Grell was in trouble. Again. How was she supposed to know that her beautiful, perfect death scythe was illegal by Reaper standards without a permit? They were all a bunch of squares anyway! She'd ended up getting her scythe back, after a long, vigorous pestering session. Unfortunately, there had been a condition in order for it to happen.

A glorified babysitter. And to add insult to injury, you were younger than she was. Less experienced in the field and far too serious about your job. At this point, she'd have preferred that William do the job instead. Of course, when she actually asked him, she was immediately shot down.

Handsome men could be so cruel.

After a long week of reaping unbeautiful, drab souls, Grell was sick of being a goody-two-shoes. So, she went out for a drink after work. She stopped by a nice little place with good wine - a sweet red, of course. She brought you, too. She figured she might as well get you to loosen up.

But... unfortunately, she was beginning to think she was making a mistake. The dim lighting of the bar, the haze of something like opium floating in the air. She lazily swirled the wine in her glass, watching you sip your whiskey. Had you always been so handsome? She couldn't tell.

The curve of your eyes, the sharpness of your jaw. And that nose... big, just the way she liked it. It was hard to think properly about the consequences that might come down on her if she fooled around tonight. "Have you always been so serious?" She drawled.