Rating: T
Disclaimer: Kuro's not mine.
A/N: And another fic told in snippets. How I love them snippets XD Anyway, now that I don't have a lot to study for, I've got a ton of free time and I'm terribly inspired. The Kuro fics are coming, one after the other. I've even got another oneshot halfway done, and there's my new multichap that I'm writing, as well as original fiction... (thank goodness I've got the time needed... I'd have major problems if I didn't XD) Writing is an addiction, people... And it's kind of awesome.
Summary: While every meeting is different, the boy is the same. And throughout the years the demon is haunted. Sebastian/Ciel; post-season I, semi-AU
Unending
His eyes are still blue. They always are.
The unnamed demon is sitting in a park, observing how the clothes are changing, how things are becoming more practical. Women have started wearing trousers now. The taste in music has changed. Everything is becoming larger, as if trying to prove something to someone.
The demon doesn't know who that someone should be. It seems fruitless to him, anyway.
In front of a large, man-made pond sits the boy, feeding ducks and swans and birds that have lost their natural shyness. He must be ten or eleven. His mother is talking to a friend, keeping an eye on the boy at the same time.
The demon is watching him, too. However, he has different reasons. That child – he knows him. And the boy's eyes are glinting with a certain kind of knowledge.
Ten minutes pass.
The demon is reading now, reading a story he doesn't even care about, but the boy's mother's gaze has been sticking to him a little too long for his liking. So he stares blankly into pages while he listens to the very faint thud of the boy's steps, to grass being crushed beneath small feet.
And then the boy is in front of him, pulling down his book. Rosy lips part, and from his peripheral vision, the demon can see the mother approaching them.
"You never killed me," the boy says the moment his mother arrives, "you never killed me."
And the demon is sure that during all their encounters, the child has never said that.
There is always a certain variation to their meetings.
Sometimes, the boy doesn't know him. Sometimes, the boy is a grown man, a young man, an old man in a hospital garden, an infant.
Sometimes, there is recognition in his eyes, sometimes there are questions ('Do I know you?'), answers, reoccurring memories.
And sometimes, there is only silence they have to give.
… The demon is strolling down the streets of Los Angeles, and there is a young couple passing him.
A familiar essence assaults the demon's senses.
Stop following me.
Soul-eating has become difficult.
He thinks it's because of his age; demons also get tired sooner or later. Their senses become dull, excitement suddenly is luxury and as he gets poorer with every added decade, he cannot afford it anymore. He cannot get close to it anymore.
The hunt for a good soul should wake up the usual excitement, but these days, it just doesn't.
And sometimes he doesn't care.
So the demon is starving and thinks of blue eyes.
His skin is still made of porcelain. It always is.
He's a man at a bar, smiling indulgently at his bickering and joking friends while his gaze drifts and clearly says 'I'm so bored'. Porcelain holds a glass filled with scotch, black hair – maybe it is dyed – is brushed out of an oval face. Blue veins are faintly visible beneath the thin skin on the back of his hand.
The demon is amused, but doesn't come over to offer his help. They are not supposed to know each other. Or rather the man shouldn't remember the demon.
But it seems as if the demon is the centre of gravitation, for they always meet somehow.
This time, the man nods at him.
And then he turns away.
The red-haired reaper finds him in London's Clock Tower.
"Long time no see," he says and shows his teeth.
The demon faintly wonders why everyone always finds him.
He doesn't shake the proffered hand.
Twenty years pass and the demon is in Italy.
(He's hungry.)
There is that toddler, barely able to walk at its mother's hand –
(So unbelievably hungry.)
And the demon is caught staring.
He apologizes to the mother who seems dubious until he says the magical words, "He just reminds me of my own son." He has practiced the faintly pained expression to perfection.
It's a lie. He lies because he can, not because he feels malicious. He's not attached to feel anything towards her.
But she believes him.
And the little boy outstretches his arms, wants to be picked up.
The demon carries him for a while.
Sometimes it's different.
Sweden, Malmö.
They meet in a café.
"I know you," the young man says. His eyes are blue and his skin is porcelain. His hair is slate-coloured.
Sometimes, he looks exactly like the former master.
"Do you?" the demon asks as he sits down at the table.
"You seem very familiar." The man scrutinizes him before shaking his head. "Though I can't recall where I should have met you."
"Maybe in a past life?" the demon offers, his voice carrying just the right amount of playfulness.
The man snorts. "Of course."
But his eyes are contemplating.
OOO
"Your name," he demands as they get to his apartment.
(And he doesn't have one.)
"I'm Sebastian," the demon says smoothly.
The man smiles. "I didn't expect anything else." He opens the door. "I'm Ciel."
(The demon didn't expect anything else, either.)
OOO
The demon lies and the eyes accuse him of his games.
Ciel knows that he's being lied to as he chats with the demon, as they meet three times a week, as they visit each other or go outside together. His eyes say, 'I know what you did to me' and his mouth says, "I did some research."
"On?" Sebastian asks, sipping brewing hot tea and wondering whether this is the temperature at which a human starts drinking it.
"You." Ciel looks at him. "You don't exist on any database."
He doesn't exist on Earth because he hasn't intended to form a contract.
(Even though he's hungry.)
OOO
Other companies are plotting against Ciel's.
Sebastian visits him in his office one day, having charmed the secretary into letting him pass, and sits down opposite to the young male.
Those eyes know what will be heard before any words can pass his lips.
Ciel almost gets the chance to open his mouth, to chase him out of the room. He looks stressed and distressed, angry as his whole company is balancing on a fine line while the others are trying to push him off the metaphorical cliff.
"Are you," Sebastian says, "interested in a contract?"
And Ciel smiles. "I'm not falling for that one."
(So unbelievably hungry.)
He visits the mortician only one time.
And the silver-haired man can't control his laughter as he finally pulls the story from the demon's lips like a long red thread that doesn't find a conclusion…
Since there is no end, not yet.
Three years later, there is a little boy playing with another blond child.
The demon, in passing, notices the eyes, the scent.
And he wants to…
He wants to…
(He has been starving all this time and blue eyes are boring into his spine.)
He ended the contract and went away.
The boy grew up to become a successful businessman, had descendants and died of old age.
His life had been peaceful -
which is why the demon doesn't understand any of this.
He doesn't want to be haunted. He wants it to end.
The scent never changes, either.
It's strange, the demon thinks, but he guesses that fate has her way with him. Not even demons are immune to her.
The worst thing about this, though, is the eyes.
The demon walks over to the man at the bar and glares at him. "Stop haunting me."
Porcelain fingers brush stray strand of hair out of the demon's face. Rosy lips, twisted into a mocking sneer, part.
"Are you," he begins, big blue eyes locking with red ones, "interested in a contract?"
OOO
"This has been rather interesting," Ciel says as they stroll down the streets. "I remember everything. Every life."
And he regards the demon with a pensive expression.
"If you think so," Sebastian murmurs.
The man is completely lucid. He isn't drowning in some kind of convenient amnesia. He is there.
"What do you want?" the demon asks.
"Not much," Ciel says.
The demon walks a little faster. "Stop haunting me."
It is an elaborate joke, he thinks.
Because the boy finds him
And finds him
And finds him
And it doesn't matter where the demon goes. As soon as he emerges from hell, Ciel is there, as if on cue.
And since he's always around, there is no soul that could satisfy the demon.
So, even though he eats, he's still starving.
Ciel is a teenager again, resembling the young earl from other times, and when he parts from his group of friends Sebastian, in passing, feels those infatuating eyes on him.
They round a corner into a deserted alleyway and Sebastian turns, his usual phrase coming to his lips naturally.
(Who'd have thought that he, a demon of his calibre, would find himself stalked by the only soul he'd ever set free?)
"Stop," he begins, but the boy beats him to it.
"Stop rejecting me."
The demon falls silent.
"Sebastian," Ciel says, and his eyes are blue, and his skin is porcelain, and his scent is so delicious, "stay with me. That's an order."
And the demon bursts out laughing; this has to be the most ridiculous thing he's heard. "I cancelled the contract. You can't order me around anymore."
Ciel isn't listening. "We should move away from here."
"No," Sebastian says, "I'm going to move. You will stay."
"I won't," the boy says, "I will follow you. One way or another."
This persistence… Instead of distressing him, it now brings a smile to the demon's face. "Why would you do this?"
The boy shrugs, averts his haunting gaze. "Eternal life after death can become quite boring without certain individuals around. Don't think too highly of yourself," he adds quickly upon seeing the demon's smirk, "I was merely entertaining myself by following you."
The demon rests a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I believe," he says, "you can stay."
Ciel smiles.
THE END
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