Ally

Introduction

The name is Ally and I post fanfiction about visual novels. I'm currently 21 years old and aside from writing I have my hands full with two permanent rescue dogs and multiple rescues that I'm rehoming (number and species is always different).

Requests

I am not opposed to requests and if you have anything you always wanted a fanfiction about, don't hesitate to request it!

About my writing

My writing is not and will never be Ai generated. The only thing you will find on this page is my own flawed, handwritten fanfiction.

These will mostly be one shots because the last long fanfiction I attempted to write pushed me into a writing block that lasted two whole years, which I do not intend to return to.

There will possibly be some nsfw along the way, which will also be tagged in the notes.

You were sitting inside your office, going over some paperwork before your next client. The last days had breezed past you, your memory reduced to a blur of faces and diagnoses. A breath entered your lungs, exhaled with a sigh when you realized who your next client was.

"Ronin Beaufort."

The dull sound of your voice was just loud enough to call the, no doubt waiting, man. You wished that you didn't have to. He marched into your office like he wasn't in a prison, letting himself fall into the chair across from you with a roll of those dark brown eyes that you've come to know in the three years that you had spent being his therapist. There were many more to come without a doubt.

"Well you look awfully excited to see me, don't ya?"

You had to actively try not to roll your eyes back at him, reminding yourself that he wasn't just a friend coming by to annoy you, but a convicted serial killer and you were his therapist, obligated to stay within your professional boundaries. Snapping back at him would not help the situation either way.

"Tea?"

You asked, standing as you made your way over to the water kettle. Tea was a privilege that you had to fight the warden for back when you first started working here. You found that it helped the people in your chair to open up if they felt more normal, and the tea did exactly that. It gave them a feeling of familiar warmth. Most of your clients needed that, to defrost, so to say. Ronin on the other hand had always been too eager to talk about anything at all. Well, aside from his actual issues.

"Course, darlin'."

For once you were glad to have your back to a criminal. The flicker of annoyance on your features was hidden from view. You were long past trying to teach him that those sorts of nicknames were inappropriate in this setting.

The water was hot by the time that you had poured it into the two mugs, another thing you had fought for. Dangerous, because of course it was, but most of the people here were not necessarily violent people. Dealers and people who had fallen on hard times and reacted the way a cornered animal would. Ronin was not one of those. Hurt? Of course he was, but not cornered. You had learned in those years that he was in control whenever he wanted to be.

"There you go."

You slid one of the mugs over to Ronin, the other placed in front of yourself. The warmth of the liquid soothed you as you took a sip of it, playing pretend that this was just a normal conversation. It was what worked best for him. These sessions resulted in nothing most of the time, unless deflection and switching subjects counted as something. In that case they were effective.

When he made no move to speak, you spoke once more, a practiced smile making its way onto your lips.

"What brings you in today? Anything in particular you want to talk about?"

The words were easy for you, nice and steady in the way that they should be. You had said them so many times that it felt like a habit by now. You were on edge though. Ronin wasn't your everyday client and with him, you always had to expect some quip or remark. He had a way of turning your words back to you, to pry for more information when the conversation was actually about him. It was delicate to navigate, but you had spent years learning and you were prepared to handle him.

"Just here to check in on ya."

Ronin's words were a harsh purr, but you didn't let it get to you. He had leaned back in his seat, swirling the tea in his mug, although his eyes never left yours. There was something different about him, a hint of something that you had not yet learned to place. Deciding to keep an eye on it for now, you turned the conversation back to him.

"There is no need for that, but how do you feel today? These sessions aren't mandatory, so there must be something."

The question was dry even to your own ears and Ronin looked, well, almost bored. That however did not matter, he was not supposed to like you, he was supposed to open up to you. Now that you thought about it, people usually opened up better in relationships that were mutual. This one was not, that much was obvious, yet you decided to give him an inch. After all, you had to make some progress with him somehow.

"Would you like to talk about something that is bothering you? You know that I am here to help."

Ronin's gaze remained on you as he took another sip of his tea, a glint in his eyes that reminded you just in time who you were talking to. He would make you regret that inch, that much was certain. The only question was if this time he would crack just a little. You prayed he would.

"Sure you are, but will ya be able to take honesty, darlin'? Think you're strong enough?"

You were ecstatic, an emotion you were thankfully careful not to betray to him. He was actually about to say something for once. A breakthrough, although it was one you could only achieve by playing his game. Some clients need that, someone to play into whatever their mind saw the world like. To Ronin, it was a twisted game that no one but him was allowed to win. In all your thinking, you had forgotten something crucial though. You were already three steps ahead in your thoughts; if you leaned into this just a bit more, maybe you could-

The mug hit the ground with a crack, porcelain shattering against concrete.

Time seemed to stand still as you watched it break, your eyes drawn to the sound on instinct.

Fuck.

A breath later, a measured one to make sure the surge of adrenaline in your body didn't show, you were crouching down to pick up the pieces of the now broken mug. It was fine. In three years, Ronin had never done anything to you. His attempts to turn therapy into casual conversation excluded, he'd been a model inmate. He wouldn't hurt you. Would he?

Now that you thought about it, you noticed that the room had fallen into silence. The only sound that reached your ears were your nails scraping against the floor as your hands picked up the pieces of your mishap.

You had done the one thing you were not supposed to do. You'd taken your eyes off of him. It was a mistake you hastened to correct, but when you looked up, you found his chair empty, his own mug discarded on the table, steam still rising from it.

Standing felt like the only logical thing. It would be easier to run that way, to press the button hidden on the bottom side of your desk that told the guards that there was an emergency, that you needed help. You only realized that it was too late when a hand landed on your shoulder.

Ronin turned you around with it, a motion that felt way too easy, like you were putty in his grasp. You felt your stomach drop, bile rising in your throat as if your body was protesting against the simple notion of it all. Not because he was hurting you. What unsettled you was that he had not done that. Not yet.

His free hand settled on your waist. His expression was so casual that you assumed that standing so close made perfect sense to him. Finally, you looked up far enough, into dark brown eyes that had caught your glance before you were given a single chance to grasp the situation.

"Careful, darlin'. Turning your back to a killer isn't smart, you know better."

He was scolding you. He was actually scolding you, the self-satisfied smirk on his lips too small for how much weight it carried. He looked. No? Did he? He looked disappointed. Like you had just committed a grave sin and he expected better of you. The irony of a serial killer scolding you about safety precautions was lost on you. His hands were warm, his hold on you gentle in a way that you had not accounted for.

You had a plan for violence, for force, but this? You did not know what to do with this. You shook your head, reminding yourself that you had to get out of this unharmed somehow. You had to get out of this without losing your job too, but that was a concern meant for a version of reality in which you survived this, which was still not certain.

"This- this is not appropriate. Let me go."

That earned you a chuckle, a deep sound that went straight through you, sending a chill down your body. Were you numb or feeling too much at once? You couldn't decide. Then again, you had time to figure it out later, or at least you hoped you did. You held his gaze, not backing down at the playful way he watched you. He was toying with you. Of course he was. He spoke before you had the chance to break free by yourself.

"You really think I'm going to let you down easy?

He paused. The silence stretching endlessly in the space of those few seconds.

"Say please."

Each word he said was a taunt, goosebumps rising on your skin with each syllable. When he kept on speaking, his tone dropped once more, turning into something you liked even less. You had read his file, knew how he was raised, knew what he had done. Your body was telling you to flee, to run, to call for help, but you knew better. It was a gamble, one you had to take to get out of this situation, one you would have liked to avoid.

Thinking was getting harder and harder, considering the fact that he was standing so close to you that each breath he took fanned over your face. Something he did on purpose, according to the way his eyebrows raised when you tried and failed to back away once more. You had no choice, that much was obvious, so you swallowed your pride, the word reluctantly slipping out of your mouth.

"Please."

He was laughing now, plain and bright as daylight itself. You were unsure if it was your tone, the slight delinquent hiss in it, or the mere fact that you had given in to him that delighted him so much. He took his time, but eventually he dropped his hands from you, fingertips grazing your hip and your neck in the process, resulting in a full-body shiver that you failed to conceal.

You started walking before your mind had thought the idea through. It was protocol, pure and unaltered autopilot. If there was anything out of the ordinary, press the button. The process drilled into your mind by hours upon hours of practice.

Your steps were uncertain at first, but when you were at a distance you deemed proper, they became quicker, fueled by the panic that lingered in the very marrow of your bones. You still allowed yourself a small sigh, relief flooding your system.

You had gotten out of one and, although you did not know that yet, navigated yourself right into the next crisis of the day. It was your second mistake of the day. Your hand pushed itself under the desk, fingers splaying on the wood, searching for purchase, for that godforsaken button. You couldn't find it.

Through all of it, you kept your eyes on Ronin, who was standing in the middle of the room. He had not moved an inch, hands resting in his pockets. His audacity never failed to unsettle you.

It allowed you to find it though, or at least it would have if you had been capable of doing so. Wood. Screws. Dust. You must have looked ridiculous, eyes wide as you realized that you could not reach it from where you were standing, and wider yet when you realized that Ronin had moved.

You took a step backwards, but the only thing your frail attempt to run did was bring forth pain as you backed yourself up directly into the desk.

No.

No, no, no.

You could still go around it. You tried to move once more, but your feet refused to oblige, planted on the floor with a force that mirrored glue. Freeze. Of course that had to be your survival state of choice right now. You almost wanted to laugh at your body's stupidity.

It would have been fruitless either way; his hands already planted themselves on the desk, caging you as he leaned in ever so slightly. His warmth surrounded you, although uninvited, and you were sure that you would have seen the satisfaction in his eyes if you had looked at him.

"Why are you doing this?"

You asked, eyes on the floor instead of him, your voice too shaky for your own good. Habits died hard, especially when they were your occupation. You weren't getting out of this for now, but you weren't ready to give up.

"Still so curious."

Ronin raised one of his hands to your chin, two fingers lifting it with the same gentleness they had used to hold you captive before. Although, if you were being honest to yourself, it did not feel gentle. It felt like a command. You were proven right when he was tired of waiting for a response from you.

"Look at me."

You did. What else could you have done? Risk actual violence? No, that wasn't an option. You raised your eyes to his face, your knees threatening to buckle. He was closer than before, so much so that you did not dare to breathe.

"Just tell me what you want."

You pleaded, your words tinged with fear that you no longer tried to hide. He did not like that. You could not find a trace of that dislike on his features, yet you felt it in the way his fingers twitched on your skin, gripping you harder before he stopped himself. It was strange. You thought he would have wanted to hurt you more instead of less.

Silence, you had noticed, was becoming your worst enemy in this situation. It gave you the illusion that you had time to think, just for him to break it like you had broken that cursed mug.

"Do you have to make thinking in the loudest possible way your whole personality?"

You were more insulted than scared, like your senses were slowly dropping survival as a concept, your limbs unlocking just enough for you to try a sidestep to get out of the cage he'd built for you with nothing but his body. It only resulted in his hand slipping from your chin to your throat. His fingers were wrapped around it, sinking into your skin just enough to sting. It pulled a gasp out of your mouth against your own will. Quiet, so quiet that it would have gone unnoticed to anyone but Ronin himself.

"Oh?"

Ronin was taunting you, tone dripping with mock surprise as he pushed himself closer to you. You had to bite your tongue or else you would have had trouble stifling the urge to kick him as his body pressed against yours, his eyes holding yours captive. It seemed like he did not know how to do anything but that.

"You like this, don't you, darlin'?"

You didn't. Of course you didn't. Did you? Your heart was racing, but that was a normal fear response. You stilled for a moment, remembering something. You had hands. You were trapped, yes, but your hands were not. Perhaps if you would do something, anything, he would let go for a moment?

You acted. It was a quick thing, a punch. A proper punch that you did not know you were capable of throwing. It landed on his nose, snapping the bone with an ugly cracking noise.

There was a pause, a small space that you used to recalibrate your mind, then a smile.

"See, the cat does have claws."

He wasn't smirking anymore. He was smiling, blood dripping from his nose and onto your face, looking every bit like the devil that he had once been, drawing the situation in hot streaks of red against your skin. It was a fracture in his usual demeanor. To him, this was all a game. One he intended on winning and then, in that small smile, you realized that if you wanted to leave this situation unharmed, you had to play it too.

He had been close the whole time, so it wasn't really an effort to do it, your hand rising once more, hesitantly threading into his hair. Waiting for him to react wasn't as time-consuming as you had anticipated, his lips twitching right back into a grin. You looked like you were entranced, that part was pretend, you had convinced yourself it was, high on adrenaline.

"I don't know what I'm doing."

A lie, a sweet lie that, to your surprise, sounded believable. You had taken acting classes in high school. Back then you were convinced it was a useless skill to pick up. Oh, how wrong you had been. His pupils were blown when he looked down at you, when he crossed that last inch of distance that separated the both of you.

Surprise ran through you almost immediately. There was no gentleness to it; he was all that he had not been before, pure, unaltered violence. When his teeth grazed your lip hard enough to draw blood, you learned that his previous gentleness was not by nature, but by restraint.

You felt the heat of his mouth before you had the time to register it properly, but it did not catch you quite as off guard this time; you were getting used to it. You allowed him to bite, allowed him to lick, to draw those strangled noises out of you that seemed to spur him on even more, your blood mixing with his on your tongue.

You swallowed the urge to gag at the taste. He drew back, his forehead resting against yours, breath ghosting over your lips, which were cold with the lingering reminder of blood and spit. If he looked for too long he would see it. You couldn't have that.

"Are you sure you don't know exactly what you're doing, darlin'?"

Panic rose in your chest once more, showing its ugly face, but you disguised it as something else. Shame, anticipation. You pushed yourself up, your ass planted on the desk, leaning back onto your now-free hands. The look in your eyes was not calculated; you could not show that, but daring. Curious, maybe a little helpless. It was designed to pull him in, and it did.

"I have an idea. That's true."

You were certain that he did not know what exactly your idea was. His hands grazed over the skin on your thighs, your lips parting as he slotted himself into the middle of them. He did not wait, his mouth already back on yours, your back hitting the desk with a dull thud. Perfect. You tried to keep your mind running; that alone was an effort you would have done well not to underestimate. You needed to keep it together now.

Still, you could not help but lean into him; apparently your instinct had decided that friction was more important than thinking for the moment. You sucked in a breath, the air in your lungs clearing the fog of heat that had encapsulated you. It was a slow movement, your hand bending painfully as it shifted to reach under the desk.

You could only hope that you would find it before Ronin found out what you were doing, and for this one time, your prayer was answered. Plastic, finally. A simple push was enough, the sound of the alarm sending Ronin backwards immediately.

You followed suit, your eyes on him, his own gaze meeting you in the middle. He was appraising you, like you were some sort of meat. A prized cut hanging in the butcher’s store. He was proud.

It did not take a full minute for the guards to barge in. You weren't looking at them. You were looking at the broken porcelain in Ronin's hand. The rest of it was a blur to you, the memories fleeing from your grasp each and every time you tried to recall it.

5012 had no idea how he got into this situation.

Well, that wasn´t entirely true. He´d agreed to it.

He had been so sure that they would not win the bet. He would not have agreed to it if he would have seen even the slightest possibility that you could win.

Nonetheless, you had won. Both you and Atlas, who was currently occupied shouting along to some 2000´s pop song like his life depended on it, had glamoured yourself on your first day. Impressive, he´d called it. When you called out the price of his loss, he had assumed you were joking.

There was no sense in pulling out now. He had never regretted not being able to lie and talk himself out of something more.

“5012. Truth or dare?”

You mused, your voice holding a cheerful tone that he found irritating to a degree that concerned him. He could barely make out your voice over the music, but to his absolute displeasure, he could make out the words either way.

“Truth, if I must.”

he said, making it clear to everyone in the room that, if he had a choice, he would rather be anywhere else. That only encouraged the two of you further, and even Atlas was paying full attention for once. You took a moment to consider what to ask but eventually settled on something tame. At least for now.

“Who is your favourite between Atlas and me?”

You asked and it earned you a roll of his eyes. You leaned in a little, which wasn´t exactly necessary with all of you sitting in a circle on the ground like you were a bunch of undead high schoolers. You just had to, the look on his face too amusing to miss.

“You are delinquents. Both of you.”

He stated. You knew it was true, not even because he could not lie, but because he was right. Atlas looked proud at that, a smile on his face that bordered on triumph.

“Sure, boss man, but that isn´t an answer.”

Atlas had spoken before you had even had the chance to remind 5012 yourself and he gave you a nudge. You liked him. How could you not, this place was all rules and judgement, Atlas was just about the only amusement you had. You gave a chuckle, one that reminded you of something you did not remember.

“You. Do not consider that a compliment, remember who the other option is.”

5012 had spoken like he regretted the word before it had even left his lips, his hand coming up to rub at his eyebrows, his expression drawn into a grimace that looked almost pained at the simple idea of wasting his time like this.

“Now that´s unfair. I will woo you, just wait!”

Atlas protested like 5012 had just insulted his entire bloodline. That alone turned your chuckle into a full-blown laugh. You gave 5012 a nod of your head, signalling for him to keep going, urging him on like you already knew he would not start by himself.

“Atlas. Truth or dare?”

Atlas did not care for his superior´s tone of pure, unaltered distain, already occupied with expressing his contemplation of the question by dramatically looking out of the window, like he was trying to find the solution to a complex mathematical problem.

“Dare. Oh, and don´t be boring!”

At least he had settled on something. To your surprise, 5012 looked like he was giving it some thought, then again, you figured that he might have been incapable of not overthinking absolutely everything. He seemed to have settled somewhat. He had agreed to half an hour, at some point he must have figured that it would be less stressful just to get it over with.

“Be silent. For the entirety of the next round after your turn.”

Atlas crossed his arms in front of his chest. Those kicked puppy eyes of his could really be his trademark, at least from what you were able to gather during the two days of being well… dead. Then, without further warning, his face lit up, like he´d just been given the opportunity of his life. 5012 looked scared.

“Truth or dare. If you pick truth I’m going to cry.”

Atlas looked at you with a silent plea and a smile that was so devilish that even you thought about not going along with whatever his newest shenanigan was. But oh well, this would probably be the only opportunity you would have to be a bit overboard in this new unlife of yours. Fuck it.

“Dare.”

You gave him a look that was supposed to tell him that he shouldn´t go completely overboard. The two of you seemed to have a different definition of completely overboard.

“Kiss 5012. Properly, not on the cheek or something.”

In the entirety of your life, even your mortal life, although you were unable to remember, you had never seen a man wearing a satisfied expression quite like the one that graced Atlas´s face in that moment. In the same vein, you had also never even dreamed that someone could look as horrified as 5012 did. You probably looked similar.

“Why would we? This is entirely unprofessional. Pick something else.”

5012 exclaimed. He had exclaimed something. Raised his voice and all. You were certain that this was a dream. Atlas on the other hand, just raised his eyebrows at him like he meant to say `you chose this´. He was right. He could not pick something else, because 5012 had dared him not to speak after his turn, which was completed by definition. 5012 had realized it before you could even speak. He was going through the different stages of grief in real time, with you and Atlas as his witnesses.

“We don´t have to. I´m not forcing myself upon anyone in that regard.”

5012 was almost surprised at your statement. Almost, because he had not taken you as the kind of person who would do something as atrocious to begin with. Still, the spirit of such a game was designed to cross boundaries and well, he had agreed to play, if he regretted that decision or not was irrelevant now.

“I will tolerate it. I keep trying to get the both of you to follow rules, if I set a bad example now, you will never learn, being as incompetent as you are at following simple instructions.”

You hated that he was right. For a moment or two, you sat there staring at him, wondering if you had misheard him, but when you saw Atlas looking back at you, giving you a thumbs up, you felt the hope being snuffed out in the matter of seconds. You gave a sigh, a small exhale meant to encourage yourself before letting your eyes drift over to 5012. He had already met your gaze, pale lilac eyes observant, yet not exactly threatening. You had expected him to be threatening considering the situation.

He was your superior after all. Wait, was he? You had never considered asking about it. He was your senior, by how long? Ugh. Great, in just two days of being a grim reaper you had already managed to get yourself into this mess. You must have been entirely insufferable when you still had years of lived experience in being a menace to society.

A snap of someone´s fingers pushed the thoughts away from your mind, your eyes locating the source of the sound on instinct, finding Atlas. He was gesturing again. Urging you on, you realized. You, responded in kind, silently shrugging your shoulders to tell him you were still thinking about it.

5012 cleared his throat, a sharp reminder that he was, for better or for worse, still an active part of the issue you were contemplating. You closed your eyes and then, not before another deep breath, leaned in.

He had caught your chin as you did so, two fingers tilting your face up so gently that it could hardly be considered forceful. You allowed it, his touch almost making you flinch with how cold his hand was. He held your gaze and for a fleeting moment you thought, surely by mistake, that you had seen care in it. He was reassuring you. You were fine. He was fine. You wondered why he had not just said it. He knew that it was because he could not lie. You closed your eyes once more before closing the final bit of distance.

His lips were soft, the kiss gentle in a way that would have made your knee´s weak had you not been sat on the ground. It was a contrast to his entire persona, too light for a man like him, too warm for someone that was cold to the touch. When his teeth scraped your lip, gentle enough not to hurt, present enough to tease, you couldn´t it. The whine slipped from your lips, a stolen little thing, not meant for a moment that was being watched by Atlas, who was sitting there with his mouth agape in utter delight.

It was over before you had a chance to feel it properly, the air around you suddenly feeling too empty in the places where his touch had lingered. You blinked. Once, then twice, adjusting as quickly as you could. When you looked around, you found that the room had already moved on without you. Atlas had already found another reason to make jokes that were more than inappropriate to the situation, 5012 was back to lecturing him as if nothing had happened at all.

“Time is up. Out, both of you. I expect to see you both on time tomorrow.”

He had spoken before you had gotten the chance to say anything at all, but you were not stupid enough to consider his tone as anything but final. There was something in it though. You struggled to identify it and again, your thinking taking long enough for Atlas to have left in the time you took to stand. 5012 had his back turned towards you, his gloved hands having returned to some paper on his desk, his attention no longer a thing that you could reach for. It was a foolish notion, the idea that he would answer your question. You decided on asking either way.

“Was that bad?”

You did not know why the question lingered in your mind so much, did not know why you felt shaken. He turned to you with a raise of his brows, making you feel smaller than you were. You wished you had not asked.

“We are not playing anymore, I have no intention to answer your question. We are colleagues, we do not fraternize and you will not mention this incident again. Now out with you.”

Did you ever get shut down like that while you were alive? If you did, you felt sorry for yourself. You gave a nod of your head, your expression betraying your feelings although you had tried to conceal them. Your steps were heavy, like the rain that had begun to fall outside of his windows, the rain that should not have been there at all considering the void this place had instead of a sky.

Just when your hand had wrapped around the handle of his door, a second thing that should not have been there at all joined the first.

“It was not.”

You felt the words in the hollowness of your chest, a soothing thing that your mind soaked in like it was the first breath of fresh air you were allowed to take. You did not consider looking back, you knew it would only end with another reminder to leave him to his peace, instead you did as you were told, making the way to your bedroom and sinking into the cushions of your bed.

He'd looked at the list twice. That was his first mistake.

This was a day so entirely unremarkable that he had enough time to go over the list twice. It was the only reason he had done it. Each time, his eyes had stuck on a particular name.

Alice.

For a moment he thought he could remember something, a fleeting thought that took root in his mind like it was meant to exist there, but when he reached for it, he only found the same emptiness that he always had. It was nonsense after all. Total and utter nonsense. What was he supposed to know about a mortal, one on his list, no less.

He pushed a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought, and then, without further disturbance, moved along.

The moonlight had fallen over the village he found himself in, a pale blue hue cast over the few buildings he could make out from above. It was the kind of village where a single death, as unimportant as it was, would shake its core. Close-knit, he had guessed, though there was no use in guessing. He ought not to waste time on inefficiency. He wondered why he had even made the effort to glamour himself, it had been entirely useless given the lack of people in this place. Then again, he could never be too careful.

He knew where to go on instinct, the perks of being a reaper on full display yet again. It was a nice home, dark, but oddly comforting, surrounded by nothing but trees and wild nature for miles. The door stood open, as if it had been waiting for him, and he slipped into the bedroom like a ghost. The irony of the thought not entirely lost to him. His steps gave a faint echo against the worn hardwood floorboards.

She was beautiful, a fact that was entirely irrelevant. His mind had offered it before he could dismiss it, and it carved itself into his ribs like claws, searching for purchase.

"You."

She had said it softly, her voice carrying something he did not recognize. Something he could not recognize.

You.

Not a grim reaper. Him.

He must have been mistaken. She was simply odd, her reaction was odd.

"I've come to guide you into your afterlife."

He answered, indifferent, his voice betraying nothing. What would there have been to betray?

Her soul was still formed like her body below it. He had never taken the time to observe those he carried over, never looked twice unless it was necessary.

"Go on."

His gaze returned to her.

Cold, methodical, the precision only a grim reaper like him could carry. A symbol of order, of perfection. The only people who ever told him to get it over with were those who were old or sick enough to welcome death. She was neither.

She looked at him like she knew him. Like she recognized something he was not aware of. Perhaps she was one of those mortals unlucky enough to have seen a reaper before. It was almost impossible, but it was the only explanation for her false sense of recognition.

"Come."

He stretched out his hand. She took it without hesitation, her fingers sliding into his like they had done so before, like they had done so a thousand times. Effortless and certain.

They had not. That was impossible.

He couldn't feel it. Of course he couldn't. He didn't want to. He was certain of that.

The crossing took no time. It never did.

In a blink, they stood in the place of passage, destined for her, a threshold only those woven into fate itself and those meant to rest there could cross.

"Go on."

He echoed her words without thought. They had already slipped from relevance in his mind. He was certain of that too.

She watched him for a moment.

The tears falling from her eyes were familiar to him, tracing the corners of her mouth. The smile that it displayed was not.

She looked at him for too long. Not searching for escape, not weighing any final possibility. Only observing him.

It irritated him, though he could not say why.

"You were always impatient."

She said it as though it were fact. As though it had always been true.

Something in his chest tightened.

As she passed through, her soul dissolving into the bright light of the gate, she laughed. She looked at him while she did.

And it was genuine.

It should not have mattered.

It had mattered.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The office was cold. He liked it that way.

What he did not like was the cold coffee, left untouched. The stacked paperwork. The way her name kept looping through the broken record player that had become of his mind.

Alice. Alice. Alice.

It needed to stop. It had to stop.

You have always been impatient.

He was going insane in a way a reaper was not supposed to be capable of.

The knock on his door was sharp, but it did not surprise him. He was malfunctioning. Broken. The picture-perfect grim reaper reduced to this by nothing but a name. Perhaps it would be best if they reset his memory again.

His supervisor did not wait for an answer. He entered without ceremony. He didn’t need it, his presence alone was enough.

"You collected a soul."

The supervisor spoke in the same cold, factual tone 5012 always heard. Nothing more was required.

"I collect many every day."

His reply was automatic, precise.

"Alice. We have been informed she meant to be assigned to 5021, there was a mistake that assigned her to you. Am I correct in assuming there was nothing unusual about this collection, so we may all continue working?"

5012 gave a nod, eyes fixed on the paperwork. He could not lie. He did not know why he wanted to.

"Good. A soul like any other then. Unimportant. You may continue."

The supervisor left without another word. The lock clicked shut behind him.

5012 was alone.

He had convinced him. Why had he convinced him?

Alice. Alice. Alice.

That godforsaken name refused to leave him. He should have said something. Spoken the truth. But he could not. His hand reached for the stack of papers, important documents, work he needed to finish, and instead he shoved them off the desk with a force that startled him.

He hadn't meant to do it.

Now they lay scattered across the floor, mirroring the disarray within him. In the end, what unsettled him most was not his own mistake. It was that his supervisor had been mistaken.

She wasn’t unimportant.

She was Alice.