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Rain beat down on the Phantomhive Manor cruelly, thunder echoing throughout the adorned hallways. The inhabitants of the place knew deep inside that, even if lightning illuminated the windows in violence, they were safe from any harm. But this knowledge didn’t cease the chills of fright when the booming noise distracted them from daily tasks. The storms had hit most of the countrysides for more than a fortnight, and today made no difference from others.
Midnight struck. The servants celebrated a quiet game of cards in their quarters. Their chores had been finished with ease,and the day had finally came to an end. The maid had joined them but kept from playing, complaining on her bad eyesight. The Butler sat in the kitchens, finishing the last precautions of the day. His task, polishing supper’s now clean silver, had been discarded. He was now busy, stroking the fur of a stray cat, eyes lost in its silky fur.
Only one soul in the manor refrained from relaxing in any way.
Migraines inched on the temples of the Earl of Phantomhive. Control over this had always been far from his reach. The pain was always present, but no that noticeable during daytime. He could move freely around, argue and keep his loyalty as a guard dog. But the migraine kept its place at the back of his head, nagging.
It usually did not bother him for weeks, but it always violently hit him from time to time. Waves of dizziness struck his eyes and cascades of the distant pain became visible. In order to maintain his stoic facade, he refrained from complaining. Distractions rarely faded the pain. He had experimented on different hobbies in the past. Endless books, music, or games of chess could not bring an end to the agony.
The Earl, now radiating misery in the confines of his study, limped to the mirror at the edge of the room. Fetching his eye patch, he stared into the endless void of the marked eye. His facade had cracked again in the solitude, and voices in his mind resurfaced, He so desperately wanted to rid himself of these thoughts to finally be able to look at himself and see someone worthy of the love and affection he was given, in his childhood at least.
His heartbeat raced, sweat running down the boy’s spin in a chill. But his hands did not shake. They never did.
The drowning sensation of drowning edged at his throat, and screams begged for real ease. Instead, the boy merely hunched at the floor, sobbing quietly. Hies fingers traced the mirror in an unknown gentleness, even if his inner self wanted to punch and punch and punch until it shattered. No, that wouldn’t do. Just another mess for the demon to clean.
(Differently from what Alois Trancy thought, Ciel Phantomhive also secretly searched for love in the demon he contracted).
Then again, the only one to see him in this miserable state wa Sebastian.
Too deeply lost in silent tears and hollowing thoughts, the now frail boy failed to notice the incoming steps, or creaking of the door as it opened. Reddish eyes landed on his form, softening with sadness. He didn’t notice the steps towards him, or the kind eyes that would look outrageous in a being like him. The demons own facade of Butler faded, and the boy in the floor wasn’t his master, but the delicate human he had grown fond of.
The boy acknowledged, in surprise, the long arms the took him, warmly hugging his shaking frame. He opened his mouth but was shushed by a silky voice.
“Shush, dear one.” The demon said, not using his formalities, “It’s alright to cry. I’m here now, and you are safe.”
Tenuous fingers rand softly through his blueish hair. Even the rain outside became silent.
“I will always be here, my Ciel.”
With the comforting promise, the boy finally fell to a peacefulness, and closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he slept soundly.