I must admit that I am surprised, Sebastian.

The world was black.

I would have thought-though it has only been two short years that I have known you-that you wouldn't come to meet me again in such soul-y terms... and in such a short period as this one.

No...No, it wasn't the world that was black. The black itself was internal; the black was its own doing. Then what was he doing, suspended in perpetual darkness, unable to swim free? Why, though he was alertly roused, could he not see? (Because you have to open your eyes to see, a part of his mind whispered, tickling the delicate boundaries of his mind like the brush of a butterfly's wings). Why could he not see? Because he needed pellucid pupils to see- he could feel the invading flabs of heavy skin slinking over his eyes, invading his sight and turning his vision characteristic black. He remembered what he had said to his young master once-when had it been? Had it really only been three months? Or was it years ago?-in a situation like this one: You're used to living in the darkness; this should be nothing. The lights have only dimmed a bit...

And yet it felt as if he had been above ground in a place where the sun shone as bright as a supernova and he had been taking confident steps forward only to suddenly be plunged into a black void. Fighting for self-exertion and will-power, the butler slowly opened his eyes and batted heavy spider-leg lashes.

But then, do any humans really understand their pets?

The world was dreary grey.

But no-before his still-dormant eyes the setting colour suddenly shifted, and the fuzzy world was instead a startling white, like someone had spilled coloured paint over an already-coloured painting. He was stupor, wondering through a seemingly ravaged brain: Where am I...? Surely this is not Heaven?

Even if their souls are bound, even if they are attached both by mind and body... are they really bound at all?

And yet this world was not the one that Sebastian was used to. Surely the world had not changed so drastically since the time when he had first closed his eyes...? (Why were his eyes closed anyway? Surely he had not slept? Then why..? What had...?)

Can you really understand what is so different to one's self; something so astral?

There was only white; there was no texture; there were no curves or shadows; there were no ups or downs or skies or ground. Stretched out like this eternally in a heavenly pearly path, and all he could do was stare at it-feeling as if he were in a dream, entombed inside of his body and yet not, hovering unsure and ethereal in the airless depths of the observing sky-scape. His finger convulsed- oh good, so he could move.

Can one really see something when they're trapped in the ensnarement of blinding darkness?

Despite Sebastian's discoveries, he did not move. Arms and legs splayed out like a neglected doll-prostrate and spread as if nailed down to a crucifix, inspired by the name he stereotypically, exuberantly detested. His chest and stomach hitched and fell, hitched and fell, hitched and fell, matching in fluid harmony with the sound of someone speaking in a careless drawl, the lazy tenor of their oral melting in to the sounds of his slow, steady breathing.

Through our few years together, our spirits bound like separate sombre quilts knit into one...did you really understand me like I failed to understand you, Sebastian...?

-And as if those words were the cords dangling him teasingly through the blind darkness, and the falter of the end of the sentence was the scissors in which severed it, with such a brusque abruptness and such a swift recede it was almost like an elastic band snapping back...he could suddenly see.

And in that moment the neurons in Sebastian's mind switched on like a gas-lamp; his eyes light up and shadows passed through them as the memories returned: tugging and stretching and pulsing through his synapse, extending outwards in most commonly the letters C-I-E-L. Within the very theatre of his inward, dreamy images of a young man with slate hair drenched in blood and a ghostly young boy passed behind his eyelids, collapsed, twined and wrapped tightly around his head in a unrelenting grip and-dear God, was he dead?

Momentarily panicked-there was a first for everything-the devil whirled around to find an exit, like a drowning man searching for the surface of asphyxiation-ing water-

And saw behind him, lounging languorously in some sort of intricately engraved throne made of checkered black and white marble and ridged with the curling flourishing of complimentary black and white roses, a winsome thirteen-year-old with a pretty smirk and a leather-patched eye. Five thin fingers cupped the curve of the boy's porcelain chin; the others tapped the arm of his throne in an unheard, idle tune. Svelte legs, supple, ironically creamy and sinfully smooth, were crossed; ribbons were looped, stockings were crisp and shoes were shiny.

For moments, the devil could only gape. For he saved all of his exertion and resoluteness to force out a single syllable, overflowing of poignancy, not as steady as he wished it would be; it quivered like a loose violin string:

Young master...? His unnerved expression seemed to add an extra inch to the noble's already face-cracking sneer-which, as the time passed where the silence turned into one of those ones that made bystanders ears ring and pop because it was so loud, melted back into a toothy leer.

Come now, Sebastian, the child chided, lashes lowering in a languorous show of exasperation. I understand you're surprised, but you can't really stand there jaw-slack and wide-eyed like you're brain-dead until your eyes roll out of your head inside of this scornful silence. What a humiliation that would be to the Phantomhive name!

The devil didn't even react to the jibe. Is that really you?

Ciel grinned-and the gesture was so much like in real life that Sebastian was plunged into stomach-wrenching déjà vu with the perfect symmetry of curving rosy lips, simultaneously emanating scorn and fondness. He tilted his teeny head, silken strands of coal-grey hair brushing over his small rounded nose and his pallid temples. Do you even need to ask? the elegant child jeered, unconsciously twirling the phantom sapphire ring that still pridefully twinkled on his thumb ceaselessly. Surely, Sebastian, you are not so senile that you don't even recognize your master when you see him?

Though despite the words leaked disdain and audacity, Ciel's visible azure eye-seeming to fervent brighter in this eerily empty realm until it was reminiscent of a summer's sky-was blossoming with elation and amusement like roses, and it seemed to transfer that same warmness (Dear God, must he say it... Must he admit it even inwardly?...) of it down into Sebastian's self, soaking up into his core like water into the roots of a plant, loosening his joints and ligaments, rearranging his demeanour and his wormy stomach and kneading heart. Ciel hid his condescending snicker courteously behind his raised petite hand.

Sebastian composed himself-shock still processing through his blood like a toil disease- and weakly offered a sardonic simper: and just the legitimateness of that very smile was a wordless admission to what Sebastian had learned to fear-an emotion that had never plagued him before in his ever-stretching life, and therefore startled him with its foreignness- all along...

Forgive me, the butler apologized-ritualistic in his gestures-savouring the smile he'd never thought he'd get to see again. I recently exacerbated a rather nasty bout of head-trauma.

The boy snorted. Oh, yes. Your former young mistress did push you off of that cliff and you did hit your head rather hard, he agreed, his voice oozing monotonous amusement as he erected himself with a graceful push. Sebastian did the same-regretfully; sans the gracefulness that his master had shown; stumbling to his feet unsteadily with a groan-for it was improper for a servant to remain sat on his bum while his master was on his feet. And here I have seen you get impaled, shot, stabbed in the head, merely to rise again- and yet you succumbed to a coma, that, you do realize, was caused by a girl? I must say, Sebastian, I'm disappointed. And here I thought that were a superior servant of Hell, the prideful Earl taunted. His hand was on his waist, his hip jutting out; the child's snobbish patronizing was so familiar that it was like looking back on a photograph of a well-known family member.

The servant's response was a cheerless chuckle, his head dropping in a mixture of exhaustion and shame; his head was filled with phantom bees, buzzing irritably in his ears and disturbing his brain. He was light-headed –with shock? Exhaustion? Vehemence?- and he was increasingly becoming cognizant that his still limbs seemed to be becoming like water-bags; jellying and becoming less reliable. What was happening to him?

Coma? Sebastian suddenly repeated, taken by surprise again. You mean... I'm not dead?

A scoff, full of not-well-hidden envy and annoyance, served both for an interruption and an answer. Don't be so stupid, Ciel spat, rolling a beauteous forget-me-not-blue orb. In the hazy cobweb of memories Sebastian recalled that the Earl had once thought that act to be a height of rudeness; would have once chided his servants if they had-even if unintentionally-shown such gesture. And with that, he almost smiled. Almost. You are not yet lost, Sebastian. But you must go soon... For, as you must know by now, once something is lost...

...you can never truly get it back, Sebastian finished knowingly, his voice, shockingly so, steady unlike his pulse (his pulse? Since when did he have a pulse?): relief was stirring and warming his stomach, but even then he could not help but feel disappointed, subdued. You must go soon... Those words were like an oral key: opening the sturdily-closed box inside of his mind that allowed memories to spill out from inside like water from a punctured bottle, images that rose and crumpled, each one splotched with teardrops like rainwater. Many were of himself: him, scouring through a plain mahogany box, and then holding the contents in his hands, the edges of the object cutting into his palm, rousing his nerves, reminding him that he was there... That he wasn't trapped in some sort of inevitable dream where everything was icily wrong and strange, but rather that was reality. He remembered holding the glittering sapphire ring in his hand and declaring into the silence:

"I want him back..."

Now he had, he wanted to listen to the pre-existing boy talk until it grew tedious; until they lacked of things to say; until the point of talking would simply be going over things they'd already shared.

The spirit-boy smiled beguilingly, angelically, and yet there was a hint of sadness inside of it: a destituteness, a remorse, a sorrow, a fondness. Just as soon as it had come, however, the light-heartedness and vulnerability uncharacteristically shown, it ceased to lighten his face once more: his face fell into a staid expression of stone, straightening his back, refusing to meet his once-spirit-bound-pet's gaze: studiously observing the sturdy legs of his throne sunk deep down into the white 'floor' like a spoon in a bowl of milk, turning his pink face away, his small pursed lips.

My lord...? Sebastian was perplexed at Ciel's abrupt indifference and casual coldness.

There is no time to waste. You grow weaker and more attached to this limbo between worlds. Even you cannot last without a beating heart. You are weak, and therefore energy should be what will wake you from your coma... A friendly endearment coloured the otherwise flat drawl; small fragile arms extended to him as if meant to embrace. Come, the Earl then prompted, nodding his head in a submissive fashion, urging Sebastian to come closer. Energy is what will coagulate you... and how lucky that you have an impeccable meal right here.

But Sebastian did not come closer; he did not want to; he was vigorously shaking his head, his eyebrows pinched together to show the turmoil confusion that he felt. Why are you doing this? he demanded. Why have you come back here, master? Why did you come back to me once you escaped me just to be consumed again? Can't you-

What? the child interjected icily, and Sebastian was almost afraid at what he saw in the other's eyes. Linger here in the limbo between worlds? Haunt somewhere interesting? See the world when, in turn, no one can see me? Spend eternity alone? Or maybe to go find the afterlife? The boy scoffed, and it was bitter with rebukement and anger. I think we both knew that God had ceased caring for me when I came to you. And the doors of Heaven are forever closed for me, remember?

Sebastian found it was wise to say nothing in Ciel's venomous verbal rant, because to do so would be like interjecting a lion on hunt for its prey. Content with having his neck still attached to his shoulders, he therefore stayed silent.

Satan will never come for my soul, Ciel continued astringently, for a devil has already claimed it. And besides, what is Hell to me? It's child's play; a smaller blade in a row of machetes. After all, what is Hell's suffering to me when... when...Ciel faltered, cringed. It seemed, Sebastian noted proudly, that even when dead his young master still hadn't abolished his omnipotent pride. By his side, Ciel's fists squeezed, squeezed, squeezed, until Ciel continued on resolutely: What is it to me when I have to watch that specific aesthetic face light up with endearments for someone else? Ciel lifted his chin-looking so small ethereal that it almost looked as if one touch would break it, however it had taken many blows and had remained perpetually stable like the Earl himself-and spoke his revelations between gritted teeth. No... No, I shall not do it any longer, he whispered, as if to convince himself of his words. I would rather be plunged into more well-known darkness than to spend eternity watching you from afar, Sebastian Michaelis.

Realization swamped the other; for moments the butler merely stood in a staggered daze, wide-eyed, jaw-slacked, almost unable to deal with the continuous shocks and the confession that... did he? Did he really feel...?

Young-

No. Ciel held up a warning hand. There was no hesitation in his actions now; no shame or disgust hanging him back from facts; only conviction and that small sad smile. It may have only been three months, Sebastian, but for me, watching you without you seeing me... It has felt like years. I don't want to do this anymore. Please... Consume me and never leave me again. After all, living or dead... you're all I have left.

Perhaps it was Ciel's tears treacherously falling down his pearly cheeks; perhaps it was his own burning inside of him of crushing agony; perhaps it was the fact that the sudden saccharine twist of events had loosened any restraints from disgust or shame or decency or self-restraint...

But whatever the reason Sebastian finally gave in to his fervent desire to close the space between them as his master tried to mask his inevitable sniffle with a heavy cough, and with a corporeal-framed lurch he began to cling physically to his master, having earned a legitimate excuse finally to so.

Seba-?

I missed you, Sebastian hissed- heatedly, recklessly, the admission tearing so violently from his throat that it came out as a feral snarl. I didn't understand it at first: the pain... The tightness in my chest, my stomach, my heart; the lumpiness inside of my throat or the stinging behind my eyes. I didn't understand why I had the urge to cling to your essence and to hold you close- to smell the saccharine of your skin and hair and to hear your voice. I didn't know why I felt like I was drowning in no water whenever I held your ring which I felt compelled to keep by my side. But now I do: I missed you.

The confession hung between them as Sebastian's black-clad arms tightened, tightened, tightened, as if he never meant to let go. And Ciel merely nodded-serenely, sagely, as if he had known all along- before he returned his butler's embrace, putting his still-wet cheek down on his butler's shoulder.

Did you feel this way about me when I was alive? Ciel whispered, burying his face in the warm juncture between his butler's neck and shoulder.

This was Sebastian-Sebastian never lied; and therefore though he was tempted evidently to cease the perpetual confessions, he instead declared the truth once more: Yes, he admitted after a moment. Though back then I cynically believed that it was 'lust.'

And now what would you call it? Ciel prompted: rapt, incredulous, evidently content in a way that Sebastian had never seen him before. There was a certain glow in the darkness that had not been there before.

Sebastian's echo-y voice was as soft as kitten's fur: Love.

Ciel was silent. Though more tears feel against Sebastian's skin like the raindrops of London's dreary days, Sebastian could feel Ciel's lips curl against his skin. You should let me go now, before you truly do die, Ciel murmured finally, even when his small hands clung to worn fabric. His small form was shaking, Sebastian felt, though Ciel's voice was as steady as a horse. You wouldn't allow your master to suspend eternally in endless nothingness, would you?

His tone held curtness and warning: his sceptical gaze that landed on Sebastian's face was hard. His lips were trembling, even when the spirit forced out another deceiving grin- but Sebastian could see right through it, like he was looking through a glass window to view the visage behind.

Of course not, the crooning butler purred. But I can hardly allow my master to die at such an inconvenient time, either. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for some time longer, my lord.

Ciel's head snapped up incredulously; his disguises to hide his palpable anger were obviously half-hearted. You're just going to die? You're going to let me here in this suffering?

Of course I'm not going to just die, the butler murmured, soothing and serene. I won't stay here. And neither will you.

Ciel looked perplexed: his lips thinned out cutely in confusion, his delicate eyebrows puckering together underneath slate hair.

I may be weak, but I am not that weak. I will have enough energy to carry us both to the borders between the dead and the living, I'm sure of it. If you would be so kind as to come with me... He broke off hesitantly, unsurely.

Ciel looked like he was stricken speechless by Sebastian's invitation: eyelashes fluttered like butterfly's beating wings as he blinked, his fingers tightening on stiff black attire mercilessly. You're going to bring me back to life? He sounded disbelieving to both of their ears.

Sebastian sneered, and admitted candidly, I must admit, it hasn't been quite as amusing without you, younger master. Especially since my last young mistress decided to push me off a cliff to my possible doom. He scowled, and Ciel giggled, wry with wit, looping possessive arms around an equally possessive butler's neck, placing their foreheads together.

Okay, Ciel accepted, and it was as if every tensed muscle in Sebastian's corporeal form just relaxed, and both of them felt as if they could breathe again... On one condition...

Sebastian hung back for moments hesitantly, then eyed the deceased Earl sat snugly in his lap warily. Whatever it is, it is yours, young master.

You swear? Ciel's visible un-emblematic eye was gleaming with slight mischievousness.

Sebastian smirked languidly. I swear.

Tell me you love me.

I love you, Ciel Phantomhive.

(Author's note: Did this make you cry? Probably not. Though, admittedly, I was getting teary just writing this... Fangirl overload? XD sorry if I got a bit lazy near the end, I've been writing since the time I got home from school right to half past eleven. Anyway, if you like then review and whatever... And hopefully I'll be posting the new chapter soon . Clary.)