Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Song - Butterfly (Prologue Ver) by BTS

Mikey wasn't sure when it all started. Maybe he'd been doing it since childhood, but the man in the cloak appeared every year on his birthday. The bet was always the same: he could live another year so long as he won whatever challenge the cloaked man proposed. He recalls winning at Rock Paper Scissors, which was mostly by chance given that he only did Scissors because he didn't know the game yet and did a peace sign automatically. In all honesty, he thought it was a little unfair that he had been thrust into this position at such a young age, but it seemed he had little option.

At first the man had scared Mikey shitless, seeing that the cloaked man wasn't a man at all but a tall, red muscular man with hooves.

But he quickly learned otherwise.

On Mikey’s ninth birthday he bested the reaper at hopscotch in the neighborhood park, which wasn’t all that hard to do when the tallish, brute figure kept tripping all over his cloak.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have lost if you’d worn better clothes,” Mikey teased, still hopping on one foot back and forth between the squares.

The figure’s face had twisted in disapproval. “I’m a grim reaper, Mikey. This is what we wear.”

“Ok, well it’s dumb. How are you going to beat me dressed like that?”

The next year, when the man appeared in loose black slacks and shirt, Mikey had been shocked. He’d still won the game of who could balance on one foot longer, though. Maybe because he had actual feets to balance on instead of hooves. From then on Mikey began to think carefully about this strange element of his life and wondered how exactly he was supposed to respond to having his own personal grim reaper.

“So you’re like, gonna keep coming around, Mr. Reaper?”

The tall, buff man had sniffed at him. “Yes. But don’t call me that.”

“Oh. Then what do I call you? Grim?”

“Draxum will do.”

–

Mikey’s tenth year was characterized mainly by panic and a manic obsession with becoming competent with both saber and foil. Or, embarrassing homemade approximations of both.

Equipment proved hard to come by.

“Dad! I need fencing lessons!” he’d begged, just days after his balancing victory. The reaper had left him with a strong implication that their next encounter would be at the point of a sword.

His father...did not seem to get the hint.

“No.”

“Please! I really do!”

“Mikey those are expensive, you don’t need them. Find a cheaper hobby. It’s not like it’s a matter of life and death.” He hadn’t even looked up from his cooking magazine, flipping instead to a recipe for country fried steak and skimming a finger over the ingredient list.

“IT MIGHT BE.”

He didn’t get lessons. Instead, Mikey scoured the internet until he found a YouTuber named Chris Bradford with a long playlist of instructional fencing videos, and wore a thinning line in his bedroom rug shuffling back and forth with a long twig in his hand. When Draxum appeared the following year with two glinting weapons in tow, Mikey was as ready as he’d ever been.

“En-garde, kid,” the reaper said flatly.

Mikey replied, “You’re really making an eleven-year-old duel?”

“Looks that way.”

Five points later, Mikey learned that Draxum had no idea how to fence at all, and won shortly thereafter with all the hits and no referee to say otherwise. Draxum collected the sabers while Mikey performed a small victory dance.

“Why would you challenge me to something you don’t even know how to do?” the boy asked as the reaper made a move to leave.

Black-clad shoulders shrugged. “Enjoy being eleven, Mikey.”

–

The basketball net hung high, high over Mikey’s newly twelve-year-old head in the deserted park where Draxum greeted him the next year. Somehow, consistently, the park seemed to be empty and waiting for their next battle no matter what time the clock showed.

“I don’t play basketball!” Mikey informed his reaper, neck craning to look up at the woven rope.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Wanna do H.O.R.S.E. or a layup contest?”

The birthday boy flung out his arms in distress. “Barron I’m a short art kid, I can’t do sports!”

“You learned how to fence from YouTube,” replied Draxum, quirking an eyebrow accusingly, “I’m not giving hints or underestimating you again.”

“But I can’t!”

“Then perish.” The reaper tossed the basketball over to Mikey, his pass floaty, but the boy nearly believed he detected a spark of humor in the creature’s eyes.

Fifteen minutes later and two baskets short, Draxum laid panting on the asphalt, Mikey beside him with the prospect of a thirteenth year of life ahead. “I thought you couldn’t play?” he wheezed, throwing a sore arm over his sweaty forehead.

Mikey turned his cheek against the warm court. “I guess playing with my brother’s isn't totally useless.” He grinned impishly, and the reaper chuckled.

-

The air was thick with impending rain and afternoon languor when Mikey met Draxum next, pool noodle still under his arm from his recently ended party. His swim-trunks still clung damply to his legs and his tank top felt sticky, the sick-sweet feeling of a stomach full of birthday cake not quite passed.

“Happy birthday, Mikey,” smiled Draxum. “I’ll race you to the end of the block.”

Mikey’s fear felt nearly as sluggish as his limbs. He looked down, and back up. “I’m wearing flip flops.”

A dark laugh broke out from the reaper’s lips. “Mikey, when will you learn to start being prepared for anything on your birthday?”

Perhaps it was the untethered potential energy of the coming thunderstorm, its promise of lightning sparking inside Mikey’s bones, or perhaps the growing concern over his yearly threat of death, but the boy’s composure slipped and he snapped.

“Oh, sure, that makes sense. I’ll just take a ski mask and boxing gloves to my pool party. ‘What do you want for your birthday, orange?’ Gee dad, could I please have Nascar driving lessons, and a pair of shoes from every major sport? I just don’t know what Good Ol’ Grim is gonna ask of me next year.”

“Wow,” blinked Draxum, “you can wear my shoes, then, damn. Puberty’s really making you..what are the kids saying these days?...salty.”

“Well what do you expect? I’m thirteen and have the strongest existential dread of anyone I know.”

A sudden somberness overtook Draxum’s face, and he unfolded his hands from behind his back, arms hanging limply. “I don't wear shoe’s,” he said quietly, after a moment.

Mikey looked at his hooves and sighed. “Forget it, I’ll run barefoot. You call it.”

The pair lined up on the low side of the sidewalk curb, facing a stretch of concrete banked at the far end by a faded red stop sign. The boy kicked off his sandals and dropped his pool toy beside them. He felt short and wobbly next to the tall reaper, his skin prickly in the humid air as he gathered whatever energy he could find inside him to run.

Mikey looked resolutely ahead. Draxum looked at Mikey.

“Ready, set...go,” said Draxum, and off they went.

In the end, Draxum tripped over a rising bit of cracked sidewalk, and Mikey high-fived the stop sign with a whoop and a clang, then threw up birthday cake into the grass.

“You had the advantage, knowing the terrain.” Looking away with a grimace, Draxum gulped in air. Mikey absently wondered why a grim reaper needed to breathe.

He wiped the back of his arm across his mouth and grinned. “Nah, you’re just clumsy, Draxum.”

Chapter Text

Song - Everything Stay's by Olivia Olson

With age came maturity, Mikey thought.

Taking his fourteenth year one day at a time, he is determined to be prepared. He gathered goods from around his house and borrowed this and that from his brothers, all the while wondering when his luck would run out.

He went to meet Draxum in the park on an unseasonably cool morning, approaching noisily with a backpack loaded to the brim and straining his teenage back beneath the weight. But he was prepared.

“Literally I’m carrying every possible outfit, shoes, sports gloves...whatever you can imagine, I’m ready,” stated Mikey with confidence, chin held high as he met Draxum’s eyes. He offhandedly realized he didn’t have to look up nearly as much as before to do so.

The reaper eyed the bag, and broke into a wide smile. “I was thinking about checkers.” He held out a slim cardboard box, black and red.

“...to be honest, perhaps I’d rather die.”

He didn’t.

—

“Okay. I’ve put up with some weird shit from you. And I’m not saying it isn’t a relief to have something that takes less effort. But...what the hell. Who’s gonna be the judge of that?” Mikey complained, gripping his cell phone tightly. He wasn’t even entirely sure if a grim reaper could take a selfie, if that was allowed, did the guy even show up in pictures.

But Draxum had proclaimed his fifteenth birthday challenge a selfie contest, and there wasn’t anything he could do but whine.

“Language, Mikey. I brought judges,” Draxum clarified unexpectedly. A moment later two boys about Mikey’s age stepped out from behind his back, and Mikey wracked his mind to guess whether they had been there the whole time.

“Hey. I’m Huginn.”

“And I'm Muninn”

They were twins.

Mikey went blank, emotionally speaking. “Oh. So, They’re gonna pick who’s cuter?...isn’t it kind of biased of you to bring your own judge?”

“They would rather die a second time than judge a cuteness contest non-objectively.” The look that the reaper gave the boy at his side seemed almost proud, and Mikey felt a twinge not unlike jealousy. A moment later, Draxum’s expression soured to something more offended.

“That’s right,” confirmed the Huginn boy. “Also there’s literally no way he can win this, you’re cuter by about a thousand percent.”

“Hey!”

“I cannot lie.”

While Draxum stewed and Muninn produced a silvery camera phone of his own, Mikey idly wondered what had killed the other two to put him in such a position, at the right hand of a grim reaper. Had it been badminton? Perhaps...spitting watermelon seeds? Leapfrog? What game did they lose, at an age that couldn’t be any older than Mikey? When Mikey finally lost, would he end up with the same fate?

“Let’s see your pout, Mikey,” Muninn teased, bringing Mikey back to his present task as he looped a lanky arm around the shorter boy’s neck. The touch felt eerily cold. Then the camera clicked, and his wide-eyed image showed back. “Nice.”

Draxum’s picture proved, as expected, “far less adorable,” in Muninn’s words. Still, Mikey thought it had been pretty cute.

For a reaper.

“Guess Gen Z triumphs through technology for one more day,” mumbled the birthday boy. He cast a sideways glance at Draxum, the reaper still glowering at his losing selfie. Feeling like it probably wasn’t allowed, but being as stealthy as he could manage, Mikey sidled up to the twins.

“Hey. Um, you two died. Right? How did that...like, when it happened, what game were you two...or was it a contest? Was it Draxum that came on your birthdays, too?”

The two gave Mikey a look like the question was instead whether he painted the sky himself or if it was computer generated.

“Speed skating,” Huginn replied easily.

Mikey’s jaw dropped. “He better not ask me to do that. We don’t even have a rink in town!”

Huginn shook his head. “No, no, it wasn’t like this. It was an accident for us. Draxum escorted us out of the hospital...or, our soul, I guess. First person we met in the afterlife. Haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

“It’s not smart to chit-chat with the living, guys, you’ll get all attached,” scolded the reaper, stepping over and laying a hand on Huginn’s shoulder. Mikey got the strangest feeling he’d do the same to him, if the touch wouldn’t immediately separate Mikey’s soul from his teenage body.

Mikey tightened his jaw around a thin smile. “See you in three-hundred and sixty-five, Draxum.”

The reaper nodded. “And a quarter.” He turned, arm sliding behind the twins to escort them out. The twins gave Mikey a friendly wave, and they walked out of the park while Mikey watched. He was just fifteen that day, but he felt one-hundred.

At the edge of the grass, and nearly out of earshot, he heard Muninn ask: “While we’re here, can we go see our mom?”

Mikey’s stomach dropped to his feet, but he didn’t hear the answer, and a second later, they vanished.

—

On his sixteenth birthday, Mikey had a party waiting for him, and he was eager to get to it. In the twilight he stood a few steps from Draxum, both persons concentrated on glowing cell phone screens.

“Done. Look.”

“God you...you found all of them? In eight seconds?”

“What, like it’s hard?” Mikey held up his phone, the sequence of emojis in perfect order in the typing box.

“Okay, Elle Woods. Congratulations, you get to live another year.”

Mikey bounced on the balls of his feet, leaning to peer at the reaper’s screen. He hadn’t found much. “...did you even find the snowman?”

“I know where the snowman is, I just...wanted to look at this...wavy thing…a little longer.”

The teen chuckled hard at Draxum's complaints that he had to shake his blonde locks out of his eyes and wipe tears away. He swore he glimpsed the hint of a warm smile as Draxum suddenly turned away when he looked up again.

Exhaling into the darkening air, Mikey checked his screen again for the time, then peered down the street looking for the car that was supposed to pick him up soon. But Leo was notoriously late, so he figured he still had time. He almost jumped when he realized the reaper was still beside him.

“Um, is there a part two this year? A second round or something?”

The reaper fixed his black robe quietly.

“I’ll wait with you,” Draxum said simply, “till your ride comes. It’s getting dark.”

No matter how Mikey peered up at him, he couldn’t read the reaper’s face, couldn’t fathom the reason he’d do something like that. Perhaps he didn’t want something else to kill Mikey before he got the chance to win one of their games. Perhaps he was just bored. Either way, it was nicer waiting with someone else than alone, so Mikey shrugged and asked the question that had been bugging him all evening.

“What does a Reaper need a cell phone for?”

“Google Maps.”

Chapter Text

Song - Everything Stay's by Olivia Olson

Nothing was funnier than the idea of a Try-Not-To-Laugh contest, yet that's exactly what Draxum picked the following year. Mikey couldn't help but wonder if the reaper was gradually losing his mind, choosing increasingly ludicrous trials year after year.

He wasn’t even remotely surprised when Draxum lost almost immediately.

“Draxum.., pull it together. It’s been like an hour. I have to leave for camp tomorrow, can we please be done now? See you next year? Draxum...it wasn’t that funny, everyone’s seen the “fresh avocado” vine six thousand times—”

“Wel-welcome. T-to...oh god...d-del taco!”

Mikey reached over and shut the laptop, rolling his eyes as the grim reaper, claimed Harbinger of Death and Omen of Ill-Fortune, rolled on the grass in fits of laughter. He was seventeen, the sun was high in the sky, and he was going to live another year. His own grim reaper had a wonderful chuckle and warm, round eyes, and he would return every year like clockwork. Mikey found himself looking forward to his birthday, which he hadn't done in a long time.

—

The next day he was left pondering.

At seventeen, he never considered asking someone else about his personal grim reaper? Was he the only one who had this problem? Were there any others?

What about his brothers?

He looked around the car, where he was currently cramped in between the twins as they drove to camp to drop off the youngster. Raphael was concentrating on driving on the highway, Donnie on his right was busy on his phone as always, and Leo was snoring with a bag of cheetos open on his lap on his left. April, their childhood best friend, sat in the front seat, scrolling through Spotify while petting her cat, whose fur had been dyed yellow and blue.

“Raph?...” he asked.

“Yes Mikey?”

"Does anything strange happen to you on your birthday?" Like… I'm not sure, something like Santa Claus coming to visit? Or maybe Krampus?"

"Do you still believe in Santa?" April turned her gaze to him. "That's so cute." She made light of.

"I don't believe in Santa, and I was simply wondering if anything special is supposed to happen on your birthday," he explained.

"Mikey, I don't think Santa Claus or Krampus visits on your birthday," Donnie answers, eavesdropper, he hadn't even removed his headset to talk. "That is extremely severe for children."

“Did something happen yesterday?” Raphael asked

"Does anyone special come to see you guys on your birthday, aside from family or friends?" he questioned.

"Does a clown qualify?"

“...maybe”

“Huh?” Leo woke and snatched the bag of Cheetos before it dropped off his lap. "Does this have anything to do with you visiting the park on your birthday?" I keep telling you that he insists on going there...are you talking to clowns in the park? Are you?” Leo threw a cheeto at him.

“I'm not talking to clowns in the park!” He was panicking now.

By the looks of it they seemed clueless of the topic.

"Are you absolutely certain?" Raphael inquired, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Mikey nod.

"Yes, all I'm asking is... is it customary for someone to visit on your birthday and challenge you to games, and if you lose...you die? I saw it on the internet."

"I'm on the verge of putting a parental lock on your phone," Donnie stated.

"No, those are just scary stories made up by random people on the internet." They're cool, but they're not real."

Great…

It's only him.

“I can't believe he's going to be by himself for 3 months” Leo went back to sleep and Mikey took the hint and dropped the subject.

—

It rained so hard on Mikey’s eighteenth birthday that he took the risk of rain boots to find his way to the park—if Draxum wanted to play soccer this time, Mikey would have to manage. He inhaled deeply, expecting petrichor and the wonderful aroma of moist wood chips, but instead received a whiff of tangy, wet, rusted iron and vehicle exhaust, the rain blocking his vision to the next block. A chill ran through his veins, and a tense energy pushed him forward, replacing his earlier excitement.

He was not surprised to find the park empty. Even if it hadn't rained, he knew no one would have been there as long as Draxum was around. He'd long since filed this away as some kind of subtle reaper effect, a rule of their realm that applied whenever they stepped into the living.

The grim reaper swung gently on the park swing, covered in his obsidian cloak for the first time in eight years. As Mikey approached, he looked up, and the emptiness in his eyes from beneath the heavy hood sent shivers down the boy's spine.

"What's up with the get-up?" he questioned, his voice rising over the rain. Draxum paused his swing and leaned on the chain, his gaze wandering to Mikey's right.

“I’m a grim reaper. This is what we wear,” he replied, monotone.

Mikey blinked, wading inside his own confusion as the rain seeped through his shorts and jacket, the material of the latter slowly but surely defining the difference between ‘water resistant’ and ‘waterproof’.

“I guess it is. What’s on the menu for today? Tiddlywinks? A staring contest? Jumping jacks?”

Draxum rose from the swing, the hem of his cloak bunching awkwardly around his feet and soaking in the dirt and wetness. Mikey noticed for the first time a long black stick laying near him, a solid knot of bone at its top securing a razor sharp, curved blade. Mikey stumbled a step instinctively; the reaper had never brought his scythe before.

"None of that," Draxum replied, putting down the scythe and raising an arm, one fiery red hand protruding from the black robe up to his thick wrist. Mikey recognized the movement right once, the loosely clenched hand achingly reminiscent of their first encounter.

"But we've done this before." It almost felt foolish to point it out, but he did.

"It's not like we can't do it again." Let's just...get on with it."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Draxum said in a tone that was the polar opposite of fine. "Shoot or don't shoot?" Let's get this over with"

Mikey twisted his damp fingers nervously together, pushing the matter. "I don't think you're all right. What's the problem? "Is it...did I do something wrong?"

Draxum sighed like he was the one who might die.

“What could you possibly do?I see you once a year, we have a contest, you get to keep living, you deserve to keep living, honestly this whole thing is massively stupid...but of course it doesn't matter what I say, no, I'm just a mid-level reaper in a millennium-old bureaucracy, probably get farther trying to ride Cerberus up to the fucking Fates themselves...no. It's not your fault. You're only a kid."

Mikey watched Draxum's eyes as tongues of actual flame flashed and swelled behind them, his skin blackening all around sockets and cracking like swiftly drying charcoal. A hiss of steam sizzled in the air above the reaper, the rain reaching his hood only to turn to vapor seconds later, and Mikey shuddered as he was hit with the reality of their games again so hard that he lost his breath.

"...I...I have to die one of these days, don't I?" Despite the hot air, he gasped, his body as frigid as ice.

Draxum's flames turned on him and rapidly faded, the dark surrounding his eyes returning to smooth red skin. His arms were dangling carelessly, and he looked very miserable. "I'm sorry, Mikey."

"Is this the end?" Is this the final one?" He had forgotten to text his friends. He couldn't just leave a mess in his room; he had to clean it. Oh, he didn't even say goodbye to his father or brothers before leaving the house!

Draxum calmed Mikey's fears with a leisurely shake of his head. He smiled sympathetically. "Technically, you could always win again." It's not unthinkable. But...I can't keep tipping the scales in your favor. My boss...the stakes must be reasonable. We do this because your scales are oddly balanced at a perfect fifty-fifty all the time. Most people have an expiration date, but it's as if the universe couldn't make up its mind about you."

"Have you been...cheating for me?"

"When you were a baby, I made up the most ridiculous contests. ‘Laugh first, Mikey. Which of us is better at being a cute infant? Oh you are? Wow. I’m bested. Whoever is actually alive, wins. Oh no, I’ve lost again.’ It was so simple to slip up like that." Draxum laughed softly and then lowered his gaze. "It doesn't matter; I can't any longer." From now on, only fair games."

“Oh…”

Mikey held out a hand, palm open face-down, stretching to find a solution to calm his friend's anguish and rage. Draxum's hand surged forward to meet his, halting barely an inch below, his grip tight on white knuckles beneath Mikey's summer tan.

"Oh, you chose paper." I have a tendency to use rock far too often. Perhaps this was not as fair as I believed." Draxum crouched and picked up his scythe as Mikey remained shocked, his heart beating inside his chest. As he moved past Mikey, the terrible weapon dripped soupy dirt, pausing only briefly at his side. "Mikey, I'll see you next year." "Until then, be healthy!"

Mikey gazed at his palm, raindrops falling off its back, till his thoughts suddenly snapped free. He instantly turned to see Draxum at the park's edge and his vanishing point.

“Draxum!”

The reaper hesitated, pausing for a second before turning to face Mikey's searing gaze, and his yell cut through the rain. Mikey felt nothing of the water on his skin, nothing of the drips trickling down his legs to pool inside his boots, despite the fact that he was completely wet. He clenched both fists in defiance and yelled once more.

"I'm going to destroy you! Each and every time! I'm going to win them all. I'm never going to lose!"

He could see the wide crack of Draxum's smile from afar. Mikey heard the musical response, which couldn't have been more than a whisper:

"Of course you will," he said. I’ll always lose to you."

Chapter Text

Song - Possibilities By Outerskies, Gabe James

Mikey, four, was a genius at coloring inside the lines. Draxum realized this when he watched the youngster draw a giraffe considerably more quickly and neatly than Draxum's elephant—the more large animal seemed to have an unseemly gash of purple crayon escaping the outline of its back.

“You win.”

“Okay.” The tiny boy simply agreed, pulling another coloring page in front of him without even looking up at Draxum.

It didn’t bother the reaper. He didn't want to interfere with the child's life any more than what was absolutely necessary, therefore the less attention he paid Draxum, the better.

Standing from his cross-legged position, Draxum stifled the urge to pat the fluffy head of black hair, and simply marked off his scroll as usual.

“Goodbye, Mikey, see you next year.”

The child waved a little, chubby hand, waving the appendage up and down while hastily sketching an orange backdrop all around a lizard picture. “Bye bye.”

Draxum smiled to himself as he walked away from the scene and headed to his office. His days were usually indistinguishable, a mix of happy and depressing, but today was almost always a favorite. Despite being aware of the present earth-date, that one remained his favorite year after year.

Draxum took a seat at his desk and checked to make sure no one was present before gently pulling a folded page from his cloak. He gently smoothed and flattened the paper before neatly taping it to an available place on the wall to the side. It was just the correct height for admiring when doing papers.

"My, that is a masterfully drawn giraffe," a voice exclaimed.

Draxum jerked his head around and smacked his knee on the desk, his mood lowering as the sharp pain jolted him.

Of course, the Lady of Luck smiled. "Did you make that by yourself or with guidance?"

"What exactly do you want?"

"Certainly not to worry you, reaper," the demon said, taking a seat across from Draxum without being invited. She wore a purple bodycon dress and a long dark blue tailcoat with seafoam green fur trim, — the tailcoat, which she took care to unbutton as she sat so it didn't crease.

Draxum massaged his thigh. "Well, you're bothering me."

"You know," she continued, disregarding Draxum, "every year on this same exact day, a handful of my reports come back all unbalanced."

"You mentioned that before. "As I already stated, I am not doing anything wrong."

The demon crossed her long legs and twirled a quill from Draxum's desk, distractedly. "I'm not suggesting you are. I'm just trying to figure out why it's happening."

Draxum took a look at the giraffe coloring page, with its stunning teal and pink patches. He hummed as he tapped his fingers against the hardwood.

"Mikey is a unique case.  I'm sure the irregularity has effects that go beyond reaping."

“Perhaps. Perhaps I should contact the Ministry of Fate."

A spike of concern shot through Draxum’s chest. "That seems to be unnecessary."

"Perhaps," She responded.

For a few moments, the demon's gaze met Draxum's, its weight calculating and analyzing. His gaze softened and he relaxed somewhat, reclining back in his chair.

"It's not a big deal right now, so I'll just keep an eye on it."

On you. 

Draxum could read between the lines enough to hear the implication. It surprised him that such a person was interested in his profession in the first place, and that their responsibilities coincided for some reason. His line of work was escorting souls. What role did luck play in this? He'd never met this underworldly thing before, and his knowledge of it was scant at best.

"I thought it was Lady Luck..." he asked, the thought flashing across his mind.

"Indeed, it was. Of course, this was a promotion for me."

“Oh! Is that how it works?"

"Yes, before that, I was simply Miss-Decent-Karma, a small luck-ling, but her Ladyship decided to step down, and well, when I smell a chance, I take it, so now I'm Lady—"

"...I know you're joking, and I hope you're having fun."

“Extremely.”

Draxum scratched his irritated brow. “And you really go by that? "Lady Luck?"

As she smiled, the demon's eyes wrinkled in a cat-like manner. "No, most people here just call me Big Mama."

– 

"Is that him?"

"Yes, that's Mikey!"

Lady Luck stood at the park's edge with Draxum, the tails of her dark blue tailcoat flapping in the gentle breeze. A stone's throw away, a human kid lay on his back, arms crossed behind his head, bouncing his feet on a picnic blanket while looking for shapes in the clouds, blissfully ignorant of his parents' brief disappearance or the two immortals watching him.

It hadn't been Draxum's intention to bring Big Mama along for the ride, but perhaps if the god-like figure saw Mikey for himself, she'd stop dropping by Draxum's desk all the time to bug him about it.

“Draxum...I'm sorry, but I don't see what makes him so unique. He's just another person."

Or not.

"How can you...you're not seeing it?" Bemused, Draxum huffed. "But he's so...so bright."

"He's only a kid."

“Yes! And he's not scared of me! He seems to have no fear of anything. He sprints at full speed through it all, he's so smart, his eyes are filled with light like he devoured this world's sun, he—"

“Ah.” 

"Do you get it now?"

"Oh, absolutely. Do you pay child support to his mother, or is it more of a co-parenting arrangement? You truly have the short end of the stick when it comes to visitation rights."

"Fuck you too." Draxum shot a dubious glance at the warden of fortune as he shook aside his cloak sleeves to show the two little vials in his hands. "All right, dwell in your dull impartiality. I'm going to go wish Mikey a happy eighth birthday and compete to see who can blow the biggest bubbles."

Big Mama pursed her lips and raised her brow. "I bet not you, Thin Lips."

"First of all," Draxum began, his voice rising as he swung back, ready to fight—and then stopped. Of course, she had already left.

.

Chapter Text

Song - SPACEMAN BY Mew Suppasit 

Being a "individual contributor" or, as Draxum interprets it, "working alone" in the Reaper's line of work didn't worry him in the slightest because he rarely needed aid taking a soul to its final resting place or afterlife duty. However, that didn't mean he was entirely by himself.

He was employed by The Council of Heads, commonly known as The Reaping Office.

The council was led by three unknown individuals who sat in separate emplacements separated by a crimson curtain, with an aide in the middle of the room reading his Performance review to the three.

"Your record over the previous five years is outstanding, as usual, Draxum," the figure in the center stated, flipping through the pages of the reaper's work performance. There were no delays, grievances from the deceased, or documentation backlogs. Impeccable.”

“Thank you.”

The assistant gathered the papers and tried to tap the stack against his desk to arrange them correctly, but he ended up losing some in the process. He didn’t seem to notice. " The Reaping Office thanks you for your ongoing assistance with scheduling."

This was taken as a final note by Draxum, who then stood.

"Ah, before you depart, what ever happened to the baby with the unknown death year?"  The one on the left questioned, "I'm curious as to when he passed away."

Draxum developed a lump in his throat. He forced it lower. There was no need for him to feel guilty.

"Oh, he's still alive and well."

“Really?" The assistants' look was puzzled and surprised. "You mean you've been losing competitions to a baby?"

"Well, he's more of a child now, one who is unusually talented, if not gifted... I mean, they age so quickly, you know?

Draxum was silenced by the assistant's raised hand, and his smile was suspiciously blank "Thank you, but that is all the information I require. It does force me to pause for a moment, so I'll discuss it with the others. But would you try to ensure that the challenge has matured with the boy this year? If there is a query. The council's left head stated.

Even while the afterlife generally maintained an unnoticeable type of moderate temperature, Draxum felt a creeping chill. He'd never been asked a question before. The emotion lingered after he finished speaking with The Council, and the closer the month in question became, the more concerned Draxum became. He set about creating a legitimate competition.

After turning nine, Mikey appeared to see Draxum for the first time. Draxum faltered, and lost a game made up with sidewalk chalk. The boy suggested more prudent clothing. Draxum swore an oath he’d go harder on him the next year.

The reaper had broken his pledge. Mikey, ten, asked what name to call him if they continued to see each other.

Draxum, floundering, chose the most improbable contest he could think of for the next year, a likely loss, while simultaneously hinting to Mikey to prepare for it.

He couldn’t afford to let him win but he couldn't bear the thought of him losing. He couldn't—he simply couldn't.

–

The reflection pool, in Draxum's perception, featured a softly moving, blue-grey image of his face with a glum look. Although Draxum had left his annual meeting with Mikey in a good mood, he felt it slipping away as he sat staring into the pond a short walk from his office, his thoughts fully focused on Mikey's comments ringing in his memories. He'd only come up to tease him, joking about being prepared, but the talk had rapidly devolved into something far more serious.

“Well what do you expect? I’m thirteen and have the strongest existential dread of anyone I know.” 

Dread? That irked Draxum. It didn't fit, didn't match his image of the youngster, who to him embodied light, endless hope, and fearless drive.

Yet Mikey admits to being scared, and it was obvious in his eyes as they lined up for the race—a serious maturity way beyond his years. Hadn't Draxum done everything he could to keep it from happening, to protect him and keep him innocent? What else could he possibly do? He looked into the calm waters, hoping for some response.

Nothing truly changed. In reality, nothing moved, talked, or directed him, but Draxum felt the echo of a whisper in his ear—

You could save him.

If only he knew how.

–

"I'm horrified that they got a puppy. I repeatedly told them I wanted a sibling, but mom gave me a dog instead! A canine, Draxum! Is that even logical?

For Huginn's sake, Draxum suppressed the giggle he wanted to let out. " Wouldn't a new sibling make you feel more envious than a dog?"

The second boy spoke while pouting and rolling his eyes. " I wanted someone to create dreams for, so no way."

"So instead of asking me to drive you there so that you can rearrange the fridge magnets and scare your mother, put your effort into making them for her."

The twin flushed. ""We had no idea that it would frighten her."

"Who have you been frightening? ” Big Mama asked, coming into view as they neared the reaper's office. Draxum hadn't seen the creature in years, so her appearance was unexpected.

"No one!"

"They're mothers."

Big Mama smirked. "You and Huggin are not ghosts. Muginn. Hauntings aren't your specialty."

Both lads, wide-grinned, charming, and perpetually stuck around the age of fifteen, smiled at Big Mama. "We wasn't haunting; we just stopped by after I helped Draxum with judging his reaping tournament.  It was casual."

Draxum cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the soles of his hooves rather than the look Big Mama was sure to give him. He could feel the condemning look on her face.

"I'm certain it was. You should return to the dream workshop right away. Your boss is unhappy, someone produced a new sleeping pill, and the orders are a mess."

The twins grumbled, and Big Mama stroked their hair before both boys smiled and went away. They waved to Draxum as they passed, and the reaper waved back weakly.

“Draxum.”

"I have things to do, Big Mama, but it was good to see you."

"I'm afraid I'll need a moment of your time.  Is this your office?"

There was no shaking her, Draxum knew that much. As they settled at his desk, he cast a glance at the colored giraffe to reassure himself. “Well, what do you need?”

“You took a soul with you?”

"As far as I understand it, the nature of the competitions is exclusively under my jurisdiction.  Nothing in the code prohibits me from bringing a judge."

Big Mama frowned half-heartedly. "It is not customary for souls to leave the afterlife."

"We do."

"You know we're no longer just souls, Draxum. The twins are supposed to be here—but that's beside the point. The fact that you required the services of a judge—"

"They were completely objective."

"Was the competition difficult to judge?  Would another judge have ruled it differently?" Big Mama pressed. " Was it something that either of you could have won?"

Draxum pushed his hooves to the ground after realizing his agitated knee was bouncing and generating a louder and louder tapping noise. Where was she headed with this?

Big Mama had a hurt expression instead of her customary joyful, taunting gleam. She spoke slowly and deliberately, "Draxum, you recall my reports? the ones that don't appear to make sense?"

“No.” He did.

"Yes, you do. The issue with them was discovered on the same day each year. They appear to be unable to classify the results of a competition that is disproportionately biased in favor of one individual.

Draxum let out a nervous scoff. “What, none of them calibrated casinos?”

“That’s not the same.”

“I’ve told you—“

“Draxum.”

The reaper came to a halt, forced himself to look the demon in the eyes instead of toying with the stack of reports on his desk. He didn't like what he saw there, the expression settling at the bottom of his stomach and churning around like a snake after its own tail.

Big Mama sighed as she raised her hand to her brow, dragging it back through her dark hair. "I was hoping to avoid this, Draxum. I didn't want to have to bring it up again since I think I know what it means to you—"

"I promise you that you do not."

"—and I don't enjoy completing reports.  Fates know, I hate paperwork. But I can't continue to ignore it, not with fifteen years of unbalanced accounts to answer for.  Actions have consequences."

There was a time—or rather, an extended length of time—when Draxum just cowered in the face of such statements. He followed laws to the letter early on as a reaper, when he was a vital piece in reordering their kind for a newer age. But when you've witnessed every potential scenario that could lead to you reaping a recently deceased soul, you learn something, Draxum discovered. And that is that the repercussions are frequently undeserved...and other times the deeds are simply worth them.

Draxum noticed a deflated orange balloon pinned above the flier for upcoming activities on his cork board in his peripheral vision. His head was flooded with images of a six-year-birthday old's celebration, with streamers strung from every possible surface, confetti strewn about with no regard for future vacuuming pains, and enough balloons hovering near the ceiling that their softly bumping around the lights that must've been a fire threat. The decorations, on the other hand, did little to overshadow the guest of honor. Mikey, four teeth short and nearly four feet tall, beamed at his birthday cake and basked in the presence of the party for him.

Not every child turned six.

The memory was almost physically warm.

It was a place Draxum was not supposed to be. He'd already played his game with the child, cataloged his defeat at Simon Says, and pretended to be a bitter loser. But the need to see more of Mikey's life hadn't subsided as quickly as he'd hoped, and Draxum had cheated—he'd lingered. Draxum had seen Mikey blow out the candles invisibly and from a safe distance—he'd missed just one and had to endure teasing about future soulmates as a result—and resisted a smile when Mikey's older brother Leo smashed a palm full of frosting onto the birthday boy's cheek. 

Hours passed, filled with party games and singing and sugar-fueled children, until only Mikey remained, a motionless bundle of blankets and new toys on the couch where he'd passed out the second his last friend waved goodbye.

Maybe Draxum shouldn't have stood to the side when his elder brother Raphael scooped him up from the cushions and took him to his bed, cooing adoration at his sleeping face. Maybe Draxum shouldn't have peered around the living room, soaking in the echoes of the party and wishing he could be there. Maybe he shouldn't have snatched the almost-empty balloon, which was little more than a thin rubbery shell, and dragged it by the ribbon as he walked away from the comfortable home.

Maybe Draxum shouldn't have done it, but he did. Because of the repercussions? It was well worth it.

"Yes, such actions are troublesome. So, what am I in for? Compulsory protocol and regulatory re-education classes? A relegation? " Draxum questioned, easing into acceptance of whatever lay ahead.

Big Mama curled his lips, a bitter expression on his face. "Most likely an inquiry, followed by a Ministry investigation."

Draxum's seat jerked forward. "You've got to be kidding me!" ”

"I'm afraid I can't. At the very least, if this is treated in the same way as prior situations have."

Draxum had no idea what would be deemed analogous situations.

"How long will that take?"

"Who knows? "Big Mama shrugged and waved her hand. "Who knows, maybe a day, maybe ten years." Time has little value in the afterlife. But it will occur. Unfortunately, I had had to file the report, so this was more of a warning than anything else. Someone else will be sent to speak with you once it is officially starting. You have a lot more to be concerned about than I do."

The snake in Draxum's stomach captured and swallowed its tail. He was uneasy.

-

Chapter Text

Song - Wish You Were Here by SuperM 

There were only a few days left until Draxum needed to pay Mikey a visit on his eighteenth birthday. He had plenty of time during the suspension to prepare, and he had thought that playing black jack would be a hip and sophisticated way to celebrate Mikey's transition into maturity. It had style. Draxum might even tag along with Mikey to do anything like buy beer or a lottery ticket if he could push his luck far enough. Even though some of those tasks were more difficult, he had already gone beyond what he had previously believed to be feasible.

“Big day tomorrow,” said a voice somewhere over Draxum’s shoulder. There were only a handful of souls milling around the nicely manicured park, but Draxum hadn’t exactly expected to be spoken to, so he was startled a little.

He turned, and the sight of Big Mama brought a mixture of frustration and something else. He couldn’t quite name what.

“Yes, well, coming of age really is an occasion, from what I know. But it’s actually tomorrow after next.”

Big Mama sat at the picnic table opposite Draxum, looking at him with a confused expression on his rough red face. "As usual, I'm sure you mean Mikey." But I meant tomorrow, as in the evaluation of your investigation. Big day?”

It was a big day. Yet somehow, one that slipped Draxum’s mind.

“Oh.”

Unexpectedly, Big Mama reached across the table and laid a hand over Draxum’s arm. “You may not believe this, but I really hope it goes well for you. I’d much rather see you continue on as you have been.”

Draxum didn’t particularly believe her, and said so, which didn’t seem to phase Big Mama much at all. And the next day, as Draxum made his way into the room in the Ministry Central building, the one with the very long, oval table and many chairs, he was surprised to see Big Mama there and see him offer a nod of encouragement.

Then a cloaked person walked in, amidst a host of “oh”s and “well, I suppose”s and “quite”s, delivered a piercing and thorough review of all Draxum’s transgressions, to the point that he reminded Draxum of a few he’d forgotten.

“You may provide a defense, Reaper Draxum,” The head of the review panel had then said, turning to the reaper with a measured gaze.

“Right, naturally,” Draxum said. “Um. Yeah, so, I just didn’t think Mikey deserved to die as a baby, and I have continued to think that as he has grown up.”

When he didn’t continue, they hummed. “Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

It was not, apparently, enough.

Of course, he objected to the decision, because the rules clearly stated that the contests were up to the reaper's discretion. However, Jessica Jaclyn had spent even more time as an afterlife attorney than Draxum had as a reaper, and his logic for interpreting "reaper" as anyone above him in the chain of command was airtight and razor sharp. So when they took the contest planning out of Draxum's hands and gave him one instead, he had very little to say about it.

"From now on, Draxum, even odds." The heads had made an unequivocal decision. "As administrators in this afterlife, we can't change things as we please. Leave decisions to the Fates. Also, please wear your uniform."

Draxum could feel Big Mama following him as he walked out of the room, keeping pace with him for the majority of the way back. He had half a mind to ask the Lady of Luck where he worked and why he wasn't going that way instead of rubbing it in that Draxum had been thoroughly scolded, at the cost of a human life.

That deep in thought, he nearly ran into the twins, barely avoiding knocking the basket of dream fragments out of the boy’s hands.

“Whoa! Close one,” the dream makers laughed, “I almost dropped like fifty baby unicorns. And one slug. I don’t know who that’s for but I’m kinda concerned.” Muggin said.

“Apologies, boy’s. I wasn’t looking.”

Huggin waved a hand, the basket wobbling again in his other hand before he quickly replaced the first. “It’s fine! How’s suspension going? Is it fun yet? Oh hey, don’t you go see Mikey soon? You’ll tell him I said ‘hi’ this time, right?”

Draxum didn’t think that was likely. He looked at the shuttlecock in his hand, a mess of tassels, and sighed. Of all the games they could have chosen, they had to pick one he couldn’t pretend to be bad at, or one more boringly traditional.

“Sorry boy’s, I don’t think it’s going to be a very good visit.”

“Why—“

“I’m sure those fragments are being missed right now, don’t you think?” Big Mama suggested, coming to stand beside Draxum. “Why don’t you and the reaper catch up later?”

The twins grinned brightly. “Yeah, you’re right. I do wanna see what this slug is for anyway. See ya later!”

Draxum stayed still as he left, rolling the toy around in his hand and waiting for whatever it was Big Mama felt the need to say. The ether sky of the afterlife, sort of purpleish and nebulaic, gently churned above them and Draxum thought it looked a little bluer than usual.

“Nothing says he’ll lose this time for sure, you know?”

“I know.”

“And if he does...well, wouldn’t you be happy to see him here? Couldn’t that be a good thing?”

Draxum laughed, his mouth stretching wide and feeling like it conveyed the incredulity he felt. How could he explain to a semi-immortal being the innate tragedy of death?

“No, it would not! He’s got stuff to do! He’s going to college to study fine arts, he’s going to be a famous artist, or maybe a theater major, and he has friends to keep up with, not to mention falling in love hopefully. So no, it would not be a good thing, not for him to lose all that!”

Big Mama withdrew her hands from the pockets of her neatly ironed maroon slacks and clasped her long fingers, her arms hanging low. Shee nodded very, very slowly.

He said, “Well then, I hope that luck is truly in his favor this time.”

“You mean that? For his sake?”

“No, for yours.”

-

Black. In all the broad expanse of time Draxum had ferried souls in their passing to the next plane of existence, he’d never quite felt so utterly surrounded, consumed, and overwhelmed by the color and all it represented. Black; the heavy, pitch dark cloak encompassing him, draping past his hands and swallowing his face with the wide hood. Black; the darkening skies swollen with rain and weeping, dulling the air around the park. Black; the future Draxum couldn’t see, hidden behind a veil of chance, uncertainty swirled with fear.

The existence of a grim reaper...black.

“What’s with the get-up?”

And then, color. So much of it that Draxum felt his resolve begin to seep out the moment Mikey spoke, and he had to look at him indirectly. It was too difficult to see his warm skin, his cheerful blue rain boots and yellow jacket, to see the way the rain ran over his shoulders like it was trying to hug him. Draxum would’ve liked to hug him. So, easier not to look, easier to stick to the verdict charged to him, that way.

“I’m a grim reaper, Mikey. This is what we wear.”

It pricked at Draxum’s oh so thin, weak skin to hear Mikey ask what the year’s game would be; he guessed as he knew from experience, silly games and nothing worth fearing. He spoke like he trusted Draxum to protect him, not to take his soul.

Draxum had brought his scythe, and hated the way he could taste Mikey’s fear the moment he saw it and his perception changed. It tasted like betrayal.

In one hand, Draxum squeezed the stringy tassels dangling from the shuttlecock. It remained dry, hidden under his cloak, waiting to act as judge of their contest, waiting to damn them both. He had every intention of extending that hand and initiating the game, be it a win or loss.

He stood up. Stretched out a hand. Stretched out the wrong one. Felt like sobbing, realizing his own incredible weakness, looking at his nearly translucent skin and wondering if Mikey could see right through it too, right to the very core of him that had no guiding purpose left but one human boy. He was rock; stubbornly disobeying the directive of his existence. He was paper; frail everytime that it counted. He was scissors; cutting and burning bridges to keep one built that was never meant to last.

If only Mikey hadn’t then suggested this was somehow his fault. Then maybe Draxum could have kept it all in.

When Draxum had learned he could still feel pain in the afterlife, he’d been angry at first. And then, even angrier to learn he’d still experience anger, too. So the pain that grew and flared in the sockets of his eyes as he ranted, raged against his own powerlessness, was not an unfamiliar one anymore. He felt the skin burn and crack, dry into hot charcoal he couldn’t stop from appearing, and reveal for once the black that was internal.

Objectively he knew everyone died sometime. And sometimes it was tragic, and sometimes it was a relief, and every time Draxum understood that their time had come. But the cosmic unfairness of Mikey’s life he simply could not accept.

Draxum felt the words in his core when he said, “—you’re just a kid.”

“...I...I really do have to die one of these times, don’t I?”

Yes. That was the answer. It was the answer to anyone who asked the same question. But Draxum couldn’t say it, because the longer he stood there the clearer it became that Draxum was out of his element and had been for eighteen years. His mistake was in thinking he’d ever be able to answer Mikey like he’d answer any other human. Because in truth, no other human would ask that question; his role, with extremely rare exception, was to guide souls whose time had already come. He was to appear at that instance, not before, certainly not to decide the timing himself. So was it any surprise, after spending all this time with someone not actually at the brink, that Draxum didn’t want to deal the blow? Bartering for a delay was one thing, contending to live at all was another entirely.

How many times did he have to think Mikey didn’t deserve it?

“Mikey...I’m sorry.” For so, so much.

“Is this it? Is this the last one?”

“Nothing says he’ll lose this time for sure, you know?”

Draxum took the echo of Big Mama’s encouragement and offered it to Mikey, explaining to him the strange circumstances he’d been in the whole time.

“You’ve been...cheating for me?” he asked in response, looking shocked.

Of course, Mikey would focus on that part.

"When you were a baby, I made up the most ridiculous contests. ‘Laugh first, Mikey. Which of us is better at being a cute infant? Oh you are? Wow. I’m bested. Whoever is actually alive, wins. Oh no, I’ve lost again.’ It was so simple to slip up like that." Looking at him as he spoke, Draxum could still see the tiny button of baby-Mikey’s nose, his smile when he’d lost a couple teeth, the squishable chub of his cheeks. “Doesn’t matter, I can’t anymore. Fair games only, from now on.

He could still see baby Mikey, he always would, but more than that he could see the young man as he was now, in all his vitality and potential, and looking at Draxum with an emotion he nearly couldn’t make sense of.

Was that...pity?

In the moment that Mikey began to reach out his own hand, Draxum realized the human wasn’t thinking of his impending death, but of the reaper’s well-being, and the overwhelming gravity of the notion of Mikey impossibly, foolishly, ridiculously caring for him at some level in return?…well.

"Oh, you chose paper." I have a tendency to use rock far too often. Perhaps this was not as fair as I believed." Reapers probably didn’t have hearts exactly, but something inside Draxum raced as he cheated one more time, without any hesitation. He felt like running. He felt like screaming. And he had something he had to do, as soon as possible, so he retrieved his useless weapon and tried to maintain an aura of calm as he passed Mikey by to leave, with only a momentary pause.

"Mikey, I'll see you next year. Until then, be healthy!"

He almost had to laugh when Mikey called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. But Draxum turned to listen anyway, because he would always, always turn for him.

"I'm going to destroy you! Each and every time! I'm going to win them all. I'm never going to lose!"

And there it was. Draxum smiled, because he could hardly do otherwise. He’d made his decision, but Mikey solidified it.

"Of course you will," he said. I’ll always lose to you."

Draxum took the determination in Mikey’s eyes and made it his own, returning to the afterlife and aiming toward his destination with burning intent.

“And I always will.”

The trick to finding people and places in the afterlife was similar to looking for a lost item: consider all the places you know it won't be, and then go wherever was left. Unfortunately, this left a plethora of options due to the sheer size of the afterlife and its limitless contents, but Draxum could narrow things down quite a bit based on his relatively extensive experience. As a result, despite having never been there before, it didn't take him long to locate the Department of Fortune and, within it, the office of a particularly perplexing Lady of Luck..

Draxum did not knock before charging into the room, letting the door smack against the wall perpendicular to it and then swing shut with a decisive thud. He took in the surrounding room only peripherally, vaguely aware of the contrast that was the ornate furnishings covered in unkempt piles of toys and trinkets. The desk contained a stunning mound of coins, and behind it, with eyes round in shock, sat the Lady of Luck, his hand paused mid-air with a wishbone held between his fingers.

In the stillness of the following moment, Draxum realized he was panting, and gulped hard to control it.

Big Mama’s brow narrowed, her eyes scanning the reaper before she set down the bone and exhaled slowly. “He’s still there, isn’t he.”

“He got luc—”

The demon shook her head.

“—alright, you’re right, I broke again and the Ministry is going to siphon my soul through a needle-eye or something as punishment, but can you please see where I’m coming from? Tell me you understand why I can’t do it, why it’s astronomically unjust that this is happening to him! I can’t be the only one who sees this!” Draxum felt the corners of his eyes begin to burn again, just slightly, and forced a few deep breaths to remain as calm as he could.

In front of him, Big Mama’s face unexpectedly softened. Her lips, full and usually wide with a grin, turned down sorrowfully at the corners.

“Draxum, I do understand. That’s why I tried to stop you, way back at the beginning, from letting this go on long enough that it came to this point.” He stood then, her short, red velvet-suited form facing Draxum’s darkly-draped one from behind the heavy desk. 

“Yes, his life is a rare, absurd form of unfair, and it shocked me how much from the moment I first heard of it. Then I met you, and realized—I have a sense for these things—that you were already getting in too deep. Even then, I thought it would be a very hard thing for you to do.”

“It’s too hard! I can’t do it!”

“I know, because you love him,” Big Mama said, unblinking.

Draxum felt a sharp, searing kind of pang string its way through his chest, like electricity through a circuit. “That’s right.”

“So. Now what?”

All that was left was the reason Draxum came, to ask the only question he could think to ask.

"He told me he'd win every time," Draxum began, "so can he?" Can he win all of them? Big Mama, tell me the odds. Tell me about his luck if I play fairly from now on. Does he have a chance of survival?!"

Big Mama’s lips turned down even further. She shook his head. “He...it’s not good, Draxum. There’s no good luck in being born with an undecided Fate.”

“God... no. I knew it.”

“I’m sorry.”

"Big Mama, I don't want you to be sorry. "I want you to do something!" Draxum's anger flared again, spurring him forward a step, and as Big Mama's eyes widened, he realized how intimidating he might appear at that moment, scythe still in hand and cloak billowing around him.

“Me?”

Perhaps Big Mama didn’t deserve his anger, but it sure seemed to Draxum like he ought to be someone who could make a difference. “You’re the fucking Lady of Luck, aren’t you? So look with favor on him, or whatever the hell it is you do!”

“What I do is keep the balance. Some have luck, some don’t. I can’t just change things on a whim, Draxum. Why should I?”

“Because I am asking you to.”

Because I have to save him.

Big Mama’s lips closed into a strikingly calm expression, her perturbance from a moment earlier fading rapidly away. The Lady of Luck leveled a clear gaze at the reaper, and held out her hands spread wide.

“I keep the balance, Draxum. If his luck increases,”—Big Mama shifts a hand up—“someone else decreases.” Her other hand lowered. “Are you willing to be responsible for that?”

The thing was, Draxum was willing to be willing to take responsibility for anything that would make a difference in Mikey’s Fate. He would have done it if someone had said, 'he can keep living, but your entire existence will end, reaper or not.' Draxum was more than willing, he was eager to be responsible, whatever that meant.

“Like you said, someone has to have it, good luck or bad. I care about him, I can’t care about everyone. Do it.”

Big Mama nodded, taking his seat and clasping his hands once again. “Just remember that I warned you. There’s always a balance.”

-

Draxum sat across from the inquiry panel once again, with Jessica shooting him frustrated pouts from the other side of the table as The Head of Councils sighed, and sighed again, looking over the new information on Mikey’s case. This time, though, Big Mama sat beside him, the Lady uncharacteristically slouched and leaning into her palm, taking little care for her silver suit with its emerald accents poking out. 

"So, let me get this straight," the council began, "somehow, between when we last met and now, despite the Ministry of Fates making no interventions on this particular human's standing destiny, he has gone from being statistically ought-to-be-dead to, if I understand correctly, theoretically incapable of losing any game of chance?"

“That’s correct,” confirmed Jessica, rather whiningly, her frown giving him all the appearances of a puppy who’d been told she’s not allowed to have a walk today. 

She pinched at her nose-bridge, continuing to stare at the mess of papers in front of him. “How?” 

Jessica aimed a pointed look at Big Mama while tapping her pen agitatedly against the table, demanding an answer. 

Big Mama appeared not to be listening. With a nudge from Draxum, she finally looked up, and jerked slightly to realize she’d been addressed.

“I’m sorry?”

“How has this change occurred, Lady of Luck?” The Council asked again, an obvious stress vein appearing at his temple. The sight of it made Draxum want to start screaming silently for help.

Big Mama shrugged, settling once again into her chair. “Oh, you know, how does anything like this happen? Cosmic forces at play, do we really know how it all works? So, he’s stumbled into a good bit of luck. Happens from time to time. It’s all very complex—scales and balances, someone somewhere makes a foolish decision”—Draxum kept very still—”and then, you know, luck can change. So really, who knows?”

A moment of silence fell across the room.

Then—

”That is absolutely the most absurd load of bullshit!! I have nev—”

“Jessica, please calm down.”

"Regardless of how it came to be, I can't think of any specific reason why Mikey Hamato's reaping process should be further regulated. To put it another way," he said, "it doesn't appear to make a difference. Nonetheless, due to your repeated history of infractions, I must keep you on cautionary probation, Draxum. It won't be forever, just about...I'd say three hundred years."

Draxum winced, then sighed, clasping his hands over the wood of the table. It wasn’t that long, in the grand scheme of things. Just a few centuries they would probably put him through a version of enforced boredom. 

As they left the panel room, Draxum breathed a sigh of relief so deep he could feel it lighten a pressure in his knees he didn’t know the dead could have. 

Mikey was safe, officially. He’d done it.

Chapter Text

Song - Training Wheels - By Melanie Martinez

The first time Draxum heard of Woody Dirkins, Mikey was in the middle of successfully, safely turning twenty years old.

“Is this our new park?” Mikey asked, while Draxum gingerly avoided the creaking, rusty swing set and decided not to take a seat beside the fountain, despite the potential it had for some very interesting algae.

“I guess so...Mikey, why is it so...grimy?” 

“Welcome to campus life. I’ll be here all summer, drowning in art theory and pulling back-to-back at the mini-mart.” Casting his backpack haphazardly onto the ground, Mikey followed it a second later, apparently careless of the tiny pebbles digging into his bare calves. 

Draxum was forced to follow suit. Unlike Mikey's hometown park, the one just behind the college campus was probably twenty square yards in size and consisted mostly of rusted swings and one very tired wooden play structure. It was obvious that it had not seen much use since the area had become more residential. However, it was adequate for their needs.

“Oh...that sounds...nice…” he replied, trying unsuccessfully to shake the pebble dust from his palms before extracting the deck of cards from his pocket. There was no beating the fine dusting of grey on his blacks.

Mikey continued to talk as Draxum shuffled. “Don’t worry, I already have a friend who’s stuck here too. Woody’s super boring and responsible—he’s a culinary major. You’d like him.” 

“Hm.” That wasn’t so easy to determine. Draxum liked Mondo, Mikey proclaimed best friend, and he disliked the girl Kendra from Mikey’s freshman year who beat Mikey out for the top grade in Music History. He just didn’t have much to go on, so he had to make his determinations on what he had. “Well, let’s get this game of cards out of the way and make sure you’ll still need to be looked after.” 

The cacophony of light traffic, a city bus making its rounds, and a stray cat wandering by provided ignorable background music while they moved through the first hand of the game, Draxum not worrying in the slightest whether his cards were good or not. He’d lose regardless.

But Mikey seemed preoccupied, taking his turns slowly and chewing at his lip. Then, from nowhere—

“He’s also...kinda cute. Do you have any fours?” 

Draxum took a moment to rewind his memory to previous mention of a ‘he,’ and circled around the aforementioned ‘friend.’ There was a different lilt to Mikey’s voice, he noticed, but Draxum carefully maintained his impassive tone.

“I’m sure he is. Go Fish.” 

“Really? Screw you.”

As Mikey collected a card and shuffled his hand, Draxum studied his face. Twenty, and showing signs of adult looks although still soft in its features. The beanie covering his hair made it difficult to see Mikey’s eyes clearly through the hair pushed down over them, making him look every bit the exhausted collegiate mongrel he was, but even sitting down he seemed to carry himself differently than he had in years past. And now he was mentioning a boy. 

God, they really do grow up fast. 

“So. He’s kinda cute?” Draxum ventured tentatively, the territory feeling murky.

Mikey dipped his head over the cards, a hint of pink visible at the crest of his cheeks. “Well, I mean, yeah. If you can look past the crutches, and the almost constant complaining about stats homework and how much his cast itches. Then he’s like...cute-ish. Probably leftovers from playing soccer.”

The burst of tiny, fractured puzzle pieces of information fluttered in Draxum’s mind, where he tried and failed to collect a full picture. In the meantime, Mikey laid down a set.

“So, you have a cute-ish friend—do you have three?—who is also stuck here over the summer.”

“No threes, Go Fish. Yeah.”

Draxum hummed. “Doesn’t sound like the worst summer.”

“I think it’ll be fine,” Mikey agreed, along with taking a Jack from Draxum and laying down another set. “Even if I have to carry his backpack around all the time. Seriously, he should have considered the inconvenience before he went and broke his leg. I mean for me, I’m the one it’s inconveniencing. He’s lucky I’m nice, other sophomores wouldn’t have even looked twice at a transfer student, especially one a class ahead of them. But my shifts are a lot less boring with him hanging around doing summer class homework, so it’s the least I can do.”

“Yes, you’re basically an angel in disguise,” replied Draxum, then thought of the one seraphim he knew, and frowned. 

“What disguise?” Mikey smirked. 

“...Any sevens?”

“No, get fishing, reaper. Now, give me your ten so I can go out. All this fish talk is making me hungry, and Casey’s taking the bus in so we can get dinner soon, and then maybe get drunk, and hopefully I can convince her to text her crush then ‘cause god knows she won’t do it sober. I won’t let her die alone when April is literally right there in her contacts.”

As Draxum handed over the card, he made sure to put on his best firm voice. “If you’re going to drink, don’t do anything stupid.”

Mikey grinned. “Why? I already beat you, what else can I really be afraid of?”

There wasn’t much Draxum could think to say to that, so he just shook his head. 

The pebbles shifted noisily as Mikey stood, plucking his backpack up with a grunt and slinging it over a shoulder. As Draxum shifted to his knee to prepare to stand, Mikey stuck out a hand as if to help him up, then thought better of it and pulled it back, laughing a little awkwardly and adjusting his hat instead. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, “the rest of my life isn’t interesting enough for you to lose sleep over. Wait, do you sleep?”

The reaper assured him that he didn’t, and so it wasn’t a concern of his anyway, and Mikey assured him that was more tragic than the fact that he was already dead. Then he was gone, jogging away from the park and taking his aura of fortune and gold with him. 

Draxum pocketed the playing cards and tried fruitlessly to dust off his pants again. 

“Everything is interesting about you, Hamato Mikey,” he sighed, and faded out of the park. 

-

“What did that child give you?” 

Big Mama turned her attention to Draxum and held up the small item, fluffy and gray and soft looking. “Oh, this? His sister left a talisman on his grave. He was bringing it to me, to give the luck back to his family. Rabbit’s foot...a classic. Personally I prefer heads-up pennies, but some of these lore are stronger than others.” She turned the charm in her palm, the fine fur rolling soundlessly as she petted it with one finger, before carrying it over to basket along the wall. Big Mama dropped the talisman there, the gray fur landing atop a pile of countless others just like it, becoming indistinguishable. She returned to behind the desk, sliding into the mahogany chair with grace and calmly lacing her fingers over her lap. 

Draxum started, then glanced around the office. The piles of seemingly random objects now thrown into startling clarity, he gasped at the stacks of horseshoes, the overflowing piles of coins, the veritable bouquet of clover that he originally thought was a questionably tasteless handful of weeds. 

“You mean to say, you can give a person luck from one of these?” he asked, incredulous. 

“Some, yes.” 

“So I could have just brought you...like, forty rabbits’ feet for Mikey?” 

Big Mama shook her head, definitive. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

Sighing, Big Mama passed a hand over the coins spilled across her desk, every possible currency represented. She tapped at a penny, the copper shining brightly, then replied, “Can you carry a talisman, Draxum?” 

“I don’t see why no—“ Draxum sniffed, reaching for the clover, and then gasped quietly in shock as his fingers passed through them like they were ghosts. “...apparently I cannot.” 

“Only the living can send them, only the souls to whom they were sent can carry them, and only I can receive them. So no. And besides, you could never have brought enough.” 

Draxum wiggled his fingers amid the ghostlike clover, then huffed and drew them back, crossing his arms and tapping his chin in thought. “Perhaps if Mikey himself brought them, say to a relative’s grave, and then that person—“

Big Mama groaned. “It doesn’t matter, reaper, he would never know how much he needed them, and anyway he doesn’t anymore. Besides, many cultures have forgotten this practice of late; the folklore doesn’t carry it like it used to.”

“What a pity.”

“Indeed. But nevermind that, what brings you to my cluttered corner of the afterlife?”

After watching the host of souls bring their talismans, Draxum felt it a little silly and inconsequential to have come all the way there just to brag that Mikey had potentially developed a crush, and was clearly thereby flourishing in his continuing lifespan. 

“Oh it’s nothing, nevermind.” He shuffled behind the chair opposite Big Mama’s, taking care not to disturb what he assumed was a pile of lucky socks. 

Big Mama smiled, smug. “It’s about Mikey, then.”

“Not everything is always about him.”

“Draxum, he’s the only thing you ever talk to me about.”

“Well what else would I talk about? I reap exclusively souls over seventy-five years of age now, I have nothing except him to discuss,” huffed Draxum. 

The grin on Big Mama's face widened. “We just had a whole other conversation.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

Draxum blinked. “Well that was about work. That doesn’t count.”

“Draxum, Mikey is also work.”

“He is not, he’s my—“ Draxum paused his indignant response, a crease appearing between his brows. 

Just what is he?

“Yes? He’s...?”

Draxum decided the grin Big Mama wore had become far too infuriating and therefore didn’t deserve a detailed answer, and so he rolled his eyes and prodded a finger against the back of the chair.

“Different. That stopped being work a long time ago.”

“I figured you’d say something like that.”

“Well if you already know everything about it, then I’ll just show myself out, won’t I? Why did I bother coming…”

Big Mama stood, laughing and calling for Draxum to wait as the reaper angled towards the door. “Draxum, I’m just teasing you, come on. I want to hear it. What’s the kid up to now?”

Maybe he was over-eager to share on the subject. Maybe he just liked gossip anyway. But Draxum was back in the room and sitting down on the edge of the chair only a moment later. 

“Listen,” he started, crossing his black-slacked legs and leaning forward. “I think he’s got a crush. He was very cool about it, but he wouldn’t have mentioned something if it wasn’t important right? I mean, if it was nothing, why bother telling me? That’s right, isn’t it?”

Having eased back into his chair, Big Mama nodded as she listened, a bemused glimmer in her eyes. “Sounds like pretty typical young adult behavior to me.” 

“Oh god, can we please not call him an adult yet? I know he is one, but it stresses me out. He’s already finished his second year in university, that’s bad enough.” 

“I thought you wanted him to go? Wasn’t this all what you hoped for?”

Draxum hmphed. “Well, yes. But that doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it anyway.”

“Must be hard, being an empty-nester.”

“Alright, I’m going.”

“Glad to hear he’s doing well! Keep me updated!...I know you can still hear me, Draxum!”

-

The set up was, Draxum had to admit, pretty haphazard, a bit slapdash on his part. He still wasn’t clear on where the twins had produced the old box television set from, nor the gaming console, and he was even less sure how the series of cords and wires connecting the two allowed the game to work, disregarding the fact that all of that was plugged into nothing at all. It looked like a mess to him, but the point was: it did work. 

Mikey had laughed and called it ‘wonky,’ but assumed based on Mikey’s warm smile it was complimentary. 

Even if Draxum wasn’t already more than sure that Mikey would beat him on principle, the fact that he had absolutely no experience with playing video games of any kind removed any worry he might have had anyway. What didn’t cancel out his worry, was the distracted way in which Mikey played, spacing out every few minutes or even pulling out his phone mid-race.

“Will you focus? I didn’t figure out how to bring video games from the afterlife for you to die over a game of Mario Kart,” Draxum chided, watching his own character careen off sideways and slam into a brightly colored mountain. He wasn’t surprised. Why would a toadstool know how to drive?

Mikey apologized quickly, his eyes darting back to the screen. 

“Sorry I’m nervous ok?—ah fuck, almost hit a blue shell—he’s gonna be there tonight and it’s distracting.” 

“He? He who? Mikey, who is the ‘he’ that’s important enough to make you—oh shit, heck...dammit.”

As Draxum’s car flung itself—naturally he didn’t do it, he couldn’t fathom why the character didn’t follow his driving instructions—wildly off a bridge, Mikey’s car with its orange-clothed princess character slid easily past and took the lead. A second later, however, Mikey’s phone chimed and he dropped his controller immediately in favor of picking it up, hunched over the device and smiling goofily as his fingers tapped away.

Draxum tried to move his—miraculously restored—character slowly, but the game just kept going even as Mikey’s car idled.

“Mikey.”

“One second, I just...need to…”

Impossibly, as the second stretched into a minute, Draxum found his toadstool primed for the finish line, and the reaper’s jaw dropped in shock as the screen announced he had won the second round of their tournament. 

He panicked. He wasn’t supposed to be able to win anything.

“Mikey,” Draxum urged, voice shaking, “you must concentrate on this ridiculous game. I just won a race I don’t know how to run. Can the messages wait?”

The boy finally looked up, and his eyes went wide in shock. “Oh my god. You did. What in the actual fuck.”

“Well, just win the next race, alright? You’re lucky it’s a tournament sort of game.” 

A tiny victory celebration played on the screen, and Mikey laughed in a nervous way, the sound stilted. His phone lay ignored for the next race, all concentration applied and focused to win the competition taking place on a treacherous road constructed, seemingly, from rainbows. Thankfully, Mikey only really needed to apply a fraction of his attention to the game to win it, much more skilled as he was at swerving around the track and picking up the strange little boxes to hurl their contents mercilessly at Draxum’s poor fungus-creature. With a skillful toss of one such item, Mikey veritably obliterated Draxum’s car, and sped through the finish line to the reception of an animated fanfare where his princess was quickly crowned champion.

They both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Nice aim. You win as usual,” Draxum congratulated, his momentary panic subsiding.

Mikey jumped up from his spot on the grass immediately. “Sick, ok, are we good? I’m golden till twenty-two? I really gotta go Draxum, I have like three hours to transform my tired art major ass into an effortlessly attractive person so time is kind of the essence.” 

The reaper made a face, tossing his controller in front of the tv. “You are going nowhere until you tell me exactly who it is you’re trying to look like that for, and also, what is effortlessly attractive?.” 

“Nevermind that, just know I'm going to look good today, okay?” 

“Stop that.” 

“I’m gonna be a model, Draxum.” He said posing like that one character from the Jojo show the twins made him watch.

“Alright, give me your hand, obviously the afterlife is the only place I can trust you to behave yourself—” 

“Hell no, I absolutely will not be dying before I get Woody Dirkins to kiss me. You can take that on oath.”

Drawing back the hand he’d teasingly stretched out, Draxum felt an odd shock like excitement. “Did you say Woody?” he asked. “Is this ‘kinda cute-ish’ Woody from last year? He’s coming here,” Draxum gestured to Mikey’s neighborhood park, the very same one from all his childhood years, “and you want him to kiss you? Oh, Mikey.” 

Humanity on full display, Mikey’s face flushed a deep scarlet in the late afternoon sunshine. He scratched at the back of his neck, embarrassed, and nodded.

“Yeah, that one. Turns out he can be very cool, once he’s not crutching around so much. Only really noticed after having to spend an entire class sharing notes with him.”

Draxum fought the urge to coo in happiness. “You had a class together? But, didn’t you say he was studying culinary arts?” His questions spilled out, digging eagerly into the story the more it made Mikey look sheepish.

Mikey sighed. “He is, it was just an elective he ended up in ‘cause of being late for class signups. The idiot’s computer crashed, like, halfway through making his selections. College is really a pain in the ass for some people, you know? And then he just...kinda started hanging out with me and Mondo sometimes...I don’t know.” Mikey kicked at the grass, sighing again. “He’s stupid but sometimes he says stuff and it’s all insightful and like, genuine, and sometimes he’s really sweet and I just kinda lose it. So I just want him to kiss me, ‘cause then I think I’ll know for sure.” 

“Does he like you?”

“I don’t know.” Mikey hung his head, whispering the words. “April says he does, but I don’t know myself.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose I had better let you be on your way. I believe you have a party that you need to get looking good for?”

Grinning, Mikey nodded eagerly, their two smiles matching for a moment before Mikey’s twisted into a cocky smirk.

“Model.” he said posing.

“That’s it, I hope you’ve enjoyed living until now—”

–

What exactly dictated the spot where Draxum would meet Mikey each year, the reaper didn’t truly know. Perhaps the most convenient location for the boy, or the place least difficult to have privacy—he didn’t have the answer. If it was the universe making this call, it sure seemed to prefer parks or other outdoor spaces, like the beach onto which Draxum walked with mild distaste, his shoes losing traction as they pressed into the sand and the soles grew uncomfortably hot. 

Mikey faced the water as Draxum approached. The ocean, the reaper guessed, going by the size of the cheerful waves hurtling full tilt towards the break, crashing over themselves into the shores a stones throw past the human. And Mikey looked like he belonged standing there, ruling the tide with his serene gaze, his linen shirt and swim shorts dancing around his body in the playful wind. He looked right, with the sun anointing the crown of his hair in a shimmer, blessing his honeyed skin with gentle, invisible fingers, more like it existed to stand foil to him than to light the galaxy that spun around it. 

“Happy birthday, golden child,” Draxum said by way of greeting. 

Turning his chin just slightly, Mikey let an easy smile pull his lips. “I’ve graduated from Mikey?”

“You’ve graduated from a few things, I believe.”

Stretching his arms out wide, Mikey tilted his chin to the sky and blew out a breath that turned quickly into a laugh. “Hell yeah,” he said, “god, it feels so good to be done with school. I mean, I still have to find a way to use a bachelor of fine arts degree in music composition, but at least I have it.” 

Draxum didn’t have a single doubt he would. “I believe in you,” he said, feeling a fierce pride.

“I know you do...okay, what? What is your face doing?”

“Nothing?”

“No,” Mikey squinted at him in the sunlight, wrinkling his nose. “You’ve got that look. The one you always wear when you’re dying to ask me something. So what is it?”

Admittedly, Draxum did want to ask Mikey many things, and as infrequently as they met he must have worn the expression often. Shifting the items he held carefully behind his back, Draxum chuckled awkwardly. “Well, yes...it’s just, I’m curious. A year ago, you were after a certain kiss, I believe—”

Berry-red tinted Mikey’s cheeks, a hand drawing up to cover his mouth.

“So?”

Mikey nodded, face reddening even more.

For some reason, Mikey’s success in romance felt like a personal victory to Draxum. “Haha!” he exclaimed, smiling open-mouthed, and very nearly clasped Mikey’s shoulder before catching himself. “So! A kiss!”

Mikey’s hand shifted till just two fingers dwelled on his lips, the corners of which turned up delightedly. 

“Well just! Not like...I mean,” the boy stuttered, looking down to his bare feet in the sand, kicking a lump of it and watching it slide between his toes, “we’re um, dating now. Have been since almost right after last year! It’s kind of weird, realizing you wouldn’t have known.”

Draxum felt the comment like a bee sting; a little painful, but with the understanding that the bee intended no ill will. It just was what it was, and he was grateful to be privy to any of it in the first place. 

“Mikey, I’m so, so happy for you,” he said, washing the sting away with his own force of well-wishes. 

“He’s here, actually.”

“What?”

Mikey turned to look over his shoulder, peering at the high sandbank that rose up at the curve of the beach to their right, its swell melting into the flatter shore before the water could reach it, but the brunt of it hiding the rest of the beach that must be beyond. 

“Just over there, somewhere, Like around that sand dune, holed up under the umbrella ‘cause he misplaced the sunscreen and he’ll just sunburn like you wouldn’t believe. Lucky I even thought to bring the umbrella!”

“You’re on a trip together, then?” asked Draxum, softly, resisting the desire to race around to the other side of the beach and find Woody, meet the person responsible for the happy blush on Mikey’s cheeks. He knew it wouldn’t work anyway—he couldn’t just go meeting living people who weren’t being reaped, especially in the middle of a different potential-reaping.

“Yeah, it was his graduation and birthday gift to me. Kind of a copout, but our AirBnB is cute as hell so I’ve forgiven him for it. It has a hammock swing!” 

“I don’t...really know what any of that means.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m guessing the contest is kites? Or were you just carrying them as accessories?”

The small sky-crafts Draxum produced from behind his back were colorful things, their material sleek and brightly patterned with long fluttering tails. He’d expected something much more humble when he’d asked the twins to help him find kites, something trapezoidal with two crossed poles and a bow on the tail, but naturally Huggin always brought him a version that wasn’t from the history books. 

Anyway, Draxum still knew how to fly a kite. 

“Yes, we are going to see who can keep their kite flying the longest.”

“The weather is perfect for that! I bet you had no idea if it would be. Fortuitous, huh?” 

“Oh, he doesn’t have to have a hand in everything, honestly,” said Draxum, rolling his eyes as he handed the red kite to Mikey and began to unwind the string on his blue one. 

“Who?”

“Never mind. Should we launch them on three? Move over a few steps, we need space.”

As if on command, the breeze shifted subtly just as they both set their kites into flight, its formless hands lifting them to a soaring height the moment they were released. Draxum had to appreciate that, for once, Mikey’s luck catered to him a little too, allowing them both to enjoy the unique delight of guiding a kite around a cloudless sky for a while. 

From a few yards away, Mikey giggled and grinned toothily up at the sky. “Feels just like summer camp again,” he called over, “Mondo and I used to try this every year. Never worked this well though.”

Not an ounce of surprise did Draxum feel when the wind shifted again a short while later; they both adjusted, but only Mikey’s kite stayed airborne while Draxum’s swooped wildly before diving into the sand. 

“That was nice while it lasted,” he sighed, brushing the fabric off as Mikey reeled his kite in and jogged over. 

Even at twenty-two, the human wasn’t above a victory dance, apparently. “Hamato Mikey, kite master!” he cheered, dancing around the sand and striking a pose. He pointed at Draxum. “Say I’m the kite master, Draxum!”

“You’re the kite master.”

“I am the kite master!”

“Alright, well, will the kite master allow me, the kite loser, to bid him farewell? Some of us don’t have the luxury of lounging on the beach with our cute-ish boyfriends all day.”

Mikey stopped his dancing, the red returning to his cheeks as his smile turned soft. “Woody.”

“That would be the one, I hear. I’ll expect an update when we meet again, kite master.” Draxum gathered both kites and turned to leave, feeling more than knowing that their time for the day was up. He gave the boy one last glance. “Have a wonderful time, Mikey. Enjoy the...what was it?...the hammock?”

“Will do my best,” Mikey said, saluting. “He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve already planned for me and Woody to cuddle in it later and watch the sunset. Maybe with drinks. We’ll see.”

“Sounds lovely. See you later, Mikey.”

Mikey winked and dashed for the bank. 

Draxum watched him jog away, a brilliant figure against the glittering ocean, alive and, perhaps, in love. It looked right.

Chapter Text

Song - Out Like a Night by The Honey Sticks, Ricky Montgomery

At Mikey’s twenty-third birthday, Draxum began to sincerely ask himself whether it was time to stop taking the twin’s suggestions for contests over which to decide the next year of Mikey’s life. Not that they weren’t filled with creative ideas—the very reason that Draxum so frequently asked—but that his suggestion that time involved seeing who could locate the biggest cicada in the small patch of trees where they met that year. 

“Oh shit. Look at this beast,” Mikey said, beckoning Draxum to look at a spot on the tree he stood beside. The human kept a gentle finger on the large insect, holding his prize in place to be witnessed. 

Draxum took one look at the creature then resolutely stared elsewhere, trying to purge the image of the thick black insect and it’s bright red eyes from his mind. “Mikey, I wish we had not played this. I actually hate bugs, that thing is disgusting.”

He heard Mikey scoff. “Draxum, all you found was the cicada shell. It wasn’t even alive.”

“It was also disgusting.”

“So do you give up? There’s only thirty seconds left, do I win?”

Half-heartedly, Draxum scanned the higher branches of the trees, spying only a much lesser version of the large, grotesque thing Mikey kept pinned to its tree with a finger. 

The time ran out, as announced by a jingle from Mikey’s phone that he quickly silenced. 

“I win again,” he noted, pleased. 

“I’m just glad it’s over.”

“You picked the game, Draxum. Why pick something you can’t stand?”

Draxum dug his hands into his pockets and shrugged, keeping his eyes averted as Mikey released the cicada. The buzzing of its friends kept a gentle hum around them, their song an additional invisible reminder of the season paired with the sticky heat. 

Mikey matched strides with Draxum as they wordlessly began to stroll through the canopy of conifers. 

“Just didn’t think it through.” After a minute, Draxum paused, turning in a slow circle. “Mikey, where are we?”

“Oh, this? It’s a hiking trail not far from Woody’s apartment building.”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence for another few minutes, pine needles crunching under their feet and the air moving very little. According to Mikey, most of the summer had been similarly stifling, hardly letting up for a day in the thick heat and forcing most people to stay indoors under their air conditioners. 

Draxum was just on the verge of asking how Mikey was spending his birthday when Mikey spoke. 

“He asked me to move in with him.”

Unfamiliar with how modern relationships worked, Draxum tried to gauge what sort of response this called for. He settled on cautious enthusiasm. 

“How exciting! It must be nice to share a home together.”

“I haven’t answered him yet. That was two months ago.”

Draxum pondered this, his tongue pressed to his upper lip in thought, then popped his lips and admitted, “I don’t think I understand.”

“I think maybe I should break up with him.”

“What?” he exclaimed, shocked. Halting, Draxum faced the young human directly. “Now I’m completely lost. Why? You’ve only just started this relationship!”

Mikey squinted an eyebrow. “It’s been two years though? Casey and Donnie have broken up and gotten back together twice in the same time.”

Two years? Draxum had no concept of what that felt like when time actually meant something to you. In his mind, it was all still brand new, still amazing and somewhat miraculous. Was two years a long time to date?  

“But the point is,” Mikey continued, “is it really fair of me to date anyone at all? Think about it. Let’s say I move in. For a year I come home from making dumb advertisement jingles at the marketing company and Woody comes back from teaching class and we have dinner, do whatever, fall asleep in each other’s arms, wake up and do it all again.”

Draxum’s stomach clenched, a little at the simplistic sweetness of the vision and a little at the direction he suddenly knew it was going. 

“Then it’s my birthday again. And maybe that goes fine and another year passes, maybe we get a dog or one of us gets a promotion or I figure out the exact meal to cook that makes him stop mid-bite just to kiss me, and then maybe the next June I lose at checkers and just fucking die. That’s not fair to him, right? To like, agree to a life together and then just leave him with too many dishes and my keyboard, and shih tzu named Pumpkin? How can I do that?”

“You’re great at checkers.”

“Draxum.”

“Look,” Draxum held Mikey’s gaze firmly, despite the threat of tears that glazed the boy’s eyes and the despairing downturn of his lips, and willed himself to sound confident. “Just because we have to do this every year, doesn’t mean you stop living your life. Haven’t we had this conversation before?”

“It’s different. It’s one thing for me to live by myself. If I die, it affects others less. It’s another to involve someone else.”

“But do you get to choose that for him?”

Mikey’s eyes widened in confusion. “What?”

“I mean, every relationship seems like a risk, if you ask me,” said Draxum, speaking as he thought it through himself. “He took a risk just asking you. Humans die all the time for all kinds of reasons. He doesn’t know what might happen either. But he obviously wants to be with you enough to change that.”

As Draxum spoke, Mikey held still and seemed to breathe very carefully, his fingers clutching the bottom hem of his t-shirt with agitation. The cicadas still buzzed, like white noise, making it feels as though the trees themselves were speaking to one another in hushed, thrumming tones. 

Mikey swallowed. “So should I move in with him?” he asked in a small voice. 

“Do you want to?”

“God, yes.”

“Then you should. Living on ‘if’s’ isn’t really living, it’s just procrastinating death. You’re alive. So be with him.”

After a deep, prolonged breath, Mikey’s shoulders finally relaxed and he smiled tentatively.

Chuckling, Draxum turned to walk a little more. They had a bit of time left. 

“So,” he asked, “what does he like to eat?”

Mikey rubbed his hands together, said, “Draxum, I’m gonna cook so much pasta.”

–

At twenty-four, Dirkins Mikey was thoroughly, all-encompassingly in love. Draxum could have told him that a year earlier, or maybe two, but it was no less true once Mikey himself knew it.

He was also actively painting and selling his talent online , going on small trips, acquiring the final touches to make the apartment more of a home for two, and doing just fine at work—all these things Mikey updated Draxum on, but the underlying current was one steady piece. Woody. 

Woody, picking colors to supplement Mikey’s art; Woody, the companion for every trip; Woody, not complaining about Mikey buying another fluffy throw blanket or himself not being allowed to touch any of the houseplants. Just talking as they played, Mikey didn’t have to say, “I just want to tell you about Woody,” for Draxum to hear it in every word. 

Mikey moved a handful of colorful glass pebbles along the mancala board, ending with a few in his own pot. 

“—and I found out that Woody’s teachers group has actually been compiling a recipe book for the past year and a half that they just never shared with him, because even they know the most he can do in the kitchen is fill a cereal bowl, but after the teachers’ appreciation potluck I got my hands on one ‘cause they loved my kimchijeon. I mean they were all eaten before anyone even knew who made them.”

The last time Draxum remembered bothering to eat had been some ambrosia appetizers at an office party maybe about fifteen living-years prior, but he could appreciate Mikey’s pride nonetheless. 

Mikey continued, “Of course they thought I was just his roommate so the next thing was Mrs. Kwang trying to set me up with her daughter who has some corporate job, but Woody’s not too shy about it anymore so they got the hint after he took my hand and kissed my knuckles all sweet which was sappy but nic—ok, why are you laughing?”

“You haven’t stopped talking for forty minutes, Mikey. We could have finished this game half an hour ago.”

They had at least four, maybe six turns to go before the game could end. Mikey looked at the board in confusion, his cheeks rosy-ing. 

“Oh.” Mikey bit the inside of his cheek, hands stilling momentarily. “Draxum I’m…sorry, I can stop rambling.”

“You don’t need to. Hearing about your life makes me happy, Mikey. Hearing that you’re happy, makes me happy.”

“I’m so happy,” Mikey said, fervent. “I love him, Draxum. I’m in love with him. I think about it when I’m not even thinking about it. It’s like everything I do now, I’m doing that, but also I’m loving him. I never knew being in love qualified as multitasking.”

A little sparrow, curious and bold, hopped close enough to peer at their game and gamble an attempt at stealing one of the pieces. Draxum shooed it away with a wave of his hand, careful not to touch the creature. He picked up some pebbles and continued the game. 

“I can’t say I know anything about love personally,” he admitted. Draxum was already talking to the person he cared for the most. “But it does seem like it takes up most of a person once you get into it. And Woody loves you too? He had better, Mikey, I may not be able to visit him but believe me, I will find a way to send a message!”

A giddy little giggle escaped Mikey. Then another, and a few more, until he was consumed with laughter, toppling over backward from his cross-legged position to roll in breathless giggles on the grass while Draxum looked on. 

“Oh, my god,” he rasped, “wow. He fucking does.”

More laughter, that had a powerful glow blooming in Draxum’s chest like a star, until finally Mikey could speak again. 

He said, through an infinite smile turned up to the sky, “Draxum, Woody loves me. He says it constantly, it’s so embarrassing. Like, the first time was so random. There I am one morning, I’m trying to find my socks and I’m late and he’s like,”—Mikey adopts a different voice, a slightly lower tone than his own—“he’s like, ‘hey, Mikey?’ and I’m y’know crazy rushing, but I say ‘what’ and he just says, ‘you know I love you?’ when I’ve got like, one sock on. I was so late that day. Now he does it all the time, it’s very distracting.”

Draxum could picture it: Mikey stunned, hovering with one foot still bare and brown eyes wide, before breaking into his brightest smile. 

The reaper smiled too. “Sounds like a good distraction. How about we finish this distraction so you can get back to that one?”

Rolling into his side and then pushing back into a seated position, Mikey nodded in agreement. “Yeah yeah, let me beat you so I can go eat cake and get told how pretty I am.”

“Pretty insufferable.”

“Some people disagree.”

Draxum pushed the board closer to Mikey. He’d already counted the remaining moves, and noted Mikey’s impending win. 

“They don’t have to play you at board games like—“

“Woody does! I practice all the time so I make him go against me, of course he loses too, you guys have a lot in common actually—“

“Mikey.”

“—mainly me, but other things too, like worrying a lot—“

“Mikey, I know you love Woody Dirkins, but can you please take your turn now?”

–

The human had run at him the moment Draxum was in sight, almost scaring Draxum straight back to the afterworld with his near attempt at a hug. Mikey just stopped short enough at Draxum holding his scythe out like a bar, eyes widened in acknowledgement. Sometimes more than others it was easy to forget. 

Now, bouncing the small bean bag between his feet with all the talent of a pro sports player, it was like the moment of fear had never occurred. As Mikey racked up bounces, Draxum stared at the slim band of silver adorning a very certain finger on Mikey’s left hand, transfixed by the way it glinted in the thin sunlight and the meaning it carried. 

Mikey effused joy, practically vibrating. “I didn’t think I’d be married by twenty-five, Draxum! Can you believe it? I thought I’d be dead by fourteen.”

“W-what?! Mikey. You have to know, I wasn’t going to let that happen!” Draxum spluttered. 

Keeping the toy airborne, Mikey leveled a mildly surprised look at him, as if to ask if he was really supposed to admit that. Draxum wanted to pull the hood of his cloak over his face. He wasn’t sure that he was allowed to.

“Well I didn’t back then, did I?” said Mikey. “I just knew my life was on the line every single year. I never even considered getting married as possible for me.”

Draxum winced.

“But look! I was wrong! And I married... Woody Dirkins. Draxum, I wish you could meet him. He’s just so, so good to me.”

It was morning and a sweet breeze caressed the grass in the little field where they stood, the one Draxum had begun to recognize as part of the nature area not far from the home Mikey and Woody shared. Mikey, who had held his life in his hands with as much hope as one has for a white-topped dandelion on a windy day. Woody, who was Mikey’s husband, now. He wished he could meet him too.

The bean bag popped off Mikey’s foot once more before toppling to the ground, though it looked more like Mikey had allowed the fall rather than failed to catch it another time. Not that it mattered; Mikey had surpassed Draxum’s attempt within the first few seconds of his turn. 

“Actually, I have a picture. Here!” Producing the phone from his pocket, Mikey approached a safe distance from Draxum and flicked through his device before holding it out within Draxum’s view. “I’m sorry the angle is so bad, we don’t have the official photos yet so it’s all I’ve got. I just wanted to share it with you, even though it isn’t much.” 

It was his preference not to cry in front of Mikey if at all possible, but there wasn’t much he could do about it when Mikey’s smile in the picture was so bright, so enamored. It must’ve been a candid shot from their outdoor ceremony, taken from not far behind the person Draxum had to assume was Woody. Unfortunately only his back was visible, the back of a well-styled, undercut head of black hair and sharply fitted tuxedo. More of the focus fell on Mikey, naturally, with his suit of light blue and white carnation boutonniere, sunlit and with auburn hair tousled as static evidence of a breeze. 

This new glimpse through to the other side of the veil awed Draxum. There was that color to it, that energy that nothing in the afterworld had. It was the kind of color that Mikey brought with him each year when they met, that had pulled Draxum out of his procedures and processes and made him make an exception. It was color that blurred out at the edges and then all the way through as Draxum’s eyes brimmed, and Mikey let out a quiet chuckle.

“Woody cried too,” he said, “and then like right after this, the wind blew his vows out of his hand and into the lake behind me. He still remembered most of them, though, and ad-libbed the rest, which was messy but perfect. So then I cried."

“It sounds like a beautiful wedding, Mikey,” Draxum admitted, dabbing the wetness off his cheeks with his sleeve as the human pocketed his phone. The few tears that had found their way down to the ground he could do nothing about; whoever tended the grounds there would find those few tufts of grass particularly difficult to keep trimmed.

–

Voices lilted from just beyond the door as Draxum approached Big Mama’s office, and he slowed his steps. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt Big Mama if he was talking with a soul. From the subdued nature of the tone he could hear, this sounded like a serious conversation, and souls who had serious things to discuss with the Lord of Fortune didn’t need a reaper interrupting them and their business.

So he settled for checking through his upcoming schedule, amusing himself by guessing what exact ages each soul he’d be soon to reap might have reached. There was some morbidity to the game, but, well, morbid games had become a bit of a speciality to Draxum.

The door clicked open, pausing at just a few inches as whoever was behind it briefly aborted the action. 

“—your best Big Mama, we all are.”

“I appreciate your efforts, for what it’s worth.”

Draxum tucked his parchment of names away into the small front pocket of the silk vest he’d arbitrarily felt like wearing, and eased toward the door. The voice aside from Big Mama’s struck him as familiar, though he couldn’t fully place it.

“And I yours. Even if it doesn’t seem like it. There are limits we can push, but after a certain extent we feel the ropes that bind our hands tighten past resistance. That’s where we are now.”

Big Mama’s sigh held the kind of weariness only a mostly eternal entity could express. “I know. I guess I’ve been an optimistic fool to think I’d slipped them,” he said.

There was something about the overheard admission that didn’t fit right under Draxum’s skin. As far as he’d been able to witness so far, the rules were just elastic banding that Big Mama could stretch however she saw fit, and she seemed to love to see them under strain. 

Thinking of any of them as actually putting a halt to Big Mama’s motivations didn’t calculate properly in Draxum’s head; it occurred to him that talking with others had left him the sort of impression that Big Mama’s power quietly rivaled Fate. 

But he didn’t have any real proof of that.

The door opened suddenly then, putting Draxum face-to-face with surprise-wide eyes and the inhalation of shock one pulls when caught entirely off guard. 

Jessica had the kind of face that never wore half an expression, the whole weight of a thought plastered across her combination of complementary features and wholly visible. In this case, surprise.

It melted impressively quickly, replaced with the grin Draxum recalled finding particularly vexatious during the hearing in which that same afterlife attorney had fixed Draxum with her sentence.

“Why, reaper Draxum. It has been something like a minute since I saw your charming little face.” Jessica leaned into the doorframe of Big Mama’s office, calmly sliding the ink-scrawled paper still in one hand into the padfolio in her other, and the both of them into the satchel hanging at her hip. “How are all those miserable dead you scurry around? Been pulling any new tricks lately?”

Draxum managed his most innocent smile. “Tricks? I would never. The dead are as you’ve said, expectedly miserable. As anyone might be, upon learning they’ve just given up their human life to spend eternity in the same plane of existence as you.” 

A delighted laugh burst from her lips, her smile losing its roguish edge for something more genuine.

“Fates,” she laughed, “it’s a pity we had to be on the opposite sides of that boring affair. You’re exceptional, you know.”

Not something Draxum regularly thought of himself, but he’d gladly take it.

Big Mama leaned out from the office at Jessica’s ide, offering Draxum a warm smile mostly in her catlike eyes.

“Hi, Draxum,” she said. “Don’t take Jessica’s compliments too seriously, she says that stuff to everyone.”

“Noted.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “You just think that because I always tell you how much sexier Fortune has gotten since you took over.”

“You also said I’m more gorgeous than the Fates.”

“You are.”

Draxum hummed. “Shouldn’t be hard, considering no one knows what they look like.” 

Jessica snapped a finger in Draxum’s direction. “You've got me there.”

It struck Draxum that perhaps if he wasn’t still vaguely grudging at the attorney for opposing him in court over the person Draxum cared most for in all existence, he’d like Jessica rather a lot. Maybe enough to seek out her company on purpose.

“In that case, no one can prove I’m not infinitely more fetching than they,” Big Mama argued amicably, hands slid into the pockets of neatly pressed, satin suit pants. “But enough about how exceedingly prepossessing I am. Talk of my beauty could have us distracted for eons. Aside from that, that being my winsome appearance—”

“I’m more than close enough to hit you.” 

“—yes, that’s true. We shouldn’t keep Jessica, in demand as she is.”

Jessica snorted. “I’ll take my leave. Big Mama, a pleasure as on rare occasions.” He gave the lord a sort of half bow. “Draxum, a pleasure as—I hope might more frequently be?” 

Well, Draxum would consider it. “Likewise.” 

Dropping a practiced wink, Jessica saluted and strode away in a breeze of easy confidence and artfully styled-back black hair.

Big Mama gestured Draxum inside and the reaper followed, letting the door glide shut with just a tap before she eased into her usual—and the only—chair. The Lady of Luck straightened a few items gone slightly astray before sitting and folding her long legs, looking as at ease as inhumanly possible.

But then the snippets of earlier conversation returned to Draxum’s mind, and he wondered if that appearance suited or not.

“So, Jessica.”

“As she goes by, yes.”

“Does she come by often?”

“You really hate that I have friends, don’t you? Don’t be so prickly and preoccupied, then, and get some more yourself.” 

Draxum wrinkled his nose, affronted. “You’re excused for being rude, though I don’t know why, since you’re always doing it. I happen to have several friends, and some acquaintances I think might have become friends when I wasn’t looking, which is distressing enough.”  

Big Mama’s giggly laugh bounced around the room for a moment, like an energetic child.

“Have it your way, then. You usually do."

“As much as I feel is fair,” Draxum agreed, and softened his tone. “But, I guess that’s not perhaps how I should always go about things. Not if…” the lines of exhaustion in Jessica’s face came to mind, her  torment-hoarse voice, “not if I’m being considerate of others.”

Leant forward in his chair, Big Mama peered at Draxum. “What are you talking about?” Her hand rested on the desk, not fully relaxed, as if ready to reach or offer or simply move in correction of whatever she was about to encounter.

“It’s nothing, maybe, just that I’ve always brought my problems to you, but hardly paused to ask what is on your plate. Or even...what the cost of my requests might be, for you.” 

Big Mama’s concern deepened into a frown, her full mouth turning down at the corners. An upset Big Mama looked more intimidating than even just a serious Big Mama, Draxum suddenly learned.

She chewed her words, saying, “If I meant to saddle you with my concerns, Draxum, I’d offer them to you. I only pay the costs I’m willing to.”

“But I don’t even know what they are, and I’m incurring them on you.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“What’s Jessica doing here talking about tied hands? What binds are you not slipping?”

For a moment, Big Mama held silence, her face a clear lake beneath the surface of which emotions teemed like darting fish. Then, it passed, a smile easing over and hiding it all the way ripples would from a dropped pebble.

“Oh. That. Turns out you can’t outrun jury duty even when you have all of perpetuity to try. Ah well,” she sighed, losing a laugh that Draxum couldn’t shake felt mildly forced, “seems I’ll have to go weigh-in on some poor soul’s post-death hearing. Guess there was something they didn’t iron out before making their way through the curtain.”

Big Mama smoothed a hand back through her white hair. Draxum turned his mouth, but...it wasn’t like he wanted to do that annoying chore either. It wasn’t like Big Mama would lie to him about it.

“Best of lu—ah ha, oh no, almost got me,” Draxum clipped his wishes, because wishing Big Mama luck never failed to get him a smart line in response and he could see the smirk taking shape on his lips already. “Have fun with that.”

“Unlikely. What did you drop by for?”

“It’s just a Mikey—”

“A Mikey update? Wonderful! Let’s hear it. What’s that little rascal up to this year?”

Big Mama’s burst of enthusiasm had Draxum blinking momentarily, but the interest bloomed warmly in his general chest area. He recalled the last encounter, Mikey’s effervescent love and the news that it bubbled from.

“He’s gotten married,” Draxum revealed in a gush. “He and Woody got married and they’re happy, because Mikey’s not dead. And that’s largely thanks to you. So I wanted you to know about it.”

Something too quick to catch passed over Big Mama’s eyes, and then she smiled so that every single one of her teeth showed and her eyes turned into nothing but elated curves.

“Draxum, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

Chapter Text

Song - Old Enough to understand by Benjamin Sem

No one played in the park on that warm, mild Sunday afternoon. No one dug in the white sandbox, or spun in the fast-turning wheel. The tennis court didn’t echo with a single hit and no bicycle chain whirred along the running path.

A man in black sat on the park bench, hands folded in his lap with perfect propriety and eyes closed to the sun. He looked rugged, healthy except for the unearthly purplish skin, and impossibly still.

He wasn’t alone for long.

The one who walked slowly, carefully to the bench and sat beside him, just out of reach, was not young. White hair peeked out in fluffy hints from under a large sunhat and his deeply tan skin wrinkled and creased with years in the sun and air. He gripped a cane in his hand.

When he looked up to meet the gaze of the man in black, however, his brown eyes sparkled with life.

“I have a contest for us, this time, Draxum.”

The man in black laughed, opening his eyes. “That’s my job.”

“In ninety-four years, don’t you think I can pick once?”

“I suppose, although it does seem like a good way to cheat.”

The old man tilted his head forward and winked. “You would know.”

“Get on with it,” laughed the man in black again, his teeth bright white against red gums. “What game will we play this year, Mikey?”

Setting aside his cane and clasping his wizened hands over his knees, the old man smiled at his feet.

“I put a lot of thought into it, what I wanted to play if you let me choose. I really like what I came up with, so I hope you like it too.” He turned his gaze back to the man in black, and the grim reaper nodded at him to continue.

“It’s pretty simple. Whoever looks the most like they wash their clothes in charcoal, wins.”

The reaper blinked, a crease folding in his brow. As though he forgot what he was wearing, he glanced down at his own black pants, shirt, and shoes, then looked over the old man as well, taking in his bright orange hat, tie-dyed shirt and white shorts, sandals a splash of green. On the old man, there was not a speck of black.

“Oh, Mikey…” breathed Draxum, eyes beginning to shine.

“No, don’t give me that tone,” chided Mikey, shifting slightly, “I’ve lived so long now. I know that despite what you said all those years ago, you’ve always been tipping things my way. No one has luck like this for an entire lifetime.”

“If anyone does, it’s you.”

Mikey chuckled. “Fair enough. But now I’m ready for it to end. I’m not a kid anymore, and I’ve seen most of my family pass away. You can’t keep me alive forever, you know.”

Draxum heaved a sigh, nodding. “I know. And...you would see Woody again. You must want that.”

“So much.” The old man’s voice was heavy, pleading.

“There’s a lunar eclipse at the end of the month...I can come for you then.”

Lifting his eyes up to the sky, the sun forcing him to squint, Mikey shook his head, disagreeing.

“No,” he replied firmly, “there’s no need. Another month is all the same. And I want to go in the sun.”

Shoes scratched against the pebbly concrete as Draxum moved, standing only to sink to a knee in front of the aging man, close but not quite touching. Mikey looked down at the sound, the sunhat once again shading his face, and with it the face of his oldest friend.

“We’ll go quietly, you won’t even feel it.”

“Doesn’t matter, I trust you anyway.”

“You can be sixteen again, if you want to.”

Mikey laughed. “I’ll ask Woody what he thinks. If he’s still twenty-nine, he might have a problem with that.”

They both laughed together, like they had so many times, and finally Draxum held out his hand.

As Mikey reached for it, the reaper couldn’t help but ask, “Why does it still feel like you’re beating me again?”

Warm, tan-wrinkled skin met with cool, pale skin, and as their fingers clasped Mikey smiled a last time.

“I did tell you I would always win, Draxum.”