How do you explain that the reason you couldn't stop staring at a mysterious stranger who just showed up is because you've been utterly infatuated with them for over a year? Simple: you don't. You clam up and don't ever mention it, because being in love with someone you've never even met is ridiculous enough—and then if, for all intents and purposes, said stranger has always been thought by you to be a fictional character? Forget it.

Class was over and Marx and I were heading back to town together when I decided to ask him about it, leaving out the part about the embarrassing year-long infatuation. He told me that, like the existence of Grim Reapers, many other things written in Black Butler were true. That while he didn't know exactly what she was if not human, Yana Toboso had a long enough lifespan that she had personally witnessed many of the events in the story. That most of the characters—like William—were real people she'd met.

"That makes sense," I eventually said. "Why's he up here, though? I thought he worked in London."

"Eh... It's kind of a long story," he answered, as we walked through the last set of double doors. "From what I can piece together, he's been helping out in another division and has to move around a lot as a result. No word on whether someone fills in for him when he's gone, or what it is he's working on."

"Forensics, maybe?"

"Who knows? I mean, even that usually keeps you in the same general area. I'd actually ask him myself, but... he's not much of a people person, if you get what I'm saying."

"It can't be that bad."

"Yeah, maybe I'm just too big of a wuss," he said, grinning. "By all means, knock yourself out. One dollar says you won't do it. Oh, and—" Marx paused. "Do you have a phone?"

I blinked. "Uh, no?"

"Oh, that's perfect. Meet me tomorrow. I'll have a surprise."

With that, he stepped through the gate, leaving me to stare blankly after him as he vanished into the forest on the other side. I took a few moments to consider what he said about William. I couldn't talk to him. Social anxiety, the fact that I was crushing hardcore, and the fact that he'd likely just yell at me if I tried to strike up a conversation would just render any and all efforts completely useless. And my logic was, if I couldn't do something, I wouldn't.

So, I headed home, quickly changed into my regular clothes before my parents noticed I was in the house, and curled up in front of the fireplace next to Topsy, the little Shih Tzu who lived with us. That lasted for about a minute before she suddenly woke up and just... stared at me, and then immediately after, stood up and sat back down several metres away from me. And continued staring.

"Not you too?"

She cocked her head slightly.

"I'm so sick," I mumbled into my sleeves. "Everyone's acting like I'm a murderer or something."

A whine; that was when I thought, Sorry. You're giving off these vibes. It's creeping me out.

"Me too, buddy. Me too." I chuckled weakly before whipping my head back up to look at her. "Wait wait wait. Did you just talk?"

Yeah, why? went my mind. It was like speaking with someone, where you just knew what they were saying, heard it somewhere in your subconscious.

"Oh. Oh, right. Pigeons. William. Cool. This is fine." For someone who just discovered they could talk to animals, I was taking it pretty well. At least, a lot better than when I'd discovered I was a death god. I sighed. "Man, eight years... You probably have a lot to say, huh?"

She let out a sound that vaguely registered in my mind the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

"So, what does your food taste like?"

O O O

I came in late the next day, so if Marx had been planning to give me whatever it was before class, well, that wasn't gonna happen.

Elliot's hangover got the better of him within ten minutes and he was passed out for the rest of the lesson, so there thankfully wasn't any fighting, and my mood was already more than good enough to focus, making that day's work a breeze.

After everyone had left the room, Marx called me over and pulled out something that looked just like a regular smartphone. He then flashed me a grin and turned it on, and the black slowly faded, leaving only crystal-clear glass save for a thin strip on the top and bottom where the hardware was probably held.

"... Dude."

"Impressive, yeah? And if you don't want people seeing your nudes or something, there's a stealth mode which turns everything opaque again. It's also waterproof, scratchproof, and shatterproof as long as you're not going out of your way to break it, and compatible with virtually everything that can utilize Wi-Fi—and we get free service. Enjoy."

"Oh, this is awesome," I breathed, taking it from his hands; Marx also handed me a charger. "I forgot all about that. Future technology, right?"

"Yep. Though there wasn't much to improve as far as phones go, so you'll find this pretty similar to the ones available right now. I mean, y'know, besides the kickass holographic keyboard—"

"Dude."

"... with extremely powerful particle-detecting technology that allows it to be projected pretty much anywhere that isn't a vacuum..."

I opened up the note-taking up and looked around, and found an icon that was several rectangles layered onto each other to give off a 3D effect. I tapped it and grinned as the onscreen keyboard vanished for a second and then materialized about an inch in front of the phone. One button—well, a holographic button—moved it around to any of the phone's four sides, while another changed its size, and another the opacity and colour of the projection.

"This is sick," I said, testing it out with a bunch of gibberish.

"Glad you think so. I also went ahead and added my number to your contacts," he continued with a chuckle.

"'Groucho'?" I burst out laughing. "That's amazing. Anyway, thanks."

"No problem, kiddo. See you tomorrow."

I headed home and after finishing my homework sometime in the evening, I took out my phone again and started messing around with the settings; added a heavy metal ringtone, changed the wallpaper and default keyboard colour, that kind of stuff. And after that, I decided to ask Marx something that'd been on my mind for days, at the very least as a way to continue exploring all the features.

You said - Today at 6:32 PM

marx

You said - Today at 6:32 PM

are you there

Groucho said – Today at 6:34 PM

What's up?

You said – Today at 6:35 PM

what do you do if you have to reap a bunch of souls in a really short amount of time

Groucho said – Today at 6:37 PM

I've done that before, you change your body's flow of time and make yourself move faster relative to everything else

You said – Today at 6:40 PM

sweet, what happens if someone else tries to interact with you

Groucho said – Today at 6:45 PM

Depends.

Groucho said – Today at 6:47 PM

Mortals can't do anything, you'd be too fast for them

Groucho said – Today at 6:47 PM

Reapers would automatically speed up as a defense mechanism

You said – Today at 6:48 PM

yeah makes sense

You said – Today at 6:48 PM

especially the automatic shifting, there'd be a risk of foul play between reapers without it

Groucho said: Today at 6:49 PM

Yep. I'm sure you know some people who'd happily abuse that power if it weren't the case.

You said – Today at 6:53 PM

:/

You said – Today at 6:54 PM

thanks for the info

I sighed and tossed the phone onto my nightstand. Maybe it'd be useful for extra time on tests, or if I was running late for something. Could I keep a little kid from dying? That... No, Reapers can't interfere with human lives...

I didn't even have time to fall into another pit of despair before I straight-up passed out—no dinner, no brushing my teeth, nothing.

At least my insomnia was getting better.

O O O

You never really notice just how often people die until it's all you can do.

I thought I must've jinxed it back when I told myself how lucky I was that that it wasn't worse, that I could only foretell deaths if I was connected to the person in some way. Maybe it was just a placebo. Maybe my brain was trying to convince me that I didn't know these people. I tried to believe that was the case, but when a girl who moved here with her parents for the first time in her life—a girl whom I had absolutely no way of knowing personally—showed up in my dreams, showed up at my school a whole day later, I realized it was impossible.

She was a beautiful, tawny-skinned girl with bright blue eyes and a scar along one of her eyebrows, and in the dream, and she was walking alone in a forest. It was a dark, cloudless night, and through the faint light of the moon, I saw that she had a rope and knife in hand. I followed her for what felt like hours, just a set of invisible eyes floating nearby, until she stopped. The dream was starting to break apart at that point, but I managed to catch the end: a still of her dangling from a branch, blood dripping down from her arms. It kept coming in thick, red waves, flooding the hills and dragging me under. My own screams were the last thing I heard before my eyes snapped open and I found myself staring at my bedroom ceiling, horrified.

It was certainly more surreal than the visions I had while awake, but the message was just as clear. She was going to commit suicide, try to end her pain only to find herself in something so much worse.

I wasn't going to let her.

O O O

Socially awkward as I was, befriending her—hell, just walking up to her—was a challenge, but I eventually managed, and even got her cell number. It was a start.

We talked during passing periods, about things like our favourite colours, and how our days were going. About things we liked to do. For the longest time, it felt forced, fake, nothing at all like a friendship, but I was so desperate that even this was enough. I wanted her to be okay. So frequently I'd talk about things I'd show her tomorrow, or ask her to meet me at the end of school—just to give her a reason to live a little longer. Laura never mentioned anything about a low mood to me, but I knew better. Hell, sometimes I could feel remnants of that dark aura nearby, little pieces of death begging to overtake her, and I was scared. I didn't try to deny it.

Just to be clear, I don't condone stalking of any sort, but it wasn't long before my paranoia ended up getting the best of me, and so I often spent entire hours following Laura after school, under a mask of invisibility, to make sure she was still alive. I couldn't imagine would happen if someone somehow found it. The visions were disgusting as ever, and each time I saw them, they only strengthened my resolve to keep her safe. Sometimes they were only tiny snippets, like an image of her corpse or a dark forest, and other times, they were like entire movies in my head, but regardless of their form, they were always lurid enough to keep me going.

Weeks passed like that and one of the more unfortunate things I noticed was that my grades were slipping again; at the same time, I continued to get compliments on my skills back in my Reaper life, things like how I seemed to instinctively know things before I'd even learned them, how I was like a duck in water with a Death Scythe. But Laura was still thankfully good and well, and the visions were becoming more and more cryptic, to the point where they eventually faded away completely. So, slowly but surely, I ended up dropping my guard. Bad move.

It was a miserably cold day in November, and I was prepared for another regular, slow crawl at school, but when I showed up, I almost instantly noticed that Laura wasn't there. More specifically, I couldn't detect her soul's energy, a method which I had started making use of to track her—some part of my mind would sense her individual wavelengths, and it would tell me if she'd been in the area recently. Unfathomable as it was to me, I found it useful, and that was good enough.

Now, I wouldn't have thought much of it, but it was nearly 9:30, and she, unlike me, was virtually never late, so I was immediately worried. More so when I tried to call her and got no response. I stared at the screen, heartbeat picking up. No, she could've overslept, or maybe her car wouldn't start. That had to be it. That's what I told myself, but the denial I felt was so vicious that I knew it wasn't the case.

I trusted my instincts and quickly left in search of her, wasting no time on signing out at the office. I went back and forth through town, growing more panicked with each second as I realized I still couldn't find her. I looked practically everywhere, even teleporting onto rooftops to try and spot her from a distance, to no avail. I wasn't even sure if I had remembered to switch to invisibility, but at that point, I didn't care. Finding Laura was all that mattered.

That's when I felt a trace of energy down the road, so scarce I could've completely missed it just as easily. I stared for a moment, part of me still in disbelief, before quickly following it. Eventually, I ended up at an apartment in the middle of the downtown area. It wasn't until I noticed a sitting figure on the edge of the roof that I suddenly remembered this was also the tallest building in town, and that meant—

Shit.

I immediately headed up, and upon arriving, was met with the most absolutely dead-eyed look I'd ever seen, belonging to none other than Laura. If I could still get heart attacks, I would have.

"What are you doing here?" she slurred out.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You're on top of a six-storey fucking building in the middle of school!"

She said nothing, only slowly turned her gaze back to the cars zipping around below. Several minutes went by before she finally stood up. The sight alone was enough to trigger that dark sense of foreboding, and only then did I fully realize the gravity of the situation. If it was setting off my clairvoyance...

"I have a good reason," she eventually let out, fiddling weakly with her blouse.

"Damn it, Laura, just listen to me!" The fear I felt was so strong I could barely breathe, barely even speak, but I forced myself to continue. "Good reason or not, I can tell you that you're making a mistake. I've been there too, and I know this is going to sound like bullshit, but anything is better than what comes after. Please, please don't do it."

"How would you know?"

"It doesn't matter," I cried, inching closer to her. "Laura, I'm begging you. Get the fuck away from that ledge."

"Make me." Both heels were dangling so far over the drop that it made me sick to my stomach. It felt like she was going to fall any second.

Time manipulation. I tried to speed up, tried to make myself quick enough to just walk over and carry her back, but it wasn't working. Of fucking course. "Laura—Please! Please, please," I repeated, tears flooding my eyes in a sudden burst of emotion. Words couldn't describe my panic. "Laura, I deal with these kinds of thoughts every single day and I understand. We can talk about this. Just please, don't fucking do it!"

"It's too late," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

And she tipped right over the edge.

"No," I breathed, eyes widening. "No! Fucking—"

I warped after her, hoping to catch her in midair, but she was face-down on the ground before I knew it, her head making a horrifying sound as it hit the concrete. I crashed beside her with a yelp and immediately sat up, so quickly I nearly fell over again. The coppery scent was more overwhelming than I'd ever imagined it could be and the sight made me throw up in my mouth. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wasn't—

"Laura, wake up. Laura," I screamed, "Laura!"

It wasn't long before we were noticed, and there was a crowd around us within seconds. Shorter still was the time it took for an ambulance to materialize. A fucking ambulance. Did they think it was possible to save someone whose brain was spilled out? Someone who—oh, fuck. I couldn't feel her anywhere. Her soul was gone.

I lost it. I think I even blacked out for a bit, probably still hysterically crying.

"Young lady—young lady, are you okay?"

Fuck, I wasn't okay. I couldn't have been any further from okay. People I'd never met in my life were trying to talk me out of blaming myself, trying to convince me it wasn't my fault—didn't even know what the fuck had been going on for a month or why I needed so badly to keep her alive, and yet, they still kept at it. Bastards.

I failed. Nothing could change that.

O O O

"Marx!" I yelled, catching sight of him down the hall. "Stop, please. Have you seen a Laura Aldrich anywhere?"

"What? Why?"

"She's a friend, she just killed herself in front of my eyes. I'm seriously—I'm freaking out. Tell me where she is!"

He fell silent, as if taking in my sentence, before eventually answering, "If that's what happened, she might be in the garden. The one by the gates. Must be recent if no one else has been called down yet..."

"Thanks," I said, and immediately turned and bolted.

It was a straight shot from the doors, so I didn't have to worry about running into anything and managed to sprint the rest of the way, through the alleys, down the cobblestone path, and—

There she was.

She had on the most generic clothes I'd ever seen, just a matching set of grey shirt and shorts for the sake of covering her skin, and was sitting against the fountain, feet in the flowers and limy eyes filled with a dull gloom. A series of pale scars ran across the entire left side of her face, completely covering the one that had been on her eyebrow and stopping just below her jawline. Just looking at them made me want to cry.

"Laura," I slowly let out, walking over and sitting next to her. "Why didn't you listen?"

She blinked owlishly. "Johan? Is that you? I don't have my glasses yet."

"Tell me what happened. Please."

"What happened..." She drew a deep breath. "When I hit the ground, it felt like I blacked out for a split second, and when I woke up, I was in this place that was—it looked like outer space. I was standing naked on these blue checkered tiles that stretched out into infinity. You could see all the stars in the world reflected on them. It was beautiful. Then this man walked over. Everything about him was pitch-black, and his hair must've been ten times as long as mine," she exclaimed, pointing to the dark brown hair draped over her shoulders. "And his eyes..."

"His eyes?"

"They were just like yours, Johan. Bright green, almost glowing." Laura paused, staring blankly in front of her. She didn't even look conscious. "He told me he was Death. He was so sad. He asked why I did it, and I said I don't know."

"You were sick of the pain. That's why we're here, isn't it?" That's why you're here, at least, I thought grimly.

She nodded. "But you... All this time, when you were at school—it makes no sense. I don't understand."

"Sorry," I began, thankful she couldn't see the shame worming its way into my cheeks. "It's a long story. I really don't want to explain right now."

"Okay," she eventually sighed. "How long do I have to do this for?"

"It's different for everyone. It depends on things like how bad your life was, and how easy it would've been to change it, and how much would've been left for you if you didn't... if you didn't kill yourself. It could be anywhere from a couple hundred years to a thousand. Maybe more." Did Marx tell me that?

She choked out a sob at that. "Oh my God. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright." It wasn't. I felt horrible, disgusted with myself for not being able to stop her. I failed, and I'd be forced to see the reminder every day when I walked through those doors and greeted her. "We'll get through this together."

It was a while before I managed to get up and lead her back into the building, where she received the same basic, round glasses that I had a few months ago. The clothes felt a little like a neon sign above her head, saying "Look at me! I just killed myself!" and nearly everyone we passed stopped to stare, but they thankfully didn't interfere any more than that. When Marx saw us, he immediately ran up, eyes wide.

"This is Laura?"

I gave a bleak nod.

Laura said nothing, only slowly reached over to shake his hand. I could tell he was trying hard not to look at the scar on her face.

"This must be so overwhelming, you—I can show you around if you'd like, to familiarize yourself with the place? Or maybe get you something to drink..."

She shook her head. "I'm not thirsty. Johan, do you wanna come?"

I stopped to think for a moment, before sighing and saying, "Sure. Lead the way, Marx."

O O O

When I saw her the next day, Laura had on an all-black outfit consisting of a blazer, knee-length dress, and Mary Janes. She looked fit for a funeral.

She was placed in a small group of people who'd died in the past week. That is, her, a miserable-looking boy who didn't seem to have even started puberty yet, a pale man with a scruffy brown beard, and a young woman whose ears had more piercings than I could count—Alexander, Liam, and Dana. I was quick to notice that every one of them had a highly visible scar from their suicide; Laura, with the jagged lines that snaked over her face and left her with a small bald spot near her left ear, Alexander, with a similarly hairless bullet's exit hole on his right temple, Liam, with something that looked horribly like a tear on part of his neck from a too-high drop while hanging, and Dana, who had a series of pockmarks on her face which I imagined were from a shotgun or something of that sort. I looked away, nauseous.

"Okay, see that guy?" I said to Laura, trying to distract myself. "That's Elliot, our resident alcoholic and giant pain in the ass. Stay away from him."

"Um, alright."

"I heard that!" he yelled.

"Yeah, well, maybe if you didn't act like such a little shit all the time, I wouldn't have to warn people about you!" I shot back.

"Screw you!"

"Screw you!"

"Johan, stop," Laura cut in. "Just leave him."

"Ugh." My eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm hoping you got my drift."

Just then, Dana walked over, asking, "Laura, you coming?"

"I... Yeah. Johan, I have to go now."

"Wait," I said, a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, I know things are pretty bad right now, but you'll be okay. We will get through this together. Don't forget that."

She smiled weakly. "I won't."

O O O

Laura's funeral was held the week after, in the cemetery's outskirts. I personally found it strange to want to witness your own burial, but I could see the appeal. We went together and huddled near the edge of the small crowd gathered around her coffin, which had been covered in tiny flowers and stained a beautiful deep purple. Her favourite colour, she'd once told me in a flurry of late-night texts. Everything was a cruel reminder of what had gone down, what I had the power to stop, but even then, I couldn't tear my eyes away from it all, with some masochistic part of me relishing the guilt it brought. Or maybe that was the depression speaking. It didn't matter.

"They can't see us?" Laura half-asked.

"Nope. Not you, at least," I added. "I'm not really sure what it is about humans, but they have a really hard time detecting the supernatural. Then you have little kids and other animals who can see all kinds of things, like ghosts, and demons, and fairies... Maybe it's a logic and reasoning thing? They just convince themselves that we don't exist, to the point where they can't see us. Almost like hysterical blindness in a way."

"Maybe." She paused. "But wait, they can see you?"

"Yeah, you can make it so that you're more visible, and vice versa. It, uh... takes a while to figure out."

She nodded. "What about people who are close to death?"

"Definitely. Whether it's that person who's going to die soon, or if they just hang around others like that a lot, like if they work in a hospital, that definitely makes them more perceptive too."

I thought I saw her eyebrows raise at that, but even if I had, they were down just as quickly.

We walked around for a bit, looking to see who had come and sneaking food off tables. Things quieted down after a while and I heard the minister start speaking. Generic stuff like how this person was taken from us too early, how she would hopefully find peace in Heaven, et cetera, et cetera. He had an obnoxiously cheery way of saying it all that just made me feel even worse, and I wanted badly to leave, but Laura seemed to want me to stay with her, so I tried not to let it overcome me.

"All of these people," she slowly let out, as we listened to eulogies. "Why..."

I glanced at her, a weak smile on my face. "Don't you understand? You were never unloved."

The next voice was loud enough to be heard from where we were: "Laura, thanks for being my friend in kindergarten."

"Oh, that's—Thomas!" Her eyes widened, and she immediately ran, stopping in front of a lanky, blond boy clutching a single yellow rose; I quickly followed. "Jesus, we haven't talked in years," she murmured, voice shaking. "I didn't even remember him until now."

I didn't say anything.

It wasn't long before the whole funeral part was over, and we were trailing awkwardly behind the pallbearers, me still a nervous wreck, and Laura still a bizarrely interested ball of wonder. Where had all that gloom from last week gone? I was so out of it that I barely even felt my legs moving, like I was completely weightless, and I expected to just fall over at some point, but it never happened. The burial itself was as much a blur as the trip. All that really stuck with me was the smell of fresh soil over the grave.

Laura headed back to the Grim dimension after I showed her the way, confessing to me in front of the gate that she wasn't even Catholic enough for the kind of funeral she'd just had, and I laughed. I laughed until I cried. I wasn't particularly religious myself, only believing in little snippets of things like an afterlife and souls (both a no-brainer at this point), never really conforming to anything. So we both liked purple and we both weren't much for organized religion. At least we had more in common than just an embarrassing amount of cynicism injected into our personalities.

I sat there for a while, curled up in the now wilting dandelions in front of the gate. Maybe part of me expected someone to show up, tell me something I wanted to hear. That I really couldn't have prevented Laura's death and it wasn't my fault, that I was going to live to reach the light at the end of the tunnel, that—hell, I don't know, that William, who had never even spoken to me before, didn't even know who I was, secretly harboured some sort of attraction for me. Probably not. I sighed and got up, and awkwardly dropped into my third period class, with no pencils, no books, no nothing. I couldn't find it in me to care.

"Sorry I'm late," I muttered, closing the door behind me and collapsing into an empty seat. "I was at a funeral."

"Wow, I never would have been able to tell!" someone called out. I guess they were referring to my suit, which I hadn't bothered changing out of before coming.

"It was my best friend, asshole. Maybe take a moment to stop being such an insensitive fuck before saying something, huh?"

That shut them up.

That day, we were working on—of all things, human biology. I was more than a little sick of it by now, and then there was the fact that I had already completely memorized everything weeks earlier, and the fact that Grim Reapers were apparently much more knowledgeable on the topic, even more than the few dozen scientists who'd written the books. Anyway, it took a lot out of me to not walk up and slap my teacher for teaching inaccurate info.

I got bored halfway through and semi-stealthily messed around with my abilities for the remainder of class, trying to get the whole time manipulation thing to work. I managed to speed myself up enough to keep a pencil in the air for a few seconds, but that was it. No way would it be enough to prevent a suicide.

The bell rang and I was getting ready to leave when I was suddenly stopped. David 'Cunty' McFuckwit, once again.

"What do you want?"

"You pushed her, didn't you?"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Laura, that Grade 10 kid who died last week—you pushed her, didn't you? Fucking creep. First you go reading about souls in class and now—"

I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards me. "Listen. I don't know what you've heard, but I didn't push her. You know what I did? I tried to save her. I tried to keep her from jumping. The paramedics had to give me an Ativan, that's how hysterical I was after I failed. I blame myself for her death every single day; since last week, my parents have never seen me more depressed in my life. And you think I fucking pushed her?"

He didn't say anything.

"You really are deserving of your name," I growled, releasing him.

I was gone before he could follow me.

O O O

"... and each Grim Reaper has access to their own personal pocket dimension, used for storage of items such as Death Scythes, assignments, and anything else as desired. There's not much of a limit as far as space is concerned, but generally, only what you can lift by yourself can be placed. So no tossing in bulldozers or something," Marx finished, chuckling.

I raised my hand.

"Johan?"

"What about humans?"

"Um, I'm... not really sure. Maybe just don't try to kidnap people?"

I sighed and muttered an "Okay."

"Then, that wraps up today's lessons. I'll see you all tomorrow."

Elliot was still in his favourite chair after everyone left, messing around on his phone. I sauntered over, eyebrow raised slightly. "So, uh... I hear you're in charge of a pretty big group of deaths happening soon."

"Yep." He didn't look up.

"Sounds intense."

"Very."

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for that?"

"Yeah, gimme a second," he said, still tapping away at his phone. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

A second passed. Then another. And then he received an image, and my face flew into fifty shades of red almost instantly. He just grinned.

"Elliot, for fuck's sake. Stop sexting and go do something actually productive, will you?"

He put up a middle finger in front of his face and continued typing with his other hand. I just sighed and left.

Was I ever glad I had a winter coat over my suit, because when I got home, my parents were waiting in the living room. I put my things on the counter and turned to look at them again.

"What's going on?" I asked in Bulgarian.

Dad cleared his throat nervously. "How have you been feeling lately?"

"What? Um, I don't know, okay? Why?"

"How would you feel about seeing a therapist?" Mom.

I blinked. Oh boy. See, if I was just another teenager, therapy would probably work great—but no, I was a mythical death god, switched at birth and somehow dragged into a mythical death god school, and dealing with the weight of knowing when everyone I loved was going to die. How does a regular, human therapist help you with that?

I agreed anyway.

"I'll ask tomorrow about getting you someone," Dad said. "Though it might take a while to get everything set up."

I nodded, and grabbed my bag and headed to my room, where I spent the rest of the evening going over the packet of funeral etiquette I'd printed off shortly after Laura's death. I figured I'd have to memorize it sooner or later.

O O O

Another several weeks passed and before I knew it, I had a fast-approaching date for an appointment. That and it was Christmas. I wasn't sure why I came in that day, when I could've just stayed home and slept in to little consequence. Maybe it was boredom. In any case, it was a good thing I did, because when Marx showed up, he was carrying a thick black turtleneck that he said was for me.

"How'd you know I'd like this?"

He shrugged. "I didn't. Lucky guess. You're size small, right?"

"Yeah," I answered, slipping off my jacket for a moment to put the sweater on underneath. I glanced down and grinned. "Jeez, I forgot to get you something."

"Don't sweat it. Oh, and Allison brought cookies. A lot of cookies." He pointed to where she was standing, talking with several others and holding an open box full of cookies—chocolate chip, gingerbread, and sugar, upon closer inspection.

"I didn't know you baked," I said, grabbing a gingerbread.

She shrugged. "It's a hobby."

"And they're still warm." I took a bite. "Are these fresh?"

"Yep! I made the dough yesterday and baked them just this morning. And hardly anyone's had any yet, so you can still get the best ones." She gave a grin.

"Hardly anyone..." My eyes widened slightly. "I can have more than one, right?"

"Mhm."

I rushed over to the tableware cabinet and grabbed a plate, along with one cookie of each kind. "Thank you!" I yelled, and headed off down the hall.

Nameplates, nameplates, nameplates. I eyed each door closely as I passed it, until I found what I was looking for. I glanced down at the plate and my hands, then back up. Deep breaths. I knocked.

A moment passed before the door opened, and William popped his head out, admittedly looking a little annoyed, I guess that I'd dragged him out of whatever he was doing just then.

"Um... M-merry Christmas," I let out, smiling weakly.

Part of me was expecting another awkward silence, like the kind I triggered every eight out of ten times I talked to someone, or even a door-slam-in-the-face, but neither came. "Thank you," he said, taking the plate. There was a pause. "What's your name?"

"J-Johannes. Though most people just shorten it..."

"It's nice to meet you, Johannes. Merry Christmas."