With The Help of Death (on hold for a very long time)

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The rain clattered against the windows of the little cozy apartment Ryder Madison owned, as he was curled up in thick blankets while watching Friends and sipping hot tea. He enjoyed the silence of his new bought apartment. Yes, he loved his family, but he also loved his privacy. And living with his parents, two sisters aged 14 and 16, and an older brother who was 19 and constantly bringing over his college friends who love pranks, privacy wasn't always granted. Plus, he could play his music as loud as he wanted, could watch any shows at any time, and didn't have anybody nagging him to make them a sandwich, no pickles or mustard.

Ryder pulled his blue and black blanket closer to his chin, as a gust of cold air swept through the room from the window he has left open to let the fresh air in. Plus, he enjoyed the smell of wet asphalt. He has always wanted to get a candle that smelled like it, but doubted that they existed. He took another slow sip of the mint tea that he has made, just as Rachel appeared on the TV screen. He has always had a soft spot for Rachel. Or Jennifer Aniston in general.

A loud, and sharp knock echoed through the apartment, making Ryder frown. He didn't expect anybody did he? His family would call, his friends would just barge in since they stole his key and made a copy. He wasn't getting any mail. Unless it is the band posters he ordered, but they shouldn't be coming in another two days since he didn't choose the one day shipping option.

Throwing back his blanket, chilly air enveloped him in a big and icy hug, making Ryder shudder.

As he made his way through the hallway and to the door, a very weird feeling settled in the tall blonde's gut. Something was not right.

As he unlocked the door, the feeling grew stronger making Ryder more hesitant about opening the door to anybody who was on the other side. Maybe he should have looked in the peephole? Well, too late for that now. He thought, as he fully opened the door.

A tall man around the age of 25 stood on the other side. He was maybe around 6'8. His hair, as dark as a moonless night on a deserted island, reached his shoulders, his skin was as white as snow, no exaggerating, and his eyes were like two black holes, and felt like they were burning through you, and you wanted nothing more but for them to look elsewhere. All of his clothes were black. He was extremely intimidating.

"Hello?" Ryder said, his voice shook just the slightest. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't scared at that moment.

"Ryder Madison?" The man's baritone rang not too loud, but not too low. And it just added to his intimidating physique. Ryder nodded hesitantly. So many questions ran though his mind it almost made his head spin. "May I come in?" the man, who's name Ryder still didn't know asked.

Ryder stood there in a stupor. Should he let the man in? He could be a murderer for all he knows. And there he wished he watched the news at least once. Just to see if maybe the man at his door was a wanted criminal. But what is he had something important to say? Curiosity was eating him alive and at last, his decision was made.

With a curt nod, Ryder stepped aside, letting the intimidating man who had to bend down in order not to bang his head on the doorframe, into his little two room apartment. He led the man to the living room where he shut off the TV, taking just a second to glance at the show, before sitting down on the couch, and offering the man a seat across from him.

"Would you like anything to drink? Tea, coffee?" Ryder asked, trying to be polite.

"Black coffee would be nice thank you." The man politely agreed. Which was surprising since Ryder didn't really expect a man like him to have too much manners. Maybe that's where the don't judge a book by its cover saying comes in handy.

An awkward silence fell over the room, and tension could be cut with a butcher knife for the next few minutes, until Ryder set a freshly made cup of steaming hot, black coffee in front of the man.

Sitting back down on the couch Ryder remembered that he still didn't know the stranger's name.

Clearing his throat, Ryder finally got the guts to ask the question.

"I don't remember you mentioning your name." his voice came out loud, but not as confident as he intended.

"Azrael. But I am more commonly known as Death." The man said, with a poker face on, and not a trace of humor in the man's baritone. This made Ryder freeze.

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