Author's Note: Special thanks goes to Alexbeoulve for drawing the first fanarts the fic, or any fic I've written for that matter, received. And then because I wasn't enough of a puddle of happy authory goo, drew a fantastic picture of Alois trolling Hannah from chapter two. They're awesome and the links are on my profile so I demand that you all go and feast your eyes~ I hope this chapter is good enough thanks!

Chapter Eighteen

The television had been switched off. Alois Trancy was Alois Trancy once more. The merciful barricade that the Zydrate had granted him had been lifted, leaving no divide between the reality of his situation and himself.

As the days passed, his body grew more and more used to the frequent dosages of the oblivion drug. He could feel as sensations he hadn't remotely missed returned to him. It had begun with a tingling in his toes and fingertips, barely there but noticeable nonetheless. Then the odd haze in his head began to dissipate. With each day, his sight grew clearer. With each day, his heart grew heavier. And then his body abandoned all pretence of gradualism. Everything he'd been given a brief reprieve from was just dumped upon him.

Depression. It was a word that was thrown around a lot these days. So often that it had begun to lose all meaning. People having so much as a troublesome day that had worn on their nerves would think they could legitimately claim to be depressed, but they truly had no idea. Only someone who had honestly felt it could understand – the suffocation that each breath you made yourself take induced, the incomprehensible resentment towards the people you loved simply for them daring to make you love them at all, the inescapable dread of that moment the first ray of sun touched your skin yet worsened by the fear of when that sun would inevitably abandon you once again. Your bed became your worst enemy yet your best friend at the same time. It wrapped you in the warmest of embraces, but there was always loneliness in it because that warmth was only your own, and the blankets became restraints. Leaving that bed, the only source of warmth, became such an unwelcoming prospect. When the bed was so comfortable and safe, what allure could the waking world possibly hold? But then you were trapped, ensnared by the sheets that hugged you so tightly, as the days passed on without you.

Despair. Alois had never been one for education, English least of all, nothing but boredom held in those leather-bound books. He much preferred pictures, so never really bothered to learn much of words. As such, the definitions often got mixed up in his head. When he was younger, he'd always thought the words depression and despair meant more or less the same thing. At eighteen years old, he now knew much better. Depression came before despair, because to be depressed, one must still hold hope. They may not even know they still have that single shred of optimism within them, but it was that four letter word that divided depression and despair. Whatever sliver of H-O-P-E he'd still kept safely buried within his heart had, at some point in those two weeks, eroded away to nothing. The shift from depression to despair was so stark, even Alois was surprised by it. How he longed for the tumultuous depression. Anything over the sheer heaviness of despair.

Anger. Alois had a reputation within the Institute, he was well aware, for his hair-trigger temper. One moment, a bright smile. The next, a twisted snarl. He was feared for his mood swings but no-one feared them more than himself. Not because of the consequences others would concoct, no, but simply for the guilt that would follow any outburst. He punished himself harsher than anyone else possibly could. Even knowing that, he would feel that rising heat in his chest and be powerless to stop it bursting free. As his body overcame the Zydrate, that anger was stronger than both the depression and the despair. Anger at the world and everyone in it for leaving him with a life so dreadful, for having beautiful lives of their own that they would never fully appreciate, for leaving him in a place where no-one would see how desperately he needed help.

More than anything, and the thing he feared more than any anger, was the jealousy. The Zydrate, though still thrumming though his veins with its luminous blue glow, was no more than a superficial feature now. As useful as his hair or clothes, and with even less effect. Now he saw everything through a film of green, until green was all he could see.

Ciel had told him about his increased sessions with Claude as just another fact, nothing deep, nothing personal. Yet every time Alois saw his best friend being led off the ward, it felt like a betrayal. Like Ciel was doing something dirty, withholding secrets that Alois could never be a part of, and it cut him deeper than any knife.

There was nothing new in the way Claude looked at Ciel. It was the same way Claude had always looked at Ciel, and Alois should know. After all, he'd always been watching Claude too. The foreign emotion smouldering in those vivid amber eyes, barely masked adoration that nobody else seemed to notice but that Alois couldn't miss. There was nothing new in that look yet he couldn't remember ever being burned so deeply by the fact that it still wasn't directed at him.

And possibly the worst betrayal of all was that Ciel barely deigned to look at him any more. The rare times they were in the leisure room together, their eyes didn't meet, didn't so much as flicker in the other's direction. His fair-weather friend Logic came to visit then – he's pale, Alois. He's losing weight, Alois. This isn't about ignoring you, there's something wrong with him – but jealousy had always been a constant companion, and Alois would always choose those who were loyal to him over those who came and went as they pleased.

Oh, his mind whispered to Alois nastily, that's how it is, huh? He got what he wanted. He's got Claude all to himself now and he doesn't need you any more. He doesn't want you any more.

That was all Alois had ever been his entire life. A means to an end.

For Luka, who he had loved unreservedly, he had been a shield. Someone to hide behind and be protected by when all Alois wanted was to be protected too.

For That Man, who had forever stained his hands without a chance at absolution, he had been a convenient outlet for the sickest of his perversions.

For Claude, who he had given everything that was left of himself to with the utmost faith and devotion, he was just a stop on the road to the real prize.

For Ciel, who he had opened himself to when he had thought he was beyond forming even the most shallow of relationships, he was a necessary stepping stone to reach his desired destination.

Use.

Use.

USE!

This was usually the part where his throat would tighten and his eyes would begin to burn. He waited for it, expected it, needed it, but no tears would come.

And so his frustration continued to grow like the most stubborn of weeds. With no other outlet, now beyond even crying, Alois gave himself over to the anger. The journal, once treasured, was the first to bear the brunt. Gripping the leather book so hard his nails left little crescent shapes on the surface, he drew his arm back and launched it against the far wall. It burst on impact like a balloon, the spine snapping, sheets of paper flurrying in the air. There was no satisfaction as it thumped to the floor, so he continued. The chair was flung without a hint of aim, crashing into the bookcase and sending the sparse few objects upon it crashing to the ground. They became his next victims, scooped from the floor and launched in whatever direction he felt like. With each fractured and broken item lying upon his carpet, Alois waited for the anger to begin to seep away, but it continued to boil within him until he feared he'd burn from the inside out. He began to launch kicks at his chest of drawers, splintering the wood, but it was only his foot that was becoming damaged, the skin splitting with each impact and leaving smudges of blood wherever he stepped.

They have each other, the voice snickered, each poisonous word another straw on the camel's back, and you have no-one. You never did and you never will.

So he screamed, screamed as quietly as he could because even in his frenzy he knew he couldn't be discovered like this, screamed to drown out the spiteful little voice in his head. And then the tears finally came, spilling down his cheeks shamelessly, because that hateful little voice in his head was beginning to sound more and more familiar.

As those two weeks passed, Sebastian was intercepted more and more often by Claude. Whether it was when he was eating breakfast with Agni, waiting in the hall for the bathroom to finally be free or even as he was just about to swipe his keycard on the ward's panel, Claude had the uncanny ability to suddenly appear. He didn't walk towards Sebastian from down the corridor or seem to wait for him anywhere, he just appeared at his side like he'd been there all along.

Somehow Claude Faustus had managed to take his eeriness up to eleven. Sebastian couldn't help but be morbidly impressed.

As those two weeks crawled by, Sebastian found he was spending more time on Ward V than he was on the main ward. None of the others were asked to cover his shift and his absence didn't really have much of an impact on the way the day went. He found himself more chilled by that realisation than he should have been – his not being there made no difference in the grand scheme of things. What if one of those days he was permanently shifted to Ward V?

As those two weeks dragged him along in their wake, he became Claude's unwilling constant companion. More often than not, it was only him and Claude with the patients, Doctor running the busy Infirmary. If he had disliked the man before, he utterly loathed him now. That face, blank as a slate, seemed to just invite his fist, and he wondered why on Earth he continued to deny that generous invitation. His monotone voice was becoming even more maddening than the patient's screams, Sebastian certainly knew which of the two he favoured. If there was one small mercy in the man's company it was that Claude clearly wasn't any more happy about it than he was, keeping a sizeable distance between them at all times and only meeting his eyes when he was giving orders.

Ah, the orders.

Sebastian had always been a respecting person, or so he liked to think. If someone was his superior, they were his superior for a reason and that reason alone demanded his respect. He was submissive to them, by role and by wages. If he was given an order by his superior he would follow it to the letter in order to close the gap of superiority and become the one who was respected. So when Claude, the head Psychiatrist of St. Victoria's Institution, gave him an order, by his usual creed, he really should have followed it.

"Just press the tip against the sole of its foot."

Unfortunately, there was not a shred of respect between Sebastian and Claude. Claude had not earned it, and therefore he had not earned Sebastian in the least. Oh, and the moral implications too, of course.

"No," Sebastian stated, his tone as resolute as it had been every day for those past two weeks.

That day, it was not only Claude in Ward V with him. He had intercepted Sebastian just as he was about to slip into the main ward, despite Sebastian having skipped both his morning bathroom routine and breakfast in order to avoid him. Claude had been flanked by the silent triplets, Cantebury, Timber and Thompson, for once not bustling around in the Infirmary. Their purpose in joining Claude and Sebastian quickly became clear.

Cantebury had a hand fisted in the short black hair of Patient V5, the other hand pressed firmly against the small of his back to keep him flat against the ground. The Patient wasn't taking such restraint quietly, thrashing around wildly. If it had just been Cantebury, V5 probably would have overpowered him easily, but the Aide had back-up. Timber was quick to grab V5's flailing wrists and grip them together in one hand, using the weight of his body to keep V5's lower half as pinned to the floor as the top half. V5 wailed pitifully, a high keening sound that only seemed to grow in volume the longer the day went on. The patient never stopped struggling, rotten bare feet scurrying against the floor until Claude muttered for Thompson to grab hold of the left one. He did without question, the woefully thin ankle easily enveloped in the man's hand and extended towards Sebastian like some sick sort of gift.

Claude stood off to the side. Barely audible over the cacophony of patients was bubbling water, some sort of portable heater with a slowly boiling pan of water on top of its grill standing beside him. As the triplets struggled with the increasingly agitated V5, Claude calmly watched the water boil, a thin iron rod held just over the surface. As the bubbles grew, he descended the rod into the water.

Sebastian had an idea what was going to happen, confirmed when Claude finally withdrew the now red-tipped rod and extended the handle towards him.

"It needn't be terribly hard. Just push the tip against the sole of its foot. You don't even have to break the skin if you don't feel like it," Claude offered, sounding as though he was making great accommodations for Sebastian's obvious revulsion.

Once more, Sebastian looked Claude dead in the eye and said, "No."

The triplets and Patient V5 continued to wrestle on the ground, the panicked cries growing loud enough that the other patients were becoming distressed just from hearing it. Soon enough, others joined in, a crazed choir. However, even as the sound became so jarring that Sebastian's head began to split, Claude paid them no heed. He looked at no-one but Sebastian, such intense attention more disturbing than anything around him.

"If your refusal is down to moral issues then be reassured, everything that takes place within this room falls entirely upon me. I take all responsibility for these patients and what is done to them, Sebastian," Claude promised, extending the handle of the rod once again, "You're only following orders."

The words were intended to encourage, but every syllable that fell past those lips only pushed the rod further and further from Sebastian's hands.

Following orders? Orders from his superior, his boss, and Sebastian really should have just taken the rod and thrust it against that patient's already worn foot. His self-preservation instinct was riling up – do it, do it or it could be you in this cage next time, this isn't a man who likes being told no – but it was smothered by his pride. Pride had always been a large part of Sebastian, who had so much to be proud of, and with every word from Claude, that pride swelled up a little more.

He was better than this. He was better than him. Sebastian Michaelis did not take orders from a piss-ant like Faustus. He was no coward and he would not inflict torture on an innocent person only hide behind someone else, behind the excuse of I was just doing what I was told! Oh no, if he wanted to then Sebastian would have grabbed that searing hot rod and pressed it against V5's foot until the skin bubbled and blisters burst from the flesh.

"No," Sebastian announced yet again, his gaze unwavering as he looked into those sinister yellow eyes.

Because he didn't want to. It was not compassion he felt for the experimental patients. Try as he might, he felt nothing but repulsion when he looked upon their twisted and emaciated forms, devoid of all intelligence and civilised development.

There was one reason and one reason alone that he did not take up the rod; Sebastian Michaelis would not allow himself to become like them.

There were sixty-seven tiles on the ceiling of Claude's office. This wasn't a remotely interesting fact, nor did knowing it ever prove useful in life, but it was a fact that Ciel knew nonetheless. Out of those sixty-seven tiles, five were cracked and two were missing. Those two gaps stood out, almost obscenely. Maybe it was just because it was Claude's office and something like that, a glaring imperfection, was so unusual.

The clock on the far wall ticked and tocked, the minute hand finally pushing away from IV. Twenty past three in the afternoon, twenty minutes since Ciel had been led to Claude's office for his usual session, and the Doctor had yet to show face.

Ciel rearranged himself on the chair, forcing himself not to watch the clock. From sheer boredom, he ended up counting the tiles on the ceiling once more. By the time he'd reached the number sixty-seven again, the minute hand had reached V.

Where the hell is he?

Annoyance was etched into every fine line on Ciel's face. As if the past fortnight hadn't been enduring enough, he'd reached a new low. Stood up by Claude Faustus. Fetch the gun, stat.

As much as he loathed these sessions, there was something even more disconcerting about Claude not even showing up. It was starting to seem like Ciel lived every day in a constant state of unease, probably not a very healthy thing.

zzzzzzzzzzeeeeeeeeeeee

Do not react, Ciel repeated for the umpteenth time in those twenty-five or so minutes that he'd been in the office. Perhaps the irritation had less to do with being seemingly forgotten by Faustus and more to do with the noise, now so familiar that it followed him everywhere. Beyond the walls of the Psychiatrist's office, that damnable sound rattled within his skull like a bad memory, no peace from it even in the sanctuary of his own bedroom.

When was the last time he'd slept? Actually slept the whole night through. No tossing, no turning, no rubbing violently at his ears to try and get rid of the high-pitched whistling. Too long ago, that was when. He'd reached that state of exhaustion where he was beyond even feeling tired – limbs no longer heavy but just kind of there, eye perpetually dry no matter how often he blinked, body endlessly restless and stubbornly fighting his desire to sleep when he lay down in bed.

It was all because of that fucking noise.

It was Claude's doing, he knew. Some sort of bizarre 'treatment', no doubt about it. At first Ciel had been sure Claude was wearing earplugs. It was the only real explanation he could find for why the man could sit there with his poker face in place while Ciel could barely fight the wince from his own. He wasn't hearing the noise. If he had been, there was no way he couldn't have reacted.

But, no. Ciel had looked as closely as he could without risking suspicion and there was nothing obstructing Claude's ears. He was hearing the noise just as much as Ciel was. So why didn't he react like Ciel did? Could Ciel simply not handle it as well as him, was Ciel weaker than him?

Ciel scowled at no-one, managing to be offended by his own thoughts. No, no, that wasn't it. If nothing else, the boy understood the power a person could have simply with the knowledge that they were in control. It wasn't that Ciel was weak in comparison to the Doctor, he just didn't have the same control he had.

Regardless, understanding it didn't help a single thing. The noise was still there – zzzzzzzzzzeeeeeeeeeeee – buzzing around in his head. Thoughts were difficult to string together whenever that noise was piercing his ears and his mantra of don't react got quieter and quieter as the irritation mutated into something much more. Later on, he'd look back and wonder if it had just been his in his mind after all, but sitting in that chair and unconsciously burrowing his head against the cushion to try and drown it out, the noise seemed to grow and grow. What had started out as a single buzzing bee became an angry swarm spilling forth from the hive.

It was no longer irritating. It was painful.

And after two weeks of his ears being pierced and his sleep being stolen, all by a single sound that only he could hear, Ciel snapped.

He did not make the conscious decision to move. His body just shifted, suddenly standing up without Ciel even realising he'd thought about it. Or maybe he wasn't thinking about it at all since when his hands began yanking out the small wooden drawers from Claude's desk, it came as a surprise. He turned the drawers upside down until the contents spilled out onto the floor. He was searching, he didn't know what for but he did know that whatever it was, it was making that noise. It wasn't in the drawers. His feet stalked across the carpet then, attacking the filing cabinets frenziedly. Soon, files of all different kinds were streaked across the floor, the papers fluttering about. That would have been the opportune moment to seize his own file and finally see what lies were written inside, and it spoke volumes about just how out of it Ciel was that the thought didn't even cross his mind, the file bearing his name thrown aside just as quickly as all the others in favour of burrowing deeper within the cabinet. When all the drawers, cabinets, the cupboard and even the fridge had been ransacked with no sign of... whatever it was, Ciel's breathing was ragged and his hands were shaking.

Claude had always been sneaky, that was a fact Ciel knew well, so of course he wasn't going to hide the thing in such obvious places. If it were him, Ciel wondered, where would he put it?

Ciel stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside Claude's high-backed chair. The faux leather of the chair was held to the base by those little brass knobs, so Ciel dug beneath them to get his nails at the seam. Just a little tear was all he needed, a tiny hole for him to get entry through, and he worked his fingers at the fabric until his nails found purchase. Once they did, he gave a hard tug and the fabric of the chair tore like paper. It was while he was shredding away at the foam of Claude's seat that there was a click behind him.

He froze instantly, the strange hysteria that had captured him fleeing at the sound of the door being shut. Ciel was still shaken, but the single mindedness that the hysteria had given him was now gone, giving him the freedom to actually think. And with that return of thought came the realisation of how deeply he'd fucked up.

Claude stood in front of the office door, glancing carefully around his decimated office. The ransacked drawers, the mess of papers and stationary, his coats strewn all around the cupboard, and Ciel on his knees, bloodied fingers still holding fistfuls of the stuffing of his chair. Slowly, as though approaching a wild and dangerous animal, Claude crossed the room. He paid no need to the fact that he was stepping all over his own belongings, eyes focused only on the panting boy. Once at Ciel's side, Claude dropped into a kneel, now on the same level.

"What are you doing, Ciel?" His voice was the same calm murmur it always was, no trace of anger hidden beneath it, not so much as a flicker of discontent across his face.

Ciel couldn't answer. The only answer he had would surely be used against him, didn't even make sense to himself.

After a drawn out silence, Claude continued, "I promise, I won't be mad. Just tell me what happened. If you're honest, you won't even get in trouble, alright?" The words were not so much monotonous as they were soothing, but they did nothing to ease Ciel's spiking anxiety.

Still, Ciel remained mute, clammy hands resting on top of the ruined chair, staring into the Doctor's face like a deer caught in headlights.

The indifference upon Claude's face slipped away, a look of deep disappointment latching on to his features as he said with a deeply regretful tone, "You've put the both of us in a difficult situation. Fine. If you won't tell me what made you do this then I've no choice but to have you sent to Room 1800." With that, he rose from his crouch, making his way back over to the door.

Panic blinded Ciel. The noise was still piercing his ears, his head feeling like it would split apart at any moment, and now all he could see was mirrors all around him, showing him things he didn't want to, couldn't let himself see.

For the second time that day, Ciel's body moved without him giving it permission to. He stumbled to his feet. Frantically, he reached out and latched on to one of Claude's arms, almost pulling the man over with the force of dragging him back from the door. Quicker than his mind could prevent, he found himself confessing, "That noise, I was just trying to make it stop!" Oh, he shouldn't have said that. No, no, no. Showing weakness, showing fear, reacting to something he should have been able to ignore.

Claude barely seemed to hear the words, however. His eyes were fixed on the clammy and slightly bloodied hand grasping his arm, watching it as though there was nothing more interesting in the world.

Sense was ebbing back to Ciel, composure in sight but just slightly beyond his grasp. Hastily, he withdrew his hand, so quickly it was like Claude's arm had burned him. He took a step back too, just to be safe.

"...What noise?" Claude asked indulgently, giving a slight shake of the head before looking back up to Ciel's face.

He wanted to laugh. What noise? Oh, real fucking subtle. Playing ignorant, now. But now, he couldn't laugh, couldn't scoff or even sneer, not when the threat of The Room was hanging once more over his head. There was nothing funny about that.

"The... high-pitched whistling..."

"Ciel, there's no noise," Claude replied softly, in the same tone Rachel had used to tell him there was no monster beneath his bed or hiding within his closet.

There was nothing Ciel could say to that. He could have been stubborn, insisted there really was a noise, a noise that was drilling into his skull as the two stood right there, but Claude had always been stubborn too. You had to pick your fights, and with The Room a possibility of the near future, that was not a fight for him to pursue.

Claude took a small step forward, closing the tiny bit of space Ciel had put between them, his face twisting into a look of what may have been concern on anyone else but that Ciel didn't want to identify on him. There was none of the careful wariness of before when he extended a hand and cupped Ciel's cheek. There was only the barest brushing of skin, palm on cheek, his hand hovering more than actually touching, but it was enough to get Ciel's hackles rising. Yet Ciel did not wrench away, found himself rendered immobile by the weight of the threat between them.

Voice impossibly soft, Claude said, "If you apologise for what you've done, I see no need to punish you. It can be our little secret."

He wanted to be sick. He hadn't slept in what felt like forever, the past fortnight more like one endless day. The longer the insomnia went on, the flimsier his defences became, the slower his mind worked. His head felt far too heavy for his neck, like it would just snap off at any moment. That goddamn noise was still in the air around him, within him, merciless. And now, if he didn't prostrate himself before the Doctor and offer an apology, he would be thrown away into The Room with nothing but his own reflection for company.

Claude's thumb began to trace circles upon his cheek in what was probably supposed to be a soothing gesture but that only made the bile rise in Ciel's throat. With every brush of the man's skin upon him, The Room became a more appealing prospect than having to submit.

I can't. Not again. I promised I'd never go in there again. I've managed all these years, I can't let this happen now.

Claude waited patiently as Ciel fought a vicious battle with himself and his pride, gently caressing the boy's face. His patience paid off, as it always did, as Ciel's face crumpled, curled into a snarl, and he spat, not sounding it at all, "I'm sorry."

It was bad moods all around in St. Victoria's that day. Though Ciel hadn't been in sight when Sebastian had finally been able to get to the main ward, he'd decided to wait in the boy's room regardless. He found himself in no mood to entertain any of the other patients. The sickeningly thick smell of burnt flesh had settled upon him, lingering within his clothes and hair, following him like a shadow. The animalistic wailing of V5 as Claude had taken it upon himself to scold the bottoms of his feet, for no apparent reason other than cruelty, may as well have been broadcast from a speaker in the bedroom, the sound still as clear in Sebastian's ears as it had been standing only feet away. Truth be told, Sebastian had been this close to just knocking the black-haired shell of a man out cold, just to get him to shut up.

If Sebastian was in a bad mood, Ciel was the living embodiment of lividity as he stormed into his room and slammed the door shut behind him. Before the older man could get so much as a word of greeting out, Ciel had rounded on him, positively seething.

Automatically, Sebastian racked his brain to try and remember if he'd done anything to warrant such a strong negative reaction. However, as Ciel gestured to his chest of drawers with a quivering hand, he felt that this anger was not for him.

"Your fingers," Sebastian winced at the sight of the raw skin and mangled nails, feeling his own mood suddenly deepen, "Did Faustus do that?"

"Put it against the door," was the only answer Sebastian received, the battered hand again gesturing to the chest of drawers.

Sebastian grimaced, "No can do. That'd be a fire hazard, y'know." It had been intended to at least lighten the tension, just a little quip, but as he said it, all the anger just fell away from Ciel. It was... oddly disturbing. He couldn't explain why, even to himself, but to see the bluster just flee the boy left him looking so very small and exhausted. As though a strong breeze could snap him in two.

Sebastian leaned forward in the chair, not really noticing as his hands tightened into fists. Two images were battling for dominance in his mind's eye; the sight before him, a weary and despondent Ciel with red-stained fingers, and then the imagine from that afternoon, Claude Faustus thrusting a rod of searing heat against another human being's flesh without so much as a flinch, not even a blink.

"What happened with Faustus, Ciel?" Sebastian asked, his voice eerily calm. That in itself garnered a rather odd reaction, as Ciel suddenly looked up from the floor with his nose wrinkled, uncomfortable. He stared at Sebastian for a few moments before shaking his head, retreating to his bed.

"Haven't slept in ages. Feel sick," was the mumbled response, the boy burying his face in his pillow.

"So sleep."

"Can't. Not now."

"Why?"

Ciel pulled himself upright with effort, eye glazed over. "Remember I mentioned that noise a while back? Well... I may have made a bit of a mess of Faustus' office trying to find what was making it."

Sebastian cocked a brow.

"A bit of a mess?"

The boy gave a lazy shrug. "Fine, so I trashed the place. Same difference. Claude caught me, though, and now I'm at risk of being put in The Room." The sudden flare of panic Sebastian felt surge up at the words was clearly shared if the uneasy expression on Ciel's face was anything to go by. "And if I don't get some sleep, like, yesterday, I'm... fucked," Any trace of being articulate was replaced by the exhaustion, "But there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep if there's a chance they're going to get me while I'm unconscious, so just put the drawers against the door, okay?"

"Ciel-"

"Ugh, please!" Ciel snapped, running a hand through his hair restlessly. In fact, everything about his demeanour was restless. Eye darting all over the room, hands quaking, legs unable to keep still. He truly did look on his last legs.

Sighing, Sebastian got up and did as Ciel had asked. There was just something about Ciel Phantomhive saying please that let you know a situation had gotten well out of hand. Just like he'd been doing every night in his own bedroom, Sebastian gripped the edges of the chest of drawers and pushed it across the room until it lay in front of the door.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked as Ciel settled beneath the sheets.

Just a mop of slate coloured peeking over the top of the quilt, Ciel paused, then answered, "No. I'd prefer it if you stayed."

And so Sebastian reclaimed his spot on the deskchair. For the first time in over two weeks, Ciel slept.