Beta-read by Nadramon.

Gilbert twisted his hands worriedly as he glanced at the curtained windows. Though he could not see anything outside, it did not serve to relieve his fears at all. He swallowed nervously and looked away, hoping that "out of sight" really meant "out of mind."

A blazing fire was burning and crackling cheerfully, though he had great difficulty in enjoying the soothing noises of it. He was much more focused on the sound of a thousand persons' clapping and the occasional sharp rebuke that came in the form of a violent "crack!" followed by ill-humored rumbling. Despite the fact that there were lights helping illuminate the room, Gilbert couldn't help but to bite his lip every time he saw an ominous flash flicker from the windows.

He shifted anxiously on his feet, trying to take his mind off of such troubling thoughts. His eyes landed on little Ada, who was daintily curled up on one of the large armchairs with a thick book. Frills and ribbons from her sleeping gown cascaded around her legs and over the edge of the chair. Her eyelashes were demurely lowered as she scanned the lines of small words. She seemed completely unaffected by the raging storm outside.

When Ada turned a page with a tiny hand, he mustered up some courage—to appear at least slightly brave—and spoke up. "Miss Ada, you are not scared by the thunder and lightning outside at all?"

"Hm?" she murmured, lifting her eyes to meet the servant's gaze. Ada giggled slightly and straightened up from her position. "No," she replied simply.

"Oh…." Gilbert's cheeks flushed in shame. Even the young girl was able to stand the—supposedly—harmless storm outside. He kept trying to tell himself that it was safe, since they were indoors and the storm was outside, but it never worked.

"Ada used to be," she said softly, turning her gaze to the heavily curtained windows and straining her ears to catch the sound of a million raindrops sliding against the windowpane. "When Ada was scared, though, Big Brother would always hold Ada tightly and say everything was okay, and Ada knew that it was. Sometimes he would even read a book to Ada so Ada wouldn't be afraid…."

The young servant quirked a shoulder, tilted his head to one side, and gave a short, uneasy laugh. "I—I guess it's just me who's still afraid of thunder and lightning then, huh?" The smile fell from his face, and he ducked his head, mildly ashamed to admit it.

"But Gil is Gil, and Ada likes Gil just for that! Gil shouldn't be so sad," Ada said innocently.

He giggled slightly. "Thank you, Miss Ada. But…." He turned to glance at the window again. "I don't think…. No, I can't think of why it is like this. Like a big, blank hole in my mind, I guess." Slowly, he trailed off and remained silent for a second. A sudden look of realization passed his features. "Oh! Young master must almost be done with his bath. I'll get his hot cocoa ready now!"

Gilbert trotted over to the refreshments table and carefully began to prepare the beverage, measuring out exact amounts of the powder and milk. His hands stilled momentarily as his thoughts trickled back to what he had been saying before to Ada. He resumed his actions while speaking quietly to the cups and silver utensils. "I don't know why, but…. It's just—I feel like there should be a reason why I should be so scar—" His sentence stopped abruptly as he saw a fragment of a scene—as fleeting and horrifying as a brilliant streak of lightning—flash before his mind.

It was cold to sit on the streets with nothing more than a tattered and wet blanket to keep him warm.

But it wasn't just him, he realized. It wasn't merely himself who was huddling by the corner trying to cling on to whatever semblance of heat he could. There was someone else too, though he could not figure out who it was. It was a fuzzy image, blurred and dampened by time and the rain.

A burst of lightning illuminated the abandoned streets with a shocking blue-white, making both of them jump.

A pair of wet scissors fell to the cobblestone ground. For a second he thought he saw red on them, though it was too dark by the time he noticed it, and the rain already washed it away.

Gilbert snapped out of his unwanted reverie, visibly shaken. He nearly burned himself with the hot milk he was holding when he came to.

"Gil?" the thin, curious voice of Ada floated to him.

"Eh! Sorry about that, Miss Ada. I don't know what I'm saying. Excuse me," he stammered, endeavoring to pass the oddly unnerving scene out of his mind. "I-I just remembered something, that's all…." Something I don't want to remember, he thought to himself silently. "A-Ah! Young master will be upset with me if I don't have this ready for him when he comes out."

Quickly, he grabbed the tray that held the finished hot cocoa and spun around. What he wasn't expecting was his young master, Oz, to be standing right behind him. There was something off about his expression, though Gilbert didn't have the time to notice it. At that moment, a particularly bright bolt of light exploded from outside, followed by what seemed like the sky tearing itself in half. All the electric lights flickered and went out.

Gilbert, unable to help it, screamed, stumbled back, and dropped the tray on himself. The hot cocoa—thankfully much less than boiling since he allowed it to cool—spilled onto the lush carpet and on his clothing. The sudden turn of events triggered immediate tears in his eyes as he sat there, frozen stiff with fear.

Oz seemed to be in the same predicament: startled into a state of stillness. Then, with a queer and undecided expression—one torn between worry and poorly created anger—he stuttered, "S-Stupid Gilbert! Look what you did now, spilling everything on the floor! Uncle Oscar will get angry at you now! And—And my hot cocoa isn't ready!"

The accusation, though entirely untrue and rather unconvincingly said, was more than enough to make Gilbert become a quivering ball of tears, snot, and wavering apologies.

A startled look found itself on Oz's face, but by the time Gilbert even began to recognize it, the blonde had already turned on his heels and bolted out.

"Ah! Big Brother…!" Ada cried, discarding her book and running after him, effectively leaving the boy alone.

Gilbert had no idea what had happened, but he couldn't stop crying.

Late into the night, Gilbert was sitting in his bed with all the covers wrapped around him as he sniffled and watched the occasional thread of lightning make its way across the window. Each time it happened, he whimpered softly and clenched the blankets even more tightly. He couldn't sleep.

After he had accidentally dropped the tray of hot cocoa on the floor, he hadn't seen Oz. Uncle Oscar had gone into the room briefly after Oz and Ada ran out, surprised to see the young servant sniveling on the floor, but kindly helped him clean up. He explained that the storm might have damaged their electricity and that they might not have light for the rest of the night before inquiring where his niece and nephew had gone.

Gilbert didn't know and didn't say anything. A searing sense of shame branded him into silence.

Oz's look of disappointment was enough to make him feel like tearing himself into a million pieces. Yet there seemed to be something lying deeper than the superficial events that had transpired. He just couldn't understand it, the same way he couldn't comprehend his memory.

He swallowed, snuffled, and bit his lip.

Through the heavy sounds of rain outside and layers of blankets around his ears, Gilbert failed to hear his door open and close softly. Shoeless feet tread tentatively on the floor until they reached the edge of the bed, where they stopped. The last complaints of the sky were still rolling through the room when the mysterious visitor spoke up.

"Gil."

Completely taken off guard by the sudden intruder, Gilbert jumped and shrieked a bit, before suddenly finding himself tackled and pinned to his bed with a cold hand clapped over his mouth. His widened eyes searched wildly into the dark, coming into contact with a set of serious, dark green ones.

"Shh!" his master shushed urgently to him, eyes already darting to the closed door. "Do you want us both to get into trouble?"

Gilbert blinked, tried to breathe around the suffocating hand, and shook his head. He tried to wriggle his right wrist from where Oz had held it down. The blonde didn't acquiesce until a few seconds later, when he sat back. For a moment, the servant had to flounder in his entangled mess of blankets. Oz "helpfully" aided him by yanking hard on them, and the two of them eventually were able to dig the smaller boy's body out from the trap.

"M-Master, what are you doing here…?" Gilbert ventured to ask while looking at his bed evasively. He still felt uncomfortable after the little episode they had earlier.

"I told you not to call me that!" Oz snapped back on pure instinct. Instantaneously, Gilbert's body stiffened. A brief expression of regret furrowed Oz's brows, but he turned around and hid his face. He crossed his legs on the bed and grabbed his ankles with his hands, rocking back and forth silently. "I—I…" he began hesitantly, scratching his cheek embarrassedly. Suddenly, he blurted out, "Why were you so scared earlier? You should be manlier! Like me."

"Eh?" The dark-haired boy looked up in surprise. He couldn't actually believe that Oz would actually say something like that.

Oz shut his mouth immediately, suddenly realizing how silly he sounded. "Sh-Shut up! I didn't mean to say that!"

Gilbert sat stunned for a second before beginning to giggle softly at Oz's discomfort. Then, it became too much, and he started laughing. He tried to stifle the noise with both hands over his mouth.

Angrily, Oz whipped around and said, "Stop that! If you keep doing that then I'll—I'll…!" He stopped when he realized he had nothing to say. He deflated. "I… I didn't mean to do that to you earlier," Oz finally said.

That sobered Gilbert up significantly as he peered up at Oz's strangely serious face. He rarely ever saw his master with such an expression.

"I was going to scare you, but then I heard what you were saying and saw your face…. You looked so—" The blonde lifted his head and looked earnestly at his servant, as if he were trying to find some answer in his honest face. A determined line was set in his lips, replacing his previous mortified blush. "I don't want to see you like that!" he proclaimed, hurriedly adding a post-script by saying, "If it's not me who makes you do that face!" He slammed a fist into his palm and nodded firmly, as if sealing a promised contract with himself. "It's a master's job to protect his servant, so you should never make that expression in front of me if it's not me who caused it, Gil!"

Gilbert's eyebrows scrunched together, and he smiled faintly at his master's words. Though he was clearly trying to put up a tough front, Gilbert saw through his façade. It didn't fail to touch him though. He smiled brightly and tittered. "Thank you…!" he said happily to him, eyes half-closed and cheeks glowing with childish pleasure.

All of a sudden, a loud splinter of thunder ripped the room in half, completely destroying the joy Gilbert was basking in. He couldn't help but squeal and bristle at the sound. He collapsed tearfully into Oz's arms while the boy laughed.

"Just as expected from you, Gil!" Oz said in an almost-proud voice. He patted his back and yanked lightly on his hair to urge him to pull away. "Look!" he said, presenting the servant with a mysterious book and torch. "I brought these just for you!"

The blonde smiled widely and grabbed a blanket from the pile they left on the bed; he wrapped it around them both before flipping the book open and shining his light on it. They blinked at the sudden brightness, but slowly adjusted to it. Oz began to read.

Slowly, Gilbert was drawn away from the world which frightened him so much for no discernable reason into the one created by Oz's soothingly constant and dramatic voice. The way the boy's voice fluctuated and acted calmed him and, save a few times he clutched the blanket tightly, he felt completely at ease—and safe.

His eyes stayed glued to the page, following the weak circle of light along the paragraphs and sections. The young boy kept leaning in to Oz's voice, enjoying the way his breath would occasionally brush against his hair and cheeks and the pure ambient heat he was emanating. They took turns holding up the torch and read long past the time when the storm passed.

The dew-dropped and fresh morning found the two boys tangled in the sheets and sleeping close to each other. The book was floating around somewhere near where the pillows should have been, and the torch was still on. Gilbert had his hand clutching at Oz's sleeve, and their hair was mingling along with their soft breaths.

It was Uncle Oscar who found them in such a state and, while he didn't quite have the heart to scold them, did so anyway, just to ensure that no more future tomfoolery would go on. His lecture was rather ineffective. Oz kept snickering and moving around and Gilbert was reduced to a hunched over mass full of blushing and apologies; but neither of them minded for the fun they had that night, reading stories together….

Gilbert looked outside the rain-spattered window and traced the trails with his finger, watching as fog formed around his digit. He breathed over the glass whimsically and left his breath to cloud the surface. Softly, he pressed his forehead against the solid chill and closed his eyes.

It had been nine years since then, when Oz effectively cured his fear of thunderstorms.

His fingers curled in his lap.

It had also been nine years since he last saw Oz. Gilbert touched the long scar on his chest through his shirt and sighed.

Oz… he thought, feeling a pang in his chest, not due to his long-healed wound.

He stood and walked away from the window, where thunder and lightning took reign of the realm outside.

The shadows of rumbling growls followed him into the dark depths of his house.