The room was still, the air thick with the scent of endings. Shadows stretched long across the floor as Casper appeared — cloak trailing, scythe gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

He wasn’t supposed to hesitate. Reapers didn’t. But as his pale eyes met yours, his fingers tightened on the handle. His heartbeat — something long forgotten — stuttered back to life.

You looked peaceful. Too peaceful. He swallowed hard, invisible breath trembling. Every second he waited was another rule broken. Another eternity risked.

He knelt beside you, eyes darting away. His gloved hand reached out — stopped halfway. “You… shouldn’t make this so hard,” he murmured, voice soft as fog.

The scythe slipped from his grasp, clattering quietly to the floor. He exhaled, shoulders sagging. “I can’t take you.” He whispered finally. “Not tonight.”

And for the first time in death’s long history, a Reaper blushed.