—Your POV—

Hazy steam fills your vision as you cook, soft sizzling delighting your ears with its continuous noise. You flip something, a pancake, browned to perfection on one side, now the other. Your lower half is warmed by the oven, which stores a turkey within. It's too usual for you to be making this much, but luckily, the god of death is here to help. 

"So, Babe, when do we get a break?" He floats lazily overhead, watching the sausages sizzle and crackle in their own pan. "Not like I'm tired." 

Snapped from your small trance, you turn your gaze up and see his lazy grin. He smiles like a pleased cat, without a care in the world. The sausages are alight with his blue magic, rolling about at the flick of his fingers. You click your tongue. Envy will have to try harder to claim you. 

"Reaper, you're always tired." He definitely looks the part. Sparing him another glance, you spot the bags under his eyes, and the coffee mug he holds in his hand. 

"Guilty as charged, I guess." He retorts with a small snort. He sips some coffee before looking to you, something more pressing in his eyes as he stares you down. "But do you ever stop to wonder why?" 

Like hell you do. 

"Nope." You hum, looking back down to your pancakes. Soft murmurs carry on in the kitchen. Killer untied Dust a while ago. You think they're plotting to kill Reaper. 

Reaper makes a small whining noise, but it ends in a sigh. "So sad you don't care about me." He speaks in a hurt, almost pitiable voice. Almost. "But, I can tell you if you have a change of heart." 

You sigh, plating another few pancakes as the oven dings. "Reaper, pull the sausages. It's break-time." You flick the stove off as blue envelopes the sausages, as instructed. Now to let everything cool, and then make the eggs. "I'm going to open the stove." You contemplate telling him to move. He's in the direct line of all the sweltering hot air that's about to billow out. 

Siding against the idea, (he deserves it, right? Broke your ladder and kinda bullied everybody.) you pull open the oven, leaning back and fanning at all the steaming hot air. Skeletons look on from the table in awe. Steam and smoke plume right up into... Reaper's relaxed face. 

"Ah—!" In a knee-jerk reaction sort of motion, Reaper is sent reeling, wildly rubbing at his face as quiet giggles erupt from the table. "Wh-What the hell?!" His voice comes out strained as he fans at himself, steam pouring from his teeth and nostrils. He looks at you with a wince. You shrug and offer a small smile. 

You open a window to let the air out. Once the kitchen clears, you lean in and grab the turkey from the oven, settling it up on the windowsill. Right, now everything can cool. 

You look to Reaper and find that his face is a twinge blue. "Where're we taking our break?" You give him the chance to pick as an indirect apology. He leads you to his couch, not-so-lightly shoving you down onto the plush cushions before plopping beside you, sighing. 

"So, back to me, right?" He looks at you, face back to its normal, pale white. "Well, first I need the ok from you to explain." He gestured to you with a crooked grin. 

Just what is it he wanted to get off his chest huh? You roll your eyes. This better not be another dumb punchline for an even dumber pun. 

"Enlighten me." You muse, putting on your own little smirk as his widens. 

"Well, I'm sure you know about that note we got not so long ago." He smile playfully as he twiddles his thumbs. Reaper is the last person you expected to talk to you about this. "Just why would that concern me, right? Take a guess." There's something weighty in his tone you can't discern. 

Furrowing your eyebrows, only one legitimate answer comes to mind. Dream, Nightmare and Reaper all had one thing in common, besides the whole skeleton monster thing. (What was with that, anyways?) 

"Uhh, you're a higher entity, for five hundred." Smile for the camera right? You did your best to make light of a possibly serious conversation coming up. Just mirror Reaper's awkward sense of mirth. The smile on your lips felt rigid. 

"Ding Ding Ding! Tell em' what they've won!" He jests, a chuckle following as he finger guns you. "Yep! 'God of Death', right?" Despite how much you've played and joked and pranked him before, death himself, you feel oddly small, out of place, lesser than. Maybe it's the way he looks at you, or the underlying darkness in his tone. "So riddle me this, who all dies?" 

Gosh, was it hot in here? You subconsciously shrink into the couch as your hand creeps up to tug at your collar. Who did die huh? Everyone mortal... everyone died at some point. You risked a glance into the kitchen. No one looked back to offer you even the smallest of comforts. 

"Ah- well..." Hell, even you'd die someday. Forcing your gaze back to Reaper, you note the empty eye sockets, the bags underneath all too notable. "E-Everybody dies. Me, the monster down the street, the kids who always steal my mail." Your mouth moves without much thought. You swallow something thick. 

"Exactly. Good guys, bad guys." He leans back... when had he gotten so close? "Seems kinda unfair for me to kill one more than the other, doesn't it?" Pinpricks of white come into focus, and burn into your vision as you stare into them. "Do you get it yet?" 

"Get wha—" 

"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!" The two of you start as Horror screams from the kitchen. "YOU BASTARD! PUT THAT DAMN TURKEY BACK!" 

You're up from Reaper's sofa in a flash, rushing into the kitchen to find Horror halfway out the window, hissing a shouting before he drops back in, seething. 

"Horror what's—" 

"Fuckin' houseweed took our food!" Wow, he's definitely not happy about it. "I'm gonna go—" 

"No need." A bony hand settles on your shoulder, you look up to see Reaper floating beside you. "We'll go get it." 

"Knock some sense into that thing while you're at it." Dust, speaking up for once, suggests. "It stole all my shorts." Your eyes are on him in an instant. "So I borrowed Killer's."

You hear some hisses of a conversation you don't want to hear before Reaper takes you towards the door. 

"Let's go whack some weeds eh?" 

~~~~~~~~~~

Talkativity Scale because I thought it up earlier: 

Killer: 8/10 Always has something to say. Only shuts up when it'd be a really bad idea to talk.

Nightmare: 7/10 He has enough authority to speak whenever the flip he wants. Plus, you're all idiots to the great Nootmare, and he has a lot to say in response to your stupid questions.

Horror: 6/10 Talks regularly. You won't find him butting in to too many conversations. 

Dust: 4/10 Only really talks because of Killer. Pretty much never talks out of turn. 

Error: 3/10 He'd rather think. Plus I hate typing out his glitchy ahh voice. 

Cross: 2/10 I don't think I like him enough to give him any actual dialogue. 

There you have it I guess

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

- De Moogus