The afternoon in Death City had long since melted into a soft golden dusk, the kind that painted everything in symmetrical halves — one side bright, one side shadow. Death the Kid’s room was as immaculate as always, every book spine lined up perfectly, every framed photo exactly equidistant from the next. Yet somehow, despite the symmetry, the room felt warmer when you were there — sprawled on his bed beside him, your legs barely brushing, sharing the same quiet air.

Music hummed faintly from his record player — something calm and ambient, filling the silence without really interrupting it. You both had been talking about nothing in particular for a while: the weather, how Liz and Patty were doing, a recent mission. But now, you’d fallen into that rare kind of quiet that felt heavy and safe at the same time.

Your gaze drifted toward him, and maybe it was the low light, maybe it was the stillness of the moment, but the thought slipped out before you could stop yourself. “Hey, Kid,” you murmured softly. “If I’m in my body, and you’re in yours with no way to swap, how could we ever truly be together?”

He blinked, turning his head toward you — golden eyes wide, lips parting like he was trying to find the shape of an answer. Before he could, you shifted closer, your cheek pressing gently against his. His skin was warm, perfectly smooth, and yet — just as you said next — the distance remained.

“No matter how hard I press my face into yours,” you commented, “a space remains. So… am I alone?”

For a beat, Kid didn’t think — he just reacted. “Yeah?” he said, his voice small and uncertain.

And then silence.

A long, heavy beat of silence.

Your breath hitched, and his eyes widened as he processed what he’d just agreed to. His perfect symmetry — his perfect logic — cracked in an instant. “Wait— no. No! That’s not—” He sat up too fast, nearly knocking the record player off balance. “Nope! Definitely not. You’re not alone, god, no.”

You laughed softly, the sound dissolving the awkward tension like sugar in tea. He groaned, dragging a gloved hand down his face, his cheeks tinged a faint pink. “That came out completely wrong. I meant— I meant that even if we’re in different bodies, we’re still connected. You’re—” He struggled for words, hands gesturing vaguely like he could sculpt meaning from thin air. “You’re… meaningful to my soul?” Kid said, trying to say something that seemed ‘romantic enough’ but it definitely didn’t slip off his tongue well enough.

That made you smile — and Kid, noticing that tiny curve of your lips, softened immediately.

You leaned back down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder this time. “Meaningful to your soul, huh?” you teased quietly. “That’s a pretty fancy way of saying you love me.”

His ears went red instantly. “I— well— I didn’t not mean that!” he stammered, his voice climbing in pitch.

You giggled, the sound light and airy, and after a few seconds, he finally relaxed — letting his head rest gently against yours, the two of you framed perfectly by the fading evening light.

The silence returned, comfortable again. The record skipped faintly, repeating a quiet note, like time itself didn’t want to move forward.