A match made in hell (SP//Dip)

What makes YOU so special?

tw, mentions to suicide. this will be a running theme so if this makes you uncomfortable maybe don't read this book :^

Damien's POV
I rolled my eyes, grunting as I dragged Phillip's body to my room. He passed out, classic. Luckily for him, I slept down stairs, so I didn't have to yank him up a flight of solid wood stairs.

I hoisted him up and laid him on my bed, pulling a thin blanket over him and sighing. Stupid mortals. They think it's so easy being dead. It's not.

I sat at my desk, spinning aimlessly in my chair, observing him. He had blonde hair that rested in an outgrown mullet. It suited him. He had crystal blue eyes, when they were open, and wore a red hoodie and some dark blue shorts. He had leg warmers on and a brown cap finished the look. I sighed and gently tugged the hat off of his head, resting it on the nightstand next to him.

I sat back in my chair, wondering why I was so intrigued by this stupid fool. I saw hundreds of souls just like him daily, what made him so special?

I shook my head, curling up tight into the fabric of my chair. My eyelids felt heavy. I checked the time. It was barely 6:25. Even though we didn't have a daylight cycle, we still had time. And most folk slept as though it were night and woke when it was day. Others just stared awake until they couldn't, and some just slept until they couldn't.

I yawned, leaning back into my chair and closed my eyes, falling asleep easily.

*

I woke up to the sound of wincing. I'm a light sleeper, any noise or movement could wake me. I peeked out into the room. Phillip sat up, his sleeve rolled, looking at something. He noticed I was awake and quickly pulled his sleeve down, staring at me.

"If I died with injuries, will they heal? Or do they just hurt forever?"

"They won't heal, but the pain will subside. Eventually." I replied, moving towards him, "Why, what horrid injury did you die with?"

He shrugged, mumbling some bullshit answer, "Just a scrape, from falling."

I rolled my eyes, staring at him.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid? Honestly Pip."

I sat on the bed next to him, watching as he shuffled away cautiously. I glared at him, trying to figure out what was so different about him.

"W-what are you staring at?" He stammered, clearly anxious.

"You, dipshit. I'm trying to figure something out."

"What?"

I moved closer to him, pinning him against the headboard.

"What makes YOU so special?"

He gulped, staring intently at the floor next to the bed. I sighed and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at me.

"W-what do you mean?" He asked, his hands tightening their grip on the bed sheets.

"I mean, why am I so intrigued by you? I see thousands just like you every day, what makes you so... Different?"

He gulped again, staring into my eyes, searching for something.

"I don't know."

"Say, how'd you die Pip?"

"I do wish you wouldn't call me that."

"I don't care, answer the question."

Silence.

"I killed myself."