If I Should Die
Summary: Fate was the enemy, and so was uncertainty. Harry knew this. Except Sebastian didn't feel like the enemy anymore. Sebastian felt like the inevitable. Slash.
Disclaimer: All rights reserved belong to J.K. Rowling (for the Harry Potter characters), Yana Toboso (for Kuroshitsuji characters), and to Mitch Albom (for borrowing Dor). The plot, however, is mine. I am not making money off of this. This is just fun.
Author's Note: I'll make this as short as possible. This fic is slash. I need a beta, (so excuse the grammatical errors), and plot suggestions, predictions, and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Updates are roughly once every two weeks (because college).
ALL CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN SUCCESSFULLY EDITED (finally.) Sorry for the wait, guys. It was half assed and won't happen again. Also, I apologize for the flood of emails you all probably got because I deleted and rearranged… and okay. Yeah. Sorry.
Warning: grammatical errors.
Chapter 5:
"You're the picture of perfect health," Harry intoned quietly, smiling at his current patient.
She was Harriet Truman, daughter of a printing merchant, not a mere ten minute's walk from his office. She was short, with curled strawberry blonde hair tucked in a wispy bun and a heart shaped face that was almost always in a lovely smile.
Of course, Harry thought, he only ever saw her every so often, and her cheery demeanor could be because he's caught sight of her at a good time.
"Oh, but doctor, are you quite sure?" Harry blinked, amused. Of course he was sure. He was a bloody doctor. Regardless of his limitless skill and knowledge in the healing arts, he would like to think that he'd be able to tell if someone was on the verge of death, considering.
"I must admit that although I feel better now, I hadn't a few moments ago, and if you hadn't been there, oh! Perhaps," she looked up from under her lashes, "if you did a more intensive diagnosis, you'd find… something?"
Harry looked around the shop sheepishly.
On one wall, a floor to ceiling wooden shelf stood, neat and orderly with ink bottles, pens, and a few quills. Their shop sold all types of writing supplies, as well as design templates for shops or posters, made by hand by their residing master penman.
Where was her father? Wasn't she too young to be left unattended with a male?
"Doctor." She shifted closer, and Harry caught a whiff of some oil that smelled faintly of melons.
He hastily stepped away, bringing his hands behind his back in a clasp to subtly evade her twisting fingers that twitched towards his own.
"There's a festival that will be held here in the square." Harry gazed at her eager expression blankly.
"It's only but a fortnight away," she hinted, her chin raising slightly with her eyebrows. At what, Harry didn't know.
"Will you be going?" Her voice, Harry thought, confused, was bordering on exasperation.
"Er, yeah, I don't see why not," he replied. It would make for a decent scene to scope out the general public. Undoubtedly, the culprit of the recent deaths would be there, possibly picking out their next victim.
"And who will you be bringing?"
Oh.
Harry felt the heat creep up his neck. Even if he were inclined to her… anatomy, he wouldn't bother asking her to go. Her name was Harriet, for Crup's sake, and it felt too odd, addressing someone with a name he saw as his own.
"Erm…" Just in time, the bell hanging above the door dinged, swinging open to reveal a portly elderly man of high spirits.
"Doctor!" he greeted, nose ruddy from the cold, his smile warming his face as it spread, "I'm glad to see that you've cured my daughter of any illness she's managed to imagine this time around."
Harriet huffed somewhere behind him, and Harry could only give a relieved smile as Mr. Truman chuckled heartily.
"Father," Harriet hissed, mortified, "the Doctor was just about to ask me to the festival."
Her father's laughter halted, his expression openly curious. "Were you, really?"
"Erm, no, I, ah – should actually be… just on my way back, so I'll just–," Harry's voice descended to a mumble in his attempt to exit the situation, his left hand running through the hairs on the nape of his neck.
Mr. Truman looked on, amused, as Harry inched towards, and out the door.
"Have a good day!" he bellowed merrily, drowning out Harriet's petulant groaning of how he ruined things again.
Harry breathed out a sigh of absolute relief. That was an embarrassingly close call, Harry thought, cringing internally.
A hand clasped around his shoulder, and Harry pivoted immediately to slap it off.
"Oh," Harry intoned, looking briefly at Sebastian's politely surprised expression, "it's you."
"Indeed," he replied, smirking. "You might want to work on your being receptive to your new name. I've been calling for you for the past five minutes."
Sebastian watched Harry's thick, straight brows furrow appreciatively. His features weren't fine or doll like, and Sebastian rather liked that. Harry's face didn't give him the impression of fine china, like Ciel's did.
The only feature gracing the planes of his high cheekbones that could be mistaken for feminine were his large eyes with their lashes, maybe, and his pillow-like red lips. But even then, those two combined with his sharp jaw, strong chin, and wide forehead didn't make for a girly effect. Boyish, maybe mistaken for a bit young, yes, but not female.
"Which name were you calling me by?" Harry asked, interrupting his train of thought.
"Grim," Sebastian replied, pleased at Harry's slow grin.
"Right," Harry replied, bottle green eyes flashing with amusement, "My first name is Grim."
Sebastian barely contained himself from rolling his eyes. Honestly. Forgetting his name.
"You're heading home?" Sebastian inquired.
"Yeah," Harry said, still smiling, "it's half past six, and I'm absolutely starved." His expression shifted to hesitant, and Sebastian immediately felt a spike in curiosity. "Would you like to join me for dinner?" Harry inquired softly.
Sebastian admitted that although he got no nutrition from eating physical foods, he sometimes did so just because he could. Admittedly, a skilled cook contributed to a positive experience.
Sebastian hummed, contemplating. If he agreed, it would serve as a decent opportunity in learning more about this new Master, grudging as he is to share anything pertaining to his person.
He nodded, and they strolled in the direction Harry was originally headed, a companionable silence blanketing them both.
: : : : : : : : : : : : Break : : : : : : : : : : : :
"Whelp," Harry said lowly, finally managing to jimmy the lock open, "this is her." They were on the second floor of his building, his office just beneath them.
Sebastian looked around, smiling. It looked the exact opposite of Harry's demeanor. Where he was closed off, it was all open space. The only walls present, other than the general four of the building, were tucked in a corner of the flat with a curtain over a door-like opening. The lavatory, Sebastian guessed.
There was a sequence of large windows on every wall, barely leaving room for the four pillars holding up the roof. The porcelain claw foot tub was next to the odd curtained latrine, against the windows, and keeping it company was a matching porcelain farmhouse sink.
A little further down on that same wall, a fireplace/stove looking thing was nestled in the opposite corner of the john. The butcher block countertop space ran along the adjacent wall with two simple wooden seats positioned around it. One faced the windows, the other faced the length of the countertop, looking at the stove.
Sebastian noticed that everything sat just beneath the lip of the of the windows. All polished gleaming bookcases had no more than two shelves an inch away from the windowsill. Trunks on either side of the Harry's luxurious bed were also squat.
Except for the four pillars at each corner of the room, the stove, and lavatory, there was nothing taller than two and a half feet, give or take a few inches.
"Don't like closed spaces," Harry murmured self-consciously, undoing his clothes as he shuffled towards the kitchen. His tie was tossed carelessly on his bed, his tailcoat and vest chucked atop one of his trunks, and his shoes were toed off immediately.
Sebastian flashed back to an offhand comment Harry had made, not two days ago. Something about living with relatives in a tiny closet of a room.
Sebastian's upper lip curled. He didn't know why Harry brushed off such horrific happenstance the way that he did. Granted, there were worse things, but there should have been, at least, more of an emotional reaction than that.
They ate with little fanfare. Harry cooked pasta that was surprisingly scrumptious, (who knew he could cook?), and they each had a hefty slice of chocolate cake for dessert.
They did all this in relatively comfortable silence, and the longer they stayed in each other's company, the more aware Sebastian became of Harry's standing, in relation to himself.
There was an undeniable pull in three places that Sebastian could pin point. His mind was more inclined to notice things he would otherwise never care to, had it been anyone else.
There was a desire there, he was sure, in learning all of Harry's ways. A desire to please him by showing Harry his familiarity.
Aside from that, there was an emotional pull as well as a physical one. It was hard to untangle the two, but Sebastian had to regularly check himself, lest he brush up against Harry unconsciously.
He had reached for the pepper the same time Harry had, his Master's fingers grazing the back of his hand. Sebastian had stiffened, unused to the warmth that pooled in his stomach and chest, and Harry had sighed, not unhappily. Pleased, almost.
Sebastian knew he had to be careful, what with all these unknown factors coming into play, but he couldn't quite bring himself to blame them when he grew too reluctant to leave his Master's company later that night.
"You could stay," Harry had invited, yawning through his offer. "There's a blizzard that'll hit soon, and I know it's a ways away from Phantomhive Manor."
Sebastian stood silently, considering. "I'll conjure you a bed and everything," Harry continued, already in the process of summoning sleeping tops and bottoms and hygienic products. "How many pillows?" he inquired, finally glancing up at his guest.
Sebastian answered, "I'm good with the one," and couldn't help but contemplate what an odd position he was in, staying the night with a total stranger. His boss, almost.
But looking at the concentration woven through Harry's handsome features, he couldn't help but feel as if this entire event was rather serendipitous.
Wine, or divine pull be damned, Sebastian had never been good at resisting temptation; even when he didn't know what the temptation was for.