Work Text:
Shun formed an unexplainable aversion for white long before he settled in England as an acclaimed chess master. Sakaki, his loyal butler, knew his master wouldn't be able to live by himself and followed him there.
Shun was aware that his father wouldn't have approved of his decision of tainting his snow-white hair so he took the chance in London to dye it black and trim it short, causing even Sakaki who was waiting outside the salon to mistake him for someone else. The aftershock that came to Sakaki after that caused him to faint. When he woke up later in the clinic, he knew it wasn’t a dream because black-haired Shun was sitting next to his bed. The monitor beeped and the doctor rushed in to check on him, later advising him to keep his stress levels down. Sakaki wasn’t sure if he should be amused or worried that this was caused by that one incident. It hasn't occurred since then.
Still, it’s odd , Sakaki ponders. Shun was known as the White Lord back home by his relatives due to his tendencies to dress himself in white clothing. And now it seems as if the Demon Lord decided to take on the role of Count Dracula - pale skin, black coat, constantly sleeping indoors. Sakaki never questioned his master's change of fashion but it bothers him that nothing at the studio has, at best, a dash of white. Even the chess set is an exclusive wood set, the supposed white counterpart beige in appearance.
Asking Shun about his issue with white was a bother; he would only pour out philosophical slurs (yawn) about how change was essential to a person's life and the first step to that was the change of surroundings and so on, and so forth. Other times, he would promptly, cheerfully reply: I'm bored of white . Sakaki doesn’t understand his young master at times like these and the urge to reason him into recovering his white locks is still very evident but it was best to leave it out of the way and get used to it. That’s what he tells himself but he still tears up whenever he browses old pictures of Shun with his glorious snow-white hair.
“Surely he would’ve been sick of black by now?” Sakaki muses as he pours boiling water into the pot containing English Breakfast tea leaves. The aroma of brewed tea escapes and endows the room where a plate of freshly made breakfast consisting of a sunny-side up, baked beans, strips of bacon, grilled mushrooms and a piece of toast rested on the kitchen island. Sakaki carries the teapot and places it on the island next to the plate, taking a step back to admire his work, a satisfied grin forming on his features. He takes a glance at the wide picture windows that stretch through the entire wall from the living room to the kitchen overlooking London and reasons from the position of the Sun that it is time for his daily torture of waking Shun up.
The moment he walks into the corridor leading to Shun’s bedroom, the doorbell rings.
Who in their right mind would visit at such a time?
Sakaki turns back and marches to the door.
The visitor seen through his eyepiece is one he never expects.
“It’s good to see you after so long, Mutsuki-sama,”