Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler). All rights belong to the author, Yana Toboso. I am merely using her characters and story for entertainment.
It was quite a boisterous morning in the Phantomhive manor, with the servants running around in a frenzy, rushing to get their duties done and making the mansion look perfect for a certain someone's arrival. Ciel, the thirteen-year-old head of the household, made up his mind to stay away from all the commotion and instead chose to hide himself up in his favorite tree, reading the last few pages of his novel whilst finishing the remains of his lunch.
In this particular tree, he always felt especially comfortable, though vulnerable might be a better word for it. It really was only a few years, but to the Earl, it had seemed so long ago when he and his betrothed had first climbed this tree to hide from their parents. He remembered it clearly because it had been a Sunday morning quite like this one, with Aunt Francis and Uncle Alexis coming over. They giggled when Vincent Phantomhive passed by the tree, calling out their names but never getting an answer. When they decided they had teased him long enough, they climbed down and ran over to him. To Ciel, he was Daddy, or Papa as he had on occasions called him; to Lizzie, he was Uncle Vincent.
"Here we are! Here we are!" the two of them cried out as they burst into a fit of giggles, lunging for the older man's legs.
He smiled down at them and picked them up, holding each in the crook of his arm. "Now what were you two doing up in that tree, hm?"
"We were only hiding from you, Uncle Vincent!" the little girl said.
"Yeah," her companion agreed, nodding eagerly. "We didn't mean for you to be so worried about us."
The mans' eyes shone with amusement. "Oh? Is that all?"
The children nodded sagely.
"Well, if you meant no harm..." and he then began to spin around in circles, laughing delightedly at the children's squeals.
Suddenly, a sharp female voice cut through the laughter and they all went silent. "Vincent!"
The man set the children down on the dewy grass and grinned at the fuming woman. "Hello, Franny. How nice it is to see your face again."
She stomped on over to him, muttering under her breath, and took hold of her daughter's hand. "Do not call me that! It's Francis! And I will not allow you to torture my child! Or yours!"
"I was merely playing with them."
"He was only playing with us!" parroted the boy.
The little girl squeezed her mother's hand and looked up at her pleadingly with large green eyes. "Oh, please, can we stay with Uncle Vincent? Please?"
For a moment, it seemed like she was considering it, but her resolve was strong and she didn't give in. "Now look what you've done! You've taught them to beg like miserable little vagrants!"
"Calm down, dear sister. It is a special day, after all. But why do you always assume it's me when I've done nothing of the sort? Some sister, you are."
"Only because it is usually you who does these sort of things! What kind of behavior are you trying to instill in your child? And about that dog of yours..."
He heard laughter from across the garden. His mother and uncle. The big black dog bounded across the grass and pounced on him, licking his face in what he would have described in a friendly manner, though he could distinctly remember hearing his aunt shriek.
The little Earl smiled sadly at his open book as he recalled these memories. It must have looked quite silly, him staring blankly at seemingly nothing. He shook his head and gave a sigh. He couldn't let himself think like this, not today, not ever. Now, if only he could concentrate...
Oh, how his head hurt! He hated it whenever he did this to himself, remembering things better to be left alone. Whenever he did so, he always felt terrible afterward, yet he couldn't help but slip into these memories. They were his only comfort, the only peace he could ever hope to find, and it felt horrible. What use to him were these flimsy memories? How could they possibly ever help in reaching his goal?
He promptly set his book down in the corner of the branch, careful to mark his page, and shifted his body toward the expanse of gardens. With his head lying on his knees, he sat, trying not to think so that the pain in his head would quell. Flowers bloomed and the birds sang, just like in an old fairytale. Why, even a rabbit hopped out of the bushes! It was truly a time for hope, rejuvenation, and peace. Although the boy cared very little for holidays, he wished that he might feel peace, only if for a little while. Even in sleep, he was woken harshly by nightmares. It wouldn't let up, it never would. He accepted it and the fact that he didn't deserve peace. For one such as him... All he had...
A dry sob escaped his mouth and he banged his fist on the harsh bark, causing his hand to scratch and bleed. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't!
"Young Master, are you alright?"
The boy raised his head wearily. His eyes, while dry, were empty and sleep-deprived.
"Were you crying?" the butler asked gently, his red eyes full of concern for the small boy.
He shook his head slowly. Why did he have to come when he was in such a weak state? "I'm just tired. I... did not get a lot of sleep."
"I see..." He glanced worriedly at his master's hand. "Young Master, your hand is bleeding!" His expression softened and he held out his arms. "Come. We have the manor ready for the Midford's arrival, so won't you come down, my Lord? I will clean that up and get you ready. You know how the Marchioness is."
It was then that the boy noticed that the butler's usual long bangs were combed back from his head. He grimaced. There was another thing he wished to forget. Retrieving his book, he moved toward the edge of the branch and allowed the butler to carry him back to the manor.
"Forgive me, sir, but may I ask what you were doing in that tree?"
He let his head rest on the butler's coat-covered shoulder. "I was only reading. Do I really need to explain myself to you?"
The butler shook his head. "I'm sorry if you find me nosy. I only meant to understand the situation... You know as well as I do that it does no good to allow such memories to rekindle." In an attempt to lighten his master's mood, he said, "However, the turkey is a great, big one and the smell is quite intoxicating, I hear. I'm sure even the Marchioness will have nothing to complain about."
"Unless Bard burns it before we even get inside."
"Ever the positive one, young Master. Let's hope he is smart enough to know not to touch it."
"A fond hope."
Both butler and master smiled at each other and laughed.
"Well, it's a lovely day. Perhaps after you have all supped we can head out to the gardens for a bit?"
The boy stared at him for a moment, then, "That sounds nice."
The Marchioness would, of course, arrive at an unreasonable time. But at least they'd be prepared. Insults from his cousin, condemnation from his aunt, and breathtaking (literally) hugs from his uncle and fiancée were all part of these visits. This time he didn't particularly mind. Maybe he'd even hug them back.
A/N: The title of this story comes from my favorite track off the Kuroshitsuji season 1 OST, which its Japanese title roughly translates to: 'The important thing is never to return.'
Happy Easter to all of you celebrating! Bye for now!