With morning came a sharp chill throughout the shop, a left over from the storm the night before. Thin lines of ice were scattered across the windows in aimless trails that shone in the sunlight. Outside glass, wood, and chunks of ice were scattered across the streets, many of the buildings surrounding them having been damaged by the storm. Residents of these now mangled homes took an early rise to clean the streets of the carnage.
However, it was an entirely different cause that finally awoke William T. Spears from a deep sleep. The cold air settled across his body mere minutes after the warmth of his lover had left him, leaving him alone in the roomy casket. As goosebumps plucked up all over his body he awoke to a blurry, dim world and a dull ache in his behind.
Sitting up proved a difficulty for William, between the vertigo onset by his lack of glasses and any pressure causing the ache to become inflamed, he almost wanted to just roll over and go back to sleep. But no, he could have none of that. Already he had missed half a day of work and he would not be late for the day after that.
Success smiled on him and he managed to at least get into an upright position, balancing precariously on his knees. Such a feat was awarded by his glasses, free of dust or smear, being slid onto his face by a pair of delicate, long fingered hands. Dominating his now clear vision was a grinning, shirtless Undertaker.
From the moment he fell through the door the day before, William's glasses had disappeared. He could only assume that Undertaker had put them in a safe place both so they would not come into harm's way and, William could safely assume, as a way to blackmail him had he attempted to leave again. So, the entire night had been a blurry haze and not an unpleasant one.
Now with the help of his glasses William could finally see Undertaker clearly in this new, once unfamiliar way. Despite his age, Undertaker did not have any of the signs of his body having grown old. He was still very well built, finely toned muscles rippling across his chest and abdomen. It was the kind of body any man, human or otherwise, would gladly sell their soul for.
But there were several things amiss with his body. Running rampant across his torso were countless thin, white scars like those adorning his face and neck. One in particular caught William's eye. It stretched from his left shoulder down and around to the middle of his back. He had never seen anything of the likes before, even on reapers that had been slaughtered by a demon.
"You certainly slept in," Undertaker mused, his voice breaking through William's train of thought. "If we don't hurry you'll most certainly be late, my dear! And I know you simply won't stand for the overtime that would cause!" He looked down at William, his eyes feasting on the reaper's exposed body. "Mm...you do need your clothes back, don't you? Such a shame."
"I don't believe my coworkers would appreciate me walking around nude," he said, his attention just now drawn to how unclothed he was. Shame brought an uncanny redness to his face and he reached to cover himself, only to be stopped by Undertaker's hands around his wrists.
"I would appreciate it if you would not cover yourself from me," Undertaker said in a soft, sweet voice. "You need not hie from me, my dear. And I want to drink up every image of your perfect body."
William could do not but gaze up at Undertaker, into his eyes that were so much more brilliant than his own. There was nothing but love in those green pools. Love and honesty, reassurance that William was not something just to be used once and thrown away. He saw there confirmation. He cleared his throat.
"I do need my clothing, if you have it though," he said in as serious a tone as he could muster. "As you said, I will not tolerate being late."
Undertaker's laughter rang like a song throughout the shop. It gave life to an otherwise quite dead atmosphere.
"You're so funny when you try to act serious!" he exclaimed. "Ah, but yes, you can have them back now." Undertaker fetched the neatly folded and freshly ironed suit for William, who promptly pulled himself together until he once again reflected the serious, no nonsense manager that he was.
William's scythe rested against the wall beside the door and he took it up, inspecting it for what he knew was the impossible scratch or bend in the metal. It was habit and his over protective nature of it that pushed him to do this every time he got into a scrape.
He reached for the handle of the door, but stopped when arms wrapped around his waist. Undertaker stood behind him, an almost sad smile settling upon his face.
"Do make sure you don't wait another year to visit me again," he said and kissed William's cheek. "I would miss you so much."
"I will not wait nearly so long this time," he replied softly, his cheeks flushing despite himself. "But for now I must go."
William did not allow there to be time for more words. Anything else would make it even more painful to leave. All he wanted was to stay with that old fool and never return to the Library. But his duty was unchanged, despite his secret affair. Breaking out of Undertaker's warm embrace he pushed open the door and bounded away. His thoughts turned from regrets of leaving to the excuses he would have to make when he reached work.