“I'm not. I've never had a burger and there are seven different variations on this menu. What's the distinction between a 'classic' and a 'deluxe?'“
“The deluxe has more stuff on it.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“I don't know, man. Bacon? Cheese? A slice of tomato that you'll take off anyway?”
Greg looked at the menu again, brow furrowed. “This is very complicated.”
“It's a diner, not a Michelin star restaurant.”
“What's a Michelin star?”
Dustin stared at him. Greg stared back, apparently genuine.
The waitress appeared before Dustin could respond. She had a pen stuck behind her ear and looked like she had zero patience for deliberation. “What can I get you boys?”
“Coffee and a slice of whatever pie you have,” Dustin said. “And he'll have the classic burger. Medium. With fries.”
“I will?” Greg said.
“You will.”
The waitress scribbled and disappeared. Greg watched her go with an expression of mild alarm. “What's a medium?”
“How cooked the meat is. Medium means pink in the middle.”
“The meat will bepink?”
“Is that a problem for you?”
“I don't know.” Greg paused. “I eat what's provided at headquarters. It's nutritionally complete. I've never had to think about what color the meat is.”
Dustin leaned back in the booth. This was making less and less sense. “I have to ask,” he said. “You say you’re not human, but you need food?”
“Only because of the mandate,” Greg said as if that explained everything. When Dustin only gave him a blank look, he continued. “The Bodily Needs Mandate. Upper management passed it a few years ago. They decided reapers should be more relatable to our clients.”
“Relatable.”
“We have to eat now and use the bathroom.” Greg licked his lips. “They gave us bodies. Or—morebody, anyway. We were always somewhat corporeal, but now we're... fully equipped.”
“Fully equipped,” Dustin repeated slowly.
“With digestive systems. And bladders. And—” Greg stopped. His cheeks went faintly pink.
He might be a little weirdo, but he was cute when he blushed. Dustin had noticed that from the get go, and he couldn’tstopnoticing that.
“The point is,” Greg recovered, “it was supposed to help us understand mortality better. So we could be more compassionate during collections.”
“And? Has it worked?”
Greg considered this. “The bathroom at headquarters is terrible. The coffee's always burnt.” He paused. “I think I understand mortality better, yes. It’s wonderful, I alwaysknewthat, but it also seems deeply inconvenient.” His frown deepened. “I stubbed my toe last week and it hurt for an hour.”
Dustin laughed. He couldn’t help it.
Greg looked at him like he'd done something unexpected. “What?”
“Nothing. Just…” Dustin shook his head. “You’re this supposedly immortal being and you're complaining about stubbed toes.”
