"I WILL PLEAD ON MY KNEES IF I MUST, BECAUSE I CANNOT LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE..."
After serving the heavens as the Grim Reaper for about 400 years, Lee Minho never thought he'd stumble upon a case that was as peculiar as Han Jisung's.
The problem?
...
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Hello internet, I have come to share some cringe with y'all lmao haha ifucknhatemyselfhaha Ahem let's go
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22:00
He walked through the crowd, trying to avoid eye contact with any living creature. It was always busy on the city's bridge; fitness attempts, tourists, casual strollers. Cold rain continuously fell from the sky, like a bottomless bucket had been tipped over above the clouds.
It was a horrible day to be out, yet people continued to buzz like a busy swarm of bees. The boy pulled his hat further over his head and stuffed his free hand in the pocket of his black coat that flowed after him like a dark aura.
What can we say, Lee Minho was an edgy Grim Reaper. Stylish, mysterious and an ace at his job.
Now you might think that the Grim Reaper was the figure wearing a black cloak with a scythe; to be honest, that had been ages ago and Minho cringed when he saw the images of it. He wore it once — never more —, because his dumb excuse of a friend, Hyunjin, had told him that's how reapers looked.
He was young and inexperienced; a rookie in the field. To do something so cruel and embarrassing was just pure evil, but that was a little ironic coming from someone who took souls for a living.
Sighing Minho looked at the name on the paper in his hand. Cursive writing, clearly done with careless attention to detail. Still, it was short and gave no room for protest or questioning:
Han Jisung
18 years old Dropping to death 22:48 pm
Disappointment crossed the Reaper's features; another young person was going to leave this world. Over time he had learned to deal with those tragedies. Over time he had also learned that death was merciless. Infants, toddlers, children. Teens adults, elderly. He had seen it all.
From all those experiences more were able to drop his heart than to fill it with relief that their suffering would end. As requirement to signing them off he had to run through their memories. By doing so he relived their lives along with them. Every time he sent them off, it was as if they took part of him along. It left him empty and with the burden of remembering them.
He looked at his watch, 22:13; he still had time. The Reaper picked up his pace, swiftly avoiding physical contact. He was doing a fairly good job – occasionally glaring at those who sent him puzzled judgement –, until something crashed into him. Or rather someone.
There stood Kim Seungmin, strict, serious and with undeniable presence; his secretary and companion for over five decades. His cherry-shaded red hair in a way reminded Minho of their oh-so-joyous workplace, but he decided not to mention it. They had shared what for most could be a lifetime together. Tears and laughs, dreams and regrets; they were familiar as the back of their hands.
