How They Died (Black Butler Backstories)

He Longed for Love

He wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice his life for a loved one. Not family, not friends, the people he truly considered his 'family.' Immediate relatives and closer than close bonds. Only the humans he would miss. Only the humans he wouldn't wish harm upon. Only the humans he would mourn. If he had to become homeless to see their smile, he would do it in a heartbeat. If one of them needed him, he would travel the world to make it happen.

Material possessions, jobs, homes, all of these things are nice, surely. However, all of these things can be replaced. It is impossible to replace the soul. It is impossible to replace relationships, once broken, the pieces never fit together quite like before. These are the only true treasures humans can hope to have, but we never treat them with the honor they deserve, and so, they break. They are fragile and delicate, one word, one sentence, one moment and it shatters. He will not know if he will maintain these relationships tomorrow. So, he must do everything he can today, to keep them. Tomorrow is a scary thing. Scarier than the monsters beneath the bed.

One of these said relationships was keeping him alive. He loved it. He loved him. And yet, he was not loved in return. He was crushed. He was used. He was manipulated and abused. But, he still loved him. He still cared for him with every ounce of his being. Why? Because he didn't want to believe that the relationship had cracked. He didn't want to trust in the fact that it couldn't be repaired. He kept trying and trying and trying until one day, he snapped.

He sobbed. He cried. He did everything he possibly could to try and relieve the stress that had built up inside him. It was impossible. It was cruel. He just wanted to rid himself of the pain. How? He was just an average office worker. Completely average in every way. He was devoted. He was loyal. He was the first to be betrayed.

He lost the ability to sleep at night. He lost the ability to feel pain. He kept working and working trying to rid himself of the terrible feelings that built up inside him. It was impossible. He still loved the one that harmed him. He still loved the one that continued to hurt him. He wanted him to be happy. He wanted to be useful. So, he endured.

"Damn nuisance," he heard the harsh words and felt a numbness on his cheek. What had he said that was so annoying? What about him made him such an eyesore? "Get out. Get out and don't come back!" the voice yelled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm sorry," he begged, "but, please, don't abandon me too."

It was no use. There was no helping him now. He was thrown out. He was harmed. He was left on the side of the street. What was this life he was living? What was this pain he endured? He didn't understand it. He didn't want it anymore. He longed for the sweet release that only death could provide him. He just wanted to die. He wanted to wither away into nothingness. Maybe then, maybe then, he would be useful, loved, needed.

He wandered the streets looking for something hazardous. Something poisonous. Something deadly. But, every time he threw himself into the street, he was saved. Everytime he stood on the edge of a bridge, some passerby helped him down. He wanted to die. Why did strangers care about him more than his own love? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But, that, my friends, is simply life's despair.

Finally, he entered a doctor's office. He asked for medicine, any kind, any sort, anything that would be deadly if taken too much of. He got what he requested after lying during questioning. Then, he swallowed all of the pills. All of the things he was given. No one could stop him if he was in a dark space. No one could stop him if he was closed off from the world. Nothing to fear, nothing to hide, but every part of him wishing he died.

He didn't know what he had taken. He didn't know what was in his stomach. The burning sensation in his throat. The tears in his eyes. They were proof he was nearly gone. They were proof that he would die. He smiled, as he sat on the floor, his head rested on the wall. He continued to cry. He continued to sob. What was his life? Was he useful, at all?

He closed his eyes and breathed his last. He could faintly hear the noise of a concerned stranger yelling at him to open the door. It was too late. He was too far gone. He didn't want this life. He didn't want this death either. He just wanted to be loved. Every time that he tried to keep someone in his life. Every time he tried to keep the relationships from cracking, he was tossed aside. All of the people called him plain. They said he was a freak. He was too normal. It wasn't his fault he was born without a personality. The lack of a character is still a character design. He was meant to be an extra. Meant to be in the background. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be reborn into the protagonist.

He was mistaken. Everyone is just what everyone is. Everything happens according to how people see it. If the protagonist wants to be the protagonist, the protagonist will be. If the side character wants to remain on the sidelines, the side character will. If the rival chooses to cast aside the rival role and be a friend instead, it'll happen. Decisions are a part of life. Death is a part of life too. However, all things come in good time. This, was not his time.

A figure appeared before him. He couldn't distinguish the person from the shadows. The voice sounded sweet, kind, loving, forgiving, but he knew he had committed a crime. The voice was also sad. The voice wished he had waited a bit longer to get his happy ending. However, now that he was dead, he would simply have to undergo his punishment. That was fine with him. Maybe in his afterlife he would get what he wanted. Right?

"Welcome to your new home. You shall leave your life behind you and take another step forward as a reaper. Welcome, Alan Humphries," there was a hand that reached out for his. He grabbed it. He smiled. He was looking forward to his other life. He would continue to be that office worker. He would reap the souls of the dead. He would watch as people made the same mistakes he did. He would look sadly as people made the same choice as he did. He would cry for each one he witnessed go through the same pains as he did. He would love them all. And, most importantly, he would be loved.

"What do you say we go get something to eat?" an arm pulled him into a partial hug. Alan smiled and nodded. These people were closer to his family. They had all experienced the same hopelessness he had. This realization had built up a sense of camaraderie.

"Alright," he smiled. He hadn't remembered the last time he smiled. It felt foreign on his face. It wasn't bad. It wasn't weird. It was simply different.

"Eric! Don't hog the new one all to yourself," a redhead frowned and joined the chain by linking arms with Alan. "Aren't you a cutie?" Alan blushed. He hadn't remembered the last time he felt this flustered. There were a lot of emotions running through him that he hadn't experienced in such a long time. Was this good? Was this bad? No, it was just the afterlife.

He laughed. He really laughed. He hadn't known any of these fellow reapers for long but he felt like he knew them for a lifetime. Maybe they had watched over him. Maybe they had met him for the first time just when he arrived. He didn't know. He didn't really care. He just hoped this lighthearted air would continue. He liked it here. But, this place was supposed to be his punishment. In due time, he guessed, it might be. But, for now, at least, he could be content, not happy, just at peace.