Exsequor
Summary: "I'll give you my eye."
DISCLAIMER: I forgot putting it on the last two chapters. :I
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It was a fateful Sunday afternoon.
The leaves swayed and danced in the soft hushes and pushes of the midday London air—hush, whoosh, hooo—and tickled the branches and the birds on the highest peaks of the towering trees.
The garden was silent, save for a few hummingbirds singing and floating while taking a few sips of the sweet nectar that lies in one of Rachel's precious tulips.
All was silent.
And it was broken by a tiny voice.
"...What?"
He heard it all too well. But the boy had to hear it again. To make sure that his sense of hearing had not yet failed him and his slowly crying heart.
And the other boy crept closer to the blind child's grey shirt, clutching it with tiny and shaking digits as he sniffed—he smelt of licorice and dark chocolate, the boy mused—and sniffled at the same time, trying so hard not to cry in front of the boy that he considered his only friend. He refused to say it again. Sebastian has a sharp sense of hearing, he must have—should have—heard it. He knew the red-eyed child's thinking by heart.
Ciel knew he will refuse his offering.
"You can't do it."
Oh, how Ciel knew him all too well.
And there was a bite of the lip, the lower one, and then the upper one, as the child with the eyes of blue clenched his orbs shut, willing away the droplets of tears that were slowly forming on the edges of his eyes. The fabric of Sebastian's shirt formed creases, but neither cared—and blamed everything on those evil men that sullied the child's sight—nor they have the heart to ruin their moment of silence.
Ciel's life was on the line.
Sebastian knew it.
"...But I want to do it." It was more of a thought for himself, rather than to the boy that he held close; and Sebastian had to stop himself from lashing out at the child, for what reason, he could never decipher it.
There was a kiss, on top of the boy's brow, and on his cheeks, and on his pretty blue diamond-pierced ears, and Ciel fought the flow of pinkish red on his puffy and boyish cheeks, with no avail as Sebastian giggled, knowing that his little friend would blush at the slightest display of affection from the lad.
He was not far off. Had Sebastian still had his sense of sight, he would have seen the minute pout and the blushing face of his friend, along with the struggle of trying not to tackle him and hug him again and again, just to let him know that he's special.
And Ciel, in response to the gentle kisses, reciprocated his childish love.
Unbeknownst to the little angels, a young woman giggled in her delight upon seeing such pure adoration. Hiding behind the canopy of trees—while also unsuccessfully showing the hems of her skirt—Angela smiled, one hand on her curved lips as her eyes laid on the, as her mistress Rachel would put it, "adorable and cuddly fluffy" scene happening just a few feet away from her. She was glad she had to water the lavenders at this time of day, if she didn't do the task, then she would not have seen this. Lavender is the only type of flower that her mistress never allowed for Ronald to touch, though she did not know why.
I hope my brother will find someone as cute as my little master someday.
And with that in mind, she chuckled as she left the scene—with an empty violet watering can in tow, all damp from the water and sprinkled with bits of brown from the soil—and hummed a love song that never fails to put her mind at ease. Little did she know, that the boys' hearts cried in red tears despite the chaste kisses. She didn't see the drops of tears and mumbled words of, "I'll do everything to make you see again."
And the children from the gardens failed to hear a faint sound of a lovely melody, along with an amused giggle from a distance.
Angela didn't see the torment in her young master's eyes as she closed the door from the gardens.
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It was nighttime at the Phantomhive household. A time to rest as they say, as tomorrow would be Monday, another day to begin in the following morning in their respective areas, specifically, at work and at school. It would have been a time to rest, if it weren't for Ciel's simple request, an offer, for a friend—a friend that he loves with all his heart.
A love that should never be.
And that little heart plead and bled as he uttered the words he had been straining to say since dinner has started. It was one of the rare times that Charles and Sebastian did not come over for dinner, Ciel mused. Despite the fact that they live just next door, they always come over for dinner, always. Throughout the years, it has been their ritual that the stepsiblings should come over for dinner. Sometimes they drag Charles Phipps along, just because he's Mister Grey's best friend. The more the merrier, as Rachel commented on one time.
"I'll give my eye to Sebastian."
And his whispers for his offering fell on shattering ears and hearts (and plates), as three pairs of eyes—William included—widened at the little boy's sudden words.
As Sebastian had previously drilled in his mind, their guardians would never accept the child's words.
It seemed that it will come true, Ciel thought. Judging from the reactions he's currently receiving, they'd never let him give his offering for the boy.
"No."
And Ciel wept.
I knew it.
Before the boy could shed a single tear for their decision, he was met with a pair of arms, soft and reassuring as the voice that accompanied with it. It was Rachel, and she too, cried for her son's wish.
"I could never sacrifice my son, even for the sake of his friend," she had said. And Vincent nodded as he wiped his mouth, with an air of grace, as any nobleman should.
William only stared in the distance, his face void of any emotion. An eternal statue. And his heart was kept hidden from the prying eyes.
Ciel nibbled his lower lip and bowed his head in hopes of hiding the tears streaming from his rosy cheeks—not from the temperature of the room, or from the pair of arms trapping him—and William decided to interfere by serving Ciel a slice of cherry pie.
The boy didn't even take a glance at it.
The air was suffocating, scratching their throats like knives on plates, screeching, waiting for a tiniest bit of a sound to pass their mouths.
The butler stood still, hands propped up neatly behind his stiff back, and waited for any noise, any at all, to come out of his little lord's lips. The silence was killing him, to say the least.
And it seemed that his little prayer was answered, but the sound of a voice didn't come from the young boy's chords.
It was from his master.
"Your mum is right, Ciel. She could never—I could never—let you give an eye to Sebastian. We could patiently wait for a donor and—"
"But what if there will be none?"
And there it was again, the insufferable silence that the butler slash cook has come to hate for the past few minutes. He loves silence, yes, but this is just too much silence.
Something had to be done.
William coughed—a fake one, he might add—and bent low on his little lord's ear (Insolence be damned!), his nearsighted eyes stared in the little blue bead that was the child's earring, "Young master, your dessert will get cold, and the cherries I put in them will go to waste."
The only response he got was a sniffle and a wipe of his nose from the napkin on his little lap. Rachel had let go of him and instead knelt in front of her child.
Nevertheless, he did not give up.
"Young master, if you please, even just a few bites—"
"'Mnot hungry."
"Pardon?" A push of his glasses—they have been slipping from his nose bridge for a few weeks, he will need to make some adjustments again—and he stared in the hidden eyes of the boy.
There was another sniffle, and Ciel glared at the cherry pie as though it were the culprit of his tears and pain, "I'm not hungry, William." And he stood from his seat, not caring of the slight scraping noise it made with the poor carpet beneath, not caring if his mother begged him to abandon his decision. And with a glare to his parents' pained eyes—Rachel didn't know it was a glare until a single tear was shed from that blue gem—he mustered up the words he had been trying to say since he laid those pure lips chastely on the red-eyed child.
"If I were to be blind, you two would go to great lengths to make me see again."
He stepped away from his chair and turned back, his eyes now tinged with pain and tears and hurt.
Rachel stood up and fought war with her own tears, as she looked into the retreating figure of her son, "Ciel, we love you! We can never make you feel hurt!"
With a shudder, he looked at his mother's eyes and clenched his baby teeth—some of them now permanent—and with a choked sob, he squeaked.
"And I love him. And I don't want to make him feel hurt."
Ciel stepped away from the three pairs of eyes—all in disbelief—and stormed into his room, and clutched Puppy Sebastian close to his chest (the stuffed toy is always with him whenever the real Sebastian is not around). Pluto sought to comfort him, but the poor canine only received a huff as the husky stared at the door being slammed into his muzzle as Ciel stepped inside.
The boy didn't eat the whole night. The hiccups resounding in his room served as the appetizer. The pain in his heart served as the main dish. His tears served as his dessert.
And the sky wept along with him.
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Monday. It was a weekday—a dreaded day for students. Six o'clock in the morning. And it's sunny.
And William Truffle Spears is not amused.
There, with a trolley of delicacies and a cup of milk tea on a tray, William stood still, as always. The food that was meant to be for a specific little lord was getting cold again.
Ciel's room was locked.
"Young master, if you don't open this door, I'm afraid I'd have to open it myself."
There was no response of any sort from the inside.
And William sighed, and noted that he should get a raise for keeping up with his young charge for the past few years.
"...You do know I have the keys for the rooms, sir."
And a minute passed. And another. And another. Patience.
After five minutes—he counted, of course—a puffy blue eye peeked from the little gap of the door. Needless to say, William was very much relieved, although there was no hint of such emotion on his ever passive face. "Hello, young master. May I come in?" he asked. Always ask whenever the young boy is in a sour mood, he had learnt from the past since the whipped cream incident.
"'Mkay."
The butler bit back a little smile—he would never show such a trifle thing as to show any signs of human emotion, let alone to his little master—as he laid down the little wooden table on the bed as soon as Ciel returned on it. "Today we have tempura and the Japanese udon, as they call it, along with mint tea and, of course, the lone slice of cherry pie you strictly ordered to have first thing in the morning since you sulked last night, young master."
Ciel pouted as he crossed him arms, and retorted to the stiff butler placing the food in front of him, eyeing the cherry pie with hunger, "I wasn't sulking last night, William." And the butler pushed the rim of his glasses back with little effort of his forefinger, and looked at the boy.
Ah, yes. Denial.
"I apologize then."
"Mm."
The nine-year old ate in silence, barely registering on his tongue the taste of the cherry pie that he just chomped. It tasted... different. Or maybe because he felt like not eating at all for the rest of the day. He stared at the barely eaten pie that seemed to frown at him, the cherry filling oozing at the edges.
William watched the child with stern green eyes—his standing position similar to that of those unmoving soldiers Ciel sees often in front of the Buckingham Palace—and noted the wistful sigh the boy just emitted.
"Perhaps, you are still troubled by Master Sebastian's illness, sir?" William tactfully inquired. He could see that the boy wanted to avoid the subject, but he just had to say it. Stress is never good, after all. Especially if it's stress coming from a nine-year old.
"It's not an illness, William. You know that. And don't say it like he's a plague."
There was a withheld sigh from the man, and his gloved hands behind his back relaxed a bit, he has a very smart—and sensitive—charge, he noted. "Yes, I do know it, sir. And I apologize. But making that rash decision about donating your eye is—"
"It's not rash."
A pause, and then, "How can you say that? Pardon my boldness, young master, but you are missing the point that you are an only son of the Phantomhives. If you would be so careless as to..." He paused and thought of a better word to phrase his thoughts, and moistened his lips as a hand gesture was made, "...As to risk your life for a friend—!"
Ciel only bit his lips as he could sense another round of tears starting to fall from his already tear-stained face. It was hard enough as it is that he woke up without Sebastian's smiling face by his side, he didn't have to endure a lecture! Don't cry! Be strong for Sebastian!
"But... he's special to me, William." The boy—the innocent, innocent little boy—looked at his butler (and occasional confidant) with round and puffy blue eyes.
William stared, jaw clenched as a palm was poised upwards—signaling his pause—and stared at his young charge once more.
He's only a child.
He was only a child.
It started with a little affection, nothing more, nothing less. A shower of smiles here and there. A peck on the cheek. A peck on the forehead. A bear hug here and there. An exchange of words here and there.
It started with a bond.
It started with a little bond he'd like to call, "friendship." A word the butler rarely used in his younger days.
And it had developed to something akin to taboo.
William can see it.
The beginnings of an affection that is not meant to be.
He is so young.
"...We can wait for a donor—"
"Sebastian can't wait for a donor!" He screeched as a tiny fist collided with a plate, and sent the cherry pie tumbling down the white bed sheets, staining it with a pinkish red hue.
William fought not to fuss over the stain at the moment.
There was a choked sob from the child, and clenched his fist until they felt like metal on his sensitive skin, "...He can't wait for a donor. He needs to see right away, William!" He furiously wiped on the tears that blurred his line of sight as he felt blood coagulating on his pretty cheeks and pretty hands balled up in tiny fists. A tiny hand wormed its way to the butler's sleeve and blue orbs collided with green gems.
"It's the only way, William."
"But, the other methods—"
"Mister Charles won't approve of them!"
Emerald eyes widened, "How can you say that, sir? It was not as if—"
"I can see it. I know it. He won't approve. If he did, then he would've made a choice yesterday. He's impulsive like that. Knowing Mister Charles, he'd do anything, even to rip his eye out just for his little brother." Ciel let go of the now wrinkled sleeve and slumped back onto the headboard for little support. The sudden movements made him dizzy. Maybe it's because he didn't eat last night?
"But we can still wai—"
"We can't wait. How many times do I have to say it?"
And there it was.
The authoritative side of Ciel Phantomhive.
It rarely showed itself. Almost once in a blue moon, as William mostly sees the authority from the current earl—and never from the nine-year old noble. Seeing this side of the child now...
It seems that this boy inherited Master Vincent's genes. Along with Lady Rachel's looks.
A little curve—a twitch of the muscles on the corners of his thin lips—made its way on his constant frowning face. An even rarer gesture for the stoic man. And he bowed, lower, lower, lower, until he crooned on the little boy's ear—careful not to breathe on the ticklish appendage.
"What do you want me to do?"
Ciel breathed—inhale, exhale—and with a tiny gap seen from in between his chapped and slightly red lips, he spoke.
"Convince them to accept my decision."
There was a hush—a shuffle of cloth—as William bowed, the tiniest ghost of a smile now gone from his pale face, as he uttered the words he mostly served for the man that employed him.
"Yes, my lord."
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"Young sir, please don't pout so much, you might get wrinkles at an early age!"
"I am certainly not pouting, Angela."
"But, young sir, I can see little lines between your little brows and I can see that jutting lip! Certainly that is not a good facial expression to look at once Master Sebastian sees you—"
Silence.
Realization.
And a gasp.
"...I-I'm sorry, young master!" And she bowed profusely, biting her lip and reprimanded herself harshly. She should know better than to aggravate the already sulking child. That certain little boy was the reason he was pouting, after all.
"...It's alright... I think."
Angela gasped once more—along with another bite of her lower lip—as she knelt in front of the little lad and fixed his bow tie and smoothed out his little black shorts. The young boy was already in fourth grade—how much time had passed—and it was in the middle of the year. And many things had happened for the past few months.
The incident with Sebastian and his lack of sight is not one of Ciel's precious memories.
"Oh, young master. Please don't be like that—"
"But I want to help him! And—and mummy and daddy are not helping me to help him! A-and Mister Charles hasn't come here since—since..." And there it was, a tear that Ciel tried hard not to let fall from his eye. He rubbed on the offending droplet from his reddish face, and the maid hushed the child by embracing his small frame and rubbing his back. It always calmed the boy down. At least from her point of view from how Sebastian does it whenever the young boy trips on the grass in the gardens, she assumed it always calmed him down from crying.
"There, there, young master... Please don't cry. It will make Master Sebastian sad if he were to hear you crying..."
And as though she had said the magical word, Ciel stopped hiccupping and sniffling.
"Pardon for the intrusion, young master, but it's time to go now." A hand was encircled on the doorknob as William knocked once and entered the room with the usual stiff bow and the passive face. He had already finished cleaning the stained sheets that his young charge inadvertently ruined, and was now by the door fetching him, the keys of the car slowly jingled from his pockets as he moved.
Angela, having to hear the announcement of the butler, stood up and hurriedly tucked a stray strand of a silvery lock behind her ear, along with a face of someone who looked quite scared for some reason (William always assumed the woman is afraid of him). "O-oh! It's that time already? Um... I'll just finish with his shoes, William." And she flitted on about getting to the cabinet and withdrew a pair of black shoes along with a fresh pair of little white socks, a bit embarrassed that the butler had to see her slacking off of her work as she hurriedly—yet elegantly (in William's line of sight)—put on the tiny socks on a pair of tiny and slim feet, and buckled the tiny shoes, already shined to its shiniest degree that the boy could see his reflection on the buckles.
"All done, young master."
Ciel only nodded—a little determined nod, should she add—as the little boy stood up and headed over the door towards the waiting William, "They're downstairs, my lord." A short, "M'kay" was his reply. And before leaving, those blue eyes looked back to the now standing maid, a smile placed on his little pouty lips, "Thank you, Angela." And with that, he left with a smile and a tear.
William, having to hear the young boy's thanks, sent the maid a confused look, to which Angela only shook her head and smiled, her hands placed in front of her. Seeing that the maid will not tell him what made the child utter a word of thanks, he took a mental note to talk to her later. Maybe the young woman told him that everything will be alright? Such words were always uttered by her, as though she was never bothered by things that are stressful to a life of a human. Hm, yes, that had to be it. Angela always had a positive influence—this, this saintly aura around her, and it never ceased to fascinate the young man. He had to be like that someday… someone who has a strength on their own—someone that is not always mistaken for his brother because of the ever emotionless face—something that he is quite not proud of, since he hated being compared to his brother.
Not knowing how to act in front of the still smiling woman, William only nodded—stiff and polite—and followed Ciel out of the room.
Angela stood, her purple eyes round and wide at the man's actions. Blinking, she only giggled, "It looks like he forgot to close the door. He always closes the door once he got out of a room."
And with that, she left, not before tucking Puppy Sebastian onto one of the pillows to make sure he won't fall off the bed once his favorite master comes back and bounces on said bed.
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"Hurry Ciel, we might get late!" Rachel cooed from the bottom of the staircase. Vincent was with her for once—he said something about accompanying his beloved family to school and to check on things to make sure everything is not ruined by Kelvin. His words.
"Coming!" And Ciel raced down the stairs, a glint of excitement shone in his blue eyes as he hopped on the last step. "Careful, young master," William had warned, but the little boy paid no heed as he already jumped and left as he swung the mansion doors wide open, leaving his parents gaping their mouths at the door banging from the walls.
Vincent could only blink, and Rachel could only widen her eyes.
"What has gotten into our little boy?"
William only coughed—and fought back the little smile he had been hiding, "It seems that the young master is excited for some reason."
Rachel turned and looked at the seemingly pleased butler with a confused expression on her pretty face, her red-painted lips scrunched up as she asked her servant, "Do you happen to know why? I mean, he was crying last night and—"
"Rachel."
She turned and faced the back of her husband by the door, his head peeking a bit, "What?" And she was answered with a beckoning hand, urging her to come over and look at whatever her husband planned for her to look at.
And so she followed, William—curiosity getting the most of him—also joined.
Vincent grinned as he gazed at the scene before him a couple of feet away from his mansion, "I think, I know why Ciel is so happy."
And there—right next door (as Vincent could tell, having a perfect vision of 20/20)—is his beloved little son, hugging a certain little boy.
And Rachel only gushed at how cute her son's antics were.
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"Sebastian!" He tackled the boy and nuzzled his neck all the while. The short amount of being away from his friend took its toll on him. He couldn't bear to live without Sebastian's scent (and presence, of course). Something along the lines of strawberry and devil's food cake was his scent today, Ciel mused.
"Ciel..." was Sebastian's simple reply as he hugged back with much enthusiasm than usual. Being not able to see anything, he would have to rely on his memory on how Ciel might look like on this fine London day. Perhaps he's wearing the black uniform, all tucked and pressed and properly worn by the boy? Perhaps, he's wearing those knee-length shorts of white cotton that covered considerable amount of skin? Perhaps, he's wearing those little black shoes with shiny buckles that adorned his tiny little feet? How about what his expression might look like? Perhaps, he's looking at him with that wide smile on his face? Along with his blushing cheeks and wide blue eyes? He smelt of tulips today—the little boy didn't know why—but smiled nonetheless. Maybe he had played with Pluto in the gardens and somehow he managed to perch on top of the flower bed? He inwardly chuckled. Ciel does the cutest things.
"Are you ready to go?" The blue-eyed doll asked, trying so hard not to change the subject—as though everything is the same way it was a few days ago before that fateful Saturday morning. Ciel refused to cry and to let Sebastian feel his tears.
The claret-eyed child broke the embrace and held the boy at arm's length. "'Mready," was his reply, the blind eyes tried to view Ciel's location with his now useless—as what he thought—eyes, only to end up landing on the boy's shoulders—at least, that's what the blue-eyed boy assumed. "Not until I get your things!" a voice piped from inside the house, it was Charles—who was running around while getting random things to and fro. The poor man had been secretly bawling every time he tucked Sebastian to his room and he retired to his bed, screaming at the heavens about the cruel fate of his (too) young stepbrother.
"Okay!" was the children's reply in unison. Ciel, after placing a chaste peck on Sebastian's cheek, later noticed that his family and William were now patiently waiting by the gates of the man's abode. Despite being an earl, the young man's house looked small compared to the Phantomhive estate. Vincent would never know why a wealthy young man such as Charles would choose a house such as humble as this. He never voiced his question out loud, though.
The 20-year old huffed as he hurried over to the door, a light sheen of sweat graced his brow, and Sebastian's things—as Ciel knows by just a single glance—were being carried by him. Out of curiosity, the little boy piped up as he lightly tugged on one of Charles' sleeves.
"Why aren't you getting a nanny for Sebastian, Mister Charles?" He asked out of the blue. Really, Ciel wanted to know why.
Said earl looked down on the wide-eyed little boy. Oh, how much he'd give everything just to see his precious little brother's warm smile—and he'd like to gaze upon his eyes again, whether they'd be red or honey brown, Charles Grey just wants to see his brother back to his normal life so he could protect Ciel again. The life in Sebastian's eyes had vanished for a short period of time—the boy sulked and cried over the fact that he can't do a simple thing as to go to his friend's house.
Charles cursed and mentally killed the men that caused his brother such pain.
He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and knelt in front of the pouting child with a (strained) smile, "I don't want to entrust my little brother to anyone but me and you and your family, Ciel. You know that." And he ruffled his hair in an attempt to make the child smile, but the action only raised another question.
"How about Mister Phipps?"
Charles paused for a split second—and blinked twice—as he only laughed, and the curves of smile barely reached his ears, "He doesn't come here every day, Ciel. He's busy with the bakery."
The boy only frowned. He let the subject go. For now.
Charles sighed when the boy stopped questioning. He loves Ciel as his little brother's best—and only—friend, but sometimes...
His gaze fell onto the child's tiny hand.
He never noticed that he was holding Sebastian's pale digits so gently in his own.
And Charles felt a twinge in his heart.
He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, and looked at the little children with smiling faces—one with a melancholic look and one with a happy disposition.
Vincent and Rachel waved from the gates as William appeared behind them in a limousine, his face as impassive as ever. Albeit, there was a small tug on the corner of his lips. Or perhaps it was a trick of the shadow.
Charles' voiced echoed, void of his usual hyper octave, "Shall we go?"
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The first thing that their classmates noticed on this fine Monday morning was that Sebastian looked stoic. No, that was nothing new, seeing as he's always stoic in the presence of other people except for Ciel and his big brother who occasionally comes to their classroom during his break time. But there's something that looked quite amiss...
The second thing that they noticed is that Ciel isn't smiling today—which is odd, considering that he's clinging to the red-eyed boy. Everyone knows that when Ciel clings to the "raven", as they affectionately call Sebastian, the blue-eyed doll is as happy as a clam—as Grell said at one point.
...So why does he look like he's going to cry at any given moment?
"Here, you can sit now."
And Sebastian muttered his thanks.
And the class wondered, for usually—which means everyday—Sebastian is always the one who pulls the chair for Ciel. Whether it is in the cafeteria or in the classroom or in the library or in any place at all, it was always Sebastian who does the mundane tasks for Ciel. Like a loyal servant. And it was never the other way around. Until today.
And so they whispered behind their tiny backs—guessing and questioning the cause of the boys' behavior, taking note on how Ciel slowly puts Sebastian's things in front of his chair. And the black-clad boy didn't help at all—it appalled the class for once. Sebastian didn't even move an inch, his gaze was fixated on the little boy kneeling on the floor while arranging his lunch box and water bottle and his little black backpack.
Or so they assumed.
Once he stood up, the boy's blue gems darted over the unmoving mop of black in front of him, and he hugged the pale statuesque boy—while mumbling something along the lines of, "You're going to be all right." At least, that's what Elizabeth—she was seated next to Sebastian, the alphabetical arrangement of their surnames served as the basis of such seating order—thought she heard.
"Alright, everyone! Take your seats!"
And to sit they did.
The doctor—and also a teacher—stood proud in front of the students, with worry and confusion and anticipation etched on their glowing façades. Once Miss Angelina Durless-Barnet enters a room, it's either someone will be called to the school clinic, or she'll be filling up for a teacher's absence.
This time, it will be both.
She tapped her class record—which was dyed in red and pink—on the table, gaining some of the students' attention, and the others talked in hushed whispers and other in silent glances of the eye—indicating that something is not quite right.
Madam Red, as she was known for her striking hair of bloody red in hue, lifted her chin up and her eyes roamed the room, searching, searching…
And her pretty eyes landed on what she sought, a boy with the familiar—and more than welcome—pair of pretty sea-blue eyes, and beside him was the reason she made her presence known in the room. It was that timid—and yet defiant—little boy with the pair of red eyes that rivaled her little charge's—Grell Sutcliff—hair in terms of redness.
She cleared her throat and tapped her perfectly manicured finger on the edge of the teacher's chair, and with a sad smile, she finally spoke. "Today, Miss Rodkin is in Cheshire to visit her family. Personal reasons, so don't ask," she added as soon as a certain student—Grell—opened his mouth to speak. And she continued as she idly tapped her pen on her palm. "Now, I'd be filling in for your English class today. And prepare for a quiz." And the students groaned in disappointment. Trust Madam Red to give them the most cruel and longest of quizzes. Oh, how she felt very much like them when she was a student. And now, she's relishing the fun of having the roles reversed. She returned her gaze back to the silent pair of boys at the back, and she went over to them—and Ciel and Sebastian frowned in unison (Sebastian can hear the footsteps; tap, tap, tap). Ciel knew the reason why her aunt was here. And was not because of the absence of Miss Rodkin. He overheard his father talking to her on the phone while they were in the parking lot, and he felt a sick twist in his stomach for some reason. And so here she was now, standing beside the boy as she ruffled Sebastian's uncharacteristically unkempt hair—in a motherly manner, had she been a mother—he might add. She bit her lip—and crumpled her lipstick-stained mounds. It was the same color as her hair, Ciel noted. It had always been red, and never any color, for Vincent had told her once that he loved red on her—though Ciel never knew why. He was being nice. Yes, that had to be it. The red-haired doctor faced the class, their wide pairs of eyes twinkled in curiosity. And the woman will fill that curiosity.
"Some of you may have noticed—or some of you might have not—that… something has changed today," she began as she smacked her lips in an attempt to moisten them, and she soothed herself by rubbing her upper arm with her red-painted nails—a gesture that she is nervous of her words. And so, it had begun. A waif-like hand was raised, and the doctor directed her attention towards the little girl. She was frowning since she entered the room, Madam Red had noticed. And she knew what the little girl with gold-spun drills of hair will say.
"Is Sebastian blind, Miss?" was her simple question. It was an unspoken rule that Ciel and Elizabeth will not address her as auntie in the school grounds. A number of stifled gasps were heard. She knew where this was heading, and it will only get worse from here. Angelina bit her lip until she felt a bit of blood seeping from the tip. It was not noticeable, seeing as she dyed her lips the same color as that metallic-tasting liquid.
"Yes," was her only answer. It was forced out of her dry mouth before she could even take back her prickling words. And she shut her eyes tight as she heard even more gasps, mostly from the females. Sebastian is equally as adorable as Ciel, after all—and so the female population valued them both. And Elizabeth stifled a cry—she knew how much her cousin valued Sebastian more than his young life. She heard of the fateful tale from her mother (who was visibly worried for once)—and the little girl hasn't stopped worrying since. She tried to call his house numerous times, but her request—demand—to speak to Ciel was never heard. Unfortunately, the little boy ordered William to let him be for the next day, and any call was deemed unimportant unless it was from Sebastian.
She heaved a sigh as she looked at the now trembling porcelain child—Ciel was holding Sebastian's hand through the gap of their chairs, and he spared not a single glance towards the pairs of eyes that lay on the said pair of hands. Elizabeth knew that her cousin loves Sebastian—an untouchable love that rivaled the love of lovers—and it is painful.
Hushed whispers were exchanged, and some stopped their mouths from forming words, afraid of having to have the wrath of the little Phantomhive bestowed upon their heads; others were afraid on how to say a simple thing of comfort. Clearly, the students were speechless—and Madam Red's glare was not helping them at all. This is the nephew of the school doctor, after all. If they say anything that might make the little child—their little "brother"—cry or even make him shed the tiniest shadow of a tear, they were sure that they'll never see the day again.
But Ciel only wept behind his fringe as he clung onto the pale hand—silently thinking that Sebastian's hand might get hurt from the force of the grip—but he held strong, he really did—all for the (currently, Ciel mentally added) handicapped little boy.
As though sensing the hidden tears, Sebastian—the ever faithful friend (and will grow more than a friend, should time permit them so)—tightened his hold on the hand, and slowly—as to not attract the attention of Madam Red as she faced the class with unshed pain—slowly placed a light kiss on the child's little ear. Let them think that he was only whispering to the now-blushing boy.
But one boy begged to differ from the eyes' assumptions.
He had seen it all. That little peck on that equally little pinkish ear. He had never turned away from the two of them since they were in kindergarten, after all. He had always been the one—always—to watch over the two of them like the pair of dolls he was so obsessed with in the depths of his cherry-dyed (and scented) room. Oh, how much he longed to have someone like that boy—as young as he was—once they grew up, he might even be fortunate to be graced with a peck from the perfection incarnate himself—Sebastian Michaelis.
Although now, he doesn't look as perfect as he had been since last week. He was now blind. A useless person, like those beggars vying for even a shilling or two! Hah. He should leave him and not grace his lovely emerald eyes on him anymore. He's better off with someone who could give him happiness like those of the lovely fairy tales he sees on TV nowadays. He's scrap, garbage. Filth. And he harrumphed as he shifted his gaze away from the little lovebirds.
Although…
Although…
—He gazes back, just a bit of a tiniest hint of a glance from the corner of his eye as he rested his chin lazily on his left elbow, and saw that indeed…
Ciel's devotion and love for Sebastian is pure.
Grell Sutcliff could only watch his love and the love of his love from afar—from behind a figurative tree or maybe even from behind a figurative corner of a wall—and as his heart ached for the boy (soon-to-be man) to at least spare him even a single glance or maybe even the tiniest curve of a smile, he could feel the pain of that little crying child, the one that his caretaker also loves with her heart.
If he were Ciel, he'd give him all of his eyes too, just to make Sebastian see again.
He had overheard it that night while he was off to the bathroom to brush his teeth after eating some Brussels sprouts—ungraciously having to be force-fed by a maid—he heard the voice of his beloved mistress talking to someone on her phone. Now, here's a fact. Grell loves to eavesdrop about anything of everything. He spared nothing at all when it comes to trivial gossip and news about the world or whatnot. And when he heard the sudden gasp of Madam Red—he knew this was not something about trifle gossips. Madam Red, as much as she herself loved gossips—never gasp at any news at all…
…Unless it involved her family.
And so he crouched—the aftertaste of the vegetable and the need for a quick swish of toothpaste on his tongue temporarily forgotten—and listened to every word from behind the oak-wood door. And when he heard, "Sebastian and Ciel" and "operation and donation" together, his heart had jumped.
And Grell nodded to himself—as soon as Madam Red hung up the phone and sat on her lounge chair and called for a maid to get her a glass of pink champagne—that from what he heard from the one-sided conversation—that Ciel was right.
He'll convince them—all of them—that Sebastian cannot wait for a donor.
And so, "Operation: Grell Rescues Sebastian Eyesight and Support Ciel for his Decision" begins.
And as he looks at the situation now…
Grell loved Sebastian. Loved. He could see that he can never look at him the same way again after he saw that little kiss on the little Phantomhive's ear. (How he loved him so much!) And it was decided.
Grell will convince the Phantomhive couple to bless Ciel with his undying devotion of sacrifice… The donation of his eye.
…All for Sebastian.
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…That was not what I had in mind. O_o The story wrote itself! GAH! D: