White Roses (Undertaker x Vincent Phantomhive)

Sealed Lips

It was one of Vincent's weekly night meetings with some of his colleagues. It wasn't regarding business, they had the rest of the week for that. This was simply a night of entertainment, cigars and fine wine. After all, every hardworking gentleman deserves some relaxation once in a while, as Vincent would say.

This week, about 7 other men showed, which was a pretty good number. 2 of those men were Diedrich and Undertaker. Of course, Vincent sat in his big comfy seat by the fireplace as he usually enjoyed doing.

However, this week was different. This time, Undertaker sat next to him. They sat and talked together about stories of their professions, although Undertaker thought his stories were much less eventful. A lot of his job consists of coffin designing and construction, which was fine enough. But the stories Vincent told were much more appealing in his eyes. Vincent told of his letters to and from the Queen (save for the confidential ones), suppers with businessmen whom took interest in Funtom Company, and his most favourite topic, his family.

"So Rachel and I were having a nice cup of tea by the garden and Ciel was playing nearby," he told. "Suddenly, he comes across a stray cat hiding behind one of the bushes and starts sneezing over and over! His sneeze is so small and cute, Rachel and I hadn't even noticed at first! He calls, 'Mummy! Daddy! There's a cat here! It wants to play, but I don't want to!' The cat left soon enough and we took Ciel inside for lunch."

Undertaker chuckled. He adored the stories Vincent would tell him about his personal life. He didn't listen about Rachel too much, but Ciel seemed like a boy with a lot of potential. "You're son sounds lovely, Vincent. Just the type of person to inherit your company. I really would fancy meeting him one day."

Vincent smiled and picked up the wine glass from beside him. "Perhaps you may. His birthday's coming up soon, you know. Perhaps you could meet him then."

Undertaker raised his glass from the table and held it out to clink with Vincent's. "To Ciel, then."

"To Ciel," Vincent responded and clinker his drink with his friend's. They lifted them to take a sip, but Undertaker couldn't help but stare at Vincent as his lips wrapped around the rim of the glass and savoured each drop of the wine.

Undertaker was sure that in his whole time of existence, that was the first time he wanted to be a wine glass.

________

Another day, another body preparation. Undertaker didn't care for focusing on the job today though. He was too busy daydreaming about Vincent.

Ever since he began to speak with Vincent more often, he found himself thinking quite a bit about him. He would even giggle sometimes without noticing until 10 seconds after. He had prepared so many bodies by this point that he didn't really need to focus. His mind was doing other things at the time.

He would think about the times Vincent had visited his quaint shop while he was in town and brought baked goods with him, especially biscuits. The biscuits he would bring were delicious. Sometimes, it would just be about the way Vincent looked. His dark hair and slender face, the posh way he would always dress and the outfits he would wear. The mole below the left corner of his eye. All of it was so lovely and handsome.

Yes, Undertaker knew he was stone cold gay, but who cares? No one could punish him for it at that point. Not the church or the authorities and certainly not God. If a Trans woman reaper can go on her merry way and zero people care, certainly Undertaker was fine.

He sighed as he twisted the embalming fluid cork off of the bottle and started to pour the contents on the corpse. 'If only he wasn't married,' Undertaker thought. 'I'm sure Rachel is very nice, but honestly I'm sure Vincent doesn't just want a pretty face. He deserves adventure and laughter beyond compare. I know I can give -'

"Oh, bollocks!" Undertaker exclaimed aloud. He poured a little too much fluid while lost in his thoughts. "Maybe, I shouldn't get too lost." He grabbed a cloth from nearby and cleaned away the excess. 'Alright, that's it," he concluded. 'I can't sit here and do nothing anymore! I am going to tell him, that will be that. If I can't get a body in a coffin without messing up, I have to say something.'

He exited to his quarters behind the shop. On the wall, he kept a calendar and a fountain pen. Picking up the pen, he marked a date on the calendar "Confession Day".

He set down the fountain pen and stepped back, giddily smiling. "Yes, that's when I'll do it."

"December 14th."