May 26, 2015

When Sebastian had a bad day, he liked to kill.

For humans, this would be very unusual and unsettling behavior. Those kind of people were rare, and when they did sprout up, almost instantly they were locked up, labelled as a threat to others.

But to a devil like Sebastian, this behavior was normal. Expected, even.

Hence the reason Sebastian was in a grocery store now, soaking the numbered aisles with a dark, dark red.

"Clean up on aisle five," he called, a smirk ever present on his face as he strolled through the store, the bloodied bodies he left behind like a trail of bread crumbs. He flung another butter knife- something he had picked up in the kitchenware section- at a rather pudgy human, and she collapsed to the floor, scream silenced before it could begin.

There were other screams, though, and each one made Sebastian's smirk widen. Once those shouts and yells reached their peak, he was looking forward to silencing them, too.

"Why?!" a human cried to his left, voice torn with terrified sobs. Upon closer look, Sebastian realized this must be the manager, judging by the name tag on his vest. "W-what the hell, man? Are you a terrorist or somethin'?"

"A terrorist? Why, of course not."

"Then why?" The manager looked desperately at him. "Look, if you want something, just take it! You want money? I can do that for ya-"

"No, I am not one for materialistic possessions," Sebastian said. Without a second glance, he ran his fist straight through the manager's chest. The body slid off his fingertips and onto the tiled floor. "What I want is something you don't have in stock, unfortunately."

No one had he wanted. What he wanted was, like rotten eggs, long past expired.

Unconsciously, he fingered the Phantomhive pin on his chest, lost in dusty memories. A boy, with eyes that glowed like stars and skin that felt like Heaven's clouds. Limbs weaved together in bed; sweet kisses and gentle touches exchanged beneath the covers. A scarlet sickness, ruining everything.

He remembered the day it had fallen apart. It had been more than a hundred years ago, but he remembered. He wished he didn't.

"Sebastian," Ciel had said, his tone weary, "stop reading and get over here. I'm cold."

The boy was indeed shivering; thin shoulders trembled beneath the blankets he was cocooned in. But the butler stifled the urge to comfort his master and kept reading the medical book spread out before him. "I don't understand. I'm doing everything correctly, so why are you still sick, young master?"

Ciel huffed out a sigh. An instant later, it turned into a violent cough. "Don't- don't ask me."

"Scarlet fever . . ." Gloved fingers tightened on the bridge of Sebastian's nose. "This is not good."

"You think I don't know that?" Ciel snapped. "It's been more than a week, Sebastian, and it still hasn't passed. Do you realize what this means . . .?" His eye was big, round with a twinge of fear.

They both knew what it meant, but neither planned on voicing it. That made it all too real.

"You said you were cold, master?" Sebastian said instead, dodging the question."I'll get you some more blankets-"

"No, idiot, I want you. Come here."

Sebastian relented, unable to resist. He was never good at saying no to his little lord.

After settling in the bed with the ill boy, Sebastian wrapped his arms around his waist, his touch gentle, as if he were handling fine china. Ciel sighed and closed his eyes, seemingly content. "Mmm. That feels nice . . . Much better than a blanket."

"I'm glad to hear that," Sebastian murmured as he traced circles into the boy's back. "Does anything hurt? Any pain-?"

"Shut up," Ciel said, and gave the demon's lips a peck. "Stop worrying."

Nonetheless, he continued to observe the boy; his labored breaths, his slowing pulse, his glazed eyes. His blotchy neck, littered with red rashes and blemishes. If he were to look under Ciel's nightgown, he knew he would find the same spots on his chest and back, and his throat constricted.

Ciel's condition was getting no better despite all of Sebastian's effort. He had read book after book on Scarlet fever, called in doctor after doctor . . .

Why couldn't he save the one he loved?

"Sebastian," Ciel mumbled, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Yes, my lord?" His voice was as hollow as a freshly dug grave.

Another heartbreaking cough burst out of Ciel's throat, and Sebastian rubbed his back, immediately concerned. With every cough, every whimper, Sebastian thought he just might fall apart. "Stay . . . with me until I fall asleep."

If Sebastian wasn't lying in bed, he would've given a bow to solidify his loyalty to his master, his lover. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

And so he stayed. As if to remind the earl of his presence, he pressed kisses over his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. He kissed the crook of his neck, lips skimming the faint pulse he found.

He held him until he fell asleep.

He held him until he stopped breathing, too.

When Sebastian came back to himself, he rocked slightly on his heels, fingers curling. He had thought back to that fateful day more than once, and it never ceased to affect him like his very own poison.

Emotion clogged his throat, and he swallowed hard, grimacing. The screaming and cries flooded his ears again, but this time they didn't bring a smile to his face.

"This is why I hate having a bad day," he grumbled, willing his feet to move again. The only times he was in a bad mood was when memories of him were particularly strong, as they were today. On those days, he was weak. But demons weren't weak, so he occupied his mind with murder instead.

The store was in chaos. The people who hadn't escaped the store yet were running around like ants, food forgotten. The sight was quite amusing to the demon.

He had to walk with care, now; in the humans' haste, fallen food and drink had spilled over the tiles. He stepped over a box of fallen cookies, frowning. At this rate, he might get his dress shoes dirty . . .

One thing that hadn't changed after all the years was Sebastian's attire. Despite his young master's death, thus ending his act as a butler, he never stopped wearing the tailcoat, dress shoes, or the white gloves. He hadn't changed his name, either.

And he was still deadly efficient, centuries later. Within minutes, he had killed the rest of the humans in the store, losing himself in the blood and bone and torn flesh. If that wasn't efficient, he thought, he didn't know what was.

Satisfied, Sebastian straightened. Bodies surrounded him, as did blood. Seemingly never ending blood, pooling around his feet and seeping into his clothing. Somewhere in his frenzy, he had forgotten about keeping himself clean.

Clang.

Sebastian's head perked up. He hadn't killed everyone after all.

He heard a small whimper and smirked. From the sound of it, there was a young human still alive. A teenager, perhaps.

"I can hear you," Sebastian said, loud enough for the human to hear. He strolled towards where he had heard the noise, at ease. "It's like you're asking to be killed, human."

A sharp gasp, and then Sebastian heard running footsteps. "You can't run," he called. "But I do so enjoy a game of cat and mouse . . ."

Stepping over a fallen flat screen, Sebastian followed the human's scent, lips curving up with one sniff. This human smelled . . . delicious.

"I think I'll have your soul," Sebastian said, and turned a corner to the next aisle, where the human's scent was strongest. He stopped at the shelves of toilet paper and crouched down. "You don't mind, do you?"

There, sandwiched between two large packages of toilet paper on the bottom shelf, was the human boy he had been seeking. Sebastian had been right; he looked to be in his teens, perhaps seventeen.

Wide blue eyes gazed into his own, so close that Sebastian could see the lashes rimming them.

Why are these eyes so familiar? Why . . .

Ashen hair framed the boy's delicate features, and Sebastian's blood ran icy.

No.

His skin was as pale as snow, and Sebastian thought about days when'd he pressed his lips to that skin, traced his mouth over a body of slim and delicate curves.

Not possible . . . Or is it?

"C . . . Ciel?" His voice was weak as a whisper. "Is that you?"

Frantically the boy pushed himself back into the wall. "H-How do you know my name?" He reached into his pocket, brought out a switchblade, and flicked it open. His hands shook around it. "D-Don't get any closer!"

One word from the boy, and he knew.

It's him.

He was slightly different from the boy Sebastian had known; he was older, taller, not as fearless. Not as broken. This boy hadn't experienced tragedy like his Ciel had.

But it was still him.

Sebastian's arms trembled, fingertips twitching. They began to rise, ever so slowly, as if the boy would disappear at the faintest movement. But he had to touch him, ensure that he was real-

"Don't touch me!" Ciel cried, knuckles whitening on the knife. "I'll- I'll do it! I'll kill you!"

But he couldn't touch him. His hands slackened. This boy, if he wasn't a ghost here to taunt him, was a reincarnation of Ciel Phantomhive. He wouldn't have memories of a burning mansion, or a butler in black.

If he enveloped him in an embrace, held him so tight he couldn't breathe- he knew how much that would scare his former master. After all, he had just killed an entire grocery store full of people.

He looked down at his gloved hands, at the blood smears smattering them like paint. He had the hands of a murderer. What he doing, trying to touch this new, untainted Ciel with hands like these?

"Why the hell are you crying?" Ciel said, nose crinkling as he frowned. "What kind of killer are you?"

Sebastian hadn't even noticed the tears warming his face. "I'm sorry."

Ciel was silent, lips parted. Sebastian couldn't—wouldn't—take his eyes off of him. "What?" Ciel finally said. "Are you honestly asking for forgiveness? After killing so many people?"

"No. Not about that." Sebastian had never needed to breathe, but now he was all but gasping for air. "To you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you . . . young master."

He looked at Sebastian like he was insane, eyes round with fear.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Sebastian whispered, voice tender. He looked down at the boy and thought of another first meeting, one with a desperate child in his cage, reaching through metal bars to take the devil's hand.

Sebastian offered a gloved hand.

"Ciel Phantomhive," he said, meeting his gaze, "you may not know me, but I know you. I was once faithful to you and only you, and I still am. I once promised you revenge. In return, you promised me your soul."

The boy's pulse throbbed at his throat, and a gasp escaped him.

"Now is different. Now, I don't want your soul. I want your heart."

Ciel's eyes darted to the hand outstretched in front of him. He said nothing. Sebastian pressed his free hand to his heart, fell into a bow.

"Ciel, if you have the slightest memory of me, no matter how small, take my hand. If you want me to be at your side again, take my hand, and I will be there. If you want to have another lifetime together, a longer one, take my hand."

He knew how slim the chances were. Reincarnated souls did not tend to regain memories of previous lifetimes. Ciel was most likely terrified-

"Something that is lost shall never return."

The words were quiet, hesitant; Sebastian wasn't even sure if Ciel truly said them. That is, until Ciel raised his head, and said, "Looks like I was wrong."

Ciel took his hand.