Work Text:
D: "Faster."
You glanced at your phone screen, where a message flashed briefly, and you thought about joking in response: "Send me a tutorial on how to wait faster," but instead, you just sighed heavily. Your head naturally dropped into your hand as you stared at the slowly loading vampire game. Your old PC couldn't handle much more, and its familiar sluggishness irritated you almost as much as D's lack of patience. How did you even get involved with him? It seems like it was in some online game, the name of which you can't even remember. But one thing you know for sure: D, whose real name remains a mystery, has a strange obsession with history. Who else can easily and quickly recall the exact dates of Napoleon's campaigns in Italy? He's either a maniac or a professional historian. Maybe both.
Your thoughts were interrupted when the game finally loaded, flashing a bright cutscene with a warning about sudden light flashes. D immediately appeared with an invitation to join his party. You accepted and sank back into another loading screen, this time transporting you to an unremarkable lobby. The players here were different, and D stood before you—your online acquaintance, about whom you knew no more than any random player. Once again, he bombarded you with personal messages. You skimmed over the long lines, flickering at an alarming speed. His communication style was as fast as his reactions. "This guy is definitely a maniac, but damn, he's cool," you thought, catching yourself realizing that his persistence was starting to draw you in.
D: "You’ve got five minutes for customization and learning archetypes' abilities."
D: "Don’t be late again, I don’t have time for you."
D: "Pick something less flashy and dark. I don't want us getting spotted early because of you."
You sighed again, realizing that with this pace, you simply had no choice. Quietly, you pressed tab, moving to the character customization screen. Confusion started growing inside you—why did D even bother with you? He was always fast, precise, demanding. It seemed like to him, you were just a tool for achieving his goal, especially when the game required teamwork. Whenever you played in a trio, the third player was always a random stranger, equally unfamiliar with D. At first, you thought D was just looking for company since playing with others is more fun than playing alone. But with each session, it became increasingly clear: he was just using you as an auxiliary piece while he did all the work. He could easily play solo—so why did he need you? This question crossed your mind more than once, but you never found an answer.
"No, it's not that simple," you tried to reassure yourself. You once even considered cutting off communication, but then he added you as a friend on Discord. That’s when things got more complicated. From that moment, something shifted. You realized that you felt... good about it. It wasn’t just interest in the conversation, but something more, something barely noticeable. You remembered that photo he sent once: D on a motorcycle. It was an entirely ordinary picture, but you were struck by how effortlessly cool he looked in his leather jacket, sitting on the bike. Your cheeks flushed at the memory.
"Don't think about it," you told yourself sternly, forcing your attention back to the game.
The loading screen finally disappeared, and you found yourself on the battlefield. Another round had begun. It seemed like everything was going as usual: D moved with incredible speed and precision, while you just tried not to die in the first few seconds. However, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t manage to survive long enough. Messages from D, full of his usual frustration, appeared in the chat faster than you could figure out what you had done wrong. You didn’t even bother reading them—there was no point, since you already knew you’d messed up.
When the final round ended and you found yourselves back in the lobby, you reflexively asked the question that had been lingering in your mind for a while:
You: "there is a single-player mode"
You: "why don’t you play it"
The screen froze. Your character stood still, and D unexpectedly went silent for an unusually long time. It started to worry you. He always responded instantly, but this time he lingered longer than usual. You wondered if he was preparing another lengthy message and began anxiously fidgeting with your keyboard. Finally, a short message appeared:
D: "Winning is boring."
You raised an eyebrow. "We just won every round," you thought, feeling a growing sense of confusion. Before you could reply, D exited the game, leaving you alone. A strange feeling washed over you. It was as if D surpassed you not just in the game, but in life as well. Everything he said or did seemed to carry a hidden confidence that you found hard to argue with. You glanced at your phone again, where a new notification appeared. A message from D. This time, it looked odd—blank, with no text. Frowning, you checked the Discord chat and found that it was... a voice message. A voice message from D? You stared at the screen in confusion. You had never called or spoken aloud before—your communication had always been limited to text. This filled you with a strange excitement, which grew stronger with each passing second.
Hesitating for a moment, you turned up the volume and pressed play.
It was a mistake.
D's deep, low, slightly husky voice filled the silence of your room. His measured breathing, the pauses between words—his voice felt so intimate, so personal, that your face instantly flushed, and you nearly dropped your phone. A shiver ran down your spine, making you tense up. Your throat went dry, and deep inside, a warm knot twisted in your stomach. You weren’t even processing the meaning of the words, because all you could hear was the voice itself. It enveloped you, penetrated every cell of your body, and your mind refused to function. You took a deep breath, struggling to exhale as you tried to regain control of yourself. "It’s just a voice message," you repeated to yourself, but the feeling that things had spiraled out of control wouldn’t leave.
You lifted your phone and replayed the audio, this time forcing yourself to focus on the content. D was saying that he would be in your city tomorrow for work, and afterward, he planned to stop by the Game House—a place you knew all too well.
Why is he telling me this? You stared at the screen, puzzled, trying to make sense of what you’d just heard. The last few messages in the chat had been all about the game, and then—this voice message. And now he wanted you to meet him? In real life? Your heart started racing. You typed out a message:
You: "Alright?"
Message sent. Soon, D came online and quickly replied:
D: "Meet me at 3 by the arcade machines."
He logged off again, leaving you in even greater confusion. You sat there, unsure of how to react. Why now? Why, after six months of online interaction, did he suddenly want to meet in person? Your thoughts jumped from one possibility to another. Could he be in trouble? Maybe he broke some law and needed a cover? Scenario after scenario raced through your mind, but none seemed plausible. You typed out a question and instantly regretted it:
You: "Why?"
The reply came almost instantly:
D: "Later."
You sighed. Now that question would gnaw at you until the meeting. Maybe you should just block him and forget about it all? You felt like you were back in your teenage years, where every word could stir up anxiety, and your heart raced at the smallest hint. In a couple of years, I’ll be thirty, and I’m still acting like a kid. You shook your head, closing your eyes. The best solution would be to walk away from all of this and return to a peaceful life. And yet... the thought of D wouldn’t let go. Maybe it’s worth meeting him, just to see who he really is? Though, truth be told, the idea of backing out never seriously crossed your mind. Deep down, you had been waiting for this moment.
You got up from your desk, shut down your computer, and stretched, feeling the accumulated fatigue weighing heavily on your shoulders. It had been a long day. A reprimand at work for being late, and then D pulling you into games all evening. Tomorrow’s Sunday, at least I can sleep in, you thought, relieved at the prospect of a long rest. Did D know I was free tomorrow? You glanced at the clock—it was almost midnight. Stripping off your clothes and plugging in your phone to charge, you slipped under the blanket, hoping the coolness of the night would bring the peace you craved.
Unfortunately, sleep only came in the early hours of the morning. By the time you finally woke up, it was already almost 1 p.m.—less than two hours left until the meeting. Cursing everything under the sun, you rushed to the bathroom to get yourself together. After a quick shower, you made oatmeal with milk and dried fruit and sat down to eat, simultaneously calculating how long it would take to get to the Game House. Two buses, then a walk to the arcade machines... You didn’t like rushing, but you had no choice—you definitely didn’t want to be late.
Dressed in dark gray pants and a black hoodie, you grabbed your phone, checked for messages, and saw that no one from work had contacted you. Grabbing your wallet, you hurried out of the apartment and headed to the bus stop.
On your way to the bus stop, you ran into granny Sveta—your neighbor from the fifth floor. She was a kind woman, though a bit grumpy, but always managed to find something to chat about.
"Good morning! Why are you so out of breath? In a hurry somewhere?" she asked with a smirk.
"And good morning to you, granny Sveta. I’m heading to the center. How about you?" you replied, trying to smile.
"I'm visiting my daughter Vlada in the hospital. She’s about to give birth."
You nodded, smiling. Time really flies.
You chatted a bit more before the bus arrived. Wrapping up your conversation, you took a seat and mentally went over your plan for the next few hours.
The bus ride went by relatively quickly, and the transfer didn’t take much time either. Soon, you found yourself at the right stop, near the library, the square, and the shopping mall. Exiting the bus, you walked briskly toward the Game House. Along the way, your attention was caught by a familiar motorcycle in the parking lot. You couldn’t help but notice it—the bike stood out with its unique design featuring bone graphics, and passersby were even taking pictures next to it. D is already here, you realized, and your heart raced. Pulling out your phone, you checked the time: 15:17. You were late.
You exhaled irritably, putting your phone back in your pocket as you hurried inside the building. You couldn’t see him in the crowd, but you knew the arcade machines were in a separate room, so finding him wouldn’t be hard. A few minutes passed before you spotted a familiar figure by one of the machines. D stood there, engrossed in a space game, not distracted for a second. His outfit was all black, and he even wore a helmet inside. That surprised you a bit—was he really comfortable wearing a helmet here?
"Hey," your voice came out quieter than you expected. The words seemed to catch in your throat, and you hurried to clear it.
"You’re late," D didn’t even turn his head, continuing to play. His voice sounded even deeper and more pleasant in person than in the voice message, making you involuntarily hold your breath.
"The bus..." you began, but he interrupted you immediately.
"You look like a truck ran over you."
You glanced down, realizing his remark hit the mark. A quick look at the screen revealed D's game was full of action: his character, an astronaut, dodged obstacles and destroyed enemies with incredible precision. He really was good, you thought, watching his skilled maneuvers.
But suddenly, D's character crashed into an obstacle, and the screen flashed "Game Over." D turned to you, finally tearing his gaze away from the screen. His helmet faced you directly, and you felt a slight rush of embarrassment as you looked away. Before you could collect yourself, D dropped a coin into the machine, stepped closer, grabbed your elbow, and positioned you in front of the screen, moving your hands to the buttons.
Caught off guard, you just stood there, looking at him in confusion.
"Your turn," he said calmly, stepping aside.
You started the game, but panic began to swell within you. You were completely unprepared for him to make you play. Your fingers clumsily pressed the buttons, resulting in a spectacular failure as you crashed and didn’t even make it onto the leaderboard.
"You’ve forgotten how to play?" D asked irritably, his tone almost accusatory.
"I... panicked," you mumbled in response, feeling something clench inside you from embarrassment.
Before you could step away from the arcade machine, D unexpectedly stood behind you, wrapping his arms around yours and starting the game again. He began controlling your movements, guiding the game for you.
"This is how you play," his voice was low and close to your ear, nearly making you jump. The atmosphere shifted—your hands were in his, your back pressed against his chest. Your body immediately responded to the physical contact, a jolt of electricity racing across your skin, causing your breath to hitch.
You could feel his chest rising and falling rhythmically, his cold hands guiding your movements. Your head spun with the realization that you were literally caught between the arcade machine and D. All your thoughts about the game crumbled like a house of cards. The only things you could feel were his cold hands and the way his helmet brushed against the top of your head. You didn’t know how to react. Your breathing became increasingly erratic, and for a moment, it felt like you were losing control of the situation.
By the time the game ended, you couldn’t tell whether you had been controlling it yourself or if he had done it all along. Only the words "Game Over" brought you back to reality. What shook you the most was that his hands still remained on yours.
"You placed eighth. You need to enter a name," his voice was too close again, sending another wave of nervous tension through you.
You remained silent for too long, and D started typing in a nickname himself. However, the screen displayed not your usual handle but a word you had definitely never used.
"Anguria," you read aloud, looking up at him in confusion.
"That's 'watermelon' in Italian," he explained calmly, stepping back to give you space. "Because your face is the same color as its flesh."
You froze, unsure how to react. He was watching you again, his observant gaze piercing. Uncomfortably touching your cheek, you realized it was indeed burning from embarrassment. Now he knows… damn, now he knows! The situation felt increasingly humiliating. You felt like you had embarrassed yourself in front of him, and he would probably tease you about it. You had hoped to remain unnoticed, but your face had betrayed you—it was like an open book.
"I'll take you home," his voice pulled you from your thoughts.
You looked at D, bewildered, and frowned. His offer sounded calm, but you still couldn’t believe the simplicity of the situation. Why was he suddenly offering to drive you? Was it genuine concern, or did he just want to get it over with quickly?
"No, I'll take the bus," your voice trembled with embarrassment, and you turned away, trying to escape the strange dynamic.
"I didn't ask you. Let's go," D declared with finality, turning and heading for the exit.
You stood frozen in place, confused and unsure how to react. D's footsteps faded away, and you felt the tension slowly building inside you. You didn’t know what to do next. Everything felt surreal. "What am I even doing here?" you thought, feeling humiliated. You truly felt like a pawn in some game of his. "Watermelon face... How pathetic." You felt completely powerless, as if you had let a stranger take control of the situation, where everything was played by his rules.
Lost in thoughts about how foolish it was to come here, you heard approaching footsteps. Turning around, you saw D returning, and before you could say anything, he grabbed your elbow and pulled you toward the exit. His determination seemed to leave no room for objections, and you simply allowed him to lead you, as if you had no other choice.
Outside, a cold wind greeted you, suddenly hitting your face, and you once again felt the heat of embarrassment. The people who had been taking pictures by his motorcycle quickly parted ways at D’s sharp command:
“GET LOST.”
His voice was so rough and commanding that the surrounding people immediately complied, almost as if they were scared. D mounted his motorcycle and gestured for you to sit behind him. You hesitated, feeling awkward and wanting to refuse. Everything inside you screamed that you could just take the bus and go home. But looking at D, you didn’t want to anger him further. His irritation was palpable.
Quietly, you settled behind him, trying to keep your distance. But as soon as you grasped the seat, D abruptly turned, growling in frustration, and grabbed your hands, roughly pulling you closer.
You collided with his back, barely stifling a sound of surprise as he made you wrap your arms around his waist. Everything was happening so fast that you couldn't even process it. The motorcycle started moving, and you instinctively pressed against him in fear, feeling the wind whip against your face and hair. There was no way to move; you were pinned against his back, feeling the chill of his jacket. But what surprised you the most was his cold body. It seemed to radiate coolness, as if he were made of ice.
"How can he be so cold?" The thought flashed through your mind as you felt his shoulder brush against your cheek. The scent of leather mixed with something unusual... winter. He smelled like winter. Everything around you felt like a dream as you closed your eyes, experiencing every detail of the moment intensely. You tried not to think about how physically close you were, but it was impossible to ignore. Each bump in the road, every turn of the motorcycle made you cling to him tighter, and with each passing second, everything felt more surreal.
As the motorcycle began to slow down, you opened your eyes and saw the familiar landscape. Your home. How did D know where you lived? Panic surged as you realized you had never told him your address. You had never mentioned where you lived, hadn’t shown him photos or pointed out anything that could give him a hint about your place. How could he know?
D stopped the motorcycle and turned his helmet towards you. It was eerie to look at him at that moment. Everything felt too strange, and you were beginning to suspect something was off.
"We need to talk. Preferably in your apartment," he said, looking at you through the visor.
You nodded slowly, unsure of what to do. A thousand questions raced through your mind, and fear settled in—you felt trapped. Was he stalking you? Or worse—was something sinister about to happen? Why did you ever trust him? You stepped towards the entrance, sensing his cold presence behind you. He followed closely, and each of his steps felt like a warning.
You opened the door to your apartment, letting him inside. Your head buzzed with fear that grew with every passing second. You had invited a potential stalker into your own home. All this time, you had allowed him to control the situation, as if you were hypnotized by his words and behavior. And now you were alone with him. D quickly scanned the room, checking to make sure you were indeed alone, then turned to you.
"You'd better not scream," his words sent a jolt of terror through you. You froze, unable to move, afraid of what would happen next.
But what he did next was completely unexpected. He slowly raised his hand to his helmet and lifted the visor, revealing his face. Or rather, what was where a face should be—a skull. A cold, white skull.
A chill ran down your spine, and your heart froze in your chest.
"You..." your voice trembled with fear. "You... Death?"
"Yes," he replied calmly, taking a step closer to you. His voice remained steady and composed, but each of his steps felt increasingly menacing. "I'm not here for your soul." He stopped right in front of you, so close that you could sense his cold breath, if he had any. "I’m just here to say goodbye."
You frowned, trying to comprehend his words. Say goodbye? Why would Death need to say goodbye to someone who was bound to die anyway? Questions swirled in your mind, but none found answers. However, it seemed your confusion showed on your face, as Death let out a small sigh and shook his head.
"What...?" you said, not understanding what he meant.
He raised his hand and poked your chest with his finger. Startled, you looked down, but he quickly grabbed your chin and forced you to meet his empty gaze.
"It was fun flirting with you, but you're too dense to understand even half of what I said."
Blood rushed to your face, and you felt it start to burn. Death... had flirted with you? You tried to recall all your conversations, skimming through your messages and moments in games. Everything that seemed like ordinary chat or jokes now took on a completely different meaning. You remembered him saying, "Are you in or not?" followed by his usual, "Come on, hurry up," "Damn, faster," "I'll be done soon." All those phrases now echoed in your mind with an entirely new resonance. You felt your face heat up again from embarrassment.
“...Why were you doing this?” — your voice barely whispered, trembling with tension and worry.
“That’s exactly what I want to talk about,” — his voice remained calm, despite the topic he was raising. He continued to lightly stroke your chin with his thumb, as if exploring you. “The world is going to die soon, and you will die with it, without ever having entered into any relationships.” He paused, as if choosing his words. “Interestingly enough, I will too.”
You struggled to process what you had just heard. Death would die? Your thoughts instantly tangled, trying to understand what that meant. How could Death die?
"You... will die?" — you asked, your voice betraying you with a shaky tone of shock.
"In a sense," — his voice was emotionless, yet somehow felt personal. "When the world dies, what does Death do? If there’s no one to take?" He leaned in slightly, almost touching his helmet to your forehead. "I don't have the answer as to why you, but I decided that before the end, I wanted to remember something."
You looked at him in confusion, trying to grasp the meaning of his words. Remember what? Why did he come to me?
"You come to say goodbye…" — the words sounded so quiet, as if you were speaking to yourself.
Death straightened up, releasing your chin. He looked at you with his empty gaze, and you felt that this moment was your last chance to change something.
"I'll be too busy before the end to meet your soul," — his voice remained icy, yet there was a strange sadness in it. "You will leave for a world where I will no longer matter. But before that... I want to take something as a keepsake."
Your eyes widened in surprise. Take? What would he take?
Before you could say anything, Death removed his helmet, fully exposing his skull, and with a swift motion, pulled you close by the waist. He was cold, yet the touch of his bony hands ignited a strange warmth inside you. He leaned in, and you felt his teeth graze your lips in a semblance of a kiss.
Your thoughts exploded from the sensation. The world around you vanished, and your consciousness seemed to plunge into a deep void where only the two of you existed. The chill of his "kiss" pierced you to the bone, but despite the cold, it felt astonishingly pleasant. Unsure what to do with your hands, you placed them on his shoulders as if trying to keep yourself from falling. Something inside you began to melt, as if he were taking something important from within you.
Soon the kiss broke, and you began to breathe as if you had just sprinted a marathon. The air burned your lungs, and your head spun from the events. You noticed a black smoke slowly dissipating around you, enveloping the moment in an even stranger haze. Death stood before you in his familiar cloak, holding… your black scarf.
"This will do," he said, as if assessing his find. Then, before you could utter a word, he vanished into the swirling smoke, leaving you alone in silence.
You stood in the middle of your apartment, stunned and disoriented. Everything that had happened felt like a dream, some absurdity from which you couldn't wake up. You raised your hand to your face, still feeling the chill of his touch. Death… had flirted with me. And took my scarf. Why did he want my scarf?
After that day, you slowly began to regain your composure, realizing that the end of the world would indeed come. However, the wait for that end seemed to stretch on too long. You continued to live almost as before, trying to forget that encounter, but memories of that "kiss" and his strange words haunted you. You started to realize that you would never know when that end would truly arrive.
And then, one ordinary sunny Sunday, you received a message:
"Do you have the next 50 years free?"
Your heart froze, and your hands trembled as you saw that brief yet profoundly significant message again.