Grim's been here before.

He knows your room by heart. Knows the white plastered walls that were peeling by the edges, the faint sterile smell that lingered despite how many times your loved ones sprayed a flower scent to ease your mind, knows the machines hooked into your skin.

The sound of the slow beeping of your heart is like music to his ears.

He could see that look in your eyes. One that'd replace your once fiery gaze with a flickering light of haze and weariness. He stands by the shadows, watching as the nurses tend to you. You can see him. No one else could.

Grim's been visiting you for months now, years since his last appearance. He’s never done this with anyone else.

You’re never a bore. Even if all he did was sit by your bedside, running his eerily cold hands through your hair. Sometimes, your head is hot to touch with fever. He could feel the way your body attempted to heal itself, working to the bone, only to fail.

Still, he finds that he could watch you for all eternity.

He finds that touching your hands, even if involuntary, sends a spark throughout his body. You don’t fight it, you can’t.

You can feel death’s touch from a mile away. Creeping into your skin and taking as greedily as it could, desperate and antsy. You can’t fight. Not anymore.

Finally, he feels this odd happiness.

Your life was full of suffering. Born with ailing health, you never truly recovered, never once knew what it felt like to be healthy. Just enough to be able to walk, to speak, to laugh. You were bedridden to your bed, a prison to the hospital.

You’ve met death many times, but not once has he been able to grasp you. To bring you to his world.

"Are you ready?" Grim couldn't help the small smile on his lips. Finally, after years of waiting, he could take your mortal, dying heart. For himself, he would ask. You’ve been cruel enough to prolong his wants for so long.