Scuttling to oblivion

The afternoon heat settled over the Phantomhive estate like a heavy velvet curtain.

Even the roses lining the garden looked exhausted.

Bard had abandoned every complaint about polishing silver in favor of dramatically fanning himself with a serving tray. Finny looked ready to wilt beside the vegetables despite insisting he was "completely fine." Mey Rin had already dropped two glasses because her hands kept slipping.

You, meanwhile, looked exactly as you always did. Long sleeves. Stockings.

Your skirt reached well below your knees instead of the shorter summer uniform Tanaka had quietly placed in everyone's rooms days ago.

"You'll faint before sunset," Bard grumbled.

"I won't."

"You've said that three times."

"Because it's still true."

Sebastian passed behind the conversation carrying a polished tea set as if the weather had signed a contract not to inconvenience him.

Crimson eyes drifted toward you for only a second. Long enough to notice the longer sleeves and the careful way you tugged them lower whenever they shifted.

The estate finally fell silent once Ciel declared he had urgent work waiting in his study, though everyone with even half a brain knew he was most likely sitting in perfect silence with a slice of cake.

You escaped outside with a basket of freshly washed linens balanced on your hip.

The breeze was weak, though at least it existed.

You reached for the clothesline.

"So."

You nearly dropped the basket.

Sebastian stood beneath the shade of an old oak tree, one gloved hand resting against the trunk.

"I wondered how long it would take before you startled me today," you sighed.

"My apologies."

His expression suggested the exact opposite.

"You've been watching me."

"I observe everyone."

"You observe me more."

"...Perhaps."

That answer came far too easily. You frowned at him before returning to hanging sheets.

"You should be inside," he said.

"So should you."

"I don't overheat."

"Show off."

A quiet chuckle escaped him.

"You, however, are very warm."

"I'm fine."

"Hm."

Silence settled again but is was far from uncomfortable.

Sebastian rarely filled empty moments just for the sake of noise. After another minute he spoke again.

"May I ask you something?"

"You usually do regardless."

"True."

Another sheet fluttered between you.

"Why do you refuse lighter clothing?"

Your fingers froze. Your eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by the realization that he even noticed something like that

"I don't."

"You do."

"I just..."

"You declined the summer uniform."

You kept your eyes on the linen.

"I preferred this one."

"It is considerably thicker."

"I know."

"You wear cardigans during your free afternoons."

"...Yes."

"I have yet to see your forearms uncovered."

You laughed nervously.

"You're making it sound like a mystery novel."

"It has become one."

You shook out another towel harder than necessary.

"It isn't important."

"It is to me."

That made you stop.

You looked over your shoulder.

"...Why?"

He tilted his head ever so slightly.

"Because something troubles you."

His voice remained calm.

"I dislike unanswered questions."

"There it is."

"What?"

"The butler answer."

"I am a butler."

"No. You're avoiding saying you're worried."

One elegant eyebrow lifted.

"Am I?"

"You are."

A tiny smile curved his lips.

"You continue to be observant."

You looked away before the warmth creeping into your face could become obvious.

"It doesn't matter."

"If it truly did not matter, you would have answered already."

"..."

"You are hiding."

You sighed.

"...I'm just uncomfortable."

"With the weather?"

"With myself."

His gaze remained steady.

"I see."

"No, you don't."

Another moment of silence before he walked closer.

"What part of yourself?"

You laughed softly.

"It sounds ridiculous.... and dumb."

"I assure you, humans have confessed stranger things."

You stared down at your sleeves.

"...I don't like my body. So..." you continued, "...I cover it."

"The heat?"

"I'd rather melt."

He waited.

You hated that patient silence.

It always convinced you to keep talking.

"I'm not... thin."

"As I have noticed."

"I have stretch marks."

"I see."

"I don't like my legs."

"Hm."

"My arms aren't exactly..." You gestured vaguely. "Elegant."

"You've been around beautiful people."

"I work in a mansion."

"Indeed."

"Mey Rin is pretty. Lady Elizabeth is beautiful and always dressed up. Even the women visiting the estate look perfect."

Your voice became quieter.

"I don't."

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then Sebastian asked something entirely unexpected.

"Have you ever seen a marble statue before?"

"...What?"

"A simple question."

"Yes."

"They are admired because they are smooth."

"I suppose."

"And a rose?"

"What about it?"

"It grows with uneven petals."

You blinked.

"It is admired anyway."

"Sebastian..."

"A cat missing half an ear."

You couldn't help smiling.

"Very specific."

"I've met several."

"They're adorable."

"They are.'

His eyes softened lightly.

"No one worthy of admiration ever demanded perfection from them."

You looked at him.

"So why," he asked quietly, "do you demand it from yourself?"

That question landed far harder than expected.

"I just..."

You swallowed.

"I don't want people looking."

"They already do."

Your stomach dropped.

"...What?"

"They notice that you are kind."

He stepped closer.

"They notice you help Finnian whenever he breaks another rake."

"I don't keep count."

"I do."

His lips twitched.

"They notice you always leave tea for Mey Rin after difficult mornings."

"I..."

"They notice your laughter reaches the kitchens before you do."

Your eyes stung.

"They notice you. Not just your body."

You stared at him.

"...You really think that?"

"I know it."

He looked almost amused.

"You humans are fascinating."

"Why?"

"You can catalogue every imagined flaw."

He gently folded one of the linens you'd hung crooked.

"...Yet become completely blind to everything lovely."

Your laugh came out watery.

"You make it sound easy."

"I did not say it was easy."

He turned toward you.

"It will take time."

"...Probably."

"You may continue wearing long sleeves."

"I know."

"I have no intention of forcing you otherwise."

Relief loosened something in your chest.

"But..."

You smiled weakly.

"There it is."

"But I would prefer," he continued, "that you stop believing you must earn the right to exist comfortably."

Before you could answer, the peaceful moment shattered. A loud crash echoed through the open kitchen window.

Glass.

Then another noise.

"...Mey Rin!"

Bard's voice carried across the courtyard with the unmistakable tone of someone who had just witnessed another small disaster.

"I didn't mean to!" came Mey Rin's panicked reply.

A second later something metallic clattered to the floor. You winced instinctively.

"...That sounded expensive."

Sebastian closed his eyes for the briefest moment.

"It usually is."

Another voice drifted outside.

" Mey Rin, please don't touch anything else!" Finnian pleaded.

"...Too late!"

A third crash followed.

You couldn't help laughing.

Sebastian let out the faintest sigh, though there was no real annoyance behind it.

"It appears my presence is required."

"You think?"

"I have developed an unfortunate talent for preventing this estate from collapsing."

"You make it sound like a full time occupation."

"It is."

He turned toward the house, then paused.

Just for a second. His eyes met yours again.

The city's main library never really felt like a library.

Not in the way people expected, anyway.

There were no dim corners that smelled of neglect or towering shelves that dared visitors to keep their voices down. Instead, warm light poured through the enormous windows, settling over polished wood and impossibly comfortable armchairs. Somewhere near the café, milk steamed with a familiar hiss, vanilla and fresh espresso weaving themselves into the ever present scent of paper and ink. It was the kind of place where people came looking for a single book and somehow left three hours later with a latte, an overstuffed tote bag, and a brand new fictional obsession.

Most days, the loudest thing in the building was the quiet excitement of someone discovering their next favorite story.

You were stationed behind the circulation desk, animatedly recommending your latest obsession to a college student whose arms were already full of books.

"No, see, everyone's distracted by the dragons," you said, tapping the colorful cover with a grin. "They're great, don't get me wrong. But they're not the point. The magic works because the characters do. You fall in love with them first, then suddenly you're emotionally invested in whether someone can summon lightning."

The girl nodded so enthusiastically you worried her head might come loose.

"That actually sounds amazing."

"It is amazing."

"Ahem."

You didn't even need to look up. You sigh, already knowing where this will go.

Sebastian had perfected that particular throat clear. Precise. Polite. Just loud enough to announce his presence and his impending disagreement.

He stood beside the desk, immaculate as always. Charcoal waistcoat, crisp white shirt with the sleeves folded neatly to his forearms, and a thoroughly worn copy of Wuthering Heights resting in one hand as though it belonged in a museum.

"I hesitate to interrupt," he said smoothly, which meant he absolutely did not, "but describing dragons as secondary seems... generous."

You sighed with theatrical patience.

"Here we go."

Sebastian turned his full attention to the girl.

"If you wish to experience genuine emotion," he said, "I might recommend something that has survived two centuries without requiring enchanted soul bonds or winged reptiles."

You pressed a hand dramatically against your chest.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I merely question whether glitter and destiny qualify as literary merit."

"And I question why every classic you recommend ends with someone miserable, dead, or wandering across a moor in the rain."

"They usually have excellent reasons."

"They desperately need therapists."

The student snorted before quickly trying to hide it behind one of the books.

Sebastian's mouth twitched.

"A modern solution to timeless problems."

"You say that like emotional repression is a personality trait."

"It has served literature remarkably well."

"It has served therapy remarkably well."

The student looked between the two of you with unmistakable delight. A few others nearby turned their heads, already used to the debate but still enjoying the show.

"I swear," the student laughed, "I come here as much for the recommendations as I do to watch you two argue."

"We're not arguing," you and Sebastian answered at exactly the same time.

A beat passed.

"...See?" you muttered.

The student wandered happily toward the fantasy shelves, hugging their growing stack of novels.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, you reached for a pile of returned books, pretending to reorganize them.

"You undermine me on purpose," you said without looking up.

"I refine your recommendations."

"You call them fairy tales."

"They are fairy tales."

"They're excellent fairy tales."

"They remain fairy tales."

You shot him a look.

"You know, one day someone's going to ask for a lighthearted beach read and you're going to hand them Crime and Punishment."

"I would never."

You blinked.

"I'd recommend Austen first."

That caught you so completely off guard you laughed. You shook your head softly.

Sebastian regarded you for a quiet moment, something softer settling behind the usual amusement in his expression.

"You are particularly enthusiastic today."

"I'm always enthusiastic."

"That is true." His voice carried the faintest hint of amusement. "Today, however, you appear especially determined to rescue fantasy literature from my influence."

"It needs defending."

"Does it?"

"From you? Constantly."

He glanced toward the windows where the evening sun had begun turning gold, the library slowly emptying as closing time approached.

"I've been considering something."

"Oh?"

"You have spent months insisting these novels possess remarkable depth."

"They do."

"You've also informed no fewer than twenty seven patrons that I simply fail to appreciate them."

"I stand by that statement."

"I suspected you might."

His gaze settled on yours again, calm and impossible to read.

"So...".

The single word was enough to make you pay attention.

"The library closes in an hour."

"I know."

"Join me for dinner afterward."

You stared at him like he just grew a second head. Sebastian continued as though inviting colleagues to dinner over literary disagreements was perfectly ordinary.

"You may use the opportunity to explain, in exhaustive detail if necessary, precisely why romantasy deserves shelf space beside the classics."

You folded your arms.

"So this is..."

"A discussion."

"A date."

"If you insist."

"A date disguised as literary criticism?"

For the first time all afternoon, Sebastian looked almost caught off guard.

A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"If calling it that improves your argument, you're welcome to."

You narrowed your eyes.

"That wasn't a denial."

"I simply dislike wasting perfectly good dinners."

"You are unbelievable."

"I've been told."

There was just enough warmth in his voice to betray him.

You sighed with exaggerated reluctance.

"...Fine."

His smile grew by a fraction.

"I'll make the reservation."

"You were already going to, weren't you?"

"I had hoped your taste in restaurants was somewhat better than your taste in books."

You laughed despite yourself.

"You are paying."

"A reasonable condition," Sebastian replied smoothly. "Consider it an investment in broadening my literary horizons."

"You are absolutely impossible."

The rain wasn't just falling. It was attacking the glass. Heavy, fat droplets slammed against the bedroom window like a barrage of tiny stones, a rhythmic, violent drumming that made your skin crawl. Every few seconds, the world outside would vanish into a blinding, strobe light flash of white, followed immediately by a low, gut shaking rumble of thunder that seemed to vibrate right through your mattress and into your very bones. You were curled into a tight ball under the heavy blanket, the fabric clutched so hard in your hands that your knuckles were white. Your breath was coming in shallow, jagged hitches and your heart was a frantic bird trapped in your chest, fluttering uselessly against your ribs.

The bedroom door eased open just enough to let the warm light from the hallway spill across the floor.

You barely noticed. What you did notice were the footsteps.

Measured. Unhurried. Familiar enough that your racing mind recognized them before the rest of you did. Sebastian had a way of moving through the world as though nothing could ever truly unsettle him. Not even a storm that had you curled beneath the blankets.

""I see we've chosen the blanket as our first line of defense."

The scent of rain followed him into the room, and despite yourself, your shoulders eased just a fraction.

Sebastian sounded far too entertained.

You heard the quiet click of the bedroom door before the mattress shifted beneath his weight. His coat still carried the cool scent of rain as he settled beside you. Outside, thunder cracked so loudly the windows trembled, and despite your best efforts, your shoulders jerked with another involuntary flinch.

"Not a particularly effective strategy," he observed lightly, "but an understandable one, I suppose."

"I'm not hiding," you managed to mumble into your pillow, though your voice was a little too shaky to be convincing. "I'm... strategizing. From a position of safety."

A soft, huffed laugh escaped him, and then you felt the bed shift again as he moved up beside you. He didn't hesitate, sliding his arm beneath the blanket to pull you closer to his side. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to the chilly air of the room and as he tucked you against his chest, the frantic rhythm of your heart began to slow, lulled by the steady, powerful thrum of his own. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the crown of your hair, his breath warm against your scalp.

"Strategizing?" Sebastian echoed, one brow lifting as he settled beside you. "What a charitable way of describing this."

"I'm not hiding."

"No?" His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "Curious. Because from where I'm sitting, you appear to have declared war on a blanket."

"It's loud."

"It is."

"And the lightning."

"Mhm."

"And the thunder."

"Also present."

You frowned up at him.

"You're enjoying this."

"A little."

You made an offended noise, burying your face against his shoulder as another crack of thunder rattled the windows.

"There it is again," you mumbled.

"There it is."

"You are completely impossible."

"So I've been told."

His hand drifted slowly along your back, warm and unhurried, until your breathing wasn't quite so uneven anymore. Then, naturally, he ruined the moment.

"I do find humans endlessly fascinating."

"...That's never followed by anything nice."

"It rarely is." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You tremble at a thunderstorm, yet every evening you willingly climb into bed beside a literal demon."

You looked up at him.

"When you put it like that..."

"It does raise questions."

"You've never tried to eat me."

"Not yet."

You stared at him. Your brain needed a moment to process that.

"...Sebastian."

His smile widened by the smallest fraction.

"I'm joking."

"...Were you?"

"I'll allow you to wonder."

You groaned dramatically, earning a soft chuckle.

"You really should be far more suspicious of me than the weather."

"The weather is trying to kill me."

"The weather is making noise." His thumb traced a lazy circle against your side. "I'm the one who knows every weak spot you possess."

"Oh?"

"Mhm."

His voice dipped into something impossibly smooth.

"I know precisely where to touch if I want you to stop pouting."

Before you could ask what he meant, his fingers slipped lightly against your waist.

You squealed.

"Sebastian!"

"There it is."

"No!"

"There it is again."

His fingers danced over your sides with infuriating precision, earning another burst of helpless laughter as you twisted beneath the blankets, trying and utterly failing to escape.

"You monster!"

"I've been remarkably transparent about that."

"Stoooop!"

"I believe," he mused as he effortlessly caught your wrist before you could shove him away, "this is considerably more effective than telling you not to think about the thunder."

Another rumble rolled outside.

You barely noticed it.

Instead you were too busy laughing into his shoulder while Sebastian watched you with unmistakable satisfaction.

"There we are," he murmured, finally relenting as his hand settled gently at your waist again. "Much better."

"You are awful."

"And yet," he said, pressing a light kiss into your hair, "you seem rather fond of keeping me around."

"I have my reasons to keep you." you mumbled, trying to sound dignified despite the remnants of laughter in your voice.

Another roll of thunder echoed through the house, lower this time, lingering just long enough to make your fingers curl instinctively into the fabric of his shirt. Sebastian noticed this of course. Without another teasing remark, he simply drew you a little closer, one arm settling securely around your waist while he pressed another kiss to the crown of your head.

"I'm certain you do."

"The storm will pass," he murmured against your hair. "Until then, it will have to contend with me."

You let out a quiet huff that almost became a laugh.

"...You're talking about the weather like it's an opponent."

"It is making my human uncomfortable."

There was something almost offended in the way he said it.

"I can't have that."