Grimm loved Stolas.
It wasn't just puppy love anymore. No. He felt as if it was something bigger, something more deep and meaningful. He felt as if he could spend an eternity with the high prince of Hell and even if they both had eternal lives, and that statement seemed a moot point..
It was the thought that counted.
As he sat now, in the townhouse's offered kitchen, twiddling his thumbs nervously..he pondered, just how much he did in fact, love the demonic prince. The fact that he couldn't put it into words, was enough. His love..simply put, was endless.
"Right..it's endless.." He stopped his twiddling and fidgeting, pushing aside the now empty dinner plate. His forehead met the cool surface of the table, clasping palms together and squeezing them tightly, knuckles turning white.
He was unbearably nervous. So unbearably nervous, he felt as if his heart's rapid, erratic beats would simply explode in his chest. He smiled morbidly, running fingertips over the smooth surface of the kitchen table before he sat up, gazing almost..longingly out of the window. Almost.
It's possible, very possible. He knew this, he knew it all along. Yet he had always refused to accept it could happen. Their love seemed so strong, so iron-tight and forever interlocked. They had been through so much.
So very much.
"I guess.." He mumbled to himself, the snow-haired of the reaper shaking with the movements he made, though they were slight as he lifted himself up and away from the kitchen, and he walked like a ghost, unseen by the darkness of the night, of the waning and waxing moon.
"Stolas.." No..he realized, he had to address him formally now. Even if it killed him to do so. "High Prince, Stolas.." He smiled softly, with this at least..he could be close to him, if only as..
"The help is here."
Grimm had to try so very hard not to snarl at the unfamiliar and very much unwanted voice of the other man that now took his place. The other man that lay besides the sleeping high prince. The reaper's fists clenched tightly as he glared daggers at the unwanted presence.
If looks could kill..
If only.
Grimm frowned, his eyes lowering in respect, he didn't dare gaze upon the high prince when he was awake. Those fleeting moments..when Stolas was asleep, he would steal the most secret of glances. Just one..it was enough.
"I've..done the chores, High Prince.." Grimm lowered his gaze, hearing the stirring demon wake and greet his beloved-one that wasn't a death god-good morning with the most sweet and loving kiss. Oh, but Grimm knew Stolas well, he knew that the high prince wouldn't just end it there.
And it killed him so badly, to know that.
"Servant boy, take your leave." The new lover of the high prince stated, waving his hand towards the reaper. Grimm rose his head, eyes snapping to the man before they just..barely, just barely, met Stolas' gaze. Where had his high prince gone? Where had his beloved gone?
Grimm had been sure that he and Stolas would be in love forever. Would be married forever. Something happened along the lines..though Grimm was never explained as to what, and he never really believed Stolas when he was given excuse after excuse for the two to split paths.
What could he do?
He only was able to accept it.
Despite everything. He had to accept it.
Grimm and Stolas..were no more.
The death god nodded once, lowering his gaze once more. Nothing. He had seen nothing in the high prince's gaze towards him. Grimm had used to have been able to see the world, to see such sparkle and gleams, such love when they had met gaze.
Although Grimm very much still sent that..nothing was returned. Stolas had fallen out of love with Grimm and the painful fact, the terrible truth was like a physical slap to the face. Like a thousand of physical slaps to the face that would only beat Grimm down more and more with each passing second.
He stood straight and as he prepared to leave, he stole another look at his once beloved..but then..
"What do you think you're doing?" He gasped, eyes of powder blue widening from the sudden snap he heard. His own. Grimm fell against the nearest wall, watching the crimson color trailing down the crown of his head. He growled, eyes flashing a dangerous intent before he remembered his place.
His frown deepened when he heard footsteps coming his way, angry and heavy. He merely slid his eyes closed, taken beating after beating, a bloody and bruised mess by the end of the few minutes, though they had felt like hours for a certain death god.
He said nothing as he was tossed back to the floor, crumpled in blood and bruises. He carefully lifted himself up, holding carefully to his broken wrist, his shattered knee. He didn't dare glance back as he heard now lighter footsteps coming towards him. He just barely managed to catch the sight of Stolas, extending his hand out towards Grimm..but the death god quickly retreated, limping out of the room.
Morning arose, he was unbearably tired. Death gods needed sleep, demons did not. The sounds of ecstasy he heard down the hall were..terrible. With each moan of pleasure, with each creak of the bed..tears, angry and heartbroken, would fall from his eyes.
The reaper of snowy hair clutched his chest. How much longer could he live with this pain? If Stolas wasn't his..why was he still here? Why did he put himself through this? Sure, he had wanted to be close to Stolas, his once beloved prince, if only as a friend..but it was so painful.
Yet all too easy to feign happiness. Grimm was lying to himself. He wasn't happy with just friends, he couldn't ever be and hearing that other man's name, someone that wasn't him, being ripped from Stolas' lips in his full blown ecstasy..
That was the final blow.
"Forgive me for being selfish..rather, I don't think you care, do you? No..if I died, you wouldn't care..so I guess it doesn't matter. It was nice while it lasted.." Morbid words left his lips as the snow haired death god made his way over to the center of the room.
With a swift movement, his weapon was in hand. The only weapon that could kill a death god, was a death scythe. Grimm felt like a coward for doing this, but at the same time, it was the only way out..he simply couldn't handle this..not anymroe..
"Before.." Grimm's gaze lowered to a paper he had hastily written, five words only written across it. He left it taped to his front door before..before..
"Nnh.."
"Wow, there's a real mess down the hall.."
"What? Did something happen? Red..?"
"Yeah, the entire floor is stained with red and there's a weird light coming from that idiot's room.."
"Weird light..?"
He bolted from his bed.
He rushed down the hall.
He froze. He saw the paper pinned to the door.
I love you, my prince.
His heart thudded like a lump down into his stomach. He slowly opened the door, eyes shut tightly before he ever so slowly lifted his lids, and there it was, so many memories.
Despite the blood that pooled around Grimm's still, cold form..the cinematic record that fell out all around him was unimaginely beautiful. The thousands of memories that Grimm had kept dear, each and every single one..of him and Stolas.
As the high prince cast a sorrowful gaze to the many memories, his heart stilled when they ended, when the record was cut before him. His eyes wide, he gazed now over at the leader of the death god's. Grimoire. Grimm's father.
Stolas was partly afraid Grimoire would try to end his life as well..try to end the high prince for the suffering he had heaved on Grimm, but Grimoire simply leapt from the open window sill, gingerly lifted his son's limp form into his arms, cast Stolas a sad, forlorn stare before he ever so lightly kissed his son's forehead.
"He..really loved you, you know."
What Grimoire didn't realize, Stolas had not known just how much Grimm loved the high prince. Grimoire stated that Grimm had always been worried that he loved Stolas more than the high prince loved the death god..and that seemed all too true.
"When I serve him a proper burial.." Grimoire's voice shook as he spoke, tears in his eyes. "Please..refrain from showing up."
Seconds passed, and Grimoire disappeared a moment later. The only thing left now to company the high prince, was the dried blood of his lost love, and the all too fading memories.