October 16th, 1910
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Genre: Drama/AU kind of
Pairing: None, maybe one if you squint
Rating: G
Summary: Even reapers could fall in love with such words.
Notes: An idea I finally managed to write up. Set in the relatively near future, manga canon world. Inspired by Oscar Wilde.
---
Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji.
---
Eight other pieces of paper were there. Eight other requests, one a year. All at the same time of the year, for the same reasons, to the same place. He couldn't just let this slide. Either something was majorly wrong or Grell was hiding something. And with his cold dismissal...the only way to find out was to go with him.
William pinched the bridge of his nose, the faint twinges of a headache starting. He had no desire to do this, but he had to. He would follow Sutcliffe and insist that he be shown what was so compelling that he would need early dismissal and several days off.
As expected, the news was not accepted well. Grell glared at him, before saying in a soft tone that William best be ready in an hour to leave, if he wasn't he was being left behind, and that this would be a long trip.
Of course he came, Grell was waiting for him. Each carried a small suitcase that would accompany them to this mysterious location. Grell led the way, but said little for once. First a train for several hours, until they reached Dover. Then they took a ferry across the Channel, thankfully it was a calmer day. And again a train, until they reached Paris.
The entire trip took somewhat over nine hours, but Grell showed no impatience. In fact, he was serene, the calmest William had seen him. It was almost frightening.
A little over seventeen years had passed since Sutcliffe had gone through what he would only describe as "a circle of hell". He had brought the solitaty confinement on himself, and although it was a relatively light sentence, William had privately shuddered at the thought of it. Five years. To reapers, it was a short time, but prison extended time and made it all blur together into one continuous loop. At least, so Grell had said. It had taken months before he would talk about it, hiding how badly it had shattered his psyche, and time was slowly mending the breaks.
Night was over the city as the two reapers left the train, it was very late, but they managed to find shelter. Grell still would not speak more than necessary, staying silent and ignoring William's questions in favor of turning out the light to sleep. Had he done something wrong? Was Grell angry with him? The questions were soft murmurs in his mind as he tried to sleep.
In the morning, Grell was awake before William, silently getting ready for the day. His attire was shocking to William-following dress code on the one day he wasn't required to. It was unsettling, seeing Grell in a black suit after so long of him being against them. Still, the older one said nothing and when Grell motioned for him to follow, he did.
People walked along the streets, ignoring the two, except for the few strange looks to Grell's hair which were inevitable. William nearly passed Grell when the redhead stopped adruptly at a flower stand to buy a single lily, and only then continue on.
The lily began to clue William in on the situation. It became far more obvious when they passed through the stone gateway, where all became hushed and reverent. But who would inspire this sort of devotion from Grell? Who would be a significant enough human that he would cross countries for this?
His question was answered in time, when Grell's footsteps slowed and stopped.
An angel in relief on gray stone, before which he laid the flower, smiling softly, tears beginning to gather. Grell stood, gazing, between tears and serenity. William walked around the grave, and he saw the four line epitaph, struck by how appropriate it seemed. Not simply for the man who lay quietly under it, but for the one who now stood by it. It made sense, now. Why Grell would go to such lengths, why he felt so moved. One person had touched him greatly, had been his path to healing after prison, one author who Grell watched carefully and loved in the way that so many others did, yet with all a reaper's passion and fascination simultaneously.
After what felt like a long, long time, Grell moved, taking out a tube of lipstick and carefully applying it with a practiced hand. He moved closer, and pressed a kiss to the grave's cold stone, leaving a dark red mark. A single tear fell as he smiled.
"Happy birthday, Oscar."
---
Genre: Drama/AU kind of
Pairing: None, maybe one if you squint
Rating: G
Summary: Even reapers could fall in love with such words.
Notes: An idea I finally managed to write up. Set in the relatively near future, manga canon world. Inspired by Oscar Wilde.
---
Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji.
---
Eight other pieces of paper were there. Eight other requests, one a year. All at the same time of the year, for the same reasons, to the same place. He couldn't just let this slide. Either something was majorly wrong or Grell was hiding something. And with his cold dismissal...the only way to find out was to go with him.
William pinched the bridge of his nose, the faint twinges of a headache starting. He had no desire to do this, but he had to. He would follow Sutcliffe and insist that he be shown what was so compelling that he would need early dismissal and several days off.
As expected, the news was not accepted well. Grell glared at him, before saying in a soft tone that William best be ready in an hour to leave, if he wasn't he was being left behind, and that this would be a long trip.
Of course he came, Grell was waiting for him. Each carried a small suitcase that would accompany them to this mysterious location. Grell led the way, but said little for once. First a train for several hours, until they reached Dover. Then they took a ferry across the Channel, thankfully it was a calmer day. And again a train, until they reached Paris.
The entire trip took somewhat over nine hours, but Grell showed no impatience. In fact, he was serene, the calmest William had seen him. It was almost frightening.
A little over seventeen years had passed since Sutcliffe had gone through what he would only describe as "a circle of hell". He had brought the solitaty confinement on himself, and although it was a relatively light sentence, William had privately shuddered at the thought of it. Five years. To reapers, it was a short time, but prison extended time and made it all blur together into one continuous loop. At least, so Grell had said. It had taken months before he would talk about it, hiding how badly it had shattered his psyche, and time was slowly mending the breaks.
Night was over the city as the two reapers left the train, it was very late, but they managed to find shelter. Grell still would not speak more than necessary, staying silent and ignoring William's questions in favor of turning out the light to sleep. Had he done something wrong? Was Grell angry with him? The questions were soft murmurs in his mind as he tried to sleep.
In the morning, Grell was awake before William, silently getting ready for the day. His attire was shocking to William-following dress code on the one day he wasn't required to. It was unsettling, seeing Grell in a black suit after so long of him being against them. Still, the older one said nothing and when Grell motioned for him to follow, he did.
People walked along the streets, ignoring the two, except for the few strange looks to Grell's hair which were inevitable. William nearly passed Grell when the redhead stopped adruptly at a flower stand to buy a single lily, and only then continue on.
The lily began to clue William in on the situation. It became far more obvious when they passed through the stone gateway, where all became hushed and reverent. But who would inspire this sort of devotion from Grell? Who would be a significant enough human that he would cross countries for this?
His question was answered in time, when Grell's footsteps slowed and stopped.
An angel in relief on gray stone, before which he laid the flower, smiling softly, tears beginning to gather. Grell stood, gazing, between tears and serenity. William walked around the grave, and he saw the four line epitaph, struck by how appropriate it seemed. Not simply for the man who lay quietly under it, but for the one who now stood by it. It made sense, now. Why Grell would go to such lengths, why he felt so moved. One person had touched him greatly, had been his path to healing after prison, one author who Grell watched carefully and loved in the way that so many others did, yet with all a reaper's passion and fascination simultaneously.
After what felt like a long, long time, Grell moved, taking out a tube of lipstick and carefully applying it with a practiced hand. He moved closer, and pressed a kiss to the grave's cold stone, leaving a dark red mark. A single tear fell as he smiled.
"Happy birthday, Oscar."
---