seventeen oneshots

Loved By Death (wonhui)

LINK:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/12567204

Summary:

Wonwoo is a grim reaper who just can't do his job right-all because of a human he fell in love with

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Junhui couldn't feel his body anymore. He was numb from head to toe, his skin was as cold as ice, and he couldn't move a single eyelash. The blank of wood that had been ripped from a roof and then had swept him down into the canal was running free downstream, while Junhui laid unmoving at the bottom of the ditch in the mud, watching the shadows above and the rain hit the surface above him.

He was already dead, his heart wasn't beating, his lungs had collapsed, but he could still see for some reason, and he watched as a dark figure looked down at him from the water's edge, possibly a passerby who had seen it happened, and wondered if he was still alive.

He wasn't alive, and neither was the being watching him. Junhui blinked, and the next thing he knew, he was laying in the soggy grass by the flooding canal. Over him stood a tall figure, dressed from head to toe in a long, black robe, with an enormous hood covering its face. Thin, white hands reached up and pulled the hood down from the face underneath. It was surprisingly handsome, sharp features with even sharper eyes, that were as black as the sky hanging overhead, no, even darker than that, almost as dark as the robe that still covered the rest of its body.

The being looked down at him, watched him in silence, and being dead, Junhui couldn't say anything either, even if he had wanted to. Junhui had wondered what death would be like on a few occasions, but he never thought it would happen at the tender age of nineteen when he had barely even started living.

"Wen Junhui," The figure said. There was something about its voice, something inhumane, despite the fact they were perfectly comprehensible. It looked down at him after saying his name for a while, and that was the last thing he saw.

Until the woke up in his bed, in his mother's house, very much alive, his heart beating, steady and strong, his cheeks red with warmth and life, and his mother leaning over him, asking him what had happened, but he couldn't answer her, because he didn't know what had happened, the last thing he remember was the storm hitting and trying to rush home.

Junhui didn't remember dying, or the being that had saved him either.

...

When Junhui is twenty-one and living in Korea, he gets stabbed in the stomach on his walk home from class. He had been doing nothing by walking, bag over his shoulders, thinking of going into the smoothie place across from the street from his dorm before going in to do his reading.

While he laid on the cold, hard ground of the lonely pavement, a figure appeared above him, one that he thought he had seen before, but didn't know where or how. The figure drew down its hood, and he saw pale skin, sharp eyes, a sharp jaw, a frown.

"How could it have happened again in just two years?" The figure asked itself, and before Junhui could try to choke out any words around the blood in his throat, suffocating him, his vision faded, but not before he felt the being lean down and run their cold fingers over his face.

This time, he woke up on the couch in the dorm lobby, and once again, he did not remember a thing, didn't remember the figure, or even getting stabbed. A memory, a false one, was put in his mind of him arriving back safely, deciding to nap in the empty lobby, and when he looked, there was a blueberry and grapefruit smoothie, his favorite, sitting on the coffee table a few feet away.