Those Gentle Slopes that Lead to Hell

by Severus divides into H

Proud. Unique. Determined. From the second Sebastian sensed Ciel Phantomhive's soul, he realized their contract would be different. He was ready for it. And so he waits. He hungers. He is getting obsessed. He will do anything to devour this soul, and the fragile attachment to the boy that has begun to spread its icy fingers in him will not stop him. He thinks. [SebaCiel].

20. Chapter 20: Sebastian: Evolving Part 2

A/N: Thanking all those who left me kind messages on Tumblr (K-S-Morgan) and commented on the story! I'm from Ukraine, and your support means even more now than it always has.

Replies are at the end.

Chapter Twenty: Sebastian. Evolving. Part 2

The manor slept. The heartbeats of the servants were a quiet source of annoyance, so Sebastian tuned them out.

Interestingly, he couldn't do the same with the boy's. That sound was so strong that it broke its way through every defence he had built, enveloping him tightly and filling his ears with its steady rhythm. He would have liked to ignore it at least for this night, when he needed to solidify his intention to make things simple, but every effort proved to be futile. It seemed like even in his sleep, his lord was mocking him, refusing to let him focus on anything other than his perplexing existence.

Sebastian finished cleaning the kitchen and turned his attention to the greenhouse. With Ciel Phantomhive, there could never be such a thing as too many white roses, so he checked Finnie's work with particular scrutiny.

Passable. But not perfect enough.

As Sebastian got to work, he couldn't help noticing that the boy's heartbeat followed him even here. Gradually, he began to adjust his movements to its sounds like they were music, and though he was reluctant to acknowledge it, this made his work more pleasant.

Perhaps he could grow his own kind of flower. His lord loved beautiful things and his birthing day was rapidly approaching. The thought of giving anyone gifts like this had never occurred to Sebastian before, but now it suddenly implanted itself into his mind, digging into it before he had a chance to root it out.

On the other hand… hadn't he already offered an abundance of gifts to his Master over the last week alone? Having that tea set made. Saving his reputation by preventing him from striking Lady Elisabeth. Repairing his family ring. The frequent thoughts of bringing him the eyes and the fingers of his enemies.

He'd never done any of this for his previous masters — or at least he'd never seen it as gifts before. Making countless exceptions for Ciel Phantomhive wasn't a smart decision now that Sebastian strived to keep things conventional.

He took a long look at the flowerbed, struggling between embracing the new idea and rejecting it.

He could do both things at the same time, couldn't he? Creating a flower that represented his lord would be an exciting challenge. This could be a gift from Sebastian to himself, even if Ciel Phantomhive ended up receiving it.

Pleased with his reasoning, he touched one of the roses curiously.

White roses. What a strange choice of a flower for someone like his Master. Why were they his favourite? Did they represent some pitiful longing for his lost innocence? Were they a symbol of a lighter life he used to have? Or did he like them simply to be contrary and show preference for things that were the opposite of his nature?

This would be very like him.

Belatedly, Sebastian realised that a pleased smile was dancing on his lips. He put an end to it with a frown, annoyed with the constant attempts of his body to undermine him.

He would have to think where to find the appropriate seed and what powers to fuel it with. But he would do that tomorrow. His immediate goal was spending the rest of the night without thinking of Ciel Phantomhive in any way or form.

Listening to his heartbeat and being unable to shake it off was already bothersome enough.

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When he wasn't thinking of his Master, he was thinking of dancing. This was hardly better, but at least it was a more novel experience. Sebastian contemplated it as he prepared breakfast, throwing occasional looks at the sleepy sun that was slowly turning the sky into its lighter shade.

Dancing had never been special. It was one of the more boring duties he'd been forced to perform for countless other masters before. He liked the beauty of some ballrooms, he thrived under the admiring looks thrown his way, but he could do without the senseless twirling and pressing close to identically boring bodies.

His yesterday's experience, nonetheless… It was different. It was captivating and refreshing in a way he'd never felt, and he couldn't but wonder at the cause. Was it the dancing or the boy?

He considered the process of dancing tedious. But he also spent several years by his lord's side, and while the odd allure of his presence had been intensifying gradually, it was never like this. These feelings were stronger, more many-layered, more confusing, and Sebastian failed to make sense of them.

And he was thinking about his Master. Again.

Even more displeased with himself, he shut the oven and turned away from it.

Maybe they should do it again. He would be more prepared this time, and so he would know what to look for. His lord might not be happy about it, but it didn't matter. Sebastian would find a new opportunity to force the issue, even if he had to invite Lady Elisabeth back.

His darker mood thinned and disappeared. Feeling content, Sebastian glanced at his pocket watch.

Eleven minutes until his Master woke up. It was time to start brewing his tea.

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Throughout the morning, Sebastian watched him. He made up excuses to touch him and lean inappropriately close, monitoring the feelings this evoked and comparing them to the ones he had felt during their dancing.

After five hours, he drew his conclusions. Alas, they didn't bring much clarity.

The energy was there — the same mysterious, intoxicating energy that seemed to set every cell in his human body on fire. It clouded his mind with alarming speed, and while Sebastian would normally find it concerning, for some reason, he quickly got addicted to it. So he increased the number of their encounters, bringing it to the maximum level and trying to analyse his reactions better.

The interesting thing was, this energy lacked some of the potency. It was not quite the same he'd felt as they danced. It wasn't better or worse, it was simply different — more urgent but less overwhelming. And the boy himself was acting in a deeply bewildering manner.

His face became almost permanently reddened. He was dropping things and stumbling, and if his glares and cutting words didn't hold the same domineering force they always did, Sebastian would have assumed he'd been switched for a doppelganger.

No, this was certainly his Master. An even more confusing version, but it was him. And his orders remained just as startling in their original cruelty.

"What?" Sebastian asked blankly. He couldn't have heard that correctly. But his lord was staring at him expectantly, with a stubborn look on his face.

"I want you to dance with Mey-Rin," he said. "Right now. One dance, no music or any other unnecessary distractions."

So this wasn't his imagination. The boy truly wanted him to dance with Mey-Rin, of all people. Why? And how did he know that dancing had been such a prevalent part of Sebastian's thoughts today?

It was concerning. Was he that transparent? Was this his punishment for dwelling on their yesterday's lesson and planning to stage a new one? But his Master couldn't possibly know about this. Admittedly, he had many surprising talents, but mind reading wasn't among them. Even demons didn't progress this far, so this was impossible.

And yet… how did he know?

Sebastian stared with narrowed eyes. The boy stared right back, his brows arched in a silent question.

It was ridiculous. It was laughable that he was even considering it, but better to make certain.

Would you like to know my real name?, Sebastian thought. His lord's face remained impassive. What would you do if you knew how much time I spent watching the cult torture you before making an appearance? I needed to see if you were worthy of my attention. I took joy in your screams.

Still nothing. Ciel Phantomhive was bound to react to this revelation, and since he hadn't, mind reading was definitely not among his abilities. His strange order had to be a coincidence.

"Well?" he demanded. Sebastian bowed and left the room in search of Mey-Rin, his mind whirling around this new unexpected turn.

It felt like a particularly exasperating chore, but it was also a chance to take his experiment further. He'd already confirmed that though the boy's mere presence stirred a similar knot of confusing emotions, it differed from what he'd felt yesterday to a degree. Now he could try dancing with another partner and see if any of that energy was present there. It was a good idea, why hadn't he thought of it himself?

Mey-Rin dropped the plate she was holding when he walked into the kitchen. When he told her of his Master's request, she stumbled towards him with such eagerness that she crashed into the table and sent more plates flying.

"Would it hurt you to be more careful?" Sebastian inquired politely. "If you keep breaking things, we will have nothing to eat from. Unless you hope to make our lord insolvent?"

"No!" Mey-Rin exclaimed, a silly grin widening on her face. "I mean yes! I mean no! Where should we dance? I don't think I've ever done this before! Oh, but it's so exciting!"

Sebastian already felt bored, and they hadn't even started.

He brought Mey-Rin to the boy's office and tried to look less annoyed than he felt. He only had to tolerate the dance for four minutes. This would be the average length of an imaginary song.

His Master's gaze traveled from him towards Mey-Rin. A shadow passed over his face, but he schooled his expression quickly.

"Well?" he asked. "You may start. I got my practical dancing lesson yesterday, now I want something more theoretical. You dance, I'll watch you."

Mey-Rin giggled nervously, throwing a quick look at Sebastian.

"I don't know if I have any skills to teach you, Young Master," she admitted. "I don't have the slightest idea of how to dance, none at all."

The boy gave her a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry," he said. His voice was almost sweet, but Sebastian easily sensed the cold bite underneath. "Sebastian is a talented teacher. He was a frequent guest at the Schönbrunn Palace, after all, so his stunning expertise will compensate for any flaws you might have."

Mey-Rin beamed and gasped at the same time.

"The Schönbrunn Palace?" she exclaimed. "Is it beautiful? Did you accompany someone there, Sebastian?"

"Yes," he said shortly. Prolonging this spectacle wasn't his intention, so he clenched one of Mey-Rin's hands in his and put his other hand around her waist. "Please follow my lead. The sequence of movements will come instinctively."

He heard his Master snort nearly silently. He was probably comparing the instructions Sebastian had given him to the brusque command he'd just offered Mey-Rin. But it made sense. His lord was going to be dancing at many balls while Mey-Rin's experience started and ended here. Sebastian was contractually obligated to teach him — Mey-Rin was just a hindrance he had to tolerate for his Master's amusement.

They began to move. Mey-Rin stumbled over her feet several times, but to her credit, she recovered quickly. Only a minute later, she turned into a perfectly acceptable dancing partner, her stealth evident in every turn and twirl. The problem was, this dance was everything Sebastian remembered and disliked.

It was boring and mildly distasteful. He didn't like leading her. He didn't like holding her so closely. She was not welcome in his personal space, and his demonic essence hissed in instinctive hostility.

The only thing that differentiated this dance from the thousands Sebastian had had over the centuries was Ciel Phantomhive's unwavering attention.

Dancing in front of him but not with him felt strange. Almost wrong. What was odder was the fact that his gaze seemed fixed on Mey-Rin, like it was her movements that mattered to him. Perhaps not even movements as he was watching her face only, his eyes sharp, cataloguing her every reaction.

Intrigued by this, Sebastian focused on her as well, but no matter how intently he looked, he couldn't see whatever had caught his lord's attention.

She was flushed. Her pupils were dilated. She looked embarrassed, pleased, horrified, and anxious at the same time. Attraction and nervousness that accompanied it — the oldest and most tedious combination of human emotions. Sebastian couldn't imagine what his Master was gaining from observing this and why he set this dance up in the first place.

Finally, four minutes passed. Sebastian stepped away immediately, watching how Mey-Rin reached for him before reluctantly jerking herself straight.

"Right! This was… this was a very beautiful dance. Very beautiful." She adjusted her glasses, and Sebastian suppressed a sigh when he noticed how her fingers were trembling. "Young Master, I hope I didn't fail too badly?"

It took some time for the boy to reply.

"You didn't fail at all," he said calmly. "You've done very good and you've helped me a lot. Thank you."

The smile that blossomed on Mey-Rin's face was so vivid that it transformed her completely. She bowed wholeheartedly, and Sebastian could almost sense how her loyalty to his lord flared even brighter. All over three sentences of artificial praise.

He looked at the boy, who shrugged in response.

"You can go," he told Mey-Rin. With another deep bow, she left, and after her footsteps retreated, Sebastian stepped towards the table.

"May I ask what this was about?" he inquired. "If you wish to learn more about dancing, I'll be happy to teach you."

"I have no interest in dancing," his lord replied. He seemed lost in thought, his brows furrowed again, as if he was solving a difficult puzzle. "Mey-Rin seemed… very focused on you. To the point of distraction. And she's always clumsy, but it gets worse around you. Why is that?"

This line of questioning was so unlike his Master that Sebastian didn't reply immediately, scrutinising him instead.

"Mey-Rin would like to establish a friendlier relationship with me," he replied carefully.

The boy huffed and crossed his hands across his chest.

"Well that isn't helpful," he grumbled. "It doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

His question must have snapped his lord back into reality because his gaze sharpened maliciously.

"Someone wanting to be friends with you," he replied. "This is beyond my understanding."

"That's because you are too young. Your perceptions might change once you grow older."

His words were perfectly logical, yet the boy just sent him an incomprehensive look.

"I don't need to be older to understand why people want to have friends," he said stiffly. "Even children do. What I fail to see is why Mey-Rin might be interested in you as a friend in particular. You'd make a horrible one."

Sebastian blinked. What was… Oh. It seemed his lord had taken him too literally. Perhaps it was to be expected, considering his utter revulsion for anything connected with romantic and sexual impulses.

His lips began to move in the beginning of an amused smile. He opened his mouth to comment, but the boy interrupted him.

"This was a complete waste of my time," he muttered, annoyed. "I can't believe I sat through this for nothing."

He always made for a fascinating sight when he was angry. Unable to help himself, Sebastian leaned across the table and brushed his fingers against his scrunched-up face, thrilled at the immediate sizzle of pure delight that shot through him.

The energy was still there. Strong, powerful, dizzying. The key to understanding his recent strange emotions lied with the boy alone, then, the process of dancing had nothing to do with it. Now he just had to solve the mystery of why he felt the strongest during their yesterday's dance and why he found the boy to be a more desirable partner than Mey-Rin, even if her movements were far more graceful.

"Stop doing that already," his lord swatted Sebastian's hand away, scowling, but his cheeks flushed brightly. "Go find something useful to do. For instance, teach Mey-Rin how to do curtsy. I can't have her bowing all the time."

The thought of leaving injected him with reluctance. Sebastian stored this bizarre feeling away and nodded in agreement.

He would have to find an excuse to return later. For now, he would try to understand why his Master organised this dance with Mey-Rin, what his comments meant, and why he kept acting so out of sorts today.

This guaranteed him several exciting hours.

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Mey-Rin was turning into a persistent source of irritation. Her attentions were always unwelcome, but after their dance, she seemed outright drunk on them. She followed Sebastian everywhere and tried starting conversations that were impressive in their increasing monotony; her clumsiness reached its peak and Sebastian had to dart forward to catch various things she kept dropping almost every minute.

Attraction turned even capable humans into blabbering fools. It was one of the most degrading and pathetic sensations of a mortal realm — Sebastian had been trying to avoid contracts with people infected with it for many decades now. It was a good thing that his Master was too rigid and damaged to experience something like…

The world rapidly lost its colours, fading to one dull shade. Sebastian froze as he thought of everything that transpired today, going through every moment and looking at it through the lenses of his new realisation.

Ciel Phantomhive was behaving unusually. He blushed easily. He dropped things. He invited Sebastian to dance with Mey-Rin, watched her in particular, commented on her feelings, and later told him to teach her how to curtsy. He acted oddly around Sebastian, too, but the most vivid distinction was his sudden hostility. With Mey-Rin, on the contrary, he made an effort — he tried to behave pleasantly despite the clear resentment simmering under the surface.

Sebastian was a fool for missing the obvious. His lord was experiencing the symptoms of his first infatuation, and for some absolutely unexplainable reason, he chose Mey-Rin as his object of affection.

The thought should have been laughable, only Sebastian struggled to find it funny. Something ugly glimmered in his chest, and before he knew it, it began to spread, coating his insides with a thick layer of darkness.

"S-Sebastian?" Mey-Rin was looking at him, emanating a nauseating amount of earnestness and concern.

He could break her neck right here. Leave her body for Baldroy and Finnian to find. Or he could sever her head and bring it to his lord, presenting it on a tray like one of surprise treats. Would he still consider her beautiful then? Or would he choke on his scream? Lose his icy composure?

The dance had been a test. The boy must have wanted to evaluate his feelings and to judge Mey-Rin's reactions to Sebastian. It was jealousy speaking in him, jealousy that he likely couldn't grasp — Sebastian had been a simple tool in an endeavour of an emotionally constipated human to understand what he felt.

Anger swirled in him in a dangerous burning tide. Without his permission, his hands curled into fists, the claws breaking through yet another pair of gloves and piercing his human skin.

He didn't know what he must look like. He didn't think he even glared at Mey-Rin, and yet she suddenly recoiled, her hand flying to her chest, her face paling dramatically.

"I'm, I'm sorry," she breathed out. "I'll go. I have things to do. Important things. For Young Master, for him."

At the mention of his lord, Sebastian felt his lips curl upwards, baring his teeth. Mey-Rin didn't wait for his reply — she hastened to run away, and maybe it was a good thing because Sebastian felt off.

He wasn't sure what was happening to him. Something was twisting in his body and boiling in his blood, making it difficult for him to maintain his human shape. The feeling wasn't entirely unfamiliar: it reminded him of what he'd felt when Bard had made his Master laugh, when he succeeded in calming him after a nightmare even though Sebastian had failed. And yet, somehow, this one was worse. Every part of him burned with frustrated anger — it was overflowing and he didn't know what to do with it.

His breathing was getting more rapid, his heart racing in an increasingly uncomfortable way. Didn't these symptoms mirror the boy's reactions to his nightmares or particularly stressful situations? Was this what his human body was undergoing?

Maybe the same breathing technique would help. Sebastian considered it perplexing, but if it helped his lord, it could work on him as well.

One slow, deep breath. Holding it for three and a half seconds. Then another breath.

Surprisingly, it proved to be effective. His heart calmed just after a minute, and a strange sort of serenity flooded him.

This was better. Much better. His claws shortened into more regular nails, the snarl stopped trying to split his face. He could function again — who knew that simple breathing could bring stability? And if it was so helpful, why did Ciel Phantomhive struggle with nightmares at all? He could breathe and go back to sleep in just a minute.

The thoughts of the boy began to darken his mood again, but with an effort, Sebastian put a stop to it.

He would continue to observe him today. And he would crush any his delusional displays of infatuation towards Mey-Rin before they had a chance to take root. By all means necessary.

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To his relief, his Master showed no interest in Mey-Rin for the remainder of the day. He still reddened spontaneously and he continued to drop things, but his wit was sharp and the only thing he seemed interested in was work. He also radiated even bigger hostility, and other than jealousy, Sebastian could only guess at the reasons behind it. He'd been behaving perfectly for this past week, even someone as demanding as his lord couldn't possibly find fault in his services. It was confusing.

It became even more confusing when the boy spent half of the night playing chess against himself. Sebastian lingered behind his door, intrigued and curious, but reluctant to announce his presence. He listened to the figures move, trying to guess what they were from the sounds they made upon touching the chessboard. When his curiosity grew too overpowering to fight it, he slid inside with a shadow, but his Master immediately snapped his head in his direction, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

How he managed to sense him when Sebastian remained unseen, he would never know. It was almost unnerving because this had never taken place before. Humans couldn't sense demons like this.

Reluctantly, Sebastian left. He didn't want to risk it when the boy already appeared to be angry with him. And when the morning came, he would come up with a plan to untangle this alarming behaviour.

As they frequently did, his ideas went unrealised. The night did nothing to tame the boy's anger and resentment — it only seemed to fuel them further.

"I'm leaving to one of my family's estates," he stated. His voice sounded distant. "I don't expect my trip to last, so I won't be needing your company."

This was new. And very unwelcome.

Sebastian stared, waiting for an explanation, but all he got instead was another glare. As if he was the one being unreasonable.

What was going on? For his lord to travel somewhere without him — this went against the entire foundation their contract was built upon. Sebastian was his shaping force, a source of power that fed him confidence and fearlessness. He thought his Master had learned this lesson with Vanel and after being nearly kidnapped by other members of the Ferro family, but this new development called this conclusion into doubt.

No. Ciel Phantomhive was startlingly intelligent. There had to be a reason for him to leave like this, and Sebastian felt no desire to indulge him.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to let you go alone," he said. He tried to make his words polite, but they still came out condescendingly. He cringed internally when the boy straightened in clear affront.

"You won't tell me what to do," he warned lowly. "I make decisions here. You obey them."

That was technically true, but Sebastian couldn't help it. A new kind of frustration welled up inside, and he sneered, torn between derision and concern.

"You cannot spend a day without being attacked or encountering danger. You have already tried leaving without me accompanying you just recently, Young Master. May I remind you how it ended?"

A barely noticeable flinch from the boy. His skin gained a rosy shade, and Sebastian would have loved to reach out and touch it, to chase this sudden influx of blood with his fingers, to absorb its warmth. But his distraction didn't last long — it withered under the icy stare.

"This time, everything will be fine," his lord said haughtily. "And I'm not going alone. I'm taking Tanaka with me."

His first instinct was to give into relief. At least it wasn't Mey-Rin his Master was taking. If he chose her and he purposefully left Sebastian behind…

But he was leaving him behind. And this thought brought nothing but rage.

The boy must have sensed it because a darkly satisfied smile graced his lips.

"Tanaka used to perform his butler duties flawlessly," he added. "Naturally, you surpass him when it comes to physical strength, but other than that, I think you aren't doing half as well as he did."

One deep breath. Holding it for three and a half seconds.

"You can leave now. I won't be needing those mediocre services of yours until my return."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, his attempts at calming himself forgotten. The anger unfolded again, chased forwards by incomprehension and frustration.

He hadn't done anything wrong. Why was he being punished? And how much longer would he have to guess?

"Have I done something to displease you, Master?" he asked abruptly. Taking a direct approach wasn't what he usually resorted to, but maybe it would take the boy aback enough to make him talk.

The amusement faded from Ciel Phantomhive's face. Sebastian almost smiled, pleased with his unorthodox decision, yet this smile died before even touching his lips.

This blank look wasn't good. It never led to anything he liked or appreciated.

"I don't know," the boy replied indifferently. "Have you?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw from this mockery. Sebastian tried to school his expression, but his effort was quickly swallowed by an instinctive snarl that twisted his face into a raw unrecognisable mask. His human voice was no longer working, and he would have growled if an equally vicious expression didn't cross the face of his Master. For a second, he didn't look human himself, and this was sufficiently startling for Sebastian to pause.

The moment he did that, the boy relaxed again, his expression growing smooth.

"Get out," he said. The fury hissed again, and Sebastian barely remembered to bow before flying out of the room, his heart pacing restlessly.

He didn't understand anything. First Mey-Rin, then this. Why would Ciel Phantomhive want to leave the manor for days? Why would he take Tanaka? This was foolish, and since the boy was anything but, it had to be a game of a sort. A plot that Sebastian didn't even begin to untangle.

He had to understand when it started. Up until the day of the dance, his lord had been acting ordinarily — per his standards. He remained resentful over the incident with Vanel, but they progressed enough for things to almost go back to normal. By the end of the day, Ciel Phantomhive craved his presence to the extent of asking him to stay with him until he fell asleep.

And then, in the morning, everything began to change. The relentless blushing. Clumsiness that had never been a part of the boy's behaviour. The order for Sebastian to dance with Mey-Rin, the intense observation of her reactions, the related questions he asked Sebastian. His sudden increased antagonism; the night he spent playing chess against himself, this bizarre decision to leave by himself.

Infatuation with Mey-Rin fit some of these things. Sebastian might have believed that his lord had discovered a new feeling within himself and chose to run rather than deal with it. However…

He stopped in one of the corridors. His mind sharpened on the memories of every interaction his lord had shared with Mey-Rin, going through them and assessing each second.

There weren't many. And when they happened, they were identical. Mey-Rin always shone with her eager desire to please, emanating gratitude and loyalty. His lord ignored her for the most part. On the rare occasions he paid attention, it was to give some stilted words of encouragement — a sweetened manipulation to reinforce her devotion. He acted this way with all their servants. In fact, if Sebastian were to compare his reactions, he would say that Ciel Phantomhive liked Mey-Rin the least… and so the theory with his sudden infatuation with her fell apart at the seams.

The realisation brought a flood of cool and unexpected relief. His lips formed a grin, and Sebastian touched it with a frown. He certainly hadn't been planning on smiling. The fact that his lord wasn't taken with Mey-Rin was pleasing, but it didn't explain this strange sensation of carefree light-headedness. It's not like it mattered that much, their contract would be fulfilled either way.

But the gathering of odd feelings continued. His interest in what had provoked his lord's departure had faded, at least temporarily — the satisfaction from his new discovery surpassed it in its splendour.

Deeply mystified, Sebastian resumed walking, his mind stuck on this one piece of information. It was much later, after his Master departed, that he finally managed to start thinking of other things.

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The manor had gotten quiet.

It was a strange thing to notice because there wasn't a seed of truth in it. Bard was working on his grenade launcher in the kitchen, whistling some rhythm under his breath. Finnie was on the rooftop, and the sounds of him moving back and forth for a better look at the stars were reverberating through the entire last floor. Mey-Rin was in her room. She was trying to read a book aloud, her voice uncertain but slowly getting steadier.

The sounds were everywhere, and yet the quietness grated on Sebastian. He caught himself trying to pinpoint Ciel Phantomhive's heartbeat every several minutes, growing increasingly antsy when each attempt failed.

It was ludicrous to notice the absence of one heartbeat and for this absence to subdue all other sounds of life. This had never happened before — but then, he had never spent a night separated from his Master in this manner.

His seal was twitching occasionally, indicating that the boy was scared of something. But these reactions were weak and rare, so they didn't give Sebastian an excuse to track him down like he wanted to. Like he needed to. The conditions of their contract presupposed that he had to be by his lord's side day and night. Sitting here with nothing to do, away from him, felt wrong.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Sebastian turned his head slightly at the sudden intrusion. Bard must have finished improving his doubtlessly horrific creation and decided to come up here. Why? This was his Master's office.

"Why would you ask that?" he inquired. And how did he manage to miss the footsteps from the kitchen all the way up here? He must have been more lost in his brooding than he believed.

"I don't know," Bard smirked at him. "Do you often sit in his office in the dark?"

Sebastian wasn't confident he understood the implication, but he disliked it on principle.

"Should I return the sentiment?" he asked silkily. "Why have you entered our lord's office when you know perfectly well he is not here?"

"I was just making a goodnight round. Checking if everything is safe. Seemed like someone was in here, so I decided to look."

Bard and his uncanny intuition. Sometimes it was extremely inconvenient.

"You looked," Sebastian replied. "Now you can leave."

Bard hesitated, glancing between him and the door. Finally, he shook his head.

"Are you really that upset that he left with Tanaka?" he wondered. "Come on. Let the boy reconnect with his past. He's just a child. No matter what work he does for the Queen, he has a right to think about better times and get a break for a few days."

Sebastian blinked. Nothing after the first two sentences made sense to him. Reconnect with the past? Think about better times? Where was Bard getting this from?

He was used to his lord immediately sensing his confusion and elaborating, regardless of how well Sebastian wiped his expression off. That was why Bard's wary look almost caught him off guard.

"No offense, but you are making me nervous when you stare like this," Bard muttered, crossing his hands across his chest. "I never know if I should keep talking or if it's better to start running. Can you maybe frown? Or nod your head? You are like some giant insect, all you do is blink."

"Insects don't blink," Sebastian said automatically. For some reason, Bard began to look even more concerned. "And I frown every time I see the disastrous attempts of yours to cook for Young Master."

"Hey, just so you know, I can cook well enough! I fed my entire troop!"

"No wonder they all died, then."

Bard's face went white. He recoiled slightly, and Sebastian sighed in boredom.

He forgot that many humans lacked any sense of humour. His Master would have smiled.

Bard continued to stare at him with a ridiculously wounded expression that gradually began to turn angry. It was better to speak before this process was completed — Sebastian had no desire to listen to pointless yelling.

"What did you mean about our lord?" he asked. His question was abrupt enough to stop Bard in his tracks.

"I— what?" he spluttered. Sebastian sighed again, this time loudly.

"You said he wants to reconnect with his past and think of better times. Unless he told you this directly, I have no idea how you arrived at this conclusion."

Bard's confused gaze stirred annoyance in the pit of his stomach. If this idiot wanted to imply that he knew Ciel Phantomhive and his thought processes better than Sebastian…

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

…He did. Sebastian leaned forward slightly, letting a shade of redness touch his eyes. A thread of darkness lazily detached itself from his body, blurring with the shadows and travelling across the room.

Bard instantly took a step back, his face losing its colours again.

"I, I mean that…" he cleared his throat, his suspicious eyes jumping from one corner of the office to another. He palpably sensed the danger but couldn't tell where it was coming from. Delightful but unproductive.

The redness dulled, and Sebastian re-strengthened the control over his human form.

"Well?" he asked pleasantly.

"I mean that it's obvious," Bard repeated. He continued to fidget, but his overall stance gained confidence. "That ball that Lady Elisabeth set up made him remember the times when his family was alive. He was so upset when his ring broke, too. He has to carry a lot of responsibility. He probably thought of the days when these balls were a common thing for him, when he could, you know, relax, without thinking what the Queen is going to ask for next."

This was a series of meaningless sentences. None of it was obvious at all.

As Sebastian stared expectantly, Bard had the audacity to roll his eyes.

"Ah, come now! Don't tell me you are this clueless! Young Master was not himself after the ball and now he decided to go visit one of his family's homes with Tanaka. You know, the only person among us who was there when he was growing up and when his folks were still around. He wants to spend some time with him, probably talk about some memories. Pretend that it's like the old times."

Sebastian continued to stare… and the implications finally hit him. The world re-arranged itself quickly, and as his mind flashed to all those memories of the last several days he'd spent so long analysing, he suddenly saw them in a completely new light.

The odd behaviour of his lord. The attention to dancing, a mundane human activity. Those words of not remembering when he had last smiled genuinely, his wistfulness, powerful enough to sour his mood. The torn look on his face when he spoke about his dead family and about dying himself. His growing irritation with Sebastian and his refusal of contact.

It fit. It all fit. For whatever reason, dancing and that ridiculous ball reminded Ciel Phantomhive of the life he had been supposed to get. Sebastian had no idea what motivated that order of a dance with Mey-Rin — it could be that his lord had observed Lady Elisabeth's doting attention throughout the evening and wanted to recreate it or compare it to Mey-Rin's reactions. Perhaps the idea of normalcy suddenly captivated him and he tried to understand this spectre of human emotions, too, using Mey-Rin as the target of his experiment.

But the dance was meaningless. What mattered was that he was missing his old life. Regretting the contract that would inevitably end with his death. Wanting to run. He withdrew because he saw Sebastian as a threat that would never allow him to go back to a normal existence. He took Tanaka and travelled to one of his family's estates because, like Bard had suggested, he hoped to bury himself in the shadows of his past. Relive the brightest moments and reminisce about the life he'd once had.

How… ordinary. How disappointing.

The red blanket of fire and ice wrapped itself around him. Tremors ran through his body, twisting it unnaturally, and Sebastian had to forcefully still himself to avoid revealing even more to Bard.

Bard, however, seemed to be focused on studying his face curiously.

"He had a life before us, you know," he said in amusement. "Before you. I know you do a lot for him, he probably saved you like he did us, but he's his own person. Sooner or later you'll follow different paths anyway, it's just a matter of time."

And this was the final straw. Sebastian stood up abruptly, not bothering to mask the cruel snarl on his face. He couldn't say what Bard must have seen in this semi-darkness with his weak human eyes, but he stumbled back quickly and raised his hands in a pacifying manner.

"All right, all right, I'm going!" he exclaimed. "No need to get in one of your states. I got it. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sebastian didn't move or blink. He continued to stare even after Bard hastened to slam the door shut and began to walk away, muttering, "Hopefully not. Scary bastard."

His body burned. His energy was ruthlessly devouring his human shape, baring something much uglier and much more real.

It would take him a split second to chase Bard down the hall and crush his windpipe. A minute to watch him writhe in pain and struggle to breathe. Another second to kill him. If not for guessing the things Sebastian had failed to understand about Ciel Phantomhive, then for daring to presume he knew anything about their situation.

They would not be following different paths. On the contrary, as soon as their contract came to end, they would become one. He would consume the boy's soul until not even the slightest sliver was left of it, so in a way, he would always carry him inside.

And to suggest that Ciel Phantomhive saved him? It was not merely ludicrous, it was insulting. As if the boy would amount to anything if it was not for Sebastian's meticulous cultivation of his character for the last two years.

Something twinged in him at this thought, a sharp pull of what faintly resembled rebuke.

Well… he might have been too harsh in his judgment. Because while the boy he had met then was a far cry from the boy he knew now, he'd been formidable in his own right. Such a small little thing, abused and tortured in the multiple ways of primitive cruelty, but enthralling in his rage. Beautiful in his thirst for vengeance. Amusing in his tattered pridefulness.

Oddly, those memories didn't taste as sweet as they used to. A part of Sebastian's mind buckled at the onslaught of images, shoving them away with skittishness that took him aback.

What did it mean? Seeing his Master in pain was not a particularly welcome sight these days, but back then, they had no link to one another. So why would he feel disturbed by simply remembering what he'd witnessed and what he'd enjoyed?

Confusion intensified, clouding his thoughts. With a hiss, Sebastian leapt out of the window and entwined himself with the air, becoming a part of the night. He wasn't certain where he was going, led entirely by his instincts. His thoughts were chaos, and by the time he began to register his surroundings again, he had already approached the Eternal Chasm.

This was a huge empty area on the top of the cliff that no mortal could ever access. Stretched for miles and miles, it blurred with the perpetually dark piece of sky. It was starlit, and for a moment, an old fascination moved in him.

He loved the stars. An eternity ago, when he was only crossing the threshold to adolescence, he and the other demons of his age and position were told to pick a sphere of interest. It was to represent them throughout their existence. Sebastian made his choice immediately. He settled on astronomy because it meant spending time away from Hell, studying something he could observe but never touch.

The majority of demons looked down on his choice — not that they risked voicing their thoughts to his face. Very few of their kind showed interest in something that was considered closer to Heaven and Earth than Hell, certainly almost no one of Sebastian's rank. But it didn't matter. On the contrary, he found the idea doubly amusing. Only someone entirely unimaginative could prefer Hell to discovering new locations, and if it got him out of the tedious place and company, he only welcomed such a change. The fact that the stars were unique and captivating was just an additional benefit.

It had been many years since Sebastian thought about them, let alone enjoyed them.

Regardless, now wasn't the moment to reminisce — he was not a weak human being like his Master. He could let go of things easily, without regressing to his past state.

Anger stirred up again, and Sebastian dived into the chasm, welcoming the icy wind that crashed into him as a warning.

Hell was separated into thousands of layers. His place of dwelling was in one of the best areas, but he never felt any particular attachment to it. He didn't even bother to leave the protective energy behind.

Then again, he knew that it was safe to leave it for decades because no other demon would be tempted to break inside — apart from Claude, naturally.

…'Claude.' The change of the name meant that his perpetual source of annoyance had finalised that half-formed contract at last. Hopefully, this would keep him interested for a while, although why he'd bother with a Master who couldn't come up with a wish for so long was beyond Sebastian's understanding.

Thinking of Claude was a waste of time, so he refocused on his surroundings.

He had gone to much effort to make his physical home as offensive to this dimension as he could. He'd picked a giant human house in stark white colour to represent it, knowing how appalled his fellow demons would be. Even looking at it hurt, and it was entirely empty inside. This had never been a true home, rather his statement of defiance.

So what was he doing here?

"Sebastian?"

The voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned a little, his brows rising when he saw who it was.

"Greetings, Gremory," he murmured. By custom, he had to bow to her — she outranked him, after all, but he never bothered and she never minded.

"I thought I sensed your entry, but I was certain I was mistaken." With a faint smile, she wiped the blood from her human dress. "You never visit."

Her last sentence had playfulness that Sebastian ignored. If he had to be seen by someone here, Gremory would be his choice, but it didn't mean he wanted to stay and talk to her.

Undoubtedly sensing his mood, she straightened, a trace of concern lighting her eyes.

"Did something happen?"

"No. My Master is currently engaged elsewhere, so I thought I should spend some time in my dwelling. It's been a while."

A strange expression crossed Gremory's face.

"Your contract is taking a long time," she said almost carefully. "Is everything all right there? You know I could always give you a hand. I bet we could be done with it by tomorrow."

Sebastian tensed, his hackles instantly raised. He said nothing — he didn't trust his voice not to escape as a growl.

Gremory sent him a long, intent look before shrugging her shoulders.

"Or maybe not," she uttered. The energy around her turned questioning. "I know you enjoy the chase. I won't interfere."

She was too careful to ask anything directly, and Sebastian was too satisfied with it to speak. He nodded briefly and continued on his way. Gremory knew him enough not to expect the words of goodbye.

He found Hell to be a largely oppressive place. It didn't inspire the need to talk. Besides, Gremory might be more tolerable than the others, and yet she refused to co-exist in his mind alongside his Master. As long as Sebastian was contracted, he wanted nothing to do with her or any other demons.

Yet with the way things were going, the contract would come to its end sooner rather than later. Because if Ciel Phantomhive endeavoured to run, Sebastian wouldn't grant him the mercy of chasing him. He would kill him and take his soul as a repayment for the years he'd wasted in his company.

Bile burned him from inside. The urge to spew his anger gripped him with all the force it was capable of, and Sebastian gritted his teeth, suddenly furious.

Would the boy even deign to come back? Or did he hope to go on a run with Tanaka? If he did return, what would that look like? Would he be a pathetic reflection of his normal self? Would he try to talk his way out of the contract to pursue mundane human activities? Would he attempt to sound confident but betray himself with the odour of his fear and the terrified glint in his eyes? That's what his behaviour had been about. Not attraction to Mey-Rin — it was fear of Sebastian.

He wanted to break something at the mere image of it.

With a hiss, Sebastian stalked towards his white abomination of a house. Like he'd expected, it stood untouched, so he slithered inside and stopped, wondering what he was even doing here.

Why had he come to this place? It wasn't because he missed Hell and it certainly wasn't to catch up with Gremory. He'd never ventured down here during his contracts, so why would he change his pattern?

A thought flared in his mind, and Sebastian frowned.

Could he be mimicking his Master for whatever reason? He had gone to one of his old family estates — and here Sebastian was, doing something similar. Coming to the only place he could technically call a home. The boy wanted to plunge back into his past. Sebastian definitely saw Hell as a part of his past rather than his present.

But even if his guess was correct, what did it imply? What was he supposed to do with it?

He didn't have a clue… yet he didn't want to leave. How endlessly strange.

Still frowning, Sebastian studied the only room he tended to visit, somewhat at a loss. There was nothing here to hold his interest except for a pile of precious stones. He'd been collecting the most beautiful ones for centuries, but like with astronomy, his curiosity about them dimmed over the years.

Absent-mindedly, he approached and brushed his claws against the sparkliest ones. Each was icy cold to touch.

Touch… maybe that was the reason? He disliked being separated from his Master. Spending time in their manor only emphasized his absence, so by mirroring his actions, Sebastian could be trying to bridge the distance between them.

It made more sense to simply track his lord down, but something in him rebelled against this thought.

He didn't want to witness any regressive changes that might be happening to Ciel Phantomhive. If that was an inevitability, he would face it when he absolutely must. Not sooner, not even if it signified the earlier end of their contract.

One stone in particular grabbed his attention. Sebastian brought it closer to his eyes, tilting his head as he observed it.

The angelic gem. The first one he'd found back when he was at his youngest and which ultimately kindled his passion for precious stones.

It remained the most unique piece in his collection, a mystery, the very existence of which was contradictory. By itself, it comprised a clutter of angelic energy. It couldn't have been created anywhere but in Heaven, and yet Sebastian located it in one of the darkest pits of Hell.

A vague idea outlined itself in his mind. Clenching his fist around the gem, Sebastian absorbed it.

He would deal with it later. He had other things to consider now.

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Time had its own flow in Hell, but he still had his Phantomhives' pocket watch. According to it, five hours had passed — morning was coming soon, and he had to return to make certain everything was in order. Maybe the boy would return today.

Sebastian travelled back towards the chasm, carefully avoiding other demons. His feelings kept changing so rapidly that he gave up on deciphering them.

Once he reached the top, he breathed in deeply and looked around.

The cliff was depressingly void of colour. The dark sky, the empty chasm and the brown dirt. How could sitting here have ever satisfied him?

On a whim, he waved his hand, stirring the energy of the earth. He didn't put much thought into it — he simply followed the rush of spontaneity. It'd been a while since he created flowers with demonic powers, with how insistent his Master was on him doing it the human way.

Feeling them spring to life filled him with pleasure, but it came to an abrupt stop as he realised what exactly began to blossom.

Roses. Thousands and thousands of roses in blue and white.

His mind balked. He tried to sever the connection between his energy and the earth, but to his astonishment, it didn't work. More and more flowers kept emerging, all having the same colour scheme: some blue, some white.

He didn't even like roses. Why had his mind gone there?

This was infuriating.

This was crossing the line.

Gremory was right. He'd been serving Ciel Phantomhive far too long if the boy's preferences started to reflect on his own choices.

The darkness simmered, sending a rush of conflicting sensations through his body. Throwing an inscrutable glance at the newly flourished meadow, Sebastian raised his hand again to get rid of it.

His lord was everywhere as it was. He didn't need even more reminders of him, particularly not in such close proximity to what was considered his home. Filling this place with any other kind of flowers would be fine — to hell with it, even changing the colour of these roses would make the situation more acceptable. Just nothing blue or white. He would not want to think of the boy that proved to be one of his biggest disappointments decades and centuries after his demise.

But the magic didn't come. It stubbornly clung to his bones and refused to act. It seemed to like the view and it didn't want to see it altered.

With an incredulous sound, Sebastian turned away from the clearing, crouched, and sprinted forwards.

If it hadn't worked today, it could still work tomorrow. He had more important matters to attend to anyway, and some ridiculous flowers wouldn't distract him from his duty.

Until he was certain that Ciel Phantomhive wanted to find a way to exit their contract, he would continue to be a perfect butler.

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His Master returned 52 hours and 36 minutes after his departure. Sebastian was dreading and anticipating his arrival. He expected…

He wasn't sure what he expected. For the boy to look conflicted and weak. To avoid meeting his eyes, to shy away from his presence. To speak in an awkward manner and try to start negotiations about their contract.

What he didn't expect was for the opposite to be true.

Ciel Phantomhive looked like a beautiful ice sculpture. He walked into the house with confidence that bordered on arrogance, and when he gazed at Sebastian, there was nothing flustered or insecure about it. His stare was cold and piercing, and he gracefully nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Did anything happen while we were away?" he asked. He sounded almost abnormally calm, and it took Sebastian a second to answer.

"No, my lord," he uttered. "Everything was well."

He was so focused on observing his Master that he nearly forgot the rest. When he remembered, an embarrassing heat shot through him.

"A letter from the Queen arrived, though," he hastened to add. "It is waiting for you in your study room."

"Good." The boy quickly lost interest, turning his back to him and heading towards the stairs. "I'm going to check it. Prepare something sweet for me to drink."

Sebastian watched him go, bewilderment rising with every step that increased the distance between them.

No, this wasn't what he expected at all. He'd been bracing himself for disappointment — instead, his curiosity was piqued with a fresh wave of intensity.

Something sweet to drink. He had just the recipe in mind.

Trying to carefully filter his emotions, Sebastian went to the kitchen. Tanaka was already there, making tea with a focused look on his face.

"What are you doing?" Sebastian asked. He might have sounded overly stiff, but it was well deserved. He held respect for this man — Tanaka had a curious soul and an interesting mind in the periods when it wasn't being devoured by senility. But he had already received liberties he should not have acted upon. He accompanied the boy by taking Sebastian's place. And now he was getting tea started?

Tanaka looked at him, his eyes unsettlingly shrewd.

"Tea brings calmness and comfort," he said. "Would you like a cup, Sebastian?"

"No, thank you. May I ask why you are making tea for Young Master? I understand you had to do that while the two of you were away, but now he's home. I will take care of it."

A shallow laughter shook Tanaka's chest.

"It's very flattering that you are jealous of an old man," he noted dryly. "But I am simply making a cup for myself. It saddens me to admit it but Young Master has developed quite a taste for your cooking. Nothing else seems to satisfy him any longer."

Tension changed into another flood of mortification when he realised what a foolish mistake he'd made. Of course Tanaka was making tea for himself — he did so all the time. But mortification didn't last long either, swiftly transforming into smug joy.

So his lord preferred his cooking to Tanaka's? Naturally. He had a refined palate and nothing short of perfect could earn his approval. Sebastian had modelled his skills based on his unique preferences, so there was nothing surprising about the boy favouring his food.

It was gratifying to hear the confirmation, particularly from Tanaka, though… Not that it changed the fact that Tanaka had been chosen for their trip.

His mood darkened again. With a curt nod, Sebastian opened one of the cupboards.

During his lord's absence, the urge to concentrate on something had been overwhelming. He cleaned the house twice over and developed a new recipe that he knew Ciel Phantomhive was bound to appreciate. He had an alarming sweet tooth, and what could be sweeter than white chocolate? Sebastian felt nauseous when merely watching someone consume it. He lacked the ability to experience its true taste, but the appearance, the consistency and the way this chocolate affected human bodies allowed making an educated guess. Indian salt would be a perfect diluent, just as it would make for a fitting parallel.

He had come up with this drink for the Master he knew, not the one who chose to hide from the present in his past. Sweetness represented one side of his life, the sharpness of the salt represented another. If Ciel Phantomhive had returned as a frightened little boy, Sebastian wouldn't have granted him the honour of tasting it. He would have made common tea and put a paralytic into it. This would have been a suitable punishment. He would be watching how his lord's body failed him, how he tried to move or speak but couldn't. This would have amplified his terror tenfold, and perhaps the pathetic display would have been conclusive enough for Sebastian to crush him at last, effectively bringing their contract to the end.

Yet this wasn't what had taken place. His Master remained himself, at least for now, and the very sight of him made Sebastian's heart soar.

With a faint smile, he completed his preparations and carried the tray to the office. The boy looked up with a frown.

"I have prepared hot white chocolate with Indian salt for you," Sebastian told him. The surprised gaze made his lips twitch more distinctively.

"With salt?" his lord repeated. His voice was sceptical, but there was an undeniable curious undertone beneath. Regardless of how he doubted Sebastian's culinary choices, he would be unable to resist the opportunity to taste something new.

When Sebastian offered him the cup, he took it gingerly. Some traces of wariness still decorated his face as he took a sip, but they evaporated in an instant. Making a pleased sound, he stared at the cup with awed admiration, and his soul flared with pure, incandescent joy.

Sebastian's heart stumbled. His lungs forgot their human functions, too. He didn't transform into his true form, but the effect was the same: something entirely demonic gripped him from inside, howling in hunger, greed, and desire.

He hadn't realised how the lengthy separation between them had affected him. During their brief interaction, he had been too focused on looking for flaws instead of appreciating what had drawn him in from the start. The awareness was belated but staggering: Ciel Phantomhive's soul shone more brightly than he even remembered, defiant and vicious yet with the gentlest touches of light. This light was glowing now, and Sebastian wanted to devour it. A tremble rippled through his body; a sudden flood of saliva made his lips part in hungry anticipation.

The boy looked at him, and while it made something in Sebastian's chest lurch, he only got a frown in return.

"I will drink it," his lord said. The lighter part of his soul dimmed, but the light did not leave. It never had, no matter what orders passed these lips. "You can leave now. I have to take care of some letters and then we will go to London. Make sure everything is ready."

London?

His own joy flared up, chasing the hunger to the background.

They were going on a journey together. Time with Tanaka must have been tremendously disappointing for Young Master to discard him so quickly. He needed someone capable of protecting him if he intended to follow another one of the Queen's wishes.

"Another case, then?" Sebastian inquired. A strange shadow moved in his mind, whispering of the oddities he had almost forgotten.

He knew what case the Queen must have given his lord. The murders of London prostitutes were all over the newspapers. But he hadn't connected the dots previously.

The first murder coincided with the exact time he noticed the severe change in Madam Red's soul. The second one matched her departure. She had brought a flamboyant and deranged reaper into their manor, and what were the odds that a distasteful and garish series of murders would overflow London during the same period? Serial killers weren't particularly common in this area. And this one had a curious name.

The intrigue bubbled in his chest. Sebastian hardly registered how he left his lord's office, his thoughts swirling in excitement.

Jack the Ripper. Sounded like something Grell the Reaper would come up with or violently endorse.

If his hunch were accurate, this investigation would become the most fascinating experience. Watching the boy solve riddles always brought him immense satisfaction, but seeing him identify his own aunt as a killer?

Sebastian grinned so widely that his lips began to hurt. Anticipation was already brimming in him, tickling him with its impatient touches, and he was certain that as the investigation progressed, it would intensify further.

Jack the Ripper… How soon would his Master solve this one?

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That Madam Red was already in the London manor was a pleasant surprise. Being able to watch her reactions was an even better one. If Sebastian had any doubts, they evaporated the second she heard what case her nephew was investigating.

From then on, her soul was swirling with conflicting emotions. Sebastian didn't know what she was thinking or planning, but her soul changed shades accordingly, and a multitude of expressions kept flickering across her face.

Worry. Confusion. Pride. Anger. Horror. It felt like she was torn between wanting the boy to uncover her second identity and fearing this outcome. If she settled on the latter, she might take actions to eliminate him, so Sebastian had to plan in advance.

As Madam Red was arguing with Young Master about accompanying him, he stepped towards Lau, watching how he raised his head curiously.

"I have a favour to ask," he said. Lau hummed.

"Another one? Don't you think you are getting too bold, butler? I thought this cooperation was supposed to be mutually beneficial."

Well. Dismissing the fact that Sebastian could crush him with one finger, Lau was right.

"I'll be willing to return the favour if you succeed," he offered. A sharp grin stretched Lau's mouth.

"Agreed. What is it that you want me to do? To set up another abduction of your Master? To remove him off the board in a more permanent manner?"

"The opposite of it." Lau's inability to stop himself from needling him was as exasperating as it was amusing. "If I am forced to leave his side for any reason, make sure you stay close. And don't leave him alone with Madam Red or her butler."

Lau's eyes flew open for one startled second.

"I see," he drawled finally. The astonishment faded from his face, changing into delight. "How intriguing. Not what I saw coming, but I do love surprises. They justify our existence, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm not certain I would go this far, but the lack of them would certainly make eternity boring."

Lau stared at him again. Giving him an enigmatic look, Sebastian followed his lord, anticipation making his blood run hotter.

He couldn't wait for the game to begin.

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Undertaker offered the first clue, and Sebastian made it a point to emphasize it on their way back.

"The killer is well versed in medicine," he said, his gleefulness covered with a perfectly natural mask of concern. "We should target these people and look for those who have no alibies for the nights of murder. And finally, the removal of organs would suggest some kind of gruesome rituals. Perhaps it's a person involved with secret societies."

He wasn't confident about the ritual part, but at the moment, it was the only version that fit. Madam Red hadn't been a killer before the reaper appeared in her life. It was likely that they had a deal of their own. He'd never heard of the reapers entering contracts the demon way, but Grell was eccentric enough to try it, and he would know the value of organs in rituals better than any human.

These murders were a joint effort, but Sebastian wasn't sure what each party was getting.

"How does that narrow the field?" Madam Red asked. Her voiced thinned with hysterical notes. "Even I would have the medical skills for something like this!"

Sebastian's mask almost slipped, his lips trembling in a powerful urge to grin. What a wonderful self-incriminating little clue. Pity that Young Master seemed to miss it entirely.

"Besides, the season is ending in a week," Madam Red continued. Her bold decision must have unnerved her because her words gained speed. "Any doctors who followed the nobles to the city will be going back to the country, and then what?"

"Then we have to complete this case within a week," Sebastian told her softly. Ignoring Lau's incomprehension and Madam Red's rapidly paling face, he leaned closer to his lord, his gaze drawn to a private smile on his lips.

"I'll make a list of viable suspects and I will start questioning them immediately," he murmured. To his chagrin, the smile instantly died. The corners of the boy's lips curled downwards, and his eyes darkened in clear hostility.

Not this again.

His joy from playing dimmed. Sebastian sent a long stare to Lau — a silent reminder of their agreement, gave everyone a fake smile and jumped outside. A moment later, he was on the roof of the building, following the carriage with his eyes.

There were more than a billion people in this world, and yet no one was as perplexing as Ciel Phantomhive. Whatever he'd been doing in that family estate with Tanaka, it didn't change much in his demeanour. He was no longer flustered, but he was equally hostile. Some casual moments were accompanied by a new series of stubborn attempts at rejection.

Perhaps he realised that there was no escape and embraced his doom. His earlier distraught bashfulness could signify hope mixed with fear; his current grimmer reactions spoke of resentful acceptance.

Irritation buzzed under his skin. Sebastian straightened, his eyes sliding over the view of London.

Setting this investigation up as a game was an even better idea than he'd thought. His Master was too absorbed in his own feelings, to the point where he wasn't paying enough attention to anything else. Wouldn't it be funny to offer a fake suspect to him and watch him chase him while missing the real murderer right under his nose?

A thousand ideas flew through his mind, a thousand names he remembered from having listened to the useless talks of useless London masses.

Someone connected to the medicine. A member of secret societies. Someone who threw parties that Young Master hated and had a weakness for young and beautiful human beings.

Slowly, Sebastian smiled.

He had a perfect candidate. Who would have thought that the opportunity to dance with his lord again would fall onto his lap of its own volition?

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Up until the evening, Ciel Phantomhive behaved in a confusing manner. He kept his distance for the most part, and when he couldn't, he subjected Sebastian to cold indifference.

But there were short moments when something shifted in him. It was as if his mask slipped, and he relaxed in Sebastian's presence, made funny little remarks, or even gave him a smile or two.

Alas, these moments were fleeting, leaving Sebastian with nothing better than to attempt to chase them.

"Would you like to play chess, Young Master?" he asked. He hadn't initiated a match ever since his last victory months ago. His lord, frustrated at yet another loss, threw the chessboard at his head and swore that he would win the next time no matter what it cost him. That promise required fulfilment.

The unpleasant stare he received instead of an answer meant that the boy remembered his words very well.

"Unless you don't feel you can win yet?" Sebastian added. He knew his Master wouldn't be able to resist this challenge, and he was right — the fire that flared in his blue eye said it all.

"Bring the chessboard," he said tightly. With a mocking bow, Sebastian obeyed.

Ciel Phantomhive was an excellent opponent. His moves were smart and calculating, and he often took Sebastian aback with his unconventional strategies, but he was still not good enough to win. This brought Sebastian as much pleasure as he knew it ruffled his lord's feathers.

The match started in silence. After twenty minutes, the concentration on the boy's face reached such heights that it began to look comical, and Sebastian couldn't help poking at it.

"Are you sure about this one?" he drawled, amusement lacing his words. "Doesn't seem like a good idea to me."

"Shut up," his lord grumbled. He moved his bishop forward in one precise move. "Of course this doesn't seem like a good idea to you — you shouldn't have left this area open, you idiot."

Sebastian glanced at the chessboard again and frowned.

The boy was right. Maybe he'd been paying too much attention to him rather than to their game. At such a pace, he would lose within the next twenty minutes, and he wasn't about to let that happen. No one had ever beaten him, and regardless of how slippery Ciel Phantomhive could be, he wouldn't become an exception in this.

The following several minutes passed in a new bout of silence. Sebastian focused on refining his positions, and once he was satisfied, he allowed himself to relax again.

"You could simply order me to let you win," he offered. "You know I would have to obey your order."

This wasn't strictly true, but it made no difference. He knew Young Master would find his suggestion outrageous — and there it was. An offended stiffening of his posture, a vehement twisting of his expression. A perfect picture of indignation and pride.

"If you keep talking rubbish, I'll order you to let me win in a public match in front of every London resident," the boy warned. "And I'll order you to cry after losing. How does that sound?"

It sounded atrocious, so Sebastian wisely stopped talking. Leave it to his lord to come up with the worst punishments he'd ever had to face.

Another fifteen minutes passed. The game became so utterly absorbing that Sebastian genuinely forgot about talking, so when his Master broke the silence, he twitched in surprise.

"Where did you learn to play chess?"

Switching his attention proved to be a struggle, and it took him a few seconds to refocus and understand the question.

It was rare for the boy to show any interest in his past. It was even more astounding now, after days dominated by dark silences and glares.

"Here," he said slowly. At the confused look, he clarified, "In the human world. Demons don't have chess."

"They don't?" The way his lord's lips moved in a petulant pout was strangely distracting. Sebastian stared, uncertain why he found the sight so appealing.

"No." His reply was embarrassingly belated. "This is purely human game and demons have no interest in it."

"So what, you are the only demon who knows how to play chess?" the boy smirked. "How did I get so lucky?"

It was difficult to say whether he meant this genuinely or sarcastically, but both options were satisfying. Sebastian smiled back.

"I suppose some might have learned for the sake of their masters," he allowed. "But most demons prefer to keep human and demonic ways of entertainment strictly separate. I never held the same views myself. When I saw the game of chess for the first time, I was intrigued enough to start learning more about it."

For a moment, none of them said anything, focusing on their pieces again.

"And how did you do that?" Young Master wondered. His lips thinned as he was forced to sacrifice his knight. "Did you just give yourself that ability or were you as terrible at chess at first as you were at cooking?"

"I never lost a game in my existence," Sebastian told him proudly. To his annoyance, the boy didn't seem impressed.

"That's not what I asked."

Frustrating. And curious. Being seen by a human so clearly was a feeling he still couldn't get used to.

"It took some time," he admitted, his voice reluctant. His lord kept looking at him, and Sebastian grabbed this opportunity to block him, hiding a triumphant grin. With the next move, he would launch an attack. "As I memorised the rules, I began playing with very unintelligent people. The more comfortable the game became for me, the smarter opponents I picked. And here I am. The ultimate champion, at your service."

"Here you were," the boy corrected calmly, finally lowering his gaze back towards the board. "I told you I'm going to beat you."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but your chances don't look half-good. In fact…" Sebastian made his move, allowing the grin to finally flourish as Ciel Phantomhive's brows furrowed. "You are two steps from yet another defeat."

He was hoping for an explosion of rage — his Master looked particularly beautiful during such moments. Perhaps he was even anticipating being smashed with the board again. But to his bewilderment, all the boy did was quirk his lips in a secret smile.

"Maybe," he allowed. "Or maybe not. I guess we won't find out because the game is over."

Sebastian blinked.

"Why?"

"I'm afraid I have a terrible headache," his lord sighed theatrically, brushing his fringe to the side. "I cannot possibly keep playing. We'll have to do it again next time."

Confusion shifted to a disbelief so overwhelming that Sebastian gaped, genuinely taken aback.

"Do you intend to interrupt any match you are losing from now on?" he asked incredulously. The boy shrugged, a mischievous smile still tugging at his lips.

"I have no idea what you mean. But I will win, Sebastian. I guarantee you that."

The astonishment passed, shifting into admiration and something more unfamiliar. Sebastian couldn't define this feeling adequately. It was warm, intense enough to leave his human body breathless, and it was focused solely on his Master. Without a second thought, following an impulse, he reached and slid his fingers down the boy's face, tracing the sharp contours of his cheekbone.

This kind of beauty was uncanny. He'd seen a countless number of alluring people in his existence, but he'd never felt such a strong need to pocket their exquisiteness. Maybe he should consider peeling Ciel Phantomhive's skin off, carving his eyes out, and separating his scalp from his skull after he took his soul. He could preserve these for eternity, admiring them even eons from today. If they looked beautiful on the boy, it was only logical for them to be equally captivating when detached from his body.

The skin grew warm under his touch, and Sebastian was startled out of his musings. His lord's face looked flushed, his eye wide and strangely vulnerable. Its absolute blueness was a masterpiece on its own, emphasized even more starkly when he wasn't hiding his other eye.

Sebastian tugged at the eye patch without thinking. He got to marvel at the purpleness of his mark for several seconds before his hand was slapped away, the dizziness vanishing from his Master's face and turning into ire.

"Don't touch me without my permission again," he hissed. He stood up abruptly, the chair creaking under the force of his jerky movement. "You are taking liberties. You have a job to do, so do it before I decide that you are looking for a way to breach our contract!"

With a glare, the boy walked out of the room. He kept his head high, but Sebastian could hear the crazy pounding of his heart, could sense how quickly blood was pulsating in his veins.

This wasn't the result of ire. No, the ire masked something else — the fear, most likely. His lord must have seen something on Sebastian's face that spooked him enough to flee.

Again.

The fog in Sebastian's mind evaporated. Darkness replaced it instead, but it did nothing to curb the intensified pull he felt towards the boy. No, it fuelled it further, poisoning it and urging him to act.

It would be so simple to chase him down. His heartbeat was like a beacon — Sebastian was certain he would be able to hear it even if his lord escaped to the other part of the world.

Chase him down. Slam his head against the wall hard enough to leave his mind clouded with confusion and pain, then cradle him in his claws. Tilt his neck to the side and sink his teeth into it, breaking the skin and finally accessing the blood it covered so thinly.

Blood was life. It was the closest substitute for a soul, and Sebastian would take enough of it to make his lord go pliant and cling to him for support. He wouldn't let go. He would clutch at him harder, until his bones broke and the thoughts of running from him in any capacity became blasphemy.

A delighted shiver ran through his body. Sebastian touched his lips, grimacing when his fangs pierced his glove.

He hadn't realised how desirable the mere image of tasting the boy's blood would be for his demonic part. It was trembling in anticipation now, urging him to go and do exactly what he'd just been fantasising about.

Alas, this wasn't something he could allow himself. Later, perhaps, when he fulfilled his part of the contract and his Master realised that death finally caught up with him. Considering the frightened state he kept displaying lately, he would do anything to buy himself more time, and Sebastian could use this opportunity to make his own demands. He could be tempted to postpone the consumption of Ciel Phantomhive's soul for a day or two for the chance to taste his blood first.

It was as unique and exquisite as the boy himself. Sebastian dealt with it often enough to recreate its smell and texture effortlessly, and apart from the soul, he couldn't recall anything that would draw him in more.

Saliva flooded his mouth to the point of inconvenience. Disdainfully, he wiped his mouth, discarded the broken glove and replaced it with a new one.

By executing his Master's wish, he would access a myriad of new possibilities. But until that happened, he would postpone his own wants. It wasn't as if they made sense in the first place.

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As the night fell and the house plunged into silence, one other entity remained awake.

Sebastian turned his head slightly, listening to the reaper's movements. Grell was in Madam Red's room, and while they did not speak, something was happening. Grell must have removed his human façade as the raw power he emanated increased in volume, slowly spreading throughout the entire floor.

It could be intriguing if Young Master wasn't involved in this game so directly. Sebastian couldn't deny he was curious about fighting Grell, but Madam Red was a wild card. She could choose to distract him by siccing Grell on him while using this opportunity to strike at the boy. Snapping her neck would take but a second, yet her blood protected her. Killing her without direct provocation would not sit well with his lord, so Sebastian had to tread carefully.

He positioned himself in Young Master's bedroom, in front of his bed, shielding him from the door and anyone who might come to stand behind it. His body mirrored every movement Grell made: he turned and shifted with him, waiting for his ultimate approach.

It didn't come, but even from here, Sebastian sensed Grell's amusement. The reaper had to be equally in tune with him and he was clearly enjoying the performance, knowing how annoying Sebastian found it.

He didn't believe Grell or Madam Red would launch an attack tonight, but as long as the slightest hint at the possibility of it existed, he would not leave his lord unprotected.

The boy stirred in his bed. His heart skipped several beats before lurching forwards, his brows furrowing in anxiety.

Another nightmare. How delightful that it was happening under his watch — it'd been a while since he saw it unfold from start to finish.

His focus on Grell dimmed. Sebastian stared at his Master intently, and the lazy coil of expectation swirled in his veins.

If only he could slip into the boy's mind, see what he was seeing. He would give a lot for even one glimpse into the thoughts and images this brain produced.

On the other hand, if Ciel Phantomhive's mind was stuck in the same cage of torture Sebastian had rescued him from… this, he didn't want to see. His own memories were fresh enough, and every time he recalled them, the knot of unease in his chest tightened.

But this nightmare seemed to develop differently from others. Apart from frowning, his lord displayed no significant reactions — it was almost as if he was controlling himself even in his sleep. Then his lips parted.

"No, Sebastian," he murmured. Despite their slurred nature, the words were surprisingly vehement, and each left a clear imprint on Sebastian's mind. Fascinated, he stepped closer, his hand hovering over his lord's lips greedily.

The boy was dreaming of him. Right now, at this very moment, he was seeing him in some scenario his fantasy conjured, a scenario only he would ever witness. If only Sebastian could gain access to it… if he could break inside and share every thought…

But glee and smugness were marred by a sense of petulant distaste. Based on the "no" preceding his name, the dream wasn't particularly amicable, and Sebastian wasn't certain he was interested in seeing something like this. He'd heard this hateful word more times than he was comfortable with during the past week alone.

Young Master's heart thudded again. He jerked harshly and Sebastian reached for him, his body brimming with the sudden instinctive need to comfort.

The boy must have sensed his presence: a mere fraction of a second before Sebastian's touch landed, he shied away, his lips curling in a defensive snarl.

"Get away from me!"

Sebastian froze. A dark and bitter feeling began to simmer, and when his lord tried to move to the opposite side of the bed, as if fleeing from the mere brush of his presence, this feeling exploded into a myriad of blinding emotions he couldn't count, let alone define.

His human visage melted off his true form, baring it to one of its core layers. His mouth rounded hungrily, making way for his fangs, and each of his feathers tensed with fury and vengeance.

His soul was trying to escape him even now, even in his sleep. It was his soul, his contract, his human, and he was trying to flee, to hide himself, as if every part of him wasn't Sebastian's already, as if every thought in his mind, every emotion in his chest, every cell in his body didn't belong to him.

He deserved to suffer for this. He deserved to be bent and twisted and broken into pieces that no one would ever be able to collect; he deserved to be beaten and consumed and torn apart until his lingering smell was the only reminder of his physical existence in this world.

Sebastian could do it right now. He didn't need to feast on Ciel Phantomhive's soul that badly, not when he could torture and take him apart for days and years and decades to come. Contracts got terminated all the time, including in Sebastian's experience. The only exception would be that demons did this when they got tired of their masters — Sebastian wasn't tired. He was vibrating with the urge to break.

No one ran from him. The only weak fools who tried were the masters whose time had come to an end. Ciel Phantomhive still had it, and yet he was trying to take himself away already like he hadn't given himself to Sebastian, like he could ever outrun him. Like Sebastian would ever let him go.

"I won't," he rasped. His real voice submerged the room in further darkness, and somewhere in the house, the reaper jumped in surprise. "You are mine and you will always be mine. You will never belong to yourself again."

The boy had to have heard him because he awoke, the traces of fierceness still visible on his face. Sleepily, he turned his head, and his gaze met with Sebastian's.

A sudden stillness overcame them both at the same time. They stared at one another, and Sebastian could almost see the steely bond that linked them together. That chained this odd elusive creature to him.

The boy closed his eyes, and Sebastian hissed as a new surge of rage rocked through him.

Running. Always running. Physically, emotionally, mentally; hiding in his other manors, in his study room, in his dreams, and now behind his eyelids. A ridiculous human — as if there was a place in any realm Sebastian couldn't reach. He would slice the boy's eyelids off and force him to look at him for eternity if he wished so. He would always, always find him.

"The faster you run, the more pleasure I will derive from catching you," he promised darkly. Ciel Phantomhive stiffened. The scent of his fear washed over Sebastian in a delicious wave and flooded his mouth with poison, which sharpened his fangs further. He watched the boy's mouth open, fixating on it, his feathers curling in glee. Every part of him expected a scream, but the words that escaped instead were the opposite of that.

"I didn't allow you to enter my room without permission," the boy said. His words were calm — a stark contrast to the fear his body was emanating. "Get out."

This was incomprehensible. The cold tone made no sense against the smell of terror; the confidence was incompatible with the wild beating of his heart. He studied the boy slowly, from his ruffled hair to the tense body to the tendrils of the soul that were swirling in agitation. The light entwined with the darkness, the icy composure, the beauty — it twisted Sebastian into something unrecognisable. A powerful need to possess crashed into him with the force that almost brought him to his knees. The feeling was new, and he had no idea what it was pushing him into.

But he did understand one thing. If he succumbed to it, the boy would die because Sebastian wasn't in control. As soon as he touched him in any way, he would be lost in the whirlwind of all these emotions, and this would leave nothing but destruction.

Ciel Phantomhive closed his eyes again, and the moment the weight of his judgmental gaze abated, Sebastian fled. He wanted to get out of this house, this city, this country and possibly this realm — but first, first…

He seeped into the room where Lau was sleeping, trying to master enough control to regain his human form. He didn't know how well this worked, but he still yanked the man out of his bed, shaking him so forcefully that his eyes immediately opened.

"Guard his room," Sebastian growled. His voice was only half-human. "Call my name if there is any threat. Don't step away from his door until I return."

Lau was blinking rapidly. Every second wasted here was a second the boy was in danger, so Sebastian grabbed the sleepy idiot and dashed through the house, depositing him where he needed him.

"If you let anything happen to him, I will disembowel you," he hissed.

Without waiting for an answer, he was gone.

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His awareness was fleeting. Demons didn't need to stay alert every waking moment — sometimes they simply followed their instincts and let their true form overtake them in the process known as the Disjoining.

For the second time in his existence, Sebastian chose to try it. He dissolved in the sea of his own buzzing energy. The darkness surrounded him, sheltering him from increasingly chaotic thoughts and biting confusion. He was nowhere and everywhere at once, with no sense of time or purpose. He slid, glided, and flowed throughout faceless locations, leaving obligatory destruction and death in his wake.

But something was dragging him back. Something was anchoring him, clawing at his mind, and at some point, he reluctantly answered its call.

The moment he grounded himself, the sharp awareness flooded him back. He grimaced, regaining his butler shape and checking the pocket watch.

Six in the morning. He'd been gone all night.

What a reckless thing to do. Had Young Master's attempts to escape him truly affected him with such intensity? Now that he had a chance to clear his head, this seemed incomprehensible. Who cared about mortals' little whims and mood swings? Everything would go as it was supposed to. He'd fulfil his part of the contract and consume the boy's soul — or the boy would try to break the contract and he would devour it anyway. The details and nuances were irrelevant.

He felt sufficiently demonic again, so with a disdainful smirk, Sebastian headed towards the London manor. When he approached his lord's room, he saw Lau standing in front of the door, pale looking but strangely serene.

"Good morning," Sebastian greeted him. Lau raised his head, regarding him with his eyes closed.

"Good morning, butler," he said. His voice flowed like a song. "Have you completed all your eternal doings? May I be allowed to retire?"

"You may." At the moment, Lau's curious demeanour didn't stir much emotion in him. It seemed like the wilful embracing of his raw demonic side even for a short period had done wonders to his mind because humans now appeared entirely inconsequential.

Perhaps he had spent too much time among them and nearly contracted their weakness. This was the only explanation for his erratic, incomprehensible behaviour. Why hadn't he disconnected from this useless artificial part of himself sooner?

Shaking his head in wonder, Sebastian entered his Master's bedroom. The curtains were closed tightly, preventing the weak sunlight from getting in. Almost curious, he approached the bed.

What power could one tiny human hold over him? The very notion was laughable. Now, with the breath of crisp objectivity, Sebastian couldn't imagine what possessed him to act in such an undignified manner at night. His control was impeccable, it always had been, and no soul, regardless of how delicious and nourishing it was, stood a chance of…

He froze as his gaze stopped at the boy. Something tugged at his insides, sending a startled shudder through him. Then Ciel Phantomhive opened his eyes and looked at him sleepily, and the world tilted on its axis.

Colours returned. Emotions stirred up and clashed, sending his heart racing, filling him with equal amounts of fascination, hunger, and completely foreign softness.

Ciel Phantomhive truly was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid his eyes on. He was confounding, intelligent in the most unexpected ways, and he held a soul that comprised the delicacy of the most exquisite level. He was also currently investigating the case of his own aunt, and the perspective of witnessing his reaction to this revelation filled Sebastian with unbridled enthusiasm. His lips moved in a grin, and the boy huffed.

"Just what I needed to see first thing in the morning," he grumbled. His cloudy stare went to the clock, and an indignant sound tore from his lips.

"It's six!" he exclaimed. "I can stay in bed for an entire hour still, what do you think you're doing disturbing my sleep?!"

"This wasn't my intention, my lord," Sebastian told him. He tried to speak solemnly, but the ridiculous grin continued to cling to his lips. "I merely wanted to make sure that everything is all right."

He got a delightfully scandalised look for his explanation.

"Stupid demon," the boy murmured, burrowing his face back into the pillow. "Nothing is all right when you are here. You are stealing my air. Go away."

"I can stop breathing if you wish me to," Sebastian suggested. Mirth danced in his every word, and Young Master must have sensed it because he huffed again, this time derisively. But he didn't say anything. He hid under the covers instead, and with an elaborate bow, Sebastian left the room. His steps felt light and he couldn't stop marvelling at the difference between now and five minutes ago.

The dissonance was almost jarring. He knew that many demons chose to undergo the Disjoining if they felt burdened in any way — this process was supposed to temporarily reduce them to the most basic of levels. The emotions and desires cooled, the troubling thoughts and ideas left them. When they emerged, they were perfectly in touch with their demonic core and could enjoy absolute clarity.

Sebastian wouldn't call what he'd experienced clarity. If anything, it reminded him of brainwashing.

He had succumbed to the Disjoining only once before, and that was motivated purely by his curiosity. He wanted to see what other demons boasted of, and the experience had been underwhelming. He felt more detached from his usual interests and passions, but the difference was slight. He barely noticed it and he paid no attention to when even these effects disappeared — the process was that indistinct.

The difference between now and what he'd felt five minutes ago was profound. It was like he'd been stripped down to nothing, like the Disjoining erased his entire personality and stole every bright colour from his existence. How could this be possible? Had he done it wrong this time?

No. Every demon knew how to initiate it.

Sebastian paused. Tilted his head. Tried to think.

Ultimately, there was only one logical hypothesis. Could it be that Ciel Phantomhive's presence in his life had diversified it to this extent? The multitude of emotions he was experiencing now was fascinatingly rich as compared to the blank boredom that had enveloped him after the Disjoining.

Facts were obvious: the first Disjoining had no palpable effect on him because he felt impassive before and after it. Even the demonic clearing of his mind and the extinguishment of his emotions hadn't been enough to shift the balance — his feelings were too lacking in the first place to be affected.

That was before the contract. Now the difference became explosive, indescribable, overwhelming. And how did the effects wane so quickly? From what he knew, there should have been at least several human months before the fog of the blankness lifted. It took five minutes and one look at his Master to reverse them now.

Confusion grew. It was turning into a central emotion with concerning speed, and it was so frustrating that Sebastian sighed in exasperation.

Who knew what was wrong? His initial impression might have been accurate. Perhaps he'd spent too much time in this realm and in this shape, so he was turning more pliable and open to such human weaknesses as uncertainty and lack of comprehension about oneself.

Regardless of the truth, the matter was not worthy of lengthy speculations. He felt too grateful for the fulfilling sensation of being complete — remembering the empty state he'd been submerged into made him shudder. Even the fact that Ciel Phantomhive was subconsciously or consciously seeking to escape him didn't seem as enraging as it had been less than ten hours ago.

He would deal with it later. They had a game in progress and it was time for Sebastian to carefully orchestrate the next round.

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Young Master obviously remembered their brief interaction at night, but he wasn't certain it was real. They spent the morning in close proximity to one another: the shrewd blue gaze followed him wherever he walked, and Sebastian preened under this attention.

His lord was being careful. He didn't ask any questions directly, choosing to rely on veiled comments and keeping his real thoughts shadowed. Even discussing Viscount Druitt as their major suspect didn't seem to concern him much: he was more interested in establishing whether he'd seen a dream or Sebastian had truly stood beside his bed.

"You re-checked his alibi, then? For every case?" he asked. Sebastian nodded in confirmation, hiding the twitch of a smile.

"I did, my lord," he replied, each word infused with fake solemnity. "He has none."

The boy pursed his lips and measured him with a calculating stare.

"You left only after I went to sleep," he said finally. "Normally, other people sleep at this time, too, and you had to interrogate at least some of them personally. What, did you spend the whole night visiting different houses and waking everyone up, asking them to answer a few questions?"

Clever. If Sebastian didn't consider his behaviour at night too undignified to confess to it, he would be tempted to indulge the boy with a truthful answer — a reward for his tenacity.

"The crowd he interacts with tends to stay awake," he uttered instead. His lord's face tightened in annoyance, and Sebastian had to fight off another grin. "Don't worry, Young Master. I assure you that the facts I've gathered are valid."

Despite his reassuring words, he made it a point to stare at the boy as he spoke, allowing the mischievousness to touch his expression. The frustrated sigh he got in response finally managed to tease a smile out of him.

But it didn't last long. His lord twirled the quill in his fingers before his posture suddenly relaxed, his lips curling into a smirk of his own.

This couldn't mean anything good.

"I will think about the party," he drawled. "And I have another task for you."

Sebastian recognised these notes of poisoned sweetness, and the feeling of discomfort intensified.

"Of course, Master," he pushed out politely. "What would you like me to do?"

He already hated the words that were about to come out of Ciel Phantomhive's mouth, and the boy knew it. His smile was perfectly barbed as he said, "When we return home, I want you to hire other teachers. I see no point in you continuing to spend time on educating me at this stage. Others can do it just as well."

Sebastian's mind, which was rapidly scanning through the thousands of possibilities of what he was about to hear, came to a sudden stop. The fake politeness slid off his face and he narrowed his eyes, the displeasure curling in his stomach.

He wasn't even certain why this information annoyed him. So how did his lord know this would be his reaction?

"Oh?" he wondered stiffly. "May I ask why you made this decision?"

This time, the response was a slow lazy grin.

"Well…" the boy shrugged. "With how often you complain about our servants, including Tanaka now, you must dedicate more time to household duties. My education should no longer be your concern."

Another pang. Something very unpleasant rushed through his blood as he imagined strangers replacing him, stealing his time with his Master and filling his head with mediocre knowledge.

Surely the boy knew no one would be able to teach him better than Sebastian? And why did he mention Tanaka? Was it about him? Sebastian couldn't recall complaining about him that much.

No, the man himself played only the role of a pawn. Whatever was happening, it had to be another one of Ciel Phantomhive's attempts to escape him, to remove himself from Sebastian's vicinity and pretend they didn't have a contract binding them for eternity.

This explanation made sense, but the look on the boy's face… he didn't appear frightened or cold, determined to put as much distance between them as possible out of his anxiety. On the contrary, he was gleeful, like he'd found a sure way to punish Sebastian and was delighting in his victory.

This just wouldn't do.

Ideas flared and died; the endless possibilities whirled in his mind. One seemed to stand apart from the others, and as it gained a more distinct shape, Sebastian couldn't help smiling slowly.

"It will be done," he promised. Young Master stiffened, likely registering that something was amiss, but he stood no chance at guessing the reason. "I shall find the best teachers for you, my lord."

And what teachers these would be… A combination of incompetent, ignorant, stealing, and possibly murderous individuals who would be focused on anything but teaching. It wouldn't take long for the boy to see their uselessness and realise that relying on Sebastian was his best option.

It did not matter what motivated Ciel Phantomhive to issue this order. There would be no distance between them — Sebastian wouldn't allow it. They were contractually bound to stay together until their deal was fulfilled and what had been a plotting boy turned into a broken, lifeless corpse.

What a sweet moment this was going to be.

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Madam Red watched her nephew a lot. Contempt, fear, and longing seemed to be her predominant emotions, but each of them slipped past the boy's notice.

Sebastian considered this fascinating. He knew how observant his Master could be — his attention to detail and his ability to comprehend complex links and motivations frequently caught Sebastian off guard, yet here he was, stagnating in his obliviousness.

He truly appeared not to notice anything. Madam Red was not even on his radar, and while such slowness was disappointing, it was going to make his future reaction to the inevitable discovery all the sweeter.

"Sebastian! Don't just stand there! Did you find the dress?"

Madam Red's impatient call took him from his musings. Sebastian nodded and carefully presented the package he had brought, his lips trembling as he caught the wary stare of his Master.

He'd chosen Viscount Druitt as the false primary suspect for many reasons. The man was ridiculously pompous, arrogant, and he was bound to horrify his lord in less than a minute of their interaction. His soul was a perfect mix of rot and bile, and he constantly threw balls, which meant a more interesting setting and dancing.

Particularly the dancing. The vague plans of putting the boy in a situation where they would have to dance again gained an unexpected boost after Madam Red's brilliant idea of a cover.

Dressing Ciel Phantomhive as a girl, sending him to Viscount Druitt as bait... Sebastian couldn't have planned it better.

Firstly, he got to watch his lord go through countless mortifying procedures and lessons. Secondly, he was entrusted with the task of choosing a dress for him. Thirdly, pushing the boy into dancing wouldn't be a problem: with so many people staring at them, he wouldn't risk causing a scene.

And fourthly, Sebastian could personally witness the moment Ciel Phantomhive understood that his aunt was trying to kill him.

Her plan was ingenious. She knew who Viscount Druitt was and what kind of extracurricular activities he would engage in during this party. She planned to let her nephew walk into a trap and be sold for organ harvesting, ritualistic murder, or slavery.

This was the best solution to the problem of her conflicting feelings: she would get rid of her biggest threat without touching a hair on his head. She was hesitant to harm him herself or through Grell, but pushing him into Viscount Druitt's blood-stained embrace was another matter. She would not be personally responsible for the consequences, and since hunting the man down was Young Master's idea, this gave her all the excuses she needed.

Humans could be so needlessly complicated. They could do terrible things and still believe themselves to be righteous, finding comfort in the thought that they weren't the ones to execute their orders. The Queen. Madam Red. Many of his previous masters. All following the same pattern of behaviour.

This was weak, foolish, yet beguiling. Sebastian would have been tempted to go along with Madam Red's plan just to watch what effect the death of her nephew would have on her... if her victim were someone other than Ciel Phantomhive. Alas, his soul was invaluable, and Sebastian would readily choose it over any and every source of entertainment.

"Pink!" The outraged exclamation belonged to his lord, and Sebastian instantly focused on him. The boy had unwrapped the package with his dress and was now looking at it in horror.

"It's pink!" he repeated again before sending a violent glare to Sebastian. "And it has all these frills and ribbons and— I'm not wearing it!"

"Oh hush, this is a lovely dress," Madam Red scolded him. She touched the pink material, a sly look entering her gaze. "You are a man of particular tastes, Sebastian, aren't you? What a persistent choice of material and colours."

"What colours?" Young Master demanded. He looked down again and grimaced as if he tasted something sour. "It's just pink!"

"Look closely. It's black, white, and pink. It's exactly the combination you're wearing — Sebastian only switched blue for pink."

Mulishly, the boy studied his own outfit before staring at the dress again.

"…So what?" he asked stiffly. "Do you mean to say that Sebastian is an idiot who thinks men only wear blue and women only wear pink? Or that he has such limited imagination that he chooses the same colours for me? Or that he's a moron who thought I'd appreciate this atrocity just because its colours are close to what I am normally wearing? And just for the record, they aren't. Blue is blue and pink is pink, and nothing will change the fact that it's a dress!"

"Are you implying that you'd like to visit the ball in your current outfit, Master?" Sebastian inquired innocently. The flood of insults he'd been subjected to would have been more amusing had they been alone — he didn't appreciate being criticised in front of the others. "Do you believe people will look at you as a young lady if you are merely introduced as such? If so, then perhaps we can forgo the dress indeed. You will grace Viscount Druitt's presence in your suit and Madam Red will make the necessary introductions."

The boy glowered at him. His fury and mortification were so powerful that Sebastian had to make an effort not to lean closer and inhale them.

"Enough, you two!" Madam Red shook her finger sternly. "We are a team in this. Now is not the time for arguments. Ciel, my dear, I just meant that Sebastian has a pattern in his preferences. Sebastian, did you bring his hair? Yes? Good. Wait for me, I'm going to fetch some things from my room. Then we'll teach my dear nephew how to walk in these shoes. Oh, the fun we'll have!"

Giggling, she disappeared up the stairs. The boy followed her exit darkly before giving Sebastian an accusing stare.

"This is a terrible dress!" he hissed. "It's so… girly! Couldn't you have picked something more moderate? And what did Madam Red mean about your 'preferences'?"

"She was talking about the way I dress you," Sebastian smoothed the crease on the dress. It was truly a fine piece of clothing — he didn't know what his lord found so offensive.

"The way you dress me," the boy repeated. He squinted. "Does it have something to do with what Aunt Francis said last year? That you are going overboard with all the "details", whatever that means. I asked you if you dress me inappropriately in some way and you said—"

"I remember what I said," Sebastian interrupted him. Unable to resist, he brushed his fingers against his lord's neck, sliding them under the white collar briefly. "My answer remains the same. I dress you so that you would look beautiful. And you do, whether you wear a suit or a dress."

The last time he'd said this, the boy seemed pleased. He had pressed closer to him and soaked up the praise.

Now he flushed. A strange emotion ran over his face. His stare became unfocused, but just a moment later, he recoiled with a flinch, harshly severing contact between them.

"Will you stop touching me without permission!" he spat. "And don't say such things to me."

Genuinely mystified, Sebastian inclined his head.

"Why not?"

The boy appeared startled by the question. His flush deepened and he looked away, his embarrassment making the smell of his blood even more tantalising.

"Just don't," he grumbled. "I don't like it. And I'm not beautiful."

Sebastian blinked several times. Incredulity gave his voice a mocking tilt when he laughed immediately after this.

"Of course you are," he drawled. "I only speak the truth. One of your orders was for me not to lie to you, wasn't it?"

If anything, the boy began to look even more embarrassed.

"Be that as it may, I cannot look beautiful in a dress," he muttered. "I'm not a girl!"

Was that honestly the reason for his agitation? Sebastian rolled his eyes. He couldn't say if he found this little drama funny or annoying.

"Your gender has no bearing on what you wear," he said. "Some humans are beautiful, some are not. In the same way, some clothes are beautiful while some are ugly. It's the perception that determines the beauty or ugliness of one object over another, and the perceptions are going to differ across individuals. For example, do you consider Mey-Rin beautiful?"

While he had discarded his initial theory about his lord's affections for Mey-Rin, obtaining a more solid confirmation wouldn't hurt. He had to learn of the potential obstacles before they got in the way.

"Mey-Rin?" the boy gaped at him. He looked somewhat horrified. "I don't know. She's just… there. How would I know if she's beautiful?"

A small part of Sebastian relaxed, appeased with what he was hearing. He could finally put this matter to rest. Indulgence flowed freely through his chest, and he bestowed a smile upon his lord.

"You alone can answer this question," he said. "Visual preferences have a subjective foundation. Humans might dictate the inane rules of etiquette, but they never made sense to me. You are beautiful. This dress is beautiful. It means that you wearing it is going to make for an aesthetically pleasing picture. It's as simple as that."

The redness of the boy's face intensified to an alarming degree. He fidgeted almost nervously, alternating between throwing suspicious looks at Sebastian and staring at his feet. Finally, he rolled his shoulders decisively.

"No matter," he stated haughtily. The signs of embarrassment were rapidly leaving him. "I will wear this dress because the case demands it. The nuances are irrelevant. Now, what was that hair Madam Red was talking about?"

Sebastian felt his smile widen to a grin. He pointed at the thick strands of hair he had brought and took great delight in how Young Master's eye rounded in horror.

"No," he groaned. "This is a nightmare and I'm going to wake up in a second."

"If you knew how much effort I invested into finding these, I believe you'd be more appreciative," Sebastian told him smugly. "Finding the colour identical to yours was one of the most challenging tasks I had to perform. All my attempts at locating a human with the right hair or an establishment selling the fitting wigs proved to be futile."

"I wish," the boy lamented, rubbing his forehead in violent frustration. "But you brought this, so you must have gotten it somewhere."

"I made it myself," Sebastian touched the long strands affectionately. "First, I found a young woman whose hair was of the required length and texture. Then I took several locks and manipulated their colour. It was a struggle to achieve the bluish and greyish blend with the same metallic tint, but I'm pleased with the results. The only drawback is that these locks won't have a long lifetime because of my intervention, but I assume you will not want to wear them again, so…"

Young Master was staring at him as if he'd lost his mind. Sebastian paused, thinking back to what he'd said. Before he could ask, his lord shook his head in disbelief.

"The right 'texture'," he repeated in disgust. "The right 'blend'. You sound obsessed with hair. Is it a demonic thing? Because I guarantee you that no person is going to care about "tints" or whatever meaningless things are plaguing your twisted mind."

Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, but then he actually considered it.

His lord might be correct. Humans would hardly see the minute difference — some of them even enjoyed lightening or darkening their hair artificially. Perhaps he shouldn't have spent so much time fighting for a flawless colour… Still, he didn't regret it. As a butler of the Phantomhive family, he could only be satisfied with perfection.

"Wait!" the boy yanked his hand away from the locks, the disgust on his face morphing into sudden shock. "Did you say you cut these from the head of some girl? I'll be wearing someone's real hair? This is revolting!"

Sebastian couldn't help rolling his eyes again. Humans always insisted on looking for problems where they didn't exist.

"I assure you, it's perfectly clean," he said. "No harm will come to you from wearing it for the night."

Once again, all he got for his willingness to provide comfort was an outraged stare.

There was no pleasing his lord sometimes.

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The lessons of his Master with Madam Red were highly entertaining. Sebastian mainly held the role of observer, interfering only when he recognised the signs of impending explosion in the boy. Drawing him into a shallow argument always worked well and thus served as a perfect distraction.

Madam Red watched their interactions attentively, and Sebastian felt genuine curiosity as to what she might be thinking. At times, she exchanged whispers with Grell, but the latter must have used some of his powers because Sebastian couldn't hear a word.

Whatever they were plotting, it was bound to result in their failure. He was willing to let these two conspire — he was eager to see their plans unfold, but the moment it threatened Ciel Phantomhive, he would have to step in.

Did Grell realise it? Despite his bizarre behaviour, he couldn't be that clueless. He had to sense that Sebastian was a demon and he had to know that his Master would always come first to him. Or was he so self-assured that he believed Madam Red's plans would triumph? It would be entertaining to shatter this notion to nothing.

Soon afterwards, Grell disappeared, which coincided with the funniest part of this day.

"The corset?" his lord measured him with a sullen look. "Is it time to put on the dress, then?"

"The ball starts in three hours. We need to ascertain that you are capable of walking in your shoes and dress before we go there."

The boy didn't argue — he seemed resigned to his fate, but Sebastian knew this wouldn't last. He looked forwards to the struggles and wheezing that would inevitably take place the moment he began to tighten the corset.

He didn't stop to think of his own reaction, and in retrospect, this was a mistake.

He'd seen his Master in various states of undress. He'd been bathing and clothing him for years, so putting a corset and a dress on him wasn't supposed to provoke any unusual effects.

At first, everything went as expected. He was amusing himself, carefully masking his mirth and gradually tightening the laces. The boy's breathing grew laboured — the funniest protests were escaping his lips and the only thing Sebastian struggled with was keeping himself from laughing. But at some point, his human brain decided to short-circuit.

He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the abundance of naked skin flushed with the afflux of blood. From his position, Sebastian could almost see it flow — his lord's skin was ridiculously translucent, and the sight along with the scent made his mouth water.

Maybe it was the shock of hair that appeared to grow thicker as the boy kept running his agitated hands through it — that beautiful, flawless hair that had so many shades and tints, it took Sebastian a while to memorise them all.

Maybe it was the visible drops of sweat that began to form from the strain, or the way the boy trembled under his ministrations. Normally strong and reserved, fighting for strength even in his weakness, now he was helpless and vulnerable in Sebastian's hands. There was nothing he could do against the tightening grip of the corset, and it was Sebastian controlling it, Sebastian choosing how much pressure to apply, Sebastian setting the pace and eliciting a series of varied sounds from him.

Each and all of these thoughts and observations threw his human body into turmoil. His heart beat unevenly. His lungs kept contracting and freezing the air they held before suddenly releasing it, making his breathing erratic. His throat felt raw, like every breath he was taking consisted of fire, and it must have reached his stomach, too, because an uncomfortable heat began to rapidly unfold in it.

Sebastian tried to disconnect from these concerning and unfamiliar sensations. He retreated deeper into his mind, trying to focus on what he'd experienced after the Disjoining — his human expression must have become impassive and vacant, but as long as he kept working with the corset, it didn't matter.

Hiding in his mind helped only partially. Sebastian still felt overwhelmed and without any control, so at some point, he allowed himself to lean close enough to inhale the boy's smell right off his neck, shivering as something hot ran through him in one quick wave.

"I think that's tight enough," someone's voice suddenly interfered. Sebastian was too slow to react, so it took several moments before his foggy mind caught up and forced him to step away.

Madam Red was watching him with shrewd eyes, looking disgusted and intrigued in equal measure. Their stares met, and Sebastian felt the strangest urge to snarl at her.

He didn't want her here. He didn't want her in the vicinity of his lord, observing him and preparing him for slaughter. She was lucky to be related to him because otherwise, nothing would hold him back and he would fulfil his duty without a second thought.

But the longer he looked at her, the more the dizziness passed. Sebastian blinked when his body began to feel like his again, and he blinked again when he saw his Master turning to him with an annoyed expression on his face.

"Well?" he snapped impatiently. "Are you going to move? It was bad enough to live through you putting me in this torture device, now you want me to stand in it, too? For everyone to see?"

The boy gestured somewhere, and when Sebastian followed with his eyes, he saw Lau, who seemed more amused than he had any right to be.

He had been watching this scene together with Madam Red.

Sebastian didn't know why this rubbed him the wrong way — he just knew that it did, and so he thrust himself into action with a surprising amount of speed, shielding his lord and offering him his dress.

If only he could get rid of his thoughts as easily as from these two uninvited onlookers.

Another desire that made little sense.

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He was still unsettled when they entered the ballroom, his hands constantly reaching to touch his lord under the most ridiculous of pretexts. However, the more time they spent surrounded by chattering people, a more familiar and comforting feeling began to take the reins.

He was eager for the game to reach its climax. There was a strong possibility that Madam Red would complete her earthly journey today, and the reaper that shadowed her would take her soul.

Perhaps Sebastian could visit her in Hell. Wouldn't that be amusing? A meeting between two old friends reminiscing about her failed plans of killing her nephew.

Anticipation built up, sending the light pangs of impatience through him, but the sudden appearance of Lady Elisabeth put a dent in his eagerness.

In any other situation, Sebastian would have found the perspective of running around with his lord in the attempts to hide from a little girl humorous, but the stakes were too high. No one could see Ciel Phantomhive in this outfit — the humiliation would be public and merciless, and it was Sebastian's responsibility to prevent this from happening. His lord could be pushed to his limits in some things, but letting him disgrace himself in the eyes of high society was out of the question.

Gripping the boy's wrist tightly, Sebastian manoeuvred their way through the guests and led them to the balcony. The cool air would not do his Master good — it was too chilly for him to be outside in such a dress, but spending several minutes here wouldn't hurt. Hopefully, Lady Elisabeth would be gone by then.

"Why does this kind of thing always have to happen to me?" the boy groaned. He was breathing heavily — the result of the strain from the brief running they'd had to do. His body was pitifully frail. He was entirely unprepared when it came to physical endurance, and this made his ability to withstand torture and beating all the more surprising.

Yet another confounding knot of contradictions Sebastian couldn't wait to untangle.

"Viscount Druitt looks beautiful as ever this evening!" someone's voice said. His Master reacted even quicker than Sebastian, rushing to the door and peering from behind it.

"So that's the Viscount Druitt," he muttered. His words were solemn and determined. Whatever reservations he'd had about this masquerade, the excitement of catching his prey must have finally hit him — Sebastian recognised the tell-tale signs of adrenaline that made the boy's body flare with heat. "Come on."

His own exhilaration shot through him, and Sebastian uttered an agreement.

The game was about to begin. How long would it take for his Master to realise that he was being set up? Viscount Druitt would undoubtedly be drawn to him — Sebastian couldn't imagine anyone who wouldn't. If the boy played his part right, Druitt would lure him away and send him to his secret auction. The subsequent events could unfold by following various scenarios, and Sebastian couldn't wait to see which one would become their reality.

Druitt could disclose information about his friendly relationship with Madam Red, and his Master would figure out that his own aunt had readily sold him. The discovery of her motivations would take place soon after this.

If his lord threw any accusations around prematurely, Druitt might play along and pretend he was the Ripper for some time. Or he might not say anything and the boy would still believe him to be a killer. Madam Red could also change her mind and race after her nephew in a quest to save him, either confessing her sins or claiming ignorance.

Each of the possibilities was promising, and Sebastian looked forwards to any of them. Ultimately, only two questions mattered to him most: when his lord would understand that Madam Red was the murderer and what he would do with her as a consequence. Kill her? Give her to Scotland Yard? Or succumb to his favouritism and let her go, compromising the principles he followed steadily when it came to other criminals?

Strategies and possibilities still brewed in his mind as he followed his lord to Viscount Druitt, but they barely made two steps when the musicians began to play, announcing the start of a new dance.

Ideally, Sebastian hoped to set one up towards the end of the evening, after all revelations had been made and Young Master saw his aunt for who she was. His distress and shock would make for a powerful fuel, and since his reactions would be slowed, pushing him into a dance would make the situation addictively delicious. He would be stunned, hurt, and helpless, and whirling him across the room in such a state would bring Sebastian guaranteed enjoyment even if he failed to recreate and understand the strange energy that had united them back during their dancing lesson.

But things might not go according to plan, so he had to grab the opportunity while he still could.

"Damn it," the boy hissed, obviously put out with the music. "We can't approach him now."

"We have no other choice," Sebastian told him gravely. His gaze was fixed on the dancing masses, and something coiled in his body in heavy anticipation. In a second. He'd see if those odd and intoxicating sensations were real or if his mind had exaggerated them in a second. "Let us join the dance and make our way closer to him in this fashion."

He didn't waste time waiting for his lord's response. Wrapping a proprietary hand around his wrist, Sebastian pulled him to the centre, not caring if he looked impatient or rude by this society's standards.

"You're telling me to dance here? With you?" the boy exclaimed. He sounded half-bewildered, half-agitated, but Sebastian didn't bother to stop until he reached the free spot. There, he faced his lord again, pressing his hand to his chest solemnly.

"At this moment, I am merely your tutor," he said. It was challenging to keep his expression calm and uncaring and mask what he really thought. "My social position for tonight allows me to dance with my Young Lady publicly. It would only be appropriate."

Young Master's face fell. He muttered something but Sebastian no longer heard him. A shudder of strange yearning pierced him from head to toe, and he put his left hand on the boy's back. His right hand squeezed the smaller palm gently.

"Let us begin, my Lady," he breathed out.

The music flowed as they moved, and three seconds into their dance, a haze of deliriousness descended.

The energy. The long-awaited mysterious energy he'd been obsessing over all this time, one that disappeared entirely when he danced with Mey-Rin but which crashed into him full force now.

It was blissful. Sebastian had no other way of describing it. His body sang with it — it felt strong and weakened simultaneously, and the familiar warmth shone in his chest and in his stomach, enveloping him and his lord in a glimmering blanket of privacy. No one else could survive within it, no one else could exist. No one but them.

Something about this thought made an additional layer of pleasure flare up. An open smile emerged on his lips, and Sebastian closed his grip over the boy's wrist firmly, thrilled at how his heart stumbled and stuttered and nearly flip-flopped in response.

But something broke through this dizziness. Someone else's gaze was fixed on them — no, it was fixed on the boy,and it stirred a dark and possessive feeling in him.

With his hackles raised, Sebastian turned his head and instantly located the source of unwelcome attention.

Lady Elisabeth.

Her scrutiny shouldn't have bothered him. She was a light and easily excitable soul that posed no threat to anything, yet whatever magic gripped him during the dancing whispered differently. His human shape twitched in the attempt to change into his real form, so Sebastian hastened to look away and focus on the face of his lord instead.

"Let's cut across like so," he suggested tensely. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the boy after him, still holding him securely and making certain that the sea of other dancing bodies hid them from Lady Elisabeth's view. The moment her stare disappeared, Sebastian relaxed. His hand slid down his Master's back, stopping at his waist, and he dragged his nails across it before he could stop himself.

The dress was superior to the shirts and jackets his lord normally wore. The material was far thinner and absorbed his natural warmth — the warmth that Sebastian wanted more of.

He sensed more stares on them, but by now, he was too transfixed to react. Guessing at the origins and meaning of these endless new emotions seemed like a hopeless task, so he simply dissolved in them, letting the sense of enjoyment wrap around him.

The dance came to an end regrettably soon. As the music disappeared and the couples began to shift, Sebastian forced his hands to unclench, surprised when they obeyed him.

His lord stepped away from him, and the magic instantly shattered.

"This was terrible," he groaned. His knees buckled and he bent over, panting harshly like after enormous physical strain. Sebastian watched him, amused but unsettled.

He wasn't entirely certain what had happened. He'd been so lost in the beguiling twirls of dancing energy that the physical details blurred in an ambiguous mix.

They had been supposed to reach Viscount Druitt. This was the excuse he had come up with to persuade his lord to participate in his experiment, but now it appeared that the experiment overwhelmed him to the point where he forgot his own plans.

How embarrassing. Even more so since he couldn't tell what was wrong with the boy. Had he truly overexerted himself? Or had Sebastian contributed to this somehow? He could barely remember his actions.

He would have to find out.

"How slovenly of you," he drawled condescendingly. "And all over a dance?"

Despite the biting words, his hands were already reaching forwards to help his Master straighten. His concern amplified when he got no answer, but before he could ask another clarifying question, they were interrupted.

"It was a very cute dance, Young Lady," an unwelcome voice said. "You were like a little Japanese robin."

Tension lit up in Sebastian with the fever that took him by surprise.

It appeared that his plan decided to fulfil itself independently. Viscount Druitt stumbled upon them himself — like Sebastian had guessed, he found Ciel Phantomhive enticing even at a distance.

This was for the better. The most interesting part of the evening was about to commence, which was precisely what he'd been waiting for.

Nonetheless, his instincts hissed at him in a violent promise. His very essence bristled at the proximity of someone like Druitt to his lord, and the need to shield him and hide him from the unworthy view flared with insistent force.

Clearly, the boy continued to affect his judgement even outside the dancing, and unless he took actions swiftly, there would be no way to salvage the situation.

"My Lady, I am going to find something for us to drink," Sebastian said abruptly. Young Master began to make a sound of protest, but by the time it fell from his lips, Sebastian was a safe distance away.

He succeeded in shaking off the strange haziness of mind, but the reluctance to leave his lord in the company of Viscount Druitt continued to build. It weighed on him heavily, its pressure growing with every passing second, and soon enough, a growl of frustration began to reverberate through his throat.

His plan had been perfect. He and Madam Red had devised a perfect trap, so why was he having second thoughts now? It made no sense. Young Master had to learn to be more careful and attentive instead of dismissing such obvious suspects as his medically trained aunt merely because they were related. Even if he failed to understand that Druitt wasn't their killer now, the realisation would come soon after this. All Sebastian had to do was wait.

He could do it. What was an hour or two for a demon?

Still wary of his unpredictable reactions, Sebastian allowed the music to fill his ears and drown the unmistakable voice of his Master out. In any other circumstances, he would have taken great joy from listening to his awkward attempts at being charming, but for both their sakes, it was better if none of the words reached him.

Watching was already challenging. It didn't take long for Viscount Druitt to step closer and put his hand around the boy's waist, murmuring something into his ear. The difference between their souls was so profound that Sebastian's useless human body spasmed with disgust. But when his lord tried to lean away subtly… the fierce protectiveness and fury gripped him with such unrelenting force that he had to look away, small shudders rolling through him.

His gaze travelled from guest to guest aimlessly as he poured every effort into recreating the effects of the Disjoining. They might have been unnerving when he had something to compare them to, but right now, he needed their blissful indifference. Something was severely wrong with him. He was incapable of performing his role properly, and this couldn't have happened at a worse moment.

Turning to the window and channelling all his powers into keeping his human form around him, Sebastian closed his eyes. Layer by layer, he separated his mind from the sea of emotions and burrowed into the memory of how he felt when he regained consciousness after the Disjoining. Demonic instincts, thoughts and feelings enveloped him in a dark sheet, protecting him from human weaknesses. It was dangerously thin, but he could hold onto it until his human part calmed and melding with it became safe again.

His heart slowed down. When Sebastian looked up again, he was serene, and this serenity remained firmly in place even as he saw his Master continue to speak with the viscount.

The music quietened down: people began to step away from each other, smiling, bowing and curtseying. His lord's face suddenly paled, his gaze fixed on someone across the ballroom, and it didn't take long for Sebastian to see the problem.

Lady Elisabeth was set on being a hindrance tonight. They couldn't have that, could they? Perhaps it was time to start a performance of his own.

In a blink, Sebastian grabbed a tall white cabinet and slammed it down right in front of the overeager girl. The crash and her shocked gasp attracted the attention of other guests — a few moments later, he was holding the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if everyone gathers round, this evening's magic show will begin," he announced. It was a pity that his Master wouldn't be present to witness his show.

On the other hand, he was about to become a participant in a much darker show he had no inkling of.

"Excuse me, sir," Sebastian looked at Lau, who shifted in response to his appeal. How the man understood he was being spoken to despite holding his eyes closed remained a mystery. "Would you agree to assist me?"

Lau tilted his head in intrigue.

"Assist you?" he drawled. "Why not?"

As he began to approach, Sebastian listened to his lord recover from his surprise and double his determination to provoke Druitt into attack.

The attack would come, but not the kind he was expecting. Sebastian would have enough time to see his little play to the end.

Let the fun begin.

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Offering Lau a chance to run him through with a sword while he was locked in a cabinet was a concession he was willing to make. He knew Lau held enough animosity and fascination to try hurting him when given a chance, and he was curious to see how far he would go.

"Well, here goes nothing," Lau muttered. Sebastian smirked, but his smirk evaporated when the very first stab came from above, piercing him right through his head. Blood splattered the walls of the cabinet, and then the blows started coming from all directions at once.

…Far enough, it seemed.

He waved the blood away and closed the wound on his body, studying his clothes critically and twisting away from the new stabs. It wouldn't be proper to come out of this cabinet with a blood-stained jacket.

When Lau ran out of his swords, Sebastian snapped his fingers, dissolving the chains around his temporary shelter and stepping out of it with a pleased but modest smile. He felt Lau stare at him in chagrin before giving a wild, slightly deranged grin to their audience.

"Sebastian! How incredible!" Madam Red exclaimed. Her eyes were alight with hysterical and fake delight.

He was certain that his performance alone didn't provoke such feelings in her. She must have watched her nephew walk away with Viscount Druitt, believing that she would never see him again.

It would be a pleasure to disappoint her.

"Indeed," Lau said petulantly. "For a moment, I was worried I killed you."

"It did hurt a bit," Sebastian told him. Having a sword thrust through his brain was a novel experience. It certainly bled a lot. "I didn't expect you to aim straight at my head. Anyone else would have died."

Lau's rising curiosity was palpable, and Sebastian delighted in it. Lau must have felt the impact of the sword going through a body, so now he knew Sebastian was immune to it. What conclusions would this push him to?

Several moments later, his seal burned with alarm. The connection grew taut for a second before loosening, the consciousness on the other end fading.

His chest tightened unpleasantly, but the sheet he'd constructed around himself withstood it.

So that was how it was going to be. Sebastian knew the essence of Viscount Druitt's secret gatherings but he wasn't aware of the specifics. With his lord unconscious, he would have to wait quite a while. Might as well enjoy the party.

His legs obeyed him reluctantly when he tried to move away, but they obeyed him. That was the most important thing.

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People surrounded him from all sides with their awed requests and questions. Sebastian basked in their attention, but soon enough, it grew stale. Unease prickled at the back of his head, and the longer the other side of his connection with Ciel Phantomhive remained silent, the stronger this sensation became.

Eventually, the company of the guests grew unbearable, and Sebastian retreated to the farthest end of the room. He noticed Grell slipping away, but since he went outside, his departure was irrelevant. Madam Red was more interesting: like Sebastian, she hid from the crowd of her admirers, drinking glass after glass of red wine. Her stare was glassy and unfocused, and Sebastian wondered what pictures she was imagining. Her nephew sacrificed in front of the bloodthirsty crowd? Violated for the sake of perverted spectators? Did she enjoy those images or did she find them repelling?

He could go to her and express his own concerns, watching and cataloguing her reactions. This would be engaging… but the need to check on his lord burned too brightly to ignore it.

This was a normal thing to do, he reasoned. He served his Master and had to make sure he was safe — not because of the hurricane of emotions that the damned dance had left him with, but because this was an appropriate course of actions.

Quietly, Sebastian stepped into the shadow and dissolved in it.

He reappeared a moment later in a darkened room, and once he looked it over, he couldn't help a snort.

Candles, masked audience, and a cage. How symbolic. He couldn't have staged it better.

Maybe being plunged back into captivity would remind his lord of their contract. Sebastian had saved him the first time and he would save him now — for the same price of his soul. And like before, he wouldn't make an appearance until he was called. This had to be the boy's conscious decision, an admission that he needed help.

Hopefully, this incident would put his ridiculous thoughts of running to rest.

Sebastian waited, bored, as some nameless girl was sold. Druitt's assistant dragged her to a specially equipped corner and laid her down on the white sheet. Two men and one woman descended upon her, and her screams shook the room, making the audience whisper to each other excitedly.

The strong smell of blood hit his nostrils. Sebastian licked his lips, his stomach twitching in hunger.

He deserved an additional reward for serving such a troublesome Master. He would have to find a way to taste his blood even before completing their contract.

Fifteen minutes later, the violated and broken body was carried away. The auction continued, with several people leaving with their new "pets." By the time the cage with his lord was rolled out, in his boredom, Sebastian had counted and memorised every blue garment present on every guest. There were sixty-two dresses, shirts, hats, scarfs, ties, shoes, earrings and laces on people here. He wasn't surprised. Blue was such an appealing colour.

He sensed the presence of Young Master even before the sheet surrounding his cage was removed. At that very moment, the connection between them stirred.

Ciel Phantomhive was waking up. What perfect timing.

"Here is something that you can appreciate visually or keep as a pet," Viscount Druitt uttered. He was standing near the cage, pointing at it grandly. "You could also use it for a ritual. The eyes are the beautiful contrast between the colour of an ocean reflecting the blue sky and the darkness of a deep forest."

The arousal and blood-thirst that spiked among the audience instantly set Sebastian on edge. They had been a pathetic bunch of parasites in his eyes, but now, all of a sudden, their status was elevated to that of personal thorns in his side.

As soon as he was summoned, Sebastian would love to get his hands on each of them.

His lord didn't seem in a hurry, though. He was sitting in the middle of the cage with flawless stillness, holding his head up despite his hands being tied to his neck. He embodied beauty and grace, and Sebastian couldn't look away. If he was human, it was possible that he would spend a fortune on the chance to own something this exquisite.

Luckily, as a demon, he already held the most precious thing this boy had to offer.

"The starting bid is 1000 Guinea!" Druitt announced. The man was pompous and annoying to the extent that killing him would be a gift to humanity, but Sebastian had to admit that some of his poetic inclinations were noteworthy. "The beautiful contrast between the colour of an ocean reflecting the blue sky and the darkness of a deep forest"? There was some truth to it. Granted, this still wasn't the best description. One day, he would find a better one.

The bids began to increase rapidly, and that's when he finally heard the long-awaited, "Sebastian. I'm here."

They weren't allowed to kill Druitt and others because the Queen wanted Jack the Ripper alive. This meant that Sebastian couldn't show himself for what he was.

With a flick of his fingers, he extinguished the lights.

Then he lunged.

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The look on Madam Red's face when she saw her unharmed nephew was a picture Sebastian would surely remember for some years. He'd never seen such a contradictory combination of shock, fury, trepidation, and relief.

It could only be rivalled by the explosion of rage and disbelief of his Young Master as he read the morning newspapers and realised that Viscount Druitt wasn't Jack the Ripper.

"Bring me the files, Sebastian," he said tautly. Regardless of his attempts to stay composed, his face reflected a storm of emotions that Sebastian could study for eternity. "And come with me. I have to discuss something with you."

While his progress was slower than Sebastian had expected, it was a matter of hours, perhaps days, before the boy arrived at the right conclusion.

He followed, his smile growing with every step.

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This night. It would happen this night. Sebastian felt it in his, admittedly human, bones.

Madam Red must have sensed it, too, because she spent the evening in an odd state. She was alternating between quietness and endless talking, all but urging Young Master to stop his investigation. When she finally chose to leave, her posture was tight with defeat.

"You don't have to escort me, Sebastian," she said softly. Ignoring his protest, she looked up, something hopeless and fierce in her eyes.

"Promise me," she whispered. "Say you will never leave his side. This is a dangerous world for a boy. Make sure he doesn't lose his way."

Sebastian bowed his head lightly, pondering over her words.

Was this a plea motivated by genuine concern for her nephew? Possible but unlikely. Despite her clear emotional conflict, Madam Red had already proved that she's willing to subject Ciel Phantomhive to torture and death if it meant her safety.

In all likelihood, she was doing exactly what she'd been trying throughout the evening: persuade them to stop looking. She had failed to convince the boy, now she was hoping to get Sebastian to affect him.

Foolish woman. But why not give her the slice of reassurance she was so desperately seeking? It wouldn't even be a lie.

"Certainly," he promised gravely, dropping to one knee. She would never know how heartfelt his oath was, but she would be able to taste his sincerity when they inevitably met at the opposite sides of the investigation. "Fear not. I shall stay by his side and protect him until the very end."

Her eyes were dark and blank as she departed with Grell, and soon after that, Sebastian followed them.

He would find out their plans and then he'd give his lord the final nudge. It was time to bring the game to its logical finish.

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The boy listened to his report thoughtfully. Despite his attempts to concentrate, his body was emanating the need to sleep, and Sebastian was almost sorry to have to deny it.

"At any rate," his lord murmured, "tomorrow we shall…"

He stopped suddenly, his face freezing in a passive mask before shattering to reveal the astonished horror.

"Sebastian!" he exclaimed. "It can't be!"

Finally. This raw look of shock, these notes of betrayal in his voice… this was what Sebastian had been aiming for, and the game was well worth it. Delight swirled in him, and he almost squinted in his pleasure.

"I've told you many times, have I not?" he purred. "I will not lie to you."

Fury and astonishment, astonishment and hurt. Watching such heartbreak was the best sort of entertainment, and the sweetest was the realisation that it was only a teaser of the things to come. One day, his lord would understand that his revered Queen had been behind the attack on him and his family, and that would be when his world collapsed.

In a way, it could be said that Sebastian was being helpful. He was preparing Ciel Phantomhive for the inevitable largest disappointment of his life. How would this discovery affect his soul? He could only guess, but he knew one thing for certain: devouring it as his lord struggled with the disbelief, bitterness, and heartbreak would be the most memorable experience of his existence.

Madam Red would be a test. What the boy chose to do with her would predetermine his reaction to the Queen's betrayal.

So far, Sebastian was satisfied. Young Master regained control over himself admirably well, and only a minute later, his gaze cooled while his words sharpened.

"I made a mistake in judgment, yes," he said calmly. "But it doesn't mean I'm incapable of admitting it and rectifying the situation. If she murdered these women, she will be punished for it. Did you expect me to react differently?"

A worthy soul. A desirable soul. Sebastian had to lower his head to mask the naked hunger he knew lit his eyes red.

He might not need the reminders proving this fact, but he still wanted them. At this specific moment, the boy's soul was the most perfect mix of dark and light, and Sebastian was worried about any outside forces ruining it.

He could always twist the contract… find a way around its terms… trick the boy into saying something that could be interpreted as its dissolution, which had happened when he was younger. His soul hadn't been ready then, but it was ready now because try as he might, Sebastian couldn't imagine a more flawless combination.

Killing him now would make everything easier. It would free him from the cocoon of feelings he didn't understand and didn't want to experience. The Disjoining had briefly stolen his identity, but with the boy's soul warming his stomach, he could finally start enjoying the balance. No more turmoil and emotional storms, but no more emptiness either. He would move on with new expectations and knowledge.

The urge was there, and putting it under control took some effort. Sebastian stepped towards his lord, focusing his attention on dressing him and finding a distraction in it.

Ending the contract early was something he could consider at a later point — doing it now was senseless because the most exciting part of the night was still ahead.

He would make his decision afterwards, depending on how it went.

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Mary Jane Kelly, the victim to be, was still alive when they found her, and the boy's choice to leave her captive and use her as bait opened some intriguing possibilities that Sebastian immediately jumped on.

"My lord, I hope you realize that we have only a small chance of saving that woman," he warned. "Grell isn't human. I'm not sure what abilities he possesses, but the victim might die before we reach her."

There. All done. Since he half-confessed his intentions, Young Master had only himself to blame when things inevitably went wrong.

The boy made a cold sound.

"Do you take me for an idiot?" he wondered derisively. "Of course I realize it. But I cannot rely on the words of a prostitute."

Ah, so that's what this was about. He wanted to see the confirmation of Madam Red's murderous identity with his own eyes. How could Sebastian say no to that?

He heard Grell and Madam Red when they arrived. It coincided with the appearance of the loveliest of cats on his path, so Sebastian crouched down, cooing and successfully masking any sounds that his lord might have heard. The distraction was short-lived as Mary Jane screamed loudly enough to wake the entire East End.

Without hesitation, Ciel Phantomhive broke into a run. His movements were so inhumanly quick and so unlike his normal pace that Sebastian lagged behind in surprise.

The door was thrust open. The sharp metallic scent flowed outside, and Sebastian belatedly realised that his lord, with his aversion for blood, should not be seeing the freshest crime scene of Jack the Ripper.

"Don't look!" he urged. Covering the boy's eyes, he leapt away, holding him close.

Young Master shook in his arms, and Sebastian coiled tighter around him. The sight of blood must have had an even more detrimental effect on his mind that it had seemed before — Sebastian couldn't recall his lord ever heaving this badly.

When Grell stumbled towards them, he smiled, although his grip on his Master's eyes grew stronger. Seeing the reaper covered in blood from head to toe would only worsen his already vulnerable state.

"That's quite a mess you've made, Jack the Ripper," Sebastian drawled. Since his lord couldn't see anything, he added, "Or should I say, Grell Sutcliff?"

Having a chance to face Grell in a battle lifted his spirits, he couldn't deny it. The farce was finally over for all of them — he no longer had to hide from Madam Red and Grell could demonstrate his real self.

…Although perhaps the latter wasn't the best idea. Grell-the-Butler looked plain but acted outrageously whenever they were alone. Now that he eagerly shook off his human visage and his looks finally matched his antics, Sebastian couldn't help grimacing.

"You are not 'Sebastian' either, are you?" Grell stated smugly. A common mistake for someone like reapers, though Sebastian had assumed that Grell, with his two personas, would understand it better than most.

"That's the name I received from my Young Master, so yes. Sebastian is who I am," he said. "For now."

How many names had he had over the centuries? The number went well into thousands. He barely remembered most of them no matter how fully he had embraced them at the time.

He imagined 'Sebastian' would follow this pattern at some point.

"You're playing the "faithful dog"?" Grell giggled. "Well, you are handsome enough to get away with it. Anyway, here we are, Sebastian… I'll call you Sebby… Let me reintroduce myself. Grell Sutcliff, the butler of the Burnett family, at your service!"

How was that reintroduction? The name and the position were the same.

No wonder Grell didn't understand the duality of demons. He wasn't pretending with Madam Red — he remained himself. A rebellious reaper who decided to work with a human on a whim.

Sebastian couldn't decide how he felt about this. Preserving a single identity was a privilege that contracted demons would never gain. In the past, there were times when the need to be what his masters and mistresses wanted of him weighed him down catastrophically, and the longer a contract took, the worse the dissonance became.

Strangely, he felt no such effects now. He spent almost three years with Ciel Phantomhive, a very lengthy term that was bound to start grating on him, yet the only problem he had faced was his hunger… and the emotions that plagued him restlessly. His identity remained wholesome. Even the name 'Sebastian' felt natural — hearing it pleased him, especially when his lord was the one to say it.

He would have to consider this at more depth once this confrontation was over.

Madam Red finally left the shadows, and with her appearance, Young Master came to his senses. He removed Sebastian's hand from his face, and though his fingers remained wrapped around his palm, the gesture spoke for itself.

Courage. His little lord was prepared to put this investigation to rest regardless of any personal ties he had with the murderer.

Sebastian listened to everything he spoke, and his glow of contentment grew with every sentence. Young Master considered the matter grim and unfortunate, but the deadliness of his tone meant that Madam Red would not live long enough to see the new sunrise. It would be a pity to kill such an interesting woman so quickly, but her foolish underestimation of her nephew and the chaotically progressing blood-thirstiness had to have consequences.

His satisfaction ceased abruptly when Madam Red snapped and Grell activated his monstrosity of a weapon. In less than a second, he flew upon them, thrusting it right at Ciel Phantomhive with deadly speed.

Sebastian reacted before he had time to come up with an efficient idea and shielded the boy with his body.

It was his first experience with the Death Scythe, and despite his confidence, a part of him was wary. When he caught it in his hands and felt its thunderous vibrations, though, the wariness fled.

It was a powerful weapon; the direct blow from it might cause him quite a few problems, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He would have to prevent Grell from landing the repeated full hits, yet this hardly seemed like a challenge. After all, he wasn't a Prince of Hell for nothing.

Slightly increasing the force he chose to apply, Sebastian pushed at the Scythe and sent the reaper flying in the opposite direction. Not waiting until he landed, he instantly retook his position, holding a protective hand in front of his lord to restrict any access to him.

Grell seemed ecstatic from the opposition. Sebastian tensed, expecting a doubly vicious attack, but what followed was another chain of ridiculous comments. Bored and disdainful, he turned away from Grell and concentrated on his Master.

The weather was chilly and the rain threatened to turn into a downpour. Since Grell was one of those types that preferred talking to fighting and Madam Red seemed content to wallow in silence, they might be here for a while. His lord didn't need a cold on top of the paperwork he would have to fill after their victory.

Sebastian wrapped him in his coat and made sure it sat properly. Young Master, who'd been standing motionlessly, shifted in response. Whatever thoughts he'd been mulling over, he must have come to a conclusion because his fingers lifted the eye patch slowly. His voice was icy when he commanded, "On behalf of Her Majesty and my own… I order you to dispose of them."

The seal flared with his order, and Sebastian felt a familiar rush of power gather under his skin.

The words were music to his ears. The unrelenting and uncompromising nature of the boy shone so beautifully that it could even keep the rain at bay if he wished so. And if it didn't work, Sebastian was there to make his wish happen either way.

"Yes, my lord," he breathed out.

He attacked Grell first. For the most part, he was testing the barriers — foolish as this particular reaper might appear, Sebastian refused to underestimate him.

Like he'd thought, Grell's speed was formidable. He made a series of flashy jumps before letting out a victorious cry and throwing himself forwards, his Scythe raised above his head.

Sebastian didn't mind being on the defensive. He was curious about Grell's powers and he wasn't willing to fight full-force until he made a judgement on him as an opponent.

Each blow came with tremendous strength, but very soon, it became apparent that Grell's abilities were limited to force and speed. The biggest danger came from his Scythe — if Sebastian managed to take it, Grell would be only a little more impressive than regular humans.

But this wasn't an easy feat, considering Sebastian's own limitations. Madam Red was standing still now, but that could change any moment, so he couldn't allow himself to take the fight to the air and leave Ciel Phantomhive defenceless. And while speed and force presented a boring combination of abilities, they were nothing to scoff at. Grell was following him step by step, shifting and jumping with him, refusing him even a moment of advantage.

The narrowness of London streets didn't help, and after one of such dances, Sebastian found himself pressed against the wall, with the roaring Scythe between his hands.

This wasn't ideal. He was reluctant to take his true form — Grell hadn't proved himself as a worthy adversary yet, but the need to do so was increasing with rapid speed.

"See?" Grell crowed. "If you don't run fast enough, I'm going to cut you. It's so much more stimulating if it hurts a bit, isn't it?"

True, but Sebastian wasn't planning to let the situation go there. The Scythe fascinated him and he wouldn't mind experiencing its more physical impacts even at the expense of his flesh, yet this would be equal to admitting a weakness.

He wasn't weak. In his true form, he could get rid of Grell in less than twenty seconds. Taking it would signify personal defeat, though, because there were only two categories of opponents Sebastian revealed himself to and so far, Grell was neither.

He allowed more power to seep out, tightening his hold on the Scythe. Its constant vibrations were frustrating: they hindered him from improving his grip to the extent where he would be able to yank the weapon out of Grell's hands.

Admittedly, this was the best fight he'd had in years.

All of a sudden, his seal began to burn. He barely had time to re-focus his attention when the familiar and the most magnificent scent of blood assaulted his nostrils.

But this time, there was no hunger. Only startling, blinding horror.

No.

His eyes fixated on his lord. He couldn't identify the location of the wound; he couldn't see the boy's expression to judge how critical his situation was. The seal burned again as Madam Red advanced and grabbed him by the throat.

Rage, vibrant and incandescent, tunnelled Sebastian's vision. It spread through him like liquid fire, burning and scorching, and if he wasn't temporarily trapped, he would have already been there, crushing Madam Red's skull to dust.

"The gun!" he hissed violently. Neither his lord nor Grell reacted, which meant that he spoke the words demonically.

Sebastian opened his mouth again when the seal spasmed the most powerful warning at him. It meant only one thing: immediate, life-threatening danger.

Madam Red was no longer playing or hesitating. Just like her nephew, she had made her decision, and the dagger in her hand was its grave and bloody reflection.

The world dimmed to one central image — the most important image in Sebastian's existence.

"Young Master!" he bellowed. Mindlessly, he let go of the Scythe, letting it embed itself into his arm. The pain was agonising — the reapers' weapons were doubtlessly forged with the ability to incapacitate and silence demons along with other representatives of the outer realms. Healing from such damage must take a longer time, too, but even if the wounds were forever, sacrificing his hand seemed like a cheap price when the stakes were so high.

Throwing everything he had and everything he was into his leap, Sebastian crossed the distance separating him from Ciel Phantomhive. He had never moved with this speed before, and as he lunged at Madam Red, his true form had just begun to bleed through.

It didn't matter that the transformation wasn't complete. He would slice her apart with his teeth if he had to.

Blood was roaring in his ears, the fury deafening him to any sounds but one, and it was this sound that broke through his red-tinted resolve.

"Don't, Sebastian! Don't kill her!"

His instinct to protect this boy could only rival the overpowering need to heed his urgent orders. His fingers, which had almost reached their target, froze, and the energy dimmed, forcing him back into his human shape.

This second-long reprieve could have cost him everything. And his lord's stupid, pathetic, cursed sentimentality could have cost him his life if Madam Red had landed her blow.

But she hadn't. She stepped away, the dagger clattering as it fell on the ground, and burrowed her face in her hands.

Sebastian remained frozen in his aborted attack for several more seconds until his brain finally gave him a command to relax, soothed by the lack of immediate danger to his Master. The pain in his arm immediately grew unbearable, and when he saw the boy's wide, horrified eyes, he tried to cover his wound.

Blood. Must avoid blood.

"Sebastian," his lord whispered. His gaze was brimming with unidentifiable emotions, and Sebastian wanted to spit at him and pull him close at the same time.

This lying, disappointing little human… his orders and his composure had been an act. He was incapable of murdering his aunt, not even when his life depended on it.

Sebastian wished to fuel this contempt, to push it to the forefront of his mind and body. This was a simple and logical feeling. The concern and the strange reverence fighting for dominance were not.

"My, Sebby, you're so daring!" Grell gawked. "Even at the cost of an arm, you went to save that kid!"

There was nothing but the truth in these words, and yet Sebastian grimaced, his resentment curling in dark vengeful coils.

He didn't need the audible confirmation of his own stupidity. No demon should have done what he did — some threats were too big to honour the contract, and fighting the reaper was among them.

It was embarrassing. He wanted the last two minutes to fade from existence — from his memory as well.

"On the other hand, you're a disappointment, Madam," Grell raised his voice. "Hurry up and get rid of the brat already!"

Sebastian was too slow to react, but when he recognised the words, he growled before he could stop himself. If Madam Red lifted even a finger against the boy again…

However, this didn't seem likely. Her shoulders shook and the first sobs started to tear from her lips.

"I can't," she moaned. "I just can't. I can't kill this child."

Her hysterics and her whims hardly interested him. Sebastian stared at Ciel Phantomhive instead, stonily waiting for other expressions of emotions.

There were plenty. The boy's gaze softened as he gazed at his aunt, his furrowed eyebrows giving him the look of vulnerability that Sebastian found utterly disgusting. Even more disgusting was the fact that he was demonstrating it to everyone, not caring who was watching him.

This was not his Master. This was a weak imposter who let feelings dictate his actions. It was a mystery why the compulsion to protect him remained so strong.

Grell's weapon roared again. Sebastian started to instinctively jerk to his lord when the Scythe collided with Madam Red, carving its way through her chest.

The shocked gasp of the boy was the loudest sound in Sebastian's ears. His own eyes widened in genuine surprise, and something unpleasant gripped his chest as he stared at her, trying to see her the way Young Master saw her.

Still alive, but with a mortal wound. Her face wet with tears and rain. She was insignificant, a rotten soul that stole attention and forced the boy to cater to her when he had better things to do. There was no logical reason Sebastian could find to explain why his Master would stare at her with such crushing hopelessness and why this would affect him in any way.

When the memory ribbons shot up, his brief confounding attempt at gaining clarity ended. Instead, an almost juvenile enthusiasm took its place, and if his arm didn't hurt this badly, he would have grinned.

Very few demons had the privilege of witnessing how the reapers worked during the harvest. This was a sacred process and the creatures themselves were too possessive to let someone nearby, especially if this someone could try to eat the object of their work. There were rumours about how they decided on the fate of each soul, but the cinematic record of memories? This was fascinating.

His Master seemed content to watch it, so Sebastian followed his example.

Madam Red's story was as plain and stale as he had expected. Tragic love. Family drama. An attempt to settle for a second-best human and a sudden loss of all hopes she'd managed to instil in herself.

The only surprising part of the story was the timing of her first murder. Sebastian would have never guessed that it happened before they met. Her soul had always had rotten patches, but he never thought murder was the reason. Had he known, he would have interacted with her differently. The things he could have pushed her into…

The only interesting part of the story was Ciel Phantomhive. Sebastian believed that every memory of him was seared in his mind, but he'd almost forgotten how scrawny and small he looked when they had just signed their contract. He decidedly favoured the current version… sans the last ten minutes. He could do without that horrifying display of weakness.

"How beautiful you were when you were covered with your victims' blood," Grell sniffed disdainfully when the memories ceased, straightening his coat. He was emanating contempt and annoyance. "I much preferred you like that. And what a disappointment you turned out to be in the end."

He and the reaper seemed to share the same boat of misfortune, Sebastian mused. They were both let down by their human companions this night. The only difference was that Grell had no issues killing his in retaliation, even though he had spent more time with her than Sebastian had with Ciel Phantomhive.

Another uncomfortable thought. Sebastian shifted with a frown and rubbed his wound absent-mindedly.

Perhaps this said more about Grell than about himself. Humans were fickle creatures: if one wanted to make the most beautiful composition out of them, one had to show a firm hand and patient guidance. A single misstep didn't necessarily make humans unworthy — multiple chances at redemption lied ahead. Ciel Phantomhive had already approached the end of the precipice many times, but he always unwaveringly took a step back by redeeming himself and growing stronger.

Sebastian was certain that this time wouldn't be different. Later, when the boy's weak emotions stilled, he would emerge anew, and he would be just as stunning as he normally was.

"Sebastian."

The voice instantly drew his attention. Sebastian looked at his lord, who was kneeling beside his aunt. He was soaked through despite the coat Sebastian had offered him, but instead of brimming with the hateful heartbreak, his voice sounded calm and determined again.

Finally.

"What are you waiting for?" Young Master questioned him. "I told you to hunt down Jack the Ripper. It's not over yet."

He turned, and Sebastian's breath caught at the sight of his grim face.

There it was. The deadly certainty and the dark acceptance.

"Don't stand around. Get rid of the other one!"

The words were more forceful now, and with good reason — Sebastian was perplexed at his own inactivity. Did the boy's swift recovery truly surprise him? Wasn't he the one who'd just been thinking of redemption and of his lord's resilient nature?

A smile touched his lips. The pain in his arm suddenly seemed bearable again, and he lowered his head in respect.

"Certainly," he promised.

When he looked at Grell, dark rapture rose in him in a fresh wave.

He would enjoy fighting the reaper. And he would bring victory to his lord.

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Now that he wasn't distracted by his Master's safety, he could take this fight to the air. So he did.

The wind whistled past his ears as he rose above the monotonous London roofs, watching Grell attentively for vulnerable spots.

Grell was an interesting figure. His strengths and weaknesses were apparent, and now Sebastian could say with confidence that in a true duel, he would be the definite winner. Speed and force would be meaningless if he took the Death Scythe, and while Grell was bloodthirsty enough to give chase, he was also a talker. He fought as much as he got distracted.

But Sebastisn didn't want to be hasty. The Death Scythe was a riveting tool by itself, and its ability to draw the specific memories out of a victim was too fascinating to pass up. After all, what other demon could say that they experienced its effects first-hand?

Sebastian had a millennia-long memory. It would be interesting to see what Grell could cajole out of him, but he had to move carefully and plan everything thoroughly. There were still unknown variables in this: he didn't know how deeply the Scythe had to cut him for a cinematic record to appear. Letting Grell land a second hit would also be a humiliating experience, especially if Young Master was watching them. Hopefully, the results would be worth it.

"Ah, Sebastian!" Grell sighed theatrically. Only several inches separated them — a perfect distance for his plan to come to fruition. "I wish the morning would never come. Then the two of us could enjoy each other for eternity… But our amorous adventure ends now."

With a short laugh, Grell attacked him physically, and Sebastian recoiled, purposefully holding his hands by his sides. He didn't try to raise them to defend himself, and he kept his expression sufficiently shocked to make Grell's already inadequate attention span even blunter.

"We part with a passionate kiss!" he sang, his greenish eyes glistening gleefully. "No? Then goodnight, my love! A thousand farewells!"

Sebastian continued to stand motionlessly, although every part of him tensed in anticipation of the blow. His posture must have been enough to fool Grell because he was almost slow in raising the Death Scythe and thrusting it down.

He assessed the trajectory in less than a second. Arching away slightly, Sebastian let the blade cut the first several layers of his body, wincing at the terrible but already familiar pain.

The second time, it was easier to handle it because he knew what to expect. His arm was beginning to heal, so he'd have to wait ten minutes for the unpleasant sensations in his chest to lessen as well. He only hoped this was enough — allowing for a deeper cut was out of question. His Master still needed him to win this duel.

Grell's mouth stretched in a carnivorous grin.

"Now, show me your most dramatic memories!" he crooned. The cinematic records shot out, and Sebastian barely managed to cover his exhilaration. So demons were much like humans in this regard — who would have thought? And based on Grell's words, the reapers could command what kind of memories they wished to see. How did they do it? Did the memories obey their voice, their weapon, or their essence?

Strangely, his records were blank. Maybe his participation was needed as well? It could be that humans subconsciously obeyed the order of the reaper by starting to think of the scenes they had demanded to see.

If so, this was profoundly disappointing. How was Sebastian supposed to know what Grell meant by "dramatic"? He'd lived for thousands of years. He'd been expecting to be shown his memories, not to become the one showing them.

The records remained blank, so if he wanted to see any reflections at all, he had to compose himself quickly. Dramatic. What was the first thing that came to his mind upon hearing this word?

The servants, of course. Bard, Mey-Rin, Finnie, even Tanaka occasionally. They were the embodiment of petty human drama, they could not survive a day without it.

As soon as he thought of them, the records darkened with the corresponding images. They were grotesque and fit Grell's request perfectly: the tears, the screaming, the excuses and the desperate promises to do better in the future — there were no species more dramatic than Bard, Mey-Rin, and Finnie. With the number of things they broke, ruined, and destroyed, Sebastian would have thought they're doing it on purpose if he didn't know them so well.

Amusing but ultimately boring. This was not what he'd expected from the Death Scythe. The pain and the ruined clothes were certainly not worth it.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" Grell yelled. The disbelief and affront in his voice spoke volumes — it seemed like he wasn't thrilled with what he was witnessing either. "What the hell is this?!"

"This is what my life has been for the past two years," Sebastian commented. A never-ending drama of mistakes and uselessness.

His middle groaned in pain, and he channelled some of his powers to accelerate the healing.

"I'm not interested in seeing your daily chores!" Grell exclaimed. He darted from record to record, searching for something, before finally giving up, his face falling in a comical manner. "Come on! Show me the good stuff!"

Sebastian had been interested in this "good stuff" as well. Pity that the records were dictated by one's subconscious only. He'd seen nothing interesting: no half-forgotten memories, no insights into what he might consider the most dramatic moments of his life. What a waste of time and dignity.

"Apologies," he drawled. The wounds still hurt, but they were already closing. It was time to put this duel to its rightful end and show which of them was a superior being. "I'm afraid I charge for the permission to view the rest."

"Skinflint!" Grell complained, but he barely had time to finish when Sebastian kicked him with his real force. The blow would have been hard enough to knock Grell off the roof and send him plummeting down if he hadn't jumped away at the last moment.

He would have to move swiftly now, and that meant taking Grell's Scythe as soon as possible. He'd have to show a little originality.

"This is the one technique I didn't want to use," he uttered. "But I have no other choice."

From a certain perspective, stealing the Scythe was cheating because without his weapon, Grell would be no opposition. Nonetheless, he'd already given him a chance to inflict the wounds on him twice, and twice Grell had failed to escalate the situation. He would have to reap what he'd sown.

"So you're going to fight me seriously at last?" Grell asked. He looked even more enamoured and enthusiastic at the possibility. It was almost a pity to disappoint him.

It took Sebastian 16 seconds to damage the Scythe. It took 16 blows to force Grell to release his grip on it and drop down, his face twisted in pained shock and horror at what was to come.

The seal hissed and Sebastian's heart twitched unpleasantly — an automatic reaction that he didn't appreciate in the slightest. Without wasting a second, he threw himself towards his lord fast enough to land even before Grell, and once he did, he realised the problem.

He'd knocked the fool right on top of his Master's head. Unfortunate, but nothing that couldn't be fixed.

What surprised him was the boy's reaction, or rather, the absence of it. He was watching the screaming Grell calmly, distantly, not even attempting to move out of the way. Perhaps the reason was human slowness, but he had time to register Sebastian's landing and turned to watch him instead. Was this normal behaviour?

Time was running out, so Sebastian crouched and delivered another kick to Grell, redirecting him to the opposite side. The Scythe dropped next to Madam Red's feet — another small reward.

He won the fight against the reaper almost as quickly as he got rid of their human enemies. This should be sufficiently impressive even as per Ciel Phantomhive's standards.

"I apologise," Sebastian said demurely. "I misjudged the distance."

The boy looked at him blankly.

"You're in quite a state," he murmured. He looked abnormally pale, and since he'd removed Sebastian's coat to cover Madam Red for some reason, his clothes looked almost translucent from the rain.

The unease flickered to life, but Sebastian shook it off. He wouldn't bother himself with humans' emotional complexities. He had an order to complete.

"I had a little resistance," he allowed, smiling, "so…"

Grell spluttered angrily, and Sebastian faced him with interest. Bending, he picked up the Scythe and clenched it in his hand, disappointed when it didn't feel different from any other similar object. As a tool, it was ingenious, but it was clear that only the reapers were able to recognise their weapons from sight or by touch. To everyone else, even demons, these were dead human objects.

Irrelevant. It had to work properly regardless of who was wielding it, meaning that he had every chance to kill Grell with his own Scythe.

What a delightful opportunity. No other demon would boast of doing something like this. Claude might dedicate the next century or so to hunting the reapers and searching for the Scythes, hoping to outshine and outdo him.

"What are you doing?" Grell stammered. "Don't—"

Sebastian stepped on him, crushing his head into the ground — or attempting to. Like he'd guessed, a reaper couldn't die from something as flimsy as physical force.

He wondered what the repercussions would be. The reapers usually worked in pairs, but it was difficult to say how protective they were of one another. Grell's partner seemed to be missing entirely, and from what Sebastian had witnessed, this wasn't surprising. Anyone would have run away.

Would the head of their organisation try to take revenge? Or perhaps even higher forces?

Elation burned in him at the possibility. Interacting with reapers or angels as adversaries was a unique chance Sebastian would never refuse. There was a single obstacle that made him hesitate: he wouldn't be the only one the higher forces might seek retribution against. Technically, he was fulfilling the orders of his lord, which placed him in direct danger. Sebastian would naturally be able to protect him, but would the boy see it that way? With his latest failures, every scenario was plausible.

"Young Master," Sebastian called. "Even though he is a hideous reprobate, he is a Reaper, a god of death. Are you prepared to accept the consequences of killing him?"

A clogging tension fixed his face in an unyielding mask as he waited for his answer. Another strange sensation gripped him. It was almost as if he was bracing himself for a new disappointment: something in him was already trying to soothe his inevitable rage. How confusing.

To his relief, his Master replied quickly, and his voice was as even and emotionless as before.

"Are you trying to make me give the same order twice?"

A pleased smile blossomed on his lips, all negative thoughts and concerns fading.

"Understood," Sebastian murmured.

The Scythe let out an unpleasant screech when he activated it. Only someone like Grell could find such a barbaric sound appealing.

His cries gained volume, and Sebastian no longer hid his hungry smirk.

"I believe we've found one thing you are good at," he drawled smugly. "You scream very nicely. As a reward…"

An unmistakable rush of power ran through him when he raised the Scythe above Grell's crumpled form. This energy was potent, addictive, and familiar, although it'd been a while since he last experienced it. Triumph always tasted sweet, and Grell, despite his obvious flaws, was a reaper, a creature that wasn't supposed to be defeated. It was probable that he was going to become the first reaper killed by a demon, and was there anything more thrilling than that?

Perhaps dancing. No, dancing with Ciel Phantomhive. But this was a mystery Sebastian didn't want to touch at the moment — at least murdering a reaper was an understandable source of enjoyment.

"I shall kill you with your favourite toy," he announced with dark satisfaction. Grell whimpered.

"Please!" he begged, still trying to squirm his way out from under Sebastian's boot. "You won't kill me, will you?"

Another swirl of pleasure washed over him, and Sebastian's face split in a wider grin.

Ah, the struggling. The begging. How absolutely delightful.

He could make this last. His Master didn't give any specifications, so he could start with sawing Grell's limbs off one by one. How much blood loss would it take for someone like him to die? This could be his live experiment, the one and only in the universe.

"I will," he purred. He expected Grell to continue his pleas, to start bargaining, but instead his panicked green eyes darted towards Young Master.

"Don't you want to know who killed your parents?" he shouted.

Sebastian registered those words. He registered the gasp of his lord, felt how he began to open his mouth to ask something — no, not to ask. To take his order back. To give Grell mercy in exchange for information that would bring their contract to its end.

Adrenaline exploded in his blood. All his senses woke up at once, overwhelming him with their sudden sharpness and blurring the edges of his vision. There was one coherent thought in his head, and this thought comprised only two letters.

No.

Sebastian crushed the Scythe down with all the impossible speed and force the demon realm had to offer. His hands moved quicker than Grell's gaze, much quicker than his Master's ability to speak. Remove a threat first, deal with the consequences later.

This was his contract. His. He alone would decide when it was time to end it.

The Scythe was an inch from Grell's body when something hard and unyielding got in the way. Sebastian recoiled in shocked surprise and rage before raising his head in search of the intruder.

Thick glasses. An odd weapon. An ethereal grace.

Another reaper. Grell's partner had finally decided to retrieve him?

Sebastian watched dispassionately as the man introduced himself and began to list the offences Grell had committed in the human realm. He listened, too, but while a part of him understood the words, another part remained submerged in icy shock.

His reaction had been instantaneous. For one bright, infinite second, silencing Grell and protecting the contract had become the goal of his existence. He would have done anything to anyone to ensure that Ciel Phantomhive never heard whatever it was Grell could tell him.

Why? The boy might have redeemed himself tonight, but it didn't remove the stain of disappointment his weakness had left. And sooner or later, they would find the Queen and the executor she employed, and Sebastian would kill them and take what was his.

The boy himself didn't seem to be in any rush. He never bothered to start an investigation into his parents' death, and Sebastian never commented on it. He knew most demons would have performed their own research and found a suspect quickly to get to the part they were most interested in. Sebastian, in turn, was satisfied to let things progress as they did, observing them from the side and allowing his lord to move him as he saw fit. It was entertaining and challenging, and he enjoyed showing initiative as much as he liked being a pawn. The opportunity to watch the decisions his Master made and how they shaped his course was already rewarding.

But a minute ago, he had broken his own rules.

If Grell knew something about the murder of the Phantomhives, it could be fate that had brought them together — another one of its interesting turns signifying the end of his agreement with the boy. With Grell's knowledge, it would take them several days, maybe a week to conclude everything.

Letting Grell speak would have been a natural thing to do. Upon entering the contract, Sebastian had two choices: to approach it with the goal of consuming his lord's soul as quickly as possible, which implied actively fuelling the investigation into the death of Phantomhives, or to remain an observer who let the boy grow and find the killers on his own, cultivating his soul into a delicacy. He'd picked the latter option. Tonight, however… tonight, he had deviated from it and stepped onto the third path.

Hindering the natural completion of the contract. Trying to murder the informant who could move things along.

Incomprehensible. Sebastian couldn't begin to understand his motives.

Through his confusion, he automatically accepted the card a new reaper gave him before doing a double take.

The reaper was bowing to him.

What a curious sight.

"I never thought I'd see the day where I have to bow to demon scum like you," the creature muttered. His voice was dripping with disdain. "This is a disgrace to all Grim Reapers."

After a brief startled pause, Sebastian chuckled, genuinely amused. But the amusement faded when he remembered the conditions under which this reaper appeared.

What kind of supervisor was he if he allowed his workers to wander around and wreak chaos for such lengthy periods? Grell had endangered the contract Sebastian had spent years on by sinking his claws into the aunt of his Master. This was unacceptable and no amount of bowing would change that.

Tension left him only when the reaper left, dragging dazed Grell with him. Sebastian watched them disappear in the darkness, and once he made certain that they wouldn't return to ambush them with information no one was interested in, he turned to his lord. It took one glance at him to sense that something wasn't right.

The boy appeared vacant. His gaze, normally sparkling with intelligence, was now dull and lifeless.

"I must apologise," Sebastian said lightly. "Half of Jack the Ripper escaped."

He hoped this would provoke some strong emotion, even if this emotion would be anger. But there was nothing. Young Master didn't even look up. His voice was barely audible when he whispered, "Let it go. Just let it go."

Deeply concerned now, Sebastian knelt by his side and touched his face gently.

Cold skin. Unnaturally cold. Coupled with his empty stare, the boy looked soulless.

A shiver ran up Sebastian's back.

"You're chilled to the bones," he murmured, softer than he had intended. His touch lingered for another second before he forced himself to draw back. "Let's hurry back to the townhouse. I shall prepare some hot milk for you."

Silence, but then Young Master sighed.

"Okay," he said. Such submissiveness injected Sebastian with a new dose of worry, and he watched attentively how his lord began to stand up.

He barely made it to his feet when his knees suddenly buckled, and then he was falling, not even trying to put his hands up to protect himself.

"Young Master!" Sebastian leapt up to catch him, but he didn't have time to even wrap his arms around him. His lord slapped his hands away, jerking back as if stung. His eyes flashed with that familiar defiant spark, but this wasn't the expression Sebastian expected or wanted to see.

Ciel Phantomhive looked disgusted with him. Worse, he looked upset, and Sebastian had no idea what could be the cause. Was it because he had let Grell go?

"Young Ma—" he began to say, but the boy interrupted him.

"It's fine! I can stand on my own. It's just… I'm slightly fatigued."

Yet it was more than that. He was starting to shiver, and the seal on Sebastian's hand continued to pulse with a warning.

"You are not merely fatigued," he said sharply. "You're hurt. I can smell your blood from here. Let me take you to the townhouse and I'll be able to tend to your wound."

The boy glared at him. It was surprising how someone in such a poor condition could muster enough strength to look frightening.

"No," he growled. "I'm going to walk. You take care of Madam Red's body. Bring it to Undertaker. I want the funeral to take place as soon as possible. Then…" he hesitated for a moment, a strange look passing over his features before they were fixed with stubborn resolve. "Bring the body of Mary Kelly, too," he added. "Tell Undertaker to mask the wounds. Then try to find if she has anyone left. If not, we will arrange the burial for her as well. Inform the servants and the rest of the family about Madam Red."

Despite his confidence, the boy's sentences were too short and jerky, exposing his growing weakness. The scent of blood, dizzying as it was, continued to gain intensity, and all Sebastian wanted was to bring it back under control. If not for these ridiculous requests…

"Well?" the boy raised his exhausted voice. "It's an order!"

Sebastian had to take a deep breath to stop himself from scoffing.

"Young Master," he said slowly, trying to mirror the way his lord was talking in an effort to make his appeal stronger. This was what humans did in similar tricky situations. "You cannot possibly walk home from here. Not in this state and not during this time of the night. This is East End. You have a lot of enemies and you're bleeding. You are my priority. I apologise but I cannot let you go alone. Let me take you home and I'll return here immediately afterwards, doing what you asked."

"No."

Sebastian hissed in frustration. His skin began to crawl with it, but even then, the words that could help to persuade the little brat didn't come. Why were normal human methods of persuasion never working on him?

"If you're done sooner than I return, you can come after me and get me home," his lord said suddenly. "Until then, do what I said. Take care of the bodies."

Fool. As if Sebastian would ever leave him when he was unable to take a step without falling.

Well, if human logic didn't have an effect, the demonic tactics would do.

"Yes, my lord," he promised darkly. The boy blinked, evidently surprised at his cooperation, and Sebastian made a show of lifting Madam Red off the ground and cradling her close.

He was gone within a second. A spacious garbage receptacle was standing near the wall of the opposite building, and Sebastian dumped the body there. Just as swiftly, he dashed to retrieve the body of Mary Kelly and discarded her in the neighbouring receptacle. This one had a smaller size, so he had to bend her in an unnatural position to make her fit inside. His lord cared about Madam Red, so she deserved more space. Sebastian doubted the boy would take offense if the body of a prostitute he didn't know had some broken limbs. And just in case, he would ask Undertaker to fix it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, listening intently. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than his Master's laboured breathing and his retreating footsteps, but with some effort, Sebastian caught the muttering coming from Undertaker's abode.

He was awake. Good. This way, Sebastian wouldn't even have to lie.

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His lord looked astonished when Sebastian blocked his path, standing with his arms outstretched. Fortunately, he didn't argue for long, and soon enough, Sebastian was holding him close, rushing to their London manor.

He didn't like how pale the boy looked. He didn't like how hot his skin was starting to feel either. The cut from Madam Red was worryingly deep, and it took Sebastian several tries to stop it from bleeding. Even then, the pain seemed to worsen because his lord kept panting, completely unable to fall asleep despite the exhaustion that was etched into his every feature.

"It will get better," Sebastian murmured. He was staring at the bandage that had turned bright red again, feeling resentment and frustration brew somewhere in his chest. Young Master threw him a bitter stare. It wasn't accompanied by any words, and yet it held enough rebuke to make Sebastian tense.

He should have never let this happen. He should have dispatched the reaper quickly and moved to protect the boy.

He had a gun, his mind hissed. If he was stronger, he would need no protection. He could have defended himself, he only chose not to.

Anger licked up his ribcage, and Sebastian pursed his lips to keep himself silent.

He would ask his questions, but he would do that later. Right now, his lord was in no state to explain or say anything.

After he finally fell asleep, Sebastian stepped away from his bed. He had to take care of the bodies and bring them to Undertaker before dawn. It wouldn't take long, he would be back here before he knew it.

Only his feet protested. He felt compelled to return to his Master's bedside at once and stay there, to stare at him and will his fever to fade.

An inconsequential, utterly illogical wish.

Lau was supposed to be somewhere in the house, but Sebastian wanted to snarl at the mere thought of inviting him inside this room. He would not tolerate any strangers here after such an eventful night, especially not someone his lord felt wary of.

He'd just have to conclude his business even quicker, then.

"Two minutes," he murmured aloud. "I will return in two minutes."

A heavy sense of reluctance pushed at him, yet Sebastian managed to ignore it this time.

In the end, he was back in one minute, thirty-two seconds.

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Young Master woke up fourteen hours later. His wound didn't smell infected, but his skin remained warm to the touch. There was a glimmer of sleepy awareness in his eyes, and Sebastian, sensing how his mood steadily improved, decided to take advantage of this.

"You killed a woman last night," he taunted. "How do you feel about that?"

He was curious how the boy would react in his half-coherent state, and his curiosity was sated quickly: two elegant eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"So what," his lord muttered. "I didn't know her. I will… bury her. Get her a grave. It's a fair trade, no?"

Laughter escaped him before Sebastian realised it. His chest warmed, and he pressed his hand to his lips to subdue the sounds.

"I believe it depends," he said, trying to sound serious. "I find such a trade fair. However, I doubt Mary Kelly would feel the same."

The boy stared at him in bewilderment.

"But she can't feel anything," he said. "She's dead. Why does it matter what she thinks?"

Sebastian couldn't fault him for such logic. He shrugged, reaching to take his lord's hand absent-mindedly.

"It doesn't," he uttered. "I was merely wondering why you wanted to take care of her funeral."

"It's a trade," the boy insisted. His hand squeezed Sebastian's tightly, making his skin prickle pleasantly. "It's a fair trade. I took something from her, now I give something back. It's like, it's like our contract. You know. You let me get my revenge. I let you eat my soul."

Sebastian frowned, but before he could add anything, his Master began to pull his glove off his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Change this," the boy pointed at his fingers accusingly. "Change them to how they really look."

Sebastian blinked slowly, unsure of what to think. What an odd request.

Still, he wasn't about to deny it. With a curious tilt of his head, he let the human façade melt, revealing the elongated claws.

The boy sighed, sounding enamoured, before nestling his head in Sebastian's open clawed palm.

"I'm going to sleep," he announced. "You stay here."

His voice was pathetically weak, yet even now, it tried to shape a command.

A terrible tenderness flooded him. With an indulgent smile, Sebastian ran the fingers of his other hand through his Master's hair, digging them deeper to lightly scratch the skull guarding the most precious organ.

"Always, my lord," he promised.

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The fever began to climb up through the night, and when the boy woke up in the morning with a hoarse scream, he looked wild and flushed.

"Stay away from me," he hissed. Sebastian realised he had extended his hand to touch his forehead only after his lord jerked away.

Unpleasant. A stark contrast to how he'd spent five hours and fifteen seconds sleeping on Sebastian's hand, wrapped around it like some sea creature. It took an impossible amount of manoeuvring to make certain that the claws didn't hurt him.

What could have possibly angered him so much in his unconsciousness?

"You!" The boy's hiss was so vehement, Sebastian could feel its bite almost physically. "You're a shell. An empty shell. I don't want to see you."

This was… he didn't even know what this was.

"My lord?" he asked carefully. Fever had intensified, he could sense it from here, yet it wasn't enough to explain what was happening. How did Ciel Phantomhive manage to find reasons to be furious with him even when Sebastian wasn't around? There was absolutely no pleasing this Master of his.

"You are pathetic," the boy spat. His voice shook with emotion, and something restricting wrapped around Sebastian's lungs. "You may try to pretend to be human for as long as you want but it will never work. You don't simply lack emotions, you don't even understand them. How old are you, five hundred? A thousand? More? And the most dramatic thing that has ever happened to you was kitchen troubles at our house?"

Realisation sparked, bringing a wave of something uncomfortable with it. Sebastian cringed before he could stop himself, and Young Master, as if sensing his turbulent thoughts, scowled.

"That's embarrassing," he said in disgust. "You're like… like…" he frowned for a moment before his face lightened in triumph. "Like an oven!" he exclaimed, the dark accusation in his voice making this ridiculous comparison sound like the worst of insults. "You serve your functions well enough, but when you aren't needed, you turn dumb, empty, and useless. Just a thing that takes up space."

This wasn't supposed to affect him. These were simple words, simple accusations of a human too sick to be coherent. However, Sebastian's lungs continued to compress, and a dark feeling grew stronger.

To him, that moment with Grell had been disappointing but irrelevant. He expected more from a Scythe and he was uncertain which moments from his life he should recall. The need to determine those images by himself had thrown him off, but he believed he handled the situation appropriately.

Now, this certainly evaporated. All of a sudden, he felt unsure and self-conscious, as if he'd done something wrong.

This made no sense.

"You don't understand regret," Ciel Phantomhive said. Each word felt like a slap. Each word tasted like a final judgement, and it rooted Sebastian to his spot. "You don't understand attachment. You don't understand beauty. You don't understand anything but mindless killing, and I'm sick of you. I might just as well turn you on and off, depending on when I need some violence!"

For some time, Sabastian stood motionlessly. His head was carefully blank. The emotions were there — they all huddled together, pressing against his ribcage and threatening to break it, but he couldn't begin to identify them. He had no idea what expression to arrange his facial features into.

It wasn't… like that. What had taken place didn't mean what his Master was implying. Of course he understood what dramatic was — he was alive for longer than this little creature could even comprehend with his human mind! He'd been through formidable battles, he'd seen the rise and fall of several civilizations. The trivial nonsense that had come to his mind in that unfortunate moment didn't define him.

Regret? Attachment? Beauty? Why would he need to understand these in the first place? These were profoundly human concepts. He had no reason to feel like he'd fallen short of his Master's expectations for being what he was.

But the dismay was still breathing in him, rebuking him in the language Sebastian didn't know. Predictably, this provoked a bout of frustration, and he clenched his jaw tightly.

What right did the boy have to make him feel this wrong-footed? He wasn't the one who'd made a mistake. It was his lord who had shown weakness. His lord, with his silly ideas of familial bonds, who had flinched away from the necessity to murder his aunt when faced directly with it.

He was the mindless, useless thing. An oven.

Ciel Phantomhive suddenly burst into derisive laughter, and Sebastian stiffened further. Another shameful sensation squeezed his chest, and this made him angry.

Anger was a dangerous emotion. In this situation, it could have the worst consequences, so he had to calm himself.

One breath. Holding it for three and a half seconds. Another breath.

The boy was delirious. He didn't know what he was talking about. His words were meaningless.

"You need to rest, Young Master," Sebastian said, carefully pushing him back onto his pillows. His voice came out sufficiently convincing to fool his own mind. "You don't make any sense."

"I don't make any sense?" the boy snorted, his eyes narrowing to angry slits. "You're the one who doesn't make any sense. Who even understands you?"

"With all respect, I could say the same thing to you. An oven? Really?" That was the strangest insult Sebastian had ever received. He still wasn't certain if he should take offense.

A frown creased his lord's forehead.

"Well, you are," he grumbled.

"I suppose humans succumb to the influence of pain medication with ease that would seem surprising to anyone with a stronger build. You have a fever, Master."

"Fever, no fever, doesn't matter. You disgust me. Go away."

Annoyance stirred anew, but Sebastian pushed it down forcibly. Not now. His anger would have to wait.

And yet he couldn't hide maliciousness from his voice when he said, "Madam Red's funeral is the day after tomorrow. The Midfords don't expect you to attend, they think you're struggling with a flu and are too weak to recover. Do you intend to prove them right?"

Pleasure swelled inside him when the look of impotent fury blossomed on his lord's face.

"I'm not weak!" he shouted, his cheeks flushing even brighter. "And you aren't the one to talk about weakness! If the need to clean up the mess after the servants is the most tragic event in your life, how can you even tell you're strong? Or are you so dumb that you think your physical powers are everything? The thing that experiences nothing cannot judge others. I think you are weak. That's why I don't want to have anything to do with you."

Whatever patience he had painstakingly collected shattered. Fury engulfed him with renewed vengeance, and the deadly certainty set in.

Ciel Phantomhive had just spoken the words that meant the dissolution of the contract. He might be too sick to understand the implications, too inattentive to watch his tongue, yet he said it. The words were out.

Sebastian had every right to claim his soul and leave this manor. To never look back. He wouldn't break any laws — on the contrary, staying and continuing to serve would cause more questions if other demons were to find out.

Fierce hunger and even fiercer protectiveness clashed inside him. Sebastian trembled, the darkness in him extinguishing every human thought and feeling.

He could kill him. He should kill him. Correct the mistake he had made with Grell when he tried to silence him out of the senseless urge to prolong the contract. This was his chance to redeem himself in his own eyes.

Ciel Phantomhive had to die.

His instincts hissed at him furiously for even daring to entertain the possibility, yet Sebastian ignored them.

There were objectively more reasons to justify the boy's murder. He was ungrateful. Intolerable. Maddening. His words stung worse than any weapons Sebastian had ever tested on himself, and he had an inkling that if he continued to serve him, his mind would plunge into the sea of even worse confusion with the depths he couldn't begin to imagine.

It was better to end it right here, at this moment.

He reached forwards, every cell in his body vibrating with tension. His head was a dark, chaotic space, and he wasn't certain what he was about to do when his hands began to clean his lord's wound. He didn't know what his next movement would be when he applied salve to it. He had no idea how he'd act in the seconds after he bandaged it, offered the boy his medicine, and watched him drink it.

The yearning was there. It was hissing, coiling, begging him to act, imploring him to sink his teeth into the soul that he had worked so hard for. But every time his fingers twitched, ready to grow into claws and tear into the boy, another part intervened.

It was softer. Stranger. More distant. It didn't speak, yet it thrust image after image into his mind. The image of the boy sleeping, so beautiful in his fevered pain; the image of him giving orders to kill, ruthless and confident of Sebastian's devotion; the image of him studying, riding his horse, calming himself after his nightmares, smiling…

It was the last image that sent a pang of another kind of longing through him. Awareness touched his mind again, and Sebastian shook his head briefly.

No. He wouldn't do it.

As soon as the hesitant thought crossed his mind, it was strengthened by a surge of determination. The demonic energy dimmed, retreating, and the temptation faded away — never entirely, but enough for its influence to diminish.

He didn't care what anyone thought. He didn't care how he himself justified this, he just knew he wouldn't be killing this human. Not today.

Turning away, Sebastian left the room, shutting the door with more force than he'd intended, but his lord's gleeful voice followed him even there.

"Add this moment into your collection of the most 'dramatic' events," he called contemptuously. Sebastian stopped, breathing through his nose. The emotions raged, closing in on him from all sides at once, and he felt like he was drowning in them. He would have loved to run and leave them behind, but he knew this wasn't a possibility. Wherever he stepped, they would follow.

The bloodthirsty itch to throttle the boy swallowed him again, and Sebastian growled, upset and frustrated. Not giving himself time to change his mind and pounce, he slipped out of his human skin and seeped through the floors, then through the door, darkening the sunlit path with his presence.

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Now would be the perfect moment for the Disjoining. He was stupid for activating it last time. The need for detachment was fiery red right now, a wound that continued to fester and infect him, but he knew there was no cure. The Disjoining would brainwash him for several minutes before he saw the boy and everything started again.

An array of controversial feelings danced in him as he travelled around London aimlessly. After a while, Sebastian managed to separate the most prominent one: embarrassment.

He was embarrassed. A frustrating and illogical part of him was strangely susceptible to his Master's accusations, and now he kept recalling the second Grell's Scythe cut into him, the confusion of seeing the blank records and the realisation that he'd have to decide on the dramatic memories by himself.

It wasn't that he had no other recollections. Just because it was easier to remember someone else's drama didn't mean his own life was boring. He'd done great things, magnificent things. Ciel Phantomhive didn't understand.

Then he would make him, Sebastian decided. He would remember the most impressive stories and he would relay them to him one by one.

This thought brought relief, and Sebastian turned in the direction of the townhouse.

Addressing other accusations was more challenging.

Regret. Did he understand regret? He was unhappy when he'd accidentally poisoned his Master. But he changed his mind later, upon realising the delight of seeing the boy weaken physically and depend on him for everything. So this wasn't regret in the true sense of this word.

He couldn't recall any other examples, and maybe that was for the better. Why would understanding regret be a positive thing at all? It meant making a mistake and wishing you hadn't. Sebastian was above such inane emotions.

The knowledge comforted him, and he settled on the roof of their house, listening for his lord's heartbeat.

It was there, elevated but not dangerously so. The medicine must have started working.

Sebastian stretched against the hard surface and stared at the sun unblinkingly.

Attachment… in theory, this was a simple concept. But in practice, as applied to Ciel Phantomhive, it gained new confounding shapes.

The boy was probably attached to Madam Red. She was a part of his family, a link to his past that he seemed to treasure so much these days. It had to be attachment that made him hesitate to point the gun at her, and it had to be attachment that made him scream for Sebastian not to kill her.

But then what did it say about him that he had ignored the strong possibility of his demise and thrown himself to save the boy, not caring whether Grell sawed him in two?

These two situations were similar, and Sebastian knew for certain that he wasn't attached to Ciel Phantomhive. And if his actions hadn't been motivated by it, the boy's mustn't have been either.

Overall, this was a frustratingly complex subject. The more he considered it, the more it confused him.

Beauty, on the other hand — beauty was relatable. This was something Sebastian could confidently state he understood well. His Master's physical beauty was unparalleled, and he did everything to underline it throughout their contract. He selected the most exquisite clothing for him; he cooked the most perfect meals, wasting hours on thinking about their visual presentation. In addition, the human realm had numerous beautiful sights and artworks — Sebastian had spent enough time contemplating them to know what he found appealing.

Eventually, he would prove his lord wrong on every accusation, but he would start with beauty.

He squinted thoughtfully as multiple ideas intertwined in an attempt to outdo one another.

Clothes and cooking wouldn't prove anything. The boy had already seen them and apparently, he wasn't impressed. Artworks didn't interest him either.

Sebastian could take him for murder investigation in one of the most beautiful parts of the world. Would he appreciate it?

No. Young Master followed the Queen's orders. He would have no interest in investigating anything for someone else's benefit.

With an irritated sight, Sebastian closed his eyes, trying to rely on his senses.

What did his lord like? Mysteries. Desserts. Turning his life into a turbulent pile of confusion and frustration. White roses.

Roses.

His eyes flew wide open, and an anticipatory smirk stretched the corners of his lips.

Madam Red's funeral was going to take place in a day. Sebastian would make certain it stayed in Ciel Phantomhive's mind as the most beautiful moment of his life up until his death.

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Since he was doing this on his own volition, he didn't need to heed the order of growing the roses the human way. So he found the appropriate place, concentrated, and began to channel his powers, cajoling the bright red flowers from under the infertile ground.

He needed hundreds. Thousands. Then he would separate each petal and store them someplace safe, carefully putting them under the preservation spell. Everything had to be flawless, which meant that the beauty of the storing place had to be equal to that of the flowers. Surprisingly, Sebastian found what he needed in Undertaker's grim abode.

Since Undertaker was handling Madam Red's body, they were staying in touch. The man was extremely odd, odder than Lau and Grell combined, but while a part of Sebastian was perpetually curious, another wanted to leave this mystery for another day. He had much on his plate already.

During his last visit, he'd noticed a huge transparent casket with the golden crown framing it — the roses would look beautiful stuffed in there. He would make it into a self-improvised carriage and stop it in front of the church, lifting the glass enough to let the petals escape. They would shower everyone inside with their fragrant redness, and his lord would have no choice but to appreciate it. This was the tribute to his aunt that no one but Sebastian could come up with for him.

To Sebastian's delight, Undertaker agreed to help. He had begun to act even more strangely upon learning of Madam Red's death, but as long as Sebastian got his casket, he didn't care about the reasons.

The roses grew, and grew, up until they gained maturity. Very soon, he stood in a rose field, and he started going from flower to flower, touching and examining each personally.

He knew that they all were likely perfect, but he also remembered the mistake he'd made when he and his lord were working on the board game. The 0.1-inch deviation was shocking and outrageous, and he had no intention to let something similar take place now.

These roses would be the most beautiful thing his Master had ever seen. Their flight would also be startling in its perfection, and the boy would gladly take his accusations back once he saw it.

Satisfaction and anticipation energised him, easily replenishing the supplies of power he'd wasted on bringing this dead field to life.

With a smug grin, Sebastian continued his work.

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It was perfect, just as he knew it would be.

Young Master was late to the funeral, but despite the palpable indignation of other mourners, nothing betrayed that he even noticed them. His gait was confident and unhurried; he radiated calmness and certainty, and Sebastian couldn't help but admire him. There were small signs of discomfort: the boy hadn't recovered completely yet and he was carrying a heavy dress they'd just bought for Madam Red. But even that was masked well enough to fool everyone else in attendance.

Sebastian didn't step inside. The church was no good place for a demon, and though he normally liked to defy the rules by spending as much time there as he wanted, this occasion was different.

He'd rather observe from a distance.

It appeared that his Master was equally delighted to violate the norms. He jumped right on top of the platform holding Madam Red's casket, bending low enough to press his face to hers. The boldness and tenderness of this picture created a vivid contrast, and Sebastian watched for a while before stepping away to the glassy casket and snapping his fingers.

The petals were mixed with wholesome roses, and under his energy, they began to swirl through the open doors inside the church. Undertaker turned his head in Sebastian's direction. He said nothing and Sebastian couldn't see his eyes from this angle, but he could sense his intense, curious attention.

Unlike Lau, Undertaker said nothing. His interest seemed limited to being an observer. This was for the best as it gave Sebastian an opportunity to stare at his lord uninterrupted.

The boy turned his head when the first petals reached him, but then he focused on his aunt again wordlessly. Disappointment brushed against Sebastian's chest. Even the awed exclamations and stares of other humans did nothing to lessen its impact, and with a grimace, he tried to shake it off.

He'd see what Ciel Phantomhive thought later. The boy was not one for demonstrating his impressions openly, after all.

Sebastian waited for acknowledgement as his lord left the church. When it didn't come, his mood darkened, but he began to wait again through the conversation with Lau. However, even after it was finished, the boy said nothing. His face was blank as he ordered to be led to the cemetery, and the need to impress him swiftly changed into the urge to break his neck.

"What's with you?" Young Master gave him an unpleasant look. "You look hungry. Does attending funerals stimulate demons' appetite?"

"Depending on who's in attendance," Sebastian said coldly. He should have eaten the boy's soul when he had the chance. Then the current funeral would be his and his body could reunite with the aunt he valued too much to protect himself.

Ciel Phantomhive's eyes narrowed, as if he knew exactly what Sebastian was thinking.

"Forget about it," he warned.

Sebastian felt too sullen to bother asking for elaborations.

His resentment and affront intensified when they approached Mary Kelly's grave to pay her respects. What had been anticipation was now reduced to a simmering angry bitterness, and Sebastian could feel its poisoned tentacles squeeze every his intention to prove himself out of him.

Why had he decided to do something as pointless as making Madam Red's funeral beautiful? He didn't care what his Master thought of him. If anything, it was the boy who failed to understand and appreciate beauty — he couldn't even face his own. Sebastian wasn't the one who needed to prove anything. His lord, on the other hand…

First he'd been attempting to flee from their contract, hiding in his old manor Sebastian had no access to and going as far as taking Tanaka to accompany him. Then he refused to lift a finger to protect himself, unable to stomach the thought of shooting someone of blood relation to him. Now he was fussing over a dead human girl, giving her a grave and bringing a bouquet of flowers specifically for her.

Revolting. If someone had to make amends for his unworthy behaviour, it was Ciel Phantomhive.

"How kind of you," Sebastian drawled. He didn't hide the mocking tone, and judging from the boy's stiffening shoulders, he expected this conversation.

He knew he was at fault, then. Amazing that Sebastian had allowed him to make himself feel inadequate for even a second.

"Don't make me repeat myself," his lord said harshly. "I'm not kind."

"Oh, but you are," Sebastian purred. He leaned closer, and the heady sense of power returned. It was a welcome change, a feeling he missed and was thrilled to regain. "If not, then you are weak."

Like he'd expected, the boy jerked furiously, and with a curse, he half-turned to face him. Sebastian met and held his blue gaze steadily. The angrier his lord looked, the calmer he himself felt.

"Why didn't you shoot?" he asked. The boy flinched away from him, as if not expecting such bluntness. The words he'd said to Undertaker just fifteen minutes ago echoed in Sebastian's mind, and he snorted at the memory.

"'Just as I let my own flesh and blood die'?" he mimicked. He didn't know whether he should admire or ridicule Ciel Phantomhive's failed attempt at claiming responsibility for Madam Red's death. "Lies do not impress me. If you had intended to shoot her, you would have shot her. However, you hesitated. Even if I had told you to, you would not have taken up your gun. Why? Were you afraid to kill Madam with your own hands?"

Young Master tried to school his features, but his face fell visibly. The dejection he was emanating sent another flood of triumph through Sebastian's blood, and his lips twisted in a derisive smirk.

"You could kill a woman you had no previous acquaintance with, but you could not kill someone close to you?" he wondered.

For several more seconds, he basked in the sight of his lord standing with lowered head, rigid with guilt. But abruptly, the veil of shame was lifted. The switch was so sudden that Sebastian blinked, taken aback.

"I didn't shoot because that's your job," the boy said. His words were condescending and powerful enough to make Sebastian straighten.

He was… surprised. And incapable of hiding it.

He didn't expect to see the tables turned so early on.

Whatever was on his face seemed to exasperate his lord because he turned away, his posture proud and confident.

"I thought you would protect me with your life," he uttered monotonously. "That's why I didn't shoot. Our contract states that, until my goal is fulfilled, you will become my shield and you'll protect me without letting me die. Demons do not have a sense of loyalty or principles, right?"

True. And yet…

Sebastian began to open his mouth to reply, having no idea what he was about to say, but Young Master didn't give him the opportunity to find out.

"All they have is contracts," he continued in the same calm voice. "That's why, in order to fulfil our contract, you will protect me no matter what. Isn't that correct?"

This… made sense. It was atypical for masters to rely on him so entirely when it came to their safety, but then again, Ciel Phantomhive had never been typical.

If what he said was true, it changed a lot. What Sebastian had perceived as a weakness was blind trust towards him, and a wonderful feeling blossomed in his chest at the thought.

Still, something stopped him from trusting it entirely. One moment in his Master's version of events didn't make sense.

"Why did you stop me, then?" he inquired. Surely if the boy expected him to perform his duty, he'd actually let him do it? Sebastian had been ready to fulfil his expectations. He had risked everything by making himself vulnerable to Grell and lurching to attack Madam Red. His Master had been the one to stop him.

Silence lingered, and his disappointment began to accumulate when the boy finally spoke again.

"Because when Madam was trying to kill me, I saw hesitation in her eyes," he murmured wistfully. "She wasn't capable of killing me, her kin. That's what I thought."

Sebastian's lips parted as this new piece of information clicked in its place.

Ingenious. He hadn't seen Madam Red's face, but his lord had. He must have glimpsed the hesitation and adapted to the situation accordingly.

He hadn't been weak. On the contrary, he thought on his feet and performed a brilliant psychological analysis in a blink of a second, even despite the highly intense circumstances.

Excitement flared brightly, dimming every other resentful thought and emotion he'd had. Sebastian took one step closer to the boy, suddenly craving his presence, but the new words came, and he stopped to listen.

"If you hesitate for even a moment, it can be fatal," his lord said, contemplative. "Just like in chess. She lost her next move through that hesitation — that's all there was to it."

Sebastian wanted to react at last, but he found himself too impressed to come up with the appropriate words. As he stood, his Master turned and began to walk forwards, not deigning to look at him.

He had every right to feel frustrated. What Sebastian had believed to be a flaw was intelligence. In this context, the boy must have felt offended by his question and accusation — Sebastian would have to find a way to make amends.

But the grim certainty his lord was emanating spoke of something deeper than simple offense. What else was on his mind?

Sensing his thoughts, as he frequently did, Young Master said, "That is why I will not hesitate."

The meaning of these words hit him with profound force. For a moment, Sebastian kept standing frozen, and then elation exploded, flooding him with equal doses of hunger, admiration and relief.

His lord had recognised the danger of his cowardish thoughts about escaping the contract. On the night of Madam Red's death, Sebastian had compared himself to Grell, but he completely missed the possibility that Ciel Phantomhive could have made his own comparison.

He'd seen what happened to his aunt after she hesitated to fulfil her part of the deal with Grell. He identified her weakness and judged its outcomes. He applied her unfortunate example to himself and came to the correct conclusions.

He was no longer going to run. He was not going to risk breaking their contract by chasing the shadows of the past.

The joy from the realisation almost made him dizzy, and Sebastian's smile grew recklessly wider.

"That's how it has to be," he assured breathlessly. The boy stopped, listening, and Sebastian licked his lips, trying to think of the most persuasive words.

They had to settle this problem once and for all to make certain it didn't reappear. No olds manors, no trips with Tanaka — only the future and everything it entailed.

"You should use your pawns in the best way possible to live on," Sebastian said. He didn't think he needed to elaborate on this — the boy had seen what happened to his aunt when she disappointed the reaper. "It means using Madam, myself, and all the other pawns within your reach. Even if the corpses of pawns pile up beneath the throne, the game is over only once the king is gone."

He fell silent, hoping this was enough. It must have been because the boy nodded imperceptibly.

"I will not stop moving forward," he promised solemnly. "I will not regret a single step I have taken."

He turned, his face tight with grim resolution.

"That's why I order you: don't betray me and don't leave my side. No matter what."

Understanding filled him, and Sebastian shivered in delight.

His Master wanted to refresh their contract. To leave the doubts and struggles of the past weeks behind and to move forwards with reaffirmed oaths and intentions.

Sebastian couldn't have planned it better. He couldn't have wished for more.

Pressing his hand to his heart and bending his head and knee seemed like the most natural thing to do.

"Yes, my lord," he promised, meaning every word in the way he never had before.

A new beginning. One where past mistakes made on both their ends were forgotten.

Joy danced through him, lifting the corners of his lips even more, planting something impossibly warm in his middle. Any reservations melted away, and he felt a new surge of excitement over what was to come.

I will be wherever you wish me to follow, he thought. His lord, pleased with his answer, continued his walk towards the carriage, and Sebastian traced his every step reverently.

Even if his Master's throne crumbled and his radiant crown rotted, with a mountain of bodies piling up beneath his feet, he would stay beside him. They would sit side by side on top of these fallen pawns — until the final bell tolled.

Lady Elisabeth, Bard, Finnie, Mey-Rin… if the boy had been able to approach the situation with his aunt so analytically, he would not lose his head no matter what other pawn he was going to lose next. The thought was beyond exciting.

The Queen was a dangerous opponent, but she stood no chance. Taking her apart at his Master's orders was something Sebastian was prepared to wait decades for.

"We need to pay a visit to Her Majesty," the boy suddenly said. Sebastian nearly stumbled in surprise, catching himself at the last moment.

Why would Young Master say this now? Granted, he'd already dismissed the possibility of mind-reading, but how else to explain these constant coincidences?

Sebastian realised he had stopped walking only when his lord threw a bewildered glance at him.

"What's wrong with you now?" he grumbled. "I swear, if you have more stupid questions…"

"Why do you want to visit the Queen?" Sebastian asked warily. It couldn't mean what he thought it did. Ciel Phantomhive wouldn't be so calm if he knew who had given the order to kill his parents and eliminate him.

The boy's eye widened.

"Could you sound any more worried?" he asked incredulously. "What, are you afraid of Her Majesty? Since when?"

Sebastian bristled.

"I merely don't think it is a good idea to visit her now," he said, choosing each word with care. He didn't entirely understand what was happening. How had his lord made the jump so quickly, with no evidence? "We need to plan—"

"Don't be ridiculous!" the boy cried out. "I need to update her today! We can't let the rumours about Jack the Ripper's identity fly, I need to make my stand clear."

Ah. The boy merely wanted to make sure his aunt's name wasn't tarnished. Not a mind reader, after all, and not any closer to figuring out the object of his revenge.

Sebastian bowed his head, hoping his relief wasn't apparent.

"I shall deliver us to the palace momentarily," he promised.

Watching his lord interact with his would-be murderer was always amusing.

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As they waited for the Queen to accept them, Sebastian couldn't help but notice that his lord was being scrutinised.

A tall bulky man was staring at him from the moment they entered the palace. He was overdressed even by the royal standards — his feathered boots in particular were an insult to any person with a sense of style.

The man was here with a female companion, but he barely paid her any mind. His eyes were fixed on Young Master, and Sebastian didn't like what he saw there.

Plenty of people liked to watch Ciel Phantomhive. Some in awe. Others with wariness or fear. Some were sceptical while others could barely hide their palpable hunger.

This man fell into the latter category, but unlike most, he didn't stop looking even after all acceptable time limits had passed. He kept licking his lips, his pupils wide, his eyes glistening with wants that would never be fulfilled, and Sebastian bristled as animosity coiled in him.

The rulers like Queen Victoria always surrounded themselves with all the human filth they could find. This man was another blatant confirmation of it. Judging from his appearance, he didn't possess much intelligence or grace, so his presence here meant that he held important connections. He didn't deserve to breathe Young Master's air, and he had no right to look at him.

"Stop this," the woman accompanying the man hissed quietly. "His butler is staring at you and he doesn't look happy. You don't want to really attract their attention, you know what will happen."

The man grunted, then licked his lips again. His gaze didn't waver for a moment, and a frustrated hiss twisted Sebastian's throat. His spine straightened on its own accord as his demon side tried to claw its way out of the human costume around it, and he saw the woman pale and jerk the man's hand harshly.

"I said stop it!" her voice was shriller now, but still quiet enough not to attract the attention of others. "I would have stopped you from visiting Baron Kelvin if I knew you'd turn out to be as insane as he is."

"Yeah?" the man finally turned to her, his dazed expression fading and growing darker. "And how would you do that? I will visit whomever I damn well please!"

"He's not just some boy, he's an earl! And he's dangerous, you heard what Baron Kelvin said! Stick to his look-alikes if you must, but don't you draw his attention to us. Kelvin has resources, at least, we have nothing of note to protect ourselves."

Sebastian shifted his head, observing the two.

What a fascinating conversation. It seemed like his lord had gained an admirer or two without knowing.

The man turned to throw another longing look at the boy, and Sebastian parted his lips in a dark, dangerous smile, ignoring the urge to lunge across the room and tear the offensive eyes out right now.

They would be meeting again very soon. Perhaps even this evening. He was fascinated to learn more and to come up with the ways to silence this unexpected problem. Whether temporarily or permanently remained to be seen.

A silver-haired butler in white clothes entered the room and bowed to Young Master briefly.

"Her Majesty sends her deepest regrets, but she is unable to meet with you today," he said nasally. "She deems your elimination of Jack the Ripper satisfying and does not wish to know the additional details. Your word is enough for her."

The boy's eyebrows rose, but he nodded politely.

"Send Her Majesty my best," he uttered. Without waiting for a reply, he marched in the direction of the gates, his bewilderment noticeable only to Sebastian, who knew and catalogued the signs.

The man was staring at his lord again, and Sebastian half-turned to glance at his soul one last time to commit it to memory.

He couldn't wait for them to get acquainted.

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That evening, the boy developed a fever again. It wasn't as bad as before, but Sebastian still felt compelled to stay by his side, especially now that there were only the two of them in the townhouse.

When his lord fell into an uneasy sleep, he stood next to his bed for some time. Hours passed slowly, and Sebastian's thoughts moved from Madam Red's funeral to his performance with flowers and his Master's underwhelming reaction to it.

Flowers. Hadn't he planned to create one specifically for Ciel Phantomhive? There was still over a month until his birthday, but since creating something entirely unique could take time, it was better to start early.

Curiosity about trying something new quickly sucked him in. Pressing his hand to his Master's forehead to make certain his condition wasn't critical, Sebastian hummed in approval and went downstairs to retrieve a small flowerpot. Filling it with soil, he stared at it for a while, trying to decide how to approach this task.

Using his powers alone wouldn't suffice here. He needed a long-lasting flower, so he had to find a seed — or something that would serve as one.

What represented the boy best? His soul was the most beautiful mix of contradictions perpetual in their relentlessness. Which object or element had the same ambiguous steadiness? The same confounding combination of the unthinkable?

The answer came immediately, as if it had been waiting on the side-lines of his mind.

The angelic gem he had once stumbled upon in Hell. The one he'd collected during his last visit there.

Sebastian opened his palm, and in a second, the gem was there. It glistened with its unnatural whiteness, starkly bright against his black gloves. He would have to change them now that the funeral was behind them.

Wasting a gem this precious on some flower seemed like the most ridiculous idea Sebastian had had. He'd treasured this gem, spent weeks and months admiring it and trying to discover its origins. To transform it into something unclear now…

But hesitation was brief. Interest and enthusiasm prevailed, and Sebastian infused the gem with his energy before putting it inside the soil. Then he poured more powers into it, thinking about his Master, letting the memories of him give his magic direction. His essence obeyed gladly — it kept shaping the gem until it breathed life into it.

When the first black leaves began to break the surface, Sebastian smiled.

Replies:

James Birdsong and Manon, thank you both as always 3

Anonim, thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying it! I try to mix up original cases with canon ones. And yes, Sebastian is always certain he's winning, but now he's also learning that it might not be always the case :D

Aleta Wolff, thank you, I'm happy you like how Sebastian's thoughts are portrayed! I agree, he'll always be a demon. He might be obsessed with Ciel, affection and attachment might start to conquer him more and more thoroughly, but many parts of him will always remain dark.

La Traductrice Fr, ah, thank you! Sebastian's POV is rare but it's important because while Ciel is battling his problems, our demon is also undergoing some serious crises. And rest assured that Sebastian is going to go on rampage after Ciel's words about the contract with another demon :D

OnlyHere4Puckabrina, welcome to the fandom!) I've joined pretty late myself, and I primarily just watched the anime. I know the major arcs in manga, but I haven't read it yet. Anime, in turn, completely stole my heart, I love my boys. And yes, we'll be covering the events from Sebastian's POV up until we catch up, though after this, his chapters should be rarer and smaller. No matter how much his feelings for Ciel progress, he remains a demon, so he'll be doing many more questionable things in the future)) Thank you, I hope you enjoyed the update!

October's Daughter, thank you so much for your wonderfully long review! I loved reading it, and I'm happy you liked the chapter. Sebastian blaming all his emotions on some human defects is indeed hilarious, I love writing these moments. And I live for protective and/or possessive Sebastian! Luckily, there are many more similar moments ahead, with how often Ciel tests his patience in any way he can come up with. Hope you'll like this latest part, too!