"Who is Lucien?" Ciel asked lazily, sifting through a veritable mountain of letters on his writing desk. Sebastian stilled, a flash of surprise illuminating his features before he schooled himself back to composure.

"Lucien, my lord?" he asked in a silk voice.

"Don't play at ignorance," Ciel snapped. His uncovered left eye shifted, gazing at his butler. "You had a letter today." He waved it at Sebastian, who took it curiously in one hand. With the other, he continued to prepare the earl's tea, stirring in a hint of sugar.

"Did you read it?" the butler asked with a dubious frown.

"I didn't realize it was for you. You've never received mail before."

Sebastian inclined his head. His eyes scanned the paper quickly, lifting the teacup to proffer it to Ciel.

To the butler of House Phantomhive,

It is with deep regret and sorrow that I must inform you…

Sebastian dropped the teacup. Shards of milky glass scattered across the floor, tea splashing into rust-colored puddles. The noise pierced through the sunlit calm of the writing room.

Ciel Phantomhive looked up from the patchwork of letters covering his desk to see his butler frozen in place. "Sebastian," he growled, annoyed. It wasn't one of the nice tea sets, fortunately, but a few drops of hot liquid had managed to fly across the floorboards to land on the young earl's shoes.

"Apologies, my lord," the butler said after the slightest pause. He cleared his throat, folded the letter, and placed it into his breast pocket. He procured a handkerchief and knelt, first wiping the traces of tea from his charge's shoes, then mopping up the rest of the liquid from the hardwood floor.

"Surprising news?" Ciel asked, curiosity betraying itself in his voice. Sebastian never dropped anything.

"Nothing that should interfere with my work." His voice had a taint to it, as if berating himself for his mistake.

"Who is Lucien?" Ciel asked again.

Sebastian shook his head slowly, eyes glued to the mess on the floor. "Nobody of import to you, my lord."

Ciel let the matter drop. The mess was cleared away, and the earl returned to his stack of mail. From the corner of his eye, he could see his butler lift a gloved hand to cover the note at his chest.

Sebastian immersed himself in work.

The other servants of the household watched in awe as the black butler finished his tasks in record time – which for him was very fast indeed. Dinner was prepared, tables were set, chandeliers dusted, windows washed. Preparations were finished for the evening meal by noon.

Yet still Sebastian was restless. He could not yet bring himself to read the second half of the letter, which protruded from his pocket in place of a handkerchief.

…of the death of Lucien Black, who…

The words tore through his mind, embossing themselves in dark red upon his conscience. His chest ached in a way that was unfamiliar.

"Mey-Rin, fetch polish for the floors," he snapped at the maid. His tone was harsh, but he was feeling harsh. Perhaps if he just ignored the feeling, it would vanish on its own. Mey-Rin scurried off to find the polish, returning a few moments later. The floor, it seemed, had mopped itself in her short absence.

He took the container from her, dismissing her wordlessly with a curt wave of his hand. She inclined her head, giving him a vaguely hurt look before wandering off.

Sebastian wet a cloth with the polish and set to work, scrubbing the marble tiles of the entry hall at an inhuman pace. His eyes stung, which he attributed to the strong odor of the polish. His hand travelled in frenetic circles across the smooth surface. If he could just keep his mind off the contents of that letter…

"Sebastian," his young master's voice sounded behind him.

"Bocchan," he acknowledged, looking at the boy's reflection in the marble. The butler's voice sounded strange to his own ears. How had he not noticed him standing there?

Ciel frowned. "You're crying," he said quietly.

Sebastian's brows furrowed in confusion. He sat back on his heels, pulled off his left glove, and touched his cheek. His fingers met with moisture.

"So it appears," he rasped. "My apologies."

"I've never seen you cry."

The floor gleamed all around them, reflecting their own images back at them. Sebastian glanced at himself in the tiles. His eyes were red, his cheeks tinged with pink. "I don't make a habit of it."

"Sebastian." His master's voice was tinged with disapproval.

"Yes, bocchan?"

"Who is Lucien?"

"It doesn't matter." A searing pain shot through Sebastian's ribcage.

"Sebastian," Ciel warned.

"He is nobody important." The butler felt a warm drop of water caress his cheek.

"Sebastian, I order you to tell me who Lucien is."

For a moment, the room was completely silent. Then-

"He was my son." The words were torn from Sebastian's throat, dragged from his body by the string on the back of his left hand. The demon closed his eyes, letting the wet rag fall to the marble. His arms hung limply by his sides.

A muffled gasp – one of the servants – rang out from the corner of the ballroom. Ciel glared in the general direction before turning his attention back to his butler, who continued to kneel on the tiles.

"Sebastian…" the boy trailed off.

Sebastian shook his head, black locks of hair drooping sadly on either side of his face. "You needn't concern yourself with the affairs of a servant."

Ciel's hand hovered over Sebastian's shoulder for a moment, almost but not quite touching, before he brought it back to his side. "I didn't know you had a son," he said, the timbre of his voice torn between sympathetic and accusatory.

"It was not relevant to my job here."

"It's relevant now."

Sebastian took in a long breath before opening his eyes. He stood slowly, gathering the rag and the floor polish into the crook of one arm. He bowed low from the waist.

"Forgive me. I will not allow my emotions to affect my work again." He straightened up and began to walk up the staircase toward the servants' quarters.

"You're allowed to have feelings, you know," Ciel's voice followed him up the steps. Sebastian glanced back. The earl looked surprised with himself – he was being quite lenient to his butler. But he did not take back his words. "Suppressing emotions is a pointless exercise."

The earl's past, his frequent night terrors, went unspoken between them.

Sebastian inclined his head after a moment. "Yes, my lord."

Emboldened and feeling generous – perhaps even compassionate – Ciel continued, "Take the evening off. Let Baldroy, Finnian and Mey-Rin serve dinner tonight."

"But bocchan-"

"I'm serious." Ciel looked at the ground. "Let yourself grieve," he muttered.

Sebastian swallowed. "Yes, my lord," he croaked. There was an uncomfortable moment. "Thank you, my lord."

Ciel gave a single curt nod. "That's all," he said, waving his hand in dismissal, facing the opposite wall. Sebastian bowed awkwardly, one leg on a higher step than the other. Then, straightening his shoulders, he disappeared up the staircase.

"-his son!" Finny exclaimed in a whisper.

Bard and Mey-Rin listened raptly to the gossip. Three uneaten pieces of watermelon lay forgotten on the kitchen table between them.

"I didn't know he had a son," Bard remarked dubiously.

"Oh, I feel just awful for him, I do," Mey-Rin shook her head. Sebastian's rudeness to her in the ballroom had been, it seemed, forgiven. "He must feel terrible."

The other two nodded in agreement.

"And he was crying," Finny breathed, even more quietly than before. "I've never even seen him get upset before."

"We should do something nice for him!" Mey-Rin gushed.

Bard nodded, placing an unlit cigarette between his lips and leaning back in his chair. "We should. But what?"

"What would make him feel better?" Finny asked thoughtfully.

There was a long moment of silence as the three thought. Bard lit a match, cupping his hand around it as he puffed his cigarette alight.

"I have an idea," a fourth voice chimed in from the back of the kitchen. Mey-Rin jumped. Bard dropped his cigarette, caught it, and placed it back in his mouth.

"Tanaka!" they exclaimed in unison.

"What's your idea?" Finny asked, shifting his blue-grey eyes to the older man.

"Listen closely," Tanaka said, huddling close to the other three servants. "We have to get our hands on that letter in his pocket…"

Dinner passed uneventfully. Bard, Mey-Rin and Finny served the food and cleared it away again without incident. A shipping representative from China – one of Lau's – ate greedily, outlining a business plan for Lord Phantomhive, who picked at his meal without enthusiasm. He barely listened to the representative, nodding and giving one-word answers where they were needed.

A paper was signed, hands were shaken, and the Chinese man was sent off once more in his hansom cab. With dinner complete, the manor fell into an uneasy silence.

The servants were sent back to their quarters. Ciel didn't see the conspiratorial looks they gave one another – or if he did, he chose not to comment.

The young earl retired to his study, his cane tapping with every other step. He was acutely aware of the sound of his wooden clogs clapping along the ground. It was quiet without Sebastian by his side.

He glanced at the papers on his desk without enthusiasm.

…died comfortably in his sleep after a long illness. A funeral will be held…

The words of the letter tap-danced through his mind. He hadn't meant to read the whole thing, but it had been intriguing. Who was this person, important enough that Sebastian had to be notified personally of his death?

He was my son. The statement replayed itself in Ciel's head. Sebastian had sounded so helpless.

After another cursory glance at the papers, Ciel decided he wasn't going to be getting any work done this evening. With a sigh, he gripped the head of his cane and exited the study.

It occurred to him, after a few steps down the hallway, that he didn't even know where Sebastian spent most of his free time. Frustrated, he stopped and thought. Where did he sleep? Did he even need sleep? He was a demon, after all.

Feeling vaguely guilty, Ciel pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment's thought, he began walking decisively – not in the direction of the servants' quarters, but back down the stairs of the front ballroom, through the doors, and outside.

"Sebastian?" he asked the air. The light of the sunset was fading into a soft purple, painting the front steps in a creamy hue.

"Yes, my lord?" a voice croaked somewhere to Ciel's right. He turned. The butler was perched cross-legged on a concrete pedestal. A stray kitten mewled meekly in his lap. He passed a gloved hand over its silken body and it began to purr softly.

Ciel hmph-ed. "I knew I'd find you out here," he remarked, taking a few steps toward the servant. He leaned his back against the wall of the manor, facing the remnants of the sunset. "You and your damn cats."

Sebastian did not rise to the bait. He continued to stroke the creature, who rewarded him with a tiny lick of the hand.

"Do you require anything of me, bocchan?"

Ciel frowned. "No." He crossed one ankle over the other, in a pose which on any other person would have seemed effeminate. "It was too quiet in the study without you serving tea."

"I'm happy to serve you tea, bocchan."

Ciel shook his head. "It's fine."

They shared a companionable silence for a time, the sky fading into a dusky gray around them. It wasn't quite summer yet, and a cool breeze blew past. Ciel shivered.

"You're cold, bocchan."

"I'm fine."

"You should be inside."

"I told you I'm fine," Ciel said, shaking his head stubbornly.

Sebastian lifted his head to look at his master. The earl wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Do not feel as though you need to provide me with companionship, bocchan." Sebastian's voice was soft and gravelly, in a way that suggested he had been holding back tears for quite some time. His eyes were dry.

"I don't owe you anything," Ciel sighed. Yet he did not move to go inside.

"No, my lord," Sebastian agreed. He observed the boy, watching as he kicked at a pebble. He seemed to be conflicted about something. Finally, curiosity got the better of the earl and he asked,

"Would you tell me about him?" Sebastian looked down at the cat. It purred encouragingly.

"Lucien?" He sighed, leaning back.

"You don't have to. I mean. If you don't want to."

Sebastian shook his head. "I wasn't always a demon, you know."

Ciel looked taken aback by this sudden shift in the conversation, but he remained silent, listening.

"Demons aren't born. They're made. I was thirty." The butler's eyes hardened as he continued. "I won't bore you with specifics. But I had a child, before I was… created. That child was Lucien."

There was another long pause. Ciel didn't dare say anything for fear that his butler would stop telling the story.

"Once I became a demon, I lost everything. My family, my home… but not Lucien. Lucien was the last remaining piece of my life." Ciel tucked away the uncomfortable knowledge that Sebastian had once had a family.

"I'm sorry," Ciel said uncertainly. The words tasted strange on his tongue.

"It's fine." Sebastian continued to pet the kitten, who seemed to be falling asleep on his lap. "I appreciate your concern."

There was a brief silence. Ciel shifted uncomfortably. Another breeze, chillier now that the sun was gone, played around the entryway. The young earl shivered again.

"Bocchan, I really must insist you go inside before you catch cold," Sebastian said with a frown.

Ciel closed his eyes. He steeled himself, then opened them again, looking directly at his butler.

"Come with me."

"My lord?"

"Come inside with me."

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian said, though it seemed more a question. He gently lifted the kitten from his lap, setting it on the pedestal before standing. It mewled once in protest at the lack of warmth before going back to sleep.

Ciel walked inside, not looking back, his cane tapping the ground. The sound of Sebastian's footsteps followed. It was nice, he reflected, to have a companion to walk with. His own footsteps didn't sound so loud now.

The pair made their way upstairs. The butler followed the earl into his bedroom. Out of sheer force of habit, he took Ciel's cane and mantlet, hanging them on the wall.

"I gave you the night off," Ciel accused mildly.

"Apologies, lord," Sebastian said, inclining his head.

"Let me do the same for you then," the earl said, moving to unbutton the butler's jacket. Sebastian looked surprised, but made no move to stop him. Ciel glanced questioningly at Sebastian's face, and meeting with no disapproval, he removed the black jacket.

Ciel realized this was the first time he had ever seen Sebastian in only his white collared dress shirt. For some reason, the thought made him blush. He turned away, hanging the jacket over the foot of the bed. The tails brushed the floor unceremoniously.

The letter peeked out of the breast pocket of the jacket. Ciel's fingers brushed over it. It was amazing how something as small as a piece of paper could affect a person's life so greatly. He left it where it was, and turned back to face his butler, who was watching him curiously.

"Sit on the bed," Ciel said, gazing at the ceiling.

"My lord?"

"Just do it," he commanded haughtily. Sebastian complied, folding his hands in his lap. Ciel climbed up next to him. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then-

"After the fire, I wanted nothing more than to have my parents back." The statement hung in the air like a gunmetal raincloud. Sebastian made no reply. "I wasn't allowed to grieve them. I was stolen away and tortured."

"I know," Sebastian said.

"I never had the opportunity to be weak."

"…I know."

Ciel took a short breath, then covered one of Sebastian's gloved hands with his own. "Nobody should ever be denied the right to grieve."

"Bocchan?"

Ciel shook his head. "Right now, in this room, aesthetic doesn't matter. You're not a servant. I'm not your master."

"But-"

"I'm giving you the opportunity to grieve. I will not speak of anything you do in this room to anyone."

"Bocchan-"

"Please, just… just Ciel. For now. For tonight."

"Ciel," Sebastian said quietly, tasting the name on his tongue.

"Anything you need," the boy continued. "Cry, scream, break something. Whatever you need." He squeezed his hand.

Sebastian looked helplessly at the earl. He looked at his knees. He looked at the ceiling. "Bocch- Ciel-"

"Whatever you need. But do it now. I can't afford to have you running at half speed tomorrow."

Sebastian nodded slowly. He gazed at Ciel, at their joined hands. He thought for a few moments, weighing the earl's discomfort against his own.

"Would I be overstepping my bounds to ask for a hug?" Sebastian averted his gaze to the ground. Ciel's heart broke, just a little, at the sadness in his voice.

Without replying, the thirteen year old wrapped his arms around the old demon, the demon who had once been human. After a moment's hesitation, Sebastian returned the favor, drawing the boy's head to his shoulder. Sebastian was unnaturally warm, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. Ciel found himself relaxing into the touch.

"You don't owe me this," Sebastian said, repeating what Ciel had said on the front steps of the manor. He buried his nose and mouth in the softness of the boy's navy hair.

"No. But you should have someone there for you," he mumbled into the older man's chest. "You should always have someone."

Sebastian's eyes stung, as they had stung when he polished the floors that afternoon. Ciel felt a rush of warm air on his scalp as the demon breathed through his nose.

"Ciel," he whispered.

"I'm here," the earl whispered back.

Sebastian cried.

Much later, a set of quiet feet snuck into the earl's room. Finny marveled for a moment at the sight of the young master and Sebastian, interlocked in sleep. He snuck to the end of the bed, eased the letter out of the jacket pocket.

He snuck out of the room again, heart beating fast.

"I got it," he whispered to the others. "I got it."