Let's be Friends || Black Butler x Male! Reader

The Grim Reaper

The Undertaker wasn't necessarily a busy person.

You would expect him to be, considering how many people die each day from disease in the grime filled country of Great Britain in the 1800s. But no. If he had to say, he would say he lives a rather relaxed life.

You can't expect a retired grim reaper to do much. He's retired.

He gave up that line of work ages ago, and now, he goes on about prettying up the next dead person (note: playing with the next dead person). But outside of work, what does he do?

Not a lot, he would have to be honest.

Sometimes he goes around. Sometimes, he walks around.

Sometimes, when he's in a particularly good mood, he lays around.

There isn't much for him to do. Not much that he enjoys anyway.

Besides learning a new funny joke or two, or baking biscuits, he likes to walk around the local cemetary.

It's like taking a trip down memory lane. He likes to recall the person buried, and how he was the one to pretty them up for their special occasion (also known as a funeral).

And so, today, on a bright warm sunny day, he chose to give the cemetary a small visit. There wasn't much to do that day, aside from listening to others gossip about a new serial killer running around Britain. What was their name again? Jack, was it? Maybe he'd look into it later. Perhaps he'd even recieve one of their victims in the coming days. Oh, how exciting that sounds.

Anywho!

"Hello, Joseph. My, my, your grave stone looks rather clean today. Did the Mrs. come and clean it, perhaps?" he greeted a headstone, which sat rather dullfully. Though, this is not unusual. Afterall, it is a headstone.

Headstones aren't alive and therefore cannot speak. It is an inanimate object.

Still, the Undertaker took a moment for the headstone to reply, to which it sat still, as it always had.

". . ." said the gravestone.

The Undertaker paused for a moment, grinning to himself, as he stared at the object.

The two stood there, unmoving.

A breeze passed.

Finally, it replied.

"Headstones cannot speak, I'm afraid to tell you, sir."

The Undertaker's brows raised as his grin grew larger.

"My, then pardon me for such disrespect on my part. I had no clue. I'm sorry, Joseph." he apologized in a taunting manner, placing a hand to his chest.

He heard a confused grumble in response.

"But my name isn't Joseph?"

"Oh?"

The Undertaker took a look to his far side, noticing an empty grave with no grave stone. It had been freshly dug.

He quietly chuckled as he approached it, curious at this new revelation.

Looking down into the grave, he saw a boy, who was strangley enough only clothed in a white drapped fabric. The boy was stuck in the grave, which had been dug far below into the ground. He looked curious, tilting his head to the side as the Undertaker came into view, who still held his amused grin.

"You know, it's quite rude not allowing another person to reply for themselves." chuckled the Undertaker.

The boy seemed genuinely surprised, eyes widening at the obvious joke.