Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything.

-simula

He wasn't like any other.

He was Ciel Phantomhive. He wasn't some bratty rich kid who blindly believed in hope and faith and a bright future; he was someone who only knew what was possible and what wasn't. He was someone who valued reality and practicality more than simple and plain optimism.

He was Ciel Phantomhive.

It was because he was Ciel Phantomhive that your curiosity was peaked. It was because he was Ciel Phantomhive that you did what you did.

Unfair, you think to yourself, as you smirk in the darkness alone. It wasn't even his fault that he was like that. Then again, you laugh, life has never been truly fair anyway.

And now here he is. On your throne, his legs folded in a highly aristocratic fashion, his hands on the armrest, looking like the overseer of the whole world and there is nothing more you wish for but to be able to serve this god forever.

But as you look a little closer, you see the spark in his eyes vanish.

You sigh inwardly as you finally notice that the Ciel Phantomhive that sits on your throne, whose legs are folded in a highly aristocratic fashion, whose hand are on the armrest, looking like the overseer of the whole world –your entire universe- is nothing but an empty shell of the Count Phantomhive you worshipped as your own personal god.

You reach for they boy occupying your seat and divest him off of the clothes you painstakingly picked out and arranged for him.

Ah, what pale porcelain skin.

Perfection never came as close as this young, vulnerable boy pliant underneath you.

"Bocchan."

The boy doesn't reply and you know this so you make a mental note to reflect further on your stupidity later.

You carry the boy in your arms, neither of you cold from being naked to the skin.

You tuck him in a four-poster bed you made and bid him good night.

You blow off the candles.

And tomorrow, you'll do this all over again.

-wakas

[hell]