At first, Ciarán didn't think much of Cael's hopeful wishes. He had the sobering reality of encountering a whole slew of reactions while performing his macabre duties. While many inquired as to his purpose, forcing Ciarán to explain that he was many things, the subject of an endless anthology of stories, others were quicker at deducing the mystery surrounding Ciarán's identity. He smiled, though the effort was weak and somewhat meaningless, an instinctual reaction to his curious charge. He stroked Cael's head absentmindedly, feeling waves of relief wash over the dying man's body. If there was anything Ciarán actually liked about his job, it was this, that moment when all the pain and heartache seemed to melt away at his mere touch, leaving his temporary companion feeling weightless, cathartic, absolved.<br/><br/>But Cael's next question left Ciarán confused, wondering. "All these years?" he whispered, leaning down so he could look deep Cael's flickering eyes, his own dark green irises glinting in the harsh light of the ambulance. Despite the bright light, Ciarán's pupils were wide, deep holes, hypnotizing to look at, impossible not to fall into. The center of Ciarán's eyes were infinite pools of black ink, thin fingers bleeding out into his irises and leaving him with a haunting, endless stare. The dark lines and black holes made Ciarán look as if he were peering deep into the depths of Cael's very being, searching for something only he could see, but Ciarán was simply trying to remember.<br/><br/>"Yes, I've seen you before, haven't I, Cael?" Ciarán began, his fingers drawing a long line down the young man's face, ending at his chin. He caressed the stranger's face like a lover might, sweet and intimate. "Some are destined to be surrounded by death wherever they go. They spend their entire lives around me and never witness me until the last minutes of their own painful existence. But you..."<br/><br/>No, it was impossible, wasn't it? Improbable? No one other than the dying had ever seen Ciarán before, but Cael used words of recognition, as if he had known of Ciarán's existence for a long time. Perhaps it was nothing more than the feverish ramblings of a man approaching death. It wasn't something Ciarán was unfamiliar with. Humans had the habit of saying many nonsensical things near the end, with Ciarán being the only one around to hear.<br/><br/>But Cael continued on, and the idea that perhaps his words were nothing more than a made up story began to fade away from Ciarán's mind. Cael, as close as he was to that last breath, was lucid. Unable to speak properly with a tube shoved down his throat, his skin having taken on a sickly pallor, but his mind was clear thanks to Ciarán's adoring touch.<br/><br/>"You can see? No one's ever been able to--" Ciarán's words were interrupted by the ambulance's violent jump and the vehicle coming to an abrupt stop. EMTs rushed to remove Cael through the swung out doors, but that wasn't right. No, not at all. Cael should have been dead already. Ciarán had seen it. Cael was supposed to die on his way to hospital, he was supposed to be dead on arrival, unable to resuscitate. But Cael wasn't dead yet; he was lingering, his body grasping desperately at the thin golden thread that kept him tied to the living world. But why? Why would his body keep him tethered while his mind called for Ciarán. Ciarán had never been wrong before. Cael was supposed to be his.<br/><br/>The tall, elegant embodiment of death exited the vehicle, still invisible to everyone save Cael. The black steel watch on his left wrist ticked ticked ticked away, louder and louder as he shadowed the rushing nurses and doctors swarming around Cael. He was late. Cael should have already been on his way to the next life, the purgatory beyond, but medical professionals were prodding and poking and shoving things inside of Cael's weakened body now, and Cael<i>still wasn't dead yet</i>.<br/><br/><i>I should leave</i>, he thought, his stare hard as he stood over the living. Were anyone else to see him, they would have found a strange sight: a dark man, dressed in a black three piece suit, towering over a collection of buzzing attendants with a cold look in his eyes.<br/><br/><i>I can't stay if you're not dead</i>. And yet, he waited, watching, hoping that Cael would release his tenuous hold on life and fall into his arms as intended. But that didn't happen, and by the time the flock of doctors had thinned, Cael was still breathing. Ciarán approached cautiously, reaching to stroke the young man's face once more. He truly was beautiful, with silky dark hair and sweet eyes, pink lips, but Ciarán couldn't take him. Not while his heart still beat.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry. I have to go. I've waited long enough, and others need me," he whispered, though he continued to linger despite his words.<br/><br/>"How many times have you seen me, Cael? Have you always been able to see? Have you always known of me?"