Irrational (Kuroshitsuji, William x Grell) [1/1]

He irritates me.

Every word, every glance, every little thing he does irritates me to my very core, and for some reason, I can't stop myself from hanging on those words, catching those glances, memorizing those things, obsessing over them like a crooked picture on the wall that I can't right.

He irks me, frustrates me, galls me; but when he turns his head on the pillow and his red hair spills everywhere and he looks at me with those big, doting eyes, I'm enchanted. Then I'm irritated all over again, because I'm not the only one he's turned those eyes on. I've seen the way he looks at Undertaker - though I can't honestly hold that against him, since the man is something of a shinigami celebrity. After all, he did judge the soul of Robin Hood, which is no small accomplishment. But that adoring gaze has also been directed at lesser men - and I use the term loosely - such as that damned devil, that black-hearted bastard tied to the ill-fated Phantomhive child.

Why him? Admittedly, I'm not much of a judge of male beauty, but surely there are other beings he could have chosen to be the focus of his schoolgirl infatuations - beings that aren't vile, loathsome, soul-stealing monsters. Gah! Has he no principles at all? How could he throw himself at that butler and then come crawl into my bed at the end of his shift? And how could I fall for it every time, that soft, cool touch and lissome body and that painted mouth that whispers sweet words in my ear and compels me to roll over and hold the blankets back for him?

I didn't anticipate this, didn't plan ahead and study the situation from all angles before deciding on the best way to proceed, didn't carefully outline each step in a schedule book - of course, if I had, he'd probably have blown it all to hell anyway with his impetuousness and damn-the-consequences-full-speed-ahead attitude. For the first time in my existence, I don't know what I'm doing; I'm just stumbling along after him, cleaning up his messes and doing my best to retain at least some of my dignity, trying to maintain my usually unflappable calm in the face of yet another Grell-induced disaster.

This entire situation is completely irrational, not to mention strictly against the rules; as head of the department, I should not be carrying on a relationship with one of my subordinates - I could get reprimanded for this, or worse, demoted. It doesn't help matters that he's totally indiscreet; he flirts and fawns and poses every time I walk into the room, and he's even run his mouth to Ronald Knox, whom he's supposed to be training, not gossiping with. Fortunately, Knox has assured me he won't breathe a word to my supervisor, because he himself has "gotten into a few awkward situations thanks to a really hot piece of... uh... would you like some coffee, sir?" I'm tempted to ask just how he dealt with those situations, but a) I'm his boss's boss, and I have to maintain my professional distance, and b) I sincerely doubt any of Knox's hot pieces were anywhere near as troublesome as my hot mess of a fickle lover.

Gods, what am I to do? The logical solution would be to end the affair and be done with it, but I just can't bring myself to do such a thing. As much as I hate the way he blatantly disregards the rules, the ease with which he tramples my carefully structured schedule, and the gleefully sloppy piles of unfinished paperwork that overwhelm his desk like a landslide... I simply cannot turn him away. Perhaps it's sheer arrogance on my part, and I'm expecting to turn him into a diligent worker I can then take credit for shaping. Perhaps it's some repressed fear of loneliness, and the thought of sleeping in that bed by myself is driving me to put up with things I normally wouldn't. Perhaps it's petty jealousy, and I just want to keep him out of the arms of that demonic bastard - although I doubt Michaelis would have anything to do with him; he seems... a bit old for the butler's tastes.

And perhaps... perhaps I'd miss him. I'd miss the sudden emergencies that keep my mind sharp and my reaction time short. I'd miss the little pout he puts on when I reprimand him. I'd miss the smooth body beneath me, those small cries half-muffled by the pillow, that silken hair that sets everything afire with its crimson glow.

He thrills me, charms me, dooms me, drives me utterly, absolutely mad... but he brings color to my world, and I cannot imagine going back to the way things were before he burnt my steady, ordered plans to rubble and replaced them with chaos.

I'm in love with my worst nightmare... and that is what irritates me most of all.