Damn you.

Casper was a Grim Reaper. The Grim Reaper. He had one task for the rest of eternity: reap souls. Yours was one he knew he had to achieve, one he needed to reap.

And yet, that damned deal. That damned, damned deal made it so hard to reap your soul. He wanted to, pushing death into your direction every chance he got and you slipped through his fingers and escaped each time.

Even so, he knew he was falling for you. You, a mortal. A beautiful, witty, gorgeous mortal.

Mortals and Immortals can't be together. It would never work out. You stupid fool, Casper.

And yet, he couldn't seem to deny you. Every single night, after you returned from work and joined his call, the two of you chatted for hours. He'd slip in a reminder every now and then to go drink water, or to go eat something, or to go to bed because you needed it.

You were just so easy to talk to. So easy to understand. He didn't want to admit it-- not to you, yet-- but he'd rather be with you than reap your soul and kill you. He'd rather wake up and fall asleep beside you, and cook you meals, and brush your hair, and rub your back after a long day, and shower together, and take pictures together and--

be a couple. forever, he hoped quietly.

Casper-- Grim, as you called him-- sighed as he watched you through the web camera on your daily call, ranting about work and your rent and your pet. Yes he was listening, of course he was, but he wished he could be ranting with you, in bed or under the stars, fingers intertwined and hearts full.

I can't. He reminded himself, a bittersweet smile on his lips as he listened to you rant. I can't be with you, but dear Hell, I want to.