Don't Fear the Reaper

The light streaming through Sora Stride's apartment windows had a blue glow, despite the time. I stood outside, only bugs buzzing around lit, yellow porchlights to keep me company. Looking at my old, discolored silver watch, I confirmed the hour hand leaning toward three. I hated the thing, a heavy weight on my wrist. Why my department couldn't invest in digital wristwatches, I didn't know. It was probably more for effect than anything – a subtle reminder of my onerous task. Why I stood in front of Sora Stride's luminescent apartment.

I preferred to do this when my appointments were asleep; it limited the hysterics and the crying and the violence, but hey, it was their death day. They had a right to throw a tantrum about it if they wanted. I was just an agent and I had nothing to fear from them. It wasn't like they could kill what was already dead.

After one more fruitless gaze to the blinds and bating my breath, I phased through his front door silently, taking a surveillance of the room by instinct before I was noticed. It was a simple apartment; just a desk with an outdated, sticker-covered Mac, a TV on a simple stand, a secondhand couch, and some trinkets on the bar of the kitchen. The glow through the windows was from the TV, playing Season 2 of Stranger Things. It played loudly, and I grimaced that he was on an episode I hadn't seen yet. I tried to remind myself that professionalism outweighed annoying spoilers, but I was already frowning.

Disheveled brunet spikes peeked above the top of the couch, and I heard the soft crunch of popcorn. My irritation abated, tilting my head in regret. I hated to reap him in the middle of a great show, but (I glanced woefully at my watch again) it was time. Let's get this over with, I thought. I casually walked over to the couch and sat on the edge; one quick whisper under my breath, and I was no longer invisible to the mortal in the room. I cleared my throat and braced for the shocked outburst.

Except, he didn't. He glanced over, his blue eyes widened, and his hand stilled with a fistful of popcorn. A few kernels fell into his lap. His jaw, still working on his previous bite, froze too. But then, after his eyes made a checkmark motion toward me, he resumed.

"Oh, it's you," he said simply, like he knew me. My eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Look, I have, like, fifteen minutes of this episode left, could you wait?"

I scoffed, jaw slacked. This was not part of my social engineering training. Considering the mental breakdown that normally ensued upon my arrival normally took twenty minutes or longer to mediate, I had nothing with which to argue against him. "Well, I guess," I said lamely, knowing that instantly my fear factor likely dropped to zero, if I had the factor at all to begin with.

I slid off the side of the couch and onto a cushion with my arms crossed defensively, still a bit away from the apartment's current resident. He patted the seat closer to him. "You can have popcorn if you want."

I was bewildered by this mortal. Whether he knew what I was or not, who offered popcorn to a stranger that literally materialized from nothing in their locked apartment? Yet despite it all, I found myself eyeing the typical movie treat. I tried to remember the last time I had popcorn but couldn't. Even worse, I couldn't remember the last time I sat down long enough to watch television. It took half a century for my coworkers to convince me that the screens with moving pictures were not witchcraft, but now that I had so many appointments, the effort was wasted.

The couch was comfy enough, I decided. Kairi would likely praise me for relating with an appointment for more than just carrying them to the other side. For a fleeting moment, I forgot my job as I reached over to grab a small handful of the food Sora offered.

When the soon-to-be departed was engrossed again into the show, I snuck a glance at him. I was given his name and a photo of unknown timestamp, so his in-person look was expectedly different. I was unsure what I was sent here for. He was young, surely no older than twenty-five, with clear skin and bright eyes. He seemed energetic enough. Granted, he was a little pale, but I figured it was the glow of the TV. He was home alone, with a locked door – and I don't work on murder clean-up.

So why was I sent to reap him?

For my particular department, there were only a few categories Sora's demise could fall under. I felt my chest tighten when I realized. I hated these. I cursed under my breath; I told you not to send me on these jobs, Ansem. But sometimes, I could persuade them to keep living – which was likely why he gave me this file. I checked my watch, and sighed, knowing what I would do. It was a risky business, due to the secrecy of my existence, but I had time, and I would save him if I could.

We watched in silence, but half of my mind was set on planning; stealing glances and popcorn. The episode ended, and Sora clapped once in indignation. "Are you kidding me? You stopped there?" he cried in outrage at the screen. He leaned back, groaning, "Man, now I'll never know…"

I crossed my arms, annoyed. So, he did know. But he turned to me, eyes wide, glittering, and determined. "You like this show, too, right? Why don't you stay? We could finish the season together!"

I tilted my head in consideration. For a suicidal individual, he seemed anxious to stop my reaping, and understood my purpose for being there. But if all it took to stop him was watching Netflix with him, how could I refuse?

"…Sure," I said, checking my watch only for effect, "But I have to go at six." It was a lie.

"Great! I'll make more popcorn." He hopped up, the blanket around him falling onto the couch in a colorful ring of crocheted yarn.

An episode and a half later, Sora was no longer able to keep his eyes open. The second time his eyes fluttered closed and failed to open after five minutes, I took the liberty to pause the show. The sudden silence didn't stir him, and I chuckled. It wasn't a bad case after all.

I didn't want to leave him on the couch, as it couldn't be more comfortable than his bed. So, I lifted him up, an arm hooked under bent knees and the other braced against his back. He was a ragdoll and concerningly light, but his face still glowed from the peace of sleep. I sighed, partially in relief and partially out of exasperation to the strange mortal in my arms.

His room was even more bare than the living room; it was clear where he spent most his time. All he had was a cheap plastic stand holding a bamboo plant near the window, and his bed, disheveled and full of stuffed animals. Right before I laid him down on the mattress, he gripped my shirt weakly.

"You're not gonna…?"

"Nope, you're going to keep on living, kiddo."

"I'm… not…" and he dozed off again. I shook my head.

I felt a little guilty laying him in bed with his daytime attire on, but I wasn't about to try to change him. I brushed my hair back as I thought about what I should do next as he curled around a pillow, not even bothering to pull a blanket over himself. Rolling my eyes, I yanked the sheet from under his legs, glaring when he giggled tiredly at my effort.

Only one more thing to do before I left. I closed my eyes to concentrate, but he grabbed my hand. "Hey, don't make me forget. I want to remember you."

My eyes opened instantly, widened in surprise. How much did he know? How did he know? But his sweet, ocean eyes half-lidded in their failing efforts to stay open were so sincere, I felt myself caving before I could even decide for myself. I knew if Ansem found out, I'd be in serious trouble, but he was the one who assigned this case to me. I thought that maybe the memory of my arrival would impress upon him the finality and weight of his decision. It was worth a shot.

When I nodded, he was already asleep again. I did a quick spell under my breath to help his sleep stay steady, and disappeared, unable to shake my wonder at the cute brunet in Twilight Town.

Back at headquarters days later, I checked my weekly schedule, and glared at my Thursday night, 3 AM case. Now knowing better, I turned to Axel. "Where's Ansem?" I asked, demanding.

"Do I look like I know?" he retorted, not looking up from his phone. Unlike me, he was a rookie, and more acclimated to the twenty-first century than I was. But he felt my glare and glanced. "What, you get a bad shift?"

"I believe he gave me a suicide, which he knows I abhor."

The redhead tsk-d, shaking his head, "Who doesn't?"

I sighed gruffly as he was no help. "I'm going to his office."

"Your death wish."

That, at least, earned a chuckle from me.

Luckily or unluckily – I couldn't tell yet – the boss was in. Right before I knocked on his office door, ignoring the earned but overbearing text etched into the glass "Ansem the Wise", he said, "Come in, Riku."

I did, holding back my outrage just long enough to close the door behind me. I raised the photo of Sora I took from the board. "I thought you agreed to keep me off cases like this," I reminded him, a bite in every syllable.

He shook his head, hands folded in his fatherly way. "You are the best match for him."

My eyebrows furrowed, a little offended. "Explain."

"You know I can't." His smile was infuriatingly knowing.

I gritted my teeth in frustration. As a reaper, I was not allowed to know why I was matched to reap a person, because it often had to do with my mortal life – or rather, the circumstances surrounding its end. Of course, being under a certain department gave some umbrella of indication, but all details were left out. Upon the death of every reaper elect, memory was completely wiped as per the rules and tradition. I wasn't allowed to know my cause of death. And, perhaps more importantly, I wasn't allowed to know the exact cause of death of those I reaped until the moment I retrieved the soul to ferry on.

The implications of this case regarding myself confounded me, and I felt my angry words die in my throat. His vivid orange eyes watched me pensively. I felt like an ant under the magnifying glass. His expression softened before he spoke, "You are the best reaper we have for him. Just follow your heart about it. Trust me, Riku, as I trust you."

After two hundred years under his mentorship, it went without saying that I did. I nodded my head, confused and resentful, but accepting. I thought about mentioning Sora's knowledge of our existence as reapers, but I could hear his laughter in my mind as I had the many times I worried for naught and decided to remain silent. Instead, I left his office with a curt nod and went to work.

"You're early," Sora critiqued me from his kitchen. The clock was ticking its way toward three again, and yet he was cooking something. But the smell was so promising, my glare was half-assed.

"I'm glad you are so anxious for my arrival," I said with a note of sarcasm. He snickered, the sound a welcoming song from in front of the stove.

I walked over to the kitchen opening and leaned against the wall, marveling at the amount of effort Sora was putting into … whatever it was he was preparing. He wore a red apron over his usual black cargo shorts and t-shirt, which ultimately made me feel overdressed in my suit-pants, black dress shirt, black tie, and black trench-coat. Though I appreciated the formality, a style somewhat reminiscent of my lifetime, the black was a bit overbearing. And purposefully so. It was meant for effect and presence, something totally lost on Sora.

Perhaps noticing my awkward stance and observing stare, he commanded, "Take off your coat already, this isn't a funeral." And then, he caught himself, "Yet."

I waited for his mood to sour, anticipating to finally give the speech that had been haunting my mind for days. I opened my mouth to tell him of his whole life ahead of him, that my presence was truly needless, but he smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry, that was dark," he said.

I blinked. This mortal flabbergasted me. His death was the entire reason I was there, and yet he was apologizing to me, a reaper, for making a death joke? I flipped my bangs back, chuckling, "Dark is my job, Sora." But I obeyed anyway, laying my coat across the arm of the couch.

"Not really – you take the dark away," he said softly, and I paused, peering past the open counter to the small, stilled frame of Sora. He quickly resumed his task. I returned to my spot, watching him pour pancake batter into a pan. I waited for him to explain his statement, but he didn't.

I let it go, but it would be a lie if I said it was entirely for his sake. I wanted to save him – I didn't want to upset him. But I also looked forward to our anomalous date. So, like a coward, I changed the subject and raised an eyebrow. "Pancakes?"

"Look, when you've got limited time, you eat whatever the fuck you want," he defended his choice cheerfully, smile wide and childish. He turned to me, eyes check-marking me again like he did the first night, cheeks blooming pink, "Ugh, you still look so formal. Do you have anything, like, normal?"

"I've worn this the past two times and you're upset about it now?" I complained, suddenly feeling self-conscious as I looked away. For the life of me, I couldn't understand how this mortal could dismantle me so easily. I'd met so many in my years of service to the dead, but none like him. He was always a step ahead, when supposedly I had all the power.

He pointed a batter-covered spatula at me. "Go change. If my clothes don't fit, there's a box of bigger clothes in the corner. It's labelled Leon."

Bewildered, I hesitated to move. Why did he care so much? He groaned when I didn't heed him, waving the spatula more, "Aw, c'mon, just do it for me, okay? You're creepy in all black."

I almost told him that was the entire point, but I found myself walking to his bedroom closet.

I settled on a grey sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans from the box Sora indicated. The informality of the twenty-first century still boggled my mind, and I reminded myself to tell Ansem, strongly, that I would not being doing cases like this ever again. What was I doing? Wearing a mortal's clothes, having weekly Netflix dates with someone who wanted to die? I didn't understand myself, though Ansem seemed to trust my judgement over this matter. I was starting to doubt his assessment of my skill.

Still, I emerged and crept back to the kitchen feeling exposed and out of place. But when Sora noticed my silent return, a plate of pancakes in hand with an entire bottle of maple syrup in the other, his eyes lit up like Christmas lights, his smile blinding. "Oh my god, Riku, you look so great! You kind of look like my uncle Seph, just with shorter hair."

"I-I don't know how I should feel about that," I told him honestly.

He rushed to put down the food on the desk where his Mac rested to the side, and then went back to me, touching my elbow. "You should take the compliment," Sora said sweetly, looking up at me like he saw me and for a moment my brain short-circuited.

He poured a glass of milk and asked me what I wanted. I didn't understand his disarming hospitality to me, his reaper, and was still reeling from the beaming look he gave me. "U-uh–"

"OJ or Milk? If you say water, I will ask you to kill me."

I snorted in exasperation, "What's wrong with water?"

"With pancakes? I'm not an animal."

"Fine, god, just– what's OJ?"

"Hey, Riku, how long have you been reaping?" The question came out of nowhere forty-five minutes and four pancakes into Stranger Things from the brunet on the couch bundled up in his crocheted blanket next to me. His eyes didn't leave the TV, but I could tell he wasn't really watching.

"How rude, asking a reaper their age," I retorted teasingly, and was rewarded with Sora's instant cherry red blush.

"S-s-sorry, I didn't mean to offend!" He pivoted to me in a fan of spiky hair, and leaned over with a guilty frown and wide, sorry eyes. The beautiful thing about his excessive reaction was that I knew from his other jokes that he wasn't afraid of me; he was genuinely guilty about affronting me. My playful smile turned soft.

It was definitely against the rules to give the information he asked for, but I'd already broken about ten just staying here with him and meeting him on multiple occasions. I wasn't actually sensitive about the topic, and so I shook my head kindly, "No, no, I was joking. I hit my two-hundred year mark a couple years back."

His jaw hung open and his eyes sparkled in fascination. It was a rather dumb expression, so I chuckled. He asked, voice rushed, "That's amazing, Riku! Congratulations!"

"Ha! I think it just makes me old," I told him honestly.

He shook his head, excited. "All the history you've seen! And hey, you look my age, so definitely not old. Maybe old in spirit, though, Mr. I-Don't-Know-What-Orange-Juice-Is."

"I beg your pardon, I know about phones and TVs and computers – I think I'm doing pretty good," I pouted, too caught up in the conversation to keep my nonchalant façade. He giggled with his whole body, rocking back on is tail bone. Even with the show playing, his laughter travelled farther than the audio from the TV. For the first time in a long time, I felt warm.

It was later that night, or rather, morning, that I carried him to bed like I had done the last two times, wondering in surprise again at his lightness despite having eaten half his weight in pancakes and syrup.

Once I tucked him in, he resurfaced to consciousness to ask, "But… why aren't you…?" Sora only brought up the dark background of our relationship whenever he was on the brink of exhaustion. It depressed me, and baffled me, that this bright, funny, gorgeous, and wonderful brunet would want to die. It wasn't that I believed my presence would cure him of the desire, but I wanted to buy him enough time that he could find something that would.

I shook my head, stubborn. "Not like this, Sora. Goodnight."

I started to walk away when he snatched my hand. "Stay with me? Till I fall asleep?"

I said yes, and he intertwined our fingers. I never wanted to leave.

I wasn't surprised this time when my Thursday and Friday nights had the familiar name. But finally, it had caught on with the other reapers.

"What? Sora, again? What happened to the Angel of Death?"

I scowled at the nickname. I did not appreciate the association to the Nazi doctor, of whom I didn't think Axel knew. "When will you stop calling me that?" I asked tiredly, changing into the clothes Sora preferred.

Axel gazed at me up and down with a Cheshire grin. If he weren't already dating another reaper, I would've changed somewhere else. He commented, "Maybe if you tell me why all the sudden you have a regular. You used to have the highest reap count and now Ventus passed you up last week."

My eyebrows scrunched together, not too keen on his critique; it was never about keeping count for me. I was simply committed to, and believed in, my job; ferrying souls to the other side peacefully, painlessly, and quickly. But such deep sentiments were lost to the redhead. He snickered at my brooding, but Kairi came in just as my shirt fell to my waist. She must have heard Axel's comment, because she said, "Ansem said it was a special case, didn't he? You heard him."

Axel tsk-d, but I tilted my head to her in confusion, "He said that? Did he say why it was special?" Infuriatingly, she winked at me and put a finger over her rosy lips.

I sighed gruffly. "Neither of you are helping. At all."

"Whose clothes are those?" Kairi changed the subject, walking over to me and gingerly placing a hand on my chest. I didn't mind it. She was my afterlife sister of sorts; as close as two reapers could be without romantic involvement. She felt the fabric, eyes lighting up at the softness.

"Sora doth protest much that I wear it," I said, rolling my eyes. "I don't get these times. No one appreciates a suit jacket anymore."

Kairi giggled, and I was momentarily reminded of Sora. She waved away my complaint, "We are in the business of comforting people, Riku. Scaring them into moving on is only going to work so much longer." Despite her short reaping career, she had a wisdom beyond her experience. I sighed and couldn't argue.

I checked my watch; almost two-thirty A.M. I would be early again, but I had nothing to do and I tired of the conversation. "I'm off," I told my friends. Axel nodded, and Kairi hugged me.

"Good luck! And don't spoil Stranger Things when you get back or I'll reap you."

"Wouldn't dream of it." And I disappeared.

Crown Royal and a liter of Coca-Cola slammed onto the counter. I looked at Sora curiously. He explained, eyes sparkling devilishly, "Look, we're probably going to finish the season, so we have to do it right."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but I can't get inebriated."

He literally mouthed the word "inebriated", fingers air-quoting it. "No one says inebriated, Riku. And when was the last time you tried?"

He got me there; I hadn't.

He poured me a glass without another word until two shots of the whiskey were allotted to the glass. I sighed. Though I had no memory of my lifetime, I had the feeling I didn't drink often. But Sora's innocent, excited stare compelled me to indulge him. I knew in the back of my mind that it was a dangerous idea, but I took a sip anyway.

"Huh," I said appreciative, "This isn't bad."

Sora's happy giggle made it worth the try. "Why do I feel like you haven't had whiskey in a mixer before? Have you ever had Coca-Cola?"

I shook my head, feeling my cheeks flush. His beaming pride melted my heart, and for the hundredth time I forgot my purpose there. Little by little, I was forgetting my role as reaper. He took a sip, humming happily at his concoction.

A question itched at the back of my mind, watching his self-satisfied assessment of his drink. Every night I was there, which was reaching the 'too many' category at this point, Sora was nothing if not bubbly, excited, and full of life. On top of that, I still didn't understand how he knew about reapers in the first place. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I had a chance to think them over, asking, "So, why Thursday and Friday nights?"

I, of course, asked because it seemed oddly specific to try to commit suicide on only Thursday and Friday nights, hence my scheduling to reap him. But, maddeningly, he shook his head, "I actually wondered that myself. It seems like it's almost always after my doctor check-ups. You'd think they'd help, not make it worse."

My eyes widened. Doctor? I thought, staring at him in shock. But he bulldozed over the topic, setting his glass down. "Wanna get started?"

I dumbly nodded, all my previous assumptions coming into question like sirens blaring as they approached. He topped off my drink with more coke and another shot of whiskey before we relocated to the couch. I looked at him with new eyes when he settled into the cushion, bringing the blanket around his shoulders like the room was cold when it wasn't. With horror, I noticed his lithe frame, I remembered his light weight, and I considered his obvious insomnia.

The Stranger Things theme played, but I hardly heard it. All I wanted was to save him, and because of the insufferable secrecy, I wasn't sure how I could ensure that I even could.

By 4 A.M., Sora was drunk, and, admittedly, I wasn't doing much better. The only difference was he was hyper. "Hey, hey, Riku, did you knooooow Steve is my favorite character?"

"No, why is that?" I asked him, grinning a little too wide as he leaned against me. I didn't remember him drawing so near.

"He's so precious, c'mon, just look at him, he's protecting these kids even though he's hurting!"

I chuckled, ruffling his hair, "He's trying too hard."

"Oh, like you're one to talk," Sora appraised me. I realized my mistake when I turned my head to him to retort. His eyes were wide, unfocused, and utterly mischievous, and in my inebriation my breath hitched at the sight. His smile was mutiny against my heart and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I reprimanded him, determinedly staring at the TV. His hand reached up to my chin and tilted it to himself. I provided no resistance.

"Oh, I think you do."

Before I could even open my mouth to protest, he pulled my face down to himself. Our lips met in drunken fireworks. For being over two hundred years dead, I felt electrically alive, like my nerves were true, like my heart could beat of its own accord, like his touch could ignite my own skin. That was the moment I knew that I was a string already wrapped around his finger.

I couldn't think straight. I kissed back without a second thought, drowning instantly in his sweet, soft lips. I don't know when he relocated to my lap, straddling my hips. As natural as breathing, my hands went to the small of his back and to cup the back of his neck. He flushed against me like he couldn't get close enough, and I felt my tongue swipe against his bottom lip. His moan in acquiescence was anything but innocent, deepening our kiss with a wet dive of his tongue. My body had forgotten what this was.

I learned quickly that I loved his soft, chocolate brown spikes of hair and found myself addicted to his small groans when I pulled on them. The way his hips jerked instinctually against me when I teased him made me see stars. His hands in my hair imprinted itself in my memory, and my hand that was so innocently on the valley of his back slipped under his shirt. Every vertebra was a piano key I desperately wanted to play. It was like he knew his effect on me every time my fingers pressed into him; he elicited a wanton moan and I thought I might just die again.

His arch into my touch was nothing short of amazing. I don't know when or how we ended up in his bed but we did, his hands claiming every inch of me he possibly could. I wanted to tease him about me looking like his uncle, or whatever, but I never got the chance, drowning in his touch and kisses. My lips found the crevice between his jaw and neck and left a mark there, sexual and purple and I couldn't find it within myself to feel even the littlest bit ashamed. His nails grazing down my back threatened to roll my eyes back, but instead I left wet kisses down his neck and to his collar bone, his moans my ambrosia.

"R-riku–"

I led his lips to mine again, and in his kiss was where my memory disappeared.

I awoke to my arms around Sora, naked save my underwear. He wasn't any more clothed, only a t-shirt on under the sheets. In my alarm, I checked the time on my ridiculous wristwatch; fuck, I thought vehemently; I had missed several of my scheduled reapings. Kairi would never let me live it down and Ansem – I couldn't bear the thought.

I started to move, but Sora gripped me tighter, stirring as well with a small, tired groan. His voice barely a whisper, he muttered, "I've got to stop dreaming of him. Fucking Christ…" I listened and stared at him. He finally opened his eyes, fluttering sweetly.

At first, his smile was relieved and pleasantly surprised. But then he pinched himself, and terror took over his features. I felt the panic first on my back, his fingers digging into my skin in disbelief that I was there. I ignored the tingling pleasure that his touch left.

I wasn't sure what to say so I said nothing, though I pulled him closer without another thought. He gasped, looking into my eyes incredulously. "Th-this isn't a dream? Th-th-then what?" His hands automatically moved to my chest, as if prepared to push me away but they rested there contentedly. It did nothing to motivate me to disappear.

"'Morning," I said dumbly, utterly disarmed by his amazed stare. His eyes glittered, and he accepted the fact, and then they glowed.

"M-morning, Riku. You're really here? I'm not dead? This isn't some heaven on steroids?"

His hysterics brought laughter to my throat, and I covered my face with a hand. He quickly moved it, his eyes still shining in fascination and disbelief. "No," I finally told him, 'I'm here."

He made a noise that I wasn't sure the meaning. He leaned in to kiss me and again instead of disappearing or pushing him away I just accepted it, even pushing my lips against his. My chest was on fire. When he pulled away I was reluctant to stop despite my utter outrage at myself.

It was such a sweet lie, feeling him so alive as I held him against me. But I remembered enough about the night before to realize that I had been wrong in the worst way; he wasn't wanting to die. In fact, he had no choice in the matter at all. And yet, I was creating more ties to this dying, fleeting plane for him when his body wanted to give up the ghost. I felt my heart shatter, the pain somehow dull and sharp and pulsating in my chest.

It must have showed on my face. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, head tilted in his usual excited curiosity that I adored.

"You're not suicidal," I said bluntly, still reeling from the realization.

His face twisted in confusion and resentment. "Of course not. I'm dying, Riku. I'm not looking to speed up the process." But then he smiled privately, "Unless I can be with you."

The air left my lungs at the affirmation. "S-sora, you know its my one job to make sure you move on peacefully."

To my chagrin, he laughed at me, pulling me closer. "If I lived another year in agony, but got to see you, I'd gladly do it."

How could he say that? How could he possibly want to endure another second of pain for me, the very agent to send him to the other side? I just stared at him, unblinkingly, and he trailed a hand from my chest to my face, wiping under my eye. "Hey, that's not fair. You knew I was dying."

"B-but–"

His lips found the crook of my neck, kissing softly. I swear I felt it travel down my spine and I closed my eyes, willing my hands to remain stilled. He whispered against my skin, "I was completely alone, Riku. My passing will be as it should be, because of you. Tragic, and terrible, and reluctant, and memorable." I felt streams of tears fall freely on the sides of my face.

My voice was broken and foreign. "H-how much pain are you in?"

"Not much, to be honest," he said contentedly.

I didn't know what he considered "not much" to be, but regardless, I said, "Then, wait till next week." I just couldn't bear the thought of taking him now.

He nodded against me, and my hands rejected my commands, holding him tighter. He sighed like there was nowhere else he'd rather be while I did my best to hide the fact I was falling apart for a stranger I'd fallen in love with.

I appeared on Sora's couch an entire hour earlier than expected the next week, clothed in the "normal twenty-first century attire" and prepared for literally anything Sora wanted to do. Because of our activities the week before, we hadn't actually finished Stranger Things. At this point I had no idea what Sora would have in mind. I felt like a love-struck boy again, hands sweating and nerves on edge.

A catchy, up-beat tune emanated from his bathroom, steam puffing from the top of the cracked open door; Sora was showering. With no phone or other technology to expend my nervous energy, I listened to his sweet humming and tapped my foot restlessly. It took all my effort not to flit to the door and listen to ensure nothing happened. All my centuries of escorting spirits from all sorts of deaths left me nothing if not paranoid that one stray drop of water could literally kill him.

Eventually, I found a book next to his Mac on the desk and occupied myself with that. It was a picture novel, with many fantastical creatures I didn't recognize, but easy to read. That was how Sora found me, reading on his couch, just emerged from the shower, damp with only a towel about his waist. I shouldn't have felt embarrassed, having seen more already, but I found myself averting my eyes respectfully anyway. Old habits die hard, after all.

"R-Riku! You're early. Again!" His tone was excited, but also exasperated, and I hid my smile behind the book.

"I had extra time," I told him truthfully, "And I wanted to be here." The second part came out softer, and I would have been content even if he hadn't heard it. But, a glance to him and I knew he had; his grin was radiant and his blush darker than a warm shower would procure. He had his hands in an upside-down V over his nose like he just couldn't believe my audacity. In his defense, I couldn't believe mine either.

"S-stay there, okay? I just need to get dressed."

"Okay," I told him, perfectly satisfied to spend another ten minutes reading about a fantastical savior of the universe wielding keys for weapons and travelling worlds with a talking duck and dog.

When he came out, he was in a baggy Christmas sweater and baggy sweat pants. Though endearing, I gazed over him in concern. "Cold?"

He nodded, sheepishly smiling and rubbing the back of his head like he does every time anything relates to his sickness or imminent death. My lips formed a tight line. "You could turn on the heater, Sora, I'm immortal; I don't care what the temperature is."

He shook his head, giggling at me. It comforted me a little. "Look, my electric bill is high enough as it is. I rather add more layers of clothes."

Then his eyes changed saturation like he had a thought he was shy of. He walked over to his couch and stood in front of me, hands fidgeting together through the too-long sleeves of his sweater. I started to retract my legs to give him a place to sit, but he placed a hand on my knee. Hesitantly, and blushing, he slowly clambered onto me and laid his head against my chest. The book in my hand fell to the side and eventually on the floor, losing my page. His innocent, unsure face left me speechless, and my hands hovered over his frame, as if when I touched him he may shatter.

His face upturned to me, his chin resting on my sternum. "I can get off if you don't like it."

I frowned, my hands falling to his back to hold him there. "Please, don't."

His grin returned the warmth to the air I breathed. I held him for a moment, and he fiddled with my watch on my wrist. I tried in vain to ignore the brushes of his fingers against my skin.

"This thing is ancient," Sora said, looking at the leather latch.

"Yes, yes, it is," I critiqued the thing, "I keep telling them to go digital, but they never listen."

"You? Wanting the technology of the future?" Sora giggled, interlacing our fingers. I smiled despite his teasing.

"Hey, I have a question," I started, briefly indulging my nose to the scent of his freshly washed hair, leaving a chaste kiss. He glanced at me, encouraging me. "H-how did you know about me? Reapers?" I finally asked, holding my breath as if that would release the suspense.

He tensed on me, but gave me his full face, eyes bright and a little more tired than usual but still engaged. "I-it's a long story," he told me, "I won't get in trouble, will I?"

I laughed wholeheartedly at the notion. "Sora, if anyone is in trouble, it's me. I've broken a couple rules already."

His smile was sly, but still he critiqued me, "Ugh, you shouldn't do that for me. I'm literally on borrowed time, you could look out for yourself more."

I raised my eyebrows. "Your time is more precious than mine."

"Uh-uh, don't even go there. I don't care if you are a zombie, your time is priceless."

"Zombie?"

He rolled his eyes, and instead of answering he kissed me. I gave into the soft pressure of his lips easily, my grip just slightly tighter around him. When he pulled away, he looked to the side. "I-I'm actually a twin."

My ears perked in interest. In my short time of knowing him, he never mentioned family except my likeness to 'Uncle Seph'. He continued, "Roxas was sicker than me. It didn't help he took the phrase 'live fast, die young' seriously," he said, smiling small in remembrance. I tried to mask my surprise, but I had a hard time disconnecting Sora's Roxas from Reaper Roxas in my department due to their identical names.

"Anyway," he continued, "One time he really went too far and flat-lined on the way to the hospital." Sora spotted my grimace, poking my nose in response. "Don't worry, they brought him back. But because of that, he met a reaper." Sora giggled, and I just listened in shock. "Apparently, he was very apologetic that he let Roxas flat-line without reaping him. So, as repayment, Roxas got the reaper to come back a few times before he took Roxas on." Sora then looked a little sad. Losing a brother clearly took a toll on him. I rubbed his back consolingly, and he smiled gratefully.

"And, well, we're twins. We told each other everything that ever happened to each other. He told me about it, and warned me that when it was my time, a reaper would come for me, too. He told me not to be afraid."

His soft, full glance dismantled me. "Did he say who the reaper was?" I asked, though I already had a sure idea who would make such a blunder. To make it worse, he winked at me, a finger over his lips – identical to my other coworker, Kairi. "I can't tell you that! I was sworn to secrecy."

I exhaled a huff of a laugh, rolling my eyes. "Wow, you'd fit right in," I told him, thinking of my friends. I wondered how Axel pulled it off.

But the mischievous brunet took my attention back. "If only. Where do I apply for this reaper position?"

I chuckled; I wish I knew. "I honestly don't know. I'm just a regular agent."

"Ah yes, a regular agent that can teleport, can put me to sleep, has memory powers, and has the best se–" He stopped himself, turning tomato red. I couldn't stop my cocky smile.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing! I didn't say anything. Hey, hey, we should finish Stranger Things."

When Sora wasn't on my reaping roster for the next week, I thought I'd never feel an emotion again. Axel was right; because I let the Angel of Death rest on the wings of Sora's bright smile, I had completely failed him. He deserved a painless, quick death, but in my ignorance, curiosity, and self-indulgence I waited far too long to reap him. I knew that Sora must have been in pain the entire time, fighting with every ounce of energy he had to stay alive. And then he met me, and thought the fight was over, and was relieved. Except I did everything but provide that release.

The first couple days, Axel teased me, but my complete silence eventually forced him to leave me be. Then came Kairi, with comforting words I couldn't bear to hear. I dived headlong into my work, guilt and emotional agony consuming me. Despite the two hundred years of this occupation, I couldn't imagine a week without my visit to Sora. I abhorred my existence that lacked Netflix dates and critiques of my ancient, irrelevant morals and aesthetics. I dreaded Thursday. I couldn't even withstand conversation with Axel, who had Roxas to keep him company across the ages, who for all intents and purposes had an eternal love and an eternal existence to enjoy it. I had no way of knowing for sure if Roxas was Sora's Roxas, but my mind made the connection and latched on. Seeing Roxas became painful out of no fault of his own.

Two weeks flew by in this way, and I reaped heartlessly and indiscriminately. Though I couldn't be cruel, despite my pain, I was impatient, as if my haste could make up for the time that Sora lived in hidden anguish. It was like the Angel of Death had indeed been resurrected, though my friends dare not even utter the affectionate nickname.

My emotions, readily apparent and intense, eventually caught the attention of Ansem. The Friday of the second week of reapings without Sora, I was called to his office, and I went, completely uncaring of whatever punishment or chastisement he had in store. I supposed I was still a young reaper in comparison to many in their millennia, but I felt tired. I didn't understand how they could carry on with the weight of humanity on their shoulders so callously.

I sat in his office chair, his sad stare completely unnoticed by me. I said nothing, just bracing for whatever he had to say.

"Riku," he started, "I should apologize. I didn't realize the impact Sora Stride would have on you."

My body naturally flinched at his name, flashing images of the mortal flitting across my mind that made my immortal body ache. I found my voice in a flash of anger. "You said you trusted me with the case, yet you handed it off to someone else at the very end. How could you?" My articulation was foreign with rage. I had no one to blame the failure on but myself, and yet I couldn't help but resent that Sora's last moments weren't with me.

Infuriatingly, his eyebrows raised in amusement, as if I didn't understand something key. He chastised, "You broke many rules with Sora, but we will overlook it because he was very accepting and understanding when he was reaped."

Nausea hit like a tidal wave. I didn't want to hear this. I didn't want to accept he was gone. But Ansem continued, voice soft in consideration, "And, I thought this may happen Riku. You had a bond with Sora. You became the man I met two hundred years ago, again. So, I had Kairi intervene before it was too late."

Too late? I thought mournfully. I had not even an inkling as to what he could be referring to. As our conversations normally went, he was spinning me around riddles and I was just along for the ride, hands outstretched in the dark looking for the light. My only solace was that he sent Kairi, of whom I trusted more than anyone. If anyone were to give him a sweet, peaceful end, it would be her. I just wish I had gotten to say goodbye. But maybe that was selfish, too.

I stood, the wooden chair scraping across the floor as my emotions again threatened to overrun me. "Please, let me take my leave," I pleaded with him, my very soul feeling raw.

He looked on me with sympathy but shook his head. He stood slowly, and I oscillated between anger and sorrow. He finally said, picking up some papers from the table, "Not just yet. I have a special project for you, Riku."

I was able to restrain my mouth, but my eyes sent an icy glare, fury winning out. After all I'd done as a reaper, now was not the time to ask for a favor – but I didn't have the power to refuse. He walked to the door and I silently followed, seething every step. He gave a small, compassionate smile before he grabbed my shoulder and sent us somewhere with just a mutter under his breath. In my rage, it took several moments to even register the location.

But then my very first moments as a reaper came back to me, a nostalgic wave that swept me away. It was like from another dimension, another world, but it was the very same halls and atmosphere as the training facility for reapers. I turned to Ansem with wide eyes, starting to hope beyond all hope. He tilted his head in a direction for him to follow and I did with steady, determined feet.

We arrived at a pristine, white door, akin to a hospital's with a small window. Before Ansem moved to the side long enough for me to peer through, he finally spoke. "Riku, in Sora's last moments he adamantly requested to be a reaper. You know we are short staffed, especially our department, in these modern times." Though I had suspected it the moment we set foot in this place, I could hardly believe my ears. "And, so, he needs a mentor. Since Kairi reaped him, it's a conflict of interest as per the regulations, so we thought that you…"

It all came together in blinding clarity. "Yes," I said without skipping a beat, attempting to sound calm even as I felt my body warm, "I would be honored to train him. It's about time I had a protégé."

Ansem's smile was unbridled when he realized I understood. "I'm so proud. Just like I trained you, I know Sora will learn well under your guidance. You will get all the details later, but remember, this is a century commitment. Can you handle that?"

For a brief moment, I felt like a child again, nodding my head so furiously it would fall off if I were a bobble head. There was not a single thing I could think of that would make this better. He chuckled, continuing, "Shortly, you will be introduced to him. You met him briefly in his mortal life," he sent a very pointed glance, an indication that I was not to protest this statement, "but remember his memory has been wiped as per the protocol. Do not under any circumstances mention his cause of death, his reaper, or any other details of his life before."

I continued to nod, my undead heart beating unnaturally labored to expend the rush of energy I received. He put his hand on my shoulder again and I jumped, thinking he would teleport us again when I wanted nothing more than to greet Sora. But he didn't, laughing again, "Ah, youth. Anyway, again, Riku, good work on your recent cases. I've seen significant growth and I look forward to watching your future progress. I have other matters to attend to, but make sure to send Sora Stride my regard."

"Of course, sir."

And he disappeared, leaving me to the brunet animatedly chatting with the nurse checking his undead vessel. I could hear his voice through the door, a faint song that caused me to pause before I could walk in. My smile was too difficult to suppress.

I'd never admit to holding my breath when I went through the door. For someone who was so well acquainted to the finality of death, I looked at Sora like I had seen a ghost. But the expression disappeared as soon as it appeared when, the door clicking open, his blue orbs darted over to me and ignited in excitement.

My mind knew that he didn't know me, but my heart pounded at the stare. I felt alive again. Lost for words, I cleared my throat. He glanced at the nurse, a cheery blonde woman, who nodded and giggled. He leapt off the examination table and crossed the short distance to me.

Unaccustomed to this new energy in him, I think the surprise showed on my face, but Sora paid no mind to it. "Hey, are you Riku?"

The question finally set the gears in my mind in motion. My smile was relieved and genuine when I stuck my hand out. "Yes, I am. It's wonderful to meet you, Sora."

He shook the hand and giggled, mouth wording wonderful. "Who says that? Well, it's wonderful to meet you, too. Kairi said you would be by soon."

My smile was knowing, and I inwardly thanked the auburn-haired reaper from the bottom of my heart. I would fully embrace whatever teasing she had in store for me. "And here I am," I responded, and asked the nurse, "Is he…?"

She nodded, looking excited, "He is good to go! He seems quite anxious to learn our spells, but I told him to wait at least a week. Please make sure he does, Riku." I nodded, head tilted unsurprised at his eagerness.

"Aww, c'mon! I heard I could put people to sleep! And teleport!"

I raised an eyebrow at him. Then he stared off, puzzled, "Where did I hear that from…?" I shook my head, amazed at what was left in memory from our process. "Anyway, when do we start?"

Out of instinct I ruffled his hair. "We have all the time in the world, Sora. So, be patient." I grimaced when I realized what my hand had done, but Sora beamed.

"Nuh-uh, zombie or not, our time is precious! There's no time to waste!" He replied and looked at me, really looked at me, and I wondered just how much he had forgotten. His disposition of literal sunshine disarmed me even as a stranger again.

I looked to the nurse who was writing notes in the margins of Sora's file. I think she was fascinated with his insane recovery from death. I didn't have the heart to tell her that he likely wasn't but was powering through because that was what he did. "We're off, thank you for taking care of him," I told her. She nodded and waved.

"His next check-up is–"

"Hey, hey, where are we going first? Are we going to go reap? Am I going to get one of those ancient watches that everyone's wearing? I'm hungry. Can we go eat?" Sora started, cutting off the nurse by accident, but I nodded to her to indicate I heard. Then I turned to the brunet, heart full and so grateful for the life that returned to my existence of death.

"I could go for some pancakes. C'mon, there's some people you need to meet."

A/N: A super special thank you to AmbitiousSkychild for pre-reading and boosting my confidence and being the sweetest! If you haven't, please hop on over to her page and read her Soriku, it's amazing!

Edit: I am submitting this for a contest thing so I made the beginning a little less rushed and tried to fix any errors and streamline the vocabulary to fit Riku's voice in this fic. (3/31/18)

Thank you so much for reading! My tumblr: kaiserin-astraia, or astraia-writes