Kuroshitsuji - Beautiful Weather

Despite his usual zest Grell hated London's rainy days. The weather was dreary, colourless, and its damp temperatures chilled the shinigami—a self-proclaimed fashionista who rarely wore practical clothing for even the finest of days. He had long since tossed his red umbrella after the wind had turned it inside-out. With no further protection, the rain was at liberty to assault the scarlet hair in which Grell took tremendous pride.

Adding to the grim reaper's chagrin, a passing carriage had the audacity to splash a muddy puddle over the sidewalk that Grell had the misfortune of traversing. Worst of all, the redhead's muddied spectacles prevented Grell from catching the driver's face so he could condemn the louse to his to-die list.

To hell with the driver; every human got his due eventually, and shinigami knew that better than anyone. Right now, Grell just wanted to finish today's last assignment so he could return to his toasty, dry flat in the shinigami world. Alas, Grell's next reaping was not scheduled until quarter of midnight. There were still many hours left in the day, regardless if the dark rainclouds gave the illusion of approaching twilight.

Knowing better than to return to the reaper's realm before finishing his assignment, Grell sulked down London's cobblestone. Common sense dictated that when it rained one should seek shelter—even simpleton humans heeded that, leaving the sidewalks scarcely traveled today. But therein laid the question of where Grell could go to escape the rain. The only "home" he ever had in the human world was Angelina's mansion, and those days ended when Grell murdered his madam.

He contemplated a surprise visit to the Phantomhive manor, but Grell's waterlogged reflection in the puddles told him he was in no condition to seduce his Sebas-chan. Even his makeup was starting to run; appalling, considering the reaper purchased the finest cosmetics. How hideous! Damn this weather, and damn William for sending Grell out into this weather in the first place!

"Beautiful weather we're having, would you not agree, milady?"

Startled out of his brooding, Grell spun around to face his stealthy acquaintance. In this drab weather the equally-drab Undertaker practically blended into London's locale; blacks, silvers, and grey-whites—typical colours of any self-respecting mortician. Undertaker too was poorly dressed for this weather, clad only in his shapeless robe and top hat. No umbrella was in sight, but unlike Grell, Undertaker appeared unbothered by rain. In fact, his trademark smile and demeanor was eerily pleasant as always. Everything seemed to amuse the Undertaker.

For Grell, unexpectedly rendezvousing with a handsome man was more than enough to brighten the redhead's day. Whereas rain tarnished Grell's appearance the mortician's looks were enhanced. For reasons Grell could not quite fathom, rain just seemed to suit the Undertaker. The lackluster colours were perfect.

Furthermore, rainwater slicked Undertaker's long hair into streams of glistening silver, cascading down a robe already sticking to the man's skin. The oversized attire remained modest, but occasionally clung in places to suggest a glimpse of the Undertaker's physique underneath. He was a scrumptious piece of eye candy for the attracted redhead.

But remembering his own rain-ruined appearance, Grell promptly averted part of his face from his sexy newcomer. For once in his life Grell Sutcliff was not readily willing to flaunt his inherent gorgeousness, not just yet, anyway. The only thing more humiliating than a lady being seen without makeup was a lady being seen with runny makeup. Attempting to improve himself was futile battle against Mother Nature, but Grell never went down without a fight.

"'Beautiful' isn't the first word I would use to describe this weather, dear," replied the younger reaper, attempting to keep Undertaker's mind on their conversation and off Grell's work-in-progress. Using the nearest shop's window as a makeshift mirror, Grell tidied himself whilst smirking at the coffin-craftsman's reflection besides him. "I'd rather save that adjective to describe you, my darling Undertaker~"

The retiree sniggered in mock-bashfulness. "How flattering! And may I say what an honour it is to be considered 'beautiful' by a specimen as lovely as yourself, Miss Sutcliff."

A coquettish squeal escaped Grell's curled lips. "Who's flattering who? Mind that silver tongue of yours, handsome. This woman is greedy and you may charm yourself into more than you bargained for."

"That I'm counting on~"

Giggling, Grell finally returned his eyes to the entertaining mortician, confident enough in his appearance to flash an alluring smile to the prodigal reaper. The redhead relished their flirting, wishing it could go on forever, or at least until the shinigami's next reaping. Rain or shine, a good-looking guy always jump-started Grell Sutcliff's avidity.

Casually leaning against a storefront's brick wall, Grell folded locks of soaked hair behind an ear, not unlike his hairstyle whilst under the guise of Madam Red's butler. "So what brings a charming man like you out into this 'beautiful' weather?" he pondered, describing the weather with more than a twinge of sarcasm. The redhead never censored his opinions and Grell was unafraid to show his utter distaste in today's horrid conditions. "I highly doubt you're on duty like I am, Undertaker."

"No rest for the wicked, my dear," the silver-haired man simply shrugged, never one to complain about his workload. "My current duties differ from yours, but I have been busy in the cemeteries. Death never takes a holiday, not that we would ever want it to, would you not agree~?" The death gods exchanged ominous yet proud smiles, both madmen being notorious for enjoying their work a bit too much. "Besides, rainy days are fine occasions for funerals, regardless if people do or don't plan them to be."

Grell arched a red eyebrow. Surely the Undertaker was joking when he coined today's deplorable weather as "beautiful." The mortician was an artist with corpses; he knew beauty and he knew how to create beauty, too. Today was the polar opposite of beauty, and the last thing that Grell wanted was for Undertaker to lower his standards.

After self-consciously double-checking his mirrored appearance again, Grell folded his arms over his chest. Cocking his head in Undertaker's direction, the younger reaper gave a chuckle. "Funny. I always thought you might appreciate a picturesque, sunlit day to celebrate the final gala of a person's life," not unlike Angelina's funeral, so Grell had been told.

"Oh that I do, but rainy days are far nicer."

"Because rain is as dismal as death~?"

One of Undertaker's sleeve-covered hands rose to his mouth, a poor attempt at politely muffing his laughter. "Ehehe! Dear me, I'd hoped my lady would not consider me to be quite so cliché. Though you're not entirely mistaken; rain indeed reflects the melancholy of loss far better than sunshine. But that is not the only reason I appreciate it."

That was no surprise. There was always more to the Undertaker than met the eye. He spoke in riddles; he himself was a riddle. On the surface Undertaker was a creepy old man, but underneath— Oh, Grell got chills just imagining the legendary reaper's true face and nature! Mystique was one of the many reasons why the effeminate shinigami was so strongly smitten with the mortician.

Freeing his hand from his elongated sleeve's confines, Undertaker held out his palm to catch countless raindrops. "You see, my dear, rain helps quicken a body's return to the soil. We protect cadavers in coffins, mine being nothing but the best, but eventually Mother Nature will claim her prize. She always does~"

Frankly, Grell rarely gave much thought to Mother Nature. Immortal shinigami had no reason to fear nature's influence of aging, death, and decomposition. That did not mean reapers disrespected nature; they were advocates for nature's inexorable cycle of mortal life into death. But on a personal level, Grell harboured reservations about the so-called Mother Nature who was moronic enough to stick a woman's soul inside a man's body.

"But most importantly," continued Undertaker, jarring Grell out of his mind's tangent. The silver-haired reaper turned his wrist just enough to delicately pour the accumulating rainwater out of his hand. "Rain washes away everything, baptizing the deceased prior to entering the afterlife. All the person's secrets and imperfections are cleansed; nothing can hide from the rain's unveiling."

And just to prove his point, Undertaker's face rose to peer up into the cloudy heavens, allowing the rain to briefly wash aside the bangs hiding one of his countless scars.

The redhead was enchanted by the ex-reaper's wisdom, obviously borne throughout the eons and experiences of Undertaker's existence. If only the shinigami academy's lecturers could have been half as captivating (and sexy) as the Undertaker, then Grell might have actually paid attention in class.

But sensing the moral to the Undertaker's monologue, Grell suspiciously narrowed his green eyes. "My, so philosophical you are~" There was something to be said for a man whose brain was as impressive as his body. "But don't you think you're being just a tad hypocritical, Undertaker darling? Your very livelihood relies on the necessity to beautify corpses for their funerals. You said it yourself that your precious rain eventually washes away all that hard work of yours, yes?"

His smile only widening, Undertaker returned his gaze to Grell. Insulting a lady (especially one as hotheaded as Grell) went against the mortician's manners. However, Undertaker could tell that the less-experienced shinigami had centuries more of learning ahead of him.

"Indeed, and that is the point, Miss Sutcliff," Undertaker answered, adoring the confusion across Grell's face. Ah, the naivety of youth! "Surely you're aware that my masterpieces are not for the benefit of the dead. We undertakers simply provide a comforting illusion for the bereaved, so that they may remember their deceased as picture-perfectly as possible.

"I am a magician who gives his audience what they want to see, milady, but none of it is real. When all is said and done, reality is never as glamourous as we'd like it to be, and rain is one of the many ways in which nature proves just that. Rain is 'beautiful' because it lets us find authentic beauty by washing away the artificial."

Silently absorbing the man's words, Grell's emerald eyes absentmindedly wandered across London's rainy panorama. The human world truly was a revolting place, but Grell believed the rain only emphasized Earth's imperfections. At least in dry weather it was easier to conceal blemishes, whereas rain brought those very flaws to the forefront. It certainly was not the definition of beauty to which Grell was accustomed.

"That said, my dear, there are occasions when nature offers us something truly beautiful."

The sound of boots splashing a puddle regained Grell's attention once more. Before the redhead could react, Grell was face-to-face with the most renowned death god of his time, if not of all time.

But it was not the Undertaker's incredible reputation or his frighteningly good looks that ignited Grell's unease. It had been several minutes since Grell last checked himself in the shop's display window, and the rain was not about to give him a break today. Gods only knew how his face looked being up close with the Undertaker! It was mortifying!

Yet again, the elder reaper knew better than to insult a lady. Just the opposite, Undertaker smiled politely, gentlemanly raising his hand to stroke his long black fingernails along Grell's adjacent cheek. "Sometimes nature offers us something so beautiful that it can only be discovered after the rain unveils it. Beauty that mere humans have no hope of appreciating."

Grell's flushed cheek nearly melted into the Undertaker's palm. Oh how the euphoric redhead could have died right then and there!

…And die was exactly what Grell wanted to do when the mortician's sleeve-covered hand began to wipe away what remained of his lady's soggy makeup! The smaller shinigami's horror returned threefold, lighting his fury's short fuse. What the hell?! How dare any man mar a woman's makeup, never mind remove her makeup! Outraged beyond belief, Grell was milliseconds away from whipping out his chainsaw…

Satisfied with his latest – and finest – artwork, Undertaker then beamed sincerely. "Fortunately for you, Miss Sutcliff, I am not human."

Blinking back to his senses, Grell stared at the smudged mess along the Undertaker's sleeve. Cosmetics once used to make a woman beautiful were now nothing more than ugly, skin-coloured globs sullying a man's clothes. Perhaps there was truth to Undertaker's philosophy, but…but… Grell was less angry and more embarrassed to be seen without his makeup! Must Undertaker have taken such drastic measures to prove his point?!

Although, Grell certainly was not about to ignore a handsome man who had just called him beautiful…without needing makeup. It was an effort in futility for Grell to elicit compliments from studs like William and Sebastian, even when the scarlet transvestite dolled up himself to the fullest! But the Undertaker's honesty was unmistakable. In-between wet locks of silver bangs were the legendary shinigami's green eyes, eldritch yet enraptured by what he saw in Grell. They were the eyes of a man who had lived a long time, had seen so much, yet never quite found something on par with the lady standing in front of him.

It became too difficult for Grell to remain angry. The redness in his cheeks remained, but his blush was no longer credited to humiliation. Though younger than Undertaker, Grell's immortal lifespan was by no means short, and this was the first time a man looked at him so affectionately.

It was also the first time that Grell smiled at a man without the redhead's mouth insinuating lewd ulterior motives. His lips' natural pinkness was not red enough for Grell's preferences, he always thought his complexion was a tad too pale, and the mere thought of looking remotely masculine unsettled his stomach. But for all of Grell's anxieties, not once did the Undertaker complain about what he saw. Quite the contrary, the older shinigami was savouring his own piece of scrumptious eye candy.

Shyness was not Grell's strong suit, but he carried it well. Undertaker's palm still cupping his warm cheek, Grell raised a hand to meet the mortician's. "I did warn you about flattering me, didn't I?" he winked, more comfortable and accustomed with flirtation than tenderness.

"So you did." Accepting Grell's daintier hand, Undertaker chivalrously kissed the back of the redhead's hand. "But after a morning of burying my latest artworks, I'm afraid my shop is in dire need of a new masterpiece."

"You should know better than to take me home~" Grell warned pruriently, wrapping his fingers around Undertaker's hand so there was no backing out for either man. There was plenty of time to kill, after all. After squeezing his prodigy's hand, the rest of Grell's arm snaked around the Undertaker's, appreciating their bodies' warmth amidst rain-soaked clothing. Their wet clothes would pose no problem once they returned to the funeral parlor. Leaning his head onto Undertaker's shoulder, Grell smiled blissfully. "I believe you heard me when I said you would get more than you bargained for."

Escorting his lady home, the eccentric Undertaker giggled all the way. "As I am sure you heard me say that I was counting on such~"

The End