Chapter Text
Diluc, 12:38 a.m
He receives the call near midnight.
At first, he doesn't answer— midnight is the most popular time for the Angel's Share, and his staff needs all hands on deck.
Elzer notices. He sets his broom down and leans over the bar.
"Sir. Your phone. It's..."
A sharp pang of panic tightens Diluc's spine, but he does his damndest to make sure his staff doesn't notice.
Sure as day, the caller ID is the one nobody ever wants to see.
The one every person dreads.
Death-Cast.
"Sir, is it...?" Elzer asks, worried. Diluc nods grimly before inhaling to steel his nerves.
"Good evening. This is Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of Angel's Share. How may we help you tonight?"
"Good evening, Mr. Ragnvindr. I'm Yanfei, calling on behalf of DeathCast. I... trust that you understand why we are speaking tonight?"
"..." He doesn't respond. The young woman had not a single ounce of hope left in her voice. All she's left with is half-assed condolences.
"Unfortunately, your End Day has been decided and will be tomorrow. We here at DeathCast are deeply and truly sorry for this great loss of you. Please, do us both a favor— make sure to live your life— day— to the fullest. Can you do that for me?"
He nearly curls his lip. She's trying to act like his friend.
She's probably said the same exact words to thousands of other Deckers.
"I can do my best, miss. Thank you. I appreciate your time." His tone is cold.
Cold, and uncaring.
Cold as he'll be in 36 hours at most.
He sets the phone on the counter, his ever-stable hands now shaking terribly. Elzer looks on him with pity.
"Sir... the bar will not be the same without you. I am deeply sorry for you. You—"
"Elzer, I truly do appreciate you; but save your condolences. We've discussed this. If ever I was to receive such a call, you would hold my funeral after I passed and save your condolences for then."
"Yes, sir, but— but I had never thought it'd be this soon."
Diluc inhales. "Sometimes the unthinkable is inevitable." He tries to sound confident, but his voice wobbles. "I will be taking the rest of the day off. Do as I've said— go about your day as normal until this time tomorrow. Come find me. Hopefully..."
He swallows.
"Hopefully I'll be waiting."
—————
Venti, 12:41 a.m
It's just meant to be a normal day at work.
That's all it's supposed to be.
And yet... he's getting the call anyway.
His (for that's what he feels today— having a fluid gender identity was the most free he could be, and that is all he craved) phone rings just as he limps through the back door for a 15 minute break, the dingy yellow lights illuminating his exhausted face.
He chooses to ignore the call.
Probably just another client who wants to 'reconnect', anyway.
"Rough night?" A voice asks from the alleyway, behind the dumpster. "Lookin' a little dead, there."
He smiles. "Speak for yourself, Rosaria. Got any smokes left?"
He limps over to where the pale woman sat, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. He does his best to sit down as she hands him one. "To answer you... yeah, rough night. These people don't know how to be gentle, I swear."
"Welcome to the Big Apple, kid. Nobody knows what gentle means here."
He uses her lighter and lights the cigarette as the phone rings again. Okay, it's urgent. He needs to answer it now.
He doesn't check the caller ID.
"Good evening. Is this Venti?"
"Yeah. Look, I don't reconnect with past clients, no matter the price rate or how good you thought I was—"
"I apologize. This is not... er, a former client. This is Ganyu speaking on behalf of the DeathCast corporation."
"...Oh my god."
At least this herald knows how to at least fake compassion. "We would like to apologize for your abrupt end. Please make the most of your final day. There are always ways to make memories before your time."
"I'm really going to die today."
"I'm afraid you are, and I—"
"This isn't supposed to be happening."
"...Excuse me?"
"No. No. They promised me that I would— I was going to—"
"Venti, I'm truly, truly sorry. But please, don't spend the day fretting over it."
He struggles to stand, the cigarette dropping from his hand, ignoring the pain that sears in the back of his legs and upward. "Please tell me this is some joke. It has to be. Or—or maybe I'm just having a nightmare—"
"I can unfortunately assure you that this is reality." The poor dear sounds like she's on the verge of tears. "Just... make sure to live to your fullest today, al—"
He hangs up.
"...Damn." Rosaria puts out her own cigarette and tosses the butt over the chainlink fence. "I can't believe..."
"You can't believe? I'm going to be dead in 24 hours and I don't have any family to pass anything onto and I don't have a plan and I don't have any time to do anything and—"
"Kid, hey. Calm down. Seriously. It won't do you any good to spend your End Day here in this alley. Get out. Go find a friend."
"How? All of my friends already died—"
"That app. Y'know, that one that Deckers use to find friends? What's it... Final Friend?"
"Last Friend..." his hands grip his phone tightly, thumbs hovering, hands quivering.
"Do it. Who knows— you might just find someone.
—————
Venti, 12:52 a.m
Name: Venti
Age: 25
Gender: Fluid
Height: 5'1
Weight: 116 lbs.
Orientation: Pansexual
Job: <skip>
Interests: Music
Who You Were in Life: Haven't had any family left to speak with for years. I've been living alone since 18 and working at... a not-so-nice place. Anything to pay the bills. Wanted to be a traveling musician, but I guess it's too late for that. At this point, I'd take anyone.
Bucket List: Just to live before I die. I want to dance in the rain and grafitti something and play on a playground and just... be.
Final Thoughts: I've been used and abused too much these past years. Looking to find someone who won't do the same.
Great, so his profile is done. All he needs is a photo.
There aren't many photos of Venti on his phone. And the ones that are are in slightly sexual positions, as is the nature of his job. Most of the pictures are just screenshots of his bank balance. Eventually he scrolled far enough back to his 18th birthday...
He had forgotten how much he loved that picture. He stood in front of a cake, holding a wine bottle in one hand and looking excited. One of those silly cone party hats was strapped to his head. His brother Morax had one gloved hand on his shoulder, his brown and gold suit glittering in the light of the candles. His normally low-ponytailed hair was braided for the occasion. He smiled wider than he ever had. His younger twin sisters, Beezelbul and Baal, stood beside him, with Beezelbul shoveling cake into her mouth already and Baal flicking her in the back of the head.
The picture... the picture was the last time he had peace.
Morax had long since been dead. He simply... vanished. Baal was killed in a shooting. And Beezelbul shut herself away, going as far as to move all the way across the ocean just to distance herself from her family.
His family was never that lucky.
He doesn't realize that, as he selects and crops the photo, tear drops gently fall onto his screen.