Anniversary
Title: Anniversary Fandom: Kuroshitsuji.
Author: write_rewrite
Rating: G.
Pairings: William/Grell.
Warnings: Headcanon-y.
Notes: Surplus of posting again - I haven't written anything today. It has not been a good day. Also, explaining James would take a while. The short explanation is 'ex lover'.
Summary: On the one day of the year where Grell is not his usual self, William finds himself tagging along.
They were on top of Westminster Abbey and the roads were silver in the rain, and the market stall loomed down below like a vast black sea, with the castle a blurred candle in the storm. Lightning flickered and bucked over the sky, close enough to touch and feel, and the very thunder tapped vibrato against William's skin.
He pushed his black hair out of his eyes with the flat of his hand, and lowered himself to the edge of the rooftop, where the pigeons would perch on a sunny day.
Grell sat by him, kicking his crimson heels against the impenetrable stone, sending bright chips of it down to the ground, where the people wandered like shadows and ghosts and simulacra of people.
"I always love coming up here," Grell said, and his voice is barely there.
"You'll be drenched if you don't get down soon," William stated, obvious as it seemed - Grell had trouble with the obvious. "Why are you up here, anyway?"
Grell shrugged a small shoulder, bulked up only by the weighty fabric of a red coat, "I like it. Is that such a crime, Willie-dear? To like something?"
"It is if it's ridiculous."
The rain tapped against the rock like fingertips, and William found himself glancing over his shoulder, looking for something that wasn't there - they said that the tower was haunted, by some woman who plunged to her death. William doesn't believe in fairytales, but ghosts have a habit of turning up where they're expected to, and he doesn't want to be pushed off to the ground below. The paperwork would be unimaginable.
"You didn't have to follow me if you're going to mock me," Grell pointed out, with the pout in his words, though not yet on his mouth.
"It's that anniversary," William said, and now his voice matches Grell's for pitch and tonelessness. "The one you lost."
"James. His name was James. He left me, you know. The bastard. He promised he wouldn't. He left me, so I made him pay. I hurt him." Grell's red mouth twisted unpleasantly, becoming a snarl, then becoming sad again, unhappily turned down at the corners, childlike and innocent. The blade-sharp teeth were hidden. "I-I only wanted to hurt him a little. I didn't mean to... do worse..."
William understood, and it's a bit worrying that he does.
Quietly, he slid his arm around Grell's shoulders, and pulled the bloke against him. Grell is silent, save for ragged breathing, and not-there words.
"I ... miss you."
Dark and cold and lonely places made perfect sense to divulge these kinds of secrets, the ones that went bone-deep and hurt the soul when they came out, this secret that made his head spin with what he said: I miss you. A paradox, as Grell was there, and yet he wasn't. Not the Grell from the Academy, the one he preferred to spend time with. Occasionally, that Grell came loose, and he shone like a star, and then he was weak and foolish and petty again.
"I'm right here, Willie," Grell's voice is obliviously light. The previous unhappiness has been cleared away. His mind has re-set or spun back or whatever minds do when they're broken that much, broken irreperably - they wind back to happiness, like a clock. Maybe that is the way it should be.
William wished it was different.
"Right. Of course. Forgive me. I have a headache."
William dropped his arm from around Grell's shoulders, and stared down at the slick gray roads, and the hurrying, drab-dressed errand-runners.
"Why are you here?" Grell asked, again. "You didn't know James."
"You get unhappy and dangerous and foolish on this day. I hoped to prevent untimely deaths."
"I don't have my chainsaw with me, and all my knives are locked up nice and tight."
William can't think of anything to say to that, and Grell giggled, one bubbling, boiling sound that put the thunder cracks to shame. He imagined that it sounded all around London, and frightened children huddled beneath their blankets when they heard it.
"You were worried about me!"
Considerably, shoving the redhead over the edge would be improper for him to do and would only result in more paperwork.
William flushed scarlet, and turned his head to the right to hide it, but Grell doesn't shriek anything more.
"You were worried about me..."
At the soft and thoughtful tone, William turned his head at just the right moment to feel Grell's lips press to his cheek - or, rather, to his mouth, as he turned his head at the wrong moment, and dislodged the position.
He flushed scarlet again and didn't dare breathe, in case Grell thought to take a bad thing even further.
The kiss is dry-lipped and closed-mouthed, but not passionless, or at least not to William, and he can feel something flutter like wings in him, like escape, and then Grell pulled back.
The light at this range made his eyes seem supernatural, though they are merely a copy of his own, and supernatural as they all are. Nothing special. Nothing remarkable. Nothing to notice. No-
"I, you... your cheek, that's what I-- oh, don't be mad, please, Willie!" Looking absolutely distraught, Grell placed his hand to his mouth. "I was just, I wanted to say -- to say thank you for worrying about me, and, I, I didn't think you'd mind."
"Relax." The word sounded strange on William's tongue.
It takes a second for Grell to start giggling - softly, silently - then louder and louder and louder until he is laughing.
A giggle might have left William, but the rain made it hard to tell.
"That's the first time I've heard you say that!"
The rain was slowing.
"I can use the basic English language, Grell, it's not that uncommon."
"But-- but 'relax'! We always thought your head would turn inside out if you ever tried to say it!"
A pigeon drifted in, and perched by William's side, pecking at the gloved hand.
"I'm not that ste-- am I?"
"You are."
As the rain stopped, the wind picked up, and bombarded the tower like an invading army, hard and ruthlessly; he could've sworn the blasted thing shook.
"But I don't mind. You're still my Willie. Who worried about me, and came to sit with me. Oh, look -- there's a little bit of sun there! Will you stay a while longer, and watch with me?"
"Where's the sun?"
"Behind that cloud, over there."
"I can't see it."
"Then you should stay until you do."
He did.