Chapter 30: Chapter 30

S Ø R E N

THEY ARRIVED IN Downtown Manhattan sometime at night.

Søren and Savannah led their guests to the apartment in silence while they continued to ooh and ah at any iconic landmark.

Once they were at the building itself, Nadine and Lewis did a double take when Søren unlocked the facial recognition security system and the normal bricks turned over to turn into white granite slates. They then walked in, past the few stares they received, and headed to the elevator.

The employed Reapers knew that it was risky to bring in a pair of Detached, but no one would dare to approach them or a still wanted Grim Reaper while they had a respected Trainer by their side.

“This place is so fancy,” Nadine whistled, leaning against the mirrored back panel. “Marble everywhere; a grand foyer —”

“It isn’t that grand,” Savannah deadpanned. “And not everything here is made out of marble. Don’t be so culturally insensitive.”

“—And an elevator!” Nadine went right on, completely ignoring her. “We had stairs back in my day. Only stairs.”

“What a tragedy,” Savannah mocked.

Thankfully, Melchior was not in the elevator. Søren was not sure if he could have dealt with that right in front of everyone. He pressed the button to the second floor and leaned back against the wall, sighing deeply. His mind was then somewhere else —a couple of years ago. In that very elevator. Melchior had pushed him up against that mirrored wall, and kissed him senseless. He could almost feel the swell of Melchior’s lips, the grazing of his teeth.

“…Søren? Søren,” Nadine’s voice snapped Søren out of it as she half-heartedly punched him in the stomach. “We’re here. Look alive.”

He snorted at the irony of her command before swiftly shuffling out of the elevator after everyone else. They padded along to room eight and then parted like the Red Sea to let Søren through to unlock the door. He took his key out of his pocket and fumbled around —but the door was already unlocked. He started in alarm, before pushing it open.

Then he froze.

The living room was ankle deep in fire extinguisher foam; the walls and furniture also splattered with the stuff; and the dreaded Phoenix was perched on a side table, preening itself. There was a person in Søren’s apartment too, holding the fire extinguisher, and covered in some foam in soapy patches.

Then the person turned around.

Melchior’s garnet eyes stared back at Søren, caught like a deer in headlights. He had forgotten that he had given the blond a spare key.

“…Chainsaw Guy?” Savannah spoke up, moving out from behind her Trainer. He frowned before remembering that it was in fact a nickname. Melchior frowned at the name too, before glancing at his chainsaw on the sofa and realising from where it had arisen.

He then shook slightly, sending the foam flying in every direction.

“What are you doing here, Melchior?” Søren asked in quiet voice, pressing his lips into a tight line. “You’re not supposed to come here anymore. Especially by yourself.”

“There was an emergency,” he protested, gesturing to the Phoenix. “I smelled smoke, so I came to check up on —”

“You live three floors up,” the Trainer cut him off. “How could you smell anything from up there?”

He gave the older Reaper a look. “You want me to be honest? Fine. I had come wanting to talk to you, but your door was locked. Then I smelled the smoke. So, I unlocked the door and…there was a Phoenix in the middle of your living room and all of your plants were on fire.”

“…You know Phoenixes don’t like the colour green, right?” Lewis murmured. “It drives them a little crazy.”

Everyone groaned.

Søren smacked his forehead and drew a deep breath in. If Lewis was telling the truth, then why had Phee-Phee not attacked his plants the last time that they had seen him? He dismissed that thought though, because he had another matter that was more pressing.

Søren was not upset at the mere fact that Melchior was in his room. He was more upset that the Reaper had tried to stop his apartment from burning to a crisp. The Trainer did not need him to waltz in and start playing hero.

Now Søren owed him a favour —and he was the last person on Earth to whom the Trainer wanted to be indebted.

The Phoenix suddenly stopped fussing about its appearance and looked directly next to Søren —at Savannah. It hopped off of the table and scurried towards her, before coming to a standstill and cooing softly.

“…Phee-Phee?” she whispered, bending down to be eye level with it. “Look Søren. He survived after all.”

“Phoenixes also become aggressive when moulting or after rising from their ashes,” Lewis added, believing that everyone was paying attention. “It’s when they’re at their most vulnerable; so to ward off predators.”

“How do you know so much about Phoenixes?” Savannah asked.

Lewis shrugged modestly. “I do a lot of reading.”

“And research,” Nadine chipped in. “He used to observe them like a scientist. It was a little obsessive.”

“Hey,” her brother whined in protest, “you promised that you would never tell anyone about that.”

“…Oops.”

Søren did not care about where Lewis had learned all of that. What he really cared about at that moment was the fact that the demon bird was still inside of his apartment. Was it ever going to leave?

“…Who are they?” Melchior then asked with an edge to his voice, pointing to Nadine and Lewis.

“They are our invited and welcome guests that we picked up from headquarters,” Søren answered in a passive aggressive tone.

“Aw, we’re invited and welcome?” Nadine cooed; a huge patronising grin plastered to her face.

“I just saved your apartment,” Melchior went on, grunting out the sentence through his clenched teeth. “There wouldn’t be anything to welcome your precious invited guests to if I had not shown up.”

Søren growled and folded his arms.

He knew that he was behaving like a child, but he did not care. He was pissed off, and Melchior was going to see that.

“And who are you?” Nadine asked curiously, swinging the direction of the conversation back to Melchior’s question.

The blond Reaper glanced at Søren briefly for help, but both seemed to share the same look of uncertainty. He then decided for himself.

“…I’m his friend,” he answered casually enough.

Søren flinched at the word ‘friend’ and found interest in the wall.

Savannah then came to their unwanted rescue.

“Actually, they used to date,” she announced.

The Trainer’s head whipped around and he glared at her, his face ablaze. Melchior glanced away, stiff and uncomfortable.

Søren hissed at Savannah to shut up, and all she did was giggle sheepishly.

Nadine raised an eyebrow as she put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t strike me as a guy who swings the other way,” she told the Trainer.

Søren lidded his eyes. What a great euphemism.

“Technically, he swings all ways,” Melchior corrected her. The Trainer glanced at him; his eyes set. The blond only offered a guilty shrug.

“…He’s pan?” Savannah reiterated, raising both eyebrows.

“Wait —he’s a frying pan?” Lewis asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Everyone looked at him strangely. “…What?” he asked with an apparently genuine seriousness. But no one had the chance to explain.

“All right, that’s enough,” Søren firmly spoke up. “Can we stop talking about me as if I’m not here? Also, sorry to shock you, but my sexuality is not a topic to be discussed. And Melchior,” he sighed, deciding not to bother to get angry, “—get out of my apartment.”

Melchior shuffled around for a moment before he grabbed his chainsaw from the sofa and then made his way to the door.

“…I was really only trying to help.”

“I never asked you to,” Søren growled, his eyes following the younger Reaper’s until he walked out of the door and then closed it.

“He seems like a caring person,” Lewis remarked. “He did save all of your stuff after all. So why are you pushing him away?”

Søren ignored his question and shuffled towards his computer room door. He did not need any input from someone who knew nothing about the situation.

Sure, Melchior was somewhat behaving at the moment, but he could snap at any point and prove exactly why he was not wanted around.

“You wouldn’t understand, Lewis,” Savannah said quietly, finally saying something helpful. “There’s some bad blood.” Then she looked at her Trainer sympathetically and stopped being helpful. “…But Lewis still has a point. He did help. Think of all those books that could have burned.”

“They’re still ruined,” Søren snapped, picking one up and holding it in front of them. It dripped foam onto the already spoiled carpet. Then he saw the title underneath and flinched, realising that it was one of his favourites. “How am I going to fix all of this?” he whispered.

No one answered. The question had not been intended to be rhetorical, but the other Reapers shuffled around and averted their gazes as though a response was still expected. Søren growled.

Maybe Melchior should have let it all burn.

It would have been better than dealing with a soggy heap.

“I think someone should lock the two of you in a room,” Savannah suggested. “Maybe then you’d learn how to get along.”

Søren scoffed. As if that was ever going to happen. He would not be able to let his guard down long enough so that such a scenario could be fabricated.

“I’m going to check on the computer system,” he sighed, opening the door. “Maybe there’s still something worth saving.”

✠

Angelina was okay.

Søren’s computer room was left relatively untouched, and no foam had managed to short circuit the boards.

He breathed out a sigh of relief and sat down in front of the main monitor, before he swivelled around in the chair.

“We need to talk,” Savannah’s voice suddenly said, causing him to jump. She was frowning at him from the doorway, arms folded and foot tapping.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Søren gasped, sitting upright.

She sighed and came in, before leaning against the desk and looking at him gravely. “…About when you spoke about Angelina —”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Søren snapped, narrowing his eyes. “I…need to loosen up a bit. It’s just hard for me, okay? I’m not used to having someone I can talk to about that kind of stuff.”

“I wasn’t…actually talking about that,” Savannah said dubiously. “I was thinking more about the fate of the world —not of our trust.”

He went rigid. “Oh.”

“But I’m glad that you see eye to eye with me now,” she said more encouragingly. “However, we need to focus on the matter at hand.”

Søren nodded. The redhead tucked her hair behind her ears and exhaled deeply. “Look, I’m not sure who that Titan was, but they’re probably out to get Thanatos like Kronos did. Which means our lives are once again in the hands of Mr Oh-So-Competent,” she said sarcastically.

Søren chuckled in amusement.

“I’m kind of worried though,” she then confessed. “Will the power I have as a half-blood right now be enough in a battle?”

“What? Light projection isn’t enough for you?” he teased.

“Ha ha,” she mocked. “I just wanted…something else. Death said it was only for defensive purposes.”

Søren smirked and stood up. “Well…what if you can talk to the dead but just don’t know it, because it sort of comes with the job?”

Savannah titled her head to the side and frowned. “…Doubt it.”

“You…could have the power to raise the dead,” the Trainer suggested. “You could create your own undead army.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing —I’m pretty sure in most mythologies and fantasy lore that you’re not allowed to raise the dead. And if you do, it comes with disastrous consequences,” Savannah snorted. “…But it makes me feel better to think of possibilities,” she admitted, glancing at the floor.

Then she suddenly flinched, as though someone had slapped her.

“Savannah?” Søren said, moving forward. “Are you okay?”

She paused, before shaking her head and breathing out shallowly.

“I’m fine. It’s…it’s nothing, probably,” she mumbled. “I just felt a strange sensation. Like a wave of intense heat pulsing through my veins. It didn’t hurt, per se —it was just…strange.”

Søren frowned and moved closer to her. She was hesitant to let him touch her, but she did not stop his hand from then resting on her shoulder. She looked up at him blankly, while he looked back with concern.

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” he whispered.

She nodded slowly.

Søren then removed his hand. “Okay. But if you want to talk, or —”

“I said I’m fine,” she then snapped, raising her voice. Søren blinked, surprised. He took a step backwards and put his hands back in his pockets. Savannah bit her lip and averted her gaze. “…By the way, something tells me that you’re still thinking about what you told me.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you wanted to see Angelina suffer,” she elaborated. “Melchior seems to be suffering as well —but you don’t look all too pleased. Does it hurt you whenever you see each other as much as it hurts him?”

Søren’s jaw clenched. “What?”

“You can’t tell me that you don’t see the pain in his expression —in his eyes, every time. Do you…still care about him? In a different way?”

He did not. He should not. He did not want to think about it. She was right —it did hurt him in a different way. Did it hurt because instead of one of them being left behind and being long dead, Melchior was more physically there, existing in the same timeline as him?

It was as if Søren could not escape him.

The Trainer did recall resolving not to be so petty as to request a district transfer after they had broken up. It did make him wonder though, why Melchior had stayed. Perhaps Søren was not deluded in thinking that the blond Reaper still cared as well —in his own strange and passive way. Søren stiffened at the conclusion.

“…Holy shit,” he sighed, raking his hands through his hair.

“I’m going to get him back,” Savannah then stated.

“Wait, what?” Søren cried, mortified.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, sidestepping him and headed for the door again. “I…I think that it would be good for you,” she clarified, before walking out. Søren shook his head and flopped back into his chair.

Good for him?

Even back then when they were some kind of happy; since when had anything to do with Melchior been good for him?