A bowl of Reddenbaucher's popcorn, pillows, and a single blanket lace over delicate legs, an unlikely pair revelling in the pleasure of watching a fat, animated panda beat the sense out of a vengeful peacock amidst canons, knives, and wolves. Or at least, one of them was, his gaze intent on the screen, body tensing in anticipation as he roots excitedly for the heroic bear. Aside the energetic teenager sat a smaller boy, legs primly crossed and expression filled with seeming disinterest as he calmly regarded the action, bits of popcorn dutifully consumed.

The dreadful (or so he claimed) film was finally coming to a close. Ciel would at last be granted his alone time in the office; that was the deal, after all. Aah, but the Bengali prince noticed that too, quick to yank the cotton covers towards his side, exposing a pair of pale, porcelain toes to the cold, cruel air conditioner air, and forcing the littler male to, reluctantly, scoot closer to him for the promise of warmth. Naturally, a noble arm snaked its way around Ciel's shoulder in turn, legs soon to intertwine like that of tangled vines. The snobbish earl did not complain, however, quietly taking comfort in the affections of his self-proclaimed best friend, though making certain to act annoyed at every spontaneous kiss, touch, and squeeze, no matter how much more of his attention was given to it than the film. He did not like the movie, after all.

'—The past is not what makes you who you are. It's how you choose to react to it.'

Soma pried his eyes off the screen in time to notice the quiet scoff that escaped his little companion, accompanied with an eye roll and another handful of popcorn. It was then he chose to steal another peck on the cheek.

"Lighten up, Little Ciel! Not everyone is out for vengeance like you are~!"

The remark was, surprisingly, met with no reaction; the Phantomhive's expression was stoic, brilliant blue orbs dulled with the glazed look in his eyes as the credits rolled in.

"… Ciel?"

No response. For many a moment, the boys sat in silence, save for the ending songs emitting from the high quality surround sound dancing gleefully about the room. Tiny hands were clasped on the younger's lap as he eyed the scroll of words.

Brows furrowing, Ciel finally spoke, "… That peacock killed his parents."

"Pay attention, silly!" It was a simple jest, the poor prince attempting to alleviate the heavy aura that carried through Ciel's words. The elder nudged his friend lightly, teasingly. "His father is obviously still alive in the end!"

The boy was not listening, obviously lost in his own musings.

"How could he disregard it so easily..?"

Now noticeably alert, the child directs his gaze to the other, expression both accusing and questioning. The Bengali boy could feel his own facial features stiffening, his reply gentle as nimble fingers give the child's shoulder a gentle rub.

"… You know… Some people do not let themselves be weighed down by their past, Ciel."

A beat.

"—You made me watch this on purpose, didn't you?"

There was no time to deny it, for Ciel immediately stands from the cushioned seat, cotton blanket draping off his calves and popcorn bowl nudged recklessly to the edge of the couch. Soma was quick to grab hold of his arm (and save the popcorn from its doom), a sheepish half smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was enough to confirm the child's accusation. Ciel sucks in a breath, otherwise motionless; anger was clear in his stance. "I will never forget what they did to me," he hissed, eyes like ice, lips pressed together in a thin line. The words, though uttered so harshly, held a sort of painful subtext.

But I want to.

This left Soma sitting in awe, taking a moment before realizing the little child had freed himself from his royal clutches, making way towards the giant door of an exit. Fortunately, the elder male had enough speed to ensnare the other again, arm blocking Ciel's path as a tanned hand rests against the wall.

"Then I will help you to," he declares recklessly, a forced sneer upon his childish expression. As per usual, the trial of a tease left the other unamused, the boy turning to exit, only to notice that another arm had him pinned against the wall. A trace of a pout grows prominent on his pinkish complexion, and Ciel's eyes are trained—unwavering—on Soma.

"It's a wasted effort."

It's then the enlarged, helpless, puppy dog eyes and quivering bottom lip surface the Prince's handsome visage. His next set of words were a quiet whisper.

"… Please, Ciel?"

A ghost of a shiver courses through the boy at the sound of his name. The little earl was not one to fall victim to such obviously desperate schemes (heck, he's used some of these ploys, after all), the result of two years of business and life threatening missions; however, with the two of them alone in the darkened room and his form intimately imprisoned by Soma's own, he could not help but encourage him. Indirectly, if course; the child's quiet submission (expectant gaze, relaxed stance) was cue for the Bengali boy to make ends meet. Except that a heavy silence weighed in the air, the prince not daring to do so much as shift until a delicate hand grips at his shirt.

"Make me."