Minho is sitting in the car outside Jisung's house. It's dark and dead quiet in the sleeping neighbourhood. He feels like a murderer. Like a bad person here to do a bad thing. Will anyone remember him, the stranger in the night, when they hear that Mrs. Han has passed away?

"I'll do it," he said on the phone the night before. Like it would be as simple as pulling a plug out of the wall.

He imagines Jisung at the hospital, holding Hara in his arms. Healing her. Absolving her of Death, like the god he is. Death is a god as well. Won't Death ever be vindicated in the eyes of the masses? Will its miracles always be seen as tragedies?

He slumps forward, fists in his hair. Death is too close to the surface. Half his thoughts aren't his own. His mind feels trampled and controlled and violated.

Only one light is on inside Jisung's house — still it seems bright, glowing. He never thought a place so filled with Life could be oppressive, suffocating the way his is.

Still, it's beautiful, he thinks. Lawn painted white with wild daisies; grass slowly breaking through the concrete driveway; floral curtains in the windows. He walks quickly through the light rain up to the front stoop, but his hand stalls, knuckles against the door. He takes stock. This is going to hurt. This is going to be hard. This is going to be kind.

Jisung opens the door before Minho can knock. Neither can meet the other's eyes. They're looking at each other's shoes.

Jisung's voice comes on a breath. Minho can barely hear him. "She's in her room."

Minho is torn between asking if he's alright and assuming he isn't. Maybe he should just get in and get out. Like a fucking serial killer.

"Jisung—" he starts.

"Don't let it be painful. Don't— just don't scare her. Please."

"I'll... try."

Jisung moves to the side. Minho steps over the threshold. His ears pop when Jisung closes the door. The house is dark except for the light in Nini's bedroom.

Minho walks toward it. Jisung doesn't.

"Aren't you...?" Minho says.

"I can't—" Jisung's voice cuts out. Minho looks up at him, just for a second. He looks broken. Tired and weary and weak. "I can't..."

"Okay. That's okay." Minho won't make this harder for him. He can only imagine caring about someone the way Jisung cares for his grandmother. His mother has never been particularly maternal. He used to tell his nannies he loved them, though he never missed them once they left.

He steps into Nini's room and gently closes the door behind himself.

"Hello, dear."

She's lying back in her bed, propped up on a pillow. She looks withered, cheeks hollowed and eyes glazed by cataracts. Her smile is warm. She waves him closer.

He sits on the edge of the bed. The Life in this room is so concentrated. The air feels too thin, void of oxygen.

Nini frowns at him. "You look troubled."

"You remember what we're... what I'm here for? Right?"

"Well yes, I don't have dementia." She speaks with a slur. "Please, don't be upset on my account. I know I'm asking a lot of you, and you have so much on your plate already."

"How could I not be upset? I don't want to... be someone who takes life away. Especially yours. It feels so wrong."

A sigh slips through her lips. "You will understand someday. Both of you will."

"Have you said goodbye already?"

"Yes. Before you came." Her eyes wander over his face, cloudy but thoughtful. "I'm not worried about Jisung. I know he'll be alright. We all are, eventually."

"Except when we're not."

She shrugs. "Even then. Trust me, dear, you'll be alright too. Now tell me, how is your family? How is your niece?"

He should have known she wouldn't let him off easy. She's too open, even on her deathbed. It's so deceptively calm in this room, and she's so deceptively serene. He feels like she's drawing him in just to break his heart. Break it more thoroughly, scatter the pieces.

"Can I be honest?"

She nods him on.

"My family... they hate me. I fail them over and over again. I'm on my own for the first time in my life, and it's better, I'm better, but I can't make myself forget that I'm one of them. And I think I... fell for someone, a little. But it wasn't meant to be. I don't think I'll ever be able to be close to anyone without hurting them. I'm a failure and I'm useless and alone. I'm Death. And right now I'm so afraid, I kind of feel like throwing up. You seem so okay and I can't trust you. I feel like you're luring me into a trap."

Nini just listens and nods, like she could hold all his worries in the palm of her hand.

She reaches out to grasp both his hands in hers. Something travels between them, a gentle static.

"I am as you see me, Minho. You'll understand someday, when death is close, there is nothing to fear. It isn't... separate from here, the other side. It isn't above or below or between — it's all around. I'm not sure what's waiting for me, but I can't be afraid of it... not when the let down, the falling, is so... so..."

Nini's head is bobbing to the side, eyes falling shut.

Minho looks down.

The veins on his wrists are shining with light.

He tries to pull away but she holds him fast. "No, stop, don't be scared. Don't be scared, you're doing it. I knew you could. You've got Death in you."

She's smiling a dreamy smile. Minho can barely breathe.

"Don't worry. Don't be scared. I spent my life with the people I love... my Little, my lovely husband... and you, I'm glad I met you. I'm glad you came into our lives the way you did, even if you don't understand it. These gifts you've been given... don't you see, dear? It's beautiful... so beautiful... you've got Death in you and it's..."

—

Her hands are limp in his.

The bedside lamp shines golden light across her sallow skin and parted lips.

He can't move. He just watched her die, and it was...

His veins have faded to blue. Something like sugar is brimming inside him, humming in his heart. He picks himself up on his weak knees, leans over to straighten the blankets. He collects a few stray socks and closes drawers. He feels like tidying. He takes Nini's hands and crosses them on her chest.

She's a void in the room. It still feels so alive. Dust motes are floating midair.

The rest of the house is dark. Darker when he closes the bedroom door. It's silent. He should go.

"Minho?"

A voice from somewhere inside the house. It's Jisung. That little, broken voice, it's his. Minho can't process his own reaction. He wants to find the voice. Be close to him. Make sure he's okay. But Minho's mind and body aren't in his control. The Death in him is too close to the surface. The Life in him is making his fingers curl and twitch.

The lights flicker over his head. In the flash, he sees a shape behind him. Jisung is sitting on the floor, back against the kitchen cabinets, knees drawn to his chest. He's staring at Minho, crossing their distance with a look.

"Is she gone?" He seems so much like a child now. Vulnerable. Alone.

Minho takes a step toward him, stops himself there. "I'm sorry."

Jisung looks down at his hands, hidden behind his knees. He's crying, tears dripping down his face.

"You don't have to worry about her," Minho says. "It wasn't painful. I promise, it was—"

"You don't get it. All you had to do was say no. And she'd be here. She would be here. And I..."

Jisung shifts, lowering his knees. Minho sees his hands. He's holding a kitchen knife.

"She didn't have to die." He pushes the words through his teeth, rapping his hands, the hilt of the knife, against his head. "She didn't have to die. She didn't have to die."

"Jisung, put that down—"

"She didn't have to die!" he shouts. "You killed her! You could have said no! You fucking killed her!"

He's slashing the knife through the air. He's going to do something stupid. Hurt himself. Or maybe he'll hurt Minho first. He mustn't hesitate. Distraught and reckless, the vessel is compromised.

Minho shakes his head sharply. Don't lose control.

"What am I supposed to... how do I..." Jisung slumps into his hands. "Don't leave, God, please don't leave me."

Minho takes a careful step forward. "Please, put down the knife."

"Fuck off, go away!"

"I'm not letting you hurt anyone."

He seems to hear what Minho isn't saying. He turns the knife over in his hands. Minho doesn't know who this person is. Grief is crushing him and Life is surging through the cracks.

"No... no." He looks up at Minho, meets his eyes. "I'll... hurt you."

"Don't. Please."

Tears are running down his face. The knife trembles in his hand. "I hate you. I hate you so fucking much."

And something... breaks.

Minho watches himself slam the knife out of Jisung's hand, force him back against the floor. Jisung's hands find his throat, squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, sharp nails and rough calluses. He's crying and shouting — "I hate you! I hate you!" — and Minho is shouting it back.

He raises an arm, fist clenched. And every vicious, grating voice in his mind cheers in unison.

Kill it!

Destroy it!

Set us free!

Minho freezes. Freezes and drops his arm. His fist is still clenched. He could ignite at any moment. He could shatter at a touch. His control is flickering like the lights overhead.

Jisung is crying and fighting under him, veins alight and eyes blackened, cursing in a long-dead language.

He is but a vessel.

Even poisoned so...

I can't hurt you.

He wraps his arms around Jisung's neck, pulls him in, holds him tightly. Holds him like it's the only way he can resist.

Jisung's hands pound against his back, pound and scratch and dig in. And gradually, soften.