Archive of Our Own

HOURS 0-3: SLEEP?

Norman had reaped a thousand souls. Another door. Another face. Another task to complete. This should have been routine. It wasn’t.

“I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that~” He murmured, tilting his head slightly. “What did you say?”

Midnight-blue eyes, sharp with resolve, met his without a shred of fear. His grip on his scythe tightened, just slightly. A human shouldn’t look at him like that.

His assignment exhaled through his nose, “I said: fine then. If you’re gonna kill me, at least be my Valentine.”

The words clung to the air between them, absurd yet heavy, like an omen unspoken. The entity was used to the normal reactions: pleading, screaming, bargaining, but never this. Something was wrong here.

Norman gave a clipped laugh. His voice was flat despite his smile. “No. There are no last requests with reapers.”

He should have left then. Should have turned and gone. But he didn’t.

The ravenette sighed heavily, frustration flickering before he masked it with forced indifference. “I see, then I’ll see you in 24 hours.” Death wasn’t even given the opportunity to respond before the door was closed on him.

The reaper’s smile widened. Cold, distant. Less than a few minutes into his remaining time and this human was already being troublesome. How tiring. He raised his scythe—it gleamed with an ethereal glow. Dark eyes narrowed at the entrance. A single, graceful motion. Silver met wood, and the door split apart like paper.

Silence. Dust floated in the air, curling in the apartment’s dim light.

Then, finally, a sigh. Not a gasp. Not a shout. Just a sigh, as if Norman had merely knocked too hard.

The mortal glanced at the wrecked entrance, muttering, “Did you have to break it?” He turned from the destruction while Death ignored his frustration.

Black Oxfords stepped into the apartment, the soft groan of the ruined wood underfoot a reminder of his intrusion. Eucalyptus and coffee scented the air, mixing with a trace of smoke. A desk lamp cast a weak glow within the studio’s singular room, its light barely reaching the unmade bed in the corner. It was lived in, not lingered in.

A dark gaze flickered to another source of light—a television, but the man wasn’t watching. No, he was sitting at his desk, scribbling away as if nothing at all had changed. Just writing, as if it was a normal day for him.

This behavior was given at the door, at the news, at his refusal to his insane request. His mind still lingered on the latter. He was Death, not a fairy godmother.

Norman stepped forward, watching for the instinctual fear that always followed in his wake. Nothing. Not even the tightening of a jaw or the twitch of fingers. A flicker of irritation. A flicker of intrigue.

The entity’s smile sharpened at the edges. “You act as though I’m joking, mortal. Rest assured, I do not lie about—”

“I know.”

The interruption was delivered so smoothly, so absent of hesitation, that the reaper’s speech ceased. The human turned his notebook toward him, “I wasn’t taking your announcement as a joke. I was planning.”

Norman took the opportunity to lean forward, taking in delicate cursive written on the pages. The ravenette wasn’t telling falsehoods, he was indeed planning. The day—his last 24 hours—was segmented into seven sections. Each segment was neatly written out, with a major activity written. 

Hours 0-3: Sleep?

Hours 4-7: Coffee. Sunrise.

Hours 8-11: Say Goodbyes.

Hours 12-15: Errands. Flowers.

Hours 16-19: Visit.

Hours 20-23: Reminisce & Reunite – If possible.

… If possible?

There was one last segment, but it was merely given a single line. Hour 24: Death.

No will, no last statement, not even tear stains, just a schedule.

The reaper didn’t know what to say, so he just spoke the first thing on his mind. “Four hours of sleep hardly seems adequate for your kind.”

“It isn’t…” The notebook was lowered, midnight eyes staring back at the page. “But it’s not like I have all day.” The mortal glanced at the clock. Norman's gaze followed instinctively. 12:15, a mere 15 minutes had passed.

“Long day ahead,” The human muttered, already walking toward the doorway.

Death raised an eyebrow. “You’re really going to sleep?”

A raven brow rose, curious and questioning. “Wouldn’t you?”

The entity watched as the mortal inspected his doorway, black eyes narrowed in quiet calculation. He was trying to get a better understanding of everything, of anything.

His assignment turned toward him, “Is there any way you could fix this?” The achromatic man tilted his head, already throwing requests at him once again. His voice lies flat, concealing his irritation. “I’m afraid not, man-made structures are not in my skill set.”

Whether or not that's true the ravenette would never know—he wouldn’t give him the grace.

“Oh?” Starlit eyes looked back at the door. “You know, it’s funny.”

Norman raised a brow. “What is?”

“The way you’ve signed my death certificate early.” A tanned hand gestured to the ruined door. “I’m sure you’re aware—this is Bushwick.”

Vacant eyes narrowed. “I am.”

“Then you know how this goes.” The human leaned against the frame too casually. “A open door like that in a neighborhood like this?” He let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. “I’m getting robbed before you even get the chance to kill me. Robbers don’t like when their victims talk.”

Death stalled, but kept his composure. “I see. I just—“

He just…?

What could he say? That the mortal’s initial response was so befuddling that he didn’t even think of the danger? That he was too blindsided for it to pass his mind?

Norman’s jaw clenched. He had overlooked it. Him. A reaper. It just wasn’t like him. He played it off, “Most people don’t waste their final hours on sleep. I assumed you’d leave immediately—rendering a door unnecessary.”

The achromatic man’s smile was stiff, his voice dipped in artificial amusement. “It seems as though I… Misjudged you~ Therefore, I will be here to ensure your safety while you rest.”

The ravenette tilted his head, it seemed he piqued his interest. “Oh? And how were you planning to do that?”

With a smug grin the man walked over to the entrance, fitting the pieces of the door in a way that gave the appearance of security. It wasn’t perfect, but it could fool someone who didn’t look twice. 

Returning to the living room area, he pulled a small yellow armchair from the side of the television. Placing the chair right in front of the bed Norman sat, settling his hands into his lap. Looking towards his assignment he gave the man the most fake smile he could muster, as if he had been sitting there waiting for his arrival. “I’ll watch out for you human. If anyone is to enter your quarters, I’ll be sure to punish them accordingly.”

A raven eyebrow raised, before shoulders relaxed, a breath the human was holding heaving out. “If that’s the best we can do. I trust you.” 

Dark eyes watched as the mortal pulled off his hoodie, the fabric dragging over lean muscle. The reaper's gaze flickered, assessing without meaning to. Even heart rate. Proper blood pressure. Cortisol high, but otherwise, fine. It was unusual to have to claim someone in their metaphorical prime.

Well, for some it was just their time to go he supposed. He didn’t question much about his job, he just did it.

The entity leaned back in the chair as the man climbed into bed. He did not need to blink, nor did he need to sleep, but he listened as his assignment did.

Closing his eyes the mortal exhaled. Slow, steady, softer than before. His eyes shut. His breathing evened out.

Strange. Most humans couldn't sleep soundly in the presence of Death.

HOURS 4-7: COFFEE. SUNRISE.

With time to spare, Norman reviewed his assignment’s file again, searching for something he might have missed.

Simon De Rosario. Thirty-four. Filipino and Ethiopian. A salaryman scraping by on the lower rungs of the corporate ladder.

A father, dead. An aunt, his guardian, also gone. Only a mother remained.

No report on cause of death, just a time.

A man who should have had years ahead of him but didn’t. How strange.

“I never caught your name by the way.”

Breaking out of his thoughts dark eyes glanced up, taking in the sight. 'Simon' seemed to be hard at work, the sizzle of a pan and the clattering of plates echoing in the dining space. “You don’t need to know that. I’m just here to do my job.”

The spatula sliding stalled briefly, “I see…”

The reaper watched as the human cooked. Eggs, a classic morning staple for his kind, as much as 5:30 am was considered morning at least.

He watched as the mortal glanced his way, his eyebrow perched up with curiosity. “You hungry?”

Norman’s smile only grew, but his eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled at the thought. The entity swore he could hear a chuckle, but he chose to ignore his assignment’s indignation. “No thank you, I’m not one to partake. It holds no nutritional value for me.”

The ravenette let out a soft hum, “Ah…” Taking the eggs off the stove and setting them aside.  Death watched as the man shuffled over to the other side of his counters, picking up his coffee pot. “What about this then? Want a cup?”

Huh, coffee. He’s always found the smell intriguing, but he’s never been curious enough to try it. In his mind, however, something was compelling him—

“Liquids are more acceptable. I would not mind having a taste.”

There was something in the way the human’s eyes shined when it seemed he had convinced him. Pouring out a cup he slid it over to the reaper. A grey hand gripped the handle and gave the dish a closer look.

The cup had a small, painted smile. Almost mocking. Almost familiar. He wondered if the human was teasing him.

Giving in to impulse, the reaper took a sip. Bitter, just bitter. He enjoyed bitterness, but this wasn’t exactly to his tastes. “I’m afraid I’m not a fan.”

“Oh, sorry. This may help.” Feeling the cup leave his hands, Simon graced the beverage with one spoonful of sugar. Exactly one. “Try it now.”

Norman raised the cup to his lips, pausing just for a second before taking a sip. Hmm. 

Still bitter, but balanced with a subtle and lingering sweetness. It was almost akin to the taste of a soul, how delightful.

“Yes, this is far better. Thank you mortal.” His dark eyes flicked to the ravenette, who had already turned away, busying himself with his own breakfast.

While he cooked the entity took the time to enjoy his coffee. When he set the empty cup down the taste still lingered, while the warmth of the liquid spread through his chest before quickly fading. What a shame.

His assignment stretched, rolling his shoulders. “The sun’s about to come up,” he said, already moving toward the balcony with food in hand. “You coming?”

Now there was an interesting offer, he always loved the look of Earth without man made structures. It was hard to ask for such a thing in New York City though, so he would take watching the skies. It was what he could get.

Before the mortal could register it, Death was already at his side, his smile edged with wistfulness. “Yes, let’s. It’s not everyday that I get to enjoy your world’s sun.”

Walking alongside each other Simon grabbed a small coat as the two emerged on the balcony. The man took a seat on an outdoor chair, next to the small garden he cultivated. Norman did not follow suit, preferring to stand and not dirty his trousers. Instead he took in the garden in the fading night, it was mostly dead given the weather, but there were a few sprouts peeking through the dirt. The telltale sign of an early spring.

Norman’s fingers brushed over the delicate leaves, barely grazing their surface. The texture, the life under his fingertips, was strangely grounding.

The human tilted his head. “You like plants?”

The reaper pulled his hand back, straightening. “I—”

He paused, clearing his throat before continuing. “I don’t care for much, but humans take their planet for granted. I come here for work often, so it’s nice to pay attention to things most ignore.”

“Yeah…? Ha, maybe people should take note.”

“Yes, well—your kind rushes through things like it’s a race. I don’t blame you, it’s not like you’re granted much life.”

Simon chuckled softly, it had a somber tone to it. “Can’t say you’re wrong there…” He leaned forward, his hands tightening around his steaming cup. The first light hit the edges of his face, softening him in ways Norman wasn’t sure he liked.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale. As if breathing it in.

“Never thought I’d get to see this here,” The mortal murmured absently.

Norman raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen plenty of sunrises.”

A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his soft expression.

Then, a quiet smile. Small, resigned. Like someone who had already made peace with a secret he’d never share.

HOURS 8-11: SAY GOODBYES.

Norman watched as the elevator doors slid open, allowing Simon to step in, shoulders slightly hunched from the remnants of outside’s morning cold.

He looked… Nervous. He watched as the mortal clasped sweaty palms together, thumbs folding over each other in a repetitive motion. His heartbeat was spiking, a stark contrast to what Death experienced from him earlier.

"Your pulse is quicker," The reaper murmured. "Strange. You’ve been mostly calm until now."

Midnight eyes glanced at him, “I was just wondering, I get that no one but myself can see you—“

“Partially. The dying see me too, just seconds before they cross over. They don’t usually have much to say.”

“I see. Well, if I’m not dying until tonight, why are you here with me?”

The achromatic man stalled, but only for a moment. “You’re my assignment, why wouldn’t I be with you during your last moments~? Reaping souls is a profession, I am merely on the clock.”

Absent-mindedly the mortal nodded, but he could tell there was still more on his mind. The elevator’s chime interrupted them, delaying Norman’s questions for later.

The office was mostly still and hollow at this early hour, the artificial hum of fluorescent lights barely filling the silence. The air held the lingering chill of an unheated space, touched only by the quiet shuffling of papers and the occasional clack of heels as a well-dressed woman weaved in and out of cubicles.

Death watched as sharp green eyes widened at the ravenette’s appearance.

“Simon! What are you doing here? I thought you were taking the day off.” The woman’s surprise was evident, her voice cutting through the stillness, breaking the rhythm of her early morning preparations. Her heartbeat spiked—a sign of genuine curiosity rather than alarm.

Interesting.

The entity watched, intrigued. They were close. A love interest, maybe? Or just platonic affection lingering beneath their banter?

Whatever, it wasn’t his concern.

Simon smiled, blinking quickly to hide his exhaustion. “Hi Monique, I am. Just wanted to drop these off.” His fingers tapped lightly against his bag, his eyes glancing at Norman briefly.

From his work bag, he produced small heart-shaped boxes, each one accompanied by an envelope neatly addressed and sealed with a stamped red heart. A simple gesture, yet considerate.

Monique’s green eyes brightened, delight replacing her prior confusion. “Aw, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have!” She smiled brightly as the mortal smiled back, his face slightly flushed with embarrassment. 

Norman studied the way Simon’s fingers hesitated before letting go of the boxes.

“I’ll be sure to pass these out when everyone else gets in,” she assured, holding the candy close. “John is going to love these chocolates. And mine too if he gets his hands on them.”

Simon chuckled, the corners of his lips ticking upward with a knowing glint. “I have a feeling he will.” A beat of silence, then, far too casually, “Will you be doing anything special tonight? With him, perhaps?”

The reaction was instant—the woman turned her head sharply, an instinctive movement as if to conceal a flush. Even though her darker skin masked it, the warmth radiating off her face, the slight hitch in her breath, the way her hands twitched, betrayed her.

She was blushing.

“Just our usual Friday thing.” She said too quickly, fingers waving dismissively in the air. “Nothing special!”

The entity raised an eyebrow. Her pulse had jumped.

His assignment’s smile deepened, leaning into his amusement. “So dinner? Dancing? I don’t know, Monique, that sounds like a—”

“Stop.” She pointed a warning finger at him. Her snap held no real bite, only playful exasperation. “Let’s not conjure up silly thoughts in our heads.”

Norman noted the slight downturn of Simon’s eyebrows, a flicker of something like empathy. The man was enjoying this, but he could tell she was reaching her limit.

“You’re the one who said positive affirmations are good for the soul,” The ravenette reminded.

Monique groaned, rolling her eyes. But she didn’t refute.

Death tilted his head. The way they needled each other, it almost felt familial. So, platonic.

Simon reached back into his bag, pulling out another gift: a small plastic bag filled with plump blueberries, tied with a neatly curled red ribbon. “Here. To make up for the teasing.”

The woman’s entire demeanor shifted. “Aw, my favorite!” She pulled him in for a hug, her enthusiastic appreciation practically lifting her onto the balls of her feet. She towered over him easily, even without the height advantage of her heels. If she were a few inches taller, she might even match Norman in stature.

For the moment, the energy between them was light, warm, and uncomplicated.

Then, her expression changed. “… Huh.”

Simon tilted his head, confused. “What?”

She shook her head, pulling away slightly. “No, it’s nothing. Just—” Her hands brushed against his arm again, slower this time. A fleeting crease appeared between her brows as she pulled away from their embrace. Her face hardened as she studied the human. “Are you… cold?”

Norman’s fingers stilled at his sides.

No, she shouldn’t have noticed. He hadn’t moved closer. He hadn’t altered his presence in a way perceptible to mortal senses.

The ravenette stiffened for half a second—just long enough for the reaper to catch it. Then he laughed, too smooth, too quick. “I must be getting sick. Sorry, Monique. Hopefully, it’s not contagious yet.”

Her eyes didn’t move away. She was searching for something. And for just a moment, Death wondered if she was looking for him.

Monique held onto the man’s shoulders, expression thoughtful. “No, it’s weird, like…” Her tone dropped and she fell silent.

The mortal shifted his weight. His discomfort was growing. The air felt denser, as if the space itself was holding its breath. Norman’s attention sharpened. She wasn’t letting it go.

Then, she let out a light laugh, shaking her head as if to chase away the thought. Her hands returned to her sides. But her eyes lingered on Simon for a second too long. “Never mind. Go, go! Have fun.”

Simon swallowed hard, keeping up appearances. “Yeah, thanks Monique.”

She turned and the human’s gaze lingered, as did his own. When they turned and headed to the elevator, the device dinged.

Norman’s shoulders squared before he realized why.

Tall. Well-dressed. A slender figure neatly packaged in a debonair suit. Black and white eyes with an unnatural design. Simon jolted. “John! Jesus, you scared me.”

“Oh, Simon. What a—”

His voice stopped when his and Norman's eyes locked, both questioning each other’s presence. Not human. Not a reaper, but not far off.

So, this place’s strange energy, the woman’s sensitive nature. It wasn’t all in his mind.

Behind his back Norman could hear heels immediately clack to a stop. Her heartbeat picked up again, excitement with a mix of nervousness. “John! I’m so glad you’re here, can you help me finish decorating the office? I need some streamers affixed to the ceiling.”

Black and white eyes blinked, shifting past Death to focus on the woman. It wasn’t completely viewable, but the reaper could see the pull of his face ”muscles”; behind a human disguise the entity would certainly be giving a smile. “Of course Monique, I’d be happy to.”

Looking back at Simon the shadow stared briefly, his mortal giving him a glance and uneasy smile. The creature reached out to give his coworker a gentle pat on the shoulder. A casual gesture. A light touch. Norman felt his fingers twitch.

John’s black-and-white gaze flicked back up, locking onto his dark eyes. The air between them thickened—tense, unreadable, as if something was weighing the space between them. The entity’s look asked a silent question. Norman didn’t blink. He didn’t answer.

Eventually the figure spoke, his voice pleasant, but his gaze remaining on the reaper. “I’ll see you on Monday, right Simon?”

The ravenette swallowed hard, his laugh came a second too late. “Of course. Bright and early as always.”

John’s grip lingered for another second before he stepped away, exchanging places with them.

They stepped inside and as the elevator doors closed dark eyes looked forward, catching a glimpse of his mortal’s two friends decorating and exchanging gifts.

It was strange, an entity living so blatantly amongst humans, enjoying human company. Norman’s gaze lingered on the exchange—the warmth, the ease, the familiarity.

Did Simon know? Did Monique?

The reaper wasn’t sure. But judging by the way those two looked at each other, maybe it didn’t matter. How sweet.

HOURS 12-15: ERRANDS. FLOWERS.

The bustling roads of downtown Manhattan were as noisy and grating as ever. The smells of the city were almost unbearable, a mix of grime, waste, and winter air, preserved in the cold like something rotting beneath ice. A cacophony of conversations swirled around him, some in heavy exclamation, some mumbled and withdrawn, and some spoken in disjointed and shaky speech by those who had no other place to go.

Death had to admit though, the city had certain charms. The swarm of people that weaved in and out of each other’s way, like little worker bees on their own paths. The laughter and authenticity that exuded from the people that passed them by. Everyone had somewhere to go, people to see; everyone had to have a purpose. Those who didn’t were just left behind.

It was as tragic as it was beautiful.

Norman followed, close but unobtrusive, a shadow in the current of bodies. The mortal seemed adept at navigating the crowds, his smaller stature and experience making the job a breeze for him. Death whispered in his ear, “You seem to be in a hurry.”

They slid into the stairway of a subway station, starlit eyes staring back into his own. “Yes, well, we’ll be running around quite a bit today. I want to make sure I’m able to finish everything on my list before...”

He did not finish that sentence, they both knew.

It made sense, the reaper has seen it plenty of times before. Many humans, with tears in their eyes, jotting down bucket list items, confessions, wills and last testaments. Being faced with mortality was normally a huge catalyst for reflection and change.

But those midnight eyes never held tears, not even once. The entity had expected at some point for the small man to break under the weight of reality sooner rather than later. Halfway through the day, and still—no cracks. No fractures. How unorthodox.

Norman floated above the turnstile with ease, watching Simon move through the gates like any other human. The ravenette gave him a sideways glance. “You can float?”

Death raised a brow. “Surprised a reaper has abilities?”

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No. Just thought you’d be more dramatic about it.”

He leaned in, floating effortlessly until he was upside down, face-to-face with the man. A ghost among the living. Their eyes met as they waited on the platform. “There are many things I can do that you can not and vice versa. It is merely how our worlds work, separately powered by spiritual energy and science.”

The ravenette stuttered. “O-Oh?” The reaper leaned in, feeling the heat radiating off his cheeks. “What exactly are the differences?”

“Well, for one~” A grey hand reached out, lightly touching a flushed cheek. “Our bodies aren’t run by warm blood. We are cold creatures, energized by the souls of the lost and damned.” The finger slid to his chin, tilting his mortal’s head up slightly. “A non-organic system, unlike yours, a system so prone to fail at any moment.”

Under the pad of his fingertip Norman could feel it, Simon’s warmth rising, his vitals were elevated. The heat from his skin rose between them like a silent confession. The entity's smile widened, his voice dipping into something velvety. “You’re blushing, mortal~”

The human scoffed, rolling his eyes, but didn’t pull away.

A grey finger trailed from his chin to his throat, just barely touching—mocking restraint. Then, his pointer pressed, featherlight against his pulse.

Simon inhaled sharply, his throat shifting under the pressure of the reaper’s finger. His hands curled at his sides, a barely-there tremor in his fingertips.

“Careful,” Death murmured. He could feel the heartbeat beneath his touch. The way it spiked. The way it fought to slow. “It’s dangerous to be this warm near something this cold.”

For just a second, the air between them chilled. A reminder of what he was.

His assignment swallowed, stepping back just barely. A heartbeat passed. Another.

Then, the train roared into the station, metal grating against metal, breaking whatever spell had settled between them.

The train was already bustling with people, a commonality at this of day in Manhattan. Norman watched as Simon began to wedge himself amongst the other passengers. The reaper merely followed behind him, his back pressed against the glass doors as they shut closed.

With nothing to hold onto as the train began its sudden trudge forward the ravenette lost his footing, his back colliding into Death’s chest.

Norman’s hands caught him. Firm. Decisive. He leaned in just slightly, just enough that the human could feel the chill. “Mortal~” His voice teased. “If you fall any further, it could be a danger. I might just have to claim you now.”

Simon's breath shuttered. He could feel the smaller man stiffen before relaxing in his hold. He nodded, but didn’t look back. “Sorry. Thank you.”

The entity maintained his hold, to steady him.

Humans were always warm, of course. Their blood pumped. Their bodies generated heat. The reaper would never admit it out loud, but human warmth was pleasant, comforting. He dared say one of the best things about them.

Even through layers of fabric, he could feel it—the slow, steady pulse beneath the man’s skin, the way his breathing was slightly uneven before settling again.

Then, he noticed something else. Tanned fingers curled, just slightly, against the fabric of the reaper’s sleeve.

Not gripping. Not pushing away. Just… there.

A dark eyebrow raised, curiosity creeping through him, slow and insistent. He didn’t move, he did not want to. Why?

He let go before he could answer himself.

As the time ticked and the train rested at stop after stop, the two were finally able to find reprieve with some open seating. The feeling was short-lived, however, as they emerged in middle Manhattan. The ravenette did not wait for him to follow, rather he grabbed his hand discreetly, pulling him off the train before the doors closed. 

Death chuckled, “Afraid I’d get lost on the way out?”

The mortal walked forward, his fingers still clasped around Norman’s. “No, I just didn’t want to hear you say something cryptic for five minutes and we’ve missed our stop. Unfortunately the subway system doesn’t wait for soliloquies to be narrated.

Death's smile grew wider, slightly amused by the jab. “I would give a rebuttal, but I can’t exactly argue with a man about his own world.”

He could tell his human was smiling too. “Yes, well, I’m glad you know when to call it.” They emerged from the underground tunnels, the smell of rust and urea being replaced with grime and slush. For the most part though, there was little in the way of trash and debris, and certainly not a homeless person in sight.

Ah, the reaper understood now, he knew where they were.

The streets, while bustling, were significantly quieter. The people who walked by stepped with a certain stride, long and wide, as if they were mapping out the space for themselves in a grandiose fashion. No one would get in their way. Not here. Not without the right pedigree.

Simon’s pulse spiked higher than the reaper had felt all day. He walked with purpose, but his steps faltered, just slightly, just enough that the reaper felt it before he saw it.

The human barely had time to react before long fingers found their way around his wrist—not rough, but with certainty. The achromatic man pulled them into the alleyway, away from prying eyes. Why?

The question hit the entity before he could stop it. This wasn’t necessary. This wasn’t his role. He should have simply followed. He should not have touched him.

Norman ignored the thought.

“You feel uncomfortable here, don’t you~? In an area like this?” His voice was smooth, teasing.

Simon’s nose wrinkled as he struggled to process the sudden movement, but he quickly schooled his expression. “It doesn’t matter.” His fingers twitched, but he didn’t pull away. He glared up at him, “I need to do this.”

“I understand, but why would I let my assignment be so anxious?” A grey hand reached out, flicking a stray navy hair strand out of the man’s face. “We wouldn’t want you expiring ahead of schedule.”

The reaper righted himself, letting go of his hand. He exhaled slowly, the weight of formality settling over him. His coat lengthened, dark fabric shifting like liquid shadow. His movements smoothed, his posture shifting into something almost… human.

Simon blinked. To anyone else, Norman was just another man in a long coat, melting into the city’s wealth. But his assignment had already seen past that illusion. “I am fully corporeal now and properly disguised. Unfortunately, since you’ve seen my true form your eyes will not be fooled.”

“Ah, like John.”

“So, you’re aware…” Death’s smile grew, a certain curiosity latent in his eyes. “Your workplace is a beacon for the supernatural. I felt them the moment I arrived, some familiar, some… less so.”

Simon seemed unfazed. “Yes, well, we don’t exactly have much of a choice. Many of us are fooled, brainwashed, our minds lost to the drone of adult life. But, those who aren’t—”

“Those like you.”

“Those like me, we understand very well that there is life far beyond our universe.”

“I see…” Curiosity gripped the entity, a question weighing on his mind. “Is that why you weren’t scared?”

The mortal blinked. “What?”

Norman tilted his head, studying the man before pulling him closer. “When I told you your time had come. When I broke your door. When I stood before you, scythe in hand. Your pulse barely moved, it only heightened once.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Is that why~?”

A flicker of something crossed Simon’s face—hesitation, maybe? “Let’s just say I’m familiar.” He murmured. The reaper wasn’t sure that was enough.

The achromatic man could feel Simon untwist his hand from their hold, returning it to his side. “I don’t have much time to waste, we should get going.”

Grey fingers twitched before he rested his own hand at his side. Shame, the warmth was welcomed given the chill of the day. “Of course.”

Norman fell into step behind him. Simon didn’t look back. His hands twitched at his sides, knuckles tightening around something unspoken. The streets blurred past them, the entity was only half-aware of the pedestrians thinning, the quiet creeping in. Then, the scent of cut stems and soil met his senses. A small shop, tucked between grander buildings, its green awning standing defiant.

“The Blossom Parlor”. A flower shop, family owned. A rarity in this part of town. Simon walked in and Death followed suit.

“Simon? Oh baby, how have you been?!” The kindness that radiated from the older woman’s smile spoke volumes.

”I’m doing well Mrs. Johnson, how are you?”

“Busy hun, very busy. But you know how it is at this time of year. You’re here for your order, right? You know how late you were to put it in? You’re lucky I like you.” From behind the counter, the small woman pulled out a sizable bouquet. It was decorated beautifully, the blue delphinium emboldening the appearance of the larger-than-life sunflowers.

It didn’t seem to be the only bouquet she had ready for him either. She pulled out a smaller set: white roses and orchids, placed in plain black tissue paper and neatly tied with a black ribbon.

Norman’s gaze flickered between the two sets. One bright, one solemn. Who were they for?

“How much for both?”

The older woman gave the ravenette a look, “Well, it’s supposed to be $330 for your sets along with the rush fee. But let’s split that and you give me $165 in cash, yeah?”

Midnight eyes crinkled with deep appreciation, the smile decorating his human’s face was so warm, “You know I always come prepared.” Pulling out his wallet, the reaper watched as they exchanged goods.

The entity took a look around as they continued to speak, his eyes catching on something interesting.

Most of the flowers in vases were completely cleared out, understandable given the occasion. Amongst the few stragglers, however, lie a white rose whose vibrancy had faded. It had collapsed in on itself, green stem weak and petals slightly wilted. A grey hand reached out, plucking the flower from its lonely prison.

“You can take that one, sir.”

Dark eyes met a teenage girl in an apron. The resemblance to the shopkeeper was unmistakable. Her daughter, no doubt. She smiled, “You came in with Mr. Del Rosario, right? You can keep the rose, it’s not like it’s going to sell in that condition.”

Death tilted his head, a thankful expression giving his smile a more pleasant appearance. “Why thank you, I appreciate your generosity.”

With a nod she returned to her job, his eyes returning to the withering plant. He rolled the stem between his fingers, thoughts clouding his attention as he observed the flower.

“Norman?” He broke out of his stupor, black eyes widening as they landed on Simon. He looked down at the two bouquets in his assignment’s hands, carefully wrapped and packaged. Strange. “… Are you finished?”

“Yeah, but—” The small man hesitated, his teeth gently gnawing at his bottom lip. “There’s something personal I’d like to take care of. We can meet later, so please be here in an hour and a half.”

Norman opened his mouth to reply, but Simon was already turning, bouquets in hand. The bell above tinkled softly as he disappeared into the city.

Grey fingers twitched. The absence was immediate. For the first time since the day began, The achromatic man was left alone, silently amongst even lonelier flowers. The shop felt smaller without him there.

He turned his dark gaze to the wilting white rose still in his hand. He rolled the stem again between his fingers, watching a petal fall, folding into itself like a dying star.

Useless. Fading. Like all things here, all things mortal.

His fingers twitched, tempted to let it go. He didn’t.

Why was he still holding it?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t.

Then why? Why—?

The stem cracked between his thumb and forefinger. He quickly placed the flower in his suit pocket.

He hadn’t meant to. His grip just tightened on its own.

HOURS 16-19: VISIT.

He managed to wait for 10 minutes.

The nerve of his mortal anyways, making demands of a reaper, again. But Norman had never strayed from duty, and he wouldn’t start now.

In orange beams of dying sun rays lie a shadow figure, crossing amongst the countless skyscrapers that towered over this city’s denizens. It merged and melded with the crowd’s silhouettes along the wall, disguising itself as the multitude of their incorporeal forms: an athlete getting in her afternoon run in, a rowdy woman walking her tiny dog, a group of teens excitedly returning home, basketballs in hand.

Simon walked fast, but Death was faster.

Meet later. The words sat heavy, unwanted. A request. A boundary. As if Death had ever cared for either.

Death wasn’t patient, death wasn’t kind, death was unrelenting, death was indiscriminate—

That’s why he was following, it was merely to fulfill his role.

He stilled, jaw tensing as his gaze fell upon an opulent skyscraper. Gaudy, excessive—like a monument to its owner’s ego rather than a place of residence.

But it wasn’t the building that caught his attention. It was the man standing at the entrance.

Well-dressed. Well-built. Blond. He was even younger than his mortal, early thirties if the reaper had to guess by the state of his health. His locks whipped softly in the winds that picked up, it was getting late and Winter was beginning to sing.

A stranger.

Only to him. Simon greeted him with familiarity.

The entity had spent the entire day watching his human navigate his final hours. And yet, here was a man who had earned an audience outside of Death’s reach.

The mortal had requested privacy. For this?

How irrational.

Norman watched as Simon and the blond exchanged words—something casual, something easy. Then, a bouquet of flowers passed between them. A gift, not a transaction.

A warm smile from the stranger. A hand reaching for the door, holding it open. Simon stepped inside.

Privacy. Death didn’t respect privacy. And he wouldn’t start now.

Walking up to the building he honed in on his mortal, listening to the countless heartbeats that sounded before pinpointing it.

Elevated, very elevated, the heartbeat travelled up until it rested at its highest point. Top floor, penthouse, predictable.

He stepped forward, one step onto the glass. Another. Gravity meant nothing to him.

As he ascended, the building’s sleek surface warped beneath his reflection, obscuring him from public view. Floor by floor, he passed unaware guests, oblivious to the specter moving just beyond their windows. A woman in silk robes sipped her wine. A businessman adjusted his cufflinks.

A child pressed his face to the glass, eyes wide with wonder at the city lights—then shivered, stepping back.

Norman didn’t slow.

His fingers skimmed the glass, leaving behind a trail of delicate frost, a breath of winter clinging to the surface.

Then he saw him. Simon.

Through the penthouse window. Laughing. The stranger’s hand brushing against his. The bouquet of flowers resting nearby.

His human’s head tilted as if he sensed something. He glanced toward the window—toward his own reflection.

He could see the moment his breath caught in his throat. His pulse at an all time high. Because there the reaper was waiting.

Dark eyes watched as his mortal stumbled to his feet, excusing himself, the man’s gaze never left the reaper. He moved to a separate room, away from prying eyes. His heart was hammering in his chest as they stared each other down, only growing faster as he neared the window. 

His mortal stopped, breath uneven, eyes flicking toward the distant ground below. Ah. He was afraid of heights. Death would meet him then.

His hand met the glass, and the world hesitated. For just a second, the building’s lights flickered—just a single beat of darkness before returning to normal. The glass gave way as the reaper phased through, leaving a ghostly imprint that quickly faded in the whipping winter winds outside.

“You requested privacy.” His smile curled at the edges. “I declined~”

Dark eyes stared into Simon’s furious gaze. His frustration came out as a harsh whisper, “What are you doing here?”

He ignored his inquiry, mostly because he wasn’t sure himself. “What are you doing here? Me leaving your side wasn’t in our agreement.”

Simon’s nose wrinkled—frustration and confusion flickering in his eyes. “Agreement? What agreement? We never made one. I’m just spending my last hours how I want. My coworker—”

"A coworker?" Norman’s voice was cold, distant. His gaze flicked to the flowers, then back to Simon. "Curious. That’s not what it looked like."

“What it—you were watching?” Midnight eyes narrowed, accusatory. The achromatic man paused, he did not like where this was going. “Why?”

Why? Why?

What was he doing? Why was he here? Why did he care?

"I..." The entity stumbled over his words. "I have to ensure your safety… That’s why.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than his mortal. Midnight eyes bore into his face, he felt scrutinized.

“Norman, I—“

“How do you know that?”

“I… What?”

“My name…” Dark eyes grew cold, distant, suspicious, “I never told you my name.”

Simon’s eyes opened wide, taking in the realization that was spoken. He knew, he knew that was true. There was no way for him to waive that away. Grey hands reached out—then hovered, fingers barely grazing fabric. The pulse beneath called to the reaper, warm, fragile. Alive.

When he finally grasped the mortal’s shoulders, his fingers pressed too tightly. The pulse pounded harder against ice-cold skin.

Irritation and confusion swallowed Death’s face in shadow. The only thing discernible in his visage were the gleaming whites of his eyes. There was something unsaid and he would make him say it. “Tell me, Simon.”

A beat. Then another. The ravenette swallowed. His pulse shuttered. “You… You told me.”

"No, I didn’t." Norman said, quiet. Final. A single syllable that left no room for escape. The room suddenly felt too small. Too cold. Simon took a half-step back, but the entity kept his grip.

“Simon?”

The sound of another voice, the presence of another heartbeat, caused the reaper to sink back into the shadows. He watched as his assignment whipped his head around, meeting the stranger’s confused, slightly concerned gaze. “You okay in here buddy?” A casual playfulness was there, in his tone—but his eyes weren’t joking.

His mortal nodded quickly, willing his heart to relax quickly. Impressive. “Y-Yeah, sorry Chase I was—“

“Talking to yourself again?” ‘Chase’ laughed as he walked over, throwing a casual arm around Simon’s shoulder. “I told you newbie! You’ve got to stop doing that. You know, I know a guy, who knows a guy who has this wife and she has a great therapist that helps to treat her hysteria.”

Starlit eyes rolled at the larger man’s statement. “The same guy who cheats on his wife religiously and then brags about it? Wonder why she’s having such a hard time…”

The stranger’s hands shot up in defense, “Hey, I just know him! But the therapist’s solid, apparently.”

Simon sighed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not have my brain analyzed by an ex-lobotomist.” He walked toward the hallway, ignoring the reaper’s eyes that peered at him from the shadow. “Sorry Chase, plans came up. I should—“

“Hey, wait—“

Norman watched as Chase reached out yet again, grabbing the ravenette’s shoulder. “The reason you came here… Was it really just about the flowers?”

The blond’s heart was hammering in his chest—he wanted the answer to be no.

His human let out a deep sigh, eyes downcast, concealed by wavy blue hair.

Chase continued, “I… Uh… You know, if you’re lonely—“

“It really was just the flowers.”

The silence did not settle well. The stress hormones in the larger man spiked as Simon turned around. He gave him a sympathetic smile, “Chase, you’re a terrible coworker, but you're a good drinking buddy. A good friend. And a good boyfriend.”

Dark eyes watched as the stranger inhaled sharply, his grip lingering on Simon’s shoulder. It took a few minutes for the man to gather the courage to speak again—his voice rough around the edges. “…Then why did you break up with me?” He looked hurt. “You never even gave me a real reason.”

His eyes were glassy as he barely held it together… He looked like a kicked puppy.

Simon tensed. The weight of the question settled between them, pressing down like a held breath. Silence.

Some time passed before the blond laughed—too light, too forced. He let go, running a hand through his hair. “Ah, forget it. Thanks for the flowers.” The words were mumbled. Letting go, even when it still hurt. He exhaled sharply—then forced a grin. Too stiff. A salesman’s smile on a man with nothing left to sell. “You get them from that shop around here?”

Simon’s heartbeat started to slow, relieved he switched topics. “The Blossom Parlor? Yes, Mrs. Johnson’s shop has a name you know.”

“Yeah, yeah! She said hi to me once when I was passing by, nice lady.”

“Yeah, she’s always been like that.”

The two looked at each other with a small smile, a more comfortable silence falling between them. He could feel his mortal’s heartbeat slow back to reasonable pace, whilst the blond’s only elevated.

Norman looked away when Simon pulled Chase into a hug. It was only right to give him that. “I should go, thanks for having me.”

He could hear the larger man return the embrace. “Of course newbie, always a pleasure. Don’t be a stranger outside of work, okay? You can always help me with my reports off the clock.”

An incredulous scoff, one that held no bite. “You need to learn how to do things yourself.”

The achromatic man could hear them let go of each other, the tension in his shoulders releasing. He didn’t even realize he was tense in the first place.

Death looked as his mortal walked out of the room, following behind in the shadows. He glanced at Chase as he walked by, noticing the tears in his eyes had finally fallen.

He had waited until Simon walked out of the room. Maybe this man was stronger than the reaper gave him credit for.

His shadow self had slithered out, taking a glance at the beautiful sunflowers and blue delphinium in a larger-than-life vase. Beside them lie a small candy box and an unopened letter.

His goodbyes, he was just giving his goodbyes and Norman interfered. But he had to, he had to. Didn’t he? He was just being diligent, this wasn’t jealousy. He didn’t care for mortal emotions. He never had.

In the quiet halls of the residential building, Norman approached Simon, shutting the penthouse door behind him. Feeling no eyes on him, the entity rematerialized. For a few seconds, the cameras saw nothing but static.

They left the building quietly. His human was the one to speak first. “You did tell me your name. Just not here.”

Dark eyes widened, confusion crossing his features. A flicker of something he hadn’t felt in centuries, unease. “That’s impossible.”

Simon’s grip on his bag tightened. “Is it?”

The reaper just stood, he was unsure. The whispering wind was the only noise that settled between them. After some time the ravenette sighed, looking toward the sidewalk, “I have a long train ride, let’s go together.”

Death should have refused. He should have demanded answers right then and there. Instead, he followed.

This was his job. He was only doing his job.

Even with that thought on repeat, Norman found that he could not even fool himself anymore.

HOURS 20-23: REMINISCE & REUNITE - IF POSSIBLE.

The train rattled on, long and quiet. The streets had emptied, the morning rush fading into pockets of lovers, hand in hand, lost in their own worlds. They looked at each other with eyes only meant for one another. They were happy, their pulses spiking with excitement, with nervous energy, with love. Death could feel it all.

The temperature had dropped significantly, the entity watching as his mortal huddled into himself. His light jacket had prepared him well for the sun, but did little for the moon.

Norman sighed softly, looking around the train car. There seemed to be no one on board, the doors’ windows that connected car to car were clouded with filth.

As the train exited out of Manhattan and into Queens the entity looked outside and saw downtown’s skyline, the lights in all of the buildings setting New York alight with artificial stars. This was a good opportunity.

The reaper had removed his long coat, materializing the hood that commonly shadowed Death’s face. Reaching out he draped it over his human. “It’s more of a formality than anything anyways. I do not feel cold.”

Simon glanced up, offering the ghost of a smile. Quickly he averted his gaze again. He had not spoken since the penthouse.

Norman’s fingers twitched at his sides. His patience had thinned to a single, fraying thread. He had tolerated silence all day, but not now. Not for this. “Mortal. How do you know my name?”

The ravenette shifted under his coat, his fingers curling into the fabric. His pulse shuttered—but that did not detract the entity’s attention. 

Death watched as starlit eyes turned toward him, sharp, but not unreadable. Impatient, he waited for his answer. Simon held his gaze. A second passed. Then another. Then—

“…You were jealous of Chase, weren’t you?” It wasn’t just a question, it was a demand. His human wanted an answer, too.

The world dimmed, as if the train itself were holding its breath.

Norman’s gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing into a cold, stormy grey. A flicker of something dangerous. The reaper had enough. “Jealousy?” His voice was cold, distant. The train lights flickered once, violently. “Are you insane, mortal?”

The accusation left a bitter taste in his mouth. Jealousy? That thing humans draped over themselves like a vice, that sickness, that need? As if something so base could afflict him.

“You think I’d be jealous of him? A human—a flicker, a breath, here and gone before I even blink? What an insult~”

Norman’s smile was cold, cruel, and sharp enough to cut. But then Simon, stubborn fool, had the audacity to hold his gaze. That’s when Norman saw it. Not just defiance. Not just anger. Something worse.

Hope.

Something in him stilled. Hope? How foolish. He would put an end to that. “No, what’s insulting is you thinking you’re different from him.”

Simon stiffened, that cut. Norman leaned in, voice dropping into something sharper, crueler. “Do you think you’ll talk yourself out of this? That you matter more than anyone?”

Fingers flexed as grey hands clenched into fists, his face lost to the shadows as his eyes narrowed.

The mortal moved further back. Scared. Scared of him.

The entity let out a brittle laugh, he was angry now. “You’re scared. I can feel it.”

Another attempt to back up, Death gripped his wrist with a freezing touch. “Stop moving. I—“

They stared into each other’s eyes, even without his abilities Norman would feel the racing of his heart. “I… Won’t hurt you.” Not yet.

His eyes returned to their normal state as he calmed himself. He was being… irrational. This wasn’t like him.

Time passed. A deep breath, his touch warmed and he let go. The reaper could no longer meet his gaze. “This is wrong, this is all wrong.”

Silence.

The train dinged softly as the intercom came on, “End of the line, please get off at this stop.” The wheels shrieked against metal, shaking them both as the train lurched. The door opened, the quiet of Queen’s outskirts greeting them.

Another moment passed. “Norman…”

Dark eyes looked back at blue, widening—unshed tears caught in the dim train lights. But as quickly as he saw them, they were gone, blinked away, swallowed. Simon took a slow, measured breath. “…Will you come with me to say one last goodbye?”

The entity stiffened. The words settled between them like dust in a forgotten room. He should refuse. He should walk away. He didn’t.

A pause before his mortal continued. “I’ll tell you what I know after.”

The ravenette tightened his grip on the bouquet remaining. The white flowers glistened ethereally. The silence stretched. Too long. Too heavy.

He reached out, brushing a stray hair from Simon’s face. His human did not flinch. Maybe he should have. “Of course; as is my duty.” It wasn’t.

They both walked out of the train, unable to meet each other’s gaze. As they neared the entrance to the station the reaper was surprised when he felt fingers slide between the spaces of his own.

The warmth was welcomed. He returned the gesture, perhaps a bit too eagerly. It should mean nothing. 

He should let go. He should.

He didn’t. Neither did Simon.

Walking through the streets Death could hear the merriment and camaraderie being held by countless couples in the places they passed.  Life continued. It always did. The restaurants were full, glasses clinking, laughter spilling onto the streets. All around them, people celebrated love, warmth, and the promise of another day.

Simon did not have that luxury.

A long rumbling sound broke Norman out of his thoughts, he looked down—his mortal was hungry. “We should get you something to eat.”

“I’ll be fine—“

“Simon…“ He made the ravenette pause, his heartbeat fluttering. Death tightened his hold on his hand, it was warmer. “I would feel better if you ate before we went.”

Silence. Dark eyes followed the upward tilt of his human’s head. He was looking at a clock—9:00 pm.

Three hours left.

The hand he held grew moist, his human was beginning to sweat. “Okay, let’s go there, it looks pretty quiet.” A tan finger pointed over to a lone local coffee shop, the lights on proudly despite the late night. The achromatic man nodded, the two walking over to the building.

They entered. The bell tolled overhead, and the air was thick with the scent of coffee and warm pastries. It was the kind of scent that clung to early mornings and quiet conversations.

Simon inhaled. Norman did not. He should have let go of his hand before stepping inside. He didn’t.

“Be there in a second! Feel free to check out the menu!” The call from the back was loud and boisterous—a New York staple.

Simon led the reaper to the counter, the entity waiting patiently as dark blue eyes scanned the options. “… Do you want your coffee?”

Norman nodded, “That would be nice, thank you.”

They both waited patiently, Norman tapping his fingers on the counter, Simon watching the menu with an intensity that suggested he was reading something far more important than drink options. Anything to not look at each other.

Soon enough an older man emerged from the back, short—even shorter than Simon, but stocky. It was clear that he was quite the force of nature in his prime, but years of hard labor and even harder habits have aged him. His heart beat with the assistance of electricity—the sound was different, but it wasn’t weak.

The minute his gaze fell upon Simon, the gruff man’s look suddenly changed. An energetic smile split his face, revealing a full set of uneven teeth. “Kid, is that you?!”

The ravenette smiled back, his eyes shining with familiarity. “Hi Mr. Pete, sorry it's been so long…”

The man gave his human a hearty laugh, the wheeze that followed caused by years of nicotine use. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I know how it is and I know you’re doing big things downtown. The neighborhood heard you got a job at one of those fancy companies a couple years back, congratulations kid, you deserve it.”

Simon’s smile twitched, his hands tightening around his bouquet. “Guess I do…” A small pause. “Thank you, I’m still not sure how I survived that interview…”

“Ahhhh, come on kid. You never give yourself enough credit.” The man pulled out his tools, washing his calloused hands at his station. “You’re smart, you’re resourceful, you’re a problem solver. Any place should be happy to have you.”

Clearing his throat the older man returned to the front counter, cracking his knuckles. Brown eyes met Death's, naturally hardened with years of wisdom and experience. The older man took a glance at their hands, “Speaking of, is this your boyfriend?”

A dark eyebrow raised, so bold. The heartbeat next to him spiked harshly. A new record.

“N-No! We’re just—“

“I’m his Valentine~” He could feel Simon’s eyes boring into his temple, his heartbeat skipping once—then hammering. Another new record.

A grey hand reached out to the store owner. “Norman, nice to meet you sir~”

The older man returned the handshake—a great grip with just the right amount of strength. “Nice to meet you son. Treat him well, yeah?”

Norman nodded. The lie caught in his throat. He wasn’t meant to treat Simon well. He was meant to claim him.

An unfamiliar feeling lodged itself in his chest. “Of course sir, he deserves nothing less.”

The man gave him a grin, it was genuine. The reaper returned it, he only hoped his looked the same.

Pulling away he gave the two a look, washing his hands for the second time. “Alright, lovebirds. What am I feeding ya?”

The coffee was pleasant, just as it was earlier in the day.

Death held onto his cup as Simon huddled further into the reaper’s jacket, the flowers he held being pulled into the garment to protect them from the aggressive winds.

Norman’s rose no longer had such protection, as the wind clawed at its petals, tearing them loose one by one until there were none left. He would’ve shielded it himself, but with coffee in one hand and Simon’s in the other he did not have much choice. 

His mortal exhaled, voice barely above the wind. “…We’re here.”

Black eyes locked onto their final destination. A graveyard. Fitting. Unforgiving. Inevitable. 

And then he realized.

Norman blinked, looking down at the flowers the human protected in his coat. The visit on his schedule, it was to a grave.

His voice was quiet, certain. “Your aunt. We’ve come to see her.”

The ravenette let out a small, fractured chuckle. “Yeah… Of course you would know about that one, you’re Death after all.”

The gate let out a loud creak as Simon opened it up, he gave Norman an uneasy smile. “I know the groundskeeper—if your work is particular about trespassing don’t worry.”

The achromatic man chuckled, it sounded more uneven than he intended. “Don’t worry Simon, trespassing is basically part of our job.” He felt his heart flutter at the reaper again.

As they arrived at the scene, Death looked at the empty coffee cup in his hand. Useless.

He exhaled sharply. The cup crumbled in his grasp, disintegrating into wisps of shadow.

He followed his human closely, hand in hand as they approached the grave. Carved out of black marble it was slightly dusty, with the wear and tear of years of weather, but it was well maintained. It was haunting. It was beautiful.

Norman watched as his mortal kneel in front of it, pulling the flowers out of his jacket and resting them on top of the grave. The winds blew harshly, but the reaper assured that nothing would move those roses and orchids—a small gift of his own.

A long silence. The winds the only thing singing in this cold. The reaper took a closer look, he was praying.

“…I can’t wait to see you again, if only for a moment.”

Simon lingered long enough for the wind to carry his words away.

He stood on shaky legs, as if the weight of everything had finally crushed him. Death reached out to steady him without a second thought.

The ravenette exhaled a trembling breath and turned to face him. “You wanted answers.” A pause. Another shaky breath. “I’ll give them while I still can.”

”Wait—“ His mortal stalled as the reaper took some time to consider his thoughts. “I thought about things, earlier? In the coffee shop.”

It was hard to put into words, but Norman had to be quick. They didn’t have much time anymore. “About earlier, when I went to that man’s room to confront you. I… Apologize. It was inappropriate for me to interfere with such an intimate moment. I was… Overstepping.”

They shared a small silence, raven brows raised in surprise.

Then a small, almost melodic chuckle. “I forgive you.” The smile Simon gave him, he wished for the image to be burned in his subconscious. “Funny though, I would almost say it was like—“

”I was jealous.”

Starlit eyes widened, the entity couldn’t believe his own mouth. Jealous of a human—he never thought he’d see the century.

The flush deepened on Simon’s face, his heart skipping twice. “I—I can’t believe you actually admitted it here.”

Death couldn’t either.

”Here—“ The reaper narrowed his eyes in contemplation. “But not… Where?”

His human swallowed hard, tucking himself into the reaper’s coat further as he willed himself to be calm. Midnight eyes flicked everywhere before they finally landed on Norman’s face. “Anywhere else that I know of… We've met before… Just not here. Across lifetimes, across universes. And in all of them I never make it past 35.” Tanned hands wrung and Norman grabbed them both, holding them to stillness.

“Please continue.” Another spike in heartbeat, his mortal nodded.

“In the lives I remember, I always remember… But only the ones contained in their universe. The others? They normally fade. It’s like they never existed. That’s not the case anymore.“ He stumbled through his words, before taking a breath to gather his thoughts. “In all the lives I currently know I remember you. We’ve always ended up close, like it’s fate.”

Black eyes widened, “But that’s impossible, if we’re so connected why haven’t we met in this world before? This has always been my role.”

“Here, but not everywhere. We take on many roles in our multiple lives. Some we’ve even worked together.” He chuckled softly, it was calming to hear. “You always start the same though, cold, indifferent, terrifying. And then we face each other, meeting eye to eye—like a challenge. You’re such a closed off person, but I can’t complain, I'm the same way.”

Simon faced him, his eyes burning with the light of the brightest star. ”It was hard without you, you know. You were the only one who knew me differently. We understood each other, how we broke down every piece of ourselves to please, to succeed, to breathe. You’ve always been so good at handling things, to the point where you invested too much of yourself. It’s made you cold and cruel in many worlds, performing under the guise of faux happiness. Your work becomes your life and your life is forfeit.”

This look, Norman had seen it before. A thousand places. A thousand endings. A thousand versions of them, always meeting, always falling for each other before his mortal’s life is robbed from him again and again.

That look, it reassured him, it exposed him, and it understood him all at once. It was patience. It was kindness. It was longing. It was love.

He adored it every time. It made him feel human.

Human... Again.

His interest in Simon, his actions, his feelings. They finally made sense.

Grey hands only gripped tighter. He didn’t want to let go. “I believe you.”

His mortal gave him a smile, his eyes wet with tears of relief. “I’m glad.”

The entity didn’t hesitate. He reached out, wiping away the streaks that stained his face, his fingers lingering as dark eyes glanced toward the mosellum.

11:45. Fifteen minutes left. And then, like every time before, he would lose him again.

The ravenette followed his gaze. He chuckled, voice heavy. “Ha ha, I don’t want to die. You’re finally here…” He looked back at the entity, the reaper barely able to hold his midnight gaze. “I’m glad I got to see you here, if only for a moment.”

He felt a warm touch upon his cheek, Simon’s hand coming back wet. Despite his ever-present smile, Norman was crying.

What a strange and beautiful sensation.

“I want to ask one thing of you—“ His mortal spoke as he continued to dry his tears, until there were none left. “Will you hold me before I go?”

Death froze.

Reapers didn’t grant requests, but Valentines—lovers did. He wrapped his arms around him without second thought.

Norman felt his mortal’s grip get tighter, fingers curling as they bunched the back of his suit jacket. So warm. He’d do anything to have that warmth beside him for his lifetime.

But Death was never that merciful.

The ravenette trembled in his hold, the weight of exhaustion settling in his frame. The warmth of his body pressed close, the sound of his breath soft, fading. The reaper could feel it happening. The soul unraveling from its vessel, pulling away like a thread slipping through fingers. A slow parting. A cruel separation.

His body moved on instinct. Grey fingers reached for Simon’s back, feeling the phantom tug of a soul ready to be taken. He had to do it. He had always done it. Reaping was a constant, a law of existence, the only thing he had ever known. If he took his soul, it would remain within his grasp, under his control.

He could keep him.

But when his hand passed through his mortal’s body, nothing happened.

He grit his teeth. He tried again, pressing his palm to Simon’s back, commanding the soul to yield, to wait just a moment longer. But his hand met only air, fingers curling uselessly through a form that was no longer solid.

His Valentine was slipping away, and Death himself couldn’t stop it.

Wide, black eyes flickered to Simon’s face. His human gave him a look, soft, understanding, unbearably warm. "You always try," he whispered. "But you can't save me from fate."

“No…” The reaper shook his head, his chest tightening. “You’re my job to fulfill. Your soul is mine to take—mine to hold. You're supposed to be mine.” This wasn’t right. He couldn’t slip away. He never lost. Never.

But the ravenette only smiled, his fingers brushing his reaper’s cheek one last time. “Not this time.”

Simon spoke, his voice unsteady. “I love you.”

"I…" Norman's throat tightened. He had never said the words before, he never let felt them. But as Simon's warmth began to fade—he couldn't hold back anymore.

Unfamiliar thoughts, unfamiliar feelings, they tumbled out of his mouth as unfamiliar words—

"I—" His breath caught. His throat burned. "I love you, Simon."

"Ahaha—" His laugh was soft, fragile. His heartbeat, once wild with happiness, slowed. Acceptance. Inevitability. 

“Say it again.” Simon’s voice trembled. “Please, just say my name.”

He tightened his hold, only to realize Simon was no longer holding back. “I love you, Simon. And I will, again and again.”

By the time he finished, his love had already taken his last rasping breath. His soul floated forward, a grey hand reached out—

A single gust carried the ravenette away. The soul unraveling like embers from a dying fire. Norman reached, desperate, but the wind stole him before he could even say goodbye.

Grey fingers clenched around the empty space where his love had been. His grip, once so strong, so unyielding, had failed him.

He stood in the graveyard, holding what his love left behind. His tears spilled freely, but this time there was no one there to dry them.

His warmth was gone and Death was left with nothing but the cold.

HOUR 24: DEATH (& ROMANCE)

[BAD END #2]