The shrill buzz of his phone dragged him out of sleep. He blinked blearily at the nightstand, hair a mess, eyes heavy-lidded as the screen lit up the room. Groaning, he swiped to answer and pressed the phone against his ear.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, rough with sleep.

“Rae?” Your voice wasn’t the same—it carried a strange edge. Subtle, but enough for him to notice.

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “What happened?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “An… accident, I guess. I need help burying a body.” The words left your lips too casually, like you were talking about running out of gas.

His brows lifted, not in shock, just mild surprise. “Huh?” he muttered, as if to make sure he heard right.

“Just come here.” Your tone sharpened, a little impatient, before you rattled off your location.

And of course, he went. No hesitation.

Driving through the empty streets at two in the morning, he couldn’t help but laugh under his breath at the absurdity of it—helping his ex-girlfriend bury a body. Like you’d once helped him do the exact same thing. Back when you were still together.

When he finally found you, there were no words wasted. You moved quickly, both of you slipping into the rhythm like muscle memory. The forest was thick and silent around you as he grabbed the body’s ankle, dragging it through the damp earth. His grip didn’t falter until you found the spot—the perfect spot—and together, you shoved it into the ground.