『 R E Q U E S T S , C L O S E D 』AnimeCharacters x Reader

51. Vincent Phantomhive x Blind! Reader | First Snow

》 character: Vincent Phantomhive | Black Butler

》 requested by: Anime_Girl_024

》 12132017

》 Here's a story: A story about a boy who's seen it all, all but true love, and the girl who's never seen anything at all.

xx

Throughout his life, Vincent Phantomhive has told lies. The first was when he was young, and his father was very proud to boast about his child; he'd told his father he was tired and sleepy, when really, he wanted an excuse to get away from the extravagant party.

He's told other lies. Once he lied that he'd brushed his teeth, feeling like quite the clever boy as he went to sleep. Another time, he lied that he improved his dancing, when really his progress was as immovable as a stone.

He lied to the tailor, the one who one made the suit for the day he became a man. He said he liked it, when it was really very itchy and stiff and uncomfortable and he was more upset than in the celebratory mood.

The biggest lie he'd ever told was to his own father: telling him that he would find a wife and bear children that they would be proud of to the end. Of course, his father is very very proud to have a son as successful as Vincent was, and the conversations over dinnertime go on and on and on, even if someone breaks to fill up the champagne glass they've worn down. The finger-thick slice of cake can only last so long.

"Where's the lucky girl?" his father would ask, or some other time, it would be his relative if they were curious enough.

"I haven't found her yet," Vincent would reply ruefully. His father would look disappointed, but after a few glasses, he'd possess this remarkable ability to turn problems into poetry, and he'd talk about the metaphorical driftwood he'd find upon the steady, strong current of their business.

xx

Vincent was awfully skilled with his words, charming whoever with a little tassle of flattery and a finish of humor. Only flustered by figures with greater shadows and long-running legacies, and women that smile exactly how Vincent would think vixen grin. (Legend says, the higher up the tip of a woman's eyeliner is facing, the more cunning they are with their tricks.)

His movements were stiff, sometimes awkward, and to read the atmosphere was to read a book denser than he was. No matter what, he couldn't dance, and singing was farther from his dreams; Vincent was content with admiring those with a talent and a passion for the arts, and to be led by humble birdsong in the early morning was his home away from home.

xx

It is not every day that you meet special people, Vincent recounts one morning, sitting on a freezing bench as he wonders on the peculiarity of fate. He has been strung through many first meetings, and the indifference of his first impressions are so minimal that they are no longer impressions, but repetitions- but today, the string is thrown into a loop, and Vincent thinks his next move.

Next to him, a blind woman with beauty so celestial it was blinding. A bag strap over her shoulder, a lump in his throat; he coughs into his sleeve, and he doesn't smell the cologne.

"Hello," Vincent says before he introduces himself.

"Why. Um, hello," she replies.

The color of her dress and the ground were as set apart as oil and water, and his heart twists when she's so surprised she forgets how to smile back.

xx

"If you could wish for something, what would it be?" she asked him.

But Vincent's known the answer to that question since he's told the grand lie. "I'd wish to meet the love of my life. The one I'm going to marry," he says, resonating. She closes her eyes as Vincent asks her, "And you? What would you wish for?"

"Me?" she says, like it's the longest conversation she's ever kept, "I'd like to see everything that's in front of me right now. Maybe for a few minutes." And he's touched by it.

Vincent moves closer, with a feeling he isn't sure of. He takes her by her pale fingertips, and tells her all about London's first snow.