The Grim Lover

My wound dressing was watched by Fourteen every step of the way, even though he refused to sit with me. The Grim Reaper chose to lean against the wall, watching from a distance, and let Oscar do the dressing. I don't understand what he's so paranoid about. Does he think my boyfriend’s friend is going to kill me with cotton swabs and saline solution?

 

"Why don't you treat the wound yourself?" A low, irritating voice echoed in my head. I glanced at him, shaking my head slightly to indicate his question was absurd, which didn't seem to satisfy him. "You're a doctor. You know how to treat wounds better than him. What if he treats your wound haphazardly and it gets infected?"

 

"Thanks, Oscar," I said to Oscar instead of directly responding to Fourteen, because Oscar would probably think I was crazy if I suddenly turned to answer Fourteen's question before he had even opened his mouth. "You're a good bandage doctor."

 

"How could it not be good when you've explained every step like this?" Oscar replied, chuckling. I used his answer as my own for Fourteen, before glancing at the stern-looking officer standing nearby with his arms crossed and raising an eyebrow to indicate that a small wound like this wouldn't kill me.

 

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" But it seemed the Grim Reaper wasn't going to be easily reassured, even though I was the one in the room who knew best about this. Between a doctor and a Grim Reaper, who knew better how to assess a wound? Even a kindergarten child could answer that. "Whatever. Just don't let me see anything happen because of that wound. I'll hold you accountable."

 

I mumbled a mimicry of the grumbling Grim Reaper's words before feeling like my head was nudged. Oscar, who was tending to his wounds, looked up in confusion when I suddenly seemed to doze off in the middle of the conversation.

 

"Sleepy," I quickly blurted out with an awkward smile, secretly reaching behind my back and giving the middle finger to the guy in black standing there posing. It was obvious that it was Fourteen's doing. Besides interfering with my thoughts, he can even wirelessly slap me on the head? Don't Grim Reapers have a rule against harming humans or something?

 

"Okay, all done," Oscar said after finishing bandaging my wound. It looked pretty good. (Of course, I had to oversee every step for someone's peace of mind.) Luckily, the wound wasn't deep enough to need stitches; otherwise, I'd cry if I had to face the outside world, especially a hospital. That's the last place I want to go right now. "Don't forget to clean the wound, doctor."

"Yes," I replied with a smile. Talking to someone familiar had an amazing way of warming my heart, even if only a little. I could feel it, because my heart hadn't felt that way in a while. "Sorry for making you worry so much."

 

"It's alright," Oscar replied with a gentle smile. The light in his eyes was dimmer than I remembered. Normally, he was bright and cheerful, like the sun—truly worthy of being P'Fah's friend. "It's our duty."

 

"Since when was it my responsibility to worry about Won?"

 

"It's been a while," he replied. "And it will probably get even longer in the future."

 

I understand what he meant perfectly. Deep down, I didn't like the fact that Oscar thought he had to look after me in my brother's place. Fah, if you really wanted to stay, I'm confident you could take care of yourself well enough to meet the standards a person should. So that's not the point at all. The point is, I don't see any reason to stay any longer.

 

As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I could feel the ominous aura radiating from behind me. I secretly glanced at Fourteen out of the corner of my eye. He was standing with his arms crossed, glaring intently, his eyes seeming to say, "I know what you're thinking."

 

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with us tonight?" Oscar asked the same question for the third time. It seemed he really wanted me to stay, but I wasn't sure which reason was stronger: that he didn't want to leave me alone, or that he didn't want me to be alone with Fourteen. "We can prepare a room for you. Everything you need is provided. You don't have to bring anything."

 

"It's alright, I can really manage," but I still stood by my answer.

 

"You're with this person, huh?" He leaned in and whispered cautiously. From initially thinking Fourteen was a ghost, Oscar had now given him the title of dangerous mafia boss. If I told him that the person there wasn't actually a ghost or a mafia member, but a Grim Reaper, would he faint again? "Are you sure?"

 

"I've lived here before, and it's okay."

 

"Really?" Fourteen interrupted in my head again. That's not true. It contradicts everything I think. Right now, "I'm only disagreeing with you on one thing," he argued, which was true. He only disagreed with me on one thing, but it was the very thing I wanted most.

 

"Won..."

 

"I'm really okay right now. I'd rather be alone in peace," I quickly interrupted, realising that Oscar wouldn't give in easily if I didn't make things clear. "He'll be leaving soon."

 

I whispered the last sentence softly, even though I knew perfectly well that Fourteen would never leave me alone. But this kind of lie would probably make Oscar trust me more.

 

"So, will being alone really be okay?"

 

"Okay," I replied with the same confident tone I use when trying to be professional in front of my colleagues and patients. "But if anything happens, I'll call you immediately. How's that?"

 

"very good"

 

Although he still seemed worried, my older brother appeared somewhat relieved. He still secretly glanced at Fourteen with distrust until the very last moment, even whispering to me as I walked him to the elevator, "Hurry up and send him back." I could only nod in agreement, even though I knew deep down that no matter how much I tried to get him to leave, he wouldn't go.

 

"Aren't you going to do anything?" After seeing Oscar off, I asked Fourteen, who was sitting with his arms crossed on the sofa in the middle of the living room. He was still doing nothing.

 

My face is as expressionless as ever. I thought I was the type with a poker face; people often tell me that. But ever since I met this Grim Reaper, I've become surprisingly good at showing emotions.

 

"What are you going to do?" he asked in return.

 

"Do nothing"

 

"Then I won't do it."

 

By now, I was convinced of how serious he was about his words. If you consider it a matter of life and death, it's understandable that he would do everything to save his own life. But in terms of action, his actions were truly incredible.

 

"Aren't you supposed to be collecting other people's souls?" I asked, limping slowly to sit down on the small sofa next to him. Fourteen watched me but didn't offer to help me walk. There wasn't even a hint of concern in his eyes, the kind a normal person should have. I believed now that grim reapers really don't have feelings. As long as I'm not dead, he probably doesn't care.

 

"Absolutely," Fourteen replied calmly. "Actually, I have to, but if I leave, who will watch over you?" "You still want to die. I'm not going to leave you alone."

 

For a moment, I felt like I was a nurse at the hospital. When patients are brought in for life-saving treatment after attempting suicide, once they're out of danger, they have to rest on a bed closest to the nurses' counter and have a relative by their side at all times. They're being watched 24 hours a day, just like me now. But I think the nurses I know are much kinder than the Fourteen.

 

"Fine, whatever," I said, not knowing what else to argue with him about. The result would be the same: he wasn't interested in listening to my opinion. The only thing Fourteen cared about was my survival.

 

When I didn't speak, Fourteen didn't open his mouth either. He remained seated motionless, seemingly lost in thought, but I knew that if I moved even slightly, he would sense it immediately. We were both silent, without conversation, staring aimlessly at the wall. I didn't want to do anything, and more than that, I felt afraid just thinking about having to start something. I was afraid of making a mistake. I was afraid that even my smallest action would make things worse, especially in a situation where death wasn't an option. If any more crazy things happened, I really wouldn't be able to handle it.

 

I have to admit, when I first saw Oscar's face, I was afraid he would bring up outside news. Whether it was the general public's reaction to the sudden death of a famous person like P'Fah in an accident, or the added complication of the death of the other party involved – the son of a prominent politician who initially seemed to have a chance of survival but died in surgery with P’Fah’s boyfriend acting as the anesthesiologist – all of such coincidence.

 

Another terrifying thing is the lawsuit. I don't want to hear anyone telling me to fight anymore. I'm confident I haven't done anything wrong, but if the matter is being blown out of proportion like this, it means everything is really aimed at me. Me alone, along with influential people; the outcome is already clear. The hospital is probably useless; the administration only cares about maintaining a pure and innocent image, not about proving the truth. They just want everything to end quickly and quietly, knowing that soon people will forget what happened. Nobody cares who is right or wrong; everyone just wants a topic to express their opinion on, a small part in a social event they don't understand the full details of, to satisfy their moral suspicions and then walk away.

 

So it was good that Oscar didn't mention any of that. He was only interested in my condition, like he just wanted to see if I was still alive and well, and hadn't died like his best friend. He was lucky that I didn't succeed. But if I try-

 

I stopped my thoughts there, realising that I wasn't alone in my head; someone else was listening. Fourteen remained motionless, as always. He hadn't looked at me at all. I don't know if he could hear what I was thinking, but it was good that I stopped myself. I knew that my next thoughts would trigger suicide prevention device number Fourteen.

 

"I'm going to take a shower," I said after we'd been sitting like meditators for quite a while. In my head, I kept repeating, "I haven't showered for two days. I really want to shower. I feel sticky, I'm so dirty. I have to shower." The cycle went on and on.

 

Fourteen turned to stare at me. He seemed to be trying to read my mind, but I think all he heard was "I want to take a shower, I'm sticky, I want to take a shower," so he nodded without objecting. This method works.

 

"If you think of doing anything strange, I'll follow you in immediately."

 

Damn it, stop thinking about it right now!

 

My first shower in almost three days was a struggle, as I had to be careful not to let the wound on my foot get wet. Admittedly, my first thought was, "Whatever, let the wound fester and get infected." But then I thought, "This won't kill me. If I have even the slightest symptoms, they'll rush me to the hospital." So, the idea of ​​harming myself this way was abandoned. I had to try my best to take care of this body, even though in reality I desperately wanted to abandon it.

 

Having some alone time, even just in the bathroom, my mind goes wild, digging up all sorts of trash and replaying it in my head until I'm completely lost in my thoughts, just like always. This wound on my foot makes everything difficult. It reminds me of about two or three years ago when I accidentally stepped on a broken piece of tile in the backyard. It was so sharp that I bled so much that Fah fainted (even though I was the one who got hurt). The wound was similar then, but the difference was that I didn't have to struggle to shower by myself as I do now.

 

Back then, I was probably the happiest injured person in the world. P'Fah did everything for me; I barely had to move. When I bathed, I just had to lie with my legs raised in the tub, and he took care of everything else. When we went out together, and it started raining, P'Fah let me ride on his back because he didn't want my wound to get wet. I admit, I didn't feel particularly grateful at the time because I thought it was normal for couples to take care of each other when one of them was sick. If he didn't take care of me, who would? But now I'm sitting here crying in the bathroom because bathing with a wound on my foot like this is so difficult.

 

Life without him is too difficult. I can't call him back. I can't go after him. There's nothing I can do. No. Maybe now I can.

 

Knock, knock, knock.

 

A knock on the bathroom door startled me, shattering my thoughts.

 

"Stop thinking right now."

 

The noise coming from outside the bathroom sounded as irritated as ever. Of course, Fourteen heard what I was thinking just now.

 

"When you're done, get out. Don't make me come in."

 

My scattered thoughts were like bubbles bursting with a size fourteen needle. I wanted to resist him and just lie down in the bathtub right now, but I knew that if I did that, Size Fourteen would probably break down the door and drag me out of the tub himself. The thing is, I didn't want him to see me naked like this. So, better not. I'll find another opportunity.

 

"It hasn't stopped yet."

 

"I know! I'm coming out!" I yelled back irritably, then slowly struggled out of the bathtub, grabbed my bathrobe, and limped out. I thought Fourteen was probably standing there with his arms crossed, glaring at me, but when I opened the door, it wasn't what I expected.

 

The first thing I saw was his broad back. Fourteen was crouching on the floor with his back to the bathroom door.

 

"What are you doing?" I asked, confused.

 

"Come up"

 

"Ha?"

 

"Get on my back, I'll take you to your room."

 

I stood there, frozen, repeatedly asking myself if I had misheard. But the sight before me, combined with what I thought I had heard, made it highly improbable that I had imagined it. If there was one plausible reason, it was that this was a dream.

 

"Come on up quickly," he said in a weary voice, as if too lazy to explain further. "Don't make me have to carry you."

 

"But I can walk on my own."

 

"You can walk, but you're secretly cursing me in your mind."

 

Oh, so he could hear it, huh?

 

"I didn't insult you at all," I denied shamelessly. No, I'm sure I didn't insult him at all.

 

"You said I had no feelings."

 

I froze when I heard those words from Fourteen. Thoughts I'd considered harmless suddenly sounded repulsive. Would he feel bad? Perhaps he did have human feelings, but he just wasn't good at expressing them.

 

"It doesn't mean anything bad." "No, my feelings are actually less than those of a human. I don't feel anything when you say that about me. But I know that for humans, it's a word with meaning."

 

Fourteen replied in a flat, emotionless voice. Perhaps it was only me who was trying to guess what he was like or how he was feeling.

 

"Stop overthinking and get on. If I carry you differently, you'll just get a grumpy face again."

 

Does he mean me?

 

Okay, I don't know what kind of face I was making, but every time he carried me, was there ever a time that wasn't embarrassing? He'd lift me up and down like a monkey carrying a lion cub in The Lion King, and the last time he'd hugged me under the hips like a cheerleader. So what's so weird about me hating it when he carries me?

 

But this time will be considered an exception. I can't refuse. First, I'm tired of walking on my side; second, this posture seems perfectly normal. If it makes me more comfortable, there's no reason not to.

 

I leaned forward and clung to Fourteen's back. As soon as he felt my weight, he immediately put his hands under my thighs and stood up abruptly, as if forgetting I was clinging to his back like a monkey. If he hadn't held my legs in place, I would have fallen backwards and hit my head on the ground. But I don't know if I should be thankful for that.

 

Fourteen's back was as broad as P'Fah's, but I felt he was more muscular, strong like an athlete, while P'Fah was just a strong artist. He had a familiar scent, one I couldn't remember where I'd smelled it before. It was an incredibly calming scent, but the more I inhaled it, the lonelier I felt, as if I wanted to cry. Every time he's around, I feel like I'll never be happy again.

 

Fourteen let his hair down in front of the wardrobe before walking over and sitting down quietly on the sofa. The fact that he had his back to me like that made me feel less tense than I should have, because his back looked exactly like P'Fah's when he had short hair.

 

"Don't you ever need to shower?" I asked after randomly grabbing a t-shirt and shorts from the closet and putting them on.

"Why? Are you waiting for me to be distracted?"

 

"No," I said curtly. "I was just wondering if Grim Reapers ever shower. Every time I see you, you're wearing the same clothes."

 

"I usually don't shower," he replied, "and I only have one set of clothes."

 

I grimaced. Suddenly, I thought of people who never shower and wear the same clothes their whole lives. Even Shinji or Nobita have multiple sets of identical clothes. But then again, if what Fourteen said is true—that Grim Reapers don't actually have bodies—it makes sense if they don't need to shower or change clothes. Those images only exist in the eyes of their spirits.

 

"So, is this considered normal now?" I continued. "Is this a human body?"

 

"Yes, that's not normal."

 

“Then you need to take a shower.

 

Fourteen was silent. I couldn't read his mind, but if I had to guess, this was probably the first time he'd realised he should take care of his human body as a normal human would, or perhaps he was deciding what lie to tell me to avoid taking a bath, an activity unfamiliar to the Grim Reaper.

 

"If you're going to stay with me, you have to take a shower," I said calmly, using a small towel to dry my still-damp hair. Actually, I should have blow-dried it, but I was too lazy. I'll just let it air dry. "You can't stay here without showering."

 

"Oh, I know."

 

"Can you take a shower?"

 

"I'm not that stupid."

 

"Then let's go."

 

He was silent for a moment before sitting up and walking straight to the bathroom without even glancing back at me. Was he embarrassed about having to take a shower?

 

"Don't you want a towel?" I asked from behind. The young Grim Reaper turned around and held out his hand instead of saying "Take one." I reached into the cupboard and grabbed a spare towel. Fourteen took it and trudged into the bathroom.

 

While the Grim Reaper was trying out a self-bath for the first time, I lay sprawled on the bed, my hair still soaking wet. The sound of the shower in the bathroom strangely calmed my mind. Suddenly, it felt like I'd stepped into a time machine, transported back to a moment that could never be brought back. 

 

I was sitting on the bed, and P'Fah was taking a shower. He usually spent about twenty to thirty minutes in the bathroom, which was quite long for an average man. P'Fah was incredibly clean and meticulously groomed, from head to toe. Although his outward appearance was that of a laid-back, slightly unkempt photographer, he was actually quite vain.

 

Crack!

 

While this Grim Reaper took just as long as P'Fah, I think the reason wasn't because of any particular skill, but rather because this was his first time taking a bath.

 

"How was it?" I asked when I heard the door open, still lying sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling. "Was your first bath fun?"

 

"What's so fun about it? It's just a shower," Fourteen replied calmly.

 

"I've seen him go a while ago."

 

"Do I need to change clothes?" The Grim Reaper in human form changed the subject. Showering was something Fourteen probably didn't want to talk about yet. It was funny, but I didn't have the energy to laugh or tease him about it. "No, I'll wear the same clothes."

 

"That's enough!" I immediately sat up when I heard that the Grim Reaper was about to shove himself, all fresh-smelling and all, back into that team suit. "I'll get—"

 

The words in my head were drawn back to their source when my eyes met his figure. Fourteen stood not far away, clad only in a towel wrapped around him. Tiny droplets of water clung to his broad chest and shoulders. His short hair was damp and swept back, sticking up haphazardly. He was rugged, but surprisingly handsome. Furthermore, one of the things that caught my eye the most was the tattoos across his body.

 

It was a tree root or a crack in the soil—I'm not entirely sure. It occupied a significant portion of his muscular chest, stretching across his left shoulder to his back. From this angle, he looked like a porcelain statue on the verge of cracking and shattering; fragile yet incredibly strong. I simply couldn't understand how it was possible.

 

Perfect!

 

The sound of snapping fingers brought me back to my senses. My teeth chattered loudly, and in that instant, I realised I had inadvertently left my mouth wide open.

 

"Dribbling"

 

And that snapping of fingers just now was Fourteen using his Grim Reaper powers to command my mouth to close.

 

Embarrassing.

 

“No way,” I quickly denied before getting out of bed to get my clothes. If I let him stand there showing off his physique any longer, I might accidentally have some strange thoughts. I’m sure I don’t want Fourteen to know those thoughts. From the bed…

 

"You're acting as if you've never seen a shirtless man before," Fourteen muttered jokingly. I pretended not to hear that to protect my pride. There's no way I've never seen a naked man before in my life. I've seen P'Fah without clothes countless times. His physique always makes our lovemaking exciting. I've touched every inch of it, and I can confidently say it's fantastic.

 

But with Fourteen right now, I can't say whether it's good or bad. I've never explored another man's body besides my lover's before. That's why it feels so strange, hard to explain, and awkward.

 

All I know is that Fourteen... eats differently.

 

“Here, take these,” I handed him a T-shirt, sweatpants, and underwear. They all belonged to P'Fah. He wore the shirt and sweatpants regularly, but the underwear was new. P'Fah always had more of these things than he needed. “These will fit you perfectly, P'Fah. You're the same size!”

 

"I don't know," Fourteen took the clothes. He picked up a pair of dark underwear and examined them before glancing back at me intently. I was a little confused by the intense stare, but after a moment, I realised what he was trying to convey.

 

"Are you really going to just stand there and watch?" Fourteen asked.

 

Realising I shouldn't act like a creepy landlord, I quickly hurried away to the sofa, sitting with my back to Fourteen, just like he had done when I got dressed earlier.

 

"Are you sure we're the same height?" Fourteen asked casually, as if he felt no embarrassment at all for exposing his skin to me. It seems I'm the only one who thinks it's strange. Is it because I've only ever had one boyfriend?

 

"As far as I can see, they're pretty much the same," I tried to act normal, like him. "Even if they're different, it's not by much. They're wearable."

 

"Hmm... I guess so," he replied, "but these underwear seem a little tight."

 

"Seriously?" I spun around, unable to believe what he said, forgetting that this was not the best time to argue face-to-face.

 

Fourteen slowly pulled his grey sweatpants up to his waist, meeting my gaze with a neutral expression, before raising an eyebrow slightly. That gesture made me feel like I was being mocked. It was as if he was saying, "Want to see? Something like that."

 

I turned around as soon as I regained my composure, feeling so embarrassed I wanted to disappear into the ground. I'm not used to being around anyone other than P'Fah at all. I really don't like this feeling.

 

"I was joking," Fourteen said in a relaxed tone. "Everything fits perfectly. He and I must be the same height."

 

"I told you," I muttered to myself, then raised my voice slightly as I continued, "Are you done?"

 

"finished"

 

After receiving the correct answer, I turned back to look at him again. This time, Fourteen was in a state where I could see him clearly. He was wearing P’Fah’s favourite blue t-shirt, the one he almost always wore on the first night he stayed at the condo. And he was wearing light grey sweatpants, which I call "Shinchan pants" because he has about ten pairs, just like Shinchan, who wears the same clothes throughout his closet. Looking at him like this, he really does look like P'Fah.

 

His hairstyle reminds me of P'Fah during the early years of our relationship. His short hair, showing his face and eyes, made him look like a passionate young man. But unfortunately, Fourteen doesn't quite give off that same vibe. He seems more like an adult who's been through a lot; he lacks P'Fah's aura of happiness.

 

"You look much better dressed like this," I tried to pull myself back to reality. It was really annoying to keep overthinking, even when there was nothing to think about. "You look really intimidating in a black suit all the time, you know."

 

"But you don't seem afraid of me."

 

"I'm afraid of you all the time."

 

"Really?" Fourteen raised an eyebrow. "Why have I never felt that way?"

 

Just thinking about the word "Grim Reaper" immediately brings to mind the word "scary." But if even a level Fourteen star can't detect my fear, it might mean I'm better at hiding my feelings than I think. Or... I was never really afraid of him.

 

"You," I called out to him. Fourteen stared back, waiting for me to continue. "Shall we go outside?"

 

This might be the wrong choice, I know. But if I had more choices in life, it would be better. I might choose a different path, perhaps do something smarter than putting myself in the middle of a horde of the most terrifying demons for someone like me at this very moment.

 

Wherever there are people, eyes are watching. Some eyes are openly fixed on me, others glance at me with curious intent, and sometimes there aren't any eyes at all, yet I feel like I'm being watched, that I'm being gossiped about and judged a hundred times, even though I haven't done anything.

 

Fourteen wasn't walking beside me; he was walking about three or four steps behind. I told him to change from his sweatpants to jeans, and put on a hat and a mask to cover his face because he looked too much like P'Fah and might get confused. Especially with the news of P'Fah's death spreading like wildfire, if Fourteen were to walk around in public, it might cause panic.

 

Actually, I alone am enough to attract attention. I can sense that many people recognise me. Some glance at me, then quickly turn away, whispering to their companions. Some even secretly take pictures with their phones. Even with a hat on, they still recognise me. I didn't realise I was a celebrity until now.

 

Of course, being both the boyfriend of a recently deceased celebrity and a suspect in a crime, showing up like this is quite brave.

 

But that's okay. But nevermind.

 

"I think we should turn back," Fourteen's voice echoed in my head as we quickened our pace towards the crowded sidewalk.

 

I still want to walk, I thought to myself, confident that he would hear me.

 

"I don't think you really want to walk," Fourteen argued. "You're scared."

 

It's only natural to be scared when being stared at like that.

 

"Then why are you coming out?"

 

I have a place I want to go.

 

"But all you're thinking is just to keep walking."

 

I couldn't lie to him about anything. I indeed had no purpose; I just wanted to get outside. And he wasn't a guard, I wasn't a prisoner. He had no right to forbid this. But at the same time, the mists of my fear were probably disturbing his perception. I want to go outside, I thought to myself. Staying in my room makes me restless.

 

"But you didn't seem to be feeling any better after you came out."

 

Fourteen. I just want to walk. Leave me alone.

 

At the end of that sentence, the voice in my head disappeared. I think with Fourteen, I can sometimes manipulate my perception. Many times, I sense his presence even when he doesn't say anything, like we're on a call in silence, each going about our own business. While other times I don't sense him at all, and now it's the latter. Maybe he's annoyed and doesn't want to talk to me anymore. It's good like this.

 

We walked further and further from the condo until we reached an unfamiliar neighbourhood. I'd driven through here before, but this was the first time I'd walked on the sidewalk like this. It was a school zone, and the area was quite quiet because the children were all inside. Only a few street vendors sat alone by the fence, waiting for school to end. I dragged my feet, listening to the sound of car after car driving by. One word kept repeating in my head.

 

walk walk walk walk walk.

 

Keep walking until my time comes.

 

walk walk walk walk walk.

 

walk...

 

I took a deep breath, and in a split second, I turned off the sidewalk onto the busy side street. I ran as fast as I could, without looking at anything, because the more I looked, the more frightened I would be, and in this moment, I had no time to be afraid.

 

I'm begging you.

 

Just one car.

 

The car horn blared. At that moment, I thought I had succeeded in breaking free.

 

"Damn shoddy"

 

The voice sounded beside his ear. I felt nothing. Not because I was in too much pain to feel anything, but because nothing had happened. I still felt fine. The only thing that had changed was my body; it was warmer, and the familiar scent of despair enveloped me.

 

I slowly opened my eyes and found myself still standing on the sidewalk, with Fourteen hugging me tightly. How is that possible? I just ran down to almost the middle of the road.

 

"Do you think I would really let you die like this?"

 

I swallowed hard, a shiver still running down my spine at the thought of dying, yet always surviving, and always being him. Fourteen pulled me further and further away from death, offering despair again and again, trying to convince me that someone like me would never achieve my goals. Even if I wanted to die, I would never die.

 

Nothing around me had changed. Everything seemed normal, as if someone crazy hadn't just jumped in front of a car. Every car was speeding against time. The meatball vendor sat swatting flies, yawning. Only I knew what had happened.

 

"Did you hear that?" I whispered, my body still trembling. Of course, I was. It would be a lie to say I wasn't scared after running out just now. "What I thought..."

 

“No,” Fourteen replied. He was still holding me. I knew this wasn't affection at all; he was just trying to keep me confined. “You keep thinking weird things, repeating the same words over and over. It doesn't make sense.”

 

So, then my attempts to control my thoughts, hoping to keep him away, actually worked. I just thought I was playing with the name too much. What kind of person thinks only about "walking" all the time? It would be strange if he didn't suspect anything.

 

I didn't reply, and Fourteen didn't say anything further. He slowly loosened his embrace before grabbing my arm and leading me back the way we came. The grip on my wrist wasn't strong at all; I felt like he was only touching me lightly. But in my mind, I couldn't break free. He wouldn't let go. He knew I couldn't be trusted.

 

"Slow down," I told him after we'd walked for a while. Fourteen long legs; one of his strides was equivalent to two of my long strides. The faster he went, the more I felt like I'd have to run to keep up. "I'm tired."

 

"That's because you refused to eat."

 

“No, you walk fast.”

 

"We have to stop to buy rice."

 

Fourteen seemed like he wasn't listening to me at all. He just talked about what he wanted to talk about. But after that, I felt like his pace gradually slowed down. It wasn't slow, but at a level I could keep up with without getting tired. That's when I learned another thing about Grim Reapers: they often don't say what they mean.

 

We walked back almost to the condo when Fourteen stopped me at a small street food stall. This was my regular spot; whenever I stayed here, I had to eat there at least once a day. It was a small place with one server and an old man as the chef, only five tables, but the menu was thick, everything was delicious, and the prices were so cheap it felt like an undercover cop investigating a crime.

 

"I'll have dry minced pork basil stir-fry with rice, not spicy, and a well-done fried egg," Fourteen ordered fluently from the owner, as if he'd ordered it a million times before. He even gave the same order details as I usually do.

 

"How did you know?" I whispered as we sat waiting at a table in front of the shop. He still hadn't let go of my wrist, holding it loosely the whole time, and my mind was too muddled to tell him to release it.

 

"What?" Fourteen asked in a flat tone, her face as expressionless as ever.

 

"The menu," I replied. "How did you know what I ate?"

 

"I know everything about you."

 

When he said "everything," he probably meant everything. Everything I know, everything P'Fah knows, and he's the only one who knows. It's strange, I don't know how I should feel first: impressed, grateful, puzzled, or scared. I don't know how to feel about him.

 

(Up until now, there has been no progress in the case because we have been unable to contact the anesthesiologist who performed the surgery in that case.)

 

The female reporter's voice drifted from the TV hanging on the shop wall. The news content captured both my and Fourteen's attention. I knew it was about me; the anesthesiologist they were talking about was me. That's why I could only lower my head, looking at my wrist, which Fourteen was holding, trying to compose myself and listen, even though inside I was trembling with fear, on the verge of losing my mind.

 

[We have already provided all the information to the police. As everyone knows, I, as a surgeon, performed my duties to the best of my ability, meeting all surgical standards. Mr Chanon's case is not very complex. When he arrived at the hospital, he was not in a critical condition; he only had blood loss, which required surgery to repair his spleen.]

 

That voice...it's Gloy's, my friend, calmly giving an interview to reporters. She answered the questions confidently in her usual style. I've always admired her for that, because I'm not good at communicating, especially in front of a public audience. I hate endless conversations with strangers. That's one reason why I chose to specialise in anesthesiology. But today I really didn't like how Gloy was talking.

 

[During the investigation, officials found that there was indeed residual medication in the injected tube. Furthermore, the injected medication was a trigger for malignant hyperthermia, a condition the patient had a history of. This was the cause of the severe allergic reaction during surgery, leading to the patient's death.]

 

Wow...that's awesome.

 

I can't believe she could say something like that without feeling anything.

 

[During the surgery, we consulted about this. The nurses noticed that the patient had a fever and a rapid heartbeat. I asked if it was myasthenia gravis, but the anesthesiologist confirmed it was serotonin syndrome because the patient was already taking antidepressants.]

 

Yes, that's right. What did I say wrong? That patient wasn't allergic to anaesthesia at all. There's no way there would be any residual medication in the tubing. Before the surgery, I checked multiple times to make sure all old medication was flushed out. The anaesthetic and muscle relaxant injections were correct. I wasn't careless enough to give the patient the wrong medication. You can check this information in the anaesthesia records. I have no idea where you got all this inaccurate information from.

 

[Regarding the intentions, I'd rather not comment, as no one can say for sure except the person involved. As far as I know, the anesthesiologist received a phone call informing him of his boyfriend's death before the surgery. Then, during the operation, another call came in. I'm not sure what they discussed, but I don't think it was work-related. After that, he came to help with the surgery. This is what happened in the field at that time.]

 

Lies, all lies.

 

Before the surgery, I had no idea what was going on. I went into the operating room without knowing that P'Fah was gone. Why did Gloy say that? Did she want everyone to think that I intentionally killed the patient? Why did you do this?

 

[And did the anesthesiologist know that Mr Chanon was the other party involved in the car accident that hit Mr Fah?] the reporter asked.

 

[Yes, he knew. Absolutely.]

 

She didn't hesitate. This is crazy.

 

I tried not to look, but I couldn't resist any longer. I looked up at the TV screen. Gloy was dressed formally, her hair neatly tied back, and her makeup looked like that of a movie star—a side of her I'd never see at work. She spoke those words with unwavering confidence and a look that showed she had carefully thought them through. She wanted to kill me; she meant it.

 

"I can't believe you let her do that," Fourteen said calmly, his face showing no distress, but I could sense disappointment and a hint of mockery in his voice. "Now, the pretty girl can say whatever she wants."

 

"What can I do then?" I said.

 

"The only thing you want to do right now is die. I know," Fourteen's voice shifted from my ears to echo in my head. His eyes were fixed on me, his mouth sealed, but his words resonated, "But you can't. Admit it. I'll never let you die. At least not anytime soon."

 

Walking past each other. Yeah, that's why I said I couldn't do anything. I communicated this to him in my mind, rather than speaking aloud, while we sat in front of the restaurant with people around.

 

"No, you can do everything except die." He replied firmly.

 

This was the first time I realised that Fourteen's eyes were completely black, with no glimmer of light reflecting. Unlike P'Fah's eyes, which were a clear light brown. It's said that few people have such deep black eyes, and he was the first to show me his. They were more beautiful than I imagined, but at the same time, terrifying. I think my soul could easily be stolen if I stared into those eyes for too long.

 

"If I were you, I wouldn't die until I'd dealt with that lying bitch."

 

And this is the first time in many days that I've felt less suicidal.