"The lift" refers to the point immediately following the walk-up when a sheepdog's presence begins to convince the herd to move forward.

"Just what are you playing at, damn demon?"

It was eight o'clock, the morning after Jane Reubin's party. As Sebastian expected, Ciel had been restored to his state of natural skepticism and thus had more than a few questions about yesterday evening.

"What am I playing at, young master? I suppose this is your way of informing me that you would like to speak more on our last conversation, in which I rather brazenly brought up your emotional state."

And, emboldened by the admission of his growing sympathy, Sebastian felt ready to supply answers.

"... Yes." Ciel's eyes narrowed; he didn't like an emboldened Sebastian. He sat up higher in bed. "You're acting strange lately. Too… attentive. It makes me suspicious."

"Is there something in particular you're suspicious of?" Sebastian asked simply.

"... I don't know yet." Ciel paused. He wouldn't look at Sebastian straight-on, only out of his periphery, sidelong. He was naturally guarding his own throat and, with a verbal dagger, clearly hoping to have a stab at Sebastian's own. "I just can't help but wonder why you're going soft on me all of a sudden. I mean, for goodness' sake. Promises that you won't mock me? Endeavoring not to make me uncomfortable? Tell me, where does all that fit into your plan to eat my soul? It hardly seems demonic at all."

Sebastian chuckled. "It isn't 'demonic.' It's an olive branch. And it's a recognition that you are going through a difficult time. Speaking factually, it is common and very important for people your age to have at least one adult to lead the way for them in life. Parents, professors, employers, whomever. You are not exempt from that need. Do you disagree?"

The boy lifted his chin slightly. "Well, yes, actually, I do. Er, I mean, mostly." Ciel's proud expression had quickly dissolved into uncertainty. He tried to rally his confidence by adding, "But… I have that anyway. I have my aunt and uncle, should I need them, and most of the time I don't."

"Based on your own opinion, that is," Sebastian wanted to make clear. Ciel folded his arms and fixed his butler with an impatient glare. Sebastian smiled, lowering his eyebrows. "I know what you want me to say. It is true that you are exceptionally competent for your age. Your reputation, your estate, your company, and your role as the Queen's Watchdog… you manage all of them with an adult finesse. But again, speaking factually, that does not mean you are an adult. Whether or not you see it that way, your body and brain understand this truth very well: you are still growing. Do you agree?"

"O-Obviously!" Ciel was blushing, annoyed. Adolescence appeared to be a subject prime for embarrassment, no matter the angle it was attacked from.

Sebastian pressed on. "And with growing up comes increased wisdom and understanding. Things that once seemed very true at the age of ten may not seem so true at the age of fourteen, for instance. Perhaps an argument you may have engaged in when a young child is now water over a duck's back; perhaps memories you struggled to forget are now fighting to be remembered. I don't suppose that sounds unfamiliar?"

"What are you trying to say already?" Ciel spat.

Sebastian put a hand to his waist and bowed. "I'm saying, young master, that I would like to be a ready resource to you. For advice, for support, even for comfort. These are necessities I think you are sorely lacking from an adult figure. Over these past few months, I believe I have proven myself able to supply them. And, if I may be so bold, I think you have proven yourself in need of them."

"You can't just decide what I need, bastard," Ciel growled. He drummed his fingers on his opposite arm in irritation. "And do you truly see yourself as some kind of model adult? I know what you really are, don't try to preach that to me."

Sebastian's smile was weathered. His exasperation was trumped only by his fondness for this fire-eyed colt who refused to be broken. "I have no intention of deciding things on my own. I want to decide on them together. So, for what I have in mind, I ask for you to grant me a trial period."

Ciel's tone was flat. "A trial period."

"That's right. For a length of time we'll both agree to, perhaps a month, each evening when you have your milk tea, we will talk about anything you wish to talk about. Things that are causing you stress or anxiety — even things that make you happy. Anything at all. Or nothing at all, though it means we will sit in silence instead. If, after that agreed-upon length of time has passed, you still don't believe that I make a worthy mentor, then I will no longer act as anything but your butler or second-in-command… Essentially, I shall never broach the subject of your emotional state without due cause again. But for at least the next month, I would like permission to be frank with you when I notice something is wrong."

The boy was unsold. "And if I disagree?"

"If you disagree, then I would like it if you were in closer communication with your aunt and uncle. I would at the very least like reassurance that if your emotional state deteriorates, you have a resource that may be turned to. For if you do again choose me in a time of desperation, then you are granting me permission to be this mentor anyway. And I would prefer to be commended rather than antagonized for my efforts once you are mentally recovered… as I am being right now."

Ciel's eyes widened before his gaze ducked sharply away. After a moment's pause, he sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. This wouldn't be an appropriate way for me to treat anyone else. Even if it's just you, it doesn't make it a good practice. I need to be more honest with myself about… what I'm feeling. It's cowardly to keep relying on you and then berating you for your concern just because I'd rather not face the truth."

An apology from the young master? Now that was a rare thing, worthy of acknowledgment. Thus far in this dialogue, Sebastian had been intentionally clinical in his speech, wanting to make it clear that he wouldn't back down so easily. Now that Ciel had lost his edge, he'd soften too. "Thank you for saying that, sir. That is a very wise way of looking at our situation. And I appreciate that you can see my perspective. It is often confusing to know what is best to do when I see you are distraught. I think we can come to an answer together, especially if we give this trial period its due."

"Fine." Ciel still didn't sound happy about it, but he did sound accepting. "A trial period. Starting now. And ending in… At least a month, you said? That seems awfully long."

"I wonder if it may be long enough," Sebastian admitted. "Why not even have it last until the Funtom event? Though you will be keeping quite busy, that may mean it will be all the more necessary to have a chance to vent your frustrations."

"I'm not yet sure these 'meetings' won't just be another frustration to add to the pile," Ciel grumbled. "But… fine. Even if you're just trying to gather intel on how to make me more miserable when I least expect it… it's still better than talking to my aunt or uncle. I can't yell at them if they're being too nosy, after all."

Make him miserable when he least expects it…? Sebastian opened his mouth to defend himself, then closed it again. It was better not to focus on the negatives, nor get carried away with long explanations. He would prove himself when the time came, tonight. Actions meant more than words to his young lord, after all.

"Anyway." Ciel glowered at Sebastian. "Are you going to serve the tea or not? I have far too much to do today, and I refuse to start it off with cold Darjeeling."

This was a victory.

How long had he only been able to stand by and wonder at everything going through the young master's mind? A mind that was in constant flux no less, barely understood by the one who possessed it. Now Sebastian had a direct window to those fickle thoughts, and the relief that brought was immeasurable. Talking! What a simple thing — and yet Sebastian felt like a genius for drawing up his proposal. A proposal that Ciel had agreed to! Yes, he'd chosen his words and manners just right for his particular audience. Sebastian smiled to himself all while he chopped, sautéed, plated, served, delivered the day's three meals and snack. Consider the headaches he'd save, with the floor open for questions at the end of every day. Consider the relief of knowledge!

And though this victory made him dart between his chores with all the effortless maneuvering of a swallow, Sebastian was not entirely naïve. He knew quite well at this point that beneath the unflinching stoicism of his master's outward persona lived the ten-year-old boy who had had every definition of innocence stolen from him in one fell swoop. Sebastian had seen this boy emerge after the Shrove Tuesday party; the day Ciel had locked himself in his room; the night they had rescued the orphans from beneath the hospital. Yesterday evening.

There was a young part of Ciel in desperate need of nurturing. No matter how much Ciel matured, this young part refused to be forgotten. Ciel had been dismissing it for years, just like Jane had tried to dismiss her brother when he clung to her tightly. But Lyle had only calmed down when he was allowed to stay at the party. So, what if the living spirit of the ten-year-old Ciel was just the same? What if, like Lyle, he needed to be held close and convinced to speak freely about the secrets he kept locked away?

Ciel had failed to convince Lyle to speak freely. Sebastian didn't think the task in front of him would be easy either, but he had more opportunities to try. And he needed to at least try. Ciel would grow up no matter what, but the boy could do it much more gracefully if the wrinkles of his childhood had been smoothed first.

Eight o'clock came, and with it the cup of royal milk tea and a knock to the study door.

"... Come in, I guess."

Sebastian came in. Ciel sat at a desk utterly heaped in paperwork. He hadn't left this room for most of the day, even at Sebastian's mild insistence of taking a walk to clear his head or at least enjoying the sun streaming through the glass dome of the conservatory. "Too much to do," Ciel had insisted, and continued to give his best impression of a vulture as he hunched over yet another document.

The area beneath Ciel's eyes was somewhat dark as Sebastian approached with the tray, and the boy was twisting his neck back and forth to do away with a crick in it. It did seem like a bleak scenario for their first nightly meeting. Sebastian steeled himself for the worst and said, "You've had a long day, haven't you, sir?"

"Mmm." That was one benefit to the monotony of office fare: Ciel didn't have much bite in him at the moment. He may be apathetic, but that was more workable than anger.

Ciel grabbed the teacup as soon as it was offered. He took a long sip before slouching into his armchair with a sigh. "There were a lot of letters from land surveyors and engineers that needed my attention. It wasn't really anything I want to talk about. I don't know what you expect our conversation to be, because I don't really have anything I want to say."

Sebastian had anticipated pushback. He parried, "We need not talk about exactly what happened today, sir. No doubt there's plenty more to discuss regarding yesterday evening."

And, again, as he expected, Ciel didn't like that answer. "Then maybe I would rather talk about my day after all…" he mumbled, slouching down further.

Sebastian smiled with his eyes closed. "Please speak on whatever you like. I am here to give advice and direction, but I need not interrupt you."

Chin nearly resting on his chest, Ciel glared half-heartedly and then took another sip of tea. Even if his mood wasn't yet relaxed, Ciel's body was becoming it, arms and legs slumping wherever the chair and his failing posture dictated. "Today, I had a lot to do regarding the estate's upkeep… I'm lucky my predecessor put his focus into building aqueducts. The farmers are struggling with the lack of groundwater regardless. Even with the dam finished last summer, I'm going to need to invest more in irrigation efficiency." Ciel nestled into the corner of the chair by the left armrest and studied the transferware garden scene on his teacup. "Another drought is the last thing England's farmers need; Eighty-Seven's was bad enough. This agricultural depression has been going on since before I was even born, and reports don't indicate that it's going to end anytime soon." He sighed. "But it is what it is."

Sebastian dipped his head. "That does sound like rather trying work."

"Trying but necessary." Ciel reached out long to gesture loosely at a piece of paper amid the masses. "Remember the old Durnin tobacco farm? Those abandoned, dead fields where you made the track for Sysonby to sprint on? Some of the local farmers want to rent it together and convert it into communal grazing land, so they can maximize their own land's profits while water is scarce. I'm not convinced it's ready for growing anything yet, but the farmers think if they use superphosphates, they can nurture it back to health — at least, healthy enough for rye-grass to come in. I'll probably take them up on it. Even if I'm hesitant, I'm certain they know better than I do how to manage the earth."

"Yes, I would imagine so."

"..." Ciel's lids lowered even more. "This is boring. I don't want to talk about my day and I don't want to talk about yesterday. Just what were you expecting this to be good for again?"

What indeed… At this rate, it isn't good for much of anything. "Why do you wish to avoid the subject of last night so badly, sir?"

Sebastian found himself graced with the sourest expression of the judgmental adolescent. "Because it's unpleasant, obviously. Do you think after a long day of work I want to talk about unpleasant things?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Apologies, sir. I did not think you fancied discussions of the pleasant."

Though that actually managed to wrest a half-smile from Ciel, he stung back with, "Hey, bastard, you're supposed to be selling me on this idea of yours, so make the conversation worth my time or shut the hell up."

"Why didn't you want to take a break today, other than to eat?" Sebastian asked lightly, trying to put the reins back in his own hands. "I know you to be rather diligent, but that much pushing is still unlike you. Rather, I know you hate to work when your mind doesn't feel near its peak performance."

Ciel sipped at his tea again. "I've always been capable of doing things I hate when circumstances demand it."

"Circumstances demanded it today, sir?"

The boy scowled at him over the top of the cup he kept close to his face. "Stop being so bloody vague. You're obviously trying to get me to reveal something on my own. Why don't you just say what you mean instead of fighting to have the upper hand every second? As if you can manage to sound trustworthy when you're being so ridiculously slippery about your intentions."

Sebastian blinked, surprised, but only momentarily. That was a fair assessment. And though Ciel was no doubt a guarded person too, Sebastian knew he should lead by example. "You're right, sir. That isn't fair of me. I apologize."

Ciel didn't say anything, just waited with that same eyeful of tail-flicking agitation.

"More directly then," Sebastian said, "is it possible you strained yourself today with the express purpose of wanting to have less to talk about here and less to think about tonight when you are trying to sleep?"

This time it was Ciel's turn to blink in surprise. Maybe that was too direct: now the boy was compelled to go on the defensive. "No."

Sebastian looked down at him frankly. "You have a very clever mind, young master. It wouldn't surprise me if that had been a benefit you were seeking today, even if it was somewhat unintentional."

"I thought you said you weren't going to make me uncomfortable." Ciel sat up; his hair was in mild disarray from being stuffed into the armchair's tightest nook. "Now you're trying to put me on the spot and blame me for things. That certainly isn't going to make me comfortable."

Sebastian put his fingertips together. "I said I would try to keep you from feeling uncomfortable, but… it would be foolish to say that these meetings would come without any discomfort whatsoever, sir. That is the nature of emotional subjects."

Ciel put his lips to the cup and downed the rest of the caramel-colored liquid in one long gulp. "All right, I've finished my tea. That means we're all out of time. Too bad. My, what a peculiar conversation. You're really not very good at this, are you?"

Sebastian smirked wryly as Ciel pushed back the heavy chair and prepared to leave. "Now, now. I've scarcely been given a fighting chance."

"Yes, but I've heard enough. Try harder in the future." Ciel was already halfway across the room, stretching his arms over his head as he walked. "I'm going to go start the bathwater myself. I expect you to be up there shortly, and I don't want to hear any more about this while you're washing my hair. That would be cheating."

Even the way the door clicked shut behind Ciel felt somehow like a taunt.

Try harder in the future … As if that wasn't the most exasperating evaluation the boy could have provided. Sebastian placed the empty cup and its saucer back on the silver platter he'd used to deliver them to the study and set off for the kitchen. What did try harder even mean here? He couldn't be too bold, or Ciel would balk. He couldn't be too passive, or Ciel would criticize. And if there were some sweet-spot in between boldness and passivity, Ciel didn't seem keen on Sebastian finding it.

But then there was that other phrase: That would be cheating. Sebastian felt the corners of his mouth tip up in spite of himself. Did the young master even see this as a game to be won? Well… maybe Sebastian had unintentionally set that idea into motion. He had said he'd never broach Ciel's emotional state unprompted again if, just before the Funtom event, six weeks away, Ciel still found Sebastian to be a terrible guide. But Sebastian had never had any notion that he might lose.

No… That wasn't right. Sebastian snorted a breath, disappointed in himself. Even he had gotten caught up in the mindset that this was a game. A game needed opponents, and Ciel was not his opponent here. They were fighting for the same side. They were a team. Couldn't he make the boy see that?

Five days later, Sebastian would get his chance.

Monday, the 30th of June, was the opening day of the Wimbledon Championships. Sebastian had not seen a minute of it. He had spent the entire morning cleaning and the entire afternoon cooking, preparing to show the Midfords the full nine yards of sparkling sanitation and culinary brilliance one could expect to witness at the Phantomhive manor. This meant warning Bard to stay away from the kitchen, to perhaps even keep his thoughts and imagination away from the kitchen, hinting so sharply at scrub work and pay-docking should he see hide or hair of the 'chef' that Bard finally interrupted, "Okay, geez, I get it! I'll spend the rest of the day with the horses until someone lets me back in the house like a bloody dog." Finny was equally warned away, and Mey-Rin told only to come at teatime and not a second sooner (Tanaka, of course, as always, was welcome to do as he pleased). Now, space free from all literal and figurative fire-starters, Sebastian got to work.

The menu was one he had been meticulously sculpting for the past week. Some of the food had already been started over the past week, too, such as the dough for the sourdough bread that was sure to be the perfect accompaniment for a cream-based matelote de poisson. For that, Sebastian had arranged for the delivery of trout, tench, and shrimp to arrive early in the morning, before warmer weather could cause the ice that the seafood was kept on to melt. The English were staunch admirers of flesh, and this summer meal aimed to showcase several members of the countryside's fauna. Thus, tonight's meal would also consist of stag, duck, and wheatear, accompanied by the plumpest vegetables the Phantomhive gardens had nourished.

Soup à la jardinière would exhibit these vegetables fantastically: the rainbow of the carrots, parsnips, radishes, onions, and fava beans could be best observed in a shimmering clear broth. The vibrancy of the vegetables' coloration would be matched by the vibrancy of flavors that venison tenderloin wrapped in guanciale would deliver. Together, the two appetizers would serve as the prelude to four more courses: breaded wheatear with lemon and mint butter; the matelote; roasted duck and parboiled new potatoes; and finally for dessert, Savarin cake with Chantilly cream and a cold compote of cherries and currants.

The Midfords liked to eat early. The marquis and marchioness had been the parents of two early-birds for long enough now that their schedules had shifted towards it, and so Sebastian told Mey-Rin to announce dinner's readiness at half past six. Afternoon tea had not been taken but two hours prior; Sebastian had arranged only a mixed tray of ladyfingers and biscotte for it, both dusted in powdered sugar to dress them up but not, in fact, meant to be too appealing. He didn't want to see any of the guests dropping off before they could make it to his final course, a victim of their own overindulgence.

As the family entered the dining room and took their places, Edward's body language was distinctly ruffled. It became all the clearer that some argument had been had when Edward hissed at Ciel across the table, "We will continue this in a second! " Ciel was distinctly not ruffled, and even looked amused, which said he had this argument's victory in hand. It had probably been an interesting subject, too, for there were few things Ciel detested more than a petty argument and few things he enjoyed more than a purposeful one.

Once everyone had been seated, the ladies assisted in having their chairs pushed forward, Sebastian introduced the garden soup, already presented in bowls on the table, and the guanciale-wrapped venison, which he then distributed to all five humans before standing behind his lord's chair as the diners began to eat. It was not Sebastian's usual viewpoint: Ciel had offered his place at the head of the table to the marquis out of politeness; his uncle in turn insisted that it belonged to Ciel; and Lizzie had merrily forbidden Ciel from taking it, because she wanted to sit right beside him. Alexis had no trouble with this. Francis, in her usual way, saw it as an opportunity for a lesson.

"I hope the two of you understand that that will not do once you are married," she lectured. "It says to your fellow party-goers that you are not interested in getting to know anyone new. Unless your host has a seating arrangement, you must take care to divide yourselves at opposite ends of the table."

"We know that!" Elizabeth said, voice somewhere between her typical cheerfulness and a rarer inflection of indignation. "But we aren't married yet, Mother, and it's only a family dinner, so please don't be too hard on us."

Edward had already half-finished his soup, ignited from the previous conversation and needing to do something with his mouth until he got the chance to talk again. He grasped the silence at once. "I can't let this go," he said. "I can't believe I'm the only one here who doesn't think the Starlight Four is a disgrace. Maybe it's because it's personal for me. I mean, I knew the members as the Prefect Four back when I was in school! I even looked up to them — and now they're doing this, this… I don't even know what it is, but it's corrupting girls all over London! Even poor Lizzie has been hypnotized by their music!"

"I haven't been hypnotized at all! They're good! " Lizzie puffed out her cheeks. "Edward, you sound like a crabby old lady!"

"And I never said I liked their music," Ciel said coolly. "I said I think their band is a great idea. And it is. It's a new, unique sound and it's attracting attention from everyone. They're making money by the boatload just from their concerts. But they're letting even more money fall right through their fingers by not expanding into merchandise. Someone could easily copy their concept and then soar right past them by taking the marketing more seriously. Honestly, someone should. I'd even think about it if I didn't already have my hands so full with other projects."

Edward pointed across the table with his fork. "You! You're evil!"

Ciel grinned his Watchdog's grin. "Welcome to the fundamentals of big business."

"Oh, but that would be amazing, actually!" Lizzie said, pressing her hands together. "Imagine if the Starlight Four had a rivalry! Like Ms. Rice and Mrs. Bingley※ were supposed to! Don't you think that would add some excitement? Everyone would benefit from it, too!"

Ciel slowed his chewing in thought. He swallowed. "A rivalry is… a surprisingly good idea."

"No, it's not! We don't need any more Starlight Fours!" Edward roared, carving through his venison so vigorously that his knife made a loud clink when it reached the plate. "Don't you go making that happen!"

"I'm not going to. But it wouldn't even be very difficult," Ciel mused. "It's not like you'd need people who can really sing. The Starlight Four didn't graduate from the Royal Academy of Music — or drop out of it, rather. Really all you'd need was a handful of young men with charismatic appearances and personalities that can work a crowd. With a little practice, I'm sure even you could do it."

Edward's countenance then wiped clear of emotion. "Me? You… You think I could do it?"

"I think you could do it!" Lizzie piped up. "But you are wrong, Ciel, the Starlight Four are incredibly talented and work very hard."

Edward turned to his right to face the marchioness. "Mother, do you think I could be a rival to the Starlight Four too?"

"I have no interest in entertaining such a notion. I'm taking it upon myself to change the subject," was Francis Midford's taut remark. "Ciel. How is the planning for the Funtom event of yours going?"

"Just fine." Ciel separated a small triangle of pork-jowl from the venison and ate the cured meat by itself. "We have a venue now that may surprise you: Sedgemore House."

"Sedgemore House!" Alexis smiled excitedly. "Well, isn't that a grand location! Does that mean Lord Sedgemore himself has an interest in Funtom products?"

Ciel shrugged with an elegance only mastered by the consistently nonchalant. "I can't say I know what Lord Sedgemore's opinion on my corporation is. But he does appear to be companions with a Mr. Fairclough, who you may remember."

Francis had been lifting her soup spoon to her mouth, but these words gave her pause. She lowered her hand. "Yes, of course I remember him," she said. "The improvident gentleman at Edward's cricket match. Yes. You are still in communication with him?"

Ciel raised an eyebrow at her stiff tone. "Yes? Mr. Fairclough has been instrumental in helping to plan this event."

Aunt Francis stared at her nephew, then shook her head to herself. "I find him very strange. After this is said and done, I don't want to hear of you engaging with him anymore."

Ciel continued to stare back at his aunt even after she returned her attention to her meal. Finally he said, almost petulantly, "You can't really expect that of me."

Francis, Edward, and Alexis all turned their full attention to Ciel at that. Alexis looked moderately intrigued. Edward was shocked. Francis's face bore growing concern. "I can, and I do," she said evenly. "Why should I not?"

"Because that isn't your decision to make," Ciel said, with a short laughing quality to his words that bore more irritation than playfulness.

"Oh, it very much is," Francis asserted. She turned her chin briefly towards Alexis. "Your uncle and I are your acting guardians, and if we ask something of you, it is only fair that we should have our expectations met."

Ciel's tone was one of disbelief. "But that's never mattered before!"

"He's right, Francis." Alexis looked to his wife with a small smile. "I too am surprised by your interference. We've always let Ciel decide for himself who to associate with, and I think we should continue to. He hasn't failed us before."

Francis looked between Ciel and her husband with slight affrontedness. "Alexis, I don't think…" She trailed off. There was a short, unspoken conversation between the couple as they locked eyes. Alexis raised his brows gently. Eventually, Francis sighed out her nose, conceding defeat. "No… You are right. That… never mattered before."

There was a grim set to her jaw when she returned her nephew's gaze. "Very well. I won't tell you what to do, Ciel. But I will not spare my opinion. I think Mr. Fairclough has proven himself to be a little bit careless with his money, and I would hate to see your acquaintanceship with him bring you misfortune."

"It would never come to that," Ciel said. His tone was strained. "I spoke at length with Mr. Fairclough at that very cricket match. He told me all about his job, and I understand how he makes his living. That day, he never donated more to Weston than what he was comfortably able. Your judgment of his character is misplaced."

"... I only hope that it is," Francis said merely.

Throughout the conversation, Edward's expression had slowly calmed to one of confusion. "I'm missing something important, aren't I?" he said.

"Never mind it." Francis turned her attention to her son. "Maybe you're the one I really need to worry about. Now you're thinking you could join some sort of… band of boys? Preposterous."

"I-Is it really preposterous, Mother?"

Alexis beamed. "I think you can be whatever you set your mind to, Edward!"

Edward's cheeks flushed happily. "Oh? So both you and Lizzie think so? Well… gee…"

"Alexis, for goodness' sake. Stop filling our eldest's head with fluff. His only job is to learn how to manage the estate."

"It doesn't have to be! He could sing too!" Lizzie said brightly, and turned to Ciel to gauge his reaction. He didn't look back at her, but whatever she saw made her happiness falter slightly. As her family continued bickering in the background, Lizzie nudged Ciel's elbow to get his attention. When she had it, she held out her hand to him well below the tabletop where no one else could see but Sebastian. Ciel accepted, though only with pinky and ring finger, and only until he had finished his soup. Whether it was out of kindness to his future wife or out of a true want for her touch, Sebastian couldn't be sure.

The remainder of dinner was a less dramatic affair. Sebastian was minutely distracted by pride as the sway of conversation turned more towards the quality of the food, acknowledgments that Sebastian had "done it again" and the visual proof that he had allotted the meal portions with perfect precision as everyone made it to dessert (though no one was able to polish off their cake entirely). When the last plates were cleared away, it was eight-thirty, and all the guests were ready to go home after a long day of tennis and talking.

Ciel bid his guests farewell at the front door. Lizzie gave him her typical enormous hug, a thing the marchioness did not comment on. Instead, after the rest of her family had started to move outdoors, Francis lingered just inside the doorway. She seemed hesitant to say something.

Usually so resolute with her words, Ciel picked up on her indecision quickly, and offered with similar reluctance, "Is… there something you needed, Aunt Francis?"

"..." Francis blinked, as if shaken back into the moment, and faced the outdoors. "No. I was just… lost in thought. Goodnight, Ciel. We'll see you Monday next for the Regatta?"

"Uh, yes... Until then. Goodnight," Ciel returned.

He and Sebastian watched the marchioness begin to enter her carriage. Only then did Sebastian close the front door and turn to assess his master.

It was impossible for Ciel to hide the perturbation in his exposed eye, as quickly as he spun towards the stairwell. He barked over his shoulder, "I'm tired, so I'm going straight to my room. I'm too full for milk tea. Make something lighter just for tonight."

Make…? Make something, still? He was certain Ciel would have declared it too late by now. "Of course, sir." Sebastian bowed appropriately, and tried not to be too hasty as he moved back to the kitchen. But it could not be helped: his long paces carried him from the entranceway to the stove in only a minute… because Ciel had asked him to make tea. Not wordlessly expected it or dismissed it. He had asked for it.

This was not to be taken lightly. It meant that Ciel wanted to talk to him.

Sebastian picked up the kettle of boiling milk that Bard had already prepared, poured it into one of Finny's sturdy tin cups, and handed it to the gardener, who was sitting at the table keeping Bard and Mey-Rin company as they cleaned all of the dinner dishes ("This milk won't be needed anymore, so you may drink it." "Ooohhh? Wow, thanks, Mr. Sebastian! It'll go perfectly with some of that pretty cake you made!" "Remember, only one slice for each of you."). Sebastian swiftly refilled the kettle with water and felt the speed at which it boiled was taking far too long. He had to hurry back to Ciel, before this rare willing mood could pass like a summer storm.

The previous four of their nightly meetings had yielded little success in the way of emotional revelations. Ciel was stubborn. He would pick apart the day's events in extraneous detail: the annoyances of writing so many letters; of accidental burns from hot wax and paper-cuts from thin parchment; the loss of a favored nib; ink dried to the heel of his hand. So clearly skirting around anything that might be taken with an increment of seriousness, and yet, when Sebastian pointed this out, Ciel had slugged back the rest of his beverage as if it were a dram and his office a tavern.

"I'm all out of tea," he had said. "Which means it's time for me to leave. Do better next time."

"Young master," Sebastian had sighed, "you promised me that you would grant me this trial period. You know well that you aren't giving our time its due."

"I'm staying for as long as the conversation does not make me uncomfortable," Ciel had responded. "Is it my fault if I'm uncomfortable any time you ask me a question? You're a demon. I think it's only natural. Goodbye."

It had taken Sebastian a (pathetically long) moment to realize he was being given direction. Ciel was telling him not to ask questions, to just let him speak, even if what he was speaking about came across as innocuous. To let him be in charge. So Sebastian obliged the next time and the time after. Even if all Ciel spoke on was the tedium of penmanship or the minute differences between Bitter Rabbit textiles, Sebastian would only supply a passive comment or two to compel the boy to keep talking. He wouldn't try to change the subject towards something more substantial. That was up to Ciel and Ciel alone. Even if it lasted for weeks more.

But it wasn't lasting for weeks more. Right now Ciel wanted to talk to him, and Sebastian could not keep his apocryphal heart out of his throat.

After the water had finally boiled, it took another five minutes for the peppermint tea to steep. In that five minutes, Sebastian made his irritability known to the staff around him. Bard, Finny, and Mey-Rin had grown used to spending the last honey-slow bits of their evening in the kitchen together, chatting and relaxing before drifting off to their rooms in dozy reverie. The fact that Sebastian was hyper-analyzing them right now, grabbing pots and pans out of their hands because he could scrub them better, organizing a row of spices that already appeared to be in perfect order, reaching right in front of Finny to scoot cake crumbs off the table into his waiting palm, was clearly unnerving them. Bard was the only one bold enough to say, "Jesus, calm down. What could have you on the warpath at a quarter till nine?" Sebastian pretended not to hear him, poured the tea into the cup he had set down on the countertop four minutes and fifty seconds ago, and set off for the master bedroom at a clip.

His eventual knock was heeded with simply an, "In."

Sebastian was not a hair out of place when he entered. The same could not be said of Ciel. He had shed his jacket and vest onto the floor — the way in which they lay implied they'd been dashed upon it with some force, and his shoes had surely been kicked off to their haphazard resting places. Now Ciel was slumped in bed, eyepatch removed, arms crossed (their favored position these days), one leg slung atop the other and stocking toe stabbing at the air in an endless up-and-down rhythm. His brow was furrowed.

Sebastian placed the saucer on the bedside table. "I selected Twinings' peppermint tea, sir, to aid in digestion."

Ciel grabbed the cup's handle without tearing his gaze from the far wall. "Why the hell does she think she has the right to say that?!" he started at once. "Why does she think she has the right to dictate any of what I do? 'Your uncle and I are your acting guardians,' oh, is that so? What a lovely thing to have on paper to flaunt whenever it suits you! As soon as your dear nephew does something you don't like, you can shove his father's will under his nose and tell him, 'do as I say, the paper commands it!' But only do it once he's fourteen, only after he's well accustomed to your standing out of his way! Not a moment before that! Because why criticize anything he did before then? The work he does for the Queen with the Aristocrats of Evil is all well and good, but no, then he befriends a gent who likes to donate money and that deserves a warning! Oh, heaven forbid!"

Ciel took a long, enthusiastic sip of tea. "She says Fairclough is the trouble! Fairclough! It's not my demon butler I need to worry about, or the opium dealer, or the undertaker, or the other aunt who tried to bloody kill me, it's the man who supports colleges for a living! Honestly! Did Aunt Francis take up Sunday church or something?! It's as if she thinks she has this sudden moral obligation to me, even though it's far too late for that! She can have her silly little hang-ups about my haircut or my amateur servants, I know when I'm being unorthodox, but trying to actually dictate who I associate with? What a joke! If you ask me, she lost that privilege when I became titled! If she has no faith in my ability to govern myself, then she's technically saying she doesn't believe in my ability to govern my land! She's insulting me! And for all she talks about manners, she won't possibly acknowledge that that's the case!"

There was a pause, in which Sebastian inserted, "Your uncle appears to be on your side, at least."

"Hah!" Ciel grinned with fury. "He's not 'on my side!' Didn't you hear him? 'We've always let Ciel decide who to associate with.' Let! As in, they believe this to be an active decision on their part! Something they've permissed! So I guess that means everything I've been doing has gone in-line with what my aunt and uncle want for me? But as soon as I do something they don't like, they're going to jump in and stop letting me. Do they stake a claim on everything that I am, too? Do they think this manor, my company, my Watchdog position, all the things I've gone and done, comes back to their letting me? They haven't done anything! Everything I have is strictly because I sought it, and I did it without any of their help!"

The boy ended his tirade with a rough snarl and another deep gulp of tea.

Sebastian stood tall-backed four feet from the bed, absorbing this rant. Ciel's anger wasn't entirely unanticipated, but it was clear he was taking the dinner conversation very personally. And very critically, too. In the moment, Sebastian had simply viewed Francis's warning about Fairclough as protective. And he understood where she was coming from: he too had misgivings about the man. It was somewhat relieving to hear another human felt the same way he did — not that bringing that up right now would be any useful.

Indeed, Francis had taken a more authoritative role when around Ciel lately. This had all started at Mr. Goode's party just before Easter weekend, when Ciel joined the Midfords in Oxford to visit Edward. An exhausted Ciel had lost his temper at Mr. Goode's great aunt, and Francis had been looking at Ciel differently ever since. It was perhaps understandable that that childish outburst had reminded Francis that her nephew was still growing up, and she had half-heartedly gone about making up for lost parenting.

Sebastian supposed he shouldn't criticize her so harshly. Was he really any different? He too was trying to be a guardian after years of letting Ciel raise himself.

But… no. That wasn't completely true either.

It was somewhat an exaggeration to say that the Midfords had left Ciel entirely to his own devices. They had taught Ciel how to manage his finances; helped him establish meaningful connections with the nobles in their circle; introduced him to the contractors and businessmen who could get his toy company off the ground. But had they soothed him after he'd suffered a nightmare? Reminded him to eat his green vegetables and not rely solely on biscuits to fill his stomach? Congratulated him on sticking with his dance lessons, even when he said he'd rather jump off the roof than suffer through another waltz? No; that was Sebastian's role, not that the Midford parents even knew this much.

"You are disappointed in them," said Sebastian simply.

"'Disappointed' is too kind a word," Ciel snapped. "I'm furious with them. They're the impertinent ones, not me. They don't know what they're really implying when they say they consider me a product of their instruction!"

"But… maybe you wouldn't mind being a product of their instruction?" Sebastian asked.

Ciel finally looked at him. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean that you seem to be entertaining the idea that your life would be very different if your aunt and uncle had acted as proper guardians to you since the day they became those guardians by law."

"Why would I entertain it when it was never an option?" Ciel scoffed. "You would have killed me over a breach of contract if I didn't immediately make it my goal to reclaim what was rightfully the Phantomhive heir's."

Sebastian shook his head. "Not so. You even asked me this very question when the matter of your living arrangement was unfolding, four and half years ago. Your only job, as always, has been to stay focused on your revenge. If your aunt and uncle had convinced you to live with them, as long as your intentions and efforts were still put into finding your parents' murderers, I would have had no reason to take your soul. But when you turned down their offer only once, they let you go back to your manor with me. That is how I remember it."

"... Oh, okay. I see what you're getting at." Ciel chuckled darkly. "No, I'm not saying I wish my aunt and uncle had decided to raise me from the age of ten onward. I didn't want that then, and I don't look back and think they should have done more. All I'm saying is that they're being presumptive to think they played a role in my accomplishments, and it pisses me off that they'd pretend they have just to ease their own consciences."

Sebastian wondered if Ciel were lying to himself about not wanting to be parented by the Midfords at all, but… it definitely wouldn't help to voice that right now. Instead, he said only, "I agree. I think that's disrespectful to you."

"It's, I mean…" Ciel let out a frustrated sniff, ran his fingers through his bangs. "It's just stupid. Bloody stupid. I wish I could tell them all this so they could see how stupid they're being but… ugh. It wouldn't make any difference. They'd just tell me I was being rude to them and leave it at that."

"It's no wonder this is causing you so much frustration," Sebastian said. "They've left you a lot to contemplate on your own."

"..." Ciel's pupils curved over to Sebastian. "I'm on my own, am I?"

"Ah, excuse me; I misspoke. I meant, a lot to contemplate without them to respond to." Sebastian smiled, hoping the candor he felt was present in his eyes. "Earlier, I thought the marchioness's comment was not one of audacity, but you've changed my mind. I think she's shown a clear disregard for your feelings and situation. There is an almost deliberate ignorance of just how much you've accomplished without your aunt and uncle's aid. I truly am… disappointed."

Ciel tilted his head toward his butler. "Well, no wonder… They don't know what you took on either." He flashed Sebastian a sudden devious look. "The ten-year-old me would've given them a run for their money. You know that better than anyone, don't you?"

Sebastian blinked in surprise at being so addressed; then he gave a single laugh. "Yes… Yes, I know that well."

"They'd regret it," Ciel sneered proudly. "I would make them regret it, if they forced me to stay with them. I wouldn't have sat patiently and let them boss me. I needed to be the Watchdog or I would have been too bored. I wanted blood on my hands, in my eyes… Oh, they'd regret it. Hah!"

Sebastian tilted his head to the side, knuckle to his chin. "Hmm. Do you really think that's so, sir?"

Ciel's face cast into shadow with the subtlety of a moon shifting phases. Presently, he drank the last drops of his drink. "They would regret it," he said. He put his cup down. "And my tea is finished. Which means we're through for the evening."

"We certainly don't have to be," Sebastian said, as Ciel swung his legs over the side of the bed. "These discussions end when you want them to."

"I want it to," said Ciel. "Today was long, and I'm tired. I'll fall asleep in the bath if I don't take one now."

"All right. I understand," said Sebastian as Ciel started moving towards the bathroom. "Then, I will only briefly comment that I appreciate and thank you for being so honest with me tonight. It was brave of you to share as much as you did."

And again, Sebastian was graced with the 'judgmental adolescent' face. "It wasn't brave," Ciel hissed over his shoulder in a voice dripping with vinegar. "I said exactly what I wanted to say!"

"Indeed," said Sebastian. "And yet, that can be surprisingly difficult for you at times, can't it? So, going forward, I hope you can remember how it feels to say exactly what you want to say. I think you will find that these nightly discussions of ours will be much more useful to you if you are completely honest with me — and with yourself."

Ciel fixed him with one disapproving eye before he closed it, huffing a breath. "Whatever. Damn demon."

Having exhausted all his words, and quite possibly himself, Ciel was very quiet for the entirety of the bath. Sebastian massaged at the boy's soapy hair as if trying to wash the painful thoughts out of that head. He felt pensive and deeply serious. For tonight was surely a success, and yet… yet it seemed he was suddenly realizing the task at hand.

Sebastian knew he'd been foolish to think the challenge was getting Ciel Phantomhive to reveal his feelings when asked. That was only the first step of the journey, a step they were certainly still on. What Sebastian had seen tonight were only the thoughts Ciel was willing to share. Beneath that frozen layer was a whole host of darker feelings the boy was hesitant towards revealing, and farther beneath that were the things that Ciel did not even allow himself to be aware of.

Would they ever reach that depth, Sebastian wondered? And if so, what would he do when they arrived there?

"I want to help Bard with the horses after breakfast, so pick a sturdy outfit that I can wear outside today."

Half a week had passed since the Midford dinner. The nightly talks between butler and lord, demon and human, had continued.

"I apologize, sir, but I'm afraid that Bard is taking his day off. He won't be back until tomorrow at noon."

The conversation's quality had improved. Ciel was not stalling for time anymore, no longer rambling about this pen and that inkwell. Though the boy still clearly did not feel comfortable doing more than elaborating on the little annoyances of his daily life, about having to spend more time with the Midford parents when he still harbored resentment for them.

"Today? Bard's day off is the fifth. He's early by one."

"Seeing as it is currently America's Day of Independence, he put in a request last month to take the 4th of July for himself instead."

"... Oh. Well. Drat. I guess I'll have to find some other recreation then."

Ciel took a sip of his morning tea, Keemun Mao Feng, an expensive black tea favored for being lighter and sweeter than others of the Qimen variety. On a benign summer morning like this, Sebastian thought the gentler flavor would suit his lord who almost always preferred to take his tea hot, no matter the temperature outdoors.

"You sound as if you were quite looking forward to it," Sebastian observed. "Remind me, you know how Bard's drills for Avalon go, correct?"

Ciel nodded. "Yes. There isn't much to them. It's just that I can't manage the horse entirely on my own."

"But I can," Sebastian reminded him, "so why don't we do it together? I'll be sure to follow your every instruction."

There was a kind of snicker. "... Are you sure you aren't going to panic and pull me away the moment you think Avalon is going to attack me?" Ah, yes; the day Ciel had ridden Avalon and Sebastian had seized him off the horse's back in a moment of uncharacteristic fear. Ciel would surely never let him live that down.

Sebastian felt less irked by the reminder than he thought he would. Even with the taunting edge, there was a familiarity in the jab that Ciel didn't supply just anyone. And… there was something oddly pleasant, in the knowledge that a tense moment between them was now a memory they could look back on with some humor. Sebastian placed a hand to his chest. "I promise I shall keep myself composed this time, sir."

Ciel regarded Sebastian over a sip of tea. Finally, he said, "All right. I'll take you on."

So, once Ciel was dressed in a thin cotton shirt, a tattersall plaid vest, knickerbockers, and leather riding boots, and breakfast was eaten, the two gathered Avalon's rope-halter and lead from the tack room and set off to meet with the horses.

The Phantomhive manor was understaffed, but nowhere was it felt more than in the stables. Sebastian did not care for living creatures that were neither cat nor human, and so he left the horses alone whenever possible. That did not mean he wouldn't look after for them in a pinch (in fact, almost any job became preferable to Sebastian when it was in a pinch), but for the most part the horses were left to Bard.

Every day, Bard made sure the horses had clean hay and oats to eat, led them to pasture to graze if the weather was nice, and brought them back inside in the late afternoon. Thrice a week he spent his entire day with them, seeing to their condition, cleaning their stalls, and keeping them in good form. The young lord did not leave the house as often as other masters might, so the three Welsh cobs that pulled the carriage needed a lot of attention in order to maintain their shapely physiques. In the coldest parts of winter when Finny had less to do, he was happy to help Bard with this. More often than not, everyone was too busy to give the cobs the exercise they deserved. Everyone, that was, except another horse.

Ciel's high-stepping hackney stallion Sysonby was the alpha of the manor's little herd. This position was not hard-won so much as it was uncontested. Sysonby was the lightest and leanest of the bunch, a fact he knew and used to his advantage, for the muscled cobs could beat him soundly if only they could catch him. Of course, the cobs would have been just as happy to accept their place in the echelons and plod around eating all day, but Syson said this simply wouldn't do. He wanted his princehood to feel earned. He wanted to be chased and never be caught.

So it would go each day: the horses would all be peacefully clipping the pasture with their teeth when Sysonby's posture would suddenly stiffen. He'd raise his neck and get a glint in his dark eyes. Then he would sneak right beside Merrylegs or Gilbert or Yankee with an innocent gait before suddenly reaching out and nipping them on the flank. The bitten cob would swing its huge head around to identify the nuisance, and Sysonby would pull back his lips in a challenge before darting off.

The cob had a choice. He could either give pursuit now or he could wait until Sysonby came back for another nip, then catch the oversized mosquito off-guard. But Sysonby would never be caught off-guard. Eventually he would have convinced all three cobs to trail him around the paddock, their plate-sized hooves rumbling like thunder as they attempted to corner the local nuisance. The three worked together at draft, but they were not hunting dogs, and running in perfect tandem did little to trap their prey against the paddock fence. And Syson was an endless fount of energy. So the fleet-footed sprite of a horse kept them going until the cobs' ribs were bellowing and their sides sparkled with sweat and they had to concede defeat. Syson would then trot a victory lap around them, his raven-black tail streaming behind him like the plume of a knight's helm.

But a new addition to the herd had led the prince's confidence to falter. Avalon the racehorse had never been let into the same area of the pasture as Sysonby, and so Sysonby had never had the chance to prove his authority. Instead, he had to settle for nickering insults at the stranger from across a fence. Avalon was terrified of the other horse; what had he ever done to hurt him? But Syson understood this quarter-horse was fast, could perhaps even catch him, and that was not something to be borne. And what was worse, the manor's human prince was taken with the newcomer! And so Sysonby had been in quite a jealous state ever since Avalon's arrival.

For Irish, it had been entirely the opposite. Ciel's gentle red thoroughbred had put up with Sysonby's posturing for years without complaint. But now that there was another horse his size in the field, Irish saw a chance for real friendship and seized it. Bard had introduced the two horses carefully, but there had been no need to worry. Irish had immediately begun to groom Avalon, and Avalon did so back, and now the two were inseparable. While Avalon did his walking exercises on the lead rope, Irish watched from a close distance or walked with him. At night, Irish leaned his head into Avalon's stall and nibbled gently at the racehorse's neck.

And that was why they came to find the horses divided as they were: Sysonby and the three cobs in one subsection of the quartered field, Avalon and Irish in the next.

"First I have to greet the idiot," Ciel said, approaching Sysonby, who had been stationed at the fence since the fence was in their sights. 'The idiot' was indeed a fitting nickname, as Sysonby strained against the confines of his enclosure, whuffing and reaching out with his neck as a girl might reach out to the stage at a Starlight Four concert, hoping to touch the hand or clothes of her favorite idol. When they arrived, Ciel rubbed all over the outstretched muzzle, muttering in a low, dreary voice, "Yes, hello, hello. I missed you, too. Hello, Syson. What a foolish creature you are." Sysonby couldn't have been more excited if it had started raining apples and carrots. He had been chosen as superior to his peers; that was all that mattered in the small mind of this horse.

Ciel didn't think Sysonby was superior to his peers. He was only trying to maintain a healthy status quo amongst his herd, as Bard had taught him, the boy explained. "Syson will try to fight the others if I don't approach him first and prove that he's the leader. Horses are nothing like children. You can't take turns or be 'fair' with animals, you have to follow their pecking order, their rules." Ciel cupped the end of his black horse's white-and-pink blazed nose and shook the huge head side to side with lenient admonition. "You rotten little schoolyard bully." Sysonby's back shivered with sheer joy.

After another minute or so of attending to his neediest beast, Ciel turned to enter the adjacent section of the paddock. "There, that'll do. Now we can see to the others." Sysonby gave a porcine squeal of disapproval, as if to say that would most certainly not do, and was forced to watch as Ciel opened the gate to an area that was not his. After another disbelieving snort, Sysonby took off and began to run the perimeter of his fence.

"He's such a brat," Ciel mumbled under his breath as he walked forward into Irish and Avalon's pen, followed by Sebastian, who redid the latch behind them. "He's trying to show off for me right now, to remind me how fast he is, hoping that I'll want to spend all my time with him. He's just awful, isn't he?"

Sebastian recognized the rhetorical nature of the question, as well as the subtle adoration lurking beneath it. Despite the tantrum, Sysonby was incredibly loyal to Ciel, a trait that would never go unnoticed by this particular human.

But Irish's loyalty was pure, too, and his display of it was much less bombastic. He trotted over to his boy now with a loving rumble emanating in his enormous chest. Avalon followed shyly behind until he was ten feet away, where he stopped short. He watched every one of Ciel's movements, his head swaying pendulously, warily, as he tried to analyze the situation with his weak prey-eyes. Irish chirped at his friend to encourage him; Avalon only pawed at the grass and hung his head.

"Hey there, Avalon." Ciel made his voice soft and clucked his tongue. "Hello, you. I've got something nice for you here. Don't you want to see?" Ciel dug into his vest pocket and extracted an item which he then popped into his own mouth. "It's good. Even I can eat it. Come on, come have one."

Sugar cubes! Sebastian hadn't even noticed. "Just when did you grab those, young master…?"

"I'm not telling you that." There was no small smugness in that response! With another cluck of his tongue, Ciel held out a flat palm with a little white box like a tiny present right in its center. Irish showed interest, and Ciel gave it to him. "Hurry over, then, or Irish will eat them all." The red horse nuzzled at Ciel's waistcoat in search of more, and Ciel prodded Irish back by his forehead. "I was joking when I said that, but it's becoming a serious threat. Here, now, Avalon."

Ciel extended the sugar far out from his body. Avalon finally accepted. He took the offering gingerly with his lips, chewed with startling volume, and then shed the worst of his trepidation. He stood beside Irish, munching more confections and allowing Ciel to stroke his mane.

What a difference there was, between the traumatized horse that screamed and shook and took opium to quiet down and this cautious spirit that only needed a bit of coaxing before it gave itself over to kindness. Sebastian didn't know what Avalon's temperament was like before the day it was extracted from Algernon Northcott's stables, but this was surely a massive improvement. And to think, it had only taken Bard's simple methods to transform it… Well, that and—

"Okay, your turn. You can't put the halter on him until he trusts you, so hold out your palm."

Sebastian blinked down at his gloved hand, which Ciel had suddenly grabbed and deposited a sugar cube into.

"And don't just shove your hand at him," Ciel chided prematurely, before Sebastian could even begin to make a move. "Do it nice and slow."

Feeling curiously out of his depth, Sebastian held out his palm to the brown horse's snout-level. The temptation of food won out against fear, and Avalon accepted the treat with only a slight grunt of nervous expression. It nosed about his fingers, hoping to find something else, and Ciel put another sugar cube just under its searching mouth. Satisfied, the boy said, "Okay, you can go ahead and put the halter on now."

The homemade bridle of braided rope slipped over the head with ease. "It doesn't look like this would offer much in the way of control," Sebastian noted.

"It doesn't need to." Ciel grasped the square-knot hanging a few inches under Avalon's chin where the lead was fastened to the halter. "After doing this for a few months, Avalon understands that we're just going to be walking in a circle, and I'll be guiding him from here anyway. All you have to do is hold onto the lead in case he gets an idea about running away. I doubt that will happen, though."

With another one of those tongue-noises that humans favored around horses, Ciel tugged Avalon to a starting position some eight feet from Sebastian and began to walk him around counter-clockwise. Irish joined in on Avalon's right, appearing to delight in keeping abreast of his friend, as if they were playing at the draft horse's job.

"I didn't realize how much you'd been wanting a companion, Irish," Ciel mused, talking to the horses similarly to the way Sebastian talked to cats. (Well… there was a notable absence of crooning.) "If I'd understood, perhaps I would have introduced another horse to the stable sooner. I know Syson can be a bit much for you at times." Indeed, Syson was still charging about, froth flying down his neck and across his back. "Bloody idiot's going to run himself ragged… I was thinking I might exercise him today, but not if that's how he's behaving. Finny's going to have to give him a rub-down." Ciel sighed and thumped Avalon on the neck. "And what about you? When should we give riding you another chance? I promise it won't go like last time."

These words were spoken to the horse, but Sebastian wondered if he was meant to interpret them, too. Ciel hadn't ridden Avalon since the day Ciel entered Avalon's stall and was minorly kicked in the leg by the horse. Sebastian recognized he had harbored a small disdain for Avalon ever since. Even if Avalon was just a frightened animal that Ciel had been careless around, Sebastian would rather that animal be sent away.

But he knew, too, that Ciel felt a kinship with the horse he'd rescued from butchery. So Sebastian tried to put aside his own bias and appreciate the way Ciel acted around Avalon. Here, surrounded by creatures that jostled for his attention, a very genuine satisfaction emanated from Ciel; not the kind that came from chasing down enemies of the crown or winning an argument against his cousin or even nabbing sugar cubes out from under a demon's nose, but something with far more innocence, something like light, an emotion that seemed to glow and expand around them.

Love?

Suddenly, Sysonby craned his head over the fence and released a shrill roar seven feet from his master's face.

Everything erupted into chaos. Avalon buckled. His ears flicked back. Ciel kept his grip on the rope. "Whoa, whoa, steady—" The frightened horse didn't listen. Avalon kicked out his front legs, starting to raise himself from the earth. Ciel tried to tug down his head. "Av— Avalon, hey—" Rearing up on his hind legs now, his hooves clawing at open air. No. If Sebastian didn't do something, Ciel, he'd be hurt again, he'd—

"Don't do anything, Sebastian!"

Ciel had let go of Avalon's rope. He'd thrust out a hand to ward Sebastian back. Avalon was currently pounding his hooves into the earth, again and again, as if trying to stamp out a ghost. His eyes were wild and rolling. Ciel had backed up and was standing by, his body tense. Waiting. Sebastian found himself doing the same.

The episode only lasted five seconds more. Avalon started to calm on his own. He stopped stamping. His breathing came heavy and loud. He shuffled his long legs, as if not knowing what to do with them. Irish, who had scattered slightly, returned to his friend's side and started nuzzling him, smelling him. He seemed frightened, too, and it was as if by calming Avalon he was calming himself.

Ciel turned his head to look at the culprit who'd caused this to happen.

"Syson, you damn brute!" he snapped with a breathless exhaustion that comes from being badly surprised. "You made me jump out of my skin! Agh… Get lost, then! Go!" Ciel shooed at him with his arms, and Sysonby ducked and tossed his head, blowing out with his lips before trotting away like a beaten dog.

"Shit," Ciel hissed. He put a hand to his head, sighing hard, and then seemed to remember Sebastian was there with him. He forced himself not to look harried anymore and pointed at Avalon with a trembling hand. "Um… So what just happened was kind of interesting, actually… When Syson screamed at us like a bloody banshee, the sound reminded Avalon of when he was trapped with Northcott's body… because Avalon was screaming when it happened… and so he started stamping like that, because he imagined he was back in his old stall again, trying to get rid of the thing that smelled like death…" Ciel trailed off. Finally, he sort of laughed. "What the hell. You're a demon, aren't you? You made me forget for a second because you actually look quite shaken right now. You were about to come grab me away again, weren't you?"

Sebastian swallowed. "... Yes, I think I was."

"Well, good thing you didn't," Ciel said. "If you had broken your promise, I would have been furious. Besides, you saw, it wasn't so bad. He's already recovering." The boy nodded over at the horses, who were still composing each other with touches and whickering.

"That did strike me as being rather 'bad,'" Sebastian said.

"... Maybe. I guess it was." Ciel shrugged, still with a slight tremble of leftover shock. "Maybe it's just that I've seen him worse."

So, this was an improvement. "I didn't realize that Avalon still suffered from bouts of confusion, sir."

Ciel glared at Sebastian. "'Still?' What do you mean 'still'? How could I get over being locked up with a corpse that easily?!"

The two held a gaze for a long moment, Ciel's face one of disapproval, Sebastian's minutely somber, until Ciel appeared to realize that he'd just revealed something. His eyes darted to the side and there was a rush to correct himself. "'He.' I meant… I meant 'he.'" Another long silence. "Don't mention this later at our nightly meeting, all right? It was just a slip of the tongue." A third span of silence. Ciel spun around. "I'll… see to Avalon and decide if we should keep going for today." He stole briskly over to his horse and awarded him a sugar cube before touching carefully down the long neck and shoulder, gauging Avalon's reaction.

Sebastian clutched the lead rope, quiet as he waited for the walking to begin again or for Ciel to call off the exercise. Don't ask questions, he'd been taught. Wait for the boy to bring it up on his own. But Sebastian knew right now he had again glimpsed beneath the frozen layer of his master's emotions, at the darker thoughts below, and given another estimate at just how far the bottom was. It forced him to evaluate again: Would they ever reach that depth…? And if so, what would he do when they arrived there…?

He would do his best.

※: Lena Rice and Blanche Bingley were two female tennis players who faced each other in a Wimbledon finals match in 1889, with Bingley leaving as the championship winner. Unfortunately, Bingley wasn't at Wimbledon the next year because she had just started a family, and Rice never returned to Wimbledon after 1890, leaving their rivalry unresolved. Lizzie was really looking forward to it, too!