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Crimson pooled at his feet, ever so slowly painting the monotonous concrete. A body, female, lay still in front of him, contorted in ways that no human could without injury. The neck was sliced at the front, gushing thick, warm and red liquid into the puddle the body laid in.
He felt a heavy, crushing pressure as a cloud of black filled the basement. He looked up at the darkest part of the smoke, a silhouette of a man donning a cloak emerging. His eyes cleared from the red he saw moments ago and he could now properly see the ominous being before him.
The corners of his lips tugged upward. Still holding a shimmering, silver blade dipped in red, he lifted the back of his wrist to his mouth and wiped away the blood splatter.
“Hello, Mr. Grim. Please, call me Tooru.”
⛬
“Oikawa, this is the fourth this week. If you want to talk to me, just ask.”
“Awh, but where would be the fun in that, Grim?”
Sighing, the man clad in black lifted his scythe. He glided, hovering a few inches up with the aid of black smoke, towards the body on the ground. This one was mangled, bruised and broken. He swung his scythe and the body disintegrated, joining the layer of black cloud in the surrounding.
“The ‘fun’ would be less crimes committed, less work for me, and you’re less likely to be caught for serial murdering.”
“Bo~ring,” Oikawa feigned a yawn, elongating the ‘or’ sound as he spoke.
The Reaper, still hovering, crossed his legs. He rested his elbow on his knee and leaned into the back of his hand, almost like ‘The Thinker.’ He gazed at Oikawa, who had begun wiping up blood and bleaching the area. The man certainly was attractive. His tame and yet still messy, chestnut brown hair. His glistening, castaneous eyes. How his eyelashes fluttered and lay, gentle and wispy. The way his lips pursed when he hummed to entertain himself as he cleaned. How his silky, sultry voice was almost always directed at the Reaper, piercing his metaphorical soul.
“Like what you see?”
“Don’t get cocky. I’m just observing.”
“Hmm. That all?”
“You humans are weird.”
Oikawa tossed a used wipe in a nearby trashcan and placed his hands on his hips, “And what’s that supposed to mean, All Mighty Reaper?”
“It’s just that you get attached to niche things and go to such great lengths for them. Like y’know, serial murdering.”
“What? And you don’t?” Oikawa lifted a hand to his chest, picking up the ring he had hung on a chain and twirling it around his finger.
The Reaper uncrossed his legs and raised his elbows up behind his head. He leaned against the nearest wall and shook his head, “Not really. Us Grims rarely feel human emotions; much less get interested in anything.”
The brunet paused. His brow raised.
“Grim s ? Are there more of you?”
“ Obviously . People are dying every second, there’s no way one Reaper can do it all. And sometimes we get stuck talking to people when picking up a victim. Like you.”
Oikawa scoffed and muttered “passive aggressive much?” under his breath. “That’s pretty cool, though, I guess. Makes sense. Are you guys assigned regions or just go wherever you want?”
“Assigned regions. If you went to Tokyo and killed someone you’d find a different Reaper.”
“Oh! So the regions are small?”
The Reaper nodded, gazing around the cold and gray room they were in, “I mean, yeah. People die all the time. We can’t be everywhere all the time.
A silence followed and the Reaper felt sweat beads on his neck. He shifted his eyes over to Oikawa who was blinking expectedly at him with an unnerving smile.
“Fascinating. Do tell more.”
“Right. Um. Well. All of us Grims were once humans–humans fascinated with something relating to death. Whether it was the thought of dying, the afterlife, the Grim Reapers, whatever. Once we died and became Reapers we lost all memory of our human lives. We just roughly keep our personality. If that makes sense.”
Oikawa hummed, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “So, that means I could become a Reaper when I die?”
“I guess, yeah. You’ll just forget literally everything. Including me, if annoying me is something you’d want to keep doing.”
“Oh, then no dying for me just yet. Don’t wanna forget you, my love!”
The Reaper, if he had any, swore he felt his bones shiver as he cringed.
“‘ My love?’”
Oikawa giggled at the amount of pure disgust on the Reaper’s face, “Oh, come on! Don’t take it to heart! Live a little!”
There was a small silence as Oikawa processed his own words.
“You can’t do either of those things, can you?”
“Of course not, I’m dead.”
“Right.”
⛬
Sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of his one-bed apartment, Oikawa tapped his chin. In front of him, laid on the floor, was a number of different shaped, colored and patterned daggers. He stared at them, humming some song he heard on the radio earlier.
At the moment, Oikawa was deciding which weapon he should use for his next elaborate, extravagant and elegant murder. It was his 10th official kill so he wanted to make it big. It had been about two and half weeks since he met the Grim Reaper. Each time they met it always started off with the Reaper complaining about Oikawa murdering yet another innocent soul and then Oikawa saying it was just simply more fun that way.
Police investigation was starting to suspect that the past 9 murders in under three weeks were done by the same person, but unfortunately–or rather, for Oikawa, fortunately–haven’t found any evidence to point fingers at anyone specifically. The Reaper kept warning Oikawa he’d be caught sooner or later. Oikawa just promised to take a bit of a break after Number Ten.
Just as Oikawa was about to grab the dagger on the left with a black handle and iridescent blade, he felt the very same strong pressure he had quickly become accustomed to the past half-month.
He looked up, seeing the Grim Reaper standing by his kitchen table, arms crossed.
“Well, good morning to you, too, Grim. What are you doing here? Rather, how did-”
“Stop while you’re at it.”
Oikawa blinked, not expecting to be cut off. “Stop? Stop what?”
“The murder you’re about to commit. I’m here now so you have no reason to otherwise, correct?”
Glancing up in thought, the brunette shrugged, “I suppose.”
The Reaper pulled out a chair and sat, huffing with content, “Good. No more killing for you then, Oikawa.”
Oikawa groaned, laying down on his back and staring up at his ceiling, “ How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Toru! We’re friends now aren’t we?”
He lifted his head to look at the Reaper, annoyed.
“I’ll call you Toru if you stop killing so many people.”
Oikawa huffed, dropping his head back to the floor, “I’m giving you business, am I not?”
“It’s not like I get paid, anyway.”
“Well, that’s just cruel.”
The Reaper leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head, “Tell me about it.”
A small, but not uncomfortable silence fell upon the apartment. The air conditioning kicked on and soon the whirring sound from the vents filled the room.
“Actually, while we’re on the topic, do you have a name?” Oikawa sat up, resting his hands on his ankles. The Reaper looked down at him, seeming a little surprised at the question.
“Um, yeah, actually. No one’s asked me that before, kinda funny you bring it up.”
Oikawa lit up immediately, forgetting their entire previous conversation, “You do? What is it? What is it?”
“Iwaizumi. . . Hajime.”
“Can I call you Hajime?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then Iwa it is!”
The Reaper, Iwaizumi , cringed, his lips curling like he tasted something bitter, “I don’t get much say in this, do I?”
“Of course not!”
Iwaizumi groaned like a child who was just told to clean his room. He slumped back in his chair, letting his arms hang limp. Oikawa snorted and had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop the laugh that was bubbling up. “Oh my god, you actually have a personality.”
Ignoring the remark and not bothering to even change positions, Iwaizumi squinted at the ceiling, “I’ve been wondering for a while. . .”
Oikawa perked up. “Oh? Do ask.”
“Why are you so obsessed with me? Like, y’know, murdering almost a dozen people in a month just to talk to me.”
“Well, Iwa , I might just be inclined to tell you if you go on a date with me.”
Iwaizumi snapped his head down and looked at Oikawa.
“If I what? ”
⛬
Oikawa was never one to get nervous. So as he sat on a park bench, stomach doing cartwheels and brain overthinking everything , he felt as if he was about to die. He was surprised Iwaizumi even agreed to this date. But now that Oikawa got all dolled up and made it to the spot they agreed to meet up, he was becoming less and less sure of everything.
What if he just said that to make me feel better? Or worse, to make fun of me? Oh God I bet I look so stupid right now, sitting here alone, waiting for some date to show up who never will. What does he even look like under those cloaks? Oh FUCK. Does he have looks under those cloaks? Would he just show up as the fucking Grim Reaper? In public ? Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.
Before Oikawa could succumb to the eternal darkness of his thoughts, a familiar voice spoke up from beside him.
“Well, damn, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost or two.”
Oikawa made a sound somewhere between a yell and a squeak and jumped back, nearly falling off the bench.
“ Iwa ? Holy shit.”
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.
“You’re–”
“I’m?”
“Hot.”
Iwaizumi blinked once. Twice.
He stood up and brushed his knees off, “Well. I’m done here.”
Oikawa scrambled towards him, reaching a hand out.
“Wait, no, please! I’ll be normal, I promise.”
Iwaizumi laughed a little and sat back down. Oikawa just stared in awe.
Holy fuck, his laugh is actually gorgeous .
“Okay, I just have to ask. Do you. . . always look like this? Under the robes?”
Iwaizumi shook his head and lifted his hand. His palm started slowly emitting a black fog. “Nope. The whole cloak thing is my normal appearance. But us Grims have the ability to disguise ourselves as humans that somewhat resemble us in our past lives.”
“Fascinating. So no other Grim would look like you in a human form?”
“Not unless I had a twin brother who also happened to end up a Grim Reaper.”
Oikawa sat for a minute, pondering this.
“What are the chances I’ve walked past or met other Reapers in disguise?”
“Unlikely. We rarely use these forms.”
Oikawa huffed. “Well then, shall we start this date?”
Iwaizumi adjusted his jacket and ran a hand through his dark brown hair.
“Before we do, I just want to make sure you don’t get your hopes up or anything. I said it a while ago, but Grim Reapers don’t often feel human emotion. This,” he motioned between him and Oikawa. “Will likely go nowhere.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured,” Oikawa stood up. He brushed his pants off and offered a hand to Iwaizumi. “It’ll be nice at the moment at least. And living in the moment is all I have right now. My entire life has been preparing for this moment so it’s not like I have much else to do.”
Iwaizumi hesitantly took his hand and stood. He let go and wiped his palm on his jacket, sticking his hands in the pocket. “You sure? Don’t want to get you all upset and leave you with a meaningless life. You’re still young.”
Oikawa brushed him off, starting down the sidewalk. “Oh, don’t you worry. I have plenty of time to work it out.”
Iwaizumi was silent for a short moment. He followed alongside. “If you say so.”
⛬
His forehead was cold. A gentle, chill breeze created by the air conditioning. His clothes didn’t sit right on his body. Loose and yet sticking with sweat–sweat?–at the same time. His hair was tangled. His eyes unblurred and–Iwaizumi was on top of him? He was on his hands and knees, Oikawa laid beneath him on a stained rug.
He smelled blood. From where? Himself? The air, the rug,
his clothing, his skin. Blood and sweat. Sticky. Hot. Suffocating. Dizzying.
He couldn’t make out the expression on Iwaizumi’s face. Lust? Desire? Or was it concern? Worry? Disgust? His vision was still too unclear to tell.
It was quiet. Too quiet. And yet too loud. A high pitched ringing. A soft groaning–from who? A voice, calling out. Again and again, like stuck on repeat. Looping and looping and–
“Oikawa?!”
He blinked. And blinked. The red and white in his vision cleared. Color flooded his head. His head was hurting. He looked around. When did he get here?
“Iwa?” he sounded awful. Strained, raspy, exhausted. “What happened?”
Iwaizumi sat back, placing a hand on his chest. “Oh, thank fuck, you’re alive.
Oikawa attempted to sit up and a hand immediately pushed him back down. His head hit a plush pillow that was laying there. How long had that been there?
Iwaizumi stood and stepped away from Oikawa.
“Just lay there. I’ll get you some water.”
Oikawa lost sight of the Reaper. He only heard barely audible footsteps grow quieter as they got further away. He heard a cabinet close. Then the ice machine. And then footsteps again.
His head pulsed with pain as he was pulled up into a sitting position against a couch. Couch? Living room? Oh, his own
A cold glass was pressed to his lips. He parted them and a rush of cool, tasteless liquid flooded his mouth. He swallowed and pushed the glass away.
“Tell,” his throat burned. “Tell me what happened.”
His lips were once again met with the glass. He whined and tried to pull away; he was unsuccessful.
“Finish this one cup and I’ll tell you.”
Iwaizumi’s voice was calm. Quiet. It was comforting. Not like he had heard before. A new voice. A new side of Iwaizumi. A caring side.
Shifting, Iwaizumi sat beside him, still holding the glass for him.
“Wouldn’t a straw be easier? I can get one for you.”
He shook his head, “No. I don’t own straws.”
Iwaizumi raised his brow, “Why?”
Another gulp of water. It soothed his throat. “One reason,” he started. “Straws suck.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what straws do.”
Oikawa choked, bursted into a fit of laughter, coughing in between. “Holy shit, you actually just made a joke.”
Iwaizumi huffed and looked away. “Don’t get used to it. Just trying to make you feel a little better.”
“Oh?”
“Seeing you all depressed and looking like shit makes me uncomfortable.”
“Aww, did someone get used to my incredible, bubbly, wonderful personality?”
Iwaizumi faked a gag and Oikawa only now realized he was in his human disguise. Was he always in it? Or was I just so out of it I didn’t even realize.
A blanket of silence wrapped the two tight. A prickly, thick, heavy blanket that suffocated them. Neither knew what to do. It was uncomfortable and obvious there was something that needed to be talked about. So much so that even Oikawa couldn’t find something to tease. He just sipped his water slowly, sweat beads trickling down the back of his neck.
Iwaizumi was nearly spaced out, staring at the floor in front of him. Only the sound of glass clinking against hardwood got his attention. He looked up to see an empty cup on the floor and Oikawa looking at him with an expression indiscernible.
His voice was quiet, determined and yet still scared at the same time, “What happened?”
Iwaizumi never thought he’d hear fear in Oikawa’s voice.
“After our, uh, outing , you got all weird and fidgety. It got worse after a few days and you started saying shit about needing your ‘high’ or something. Then you kind of went on a murder spree.”
Oikawa stayed silent.
“And by spree, I mean killing thirteen people in four days. After your last one you got all dizzy and light headed. Then you passed out. Fast forward to now.”
That’s what the smell of blood was, then.
Instead of saying anything, Oikawa just stood. He was a little wobbly, but he managed. He returned the glass to the kitchen and headed for the hallway. “You can go if you want,” he muttered, not bothering to face Iwaizumi.
He locked himself in his bedroom and Iwaizumi took it as his cue to return to the underworld. A cloud of black filled the room and when it disappeared he was gone.
⛬
Oikawa’s apartment still smelled of blood. He hadn’t seen Iwaizumi, much less anyone else, in three weeks. He had locked himself inside to prevent another murder frenzie. Sure, killing people was kind of his thing, but he knew just how incredibly risky thirteen people in four days was. He had absolutely no recollection of that week after the date. He had no idea what exactly happened, other than the general gist of the events. He couldn’t remember anything. Not when it happened, not how it happened and what concerned him the most, why it happened.
He managed to drag himself out of his bedroom and out to the kitchen. He reached up to a cabinet door and yanked on the handle. The door swung open; inside were rows of glass cups and mugs. Oikawa grasped a glass and pulled it off the shelf. His hand was shaky and the cup slipped from his fingers, hitting the edge of the counter he stood by and shattered. Glass shards flew across the counter and floor. He choked on a sob and slid into a crouch, cradling his head in his hands.
He cried out and sobbed until his throat hurt. Tears dripped passed his fingers and onto the floor. He didn’t notice the dark cloud at his feet or the weight of the air around him until there was a hand on his back. His body was turned around and he fell forward into a warm embrace. He cried into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, unable to breathe the way he wanted.
Oikawa felt like he was drowning. Drowning in the blood of the people he killed. Drowning in the sorrow of the families he tore apart. Drowning in his own self pity .
It took what felt like an hour–but in actuality was closer to ten minutes– for him to start calming down. He gasped for air a little less and was able to form words.
He looked up at the man he was sobbing into, almost bursting out into another fit.
“Iwaizumi. . .” he cried. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”
Iwaizumi lifted his hand to Oikawa’s tear stained cheek. He held it there.
“I- I murdered so many people and I don’t even fucking remember it. I’m- I’m gonna be put on fucking death row, I’m gonna b. . . be killed, I’ll be living the rest of my short fu. . . cking life in stone wall- walls an. . d I won’t be able to fucking see you !’
If Iwaizumi had a heart it would have shattered. He almost felt physical pain listening to Oikawa weep.
“Tooru, I want you to listen to me,” his voice was soft, a complete 180 from Iwaizumi’s usual. He seemed human . “You are going to be okay. You aren’t going to jail, you aren’t being put on death row. It will be okay .”
Oikawa lifted a hand, using the base of his palm to rub his eye, “How. . .?”
Iwaizumi carefully helped Oikawa stand up, now that he had calmed down a bit. He moved them to the couch.
“Let me get you some water first, okay?”
He trekked back to the kitchen, cleaned up the broken glass and filled a fresh cup with water. He handed it to Oikawa and squatted in front of him.
“Grims aren’t exactly allowed to interfere with the deaths of humans. We have the ability to, but it’s kind of like an illegal thing. A taboo. We can get in severe trouble for it. I was with you for your whole, uh, spree. You kinda just went from one person to the next without taking any precautions or anything, so I did it for you. I reaped the bodies and erased the memories of each person’s loved ones–basically wiping them off the face of the Earth. They don’t exist anymore. No one died. You’re going to be okay. The only one in trouble is me.”
“No. . . No, why? Why would you do that? It’s- it’s my fault, I should be the one to pay. You didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re right, I didn’t. But I wanted to. I don’t really know why, but I just didn’t want to see you in trouble, I guess.”
Oikawa tucked his knees into his chest, setting the cup on the end table. He stuck his chin into his knees and mumbled.
“It’s unfair to you, though. I started all this to talk to you, not get you in trouble or whatever.”
“I know you did, but I did this on my own. And besides, I can’t lose my job either. We’re kinda running low on Reapers in Japan so when I do get my trouble, I’ll at least keep my job. Don’t get so worried, okay? It makes you look weird.”
This got a chuckle out of Oikawa and Iwaizumi smiled for the first time. It was just a small, gentle tug of the lips but it was enough to send a burning red across Oikawa’s cheeks.
“You. . . smiled.”
“Yeah? And?”
“You’ve. . . never smiled.”
“Would me smiling more make you feel better?”
A quick nod gave Iwaizumi an answer and his smile grew just a little bit more.
“Then I’ll smile more. For now, you need to sleep.”
Oikawa groaned but reluctantly got off the couch and made it to his room. He collapsed on the bed and curled up under the blankets, falling asleep almost instantly. While he slept, Iwaizumi quietly mingled around his bedroom and tidied it up. He cleaned up bottles and cans and wrappers, picked up his floor, took out the trash and even mopped the apartment floors. Hours later, when the sun had risen and the apartment was clean, Iwaizumi took to the kitchen and raided the fridge. He pulled out some rice, vegetables and eggs.
By the time Oikawa woke up, feeling much better, a steaming hot plate of egg fried rice sat on the counter for him. He looked around and found Iwaizumi at the back of the kitchen, washing some pans.
“Did you make this for me?”
“Morning, sleepyhead. You haven’t been eating well these past few weeks, right? Go ahead and eat.”
Oikawa almost teared up as he pulled a barstool to the counter and picked up his chopsticks. He stuffed his face, almost burning his tongue.
“Thamk ou,” he muttered with a mouthful.
Iwaizumi dried off the last pan and chuckled, “Don’t talk with your mouthful, dumbass. You’ll choke.”
Oikawa just nodded and ate a little slower, not even noticing how Iwaizumi had laughed.
“Just relax for today, alright? We can go out on a walk if you’d like.”
Swallowing, Oikawa glanced up, “That’d be nice.”
⛬
Their walk was quiet, comfortable. The wind whistled past as they took in the view. Oikawa had his hands in his pockets, he hummed a tune. Iwaizumi kicked a pebble around.
Oikawa wondered if he had something on his mind.
“Tooru, I want you to know,” Iwaizumi started, hesitant. “That’ll I’ll never be able to like you the way you like me— love you the way you love me.”
He said it like there was a weight on his tongue, like the word was so delicate it’d rip right in half if he wasn’t careful.
“But I do care for you. A lot, actually,” he continued, scoffing at himself. “I might be a defective Reaper for all I know, considering we aren’t supposed to get attachments.”
He slowly looked up at Oikawa, who had stopped walking and just watched him.
“And if I can’t give you what you want, can I still ask that we stay friends?”
Oikawa looked like he was gonna cry and Iwaizumi almost panicked, if he wasn’t being yanked into a bone-crushing hug. He felt warm tears puddle on his shoulder, seeping into the thin fabric.
“Yes, you dumbass, we can be friends,” Oikawa sniffled. “I kinda knew from the start you’d never reciprocate, so this is more than enough, Iwa.”
Iwaizumi felt himself smile, a small, genuine smile—possibly one of the rarest feats of a Reaper.
“Right. I’m glad.”