They didn't stay long in Hell after the wedding. They had business back in Phantomhive, so about a week after the ceremony, Rose and Jean saw the trio off at the train station. Jean wept throughout the whole goodbye and continually asked if Sebastian and Eleanora really couldn't stay for just one more day?
Sebastian kissed his parents and Eleanora hesitantly did the same. Ciel got by with just a handshake. Then they boarded the train and soon they were off, going back to the human world.
Ciel settled back into his seat and watched the scenery go by. He wondered what everyone else had been doing in the months of their absence. Was the mansion still standing? Did the servants still have all of their limbs? Was Madam Red alright?
He glanced at his butler and his maid. Sebastian was staring out the window. Eleanora was reading a book. They were sitting in the same seat, but there was so much distance between them, it was like staring at two strangers. He wondered what they were thinking about. And then he wondered when they would go eat. The unholy were masters of desserts.
Sebastian was thinking about when he would be coming back home. Who knew how long this contract with the little bra—that is, young Master, would last? And then he'd finally—finally—get to eat that soul…He licked his lips at the thought. But then what? Would he go and find another master? Immediately after he had finished at Phantomhive? He doubted it. He was going to need a long, long break to recover from this one. So he'd come back here—back to warm, comforting Hell…Only he doubted that he would stay with his parents again. No, he'd go back to his own nice private mansion in the country, far away from humans and other creatures of significantly low-intelligence, and then in the evenings, he and Eleanora—
He paused in his thinking. "He and Eleanora?" It had never been "he and Eleanora" before. It had always just been Him. In fact, was "he and Eleanora" even grammatically correct? Why was he suddenly thinking about grammar? Was he intentionally distracting himself from the point?
He glanced at Eleanora out of the corner of his eye. She had brought out a deck of cards and was trying to teach the young Master how to play poker. She had never been a part of his future plans before. They had always lived separate lives. But naturally, he would have to do something about her after the contract was finished. Killing her was out of the question; they were properly married now; he would be convicted of uxoricide. Maybe he could find her a stable job in the human world and wish her a good life and that would be the end of it. Then she could live her life and he could live his life and the evenings would get so lonely and—why was he thinking like that? He had never been lonely before. He had always been perfectly happy in his own company. He had never liked having other people around—in fact, he usually strove to avoid other people. But he somehow felt that it would be different with Eleanora not around. But how so?
"I'm just slightly ill," he told himself, pressing his hand against his forehead. "I'm just tired, first from the wedding planning, then from the wedding, and now this trip. I'll feel better when we get back to the manor and things will return to normal." He glanced at Eleanora again, who noticed this time and raised an eyebrow in his direction. He scowled at her to prove to her that he still hated her and then he went back to staring out the window.
"I wonder what she's thinking about?" he suddenly thought. "Is she thinking about the future? Is she thinking about our future together? Is she thinking about ME?!"
He suddenly felt unnaturally hot, but it wasn't a bad type of hot. For some strange reason, he felt almost…pleased. What was the word? Good? Yes, that was it. It felt good to have someone thinking about you—particularly if that someone was your wife.
"I'M JUST SICK I'M JUST SICK I'M JUST SICK."
"I wonder when we're going to eat?" Eleanora thought.