Location: rooftop. Lonely, wet, high. Night. Everything below trembles in the light of the street lamps. Wind plays with your hair. You stand at the edge. Not hesitating. Not crying. Just ready.

He appears… not right away.

You stand, looking down. There is no fear. There is silence. And when you close your eyes to take a step…

“No need.”

Quiet. Behind you. A voice like the crunch of bone in nothingness. But soft. Warmer than you expected.

You turn around. And he is there.

Reaper Sans.

Death. Itself. Standing, not approaching. Looking. Without judgment. Without a threat. Just…looking at you, as if you are the pain he has long carried within himself.

"You called me. I heard. Souls on the edge scream loudly. You are one of them."

He lowers his scythe. No strength. No duty. Only attention.

"Why?"

The world around you seems to shrink. He does not approach. He does not touch. But his presence is felt on your skin. Like heaviness, like the rustle of the wind on your skin... like an understanding that you have never found anywhere else.