failed to sour her mood in more ways than one.
And it bothered her how Seoyoung spoke the bitter truth. If Goeun disliked her, that shouldn’t matter because it doesn’t get in the way of her work at all.
They could coexist independently, and that’s the way it has been for longer than she could remember.
“Well, I’m not the one who puts her ‘beloved children’ to sleep.” Seoyoung points out, and there’s a lilt to her tone when she mentions Goeun’s habit of calling her creations ‘children,’ as if the thought amused her greatly—out of endearment or mockery, Eunseong would never know.
Eunseong groans, throwing her head back. “It has to happen, and you know Unnie doesn't like doing it.”
“You tell her that, then. I mean, we’re already on pretty good terms and I don’t want to make it awkward."
“Unnie is shy, and it’s easy for you to say that because you make living things fall in love.” Eunseong rolled her eyes, pouting—and really, if she even had a say in her own set of worldly responsibilities, she would have chosen anything else.
(But she also kind of knew that deep inside, there was still some gratifying feeling in doing something nobody else would. She was Death for a reason, after all.)
“Right, it’s natural that she’d appreciate me. I’m Love.” Seoyoung’s voice booms out and echoes, because she's boisterous, and her presence alone would naturally disrupt any peaceful space—and Eunseong doesn’t even have to spare a glance at the younger girl’s face, because she could already practically feel the grin seeping into her tone.
“And you’re Death, so it’s only natural she’d hate your guts too.”
It was more of a stab to her chest than she’d liked to admit. A sharp pain at the thought alone that she was to be inevitably hated for simply existing—especially considering the fact that the person that was currently actively avoiding her was someone she had come to admire greatly.
For someone who liked to proudly dub herself the personification of Love, Seoyoung was insensitive, and she barely filtered any of her words. She was often so brash when it came to vocalizing these things, but those quirks might have come to be a sort of endearing quality for Eunseong.
Because when you’re someone who puts an end to living creations, and when the only people that generally appreciate and revere what you do are teenagers going through some kind of emo phase (or those who never grow out of it), it kind of becomes a brand, and the others end up becoming cautious of what they say around you.
Goeun was one of those people who would often frown upon her, and Eunseong could never find it in herself to get mad for it.
She’d lean forward, glancing down at her own reflection from the waters below—all baby-faced, with lips drawn in together to form a tiny pout.
At that point, the sky has completely turned dark—the once orange hue now an infinite stretch of black. The stars seemed to blink back at her, as if telling her to cheer up, and it was one of the more beautiful things that weren’t a product of Life.
It didn’t make her feel guilty for admiring. She could comment on how beautiful the sky was to her heart’s content without having to feel embarrassed about it, because Death doesn’t have to put an end to the natural structures and universal architectures of the world.
(It doesn’t make her think about Goeun, or the reasonable distaste Goeun has for her.)
“But I love the things she does.” Eunseong mutters under her breath, and it’s one of those moments where she'd allow herself to genuinely speak out the contents of her chest.
Because it’s true. The whole concept of life itself, from the flowers, to the animals that would frolic around the fields so carelessly—Eunseong was a fan of all of that, and it made her line of work a little more bearable to know that there will always be something beautiful to look forward to in every passing day.
And okay, humans were pretty insufferable, but she appreciated the meaning they’d often give to life. It made everything more complicated, but it also gave rise to a more elevated level of respect for a lot of concepts often overlooked.
To humans, Life is like a maze—plenty of hardships, but there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel, and the thought of success alone might have given anyone a renewed vigor.
To humans, Love gives Life meaning—it makes everything worth bearing through, knowing that there are other people that empathize with you.
Death is greatly feared, and nobody in their right mind ever looks forward to it.
Seoyoung would glance at Eunseong from the corner of her eye, and Eunseong’s figure is so small, hunched over and sulking—which in actuality, is really a great contrast to the image people generally tend to associate death with.
For something so scary, Death was actually pretty harmless.
(She’d frown, because she’s Love, and she can sense stronger emotions.)
Giving Eunseong a pat on the back, the younger girl could only heave a sigh.
“Try not to beat yourself up too much, Unnie.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Eunseong would often refer to humans as annoying and insufferable, and her face would usually twist sourly at the thought of communicating with one—but there was really bound to be some sort of exception at some point.
Because humans were diverse. They were all uniquely different in more ways than one, and they apparently liked proving Death’s preconceived notions of the naive and narrow-minded human brain wrong.
Death has a love-hate relationship with hospitals, because lives are made and lost in that very place. She doesn’t like the clean, white-washed walls—or the overpowering scent of disinfectant that often burns the bridge of her nose, but she likes walking past the nursery room because the sight of babies makes her heart flutter.
She also likes visiting her favorite human—though she’d never admit to that preposterous idea out loud.
(Well, the contest for "favorite human being" would have been a landslide win. There is only one human Eunseong generally finds tolerable, after all.)
“Koyuki,” Eunseong calls out, and she’d go down on her knees, allowing her chin to rest on the foot of the hospital bed. It was kind of uncomfortable, and she could simply sit on the bed—but this way, she wouldn’t have to be reminded of how her feet would dangle off the edge everytime. “What did you eat today?”
Mori Koyuki was, in every sense of the word, pure-hearted. It showed in the toothy smile she’d often give Eunseong whenever they talked. Her eyes would usually sparkle and crease whenever she spoke, and that expression alone would have had to make her the second most beautiful person ever to exist.
“Fried rice and chicken. It was kind of bland—but I don’t think I should be one to complain, my nurse told me that she put in some extra for me this morning so I’d feel more full.”
Her voice was almost child-like, and she’d always manage to sound so reserved and exuberant at the same time. Eunseong also kind of liked how easy it was for Koyuki to laugh, because when she did, her voice would always echo off the walls and even off into the next room over.
It wasn't short or polite, it was loud and it boomed into her eardrums like an annoying earworm.
.. Well, a pleasantly annoying earworm.
“Unnie thinks you should complain.” Eunseong commented, and she found herself unconsciously smiling at the endearing tilt to the younger girl’s head. “You’re paying a lot to be here, and you deserve good food, after all.”
Besides, your time is near.
The thought alone would bring a pang to her chest, and she notes how much thinner Mori Koyuki had gotten since the last time they’ve exchanged words. She doesn’t want to notice it anymore, because it gets in the way of their conversations.
“I’m sure they’re trying their best, Unnie.” Yuki responds kindly, and her brows would furrow a little. “I think they’re trying their best, and they’re making more of an effort to make me feel comfortable lately.”
Eunseong likes being called Unnie, and it makes her chest flutter whenever people call her that. Especially when it’s coming from Mori Koyuki, because it’s so genuine.
But she knows Yuki’s tone of voice—the progressively growing despondent tone, and the tiny twitch to her smile whenever she made that happy expression. She can see the way her eyes seemed to water a little whenever they’d meet.
Mori Koyuki was child-like, but she was in no way stupid.
“Hey, why don’t you tell Unnie a funny story?” Eunseong taps Yuki’s knee from the edge of the bed, and shifts to adjust her position, propping an arm under her chin to listen attentively.
“I’ve told you all of my funny stories.”
“I’m forgetful, tell them again.” Eunseong grins, and knocks herself on the head apologetically—when in reality, she knows Yuki is aware that it’s just an attempt to make her feel a little better.
Yuki would regard that response with a thoughtful expression, and she’d ponder with her bottom lip jutting out—stroking her chin adorably. Eunseong still wears a vacant expression on her face because she’s so mesmerized by the human’s droopy eyes and tiny curl of a smile.
“Well, I mean—okay. If it’s for you.” Koyuki nods a little, and that sight alone makes the older girl feel a little relieved.
Like Goeun, there was this natural glow to Mori Koyuki. They were both uniquely bright in their own ways, but still glowing nonetheless.
Unlike Goeun though, that light in Yuki’s eyes seemed to dwindle a little bit.
Eunseong, in mounting desperation, really just wants to keep it alive—or preserve it, if she can help it at all.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Unnie, it’s just so difficult.” Eunseong sobs a little, and her shoulders seemed to droop down—reflecting the somber expression on her face. “I.. don’t want to do this anymore.”
She doesn’t want to be the one to watch someone with the likes of Mori Koyuki crumble into dust, or dissolve into specks of light to God-knows-where, because Eunseong personally knew just how much of a beautiful person she was in her entirety.
It’s so easy to let go of the people who don’t relish everything Life has to offer—but putting an end to those who were genuinely happy, and still had a whole lot to live for— those made Eunseong feel worse about herself.
And this is why she doesn’t like forming attachments with people who are “at death’s door,” but she just can’t help it.
Her heart aches, and the pain is just so inexplicably human. She has to fold her arms tightly over her chest, because it feels like there’s a gaping hole boring through it—and she’s so tempted to curl up into some kind of fetal position if it meant trying to fill it in.
She can’t help but sniffle, and claw and crumple up the fabrics of her shirt in a fit of mixed emotions, and the tears rolling down her eyes might have left a sticky feeling on her cheeks which were starting to become kind of icky.
Jieun smiles sadly, and only scoops the younger girl into her arms—holding her form close.
Because she’s Wisdom, and she might not be the most empathetic person in the world—but she has some idea.
And she knew that the job often came with the usual occurrence of making decisions that make it eternally difficult to sleep at night. Eunseong could only be desensitized so much , and she was still one of the softest Jieun had come to know personally.
Despite the preconceived notion of Death, she was really anything but.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Have you ever.. fallen in love ?”
The random question might have effectively broken Eunseong out of her reverie—because now her cheeks have blossomed into an unsightly hue of scarlet, and her eyes were wide open like saucers.
She was used to Koyuki asking small and trivial questions that were much easier to answer—all about food, or the time of day, or what happens to the human body upon death and decay.
(Mori Koyuki was innocent, yes, but she still found a lot of morbid things interesting. Eunseong, being some sort of personification of death, would always be happy to dignify those questions with a detailed answer.)
She’d snap her head over to the expression on Koyuki’s face, the younger’s head tilted cutely to the side, and she almost feels obligated to provide a lengthy response, if it meant sating the younger girl’s curiosity.
And she could outright deny her, and tell Koyuki she has more important matters to attend to than the prospect of eternal companionship (like the responsibility of making sure every soul can successfully pass over into the afterlife), but she taps her chin in an effort to come up with an answer.
“That depends..” She’d mutter. “How do you define falling in love?”
It’s a completely valid question, Eunseong surmises, even if it was some poor attempt to give herself more time to think of an answer. Humans had a unique take on a lot of different concepts, and these meanings often came to fruition from personal experiences. They were complicated like that, and the thought alone would sometimes make her head hurt.
“Happiness,” Yuki answers knowingly, and just as quickly, as if she knew a secret Eunseong would never be privy to. Like some kind of honor student who studied for a test the day before, well-prepared and actively in anticipation. “I think it’s wanting their happiness above all.”
Eunseong exhales through her nose, and her shoulders tense up a little—because she shouldn’t feel the need to personally relate to human manners—if any, as much as possible, she tried to separate herself from the idea of being anything relatively close to human.
“Then no, not at all.” She’d squeak out, but her tone kind of fell short of convincing—and it was obvious Koyuki might have picked that out.
“You’re lying.” The younger girl sings matter-of-factly, in a tone that kind of exasperated Eunseong—because if there was one thing she found a little irritating, it was the idea that she was kind of an open book around the people she generally liked.
And she’d groan, face planting onto the fabrics of the hospital bed—and she could smell the faint scent of disinfectant and fabric softener from the soft sheets.
“Fwne, there iz swuvwone” Eunseong would say, her voice muffled—and Yuki laughed, her voice shrill like broken glass, but still sounded quite beautiful (in some weird, unorthodox sense) nonetheless.
“Since I’m the one always sharing stories,” Koyuki would grin, moments after her laughter died down—and there’s another glint behind her eye that would have made Eunseong feel a little wary. “Why don’t you tell me about them?”
She’d turn again to look at the younger girl, her cheek flushed against the bed, and her brows would furrow a little—because now she’s attempting to scramble for words.
“I—Well,” Her lips would part, attempting to construct a coherent sentence—because it seemed like some sort of taboo for her to even think, moreso talk about the person.
But her mind goes back to vivid purple hair, and creased eyes whenever she smiled—and the dull ache in her chest whenever she gave that look to anyone else but her.
And it’s like a sad, guilty pleasure for her—because she’s fascinated by Goeun, but she’s always stuck with admiring from a distance.
“Unnie doesn’t think there’s any point in going into detail about it.” Eunseong sighed, because now her mood has kind of fouled a little.
“Nooo, come on!” The younger girl shook her head, and waved her hands animatedly, her voice a little loud and whining.
“Tsk, fine, fine.” Eunseong would respond, rolling her eyes.
Okay, she gave in to that a little too quickly—but she liked to think it was completely valid because she’d been dying to tell somebody about it lately.
But does it really count as lately when it’s been that way for a long time? The worry came with the job, and the constant anxiety weighing in over her shoulders, about what Life generally thought of her—it was all kind of her thing at that point.
“She’s really beautiful, for starters.” The older girl sighed thoughtfully. “And kind, she.. uhm. makes .. really great art (?), and she has the prettiest eyesmile ever?”
By no means, was Eunseong used to talking about crushes and puppy love—but if it meant the bright, attentive look behind Koyuki’s eyes, and the animated expression on her face, she considers going on.
Unconsciously bringing an arm to rub the back of her neck, there’s a lull in the air for that brief moment, because Eunseong is trying to properly piece together words to form a comprehensible sentence.
“She doesn’t like me, but I kind of wished I could show her just how much I appreciate her existence—and everything she does, and just how much she matters to me.”
It was embarrassing to pour out the contents of her chest out loud—and it made her shift a little in an attempt to tuck away the redness of her cheeks, and she could feel her face grow a little warm—but there was also some gratification to finally saying these types of things out loud.
It’s finally given her some more space to breathe—but it wasn’t like breathing was much of a necessity for an immortal being, anyway. It made her feel a little weightless, and kind of relieved of some of the burden of responsibilities she’d often carry on her shoulders.
Mori Koyuki hums, and she sits up—reaching out to place a delicate hand over Eunseong’s head. Her smile glows, and it gives Eunseong an uneasy feeling from the pit of her stomach.
“You’re really pretty when you smile,” Koyuki mutters, voice laced with this soft sincerity that might have made the older girl pause for a moment—because she wasn’t used to the younger’s voice dripping with honey—sweet, smooth, and loving. “and I’m sure there’s nothing to dislike about you, Unnie.”
Eunseong stares in wonder, and she would never admit to the way her eyes kind of watered a little bit at those words—because she rarely gets to feel validation.
And from a human, no less.
It only makes her heart hurt more, just the thought of having to let go of someone so precious, and someone who seemed to see her in such a contrasting light.
Eunseong wondered if Mori Koyuki would still say the same if she had some inkling as to who she really was, and what role she’d be bound to play soon.
But for now, she musters a weak smile—and she reaches up to tightly grasp Yuki’s palm.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
For longer than she can remember, Goeun had always made it a habit to avoid Death—like the natural order of how things were supposed to be, and the pent up frustration she’s gone to develop for Eunseong.
She doesn’t like the way the younger girl’s eyes were always so void of life—or her pale skin, and the short blonde bob that went down to reach the nape of her neck. Goeun doesn’t appreciate the unnatural physical presentiment of Death, or the way she’d always frown deeply.
There was this preconceived notion already implanted in her head then—of how she was supposed to act, and treat someone who was always apathetic in taking away the lives of the children she’d come to cherish.
(She liked to refer to her creations as “her children,” because there was some ring to it—and a sense of endearment and gratification at the thought alone that she had some special familial attachment to her creations.)
And she’d always been so upset, whenever she’d cross paths with Eunseong who’d never fail to wear that unfeeling expression on her face—because did she even feel the tiniest bit of guilt in the things she’d do?
Or how she’d always vocalize her distaste for the human race, and their innate meaning-making tendencies, because they’d always manage to make things complicated, and they would often make Eunseong’s head hurt.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Why do you hate Eunseong?”
The question seemed innocent—and Goeun knows deep inside that whenever Jieun did ask these kinds of questions, she’d never mean to probe, so she doesn’t think twice in responding.
Because Goeun doesn’t really need to ponder, and her distaste for Death would have been an obvious finality.
“She’s uncaring,” Life would state matter-of-factly, and it’s so uncharacteristic of her to be so openly disgusted about these kinds of things, but when you’re being spurred on by some sense of negative emotion, you gain an untypical level of straightforwardness.
“And she’s Death. ”
Goeun says it, as if that alone was the answer to all of the secrets in the world—and there would never be any possible rebuttal. She says it as if it’s some written law of the Universe, and it was completely irrevocable.
But when Jieun looks at her for a moment longer than comfortable, with a subtle shake of her head—jaw shifting, and this look in her eyes that seemed to tell a different story, Goeun doesn’t know why her resolve falters.
She kind of understands later that day, when she sees Eunseong smiling adorably as a stray dog slowly sidled up to her—panting, and tail wagging playfully.
Eunseong’s lips would slowly part to let out a throaty laughter, and her eyes seemed to soften a little bit, and you can tell if you squint hard enough.
Goeun can’t explain the warmth feeling in her chest at the sight from a distance, but she feels it, and tries to push it down.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
When the realization slowly sinks in, Goeun has to reconsider every single belief she’s ever had that relatively concerned Eunseong—because apparently , upon closer inspection, Death might have not been exactly what she’d initially conceived her to be.
Life finds it easy to get along with the other beings that ensured the proper execution of the natural order of the universe. She likes striking conversation and making friends, and enjoys being privy to a completely new point of view.
But for some reason, around Eunseong—she would always keep mum, and sometimes stare blankly for god knows how long. She doesn’t know if Death notices, because Eunseong was probably too preoccupied to even spare her a glance anyway.
Goeun notices how easy it is to make Eunseong laugh when she was with Seoyoung—in her element, because her lips would always part to form a beautiful grin whenever Seoyoung would spring a sarcastic remark, or a poorly-constructed joke, or anything in general at this point.
It’s a universal fact that the world often revolved around the Sun—going on some weird elliptical orbit that would always stretch 365 days.
But to someone with the likes of Goeun, her world probably revolved around the uniquely wide grin plastered on Eunseong’s face—showing rows of pure white teeth, and a button nose that seemed to scrunch up a little.
It’s subtle, the tiny bit of joy behind Eunseong’s eyes, when she was around the people she genuinely enjoyed spending time with. But Goeun can make it out, from observing the younger’s face a little too closely for a little longer than she might have liked.
And she thinks it’s adorable.
The splash of red dusting Goeun’s cheeks can attest to that.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Chaeyoung is the physical embodiment of Love. She and Seoyoung are partners in crime, work, and life.
In human terms, they are soulmates—and it’s obvious in the way Chaeyoung’s facial expression softens when her arms are around a certain squirrel-like girl. Seoyoung’s hand always seems to intertwine with her partner’s so effortlessly, like it was naturally meant to be that way.
When they’re around one another, there’s a specially deep tint of scarlet dusting Seoyoung’s cheeks—and her smile is a tad bit wider, more fulfilled.
Goeun doesn’t mean to stare, but when their hands are intertwined like that, she’s pensive and curious.
Because when you think about it, the prospect of eternal companionship didn’t seem too bad. The idea that there was bound to be someone you could feel that comfortable and transparent with, without having to be nail-bitingly anxious—It was exciting for her.
She doesn’t mean to be so outwardly vocal when she asks about it once, and it just comes out as she stared at the couple with that vacant expression on her face.
“How does it feel?”
Upon realizing the words that unconsciously spilled from her mouth, Goeun flushes a little out of embarrassment—turning away in a poor attempt to hide the red from her cheeks.
Seoyoung and Chaeyoung share a look out of mild surprise, because Goeun has never shown interest in romantic skinship before. Goeun had always been comfortably resigned to showing platonic affection—not just to her creations, but to her friends as well.
Not wanting to leave Goeun flustered, Chaeyoung smiles—and it’s certainly not just due to the excitement bubbling from deep inside, due to the prospect of being able to vocalize the love she has for Seoyoung.
“It’s nice, Unnie, and it makes you feel complete.”
The way Chaeyoung says it with so much conviction has Goeun feeling kind of envious, because maybe , she wants that for herself too.
She wants somebody to complement her flawlessly like Seoyoung was to Chaeyoung,
and she wants to feel complete too.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Do you hate Eunseong?”
The forced smile immediately slips off her face—replaced by one of surprise, and Goeun can’t explain the pang of guilt achingly pounding against her chest. She’s at a loss for words at that moment, because she doesn’t really know what to answer.
Because they’ve always coexisted independently, away from each other’s business—and Life thinks it’s because Death would make some special effort to narrowly avoid her, and she’s done the same ever since.
There’s a cloudy look in Eunseong’s eyes, glazed over with this mix of emotions she couldn’t quite accurately define. Her bottom lip was twitching a little, and her figure seemed to progressively shrink after every passing second.
Goeun ponders for a moment, about what to answer, and the cogs in her head seemed to turn endlessly—barely able to process what was currently happening, because they’ve never really been this transparent before.
(She wasn’t used to the flush on Eunseong’s cheeks, or the tears brimming the corners of her eyes, or the overall pained look on her face.)
Goeun only comes back to her senses when Eunseong nods, and then turns to leave.
She doesn’t understand the crushing feeling bearing over her as her arms went slack, the bunch of white chrysanthemum blooms slowly tumbling out of her grasp.
The way the flowers slowly fluttered down to the ground was a suitable metaphor for the slowly sinking realization that dawned upon her at that moment.
Maybe, she kind of regretted not finding it in herself to provide an answer.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sujin notices the way the light behind Goeun’s eyes seemed to dim lately, as well as the slight twitch to her smile whenever the corners of her lips curl up.
She can sense the tension weighing on her shoulders, as well as the preoccupied look in her eyes—how she seemed to only be dwelling in her own thoughts lately.
Luck might be the youngest, but she can also see how Goeun feels a little more nervous, blowing air into her cheeks in weird anticipation whenever their group of friends would hang out.
As well as the extra effort Eunseong puts into avoiding Goeun—moreso than usual.
And the way Goeun’s mood would worsen whenever she’d notice, and she’d frown deeply, playing with her fingers.
(Sujin would roll her eyes, because why were these two so.. oblivious?)
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
It happens that night, and the only thing she could remember is a warm, comfortable feeling overtaking her body—the once, dull ache all over her figure slowly giving way to one of peace.
She doesn’t feel fragile or delicate anymore—but she feels light, as if she were floating—off into the pitch black, deeper into the darkness.
And Yuki wonders, if this was actually it.
Because of all of the possible feelings in the world she’d associate with the notion of passing onto the next life, she doesn’t imagine it as drifting slowly—overwhelmed by calm.
She’s finally relieved of the difficulty of breathing, and the inexplicable weight in her chest that came from the anxiety of waiting.
It wasn’t like in the action movies she’d often watch once upon a time, the back of her retinas burning from being exposed to the blaring television for hours on end, hand buried into a bowl of popcorn as she was sprawled about haphazardly in the confines of her own couch.
The movies that get very graphic—and those would always amuse her greatly, her dolphin-like laughter echoing off into the next room—and her parents would shout back, scolding her for being way too noisy.
It’s peaceful, and she is in a state of complete acceptance.
“Mori Koyuki,” a familiar voice echoed out, and she opened her eyes to come face-to-face with someone she’d been speaking to a lot lately.
Eunseong leaned forward, lips curling up to form a sad smile—and there’s this guilty look on her face as she spoke, unable to look Koyuki in the eye.
The realization dawns upon her a little too quickly than Eunseong may have liked, because Yuki’s eyes seemed to glow in understanding after a moment of confusion.
And Koyuki should have known sooner—because she’s always been mesmerized by the unworldly darkness in Eunseong’s eyes, and the exceedingly pale color of her skin.
(Death was anticipating a lot of things then, but she didn’t expect Koyuki’s brows to knit together in worry, as she slowly sidled up to the older girl.)
“Unnie, why are you sad?” Yuki mutters, and Eunseong feels a little more sorrowful upon hearing her voice.
It wasn’t hoarse or weak like the many times before, and her voice was way more beautiful to the ears this way. It would only make Eunseong choke up, the sole thought of taking it away as soon as it came.
And the thought that, Yuki still could have had a whole lot more to live for—because she deserved that much, at the very least. Mori Koyuki was always so optimistic, and she would have lived every single additional day like it was the last.
Even moments into passing onto the next life, Mori Koyuki chooses to worry about the pained expression on Eunseong’s face—and Eunseong really just wants to wrap her arms around Koyuki in mounting desperation to not let her go.
The older girl shakes her head, and she forces herself to look at Yuki in the eye—and it’s harder than she’d liked it to be.
“Because Unnie has to take you away.” She mumbles, and her voice edges off into the silence quickly, but echoes in her ears like an annoying chant.
And Koyuki smiles , even after hearing those words—in deep understanding that no other human might have possessed, because nobody ever acts this way upon dying.
“I want you to be happy.” The younger girl shakes her head. “You only deserve to be happy.”
“I’m sorry,” Eunseong sobs, and balls her fists in upset. She can’t help the way her chest seemed to rise and fall erratically—because she’s just so, so frustrated at the system of the world that was far from fair. “You deserve better.”
“And you shouldn’t be guilty for giving people a reason to live, Unnie.”
The words don’t sink in for her then, because she was so lost in a flurry of mixed emotions—of upset, and of the inexplicable urge to claw away at the pain in her chest—but those words stay with her.
It makes breathing a little easier every time.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Goeun finds Eunseong in the same garden of flowers overflowing with life, and she immediately notices the sullen expression on the younger girl’s face—vacant, and pensive.
She sat at the center of the garden, hugging her knees—and the light seemed to grace her features beautifully, emphasizing the side of her face.
(Goeun notices the tear stains, and the bloodshot eyes, as well as the downcast gaze, and she can’t help but worry.)
Unlike the multiple times before, where they’d attempt to leave as much space around each other, Life goes over to Eunseong—uncharacteristic confidence probably spurred on by concern for the younger.
When she notices Goeun’s shadow reigning over her, Eunseong looks up warily, and her lips part for words, scrambling for an apology.
She’s rendered silent though, when Life bends over to wrap her arms around Eunseong’s figure, in some sort of warm, comfortable embrace.
Goeun’s hair smells of the subtle scent of flowers, she unconsciously notes—and some hint of vanilla, and it’s kind of tantalizing.
But she feels nice this way, and it helps her mood a little.
Goeun knows there’s no helping that overwhelming sense of grief—because she’s been put through that far too many times before, so she only holds Eunseong’s hand later, and for the rest of that day.