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soybeantree · 4 years

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revenant

pairing: grimreaper!do kyungsoo x cemeteryworker!(reader) genre/warning: eventual fluff word count: 2k+ description: the surplus of spoopy ghost dramas as of late brought this little gem around. totally normal for a paranormal story in january, right? a/n: january installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is gone’ series. hana promises that there will be a part 2 because b if there ain’t imma flip. she loves the angsty cliff-hangers. i HATE them. - em

Your mother always said the benefits to living in a rich city were innumerable. That’s a bit strong of an adjective, but you can agree that there are many benefits. You have access to great shops and great food, top rated schools, and the city is beautiful. Every building, street, and sign look like they were plucked from some children’s book. The city officials take great pride in the city’s appearance. Too much pride though, which is why you’re waking up at 9:30 in the evening for your 10:00 shift at the cemetery. The cemetery is one of the city’s top tourist attractions. The above ground mausoleums, the grand tombstones dating back centuries, they draw in countless visitors each day. As such, the city officials expend great effort and money to maintain the grounds and keep the stone gleaming. However, since appearance is everything, the cemetery’s caretakers, aka you, your father, and your grandmother before him, must only work at night. After all, what tourist wants to see a sweaty, mud-begrimed worker pushing a cart around the cemetery?

Despite the ridiculousness of the arrangement, you enjoy working at night. Grabbing a beanie, you pull it over your ears as you head out. A thin fog is your only companion as you walk the short distance to the cemetery’s back entrance. The lack of tourist makes your work easier and more bearable. If you had to do double duty as caretaker and tour guide, many tourists would find a new home in a mausoleum. Another benefit is the hefty paycheck. The extra money though is due less to working at night and more to the fact that the cemetery is haunted. Heading towards your tool shed, which is cleverly disguised as a mausoleum, you pass several spirits. The newer ones acknowledge you with a nod while the older ones wander by lost to themselves. During your school days, your classmates gave you a wide berth. They held the ignorant opinion that spirits followed you to school. However at that point, they would have had to follow your dad home then attached themselves to you then follow you to school. None of which made any sense. Ghosts rarely travel far from their resting place. Explaining that to your schoolmates though was a waste of breath, so you stopped. The caretaker position became yours by default. You went away for a few years after college, but real world jobs are too boring. When you came back, the city council all but kissed your feet. The slew of caretakers who came in after your father retired had lasted only days at a time. The cemetery was a mess. The city council was at its wits end. You could have asked for anything. In the end, you settled for the fat paycheck and complete autonomy. Pulling out your cart, you begin your work. The fog slips through the cemetery obscuring the paths and adding to the whole eerie haunted vibe. Your feet know the pathways, and you hum to yourself as you walk. On today’s “to do” list, you have polishing the mausoleums by the eastern entrance. Some city council dweeb had complained that they looked weathered and dingy. You wish he had said it to your face rather than hide behind an email, but he was probably too chicken-livered to step foot within the cemetery. “Good evening, caretaker.” The singsong voice grates against your ears. You stop in front of the first marble facade and pull a rag and polish out of your cart. “What has fouled your mood? Receive another rejection from a suitor?” “I’d have to have a suitor to be rejected by one.” You grunt as you crouch down to start on the base of the first column. “True.” She giggles. The ghost hovers beside you, the hem of her ethereal gown brushing against your cheek. You sneeze. “What has soured your mood then?” Sighing, you stand and move to the top of the column. With a huff, she floats to your other side and folds her hands in front of her. She glances over her shoulder then back at you. “The cemetery is awful quiet tonight.” You skirt around her as you move onto the next column. Beside the few specters you passed when you arrived, you have yet to meet another of the cemetery’s occupants since beginning your work. “Have you no curiosity for the cemetery’s silence?” “I assume it’s because Mrs. King started on about her grandkids again.” “Indeed not.” She simpers, peering at you from the columns other side. You divert your attention to your task, scrubbing an obstinate stain. Clearing her throat, she continues. “Mr. Long in plot 112 has gone malevolent.” Your hand stills. In addition to the high pay and freedom from human interaction, there is a third benefit to working nights at the cemetery. Arguably the best benefit, and one of the main reasons you returned. Of all the days to roll out of bed and throw on clothes, it had to be today. Yesterday, you had showered and worn decent clothing, not the stained cargo pants and t-shirt which you pulled from your laundry basket. You groan and toss your rag into the cart, fighting the urge to kick one of the wheels. Your work boots would easily protect your toes, but you’d rather not give your companion the satisfaction of seeing how deeply her news affects you. She smiles smugly at you. “I’m sure a reaper will take care of Mr. Long. You might want to make yourself scarce. I’d hate for the reaper to see you and take you with Mr. Long.” “Surely, you know which reaper has come.” She floats through the column to hover beside you. Often during your life, you have wished for the ability to slap a ghost. Today, the wish twitches your fingers, but you keep your hand by your side. Only reapers can touch ghosts. Of course, you know which reaper has come. The cemetery has a single reaper assigned to maintain order. He was in charge even before your grandmother’s time. His name is or was Kyungsoo. All your grandmother and father would say about him was that he was the cemetery’s Reaper, and it was best to leave him to work in peace. Which would be easy, if you hadn’t developed a crush on him when you were four. “Mr. Long is the first malevolent spirit since you started, correct? Which would mean this is the first time Reaper Kyungsoo has made his appearance?” Her smile widens. “How many years have passed since last you saw him? Surely, you wish to renew your acquaintance.” “Surely, you wish to mind your own damn business.” You hiss. Of all the damn ghosts to witness the first time you met Kyungsoo, it would have to be this bitch. She chuckles, and you shake your head. Stupid. However, now there’s no point in pretending you don’t care. Leaving the cart and your responsibilities behind, you race across the cemetery to plot 112.

A malevolent spirit is frightening to anyone who hasn’t grown up around ghosts. The normally human-appearing spirit transforms into a towering demon. There’s a lot of ear-splitting screeching and gusts of wind which dig into the ground spraying rocks and dirt into the air, and an overwhelming sense of dread fills your chest and tugs at fear. However, growing up around ghosts, you learn when you should be afraid and when the malevolent spirit is just a pissy, windbag. Mr. Long is the later. Sitting on the tombstone of a spirit who long ago passed into the beyond, you watch the skirmish between spirit and reaper. Kyungsoo rushes forward scythe in hand. His black robes billow out behind him as he leaps forward. The scythe slices through Mr. Long as he passes him. A final screech peters to a whimper as Mr. Long returns to himself. Kyungsoo lands, spinning the moment his feet touch ground. He faces his opponent, his scythe posed behind him, ready for the next swing. Mr. Long stares forlornly at the reaper then at the mess he has made of his burial site. He whimpers again. The sound tugs at your heart strings. While you are the one who will have to put the area to rights, you sympathize for the spirit. He’s new to the cemetery, two years in the grave. You didn’t know him when he was alive, and you haven’t spent much time around him since he arrived. However, you know his grave marker cost less than two hundred and that he never has flowers placed on it. He stands beside it during the day, staring at the cemetery’s entrance. Kyungsoo relaxes his stance. His scythe disappears as he steps forward. From this distance, you fail to hear the exchange between reaper and spirit, but you can see the relief in Mr. Long’s shoulders. A reaper’s duty is to ferry the dead to their final resting place and protect the living from the dead. Kyungsoo will allow Mr. Long to remain in the world of the living and will not resort to drastic measures to protect the living. You’ve heard of reapers who decimate a malevolent spirit without a thought. Kyungsoo has never been like that. Even that first time you met him, he brought the spirit back to sanity. Back then, you had thought he was some kind of superhero. He appeared from nowhere and rescued you and the monster. The conversation ends, and Mr. Long disappears to wherever ghost go. You asked both you grandmother and father where ghosts go when they disappear from the living world. Both blustered without giving a satisfactory explanation. You assume they go rest in their graves. “You’ve returned.” The voice is soft like the footsteps which brought it near you. Glancing up, you find Kyungsoo standing a few feet from you. Your heart quickens and rises through your throat, blocking all words. So you nod. “I am happy to know your family will continue to oversee the cemetery. The caretakers after your father had no place here.” Your head bobs along as you force your heart back into your chest. “I guess not everyone is cut out to work with the dead.” He smiles, and your heart rises once again. You cough and look away. “Your father is well?” You nod, keeping your eyes on the rows of tombstones. “He retired to a beach somewhere.” In a whisper, you ask, “My grandmother?” “She passed beyond when she died. I saw her off well.” As you had thought, your grandmother wasn’t one to linger in the living world. She had done her work and been satisfied with her life. “I look forward to working with you.” His words nearly force your heart from your body. You choke on it, falling off your perch from the violence of your hacking. “Are you unwell?” He crouches before you ensuring you meet his gaze. “Fine.” You croak as you push yourself off the ground and put distance between you two. “I also look forward to working with you. Not that I hope you come a lot because malevolent spirits are bad, but also when you do come I won’t be mad.” Your words peter out, and you wish you could have choked again. Kyungsoo maintains the distance you set, his lips curving down into a pout as you rambled. “Thank you for helping Mr. Long. I’ll take extra care to check on him.” You swerve the conversation. His lips turn up into a soft smile. He glances behind him at plot 112. “He is a good man and will find peace if he allows himself.” When his attention returns to you, you can feel the charge in his eyes. A caretaker’s job is more than maintaining the cemetery’s appearance. The truest duty is held within the title. You must take care of the spirits and help them on their way. You nod. “Thank you.” He bows his head. “I must be going.” In the next instant, the space before you is empty. You remain staring at that space, a forgotten smile on your lips. “I am beginning to understand your lack of suitors.” Your smile sours. You really wish you could slap a ghost.

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