⋆｡°✩ Geeked ✩°｡⋆

The sounds of the alarms distant in the background, they were there to tell people it’s getting too late, that they need to head back home.

You can see your home in sight, just over the bridge and you’re practically there.

A branch breaking catches your attention, you still, despite all your instincts telling you to run.

But you knew exactly what it was, a demon.

They had been roaming this side of town more often, exactly what the alarms were installed for.

Your head snaps to the woods, feeling eyes watching you.

A silhouette appears coming out the woods, then three more disperse from behind it.

Your brain finally catches up and you take off running. Your lungs burn almost instantly. The forest swallows you whole the moment you break into a sprint.

Branches claw at your sleeves as you push them away from your face, the bridge now so close it feels like salvation if you just—

A blur drops in front of you, your body tries to stop before you even think to. You lose your footing, falling on your knees.

The figure straightens slowly, as if it had all the time in the world. Pale. Wrong. Its presence presses against your chest like a hand squeezing your ribs from the inside.

Behind it, the other three demons step out of the dark like they’ve been waiting for you to arrive.

You turn to crawl away, a hand grabs your ankle. Without looking back you thrash your legs, trying to kick at whatever and whoever you could.

Another hand grabs your other leg, pinning them to the ground.

The demon flips you onto your back. You get a look at the demon, his eyes captivated you the moment you see them, three eyes decorating each side of his face. His long hair pulling into a ponytail.

You don’t get to be in awe long when the world tilts. Then the forest goes quiet in a way that feels… intentional.

A heavier presence arrives. Not rushing. Not hunting. Approaching.

The demons shift immediately subtle, fearful, obedient. Even they seem smaller now, like prey pretending not to breathe.

And then you see him.

He steps through the trees like they belong to him. No sound. No warning. Just presence.

He looks at you like you are already something decided. Not an accident. Not a surprise. A result.

“You’re late”

Two words. That’s all he spoke, and it still managed to scare you. Him being a demon didn’t scare you, it was the fact that the other three seemed to be terrified of him.

Your fingers dig into the ground as you try to crawl back, the grip from the first demon tightens on your ankles.

His gaze drops to your neck. Then your pulse. Then your fear.

“You were seen.”

The demons lower their heads further.

Your throat tightens. “Please! I didn’t— I didn’t do anything—” you stutter over your words.

He paused, the quiet of the night filling your ears. Your eyes stay on him, watching his every move. He lets the moment hang in the air, and your eyes finally connect.

His face is calm as he steps towards you, one moment he's several steps away. Next he's crouched down infront of you, close enough that you can feel the air shift around him.

It was cold and suffocating, like everything around him was holding its breath.

His hand lifts, and your instincts tell you to scream, to run to do something. But you can't, your body feels like it's glued to the ground.

He doesn't grab you, though, no, his hand gently lands onto your face, petting it like you would a stray cat.

You feel his sharp nail graze across your cheek, your body involuntarily shivering. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

His hand slides down to your cheek, and he gently presses the pad of his finger against your neck. You can feel your pulse beating against his finger; the hold is firm, but not enough to hurt.

He drags his fingers across your neck, reaching slowly until they stop at your pulse.

The pad of his finger presses harder into your neck.

You can feel your own pulse thumping against his finger; his hand stops, and presses deeper into your skin. His nail digs into the soft skin, causing a speck of blood to form.

You flinch from the pain, your heart feels like it'll jump right out of your chest, and you know he can tell. You look up at him, and his face is eerily calm.

"You've seen too much," his voice was monotoned, like he'd said that exact sentence one hundred times.

"I won't say anything! Please!" You cry out.

It's almost like he can't won't hear your pleas. You start thinking about the way your mother told you to be inside before dark, how you shouldve listened to her.

His eyes glow in the night, a deep ruby red that catches you off guard. For a moment, your mind quiets, your racing heart slowing under his gaze.

Then his hand lifts. Long fingers, nails sharp enough to tear through flesh with ease.

One finger comes to rest beneath your chin, tilting your head back. Gently, he parts your lips.

His other hand lowers, slow and deliberate.

Two drops of blood fall into your mouth, small enough to be seen, but not enough to be felt. He lets go just as smoothly, watching you.

A faint, satisfied curve settles on his lips.

“What have you done to me?!?” Your voice is hoarse as you speak.

The smirk dissipates from his face, replaced by a nonchalant expression.

“Ive changed you”

His palm comes to your face, and he pats it like you would pet a cat.

Then his body stills.

His fingers rest on your face, like he’s trying to feel for something wrong or incomplete. His eyes are now focused on your cheek, where his hand rests.

You watch his brows furrow like he’s thinking about something.

“You’re warm”

He’s not talking to you, more to himself. He’s watching his hand like it offended him in some way.

“Kokoshibo, feel her skin” the 6 eyed demon walks forward, gently placing a hand on your other cheek. Each of his eyes widen in shock? Surprise? You can’t tell.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” he mumbles in disbelief.

Their hands are cold on your cheek, you look up at them, trying to force your eyes to stay open.

What ever he did to you drained most of your energy. You see the leader motion one of the others over. “Akaza, carry her” he demands "She stays alive"

You black out as he reaches you.

Your eyes shoot open.

White.

That’s the first thing you notice, white walls, bare and unfamiliar. No windows. No light. Just a quiet that feels… different.

A groan slips past your lips as you push yourself up, your back protesting immediately, screaming at you to lie back down.

You pause, breath uneven, and bring a hand to your face, rubbing at your eyes.

The exhaustion is still there.

Heavy.

But… not right.

You slowly get out of the bed. The door is unlocked when you turn the knob. You immediately think it’s a trap, carefully you exit the room.

The hall was long and narrow, you tip toe down the hall, looking around each corner to see if anyone is there.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

You almost jump out of your skin, turning to the voice you quickly recognize him. It was one of the three demons there.

“Why am I here?” You question.

He smiles his colorful eyes shining as he does. “Muzan has an interest in you and I want to know why”

He steps closer and you step back, bracing yourself for anything. “Leave her alone, dumbass”

You turn around, and the other one is there. You remember hearing his name, but you can’t recall what it is.

The two demons start to argue, but it looks more like the white-haired one is enjoying the argument.

You look around while they're distracted, trying to find a way out. You see two doors; one of them is cracked open, so you assume the demon with the tattoos came out of it.

The other is shut. You slowly step back as they argue.

You creep back until your back hits the door. You find the knob; your eyes are still focusing on the two arguing.

You managed to open the door without them noticing, slipping into the room it’s dark.

You try feeling around for a switch or something, finally after what feels like forever you find one. Flipping the switch brights up the whole room.

You looks around, everything looks normal, like a regular room.

“Youre awake sooner than I expected”

The voice startles you, your head whips around and you see him. Sitting in the chair across the room, his legs crossed over each other and his hands in his lap.

“What do you want from me?” The question came out shaky.

He doesn't say anything at first he just stares at you. Then with one hand he ushers you closer, his pointer finger curling and uncurling.

You hesitate, too afraid of going closer.

“I’m a very patient man, but I’m only going to ask you once”

His voice was low, like he didn't want anyone to hear.

You moved closer for your safety, keeping your arms at your side and your head lowered.

He uncrosses his legs, his elbows resting in his thighs.

When you're close enough he grabs you pulling you into his lap. The speed of his movements surprised you, a gasp left your mouth before you could fully comprehend what happened.

“Youre different” he states. He says it like he isn't talking to you, more like he's confirming something he already knew.

His hands run slowly up and down your arms, like he's trying to embed the feeling into his mind.

“What do you mean?” You're voice is steady as you speak.

“…Youre warm” he starts. “Its unnatural”

Now that you think about it… He's right. His hands against your skin is cold, like he stuck his hands in ice.

The demon from earlier… Akaza, you felt it when he picked you up after you'd passed out.

You hadn't felt the coolness of them until then.

He doesn’t answer your question.

Instead, his gaze lingers a moment longer than necessary, measuring, calculating.

“…Interesting,” he murmurs at last.

Not approval. Not concern. A conclusion.

His hand withdraws from your skin, slow and deliberate, like you are no longer something requiring immediate examination.

“You’ll stay here,” he says simply, already turning away. “Until I decide otherwise.”

There is no invitation for argument.

No space for refusal.

And just like that, the air shifts, his presence reasserting control over the room, as if the conversation itself has been sealed.

You feel it then. Not danger.

Finality.

Your body grows heavier, exhaustion creeping back in like it was only waiting for permission.

The edges of the room begin to blur.

And the last thing you understand before everything slips away.

Is that you were never leaving.

Two years passed without you ever leaving his side.

He still looked at you like an experiment, something unresolved, something he hadn’t quite finished understanding.

But life in the estate had shifted, in small ways.

You’d changed things.

As one of the few women there, you’d slowly added touches of yourself to the space, softening what you could. Your room was the clearest example of that: decorated in the colors you’d always wanted back home, warm and familiar in a place that was neither.

Even the others had adjusted around you in their own ways.

You’d somehow managed to become… friends with Akaza. Or something close to it. He’d never admit it, of course, and he still acted like your presence was more tolerable than welcome, but he stayed anyway.

And Muzan… Muzan still watched.

Still analyzed.

Still waiting for something in you to finally make sense.

Kokoshibo usually stayed in his room, away from your “nonsense” as he’d call it. You never minded though, you only ever bothered him when you needed something from him.

And Douma… well, he rarely left your side. He always seemed curious about you, your habits, your traditions, the foods you preferred, like you were something fascinating he couldn’t quite categorize.

You never complained. In a strange way, you didn’t mind his company.

Even after two years, you still couldn’t fully fall asleep.

Life here was… comfortable, in its own strange way. You were taken care of, watched over more often than not.

And yet.

It was hard to forget that just two years ago, you had been human.

You laid back on the bed, your arms splayed out. The ceiling looked interesting tonight, it seems to be the only thing you find comforting.

The room was quiet in a way that felt too controlled to ever be called peaceful.

No wind slipping through cracks. No distant night sounds from outside. Just silence that had been carefully maintained, like even the world beyond your walls had been told to behave.

You exhaled slowly.

Even after two years, your body still didn’t fully understand rest here. Sleep came in fragments, light, restless, never deep enough to feel like escape.

Sometimes you wondered if it was you.

Or if it was the place.

A soft knock broke through the quiet.

Your gaze shifted toward the door, though you already knew before it opened who it would be.

The handle turned.

And the air in the room changed before he even stepped inside.

Muzan entered like he belonged everywhere and nowhere at once, calm, composed, as if your thoughts had simply paused to make space for him.

His eyes found you immediately.

“You’re still awake,” he said.

Not a question.

A fact he had already accounted for.

And suddenly, the ceiling didn’t feel quite as interesting anymore.

You nod.

He stood in the doorway, watching you, looking for any signs that you’re uncomfortable. Something he started doing last year when you hid how uncomfortable your kimono was.

Slowly, he entered fully, closing the door behind him.

He looked at you like he was unsure of your nod, when you looked at him his eyes look different, like they were searching for his next meal. You sit up on your elbows.

"Sit up," he said quietly.

You did, pushing yourself upright as he approached the bed. The mattress dipped slightly when he sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the cold radiating from him, a stark contrast to the warmth of your own skin.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing along your jawline with clinical precision.

"Soft," he murmured, more to himself than to you. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, then down to your throat where your pulse jumped beneath his touch. "Always warm. Even now."

His other hand moved to your shoulder, sliding the fabric of your kimono down slowly, deliberately, exposing your collarbone. His eyes followed the movement with that same analytical focus he always had, like you were a puzzle he hadn't quite solved.

"Tell me something," he said, his voice low and measured. "When you were a child, did you ever feel cold?"

The question caught you off guard. Your breath hitched as his fingers traced lower, skimming over your chest, circling one nipple through the thin fabric still covering you.

"I—what?"

"Answer me." His tone didn't change, but his hand stilled, waiting.

"Sometimes," you managed. "In winter. When—"

His fingers pinched lightly, and you gasped.

"Be specific." He pulled the fabric aside completely now, baring your breast to the cool air. His thumb brushed over your nipple, watching it harden under his touch. "What did the cold feel like?"

Your mind struggled to focus as his hand continued its exploration, sliding down your stomach, pushing the kimono open further.

"Like... like my fingers would go numb," you whispered. "My nose would hurt. I'd—ah—"

His hand had reached between your legs, cupping you through the last layer of fabric. He pressed firmly, his palm grinding against you with deliberate pressure.

"And now?" he asked, his eyes lifting to meet yours. "Do you feel cold now?"

"No," you breathed.

"No," he echoed, almost thoughtful. His fingers hooked into the fabric and pulled it aside, exposing you completely. "You never do."

The first touch of his fingers against your pussy made you jolt. He was cold, so cold it almost burned, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he explored slowly, methodically, his fingers sliding through your folds with clinical curiosity.

"You're wet," he observed, his tone unchanged, as if he were noting the weather. One finger circled your entrance, gathering the slickness there. "Your body responds like a human's would."

He pushed one finger inside you, and you couldn't stop the small sound that escaped your throat.

"But you're not human anymore," he continued, adding a second finger, stretching you. His thumb found your clit, pressing in slow circles. "So why do you still feel like this?"

You couldn't answer. Your hips moved against his hand involuntarily, seeking more friction, more pressure. He allowed it, watching your face with that same intense focus.

"Did anyone touch you like this before?" he asked suddenly. "When you were still human?"

Your eyes flew open. "Muzan—"

"Answer me." His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your back arch. "Did they?"

"No," you gasped. "No one—"

"Good." The word was soft, but there was something possessive in it, something that made heat coil tighter in your belly. His fingers moved faster now, pumping in and out of you with purpose. "Then I'm the only one who knows how warm you are inside."

The pressure built rapidly, your thighs trembling as his thumb worked your clit in tight circles. You were close, so close.

He pulled his hand away.

You made a sound of protest, but he was already moving, positioning himself between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, and then his mouth was on you.

The cold of his tongue against your pussy made you cry out. He licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, then focused there, circling and sucking with the same methodical precision he'd used with his fingers.

"Muzan" Your hands found his hair, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away.

He pulled back just enough to speak. "Tell me about your family."

"What?" Your voice was breathless, confused.

"Your parents." His tongue flicked against your clit. "Did they know you were different?"

"I don't—I don't understand—"

"Think." He pushed two fingers back inside you, his mouth returning to your clit. The dual sensation made coherent thought nearly impossible. "Your appearance barely changed when I gave you my blood. You still look human. Still act human." His fingers curled, and you gasped. "Why?"

You tried to focus, tried to remember through the haze of pleasure. "My mother... she said I never got sick. Not after—ah—"

"After what?" His fingers stilled inside you, waiting.

"After I was little," you managed, your voice shaky. "A baby. She told me I used to eat plants before she could stop me, flowers, grass, leaves, even dirt sometimes, all of it.”

His fingers resumed their movement, but slower now, more deliberate. "And then?"

"Then I never got sick again. My mother thought it was a blessing. That I was always warm to hold, always—oh god—"

"Interesting." He sucked hard on your clit, and your hips bucked against his face. His fingers pumped faster, curling with each thrust. "And your father? Did he notice?"

"He—he said I was like a little furnace—even in winter—"

"But you still cried like a human child, didn't you?" His voice was clinical even as his tongue worked against you. "Still laughed. Still felt fear and joy and all those fragile human emotions."

"Yes," you whimpered. "I was—I am—"

"You are an anomaly." His free hand gripped your thigh harder. "You sleep in fragments like a human. You personalize your space with colors and decorations. You form attachments." His fingers twisted inside you. "You react to pleasure exactly as a human would. So tell me, what was in that flower you ate?"

"I don't know—Muzan, please—"

"Please what?" He lifted his head, his chin glistening with your wetness. His eyes met yours, dark and calculating. "Tell me what you want."

"I need—" You couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't put words to the desperate ache building inside you.

"You need to cum?" His fingers slowed to an agonizing pace. "Say it."

"Yes," you whimpered. "Please, I need to cum."

"Then cum." His mouth returned to your clit, his fingers curling hard against that spot inside you, and the tension finally snapped.

Your orgasm crashed through you in waves, your pussy clenching around his fingers as pleasure whited out your vision. He didn't stop, working you through it until you were shaking, oversensitive, trying to close your legs against the intensity.

Only then did he pull away, sitting back on his heels. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting you with that same analytical expression.

"Still warm," he murmured. "Even here."

He stood, and you heard the rustle of fabric as he undressed. When he returned to the bed, he was naked, his dick hard and already leaking at the tip. He was as pale everywhere as you'd expected, his body lean and defined.

He positioned himself between your legs again, the head of his dick pressing against your entrance.

"Look at me," he commanded.

You did, meeting his eyes as he pushed inside you in one slow, deliberate thrust. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but your body accepted him, still slick and open from your orgasm.

He bottomed out with a soft exhale, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

"You're so fucking warm," he said, and there was something almost like wonder in his voice. "Like being inside a fire."

He pulled out slowly, then thrust back in harder. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. His skin was cold under your palms, such a stark contrast to the heat building between your legs.

"Did you ever imagine this?" he asked, his hips setting a steady rhythm. "When you were human, did you think about being fucked by a demon?"

"No," you managed. "I didn't—I didn't know—"

"You didn't know demons existed." He thrust harder, deeper. "You didn't know I existed. And now you're here, taking my dick like you were made for it."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he made a low sound of approval.

"That's it," he murmured. "Show me how much you want this."

His pace increased, each thrust driving you higher up the bed. One of his hands moved between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again. The added stimulation made you moan, your pussy clenching around him.

"Tell me," he said, his voice strained now. "When did you stop being afraid of me?"

The question cut through the haze of pleasure. You looked up at him, at the intensity in his eyes, and realized he genuinely wanted to know.

"I don't know if I ever stopped," you admitted breathlessly.

Something flickered across his face, satisfaction, maybe, or something darker.

"Good," he said. "You shouldn't."

He fucked you harder then, his control slipping just slightly. His thumb worked your clit in tight circles, and you felt yourself climbing toward another orgasm, faster this time.

"You're going to cum on my dick," he told you, his voice low and commanding. "I want to feel how tight your pussy gets when you come."

"Muzan—"

"Now."

The command pushed you over the edge. Your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, your whole body tensing as pleasure rolled through you in waves. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around his dick, and you heard him groan, the first truly uncontrolled sound he'd made.

His thrusts became erratic, chasing his own release. He buried himself deep inside you one final time, and you felt him come, his dick pulsing as he filled you with his cold seed.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. He stayed inside you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his forehead resting against your shoulder.

Then, slowly, he pulled out. You felt his cum leak out of you, warm from your body heat despite how cold it had been going in.

He lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest. His hand rested on your stomach, fingers splayed possessively.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable in a way it rarely was.

Finally, he spoke.

"Why do you think you still have human qualities?"

The question hung in the air. You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes already on you, studying your face.

"I don't know," you admitted quietly. "Your blood should have changed everything. Made me like you."

"It should have," he agreed. His fingers traced idle patterns on your skin. "But it didn't. Not completely."

"Do you have any theories?"

His expression was unreadable. "Several. None that make sense."

You waited, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, his hand moved to your chest, resting over your heart.

"Your heart beats like a human's," he said softly. "Steady. Warm. Alive in a way mine hasn't been for centuries."

"Is that why you keep me here?" you asked. "To study me?"

"Partly." His thumb brushed over your sternum. "But not entirely."

He didn't explain what he meant, and you didn't ask. Some questions, you'd learned, he wouldn't answer even if you pressed.

"We'll figure it out," he said finally, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Eventually."

"And if we don't?"

His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer against his cold body.

"Then you'll remain an anomaly," he murmured. "Mine to keep. Mine to understand."

The possessiveness in his voice should have frightened you. Maybe it did, a little.

But as you lay there in his arms, your warmth seeping into his cold skin, you couldn't quite bring yourself to pull away.

The question of why you were still warm lingered between you, unanswered.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—neither of you really wanted to find the answer.

You step closer, removing his jacket from his shoulders, folding it, and putting it to the side.

"But you're going to" his voice was calm.

He was right... you were.

You hide your smile, your hand lifting to rest against his head.

He immediately pushes it away, an irritated sigh slipping past his lips.

“Ciel,” you feign offense, voice soft, “don’t act like that.”

You bite back a giggle as he turns to look at you.

His eyes narrow, sharp, searching.

Not just annoyed.

Watching.

For a moment, it feels like he might say something more.

Instead, he clicks his tongue and turns back to his work.

“…You’re doing it again.”

Your brows lift. “Doing what?”

“That,” he mutters, pen pressing harder into the paper. “Acting as if—”

A knock cuts him off.

The tension snaps.

“Enter.”

The door opens smoothly, and Sebastian Michaelis steps inside.

“Good afternoon, my lady.”

You brighten instantly, turning toward him. “Oh—hi, Sebastian. How are you?”

A groan sounds from the desk. The groan lingers in the air, low and annoyed.

Sebastian's gaze flickers between the two of you, sharp and knowing, though the gentle smile never wavers.

"I trust everything is in order, my lord?" he asks smoothly.

Ciel doesn't look up. "Obviously," he says in that flat tone.

For a moment, no one says anything, the silence lingering for a beat.

"My lady," Sebastian continues, turning towards you, "Would you be so kind as to assist me in the hall for a moment?"

He says it so casually, like he just asked you to grab something for him.

You blink, a little surprised at his request. "Oh! of course."

You move to step away.

"Unnecessary."

Ciel's voice cuts in, quick.

Sebastian doesn’t miss a beat. “I assure you, it won’t take long.”

“I said it’s unnecessary,” Ciel repeats, this time looking up.

His eye flicks to you for just a second, brief, but pointed.

Like he’s expecting you to listen.

You hesitate. Not because you don't want to help Sebastian... but because of the way Ciel is looking at you.

You glance between them before speaking lightly, “It’s alright, I can go—”

“No.”

He says it too fast.

Ciel straightens slightly in his chair, his expression tightening as if he hadn’t meant for that to come out the way it did.

“…There’s no need,” he amends, quieter now. “You’re already here.”

A flicker of something passes through Sebastian’s eyes.

And you catch it.

Interest.

“Of course,” he hums. “Though I wouldn’t wish to interrupt…”

His gaze dips, ever so slightly, to where you stand closer to Ciel’s desk than usual.

“…whatever this is.”

Ciel’s jaw tightens.

“…It’s nothing.”

Sebastian’s smile deepens... barely. But you notice.

“Is that so?”

A loud crash echoes from somewhere outside.

It’s distant… but unmistakable.

Sebastian pauses. You pause. Ciel pauses.

You blink.

“…Was that...”

"Y/NNNN!" that unmistakable whine of finny cries out.

You sigh, putting your hand over your mouth.

Ciel closes his eyes, expression tightening immediately.

“…Unbelievable.”

You let out a small breath, already stepping back. “I should go check on that.”

This time, he doesn’t stop you. Not like before.

There’s a pause, like he might say something… but he doesn’t.

“…Go,” he mutters instead, dismissive. Already looking back down at his paperwork.

The garden takes longer than expected.

Between overturned soil, broken pots, and Finnian’s frantic apologies, the afternoon slips by quicker than you realize.

By the time everything is somewhat in order, the sun has already begun to set.

You step back into the manor, brushing dirt and debris from your uniform.

The halls are quieter now. When you reach his office, you knock this time.

A beat of silence.

"Enter"

You step inside, your eyes scanning the dark room for the boy. He's in the same position as before, still hunched over the desk, his eyes focused on the paper.

"You're late."

You pause slightly at that.

“I was helping with the garden.”

“…Obviously.”

His tone is flat.

You nod once, stepping inside, but you don’t move as close as before.

You don’t touch anything. Don’t reach for him. Just stand there.

Waiting.

You take an unsure step closer to him.

"Did I–"

“…If you’re quite finished with your unnecessary hovering,” Ciel says, voice cool, clipped, “you may return to your duties.”

The words land sharper than anything he’s said before.

For a moment, you don’t move.

Not because you don’t understand… but because you do.

Your fingers still slightly at your side, the instinct to reach for him fading before it can fully form.

“…Of course, my lord.”

Your voice is even. Polite.

Like it always is. Like nothing had changed.

You turn without another word, steps quiet as you make your way to the door.

No glance back.

The door clicks shut behind you with a soft finality.

You retire to your room, the room you decorated with pictures of you and Ciel. The pictures where he looks like a child and not a boy forced to be an adult.

You take a seat on your bed, the soft mattress engulfing your body.

You don't move, you sit there staring at the wall covered in pictures. Your hands in your lap, picking at the skin. A terrible habbit you got from your father.

Voices carry through the wall. Muffled, but clear enough.

“My lord.”

You don’t mean to listen.

You don’t move to stop yourself, either.

A pause.

Then, his voice.

“…What.”

You can hear the irritation in his voice, and your chest tightens just a little.

There’s a quiet shift on the other side. Then Sebastian speaks again, tone smooth as ever.

“It seems you’ve dismissed someone who was… rather attentive to your well-being.”

He lets the moment sit.

“She was being insufferable.”

The words linger in the air longer than they should.

On the other side of the wall, Sebastian Michaelis doesn’t respond right away.

He lets the silence stretch.

Lets it settle.

“…Is that so?” It’s mild. Almost idle.

A faint sound, paper shifting. The scratch of a pen that doesn’t quite continue.

“…She was distracting,” Ciel adds, more measured this time. “Hovering. Interfering with my work.”

Sebastian doesn't respond, doesn't agree, nor disagree.

Just… quiet.

And it’s that silence that does it.

Ciel’s pen stills completely. A beat passes.... then another.

“…She didn’t normally knock.”

It’s quieter now, and he's less certain of himself. As if the thought slipped out before he could stop it.

Sebastian hums, low.

“No, my lord. She did not.”

Another pause, longer this time.

“…And yet she did today.”

Ciel’s voice dips, something tightening beneath it.

His gaze flicks, brief, almost involuntary, to the door. To the space you’d been standing in not long ago. To the place you should be.

“…Tch.” A soft click of his tongue.

Irritated, but not at you... not entirely.

“…It’s quieter.”

The admission is barely there. Half-formed. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Sebastian notices anyway.

Of course he does.

“It would seem so, my lord.” That same calm tone.

Another stretch of silence.

“…She left quickly.”

There’s something off about the way he says it.

Like he expected... something else.

Sebastian’s voice lowers, just slightly. “It would appear she took your words to heart.”

That lands. You can hear it land.

Ciel doesn’t respond immediately... doesn’t dismiss it... doesn’t argue.

And for once, he has nothing to say.

“…You.”

His voice cuts through the quiet of your room. You hadn’t heard the door open, and you turn, a little startled.

There he is.

Ciel stands just inside the doorway, posture straight as ever, but there’s something… off.

Like he doesn’t quite belong there. Like, he didn’t think this part through.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

“You left.”

It's an observation he doesn’t know what to do with.

You tilt your head slightly, fingers brushing absently against the edge of one of the photographs on your wall.

“You told me to.”

It makes something in his expression tighten.

A brief pause.

“…You misunderstood.”

The words come out clipped, like they’ve been forced into something smaller than they were meant to be. You look at him properly now.

“I did?”

A beat.

His gaze shifts, just for a second, before settling back on you.

A small click of his tongue, annoyed, at himself.

“…I didn’t mean that you should stop.”

There it is, not an apology. Not directly.

But close enough that it lingers in the space between you.

You don’t move right away. Don’t rush to fill the silence. And for a second, he looks like he might turn and leave. Like this was already more than he intended to say.

But he stays.

So you step closer. Slow, careful.

Giving him time to pull away if he wants to, but he doesn’t.

Your hand lifts, fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve, smoothing a crease that isn’t really there.

A small, familiar gesture.

He tenses, just slightly.

Then he stills and allows it. “…You’re difficult,” he mutters under his breath.

There’s no real bite to it.

You smile, softer now. “And you’re exhausting.”

A quiet huff leaves him, not quite a laugh, but close.

Your hand lingers only a moment longer before dropping back to your side. Still, he doesn’t move away, doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t correct you.

“…Just this once,” he says after a moment, voice low.

But it doesn’t sound like a limit.

Not anymore.

"Welcome back, Ciel," you bow politely.

He pauses.

His eyes narrowed at you, sharp and suspicious.

"What have you done?"

You straighten your posture, a smile tugging at your lips. You shrug, turning to bow at the others.

"I haven't done anything, my lord." You try not to giggle at the face he's making. You take his coat from his shoulders and hang it on the rack behind the door.

For a moment, he stills, his blue eye lingering on you. He turns, handing Sebastian his cane. He steps forward, one singular step. You watch him examine your silhouette.

He surprises you with what he does next. He circles you, slowly, like he's trying to figure out what you've done.

But truly, you haven't done anything.

You had simply been in a good mood all day, helping Finny in the garden to sitting on the counter, and watching Baldroy meal prep and even having a small spa moment with Meyrin.

"Youre behaving strangely" he said flatly.

Behind him, Lau's smile deepened. Prince Soma looked between the two of you with open curiosity. And Ciel, despite the clear suspicion in his expression made no move to step away.

"I'm simply in a good mood," you smile at him, adjusting the strap of his eyepatch back across his ear.

A light shade of red crosses his face, firmly but gently he swats your hand away "Stop that"

You let out a soft laugh, moving over to Sebastian and taking his coat next. "Thank you, my lady," he says with a polite smile. You nod, turning your attention back to Ciel.

“All preparations are accounted for, are our guest staying for the night?” You ask.

Ciel rolls his eyes, a clear indicator he’s irritated.

He waves them off as he starts heading towards his room “I guess, s’not like they’ll leave anyway”

The halls were quiet, the manor finally settled into silence.

You made your way to Ciel’s room without knocking. It wasn’t unusual, he’d stopped enforcing that rule with you sometime ago, though he’d never admit it out loud.

The room was dim, lit by the soft glow of the candle burning on his desk.

He's still awake... Of course he was.

You pushed the door open further. He was sitting at his desk, hunched over, focused on paperwork.

There was a kind of stiffness to his shoulders as he worked, a subtle tension that hadnt been there earlier.

“You should be asleep,” he muttered, not looking up.

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you stepped further into the room, closing the door quietly behind you. Your eyes flicked over the scene, unfinished documents, ink slightly smeared, the way his hand paused just a second too long between lines.

He was tired.

"You've been working all evening," you say softly.

He doesn't turn "I'm aware."

His tone was sharp, tired, but soft.

You move closer, your steps soft and slow. When you finally reach him, you gently pull the paper from his hands. Sitting it in a neat pile off to the side.

He doesn't object, his eyes trained on you as you move things aside.

“…You’re still doing it,” he says.

“Doing what?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely with his pen, finally glancing up at you. “Whatever this is.”

You hum lightly, stopping at his side.

“I told you,” you smile, softer now, “I’m just in a good mood.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

Your hand lifts before you can stop it this time, fingers brushing lightly against his hair, smoothing a piece that had fallen out of place. Ciel freezes, but he doesn't pull away.

“You’ve overworked yourself,” you murmur.

There’s a pause.

A long one.

“…Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.”

But there’s no bite to it.

Well... not the usual amount.

Your hand lingers only a second longer before pulling away, giving him space, an out, if he wanted it.

He doesn’t take it.

Instead, his gaze drops back to the neatly stacked paper.

“…You missed a spot,” you add gently, pointing to where ink had smudged beneath his hand.

A quiet huff leaves him, something between irritation and reluctant acceptance.

“…Then fix it.”

It’s dismissive.

But not a rejection.

Not tonight.

You don't comment on it.

Instead, you reach for a cloth, wetting it just a little before gently taking his hand. Your touch is careful as you clean the ink from his skin.

He watched you the entire time, silent and still.

“You’re making a mess of yourself,” you murmur, almost absentminded.

“…It’s ink,” he replies flatly.

“And it’s everywhere.”

A faint pause.

“…Hn.”

Once you're finished, you set the cloth aside and dust off your dress; your gaze drifts back to him.

He looks... almost smaller like this. Like a normal child, and not a child forced to be an adult.

You bask in the moment, watching him, until you feel it's long enough and that he needs to get into his bed.

"Come on," you say quietly.

His brows knit.

“I’m not finished—” you cut him off, “You are.”

It’s gentle.

But firm.

That seems to catch him more than anything else you’ve done tonight.

For a moment, it looks like he might argue.

Instead… he exhales.

A quiet, reluctant sound.

“…You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re exhausted.”

You offer your hand.

He stares at it like it’s something foreign.

Then, after a brief pause, he pushes his chair back and stands on his own, brushing past you with what little dignity he can muster.

He lets you lead him to the bed, his eyes low and his steps slow. He leans against you as you both walk. You wrap your arm around his shoulder.

He sits when you prompt him to, movements less precise than usual. You pull back the covers, and he doesn't comment on it, just settles in with a quiet shift, turning onto his side.

You move to pull the blanket over him when he speaks.

"You're doing it again."

You glance at him.

His eye is half-lidded, watching you through the dim light.

“That thing,” he mutters. “Acting… strange.”

There’s no real accusation behind it now.

Just… observation.

You soften slightly.

“Maybe,” you admit.

Carefully, you pull the covers up to his shoulders, smoothing them down.

“But you didn’t stop me.”

A small crease forms between his brows, like he wants to respond, but whatever argument he had fades before it reaches his lips.

Instead, he turns his face slightly into the pillow, voice quieter now, rough with sleep.

“…Just this once.”

Your hand lingers briefly against his hair, gentler now, smoothing it back one last time.

He doesn’t swat you away.

Doesn’t even react.

And within moments, his breathing evens out completely.

You watch him for a second longer, something soft settling in your chest before you finally step back.

The candlelight dims as you lower it, the room slipping into quiet shadow.

And for once

So is he.

Once he's asleep you blow out the candle, the room becoming dark, you exit the room as quietly as you came in.

"You did well"

You hear footsteps behind you, turn, and see Sebastian standing there, a handheld candle in his hand. You smile at his praise. "Thank you, Sebastian."

He holds his arm out for you to take.

You take it, and he leads you down the hall. "I'm glad he's comfortable with me," you whisper.

"As am I."

Part 2