Grell sighed as he stood at the top of Big Ben, overlooking the beautiful city of London. I need to die. he resolved earlier that day. He made no difference in his previous life, and he made no difference now. He was a failure at his job as a Reaper, and everybody he knew thought he was annoying. So he would do them all a favor, and paint Big Ben with his bright red blood, because he wanted to leave a mark of passion.
Taking a deep breath, Grell pointed his chainsaw towards his stomach, his hand on the start mechanism. Shaking slightly, he wondered whether anyone would miss him. No. They won't. He thought, pressing the start mechanism and crying out as the teeth of the chainsaw dug into him, and he fell backwards, into the darkness of the night.
Taker was walking down the street, eating his dog biscuit shaped cookies, when he heard the sound of Grell's chainsaw. Looking up, he hoped to catch a glimpse of the action. Instead, the picture he saw horrified him. Grell was falling towards the ground at a fast pace, blood spilling from his abdomen. Dropping the pot of cookies, Taker went running towards him, barely managing to catch him in time.
"You crazy, red-headed maniac!" Taker cursed as he went running towards his shop at a breakneck speed, his silver hair flying back and revealing his startling eyes.
Grell felt the faint sensation of being carried. He also thought he heard someone talking, so he opened his eyes. Everything looked red. The lights, the people, even Taker, who was apparently the one talking to him. Grell had a hard time processing what he was saying. Something about staying... but he didn't want to do that, not when he had to gather so much courage to go.
Cursing, Taker could feel Grell slipping away as he kicked open the door to his shop, not bothering with the keys. "Grell!" He snapped worridly at the near-unconscious male. "Grell, stay awake!" He emptied cupboards and dug through drawers, looking for his stitching and cleaning things, after laying Grell down on the metal examination table. Grabbing towels and a pair of scissors, Taker staunched the flow of blood as he cut away Grell's shirt.
Grell cried out in pain as Taker began to disinfect his wound, and he was momentarily blinded in pain, a bright red veil pulled over his eyes. He heard the words lucky and organs, as well as the word clean. Grell then felt Taker's hands tenderly applying a salve to his wound. Why is he being so nice to me? Grell wondered as the silver-haired Reaper began sewing him up.
Taker worked carefully, trying not to hurt Grell. Yet, after he was done, he noticed his dear friend was still grimacing in pain. Picking up a small, folded piece of paper, Taker looked inside it to see if there was a whitish powder inside. I'm lucky. He thought quietly. Pouring the bitter powder in his mouth, Taker combined it with his saliva, to make is easier for Grell.
Bending over him, Taker pressed his mouth to Grell's, using his tongue to help the bitter liquid move to Grell's throat. Taker continually thought to himself as he blushed. It's to stop his pain, this kiss means nothing... He's hurt... I have to do this, I don't want him to be in pain...
Grell's eyes flutter open as the pain receded, and they slowly widen as he realized that Taker was kissing him. Yet, Grell was too weak to do anything about it, and he knew he could forget about kissing Taker back. Instead, Grell just accepted the kiss, closing his eyes and letting the darkness of his mind take over.
Taker knew Grell had Finally fallen asleep. Good. He thought. Let him rest. Let him forget about what happened. Just... don't let him hurt. He pulled up a chair to the examination table, one hand holding Grell's. He wasn't sure whether it was for his comfort, or for his friend's, but Taker sure as hell knew knew he wasn't letting go. With that thought in mind, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, his mind filled with images of Grell painted red with blood.