Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights above the preparation room buzzed against the midnight rain. Agott Arklaum stood motionless beside the stainless steel table, gloved hands folded neatly behind her back as she stared at the paperwork clipped to the clipboard. Male. Sixty-three. Cardiac arrest. Requested closed casket viewing. It was all routine.
Everything in this profession relied upon routine. Measured chemical dilution. Precise arterial pressure. Sutures hidden carefully beneath the jawline. Cosmetics applied in thin layers until grief softened into something bearable for families to look at. Death was ugly. Their job was mercy. Agott adjusted the cuffs of her black sleeves before reaching for her instruments in practiced silence. Then, the prep room door burst open.
“Agott, you forgot dinner again.” Coco reminded.
She did not look up immediately. She had only greeted her.
“Good evening to you, Coco.”
A paper bag landed beside her clipboard. Coco grinned, rainwater still clinging to her coat sleeves.
“I told you I’d stop letting you survive on tea and spite.”
“I survive perfectly well.” Agott calmly replies.
“Mhm.” Coco nodded.
Coco peeled off her gloves and hung her coat by the doorway before wandering into Agott’s workspace like she owned it. Perhaps she did. The room always seemed warmer when she entered it. Agott finally glanced toward the paper bag. Curiously, Agott asks,
“…Sweet buns?”
Coco noticed her surprised expression. She then declares,
“Again, you skipped breakfast.”
“You noticed?” Agott was caught off guard, though her stern voice remained.
“You nearly passed out during reconstruction last Tuesday.” Coco states, with a hint of nagging.
Agott lets out a sigh,
“That happened once.”
“It happened twice.” Coco retorts.
Agott frowned slightly, then groans,
“You’re exaggerating.”
Coco only laughed beneath her breath before stepping toward the occupied table. Her expression softened instantly. There it was again. That shift.
Agott had seen it countless times over the years—the subtle gentleness that overtook Coco whenever she approached the deceased. Like stepping into a chapel, her shoulders relaxed. Her voice softened. Even her hands seemed to move differently. Tenderly, they moved. Coco carefully adjusted the blanket covering the body.
“There,” she murmured.
“That’s better.”
Agott watched her in silence.
“You speak to them as though they can hear you.” Agott sarcastically remarks.
Coco glanced sideways,
“Maybe they deserve the effort anyway.”
“That isn’t logical.” Agott argues.
“Yet you straighten their collars before families arrive.” Coco rebutted.
Agott paused,
“…Presentation matters.”
“So does kindness.” Coco says, with an unusual sternness in her voice.
The rain tapped in a crescendo against the high windows. Coco circled around the table, scanning the paperwork clipped beneath Agott’s hand. As she circled, Coco proceeds to ask,
“Closed casket?”
“Facial trauma.” Agott asserts.
“Ouch.”
Agott states,
“I’ll handle reconstruction.”
“You always do.”
Something about the way Coco said it lingered strangely in Agott’s chest. Not praise exactly. Certainty. Agott busied herself arranging instruments to avoid acknowledging it.
Scalpel. Trocar. Forceps. Needle injector. Everything had its place, unlike Coco.
Coco leaned against the counter beside her, already opening the paper bag she had brought. The scent of bread and butter drifted faintly through antiseptic air.
“You know,”
Coco said,
“one day I’m going to start spoon-feeding you during shifts.”
“I would resign immediately.” Agott remarks.
“You wouldn’t.” Coco teased.
“No?” Agott questions, her voice softening.
“No.” Coco smiled lazily.
“You like me too much.”
Agott nearly dropped the arterial tube in her hand.
Absolutely ridiculous. Coco said things like that often—lightly, casually, without fear of consequence. Meanwhile, Agott spent most conversations carefully dissecting every syllable before allowing it to leave her mouth.
“You’re insufferable,” Agott muttered.
“And yet, you keep me around.” Coco replies, almost instantly.
“That remains under evaluation.” Agott tiresomely utters.
Coco laughed again, softer this time. The sound echoed strangely beautifully in the sterile room. Agott hated how quickly she had become accustomed to it.
Outside of work, she disliked noise. Crowds, idle chatter, it all meant disorder. Yet, Coco filled silence naturally, like rain against windows or music from another room. Never invasive, rather simply present. Alive.
Coco nudged the paper bag closer toward her.
“Eat before you start embalming.”
“I can multitask.” Agott replies.
“You say that as though formaldehyde is seasoning.” Coco laughs as she mutters.
Agott exhaled quietly through her nose.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re pale.” Coco breathes.
Agott looked at her, confused.
“I’m always pale.”
“More than usual.” Coco whispers.
Agott removed her gloves with deliberate precision, if only to end the conversation. Satisfied, Coco smiled triumphantly and leaned back against the counter beside her. Their shoulders brushed briefly. A small, tiny thing. Although, Agott immediately became aware of every point of contact, which was warm.
Coco reached up absentmindedly and fixed the slight crookedness in Agott’s collar.
“You missed a spot.”
Agott went still.
“…Thank you.”
“See? You can accept help.” Coco smiled, the warmth of her voice echoing through the air.
“I accepted correction.” Agott clarifies.
“Close enough.”
Agott looked down at the untouched sweet bun in her hands. The prep room lights reflected softly in the steel cabinets around them. Rainwater slid slowly down the windows. Somewhere deeper in the funeral home, a phone rang once before fading silent again. For a moment, everything felt suspended. It was quiet, safe, and all that, Agott yearned for it. Coco tilted her head slightly as she looked at her.
“You know,” she said softly,
“you’d probably sleep better if you stopped carrying every corpse like it’s your personal responsibility.”
Agott stared at the table ahead.
“That’s our work.”
“No.” Coco shook her head gently,
“Our work is helping them rest.”
Something about that sentence settled heavily inside Agott’s chest. Helping them rest? As though death could ever be something peaceful. As though loss could ever be gentle. Agott finally took a bite of the sweet bun to avoid answering. Coco beamed immediately.
“There we go.”
“You’re unbearable.” Agott says, knowing it was all a facade.
“You’re eating.”
“…Unfortunately.” Agott managed to utter, with her mouth full.
The rain continued long into the night while they worked side by side beneath fluorescent lights and sterile air—one preparing the dead with careful hands, the other preserving them with impossible precision. Neither of them noticed how temporary it all was.