Who: Charlie St Cloud charliestcloud & Death deathiskind What: Around the house. When: Thursday, June 4, afternoon Where: Their shared home. Rating: General Audiences. Warnings: She's Death. He talks to dead people. They're both pretty nice. Status: Closed/In Progress
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Living with two women wasn't nearly as hard as most guys made it seem. Charlie had been friends with a guy on his sailing team who'd been the only son in a family with eight children. He had constantly complained about his sisters. It wasn't one of his better memories of the team. He'd been an only child for a long time himself; his brother Sam had been a welcome addition to the household. Charlie still remembered exactly how he'd felt when Sam had come home from the hospital with their mom.
He remembered exactly how it felt to leave the hospital without him, too.
Climbing the stairs to the loft, Charlie tapped on the wall which opened into Death's living space, "So some guy was talking about how we need to deal with the people knocking on Death's door getting dropped at the sign. I told him you lived in the loft. How're you liking it?"
Smiling at her was easy. She was a calming presence in life for Charlie. There was something familiar and timeless about Death which comforted him the way no words ever could. He had a sneaking suspicion she knew more than she let on which was terrifying, but he tried to keep those thoughts at bay. She was too nice to say anything if she knew about his thoughts on Liv. Death wouldn't pick at him. Charlie felt as if he could put money down on that without risking losing his bank account.
She was trustworthy in a way people weren't.
"I can let you have my room downstairs if you want. I just figured you'd want the high ground. Plus it's bigger. More room to spread out. I kinda doubt you're used to being cooped up someplace for long. This has to be a headache for you."
Charlie had been stuck in the same life in the same town with the same job doing the same thing for so long---he couldn't imagine anything else.
His life was one endless cycle of rinse and repeat. It had to be that way for Sam. Charlie owed it to Sam to be there for him at sunset every day with the ball and glove at the ready. Sam would have lived to have a girlfriend, a first kiss, a first car, a first of so many things if only Charlie hadn't been so selfish. The least he could do was give him a chance to play ball at sunset every day since he'd stolen all the days of Sam's life. His future was all he could give Sam. It wasn't much, but he hoped it was enough.
Death would likely know. If Charlie could work up the nerve to ask her, he had a feeling she'd have an answer ready. Her aura was one of peaceful serenity while there was some strange constant air of curiosity about her at the same time. Charlie had no idea what Death could have left to learn about life or living, but he hoped it was good things. She deserved good things, happiness, joy. To him, she was the embodiment of peace. Charlie couldn't imagine a world where any other figure epitomized Death the way she did.