Moving Forward

by Kimberly T

An authorized sequel to Aservis Roturier's story "Père Lachaise" (with quick summary of her tale inside.) After seven long and lonely years, Ciel is back among the living—well, the demonic equivalent—and Sebastian couldn't be happier. But where do they go from here?

2. Sweets and Memories

MOVING FORWARD

Chapter 2: Sweets and Memories

"…And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but was always a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of his devoted wife. They still live with their old servants, who probably know so much of Rucastle's past life that he finds it difficult to part from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were married, by special license, in Southampton the day after their flight, and he is now the holder of a government appointment in the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, my friend Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one of his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at Walsall, where I believe that she has met with considerable success."

And with that, the child-turned-demon Ciel Phantomhive turned the final page of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, closed the book with an eminently satisfied air, and leaned back in the overstuffed chair that had been placed comfortably close to the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. Then he turned to the elder demon sitting in another overstuffed chair not six feet away from him, and asked with a very slight, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "So? Have you tired of hearing my voice yet?"

"Not at all," Sebastian replied quite honestly; after seven years of that terrible silence from Ciel as the boy lay in that demonic equivalent of a coma, it would take far more than just reading a book aloud from cover to cover to make him wish for silence again. He rose and crossed over to the cottage's small bookcase to pull another book from the shelves, proffering it with a hopeful smile. "Our esteemed author published another volume two years later, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes…"

Ciel's eyes lit up with interest, but then he waved the volume away with a small smile and shake of his head. "No; we shall save that for another day. And even if you have not had enough of my voice yet, I have had enough; I have been reading for… what is the time, now?" as he looked about, searching in vain for a clock on the walls of their small cottage.

After returning the book to its shelf, Sebastian pulled out his pocketwatch to consult it and reported, "A quarter of two p.m., my lord."

"Good god, that means I've been reading aloud for eleven hours straight!" Ciel exclaimed, his eyes wide as a hand automatically went up to momentarily brush against his throat. "I'm amazed that I have any voice left at all."

Sebastian smiled as he spread his hands expressively. "The benefits of your new physiology, my lord; you will find that muscle fatigue, even for your vocal cords, is largely a thing of the past." He was sure he'd mentioned that at least once before, during the first seven months when... but perhaps not, he admitted ruefully, remembering those days of sullen silence on his part with true regret. He added to be sure the demon-child understood now, "Except for under the most extreme circumstances, rest and sleep are now just luxuries, rather than necessities."

"As is eating human food, I know," Ciel said, trading his look of amazement for one of sad nostalgia as he looked down at his hands in his lap. "Actually, that's not even a luxury anymore…"

Sebastian knew exactly what he meant by that. His mind flashed back to that moment, mere hours after Ciel had awoken as a demon:

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After Sebastian had reluctantly pulled him up from the dark depths of the ocean, Ciel had said nothing about what his butler had done to him first: run a black-clawed hand right through him, a move that surely would have killed him if he'd still been human, though the injury to his transformed body had instead healed in seconds.

Ciel had given him one wide-eyed, disbelieving stare, as the water between them had turned cloudy with his blood… but he'd said nothing since then to acknowledge the transgression. Indeed, the only words he'd spoken since that moment, said soon after reaching the surface, had been a quiet but firm "Take me home." And Sebastian had done so, in utter silence.

No words had been exchanged between them as he'd found the capsized skiff that had taken them to the demonic island, righted it, and rowed them through the misty veil between worlds back to a dock on the river Thames. No conversation had been made to pass the time as Sebastian bounded and soared across the rooftops of London under cover of darkness, then out into the countryside between London and the earl's vast estates, finally alighting well after midnight on the doorstep of Phantomhive Manor.

The manor's human servants were all abed, so no one came to greet them at the door, to welcome the young master home after such a long absence or inquire after his health and state of mind, and Sebastian said none of those things either. He simply and silently followed the boy upstairs, drew a bath for him, divested him of his drying and salt-stiffened attire, bathed him and then dressed him in a nightshirt. Only after he was dressed for sleeping did Ciel speak again, his voice almost startling after hours of silence: "I want tea. Fix me a cup of Darjeeling. And tea cakes; something made with strawberries."

Sebastian did not remind the young master that his usual nightcap was a cup of warm milk sweetened with honey, nor that the tea and cakes would be more apt to keep him awake than help him sleep; such words would be useless, and moreover pointless. So he silently bowed, went to the kitchen, prepared the requested tea and dishes with his usual speed, and returned to the earl's bedroom with the laden tea trolley.

Ciel sat waiting for him in his usual high-backed chair by the window, his pale skin and white nightshirt made silvery by the light of the moon shining in through the window behind him… and his new demon eyes glittering cerise in the shadows cast across his face. Sebastian made no comment on that either; he simply announced, "Portnum and Mason's Darjeeling second flush, as requested. And a Victoria sponge cake with strawberry jam and whipped vanilla cream." Then he waited as Ciel picked up the teacup, took a large appreciative sip—

And then promptly spat it out, staining the rug, before he turned an accusing glare on Sebastian and threw the teacup at him. "This isn't tea! That was the worst— What kind of trick are you trying to pull, demon?!"

His face expressionless, Sebastian caught the cup in midair, preventing it from breaking if not from getting tea spilled onto his uniform. He set the delicate cup down gently on the trolley while saying flatly, "I am not playing a trick on you, young master." He thought but did not say aloud, If you want to know who has been tricked most cruelly, brat…!

He gestured at the teapot as he continued, "What you asked for, you have received; Darjeeling tea, prepared in exactly the same manner as I have prepared it for the last three years. The difference is not in the tea; it is in you. That is an example of how human food tastes, to a demon."

Ciel had stared at him in wide-eyed dismay for a few moments before turning to the saucer on which an elegantly decorated sponge cake waited. He cut off a corner with his fork, lifted it to his mouth and closed his lips around it—

And moments later spat the barely-touched mouthful into his napkin with an expression of disgust. He set the napkin down and pushed the plate away, and then slumped over in his chair, looking unutterably sad…

And Sebastian said nothing, no words of comfort or solace for the boy who had just realized the loss of one of his greatest pleasures in life. After all, he reasoned, such words would not be truly sincere with all the resentment now burning in his black heart, and he was not permitted to lie.

But after nearly half a minute of silence, Ciel lifted his head again, his once more cerulean eyes glinting with determination. He said firmly, his voice a little too loud in the night, "You will still serve me tea in the morning, Sebastian. You are my butler, and you will fulfill all your normal duties as usual. Despite the changes, we will carry on."

Sebastian bowed, as that was clearly expected of him, but made no other response. But Ciel turned to the bed, evidently satisfied enough with just the servile bow; he set aside his eyepatch and slid under the covers without another word. Sebastian tucked him in, as was expected of him, and then blew out the candles and left the room in silence.

The next morning Sebastian did as he'd been ordered; he served the now-eternally-young master a cup of Earl Grey tea, and a dish of raspberry scones. The earl lifted the teacup to his lips, and then set it down without drinking a drop; cut into the scone with a fork, and broke it into pieces that never left the plate. And then he asked about the day's schedule.

The morning after that, Sebastian brought in the tea trolley, announced that he had prepared an Assam tea with shortbread biscuits… and then served the young master nothing but empty dishes; the tea and biscuits were still in the kitchen for the servants' breakfast. After all, he reasoned, such a blatant waste of food was against a butler's aesthetics.

Ciel looked in silence at the empty cup and the empty plate, and the blatant message they held for him. And then he brought the cup to his lips and sipped at thin air, touched his fork to the plate and dug into nothingness, all the while pretending to be oblivious to Sebastian's resentful glare. Then he very deliberately set the teacup down, turned to Sebastian with a face as expressionless as stone, and asked about the day's schedule.

Luncheon and afternoon tea were served in the same manner. Then in the late afternoon, Ciel spent some time alone in his study, the doors firmly closed to everyone else. Likewise, Sebastian firmly closed his hypersensitive ears against the soft sounds coming from behind those doors, reasoning that if the master wanted him, he would summon him directly.

The bell linking the study to the servants' quarters was not rung, nor was Sebastian's name spoken aloud to summon him. Instead, when Sebastian finally knocked on the door of the study at the usual time of 6:00pm to announce dinner (which would also be served with empty plates and goblets), the earl bid him enter, and then handed him a handwritten list of persons as well a rough draft for an announcement. A message that Sebastian would be expected to write out several times in his finest calligraphy, and deliver with appropriate tokens to those persons the next day: announcing the death of Ciel Phantomhive, died 26 August 1889, aged 13 years…

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Bringing his mind back to the present, Sebastian resolved once again that he would do better, he would make right the wrongs he had committed against Ciel in the past and make the boy happy in his new life. And this might be another opportunity to do so, if the idea he'd had a few years ago while still desperately hunting stray souls to feed his little one, proved to be worthwhile. "My lord, since your reading is over, would you kindly excuse me for a few minutes?" he asked. "I would like to run an errand for you."

"An errand? For what?" as Ciel gave him a curious look.

He said easily, "I had thought that perhaps my lord would like to see a reasonably recent periodical from London, to get some idea of what has transpired in England these past seven years." That made a perfectly valid reason to leave the cottage for a bit, so he could run the errands he really had in mind. "But my lord, while I am gone, I implore you to please stay within the cottage, and refrain from opening either the door or the windows. I've placed wards on this cottage to keep other demons and shinigami away, but their protection is temporarily disrupted whenever the door or windows are opened."

Ciel frowned but agreed, "All right; I'll refrain from going for a walk until your return. Contrasting views tend to give a more complete picture, so look for issues of both the National Review and the Commonweal… and Punch, if you can find it."

With another bow and a promise to return quickly, Sebastian stopped at the door and first listened with all his power, extending his supernatural senses to feel for every being within a hundred yards of the cottage. After confirming that there were no reapers, angels or other demons in the vicinity, he opened the door and stepped out, so swiftly that the different sounds of opening and closing could hardly be distinguished from each other, and then sped off into the Paris afternoon.

First stop, the bookseller that stocked several international publications, including some of the most popular British fare. After making a few polite inquiries, he found that the Socialist-leaning Commonweal was no longer being published, but its Conservative counterpart National Review was still going strong; not surprising, considering the conservative political climate under Queen Victoria, or rather the imposter playing her part since he had put an end to the insane angel Ashrael's schemes. And of course the satirical magazine Punch was as popular as ever; he purchased the two latest issues of that as well as the National Review, before heading off to the confectioner's.

There wasn't a lick of food in the cottage, not since Sebastian had emptied the pantry and given the contents away immediately after feeding the former owner's soul to his little one; demons didn't need human food, and it would only have served to attract vermin into their refuge. But now he bargained at the confectioner's shop to purchase a large square of the unsweetened baking cocoa they used, rather than any of the pastries and sweets on display. If his idea proved worthwhile, he would find a more direct source for purchasing the cocoa later.

With the large square of cocoa wrapped in paper and tucked under his arm with the magazines, he dashed off to first a housewares shop to purchase a common double boiler and a small glass jar with a lid, then to the River Seine to fill the bottom of the double boiler with water, and then finally to the Parc de la Villette, where Napoleon III had established the slaughterhouses that provided meat to all of Paris.

Perched in the concealing boughs of a tree across the street from the slaughterhouse dedicated to butchering pigs, he took a few minutes and just a touch of hellfire to heat the water in the bottom of the pot to a low simmer, more than enough to melt a broken-off portion of the bitter chocolate in the upper section. Then he produced a slim whisk from a pocket and, stirring vigorously, added water to the cocoa mass, enough to thin it into a proper liquid and keep it from solidifying again when it cooled from the melting point. Back at the manor he would have used milk for this step, and plenty of sugar to sweeten the concoction, but he was brewing to please a different palate now. Then he took the small glass jar, tucked his gloves into his pocket, and dashed inside and unseen to the pen where they kept the pigs awaiting slaughter.

He had learned almost by accident several centuries ago that pig's blood tasted and smelled somewhat like human blood, much more than any other domesticated animal. Human blood would of course taste best for what he had in mind, but would be much harder to obtain on a regular basis without attracting attention from the Parisian authorities. Whereas here… one quick and shallow slash with a claw, and he had all the blood he needed for flavoring his concoction; he filled the small jar and dashed back out while the boar was still squealing its pain and rage, long before the noise attracted a butcher to the pen.

Perched out of sight again, he stirred the blood into the chocolate, tasted—mmm, not bad, but perhaps another tablespoon's worth of blood—mmm, perhaps two—yes, that should do! Now to run the three kilometers back to their cottage at top speed, while it was still fresh and hot…

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Back in the cottage, Ciel had opened and started reading another book he'd noted on the shelf earlier, a French publication; Jules Verne had published another novel in his Voyages Extraordinaires series, this one titled Claudius Bombarnac. He'd smiled wryly when he'd realized that the story was being narrated by a special correspondent who had been assigned to write about and find excitement for his newspaper's readers on a railway called the Grand Trans-Asiatic line. Such a correspondent would have found excitement aplenty on the last train ride Ciel had taken as the Queen's Watchdog!

He had just gotten to the end of the first chapter, with the train just pulling out of the station as an as-yet-unnamed German traveler flings himself aboard at the last possible instant, when the cottage door opened-closed so fast he almost missed it. Perhaps two seconds later, Sebastian appeared before him with a thin sheaf of magazines in one hand, and a teacup on a saucer in the other. He said with a smile as he presented the teacup, "My lord, I have procured two out of three of the periodicals you requested, but first I would greatly appreciate it if you would try this drink I've made for you, and tell me if you find it palatable. You may call it Chocolat Chaud par Sebastian, if I may be so bold as to name it."

Hot cocoa? Sebastian had found a way to make food tasty for him again?! Ciel eagerly accepted the cup of steaming brown liquid and brought it up to his nose to inhale the aroma—ahh, lovely! Different from what he remembered hot cocoa smelling like, but very good! What ingredient had been added to make that delightful scent?

"I would suggest you drink it quickly, my lord, rather than slowly savor it; this is best consumed while hot, and will not age well," Sebastian said apologetically. Trusting his butler, Ciel nodded and drank the hot cocoa, savoring the first mouthful for only a moment before downing it in three long, delightful swallows that warmed his innards far more than just physically. He sighed blissfully, and nodded as he held out the cup with a wordless gesture to refill it, which Sebastian promptly did. Ahhh, it was sheer heaven to be able to enjoy sweets again…

Hm? But now his mouth felt different… He moved his tongue around, feeling with the tip, and realized his teeth had grown into fangs. When had Sebastian's fangs usually appeared in the past? He thought back…

"Sebastian?" he asked cautiously. "Is there blood in this hot cocoa?"

"An astute observation, my lord!" Sebastian looked quite pleased with him, or possibly with his own cooking. "A large dollop of fresh pig's blood added to entirely unsweetened cocoa. The latter may be too bitter for a human's palate, but not to a demon's tastes; adding the blood makes it even more palatable. I would be quite happy to procure some from the Parc de la Villette establishments whenever you would like to indulge."

Well, blood from a pig that was soon to be bacon anyway was nothing to be concerned over. He downed the second cupful with enjoyment—the blood really did enhance the chocolate—and handed the empty cup back to his butler. "You may serve this to me in lieu of tea every morning," he said with a slowly growing smile. A hot drink to properly wake up to; finally, he could have back a little of the daily routine he so missed from his old life! "And feel free to experiment as you see fit with how this or similar concoctions can be made into cakes and pastries!"

"I can make no promises, my lord, but I shall do my very best in that regard," Sebastian said with a deep bow, still smiling. As he straightened up, he asked, "Would you prefer to read your periodicals now, while I shop for ingredients? Or would you prefer to take that walk you mentioned earlier?"

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Back when his little one had been human, Sebastian had taken a fair amount of pride in his hard-won skills in creating palatable tea, meals and sweets for him, when what a human considered delicious would make a demon gag in disgust. A lot of trial and error in following recipes had gone into those first few months of service, and a lot of food had been thrown back in his face, before he'd finally been able to consistently please the young earl at mealtimes.

There was considerably less pride to be had in this accomplishment, since he'd been able to rely on his own sense of taste to judge the drink before presenting it to his little one. But his pleasure was greater than his pride, because it was plain to see how such a simple thing made his Ciel so happy; that smile on his face was entirely unfeigned and unguarded, a sight that had been rare even back when he had been human. And really, the fangs only made his smile even cuter! It was a pity they were already receding back to human-looking teeth again.

But now Ciel wanted to go for a walk, so Sebastian fetched his customary eyepatch, coat, hat and walking stick, and together they stepped out into the late afternoon. Following at a servant's proper station of three steps behind, Sebastian smiled at the sight of his little lord striding confidently down the avenue, so full of life and purpose; it was a sight he'd dearly missed these last seven years. Though now his arms felt rather empty, after spending most of those same seven years carrying him everywhere they went in search of prey… Well, surely there would be other opportunities to carry him again.

Then Ciel paused, looked back at him, and beckoned for him to approach. Curious as to what he wanted, Sebastian took three steps to come abreast with him… and then Ciel began walking again, with a quick gesture to indicate he should walk alongside instead of behind. "It'll be easier to ask questions this way, if I happen to think of any," was all he said while looking straight ahead, with a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks.

"Of course, my lord," Sebastian agreed without bothering to hide his smile of amusement, and they continued to walk down the avenue side by side.

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They walked for a few hours, just enjoying the sights of Paris in the springtime; Sebastian subtly guided Ciel away from the grounds of Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, because he had spent entirely too much time on those paths in the last seven years, but the city had an assortment of parks and museum grounds for them to enjoy.

But far too soon, the sun was sinking to the western horizon and Sebastian gently guided Ciel back to the cottage; the hour for the demon's promised rendezvous with Grell Sutcliffe grew near. They owed an immense debt to the Grim Reaper for Ciel's return to the world of the living, so Sebastian would willingly meet with him for a night on the town, a night devoted entirely to Grell's pleasures and fancies… but being entirely willing to go through with it did not mean he was entirely looking forward to it.

Ciel was not at all happy about the upcoming event, though he was prompt to agree that a promise made must be kept, and a good businessman always paid his debts. "But remember, he promised to stick to minor flesh wounds only," he growled as Sebastian made sure he was well situated with plenty of wood for the fire once more blazing in the fireplace, and plenty of reading material as well. "If he forgets himself in his depravities and starts inflicting more serious injuries, the deal is off and you can do as you please! And remember too, you may have promised to never hurt his face again, but technically speaking, those precious glasses of his aren't part of his face…"

Sebastian smiled down at him, touched by his concern and amused by his suggestion. "Quite the diabolical technicality, my lord! I shall keep it in mind." Then he took off his tie and hung up his tailcoat with a quiet, "Pardon my reduction in proper attire, but I would rather keep this from being ruined quite as thoroughly as I anticipate the rest of my clothing being ruined." He honestly expected to have not a stitch of clothing left intact before dawn; indeed, well before midnight.

Not that the prospect of being rendered nude actually bothered him, aside from it being a violation of a butler's aesthetics; demonic aesthetics considered clothing to be entirely optional rather than a social necessity. He had once spent the better part of a century clothed in naught but shadows while in a prior master's service, and when not under contract for a soul, he shed or changed his demonic attire whenever the fancy struck him. He thought briefly of stripping completely and arriving at the rendezvous point stark naked, to spare his butler's uniform, but he was quite sure that Grell also wanted the pleasure of violently disrobing him.

As the sun touched the western horizon and started sinking below it, Sebastian paused at the cottage door to assure his little one, "I shall be back immediately after sunrise, my lord. And again, I would ask that you stay inside while I am away, and do nothing to violate the wards on the cottage. Our dining last night undoubtedly upset the local division of Reapers, with no less than eight of their precious cinematic records wrecked prior to collecting in the span of a few hours, and I sincerely doubt Grell made any real effort to cover for us."

Ciel frowned. "I presently have no plans for going anywhere tonight, but surely you are aware that I also have no fondness of hiding like some child afraid of the dark."

"I am aware, my lord," as Sebastian bowed his head. "But please, for your humble servant's peace of mind... Tonight will be difficult enough to endure, without adding in worries for your safety." As he'd hoped would be the reaction, Ciel immediately capitulated and agreed to stay put. And with that, Sebastian bowed and slipped out of the cottage

He took a few moments to ensure the avoidance wards he had set on the cottage were still strong and covered the entire structure, while taking his gloves off and carefully tucking them into a recess just over the doorway that he'd noticed years ago, possibly where the cottage's previous owner had kept a spare key. Then it was off to the clearing in the cemetery where Ciel had finally awoken last night, the agreed rendezvous point. Being a demon, Sebastian felt no guilt whatsoever for manipulating his little lord with his words, particularly since it really was for Ciel's own good. His words had implied that he'd be suffering through every minute between sunset and sunrise, when the truth was that he had reasonable hopes of enjoying at least part of what Grell had in mind.

Sebastian far preferred doling out pain and punishment rather than being on the receiving end of same, so certainly a large part of the night would be unpleasant for him in the extreme; that redheaded maniac was even more fond of spilling others' blood than the average demon, which was really saying something. But judging by how the Reaper had behaved around his old boss William T. Spears, he also had a fairly wide masochistic streak; Sebastian might be granted the opportunity to inflict some pain on Grell as well, which he certainly would not object to.

And given the Grim Reaper's obvious proclivities, he would almost certainly demand to be buggered at least once, likely several times before dawn. Grell was definitely not Sebastian's preferred type of sex partner (either gender was acceptable to him, but his standards included sanity, and at least a hint of shyness—seducing, tempting them into sex just added to his fun), but at least with a Death God's extremely hardy constitution, he wouldn't have to restrain himself in his pleasure for fear of damaging his partner. So the night need not be entirely miserable...

He arrived at the clearing just before the sun completely set, and waited.

And waited. And waited, and as he resisted drumming his fingers impatiently against his thigh (He could have stayed longer with Ciel if he'd known this would happen!) he wondered whether Grell had been caught by his superiors, had to finish reaping some souls first, or had just decided to be 'fashionably late'.

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Back inside the cottage, Ciel picked up Claudius Bombarnac again, but then set it aside with a thoughtful glance towards the cottage's bedroom. Since Sebastian was away for the entire night, he could take advantage of the opportunity to sleep for a while. Given how attentive and anxious his butler was behaving, this might be the only opportunity he'd have to indulge without driving poor Sebastian into fits of the vapors, for at least the next few weeks.

Sleep... back when he'd been a small child, and spending far too much time in bed due to his asthma, sleep had been a way of passing the long boring hours while waiting for someone to bring him food or a new book to read or a deck of cards for a game. But during the months when he'd been healthy and hale, he'd tended to avoid the bed and delay his bedtimes as long as possible, until Tanaka would resort to bribing him with promises of a bedtime story from a foreign land.

Then when he'd been in The Cage... sleep had been his only respite from the horrors of what the cultists had done and were doing to him and the other children. He'd curl up in a corner of the cage and sleep on the bare and piss-stinking floor, though always with his ears open for the sound of anyone approaching his prison to inflict more torture.

Then he'd formed the contract with Sebastian, and he saw all his tormentors slaughtered for what they'd done to him. But for months afterward, sleep had been something to dread, to put off as long as possible; nightmares about what he had experienced would haunt his sleep on a regular basis. And even after he'd screamed himself awake, he'd be so terrified that Sebastian would have to stand sentry by his bed, to silently reassure him that he was safe, until he finally fell asleep again.

The nightmares had eventually faded, or at least greatly decreased in frequency, but he'd still regarded sleep as a grudgingly accepted necessity. There were never enough waking hours in the day to take care of everything that needed to be done as the Queen's Watchdog, as the owner and president of Funtom Company, and as a member of High Society. He would have worked from morning to well after midnight each day, if Sebastian had not always been there to persuade him to retire to bed at a reasonable hour.

Then after he'd been turned into a demon... Sleep had become his talisman, of sorts; a habit he clung to in order to stay human-like. He couldn't eat without gagging, he couldn't keep his eyes from turning cerise with slit pupils for even the span of an hour, but he could sink into the pillows and sleep every night. Sleep, and dream; of cakes and tea and Lizzie's smiles and all that he'd been forced to give up. And dream of when Sebastian had smiled at him, and made little smart remarks that still sounded affectionate, and... In sleep, he could remember being—not happy, but somewhat content with what he'd made of his life—and pretend he felt that way again.

Now Sebastian was smiling at him again, and his clever butler had found a way for him to enjoy human food again, or at least one tasty treat. But he didn't want to give up sleeping, just because the rest of his life had suddenly and greatly improved. So he set the book back on the shelf, and rummaged in the small bedroom's chest of drawers until he found a nightshirt.

He took off his clothes and put on the nightshirt, being careful to get the buttons right this time. Once the nightshirt was successfully donned, he looked about for a laundry hamper to put his socks and underwear in. When he couldn't find one, he finally shrugged and put them in a tidy little pile next to the door; he'd ask Sebastian about the hamper later. Then he hung up his jacket, and tried to fold the shirt and trousers to put them back the way he had often seen them, when Sebastian pulled them out of his dresser drawers… but he still couldn't get it right.

He finally sighed and shook his head while surveying the haphazard pile of fabric, and draped the lot over the back of a chair. Maybe now that Sebastian seemed happy to be with him once more, he could ask about the elder demon properly teaching him how to do such things… or after what he'd said about being delighted to serve as his servant, guide and guardian, would Sebastian actually be happier to keep doing all the household duties? Even after all these months—no, all these years, Ciel still didn't know how to make his butler happy. Though he'd certainly tried…

When Ciel had first been turned into a demon, after he'd realized how hopeless it would be to try to maintain his position in Society, he'd decided to fake his death and start a new life somewhere else with Sebastian. At first, it had seemed like a grand idea; no more expectations to live up to, no more duties required of him by the same monarchy that had destroyed his family and childhood. Lizzie would grieve for him, but she'd get over it, and then his dear cousin would have a chance to meet someone who could actually make her happy in life.

But it had taken only a few days of traveling with Sebastian, for him to see the disease already rotting away the core of his new existence: his servant was not just unhappy with their continued arrangement but loathed every second of it. Oh, Sebastian still followed orders and fulfilled a butler's duties, but only the absolute minimum required of him; there were no more little extras like there used to be, no efforts to actually please his master. And he never smiled anymore, not even the tiniest smirk; instead his expressions ranged between sullen and disgusted.

Only then did Ciel realize that what he wanted from Sebastian—indeed, what he'd always wanted—wasn't just service, but companionship. Someone to stay by his side, someone who understood him without judging him, someone who both challenged him to do his best and discreetly comforted him when he fell short… For over three years, Sebastian had been his companion as well as his servant, but Ciel had taken that loyalty for granted until it was too late.

Sebastian was extremely unhappy, but Ciel had no idea how to fix it. Freeing him from the contract would probably do it—but that was the one thing Ciel could not do. In part because he had no idea of the process involved in terminating a demonic contract, and in part because Ciel just could not face life as a demon alone; even the very thought of it made him freeze up inside.

So, he'd tried to show Sebastian that he valued the demon for himself, not just the service he provided. He had asked Sebastian what would make him happy, and the demon had replied bluntly, "Being free of this cursed, neverending contract. Not having to wait hand and foot on a spoiled brat anymore." So Ciel had started doing more things for himself, rather than relying on Sebastian for every mundane task. Or at least, he tried to do more for himself. He would run his own baths and wash himself, put on his own clothes, make his own bed in the morning—and nearly every time, Sebastian would come in afterwards with a contemptuous look and then redo most of what Ciel had done in the blink of an eye, far too fast for Ciel to see how to do it right.

When trying to relieve Sebastian of some chores didn't work, Ciel had tried other things to make Sebastian happy. He started treating him more as an equal, paying him compliments for the work he still did, and asking his opinion on whatever matters they stumbled across in their travels. But Sebastian's responses were curt and biting, actively discouraging conversation, and Ciel soon fell miserably silent again.

Then he'd tried to get Sebastian to indulge in luxuries. Sweet pastries and other food were right out, obviously, but what about music? Sebastian could play the violin like an angel (no insult intended), so he liked music, right? They began attending musical events taking place in whatever city they were in, concerts and operas and the like, but none of it put a smile on the elder demon's face.

Then Ciel remembered Sebastian saying once that demons considered sleep a luxury; one that he'd scarcely ever had time to indulge in while serving as the Phantomhive butler, with all the work that Ciel had piled on him to keep the household running smoothly. So now that his duties were so greatly reduced, Ciel had told Sebastian to sleep whenever he himself slept. Surely being able to indulge in such a luxury every night would make him happy, right? Since it was the only thing currently making Ciel's life bearable…

When Sebastian had dryly pointed out that their hotel rooms typically had only one bed in them, Ciel had replied (keeping his tone as airy as possible, fighting down the nervous tremors) that he didn't mind sharing a bed, so long as Sebastian didn't hog the blankets. And so they'd begun bedding down together every night. But Sebastian always stayed firmly on his side of the bed, never gave even a hint of invitation to Ciel for cuddling or… more, and when the sun rose each morning the elder demon's mood was unchanged, as sullen and resentful as ever.

In sheer desperation, Ciel had even tried to get Sebastian a cat for a pet; the elder demon had always been crazy for cats, so surely having a cat of his own to cuddle whenever he pleased, would make him happy again. Ciel had never liked cats and still didn't, but since his new body wasn't allergic to them anymore, he'd willingly tolerate having one around if it made Sebastian happy. They'd been in Florence, Italy at the time; Ciel had left their hotel and started prowling the alleys of that picturesque city, looking for a suitable cat to surprise his companion with.

But that hadn't worked out either. All the cats that flocked around them when he was with Sebastian, gave him a wary stare and kept their distance when he was walking out alone. And whenever he tried to approach them, they laid their ears back and hissed before scurrying away.

He had finally resorted to trapping one, cornering it in a dead-end alley and scooping it up when it tried to dash past him, but it had fought back viciously with screeching hisses, with fangs and all four clawed paws. And when one of its swipes had actually drawn blood, even though the deep scratch had healed in seconds, Ciel had hissed back and swatted the beast to reprimand it—and accidentally crushed its skull to a bloody pulp.

It had taken two panicked and fully-clothed dips in the Fiume Arno, frantically scrubbing at his clothes with a brush he'd snatched while running to the river, before he was sure he'd gotten all the dead cat's blood off him and it was safe to return to Sebastian again, with a lame cover story about having fallen in.

By the time their travels had brought them back to Paris, Ciel still had no idea how to make Sebastian happy. The only thing he had figured out over the last seven months, was that he was hopelessly in love… with someone who had never wanted him for more than the human soul he didn't have anymore. He'd finally decided that if the only thing that could make his beloved demon happy was to be free of the contract, but Ciel still couldn't bear to free him from that contract while he lived, then it was time to find out how a newly-turned demon could die…

But now, through some miracle he wasn't about to question too deeply, Sebastian was smiling and happy with him again. So perhaps in the morning, after the obligatory night with Grell Sutcliff, they could talk over hot cocoa about whether Sebastian would honestly prefer to keep doing all the household duties, or to teach the no-longer-an-earl how to do them himself. With that thought in mind, Ciel headed for the cottage's miniscule bathroom, to wash his face and brush his teeth before bed.

And ten seconds later, he screamed.

To be continued!