Days passed, and Agustín felt a sense of normalcy returning after handing in his last Cadastral Legislation project before the holidays. Now that classes were over, he usually lent his father a hand at the funeral home, and today was no exception. Christmas and New Year were fast approaching; his father was preparing to deliver a body before heading out to the funeral. Reinaldo asked him to stay in charge so he could sign for and receive any other bodies that might arrive, as his mother was out for the day.

  Shortly before his father departed in the hearse, Agustín heard clients entering. They presented a funeral order that had already been stamped, and his father received them. They helped him remove the shroud bag and place the corpse on the gurney for cleaning and disinfection. It was in that instant that Agustín froze. The dead man looked exactly like Buer.

  "Agustín, you prepare him. I’m out of time, and I have to deliver the other one. I’ll be back in a couple of hours."

  Agustín retreated to the reception desk to check the paperwork again. Everything seemed in order; it looked authentic. He returned to the preparation room. The corpse was still there. His pulse quickened as he began cleaning and disinfecting, his mind spinning theories: Was this body the person Buer had chosen to mimic?

  "No, no," he whispered to himself. "That makes no sense. They don't do that... it's..."

  His hand stopped in mid-air, inches from the body, while water ran down the drain, soaking the disposable wipes. The smell of formaldehyde was interrupted only by Buer's characteristic herbal aroma. He heard his father close the main door and start the engine to leave.

  "Shit..." he breathed without blinking, tentatively touching the hair—the same shade, the same length.

  The eyes were exactly the same, too, only slightly duller. He forced himself to continue the process, thinking deep down that this was either a test or that perhaps Buer had never been a demon at all and was now dead.

  Despite the suspicion and every sign that things were wrong, Agustín continued, almost out of loyalty. Once disinfected, came the preservatives and then the makeup, applied with a hauntingly special care.

  It was when he went to dress him that he froze once more. Opening the box containing the clothes designated for the body, he pulled out the ruffled shirt Buer had been wearing the day they met. He had to take a moment to try and decipher what was happening, but he was far from having his wits about him—certainly not as much as he would have liked.

  Trying to recover and finish his work, he did something completely unconscious: he pulled off his gloves and didn't replace them with new ones.

  He looked back at the body, the shirt in one hand, and with the other—bare—he caressed his face.

  "God damn it..." he confessed through gritted teeth, still unable to stop.

  He let his hand slide down the neck and onto the chest. He was dead, yes, but he possessed that same warmth Agustín remembered from the locker rooms on the day of the soccer match.

  "Shit... Why...?"

  His hand moved back up, caressing the face and hair once more. He leaned slightly toward him, touched his lips, and leaned in further. He cursed under his breath again, tilting his head, letting out a short moan as he was only inches away—until the sound of metal striking the doorframe made him bolt backward.

  It was Buer.

  Agustín clutched his heart from the shock; the corpse had vanished. Yes, it was a test, but for what? Buer said nothing, remaining motionless for an instant that felt like an eternity. The air felt electric—not sad or frightening, but charged.

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  Buer walked toward him with a restrained, contemplative expression. As they closed the distance, Agustín felt a rush of heat rise from his groin. The demon raised his hand to hold Agustín’s, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished.

  Agustín stumbled, catching himself on the metal gurney. He crouched there until his father returned and asked what he was doing on the floor. He replied that he’d had a sudden, dizzy spell, but that everything was fine.

  That moment left Agustín dazed for days, during which Buer made no appearance whatsoever. He thought of him and missed him—perhaps excessively—and his distraction was evident.

  The year came to an end, and as was custom, his family threw a New Year’s party with the neighbors. In the neighbors' spacious garden, tables from both houses had been joined to make room for the food and drinks. Reinaldo and the neighbor lit the grill to start the carne asada, while his mother, Lourdes, chatted with Do?a Ana on the patio, preparing salads, appetizers, and drinks.

  The women paused when they realized they needed more containers for the side dishes. The neighbor called for her daughter, and Do?a Lourdes called for Agustín.

  "Gus, can you go get the medium containers? The colored ones. They’re in the pantry, near the rice." Agustín agreed, asking Reinaldo for the keys to the house.

  He entered the house and felt a heavy vibration; perhaps because it was completely empty and dark. He went down the reception stairs into the living room and crossed into the kitchen, flipping the light and opening the pantry to look for the plastic containers.

  He heard footsteps approaching and turned.

  "Happy New Year, Vinicio."

  "Buer?"

  "Well, there are still a couple of hours left in this part of the map."

  "Yes."

  They studied each other. Agustín held the containers in his arms, almost hugging them as he contemplated Buer’s image. He said nothing; he simply looked him up and down, his breath shallow and his pulse racing after days of stillness. He took half a step forward, and Buer’s jaw tightened.

  For the first time, the young man felt he could communicate without words, just as Mayté and Marley had done at the market that day. Buer answered him with a sharp gaze—the expression of someone, or rather something, that had lost all semblance of self-control.

  The containers hit the floor. Buer swept Agustín up in a near-imperceptible movement, hoisting him against the wall. They kissed with a bestial passion—desperate and overflowing. Agustín held on with his legs, his hips colliding with the demon’s. They broke the kiss; Agustín gasped for air, and Buer moved to the young man’s collarbone, trailing his tongue along his neck and chin.

  Agustín responded with muffled, almost pained moans as the lights and electronic appliances flickered and surged throughout the house.

  Their eyes met again. Buer’s gaze told him he could be this and everything he asked for—and even more. They shared another kiss, slower now, until the sound of the front door opening interrupted them.

  It was Lourdes, looking for where Agustín had gotten to and wondering why he’d taken so long. She found him in the kitchen picking up containers from the floor, his face flushed and his hair disheveled.

  "Gus, what happened?"

  "Nothing, Ma. I just got dizzy. I’m going to the bathroom for a second," he replied without making eye contact, visibly agitated.

  He locked himself in the guest bathroom to wash his face.

  Breathe. Breathe. What was that...? ...Why? This wasn't part of the contract, was it? Shit... why did it feel like that!?

  The surge of heat began to recede slowly, water dripping from his chin. He didn't know how to react now, how to return to the party and pretend none of it had happened.

  Back at the party, he managed to come down from that ecstasy with alcohol, as discreetly as he could. By midnight, he had stopped thinking about many things—Dagoberto, for one. Buer’s impatient touch had come to stay, haunting his mind. He was certain they had both crossed a dangerous line; there was no other reason for Buer’s absence before that night.

  And so, he came to understand his place: that "precious creation" which, rather than belonging to Him or to life, now belonged to Buer.