William T. Spears had noticed something different about Grell Sutcliff recently.
Was it the new, redder-than-red outfit?
No.
Was it the new, longer-than-long eyelash extensions?
No.
William looked at Grell. The two of them had been working together all day, collecting the souls of townsfolk who had been unlucky enough to catch a new type of disease which made their cheeks turn bright red – then killed them. They were returning to the library of souls, and Grell's hair was blowing over his face, making it hard for William to see his expression. Even though they had been working together for hours, William still didn't understand what was wrong with his normally crazy, loud workmate. William adjusted his glasses. Then he put his finger on it.
Instead of the normal flirty, over-excited Grell that returned from a job like this one, there was quiet, tired one. Not that William didn't appreciate the quiet, but something was obviously wrong. Grell looked like a red rose, that having flowered excellently, was now drooping close to the ground. He didn't walk with his normal swagger, and he held his chainsaw so that it dragged along the ground along the dust. William adjusted his glasses again. Normally, he would of given Grell a lecture on this. After all, all death scythes must be treated with respect. He tried to ignore the rules and regulations ringing in his head and focus what was up with Grell.
They kept running. It would only be a few more miles before they got back to the library, where they could put the cinematic records away and be done with the day. The silence was getting unbearable. Will was not much of a conversation starter, as it was normally Grell that started their awkward and rambling talks. William was about to make a comment on the weather, when Grell slowed to a walk, then sat down, hunched over with his knees tucked up. It took Will a moment to stop, then he walked back to the red figure on the road.
"...Grell?" William started, "You need to get up. We'll be late and have to work overtime." Grell sneezed in response. "Grell! I don't care what happened, if this is another drama over that demon again -" He stopped mid-way through his sentence. Grell was looking up at him, eyebrows raised, no trace of the smile that was normally there. There was something else, though. His cheeks were bright red, not in his normal "I-just-thought-about-Sebastian-Michaelis" way, but in a way that made William feel that something was actually wrong. Very wrong.