8 reviews on one chapter. I love you all~

So my wifey-boo mentioned that I should put a disclaimer. I personally think that a person reporting fan fiction as copy right infringement is clearly a very lonely person, but it makes Niki feel better so:

I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji. Nor do I own Live for the Night by Krewella, the lyrics of which I have used as chapter (and story) title. Go listen to it. Now.

Did I forget anything? Hmmm. This may turn into an 'M' rating in later chapters, so there's your warning. Now you may read. Go. Read the words I have written upon this digital page.

Winter seemed much colder now that the war was over. So many orphans littered the streets now, easy prey for the depraved and the rich. And many soldiers now filled the bars and brothels, seeking distraction from their own mental issues. But they paid well, same as everyone else who entered the Red. But sometimes the things they wanted were out of the question, things such as acting like a dead spouse or a former lover who abandoned them in favor of a lover who had not gone to war; it was both an unusual offer and one not many self-respecting workers would adhere too. One in particular found the practice disgusting and beneath him.

He was a stunning site when he walked the streets, hair as red as the evening sun that reached all the way to his feet. It moved like a river of silk, each strand silky and straight that swung as he walked. He was meticulous about his appearance, and it paid off many times. He was popular with the clients, both new and old. Probably because he could easily change from man to woman; he was a creature of halves and changes, as elusive and quick to change as a butterfly. Yes, he fancied himself highly, and was often at odds with the other workers of Black Lace. They all nattered about like twittering little magpies in the presence of a coin. He preferred to strut like a bright red peacock and let the coins come to him, so he primped and preened day in and day out to make himself perfect.

Lips colored with thick rogue, eyes lined with charcoals and pigments from all areas of the spectrum; he may not have been born a noble woman, but he sure as hell carried himself as one. Every inch a refined person, he could speak as eloquently as any high-born person. But he could not read or write, like most prostitutes, yet that did not stop him from pretending. That was the name of the game in working the streets in the Red Light, bringing in clients for the brothel. It was all about pretending. The art of being something you were not and making people believe it. He posed as a woman to those he met on the street, and very few were lucky enough to meet his male half. His name was Grell Sutcliff, and he was a cross dressing prostitute. Most found it an odd practice, and some refused to even return to the brothel because of him; however, there were far more that found the idea alluring and returned again and again to have him for the evening.

He had been doing this for years, more than he could count, and had the entire thing down to an art form. Grell was an artist in the deepest sense of the word, suffering and profiting for his art. Each evening was spent toiling over his appearance as his transformation from male to female began; from hair to makeup and forcing his feet into the crimson heeled shoes he wore, always enduring the awful pain of the preparation. Then he would take to the front end of the brothel and enjoy the pleasures of attention and clients. He was profitable, so he was spoiled by the Madam and the wealthy owner. He was also spoiled by his two friends. His cute little Meyrin looked to him for advice and tips, since she was so much younger and very new at this compared to him. Angelina gave him tips and the extra ornate dresses from her patrons that were too big. He was like the perfect middle child in their makeshift family, given everything he wanted and watching over his two partners in crime with a watchful-and vengeful-eye.

There were times he got violent at patrons. He did not take kindly to those who mistreated the workers in the brothel, and many times he had sent them flying out of the building, bleeding and at least one rib cracked. He was passionate in everything he did, and the fiery red of his emotions burned brightly and often out of control. He loved deeply, lusted deeper and enjoyed violence the deepest. But he had limited room for true love in his heart, choosing rather to bury the insecurities involved with being a prostitute under mountains of lustful chasing of men and putting over dramatic emotion in everything he did. Only three people had moved deep enough into his heart to allow for true devotion from the constantly changing pursuer of profit and temporary emotional highs. One was Meyrin, the recently-adult girl who found herself swept away by the brothel life. She had been a street walker before, and now she was nervous, timid and passed over by clients because she rarely stood out. Grell had become incredibly attached to her and he would protect her to the end.

The second was Angelina Durless, an older woman with short red hair and a fondness for red that put even Grell to shame. She was professionally known as Madam Red, and she was as well-known as the Red Light District or the Moulin Rouge. She had many patrons, though not enough to escape brothel life and become a Mistress to a wealthy man. She often confided in Grell and he found himself trusting the woman with his own dreams and thoughts. What she said was law in his eyes, like the leader figure he never had before. He would do anything she asked without question and he found himself hoping for the day Madam told him that she had found a man to take her as a Mistress. The final figure was a tiny boy Meyrin had brought home from a failed client meeting.

The night he had appeared was one of the coldest Grell remembered that winter. He was deep into charming a man who was very in to trying something new-that new thing being Grell himself-when the signal for an ended night came from the upper floors. The men began to filter out of the area, a few women in disguise in their ranks, and Grell stood to stretch his arms and dust off the bottom of the gown he wore. It was in beautiful taste, inspired heavily from the romanticized picture of an old west saloon girl, slit high up his leg and covered in black laces and red ruffles. He adored it, feathered bustle and all. His heels clicked on the floor as he made his way towards the entrance, awaiting the arrival of the woman he adored most in the world. Without fail she appeared, walking through the snow in a fine red gown and scarlet parasol that kept the flurries at bay. She was a vision in the winter, like a blood stain in fresh snow; Grell felt a smirk pull at his rouged coated lips.

"Angelina~" He purred as she neared. The woman smiled at him.

"Hello, Grell, how was your evening?" She asked, entering the door and closing her bright red parasol.

"It was terribly boring, Angie." He whined. "I only had one boy interested, and he was a terrible bore. All sorts of prudish and worried about his wife finding out." He complained as the older woman dusted snow from her skirt and chuckled.

"That happens sometimes, my lonely little one." She soothed, petting his hair like she was flattening ruffled feathers. "I had dinner with a lovely father and son couple. The father is an old friend of mine from before his married days, and he wanted to discuss my services for his son's birthday gift." She said, sitting on a nearby couch to unlace her boots.

"You get all the fun." Grell pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting on the arm of the sofa. He crossed his leg expertly, the slit of the dress moving up provocatively as he leaned against the couch's back.

Angelina chuckled, patting the silk and satin covered leg of her companion. "I'm sure it'll pick up around here soon enough. It's a dry season, my sweet. Not many men will brave the cold for a risk-free night with one of us." She commented. The comment earned a whining sigh from the red headed cross dresser.

"I know." He spat back, voice reflective of a child told the logic behind why he could not have a cookie before dinner.

"Has Meyrin returned from her meeting?" Angelina asked him and Grell was snapped from his thoughts of the brothel being a boring place to work.

"If she has it wasn't through the front." Grell responded. He was slightly worried. It was getting colder now that the sun was completely gone, and if Meyrin had yet to return she would probably freeze to death. Or perhaps she had been kidnapped. Either way, Grell was prepared to go out and find his little Meyrin and make sure she was alright.

As if sensing his thoughts, the older woman placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Let's check our room before we rush out in to the night, weapons held high and skirts fluttering like capes in the wind." She said, patting his arm.

Grell laughed. "How heroic and romantic, Madam Red." He said before scooting off the couch and standing. He offered an arm to the woman and helped her stand before they walked down the stairs to the lower floors were the worker's residential rooms were located. Grell sent a wink at the hired guard, a tall man with carefully crafted short hair and glasses, before they disappeared into a side hallway. Once all the workers had made it downstairs, they were required by contract to not leave their rooms. If they did, their safety was up to them and the hired guards were not required to help them. But Grell was fully capable of taking care of himself, and always had a sharpened blade with him. Angelina had a gun in her perfume bag and Meyrin also carried a small firearm with her; Grell made sure.

Their shoes clicked against the silent halls as they neared the largest room in the brothel, a gift to Angelina when she had scored a patron in a French advisor to the king. Now Angelina shared it with Grell and Meyrin, the room now crowded with three beds and three makeshift closets. But it was warm with three bodies, and it had the only door that led to the outside alleyway between the brothel and a nearby rented bathhouse. When Japan fever had hit Europe in the 1800s, the bathhouse had been a prime attraction, but since the devastation of the war, it was not kept in the best condition. But the property belonged to Black Lace and was a prime spot for profit, what with public or communal bathing giving the feeling of living in Ancient Rome. The people enjoyed the power play, and in a time when nothing seemed to be going right, it was the right move for the brothel to get a great increase in profit. And it was one of the few places in the Red Light that had the ability to get hot water.

The two red heads watched as two women workers got into an argument about a brush, scoffing between themselves as they opened the door to the room. Grell instantly noticed the blankets on Angelina's bed were missing.

"Grell! Angelina! Help me!"

The next few moments for Grell were spent changing blankets on a half-frozen four year old boy in an effort to save his life. It was long and grueling-especially in heels and the cold of the late night-but soon enough Angelina declared him alive. A feeling of relief washed over Grell. He could finally take off his boots.

"I'm not sleeping with it." He declared when Angelina responded that someone needed to sleep with the kid to keep his body temperature up through the night.

"I'll sleep with him." Meyrin said, giving the blankets back to Angelina and crawling under her covers with the tiny child. Grell sighed. He would deal with this in the morning.

"Momma! Momma!" The tiny, excited voice of a young boy came to Grell's ears as he entered the bedroom after his appointment with a man. Instantly a tiny body collided with his waist and he chuckled to himself, though he groaned on the outside. It was still strange being referred to as 'momma,' but Grell was getting more and more used to it as the boy grew. He could even distinguish between which of the three roommates the child was referring too. Grell was 'momma', Meyrin was 'mommy', and Angelina was 'mother'. But Grell would not let his nickname deter him.

"Ciel, I am tired." He complained when the child would not release him. Internally he was purring like a happy cat, but outside he had to remain stern as he gently removed the child from his waist and sat on his bed. Instantly the tiny boy climbed up into his lap and Grell made a huge show of his displeasure, groaning and huffing like a child. The little one giggled and refused to move, knowing this was one of their games.

"Oh, fine! Since you simply refuse to let your poor tired momma rest after a long day, tell me what has you so excited." He finally conceded. The seven year old on his lap clapped his hands in an almost victorious way and began.

"Mommy taught me to shoot today since she had no jobs." He said and Grell nodded. Meyrin was the better shot between Angelina and her, and she had fewer requests. "And she made me lunch and then she took me on a walk around the district." He babbled excitedly.

"That's good. But what about when she was busy?" He asked.

"I hid in here and read the book Mother got me." Ciel affirmed and Grell stroked his hair.

"Good boy. Now, what else will you bother me with?" Grell asked. The boy smiled and pulled his knees up and cuddled closer into his Momma's lap.

"Nothin'. I thought maybe we could just take a nap together or something. If you want. Since you are tired." He said and Grell felt his insides melt. Grell was the farthest thing from a mother the boy could get, but he loved the boy nevertheless. He smiled and laid down, holding the small boy close.

"Fine, brat, fine. But only because I'm too tired to argue." He said, pulling the blanket over them and letting the young boy cling to him.

I thank all of you who reviewed last chapter (like promocat, the Serial Reviewer, who I now invite into my harem). Also to answer some reviews:

I have no idea what ages Grell, Angelina and Meyrin are. Meyrin is the youngest, but I never had a specific age in mind. This story is based mostly around Ciel's age, so I only really have a specific age for him.

Yes, Grell is a guy (see the use of pronouns), but he cross-dresses when he works. He is...I would say bi-sexual, but Grell is Grell and would probably make out with a lamp. And to all the Grell fangirls out there, I am aware he is a transsexual in the manga/anime and sees himself as a woman. I tried for a happy medium.

Also, my plea still stands. However, I wish to extend it to all the stories you read, not just mine. I know it's a pain to review from things like smart phones (which I read all fanfiction on, cause I read fanfiction at like 2 am), but it really does mean the world to writers to know their work is appreciated by others. Favorites and alerts also are important.

Love to all of you,

Petra Jade