With the sun now rising in the sky, it felt wrong to curl back up into bed, even if that was the one thing I really wanted to do. Instead I grabbed a blanket and crashed on the sofa. By the time the sun was high up in the sky I had woken up somewhat refreshed and ready for the day.

But nothing happened, no pull or house calls. Not that I was expecting Death to take me up on my offer of coming to see me.

I found myself with my laptop open in front of me, scanning my family and friends Facebook profiles. There were hardly any new pictures since the last time I checked. It was comforting though, to see the one or two that had been posted with smiling faces.

I clicked onto a familiar name, my own face staring back at me. My eyes bright and alive. I scanned my page, now filled with memories and condolences. It was strange, looking back through my pictures. There was a sadness bubbling inside of me, a grief for a past life I could no longer live. But that is what It was. A past life. I was someone new, living a new life with new friends in a new place, with a new job. In a way, I had been reborn.

A notion flitted across my mind, and I closed my profile, opening up the death statistics for the area. I looked over them, realising they were missing the biggest statistic I needed, attempted suicides. The people I saved would not be written down. There were six other suicide dancers in this city, not including me. The amount of undocumented attempts would be vast.

Dagon had said that once I became more experienced, I would feel more pulls.

As though the world knew I was thinking about the people I had talked to, my phone pinged with a text from Olivia.

I smiled as I read it over, our TV binge session moved to the following weekend, as she had decided to stay with her family for a few more days. Things were going really well she said. My heart swelled with happiness for her. I text her back, telling her as much.

I had slept away half the day, so the evening loomed faster that I had expected it to. I had taken to twiddling my thumbs on the sofa, not really knowing what to do with myself.

I decided that food was in order, though I was not hungry, the smells and taste of food was something that I was beginning to miss. I grabbed my purse and headed out onto the street below me, to the little supermarket on the corner. I grabbed everything that looked tasty, not really giving much thought to the type of meals I could make with them.

I heaved the bulging shopping bags onto the counter in my open kitchen, stepping back once I had decanted everything, wondering what the hell I had bought and what the hell I was going to make.

I was half way through my cooking extravaganza when someone knocked at my door. With a stained apron and my hair tied in a wild bun on top of my head I swung open the door, my smile for a greeting dropping into a wide mouthed gape as I saw my interruption of the evening.

"Hi." I stuttered out.

He only nodded in reply, shuffling his feet as he pursed his lips.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked, snapping from my daze, realising the amount of courage if must have taken for him to come and see me.

"Uh, sure." He replied, as though he was shocked I had asked.

"I was just making dinner! Would you like some?" I asked, smiling proudly at the mess of pots, pans and chopped food scattered across the kitchen.

Death raised his eyebrow, his gaze travelling slowly around the kitchen as though cooking food was not something he was used to.

"You do know that It is not necessary for either of us to eat, right?" He said, leaning against the counter.

"I know that, but good food is something I am not willing to miss out on. When was the last time you ate a meal?" I asked, going back to the cooker.

Death shrugged, picking up a baguette and pulling a little off the end, he turned it round in his hands before tentatively popping it into his mouth. She glanced at him occasionally, not wanting him to know she wanted to stare. It took him a minute before he swallowed and nodded. "I cannot remember the last time."

"Then I hope my cooking skills are good enough to give you the meal you deserve!" I replied with a smile. "Sit down and I will bring us over some bowls."

I piled two bowls high with tomato pasta, topping it with strips of steak and salty bacon before setting them down on the counter top.

We ate in silence, Death because he was focused on his food and me because I was waiting for him to say something.

"I saved a girl called Olivia a week ago, she was so lovely. We've become good friends. She's been showing me around the city, so that's nice." I said, making conversation, the silence becoming to uncomfortable for me. "She is home now, to see her dad for a while now, talking to him about everything. She says it is going really well."

Death nodded, smiling. "I am happy to hear that you are adjusting well to your job."

"It has been tough, but the rewards outweigh the negatives, right?" I replied with a lopsided grin.

He chuckled in response. "I suppose they do."

"How is the food?" I asked, smiling as he wiped the bowl with another torn of piece of bread.

It was as though my question had snapped him out of a daze. He stared at the last piece of bread, and his empty bowl.

"I had not known, until now, that I have been hungry for many, many years." He replied sadly.

"Well, part of the perks of making me un-dead is that I will always be around to cook you great food." I replied sincerely.

"I have not had anyone around me before. This is the first time in a long time I have made a social call without carting someone's soul off to the underworld." He replied.

"I feel honoured that you chose me." I replied.

"You are also the first person I have ever told about, well, you know." He said, pushing his bowl away.

He was referring to our conversation last night on the roof of a skyscraper, I shuddered just thinking about the height.

"I have only one request about conversations. If you ever want to talk to me about anything, please don't make me stand on top of a skyscraper!" I said, now visibly shuddering at the thought.

Death chuckled. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting any visitors."

"You are forgiven." I collected his dish up and loaded everything in the dishwasher while Death fell into another bout of silent contemplation.

"So, how was your day." I asked, opening us both a bottle of beer, leading Death to the sofa before lounging back on it myself.

He awkwardly positioned himself on the sofa, not quite comfortable with relaxing.

"Umm." He started, clearing his throat, his eyebrows creasing. After a moment, he sighed.

"It's been hard, honestly it is getting harder every day. Attitudes towards dying has changed a lot in the past hundred years. Religion has declined, people don't believe in the afterlife, they are scared about what comes next, they see me and fight. There is nothing worse that ferrying an unwilling soul to the afterlife." He said.

"Why do you think people have stopped believing? Why are they so afraid of you?" I asked.

"I don't know. I haven't wanted to think about it, to be honest I have been avoiding the topic. I didn't realise it was so bad until the pull of the universe felt me thinking about how nice it would be to just end it all. That is why you were pulled to me, I guess. Not that my own death will ever be an option." He hung his head, before looking away from her, focusing on the floor.

"I am sorry to hear that you think you are stuck. It is never a nice feeling to have."

"It is more that the people think I am the cause of their death. They blame me. I am the first and only person they see afterwards. No one understands anymore that I am just the ferryman. My cloak and scythe bring fear. The whole process is just a mess."

He shook his head and stared over at me, his eyes full of sadness.

"Why don't you lose them then? If they bring you so much sadness and everyone else so much fear?" I asked, confused.

He sighed, finally leaning back into the sofa. "I guess they are also items that bring me comfort. The only constant in my life. Without them, I don't know who I am." He replied.

"I can see why you would think that way." I began. "But you can't define yourself on a piece of clothing, especially if it also brings you so much sadness and pain. You better than anyone knows that life moves on, people grow, and just because we aren't alive anymore, it doesn't mean that we shouldn't try to grow too."

I hoped I had made sense, but it was a touchy topic and I was careful not to push him too hard. I had only just convinced him I was someone he could talk too, he didn't need me being pushy and overbearing. Plus, he needed to make these decisions on his own, no matter how hard they were.

It takes a lot of courage to go to someone when you feel like you need to talk. What do you think Death is going to do now?