Spears Are Always Sharp (a William T. Spears/Black Butler Fanfiction)

Chapter One: "Hello?"

"Y-yes sir..!" The younger male said, talking rather quickly before rushing down the hall and into his room. Shutting the door ever so softly, he then began to tidy his bedroom—not ever wanting to ever give his father a reason to show that side of himself again. He had really done it this time, it had seemed that something finally kicked on in the youth's brain.

William wiped his eyes quickly every time tears threatened to surface; he wouldn't allow himself to cry..what kind of man would he be?
The elder William sighs once his son is out of sight. Despite what others may think, he does not live in a constant state of anger or annoyance, and rarely does his wayward son wind him up as far as he had today. The anger drains from his body, and, after pulling a book from a shelf a few paces away, he sits himself down on the small couch within their living room.

Opening the book to where he had last stopped reading, his eyes take in the words, but his mind doesn't process the marks on the page. Perhaps he had been a bit harsh on the boy. God knows William himself had gotten into far more trouble in his own younger years; enough trouble to drive him to death and become a reaper.

After about 30 minutes, the father heard the click of his son's bedroom door open, sock covered footsteps shuffling against the hardwood floor.
Approaching his father, he looked down; his shaggy black hair swaying with him as his bangs covered his eyes, which were already covered his glasses. "Father..." The boy mumbled, placing his hands behind his back as his right hand held his left arm at the elbow.
"I tidied my room and organized my paperwork..my clothes are all ready for work in the morning." He gulped, hoping his asthma wouldn't kick in from the anxiety approaching him. "I-I'll go ahead and start on dinner." The 'teen' stated, trying his best to get out of the living area and to the kitchen as fast as he could. He could still feel the tension between the two and he didn't want to make it any worse by 'sucking up'.
The elder William looks up, but his son is already gone from the room. "Honestly.." He places the bookmark on the page and closes the book with a snap, before standing and placing it back on the shelf. Raising an ungloved hand to adjust his glasses, he enters the kitchen where his son is prepping their evening meal.

Closing his eyes for a short moment with a sigh, he calls the younger's name, his vibrant green eyes meeting his son's. "William. You can stop. I'll cook tonight." He feels awkward, but his discomfort is invisible from the outside. He rarely cooks though he's decent enough. Besides, he might as well, as an apology for losing his temper earlier. 
As he heard his father, his eyes slightly widened.
He didn't want to argue with his father, so he didn't ask if he was sure. If his father said something, he meant it. In stone, no buts.
"Yes sir." The teen said with a hint of surprise in his voice, gently putting all of the ingredients he held within his hands onto the gray granite counter top.
"I'll just go ahead and grab the pots for you since I'm right here." Will said softly, not wanting to be bold or over spoken; he crouched down, looking towards the brown colored cabinets. Reaching inside the organized pot rack, he pulled two medium sized pots out, closing the cabinet door as he set the pots with their matching pot kids down.

"Is there anything I can do..?" He asked his father softly as he stepped out of the cooking area, walking towards the dark brown dining table.
William glances at his son, his expression one of almost annoyed tolerance. Almost. It was closer to blank. "If you must do something, set the table, William." He replies, turning back to the ingredients set out.

Udon, he decides, is an acceptable dish, which he begins preparing with more ease than a person who rarely stepped foot into the kitchen should have. He had acquired a taste for foreign food a few centuries back, as as a result of eating similarly bland British dishes for a millennium. Even so, he hasn't cooked in months, and he supposes it'll be a nice change of pace. 
The younger shinigami sighed under his breath, moving to the plate cabinet without a word.
Swiftly, he grabbed the essentials needed to set the table for his father and himself, including forks and knives.
He walked over to the table, listening to his father prepare the dish, breathing deeply as he hesitated wether he should try to strike up a conversation with the man or not.

William senior takes note of the teen, but makes no move to converse. Instead, he disregards him, lips pursed ever so slightly as his experienced hands add perfectly measured spices to the udon broth.
He pushes down the urge to snap 'boy, why are you standing there when there are more productive things to do?'. After all, he's snapped at his son enough tonight. Instead, he turns down the heat on the stove top, leaving the udon to simmer without boiling over.
As the male turned to leave, the home phone began to ring.
The younger male blinked, taking a couple of steps back as he reaches for the phone.

"Hello?" He asked, pushing his glasses up only to chuckle somewhat. "Well hey to you too~" the Junior smirked as he turned his back to his father, his free hand tangled in the cord as he mindlessly played with it.
"Not really, I'm just waiting to eat dinner...hm?" He questioned. "I do have work tomorrow...it is huh?" The teen smirked. "Well, it /can/ get pretty dangerous." He chuckled even more, hanging onto every word as the world around himself slipped away.
Who could he be on the phone with?