Work Text:
Renjun was so dead.
No, literally. He was both figuratively and metaphorically dead. He’s got over 50 unopened envelopes, the master spreadsheet has been backlogged for about a month, and his boss is definitely going to yell at him at the next meeting.
Oh, and Renjun is a mortifer , which means he’s the literal personification of death.
Yeah. Renjun was so dead.
“Dude, you’re so dead.”
Renjun runs his hands through his hair, head thumping on the wooden desk beneath him, hoodie falling over his head. “I know,” he laments, “thanks for the reminder.” Renjun sighs, then sighs again, for good measure. Donghyuck pats the back of his head gently twice, and Renjun can feel his forehead sinking into his desk.
“Doyoung’s going to beat my ass.”
“You just have to calmly explain to him that these are unprecedented times, that you have proven to be a good worker for centuries now, and that you will be able to do better in the following trimester.”
Renjun lifts his head from the desk, glowering at Donghyuck. “Don’t look at me like that. You know how they are with corporate talk.”
Renjun sinks his head back onto the desk. Donghyuck sounds far too chipper for the absolute doom that he’s facing right now.
“Okay, say it with me, because we both know you’re not good at defending yourself. Able to rise up to the challenge, strong work ethic, will do better and work harder in the next trimester.”
Renjun groans, and Donghyuck smacks the back of his head. He lifts his head to glare at him, but Donghyuck watches him expectantly, and he sighs. Again.
“Able to rise up to the challenge, strong work ethic-”
-
“I’ll get my shit together, I promise!”
Donghyuck’s pretty words had not worked. Neither is Renjun's last ditch attempt, judging by Doyoung’s unphased expression.
“Sorry, Renjun. Direction from the higher-ups,” Doyoung says, wagging his index finger up to the sky. Renjun inwardly curses Heaven’s office and administrative staff, because he’s got nothing left to lose, anyway. “Besides, it would be good to… get in touch with the mortals again.”
“But I’ve been here for centuries! On-the-ground work is for rookies !”
Doyoung shrugs. Renjun knows he’s giving him too much trouble, considering Doyoung doesn’t actually get to call the shots and is really just the middle-man here, but still. He’s stubborn, if anything, and he’s not going down without a fight.
Which is probably how he ended up in Purgatory rather than Heaven, but that’s not really something we can fix, is it?
“We need more experienced people on the ground,” Doyoung explains, “so we’ve assigned you a new vita , and we want you to show him the ropes.”
“Oh, great, you’re assigning me a newbie. Am I going to have to explain how he got here? What purgatory is? Oh my god , it’s because I stole a toy when I was alive, isn’t it!”
“I’m having Mark run through the basics with him. You’ll just need to teach him on the job,” Doyoung says, leaning back into his office chair. He knocks his stack of papers on his desk, creasing his eyebrows. Eventually, his hand settles on his nose bridge.
“Relax, Renjun. This might be good for you.”
-
“This might be good for you,” Renjun mimics in the mirror, like a kid making fun of his mom after she’s got her back turned. He runs his hands through his hair, and smacks himself in the face so he’s a little more alert.
Renjun isn’t one to get anxious—especially when he’s been in the business this long. He thinks of himself as someone with a calm and level head between his (admittedly, small) shoulders, someone who takes pride in his work no matter the cause.
Today, however, he feels a little lurch in his stomach, like a little puppy tugging at it’s leash, dragging the owner for the long haul. After all, it’s been centuries since he’d been assigned on-the-ground work, and Renjun wonders if he remembers any of it at all, let alone have to teach a complete newbie.
Renjun sighs. He sips at his coffee, although he doesn’t need it because dead things don’t need to eat nor drink , but it’s more of a comfort thing, and Renjun lets the warm, aromatic coffee soothe his tongue.
He sets the black porcelain cup on the table. He needs to make it to work eventually, and the trip may take a while. He can move fast, but he can’t teleport; nobody in Purgatory can—this is not Heaven, after all. It’s turning to winter, amber and bronze leaves now starting to see specks of white snow, and so Renjun reaches over to the tiny coat hanger at the corner of the door, shrugging on his black coat.
Renjun doesn’t feel the cold. But he remembers that it was his favourite season as a mortal, and, hey, long black coats are cool. And comfy.
They’ve got two Res Vitae et Mortis today , that being matters of life and death, or in other words, cases. Renjun guesses that fate had planned for one of them to be life-giving, and the other death-bringing, to show Jeno the ropes, but what does he know?
Exiting his apartment, the air feels cooler as he walks down an old path.
He feels like a parent going to pick up his kid from kindergarten. Or when they get sick midway through school and become a liability. But the higher ups had insisted that Renjun pick the poor boy up from his holding apartment, lest he get lost and wander off the deep end. How old is his vita , anyway?
“Renjun, you’re here,” Mark says, when Renjun reaches the apartment, patting him on the back.
“In the flesh,” Renjun jokes.
Next to Mark stands a man, probably around the same age as him at the time of death. His dark eyelashes fan over his eyes, and his nose is so angular it could probably cut him. He reminds Renjun of one of those greek statues they have up in Heaven, the ones he sees in passing when he goes up there for bimonthly meetings, and Renjun really would’ve thought Jeno was a greek statue come to life if he didn’t currently look like a kicked puppy.
“This is your vita. ”
“Jeno,” Jeno says, smiling.
“Renjun.”
Mark pulls Renjun aside, excusing themselves from Jeno.
“What,” Renjun deadpans.
“Look, dude, I know you don’t want to be here, but I’ve already run through the basics with him, and he’s a really nice guy! Just, try and do the groundwork as… diligently as you can, okay?”
Renjun huffs. He wasn’t looking forward to a lecture at nine a.m in the morning. “Okay.”
Mark pats him on the back again, like a dude-bro, and pushes him off with Jeno. As they walk away, Renjun turns around and glowers at Mark from afar.
Mark squints at him. “Be nice,” he mouths.
-
“...So,” Jeno starts, awkwardly, “how did you die?”
“Succumbed to smallpox,” Renjun replies simply.
“Smallpox? Isn’t that like, pretty much gone now? Were you not vaccinated against it?”
Renjun shakes his head, continuing down the street. “I died ages ago. I’m centuries old.”
Jeno makes a bit of an eung? sound in confusion, before he’s running after Renjun. “You don’t look it…” he says, trailing behind Renjun like a lost puppy.
“Souls don’t age, Jeno.”
Jeno opens his mouth, a quiet ah making its way out his mouth, and they continue to walk down the street, with the red brick buildings. Renjun clears his throat. “What about you?”
“Hm?” Jeno squeaks, “oh, I was stabbed.”
Renjun stops in his tracks. “Stabbed? You?” he asks incredulously. “What did you do? Drug deal gone wrong? Stole someone’s partner?”
“No,” Jeno flounders, “it was a mistake. My neighbour owed someone a huge sum of money. They thought I was him.”
Renjun scratches the back of his head, suddenly feeling bad for asking in the first place, considering Jeno had died less than a year ago. They say it takes souls some time to come to terms with their death. It had taken him at least three years to stop being bitter about it. “Oh, shit,” he says, “sorry. I didn’t know. Really should’ve listened when Mark gave me the briefing.”
“It’s okay, Renjunnie,” Jeno says, “there wasn’t much going on in my life anyway.”
Renjunnie. He hadn’t heard that nickname since the seventeenth century.
Renjun gets to walking again. “Most souls take a few years to accept their deaths, but you’re already on the job less than a year later.” Renjun picks up the pace, so they can make it to their first Res Vitae et Mortis of the day before noon. Jeno struggles to catch up. “Why’d you accept death so easily? You died young. No unfinished business?” he asks.
“Um, yeah,” Jeno says, “I was employed at a firm I didn’t enjoy working at, and I didn’t really have any goals. I think my parents were more upset about my… passing than I was.”
Because, the truth is, the dead always seem to be a lot more comfortable with what’s happened. It’s always the living that struggle with the aftermath. The struggle for the dead is, in fact, not usually being dead, but not being able to reassure their loved ones.
“Ah, well, that’s how it normally goes. You’re gonna be stuck here for…” Renjun fake checks his non-existent watch, “eternity. So I hope you enjoy working at this one.”
-
The first one, of many, happens like this.
They get to an old apartment, cluttered with too many old, outdated newspapers on the floor. A man sits in an old rocking chair, struggling with his last breath. He’s got to be about ninety, and Renjun spots a family portrait on the mantle top, with multiple urns on an island counter. He must be the last one left.
“What do we do?” Jeno whispers.
“You don’t have to whisper,” Renjun says, “he can’t hear us. What did Mark teach you?”
“To put my hand over his heart and focus on the energy,” Jeno says, still whispering.
Renjun gestures for Jeno to come closer to the dying man, and scoots from where he’s kneeling against the rocking chair to give Jeno more space.
He reaches to touch the man’s heart diligently, palm down. Squeezes his eyes shut, looking for a sign.
As a mortifer , Renjun puts his hands on the man’s head, because it’s believed that the fighting spirit to stay alive comes from the heart, and the acceptance of death comes from the mind.
He feels the man’s soul lift from his body, the tell-tale sign that it’s for him to take.
“It’s mine,” Renjun says, “you can let go now.”
The man’s soul looks weary, tired. Tired of being alone for years, that is, and it’s people like him that death welcomes with open arms. Renjun knows he’ll be looking for his deceased relatives next, so he draws a little portal of the sort with his fingertips, and quickly sends him on his way with a light push.
The portal closes with a humming sound.
“How do you know which realm to send him to?” Jeno asks, “for the peaceful crossover?”
“Experience,” Renjun says, doing jazz hands, as if his hands sparkle the way Jeno’s vita hands do. As a mortifer , everything that follows him is just dark smoke. “You just have to be observant,” he explains. “The family portraits on the wall, the urns. You usually get a grasp.”
“And if there aren’t any?”
“You tap into their desires,” Renjun says, positioning the corpse gently. “Where did they send you?”
Jeno wrings his hands together. “If they sent me to my desire then that’s… a little embarrassing for me. They just sent me to a big room with windows and this huge bed and the best comforter I’ve ever slept in. Think I slept for hours.”
Renjun chuckles, digging his hands into his pockets. “Mood.”
-
Res Vitae et Mortis goes easily for Jeno, surprisingly. Despite being new on the job, he’s having no trouble adjusting quickly, and Renjun can’t tell if it’s because he’s a fast learner, or if he should be thanking Mark.
They get a middle-aged woman next, a case of near drowning, and Jeno brings her back to life like it’s nothing. She coughs up salty seawater, and, from a distance, someone screams for an ambulance.
“Do we have to stay?” Jeno asks, as passersby rush to her aid.
Renjun shakes his head. “No, fate will take care of the rest. You’ve done your part.”
Jeno smiles, eyes crinkling. A feature Renjun will notice more often now.
-
Usually, Res Vitae et Mortis goes on without a hitch, and Jeno and Renjun get along just fine. Of course, sometimes, there’s an asshole. But that goes the same for just about any job, purgatory or not.
“I was just about to go on a month-long vacation with my girlfriend!”
“ Mistress,” Renjun corrects, “and the only reason you had enough money for it was because you ran a multi-level marketing scheme.”
The man wallops, grunting like a caveman with nothing more than a nutmeg for a brain. “Aren’t you supposed to be merciful to the dead?”
Renjun scoffs. “Please. I’ve been dead for years. And I usually am, but you’re just an asshole.”
He huffs out, to no avail. Renjun still stares at him with enough force to turn him into stone. He then drags his feet across to the, admittedly, much less scary looking Jeno, who’s just been standing there like a kid waiting for his mom to stop talking to the cashier at a grocery store.
“You,” he says, pointing directly at Jeno, “you can do something about this, can’t you?”
Jeno retracts his chin, avoiding the man’s grubby finger. He makes a quick glance at Renjun.
“He can’t.”
“Yes, he can! ”
Jeno whimpes. “I can’t,” he squeaks out.
The man stomps his foot, closing in on Jeno, and he’s about to open his mouth to retort when Renjun snaps his fingers, and a puff of what looks to be a cloud appears. The man disappears, his soul nowhere to be seen.
Jeno blinks. “What did you just do?”
“Sent him straight to hell,” Renjun says, with a certain sort of ease.
Jeno’s eyes widen, and he cocks his head to the side. “You can just do that?”
Renjun shrugs. “If he’s too much of a hassle the higher ups give you some sort of… liberty. Anyway, I’ll just have a word in with Doyoung. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
He walks across the huge bachelor pad, and flops down onto the white leather couch, kicking his legs up.
Jeno looks at some of the abstract art hung high on the walls. “Damn, this guy definitely didn’t deserve any of his money.”
“Unfortunately as it is with most of the rich,” Renjun calls from the couch.
“Now this is just excessive,” Jeno says, pointing at a wall filled from top to bottom with cigars. “no living person needs that many premium cigars.”
Renjun adjusts himself so he’s more comfortable on the big couch. “Never been in a rich person’s house before?”
“Once,” Jeno says, walking away from the cigars and back to Renjun on the couch, “some dude in my college had rented out his rich uncle’s mansion for the night. Biggest party of the year.”
“Hah,” Jeno chuckles, nodding as it all comes back to him, “that night was pretty fun.”
Jeno moves across the living room, and takes a seat on the couch on the other end from Renjun. He leans back, arms splayed across the couch.
“What about you? Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Being alive.”
Renjun lols his head to Jeno’s side. “Not really. Can’t remember it.”
“You should try it sometime. Doing human things even when you don’t need to.”
“I eat.”
“No, like, things that make you feel naturally alive, you know? Like showering just to feel the cold water hit your skin. Or heating up leftovers in the microwave and burning your fingers on it.”
“You make mundane things sound poetic.”
The sunlight streams through the big, ceiling high windows, adorning the fur carpet like gold embroidery. It felt like a balm on Renjun’s soul, a blanket. He notices that Jeno’s soul is honey-kissed.
“That’s because it is ,” Jeno says, grinning.
-
Jeno is late to work today. No matter, Renjun thinks, as he feels the little butterfly leaves it’s body, away from the pain it’s probably experiencing.
It isn’t until he feels the soul returning to its body, the mosaic wings starting to flap again, that he notices the smell of fresh chrysanthemums, the sparkle and glow of life. Jeno.
The butterfly’s little body flaps its wings painfully, before it’s finally off the palm of his kid’s hand, flying off into the bushes nearby.
“I win,” Jeno sing-songs.
“It’s okay,” Renjun smiles, dusting himself off. He hears the children laughing as the butterfly flutters off into the wind. “I like losing to you.”
It’s an easy day for them, today. This butterfly was the only thing on the agenda, according to the schedule he had been given by Doyoung at the start of the week, and Renjun and Jeno spend the rest of the day on the swings, once the children are called back by their parents. Jeno tests him again: his favourite humanly activities.
Showering. The feeling of warm water on your skin on a cold winter day.
Taking public transport. The sun resting on the platform at sunset, after a long day’s worth of work.
Feeling cold, then feeling hot. Drinking chicken soup when sick. Eating porridge when the stomach is upset.
Or, the more juvenile of things.
“I’m craving gummies,” Jeno announces.
Renjun leans against the chain of his swing. “I think I’ve got some at home.”
Jeno hops out of his swing, smiling. “Lead the way.”
-
Jeno quickly forgets about the gummies when he reaches Renjun’s house and finds out he has a cat .
“You like cats?”
“I love them,” Jeno says, cooing at the calico creature. She nuzzles her head against Jeno’s calf, carefully stepping her tiny paws over his feet. “I had one when I was a kid.”
Renjun shrugs his coat off, setting it on the coat hanger. “Had?”
Jeno’s in the middle of making kissy faces to Pipsqueak, when he realizes Renjun is staring at him. He clears his throat. “Yeah, she passed when I was a kid.”
Renjun’s at the pet observation centre not less than two hours later, because Renjun may or may not be weak for a particular soul. This all happens, of course, after Renjun rushes through writing a report of the day for Doyoung, and sends Jeno on his way home.
The building is unassuming, made of brown and beige brick, green vines cascading down the side of it. When Renjun pushes, the door creaks, and Renjun pulls out an old, dusty folder from his pocket when he gets to the counter.
Coming to the pet observation centre, especially the feline wing, is one of Renjun’s favourite, quiet pastimes. The centre stretches decades long, and, though it’s difficult for a human to understand, the centre is technically infinite, expanding more and more when there are new, unfortunate, additions.
Like the human souls themselves, they lose their colour, but not their personality, and each cat still finds themselves clawing at a scratching pole as they once did in the real world. He’s met quite a few in his time here. There’s Moomoo, who was apparently a tuxedo cat, who likes to play with pieces of newspaper, and Jasper, a ragdoll, who seems to do nothing but cough up ghostly hairballs.
Sometimes, Renjun will walk in, and find that one of the cats he’s acquainted with has been brought home, finally, by their now-dead owner. And though it’s sad he never gets to see them again, it brings him solace.
There are also the cats that never get brought home, forgotten or lost to the wild, their original cause of death due to neglect. Such had been the same for his own cat, Pipsqueak, who had been abandoned by her original owner, and, having been a domesticated cat her entire life, ended up succumbing to hunger and wild cats.
A pretty russian shorthair jumps off of Taeyong’s shoulder when he lifts his head above the counter, sensing Renjun’s presence.
“Hey, Renjun,” he says gently, “here to stare at the cats again?”
Renjun shakes his head, blowing the stray cat hair off his nose. “No, actually. I’m here to see if you can locate one.”
Taeyong wiggles his brows. “Who’s this for? I know you’re not here to get another cat when you’ve already got one devil spawn of your own.”
Renjun rolls his eyes. “It’s for my vita .”
“ Vita? ” Taeyong raises his eyebrows, “since when were you back to doing groundwork?”
“Since I missed work for one day and came back to find out a bunch of people had swallowed tide pods and died.”
Taeyong winces. “Ouch. The spreadsheet must’ve been a pain in the ass that day.”
“Yup,” Renjun deadpans, “I wasn’t fast enough and then it all got backlogged and,” he gestures vaguely, “here I am.”
Taeyong breathes out, looking genuinely apologetic. “Dang, I’m sorry about your demotion, dude.”
Renjun shrugs. “It’s whatever. I’m getting used to the groundwork again.”
Taeyong nods, and Renjun places the manila folder on the counter. It’s a brown folder, stamped with Jeno’s name on it, and contains record after record of his life. They’re carefully documented by the Living Beings department, and Renjun had managed to convince Donghyuck to get the file for him.
They chat as Taeyong looks through the files, recognizing which cat belongs to Jeno. He walks Renjun through the observation centre, and, before he knows it, he’s leaving the building, bidding Taeyong farewell with an armful of fur.
-
Renjun invites Jeno to his apartment under the guise of tea and biscuits for a job well done that week. Not that nobody dies on the weekends, but Renjun is relatively senior, and Doyoung is nice enough to let him choose his off days.
“We don’t even need food to survive,” Jeno says, with a mouthful of biscuits. There are crumbs on the corner of his mouth, and Renjun resists the urge to brush them away. He clears his throat.
“Well, you seem to be enjoying them.”
Jeno’s eyes crinkle gleefully. He swallows the biscuits with a sip of the tea.
Renjun sets his teacup down on the table, and instinctively reaches his hand around to the back of his neck. His fingertips land on his nape. “I, uh, have something for you.”
Jeno’s still munching on the biscuits when Renjun gets up from the couch.
“Wait here.”
Renjun makes his way to his room, scrambling to find the furry creature. He finds her, in his closet, nestled amongst his favourite sweaters, and plucks her from her nest gingerly. Luckily, unlike his own devil spawn of a cat, she allows herself to be picked up, and even purrs into his arms.
He makes his way through the hallway, holding up the kitty.
Jeno’s busy opening the next packet of biscuits when he hears her meow, finally noticing her. Recognition lights up in his eyes instantly.
“Oh my god, Bongsikie? ”
Bongsik mewls in response.
“I-,” he turns to Renjun, arms outstretched, “can I carry her?”
Renjun chuckles. “It’s your cat.”
Bongsik lets herself be passed to Jeno, nudging against Jeno’s hand when he places her on his lap, petting her lightly on her head. He lets her fur run through his ghostly fingertips, lowering his head to her crown so that he can feel her purr.
Jeno lifts his head to meet Renjun’s gaze, and there are tears brimming at his eyes. Glistening.
Renjun panics. “Oh my god, don’t cry.”
Jeno’s tears flow down his face anyway, and his desperate attempt at stopping them is laughable, at the least. “I’m not!” he says, a futile attempt.
Bongsik does a circle in Jeno’s lap, finally getting comfortable on his thigh. She continues to purr softly.
“Does she remember me?” he asks, weakly.
“Probably,” Renjun answers, “Taeyong said they usually do.”
There are still tears flowing down Jeno’s face, his tear-streaked cheeks which would be a light red if souls had colour, and Renjun cannot resist, so he reaches out and wipes the tears from his face.
He forgets to pull away after wiping the final tear, and meets Jeno’s eyes halfway. He expects Jeno to blink, or to look away as he usually does.
“I could kiss you right now,” Jeno says instead, with no hint of hesitation or question.
Renjun sure hopes he isn’t joking, because the words then do it are making their way out of his mouth faster than he can control.
Jeno wasn’t joking. He leans forward to capture Renjun’s lips in his, a gentle kiss, cool, soft, trembling like angel wings. Jeno kissed him, neck arching forward, Renjun’s backward, like a pair of swans.
For the first time in centuries, Renjun feels alive.
-
Where there is life, there is always death. A perpetual cycle. Renjun should know this by now.
Still, he forgets this, despite the fact that he should have centuries of wisdom under his belt. Hands linked under the table, lingering gazes while on the job. Jeno makes him feel like a teenager in love again.
They get called to a bigger Res Vitae et Mortis today, and though the emergency alert from above usually sets alarm bells going in Renjun’s head, he walks to the scene, arms linked with Jeno’s.
It’s on a deserted stretch of road, surrounded by tall trees covered in snow, and Renjun can make out twisted metal amongst the smoke and fire. Exhaust fumes taint the otherwise white snow grey.
He lets go of Jeno’s hand, padding his way through the snow to the crash. A child wails, and it’s when Renjun gets close enough that he realizes he’s wailing for his mother, who is unresponsive at the wheel, head almost bashed in from the collision. Renjun wants to look away.
He places his hands on her head, as gently as he can, with Jeno’s on her heart. He closes his eyes, and wishes for that feeling to never come, wishes for a win for the living.
His wishes are futile— he feels her soul slip from her body, her soul cradling the crying child as her body remains slumped behind the wheel.
It reminds him a little too vividly, of his own childhood, finding his own mother dead after a work accident. Mangled, bleeding, dead. His first encounter with death. It washes over him like cold water. He hasn’t remembered his own mortal life this vividly in centuries.
He gulps, and it doesn’t just feel like a clump in his throat. No, it feels like a broken shard of glass, cutting and scratching at his throat everytime he threatens to speak. Renjun attempts to speak, and at the very best pushes out a croak.
“I’m a monster .”
Renjun clutches his black coat to his chest, and runs from the scene. He can still hear the ambulances, the cries, and Jeno going after him, but he doesn’t stop. He runs away, far enough so that he can’t hear the noise anymore. He doesn’t remember what happens after, but he remembers that he trembles, chokes, and coughs, all until there’s nothing left, and the smoke from the crash has left his lungs.
-
Renjun doesn’t show up to work for a week.
They assign Jeno a temporary new mortifer in his place, and Renjun finds himself curled up in his bed, legs tangled in a cobweb of sheets. He feels like death.
They always get to claim days off after big ones like these, because, after all, the dead are merciful, and Renjun had never claimed one until now.
The week drones on, passes both terrifyingly fast and maddeningly slow at the same time. Renjun wonders if heaven can still hear him.
-
Funerals are more for the living than they are for the dead.
They’re for those who get left behind, unwillingly or not, looking for solace in the peaceful passing of their loved ones. It is for comfort of knowing that your loved one may be resting in the afterlife that there is some sort of funeral rite in every race known to man.
He hasn’t attended one in, you guessed it, centuries, and frankly, it’s much easier to deal with death when he was behind a spreadsheet, each person a mere statistic.
It’s a traditional funeral, closed casket, with friends and family gathered to send their goodbyes. They lower her into the grave, tombstone marked already with a quote by her favourite poet.
“I am rooted, but I flow.”
Renjun tries his best not to let the child’s cries affect him. Fails.
They cover the casket, and the procession ends. The guests start to leave in groups.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Renjun whips around, his black coat whooshing behind him, to see Jeno, in his bright white shirt, looking towards the end of the procession next to him.
“Sorry for ghosting you,” Renjun says. The air gets still. “Uh, no pun intended.”
Jeno chuckles, full of life. He reaches for Renjun’s small hand, under his oversized coat sleeve. Intertwines their fingers. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I know. It sucks, still.”
Jeno hums, squeezing tighter. “Death is just as natural as living.”
Renjun remembers the humanly things. Showering. Eating. Dressing for weather.
Then he remembers the deathly things. Being able to transport yourself to any realm that you want. Freedom to love. Eternity.
And so the cycle starts again.
-
Renjun gets up a little later than he usually would.
Jeno tells Renjun there are no schedules for the day, so he lets himself sleep in. Something about Doyoung needing to speak to him at the office.
As it turns out, Jeno is right, and Doyoung does need to speak to him.
Doyoung leans forward, resting his forearm on the desk. The cup of coffee next to him is still steaming. “The higher ups have been pleased with your progress.”
“I’m glad to hear.”
He reaches into an under-desk cabinet, and pulls out a single document. “They want to promote you,” he says, sliding the document across the table to Renjun, “they want to give you your old job back.”
Renjun stills. “So, what you’re saying is-”
“-you won’t have to show up from next monday onwards, and we’ll assign Jeno a new mortifer .”
“Ah,” Renjun starts, “that’s great and all, and I’m flattered that you’re promoting me again, but…”
Doyoung leans back into his chair. “But?”
Renjun chews on his lip. “Could I keep the job?”
Doyoung smiles, a glint of knowledge in his eyes. He retracts the promotion document, sliding it back towards himself. There’s not much you can hide from fate incarnate, after all.
“See, Renjun? I did say this would be good for you.”
-
When Renjun exits Doyoung’s office, he’s not sure whether to feel light or heavy. The concrete floor below him is cold, unwelcoming, but somehow the brightness in Renjun’s chest and his whole being makes him think he’s made the right decision.
Outside the building, he finds Jeno, waiting.
He’s got his arms clasped behind his back, and he’s in that pretty sky blue sweater Renjun loves. It softens his otherwise taut muscles, and Renjun just thinks he looks really, really soft.
“Congratulations on getting your old job back,” Jeno says, “I’ll miss having you around.”
Renjun laughs. Cute , he thinks.
“I didn’t take it back,” he begins, “so, unfortunately, you’re stuck with me as a co-worker.”
Jeno’s eyes widen, but not for long, because they start to crinkle up into the crescents that Renjun thinks he might now love more than the useless cup of coffee he has every morning.
“Well, this is awkward,” Jeno says, as he reveals the bouquet he’d been hiding behind his back.
Jeno inspects the bouquet, a dazzling combination of coral carnations, and plucks the greeting card from the center of it. He smiles sheepishly at Renjun, and Renjun can briefly catch that it reads ‘Congratulations!’ before Jeno is tossing the card behind his shoulder.
“You didn’t have to.”
“Oh, but I wanted to.”
“Right,” Renjun teases, “but what’s there to celebrate now?”
Jeno sticks his arms out, offering the bouquet that’s in his hands, and from where Renjun is standing, he can see that the carnations are practically sparkling. “My love for you,” Jeno says, glowing completely, as if he didn’t just make the cheesiest remark.
Renjun rolls his eyes, but he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks, despite his obvious lack of blood. If he weren’t dark grey, Renjun is sure he would be bright red. He reaches out to take the bouquet from Jeno’s hands to claim it.
The flowers wilt in his hands, but Renjun’s heart blossoms a billion times over.