§ 1

Sehun was nervous. He hadn’t spoken to a human soul since the day he died, his only interaction being talking to Death and his horse. He was anxious. To give off a more believable picture of him being a traveller, he packed his old backpack, filled it with clothes, food, maps, anything that might give the illusion that he wasn’t an immortal. Wandering all day under the mortals was stressful and his horse felt it. And he had to stay visible for an indefinite period of time, because if he turned invisible, his horse would as well, weirdly enough.

People were staring suspiciously at him because usually no one in this day of age had a mechanical horse. But his thick french accent when he spoke made people believe that he lived in one of the rural parts of the old France, or people just didn’t realise he was a Parisian because people grew up speaking English as their mother language since no-one bothered learning French anymore these days. Sehun was only dead for five years, but even then, people already spoke English. He grew up bilingual, but his parents mostly spoke French since the priest was only able to speak French as well. And Sehun learned a multitude of languages over the years from missionary trips in his youth and adulthood.

He approached a young looking man, because they could be easily fifty in this day and age. “Excusez-moi, mais où est le mécanicien le plus près qui pourrait m'aider avec des noyaux nucléaires?”

The stranger just stared at him, “What? Can’t ya speak ing English? As if I understand your weird language! What is that even supposed to be, gibberish? Retard.”

“On est en criss de France, esti de con, laisse-moi parler ma langue maternelle,” Sehun inhaled sharply, rolling his eyes behind closed lids, before he opened his eyes again and head-on glared at the stranger. “I asked where the a mechanic is that can help me with a goddamn nuclear core.” For effect he pointed over his shoulder and pointed his thumb at a very angry looking mechanical horse that snorted for dramatic effect. “And my lady doesn’t appreciate it when her owner is called a ‘retard’, monsieur.”

“I—”

“Where?”

“Two blocks down, there might be a mechanic that can help you.” The stranger suddenly scurried away and revealed an amused looking Death who had let him feel dreading anxiousness with the smugest of grins not even the evilest persons could muster. Sehun didn’t comment on it and moved forward, his horse trotting on its reins behind him. Death, the smooth er he was, fell in step with Sehun and sneaked his arm around the latter’s waist.

We’re cursing with the usage of sacramental objects now? What would the priest say? He squeezed Sehun’s and pulled him closer, sending Sehun almost stumbling. He had to bite back another round of curses creeping up his vocal cords. He was already suspicious enough with his aura and white hair, but it would be the end of him if he would now start speaking to seemingly air. He already felt the authorities' eyes on him since he stepped out of the priest’s house where the old man couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw him for the first time in over five years.

It’s cute how you’re cursing me in your mind, makes me wanna eat you up.

Sehun snorted and effectively scared a passer-by, and his horse snapped after Death who was hidden from mortals’ eyes.

“No snapping after idiots, they're not worth it,” Sehun patted his horse’s muzzle.

Be glad I’m so fond of you that I let you curse at me.

Sehun bite back an equally fond smile that was trying to force its way on his face and was, at the same time, extremely glad that Death never really tried to read his mind, even if he could. Sehun was like an open book to him and he knew, but he didn’t mind if he was honest with himself. Ever since the day twelve years ago when he had to bury his parents, when he met Death for the first time materialised, and for fourteen years before that, when he only felt his presence, he was glad to be by his side, to have Death by his side, as macabre as it might sound.

Overcome with a sense of sudden accomplishment, Sehun started humming a tune he only knew because of extensive research in France’s libraries where there had been old data files of music from before the war.

What song is that? I feel like I heard it before–

Sehun whispered, “Well, you should since it is a composition about yourself, facheuse; it’s Danse Macabre.” Sehun felt Death staring questioningly at him, Sehun tipped his temple, The composers name is–was Camille Saint-Saëns. It’s based on a poem about you playing the violin at a graveyard after twelve on All Hallows’ Eve, to let the dead rise from their graves and let them dance until the first break of dawn on All Saints’ Day. 

Death’s hand brushed past his back and he linked it with Sehun’s arm. Is that what you’re playing throughout the night in the chapel?

Sehun made an affirmative snort played off as sneeze, And now out of my head and no weird tricks, this is serious for me.

Sehun felt particular cranky that day and almost snarled at people or materialised his scythe when someone came to close to his horse once—a full working mechanical horse was seldom those days, especially one in fantastic condition. He almost bumped into an official and just barely managed to scrape past them, fingers pressed to his sunglasses to keep them from sliding down and revealing his very non-humane eyes. Death, he looked slightly into the other’s direction to open a canal for conversation.

Yes, my child?

Sehun already saw the sign for the mechanic. Do I have an official document like an ID? The chip in my chest isn’t functional anymore after I died.

Death tapped his chin in thought while Sehun lead him. You should have a fake one. I asked one of the lower demons to get you one, and I should have put it into the saddle bag. Name’s different from Oh Sehun. Even if your death wasn’t mentioned anywhere, you just dropped off the radar, and I have no idea if someone might recognise the name. You should be safe, however, since you’ve never been one to stay long in one place, but that’s just what people thought about you, with you being abroad all the time.

Sehun patted his hoodie pockets for his cigarettes. What’s my name?

Methuselah.

“What?!” Sehun started incredulous at Death, but to the outside it looked like he was staring at his horse who coincidentally tried to bite into Sehun’s backpack.

I felt like a biblical name would fit you, the one who brings Death, you know? Don’t look at me like that, your first name is simple Hyuk. Hyuk Methuselah Kim. The one who brings death radiantly. Sounds good, doesn’t it?

“Are you for real?” Sehun repeated the name to himself silently when he walked again, the cigarette between his fingers, when he scratched his temple with his thumb. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, just ahead of the entrance of the shop. 

Something the matter, Sehun?

“You speak a lot these days, it just takes me by surprise,” Sehun whispered to himself, when he felt Death’s hand dropping to his and squeezing it, before he disappeared. “It’s just nice hearing your voice Death, it soothes my dead heart.” 

Sehun felt empty every time Death left him, he knew he shouldn’t feel like this. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The ankou was Death’s henchman, collecting the souls of the deceased, watching over the graveyard, continue on after the last death of the year took his place. He shouldn’t be friends with Death, he shouldn’t snuggle up to him when he told him stories about the past, he shouldn't be here at all anymore.