He knew.

He had known the moment he glimpsed him heading to work a year ago, preoccupied and late and feeling upset for it. All things that were so genuinely human, so beautifully and fundamentally stupid in the grand scheme of things. Stupid, but lovingly so, and it's no surprise that one Dai Bowen is almost his shift when Death finishes his cigarette, extinguishes it on a puddle on the ground from the morning's rain, and steps inside.

Death's footsteps are light and makes no noise, it's one of the few things he's never able to disguise--and if you squint just the right away he has no shadow. None of them do, but no one looks at your shadow when you're leaning up against the counter, pale, boney fingers calmly taking a look at the list of patients Dai was treating. The receptionist didn't seem to notice despite the fact that Death was literally inches away from her.

It's when he leans back and releases the clipboard that she blinks, startled, jumping.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"No," he said truthfully, lips curling into a lazy smirk. "But you can get me into contact with the one who can. Dai Bowen."

"He's--erhm, busy, but I can page him if you wan--"

"Not necessary." Because Death was already headed towards his location after seeing the nurse's schedule. His woolen trench coat rippled as he walked, and it wasn't long before he reached the hospital room the other was working in.

"I'm afraid something terribly wonderful and unusual has happened," He addressed the other, already picking a smoke out of his silver cigarette holder, putting it in between his lips and raising his eyebrows. "And you're going to have to stop what you're doing and be a little more exhilarating."