~The Queen's Butler...Arrogant~ (Charles Grey x Reader)

Chapter 8: The she-butler, intoxicated

A/n: Hi! It's me, Leo again. I like getting to know y'all, even though literally only two people respond the the author's notes lmao. My question this time is:

Who's your favorite black butler character?

I may consider writing another fan fiction based on your favorite characters, since I very much enjoy writing for the franchise above anything else I write for. 

Anyways, enjoy!

~


(Y/n)'s POV

Surprisingly, taking care of a concussed man-child proved a lot less difficult than I had first predicted. The goofiness wore off when he threw up everywhere and realized just how much pain he really was in. After that, he stayed in bed, which made for a much needed quiet in the palace. It had only been a day since the incident, and I knew very well that it would only be another two before he was up and at em' once again with his irritatingly outgoing personality, so I enjoyed and savored the silence while it was still at hand.

Though the silence was nice, it didn't stop me from taking care of Grey. I usually was the first responder when it came to taking care of him, since Phipps filled in his area of work while he was sick or injured. But when Phipps did offer to take care of him, Grey would always ask for me instead, but never has he ever given any reasoning as to why. Maybe a woman's love and care is warmer than a man's, that's what my uncle always liked to say when he got sick and aunt Celine took care of him. I liked to think my skills in the medical area were sufficient, since I always liked to comfort Uncle Martin with my Aunt as a child, it seems that practice pays off.

That night was chilled, and I wasn't at all in the mood to deal with both a concussion and cold on Grey's part, so I decided to bring him and extra blanket along with a warm cup of milk and honey. I pushed it all along on a tray, for my convenience, and arrived to his room not long after I'd collected the items. Opening the door, I quietly pushed everything into his room and set it up beside his bed, watching as he stirred a little which would save me having to wake him up myself.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Grey, but it's cold tonight," I apologized, grabbing the blanket off of the bottom tray and unfolding it before throwing it over the top of his doona, "I brought you a blanket and some warm milk and honey."
The boy sat up under his sheets and rubbed his eyes, seeming very dazed and groggy and barely aware of what was happening around him. I began pouring a small amount of honey into his cup of milk, watching him with intent eyes.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, Grey looking up at me with half lidded icy blue eyes.
"...better. Still have headaches...but better," he mumbled, his voice as though he hadn't spoken in a week, "what time is it?"
"The hour is nine, you've been sleeping like a log," I sighed, once having a sufficient amount of honey in the milk, grabbing a spoon and mixing it, "It's been quiet without you to cause mischief, I've nearly gotten as much rest myself."
"You prefer my concussed state over my usual one?" He asked, faking offense as I snickered and shook my head.
"I never said that," I objected, tapping the spoon on the edge of the porcelain cup gently before placing the metal down, handing the cup to Grey with delicate hands.

I watched him take a generous sip of the milk, he looked like a child when he brought the cup away from his lips to reveal a cute little milk mustache that had formed across his cupid's bow. He licked it away, and our eyes met, his sickly and mine caring. None of us had anything to say, we just stared at each other, like we had done the other night when Grey had come into my room and sat on my bed. I myself hadn't had my brain switched on when he laid down next to me, it seems that my only functioning organ in that moment was my heart, though I'm not even sure how my heart works or what it desires. My brain tells me Phipps, but my heart tells me all sorts of things. Grey is my brother, Grey is my friend, Grey is my lover. I nearly gasped when that thought came to mind. What? What on earth was that even supposed to mean? It seems my brain and heart hadn't come into proper contact until now, as if they were trying to send letters to each other, but were prevented from doing so by a storm that is denial.