Title: Black Painting

Summary: Is hope too much for him?

Pairing: Human!Bunnymund/Pitch

Rate: T?

Disclaimer: I own nothin'~! But, well, if you insist, I'll gladly accept Jack and Bunny and Pitch to be my property. No? Okay. Still own nothing.

Pointless Rambling: I'm kinda obsessed with this pairing lately. Is that weird? And, this is a try of making my favorite characters into my favorite story (Shinigami Ballad). Is it a plagiarism? If yes, tell me, if not, tell me.

Well, I hope no one is going to sue me for this *crosses fingers*.

Enjoy! :D

Ethan Aster-Bunnymund Langley must feel satisfied with this years' painting contest result. He only got the second place, even after all his nights of hard working. Sighing in defeat, he walked around the gallery and stared enviously to the painting that beat his.

'Caging Shadows' by Clifford Black.

It was good, actually, if it wasn't for that overexploiting of the dark colors. There was a picture of a dying creature—resembling a bird but he wasn't so sure—inside a big, black cage that was hanging on chain that was attached to the sky. The creatures had a scary feature; eyes were red with long black and gray feathers covering its body, and something that looked like the (illustration of) mixture of transparent torn scarf, shadows and smoke emerging from the form. The sky wasn't like that of a cloudy day, but more like it was gray from too much shadows mixing with it. There was a bit of dark blue on the clouds, but even more of dark gray. When he was concentrating enough, he could see that the creature was a boy with feathered cloak. His skin was almost white, if it wasn't for the light hue of another gray, and he was curling under the little protection from the cloak.

Well… it might be appropriate if this picture won the first place… no!

He scoffed and walked away, but stopped when he crashed to someone in mid-turn, resulting the black haired man to fall down on the floor. "Oops, I'm sorry. Are ya alright, mate?" he asked while offering his hand to help the man to get up.

"Yes, I'm fine. My bottom will be hurt for some time later, but otherwise, I'm fine," the man answered flatly in his thick British, taking the hand in front of his face.

"I'm sorry…"

"I was… joking."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence between the two before he offered to take a quick tour around the gallery with him. The man nodded at that, saying that he was a bit unfamiliar with the place.

Aster took the man around and unavoidably reached his painting.

"This painting here… it's as if the artist was saying 'I'll paint every color on my palette to this canvas'. There's just too much color," the man said, disapproving every color on it. It ticked off Aster quite fast.

'I'm the painter, you bloody blabbermouth,' Aster thought begrudgingly.

"And thus, I don't like this painting. It just doesn't deserve to be on the first place, so I'd say the judges are wise," the man said with a flat tone, but it was enough to make Aster snapped.

"So what? I'm the artist," he said, already feeling victorious over the fact that the man flinched a little at that. 'Ha! Take that. Now what will ya say?'

"Well… Langley—"

"Aster's fine," he cut off.

"Alright, Aster. First, I don't like being cut off. And second, knowing you are the person who made this painting won't stop me from hating it."

Maybe his face was currently radiating that 'say what?' look over the person in front of him. "Listen 'ere. Who'dya think ya are? If you can make something bettah than my painting, then go ahead and say that," he snapped.

The man sneered at that. "Well, I already did," he replied calmly, and if possible, amusedly. He turned away from the dumfounded Aster before turning on his heels once more and added with a slight smirk on his face, "Oh, and I am Clifford Pitchiner Black, in case you really meant what you asked. Or was it only a saying?" before walking away and didn't turn back anymore.

Clifford Pitchiner Black… it sounded familiar…

Oh, for the love of the moon.

Clifford Pitchiner Black.

Clifford Black.

Clifford freaking Black.

He was the winner of the contest!

Wait… so, the mature-looking guy who was completely looking down on him was actually the same age as him? Eighteen years old?

He so couldn't live with that.

The second time Aster met with Clifford Black was when he was going to a supermarket for supplies. Only this time, the he wore a pair of glasses. The gold-tinted silvery gray eyes caught him staring. "Oh, good afternoon, Aster," Clifford greeted so sickeningly sweet.

"Not so good now that I met ya."

The other laughed. "Says the man who got caught staring at me."

Aster groaned in annoyance. "You're blockin' the carrots. Move away, bloke."

With another laugh, Clifford moved away and turned to leave. Then he remembered something. "Hey, Aster. You can call me Pitch if you want to."

"Wha?"

"It's a nickname my family members call me with, but you can call me that. It's a syllable shorter than Clifford."

Without further ado, he left, leaving a confused Aster behind.

The third time was when Aster was helping his friend with moving. Jack was moving to a new flat and the petite teen asked him personally (with a threat) for his help. How could he say no?

Then he found out that Clifford—no, Pitch lived just above Jack's room. When he met the gray eyed teen, he was carrying two paper bag filled with vegetables, meat, bread, milk and some other things. Pitch almost couldn't see the way, so Aster helped him, not having the heart to just let him be.

"Why, thank you very much, Aster," Pitch actually thanked him.

"No problems."

Then Pitch invited him for some tea and he couldn't resist because Jack was eager to get closer to a neighbor. So, yes, he went to Pitch's room with Jack to have some tea. But Jack remembered that his sister, Tooth, would be coming by the evening, so he decided to go back and tidy up his room so his sister wouldn't have to nag him about it.

He was left alone in the room of his rival. A rival who looked down upon him, on top of that. He looked around him. The room was simple. Luxurious, but simple. The wall was decorated with black wallpaper with rich golden leaves pattern. The floor was white and clean, while the ceiling was broken white with golden platform. There was a square, black, glass table in the center of the living room where he was currently sitting at. The table was surrounded by four comfy light gray armchairs. There wasn't much furniture inside the room aside from those.

"Do you care for a refill?" a voice roused him from his looking-around.

"Yes, please," he answered while watching his cup being filled with the still steaming hot milk tea. "Ya don't wear your glasses."

"I've bought a new pair of contact lenses."

"You lost one before?"

"Yes, after going out from the gallery, if I'm not mistaken."

"Serves ya right."

There was no reply, only a little chuckle.

"D'ya drink milk tea often?" he asked out of nowhere because he just didn't want the conversation stopping because Pitch didn't seem to be the talkative type. And he hated silence.

With a smile, Pitch said, "No, but I thought that your friend would like it, so I made it."

"What d'ya usually drink, then?"

"Oh, Aster. I'm flattered that you are actually interested in me, but I'm afraid you will have to take me on a date before getting so… intimate," the last word was chosen so thoughtfully.

If Aster was poor mannered, he would've thrown the content of his cup to the smirking pale teen in front of him. Too bad he wasn't. And he regret of being so.

"I was only joking. Why does everyone seem to take what I say so seriously?" he rolled his eyes in amusement at the silver gray haired teen's reaction.

"It's yer expression, I tell ya. Yer expression makes it sounds so serious!"

Pitch laughed at that.

And for the first time in his whole time of knowing this British bloke, as he called him, Aster thought that his smile was indeed beautiful.

The fourth time was when he decided to pay Jack a visit. In his way out, he crashed to the British, who later invited him for a tea again.

He certainly glad he did because it was the second where it all went wrong.

Pitch was bringing over a pot of tea to the living room when he seemed to be losing balance. He even had to use the wall to prevent himself from falling. Aster asked if he was okay and was standing to help, but the other said that he was fine.

Pitch was certainly not. When he walked over to the table, he looked hurt and he was clutching his chest and he looked like he couldn't breathe and then he just fell on the floor. The tea was spilt and the white ceramic was smashed to pieces when colliding with the floor.

"Pitch!" Aster called as he shook the other to wake up, but Pitch was unresponsive.

In horror, he called the ambulance.

End of Chapter 1

So, yea. I've wanted to make this for some time now. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Which part do you think still needs improvement? Please review~!

Love and milk and cookies
Shirasaka Konoe (And, yea, I'm using 'Last Name-First Name' for my pen name, it should be 'Konoe Shirasaka' in English. Just in case you're wondering)