Everything is perfect. The night sky is clear, stars peeking out, watching over them. The breeze lightly tickles their skin, chasing away the summer heat. Two figures settled, sitting on the grass. One cradling the other in their lap. Caressing wispy hair, threading fingers through the strands. 

“Hey,” the girl murmurs, not bothering to glance up. 

“Hi.” A quiet reply. Carefree, all burdens lifted. Gone. 

“It’s beautiful tonight.” 

“It is. We’ve never gotten the chance to admire the view.” The girl coughs and hands hold on tighter. 

“Do you think we’ll see the stars again?” There’s no response. Silence is her answer. She smiles and she knows it’s enough. A white lie wouldn’t ease her mind. 

Coughing violently fills the air. Everything could be perfect. They’re here, illuminated by the moonlight. Basking in each other’s presence.   

From this dream they’ve concocted, fooling themselves just for the night, they must wake up. Her breaths slow, taking in less air. Light and shallow. From above, drops fall, landing on her cheeks.

“Sooyoung, don’t cry.” The grip loosens, hand searching for the other pair. Clasping them together. She continues. 

“It’s not your fault.” Her sight begins to blur. The world is darkening as each breath weighs her down. Her shirt is damp, wet and she wishes it’s because of the tears. A hoarse voice croaks to life. 

“I know.” Even with limited vision, she sees red, blooming across her chest. Stemming from the protruding steel. Hearing her companion’s words erases the last of her regrets. She thinks of the stars, the wind, the night. Of the beauty she hopes to remember forever. 

She can finally let go.  

Joy blinks, recovering from her daze. A distant memory of a girl and the stars replays in her head. There’s no use in trying to remember. She has flashbacks of the scene every now and then, but they’re never clear. In particular, her head hurts when she tries to remember the girl’s face. The memory is definitely from her days as a human. Which makes her all the more curious. It’s a gnawing hunger for knowledge.   

She focuses her attention on the task at hand. Brandishing her cloth, the glass never becomes clearer. No matter how much she wipes it, there's a limit. Allowing her to peek through, being transparent, yet simultaneously translucent. That’s not the only fault. A single crack near the rim, the length of her thumb runs down the side. No amount of cleaning can fix it. 

She puts the cup onto the counter. Drumming her fingers, she throws the cloth to the back, a splash of water signalling it's in the sink. Her leg bounces up and down and her fingers tap the sides of her stool. Barely a single soul is here today; she reckons it must be peaceful in the world of the living. Less fighting and dying.

The wind chimes hanging from the door jingle. She doesn’t look up until the newcomer sits in front of her. It’s a woman in a black coat, hair parted perfectly. Arms resting by her side. She’s relieved she finds an air of indifference clinging to the lady. The woman’s small frame does not betray a hint of nervousness. 

Almost everyone would slip up. They show their weakness, in all its pitiful glory. Shaking limbs and fingers, tear-stained faces, regret etched onto their very being. The ones that show such fragility bore her. Comforting people is monotonous, nurturing their ego is futile. She’s unable to comprehend humans. They seek guidance and a final moment of tranquility for their soul. However, nothing will change, their fate has been predetermined. From the moment of death. 

“What can I get for you?” she asks the woman. Tilting her head, the woman gazes at the row of bottles lined behind the bartender. 

“Give me whatever’s the strongest,” the woman pauses, voice a bit husky. Leaning forward, the woman squints, catching a glimpse of a name tag. 

“Joy.” The bartender smiles, pleased to hear her name. Turning around, she stands and grabs various bottles, ready to make a deadly concoction. Hands move deftly, pouring clear liquid into a shaker.

“Ice?”

“No,” replies the woman. Joy shakes it few more times for good measure. Then she pours the mixture into the cup, pushing it towards the woman. 

“What’s your name, stranger?” 

“Do I have to return the drink if I tell you?” Sitting back down, Joy drums her fingers on the table again. 

“Just a procedure. The drink is all yours,” Joy replies. The woman instantly downs the entire glass, slamming the empty cup onto the counter. The bartender simply stares, amused to her very core. Mortals usually savour their drink here because it’s their last one. She’s liking this human already.

“Irene, do you know why you’re here?” The woman is unfazed, doesn’t question how Joy knows her name. 

“I suppose I’ve died. Am I being sent to Hell?” Irene says softly. Not a tone of fear. Joy is stunned for a moment. A self-aware human, dressed in dignity and deferring to death. She could get used to this. 

“Correct. You’re rather peculiar, I must say.” Irene chuckles lightly at Joy’s words, throwing her head back. Slapping the counter.

“I’ve been wishing, dreaming of this. The days were slow enough when I was alive,” admits Irene. Joy laughs as well, remembering her short stay as a human above. The tedium of a routine, the empty feeling of coming home exhausted. Worked to the bone, feeling nothing. 

That was eons ago during a reign of terror. Boredom still strikes her nowadays, but the empty feeling is gone. 

“Tell me of your life. Maybe you’ll be spared from Hell,” jokes Joy. A quick shake of the head, the corner of Irene’s lips rise. Joy quirks her eyebrow.  

“I was a doctor. I killed my patients instead of saving them.” Irene’s voice does not waver. 

“How?”

“I gave them placebos,” she pauses. Eyes shift up to meet Joy’s, reflecting nothing.  

“Or maybe they were poison.” The doctor’s tone drops. Raw honesty, in its uncut form. 

“Any regrets? Again, just protocol,” Joy adds. 

“No. My death ended their suffering. I’m happy now.” 

“Are you?” Irene doesn’t answer, getting up from the stool. Joy snorts, drumming her fingers faster. 

“No one goes to Hell until I say so,” the bartender plainly states. Irene stops moving, back turned to her. 

“Are you sending me back to the world of the living then?” 

“I could.” 

“Liar.”

“Would staying silent have been better?” Joy muses. 

“Yes. I despise white lies. Empty promises.” Irene walks towards the doorway.

Observing her leave, Joy is conflicted. There’s something familiar about Irene, but she can’t place it. It reminds her of the girl under the stars, dying, smiling as said girl takes her last breaths. 

She shouldn’t pursue the answers though. Her human memories are of another time. 

AN: This reincarnation au was inspired by the anime Death Parade. I’ve never watched it so this is very loosely based on it. 

I guess this is a one-shot? Or maybe a two-shot if I get any more ideas on how to continue it. 

Thank you for reading my mess of words.