They'd lied.

Who are they?

Death wasn't black… it wasn't even grey. It was white, spotless, pure white.

Who told me that?

The whiteness sliced pain into his arm, shards of a broken and icy blade.

Where am I? Who am I?

He was spent. Fear nagged at him, but he had no strength to move. He was tired, so tired…

The heavy blue eyes closed, submitting to his exhaustion.

Let me rest.

...

Blood spewed from where the teenager's right index and middle fingers had been. A long, raw scream replaced his pleas for mercy. As he knelt on the ground clutching his maimed hand, Keary stood looking down at him grovelling.

Pathetic. He felt a twinge of disgust, but it quickly vanished into numbness. This was so senseless, all of it. He bent down towards the snivelling figure, still holding the dripping switchblade that had done the damage. The victim's eyes were wide with shock, but quickly shifted in terror as Keary leaned in and grabbed the bleeding hand.

"There's still time if you run," he murmured, waving the blade lazily at the severed digits. Before the victim could respond, Keary straightened up and flung them out of the alleyway, onto the slush of thickening snow outside.

The younger boy flinched but didn't dare to move.

"Go on then. What are you waiting for?"

Cautiously, he stumbled to his feet and edged away, skirting wide before eventually hurrying to retrieve his fingers. Then he began running away as fast as he could.

The thought of throwing the knife at his retreating back, into his brain or throat or heart, flashed through Keary's mind, but he pushed it away wearily. How senseless. He could feel the blood from the blade trickling down his hand.

Why do I even bother…?

Wiping the knife, he moved toward the girl kneeling nearby, who had tears and a look of horror on her face. He offered it to her handle-first, but when she didn't take it, he let it drop to the ground with a sharp clatter.

"It was just some money," she whispered, her dark hair veiling half her face. "He was just trying to survive."

"He was pathetic, weak, and stupid enough to cross us," he answered coldly.

She made a choking sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "So cruel…!"

"Cruel?" Keary scoffed. "I should have killed him."

"Hurting people… killing! So casually—"

"If you can't manage it, just say so and get out. We don't need weakness." He closed the front of his coat, stuffed his stained hands into his pockets, and stepped past her out of the alley, into the cold night. She didn't follow.

It was late, and it was snowing heavily, unusual weather so early in December. Keary quickly lost sense of his purpose and wandered around aimlessly. The winter air was freezing, but he didn't care. He savoured the feeling of each step sending pain through his numb body, giving him a strange sense of being dead and alive at the same time.

At length, he took his hands out of his pockets and stared down at the rust-coloured stains.

Why am I doing all this? Indulging in violence, getting into fights… all for what? Certainly not to be caught. Self-protection? Can't be. I can't even remember what that boy did. Tried to steal my wallet?

Perhaps.

Come to think of it, she was right. I should have killed him. It was cruel to let him live. I should have released him from this misery.

The misery of existing.

When will I finally be free of this…?

He looked up into the dark maroon sky, but there was no answer, just a quickly thickening fall of snow.

The streets were already blanketed as he started across a field of white. Trudging along, he suddenly stepped on something that felt nothing like snow. Startled, Keary quickly tried to shift his weight, stumbling backwards and falling into a bed of coolness.

"Fuck!" Snow showered from his hair as he shook his head angrily. "What the fuck was—"

He stopped. There was a trail of blood in the snow. He looked at his hands, but the blood had long dried in the cold; this was someone else's. He cast his gaze to where he had fallen to figure out what was going on, but wasn't prepared for what he saw lying there.

At first when he spotted it, he couldn't tell whether the roadblock was a girl, boy or wingless angel. Bright hair framed its pale face, its skin was almost as white as the snow it was surrounded in. There was something strange about it. Something captivating. Something that made Keary's heart race.

Swallowing past the lump that had formed in his throat, he hesitated before nudging it with his boot. "Hey."

No response.

"Hey!" He shook it again. "What are you doing out here?"

It didn't budge.

Keary cursed. Now what do I do? I've tried to rouse it. Is it alive, even? It crossed his mind that perhaps he should just leave it here, come what may. Someone else might find it. Or it might just pass in peace. But somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to walk away.

How unlike me.

He swore again, then moved to pick it up. They needed to get out of this cold. As he slid his arms around it and started to rise, the bright-haired figure's eyes opened just a sliver, and it spoke, weak and confused.

"Shinigami…?"

Angel of death? Keary grimaced. So it was alive after all, and human. And male. "Hey. Why are you lying out here in the cold?"

"I don't… I—" The blonde stiffened suddenly as Keary tried to pull him up. A shudder ran through his body, and Keary realised his hands were once more warm and wet with blood, flowing fresh from a gash in the half-conscious boy's arm.

That settled it. "I'm taking you to the hospital," Keary told him, not even sure if he could hear or understand. He'd get any medical attention he needed there. Good plan.

But it wasn't so easy. "No!" the blonde cried, and started to struggle feebly. "I can't… They… they'll get me… They'll get…"

Keary bit back a retort as the boy went limp again. Fine. Saves me the trouble of filling out forms anyway, especially with these bloodstained hands.

That left only one other place to go…

...