Title and summary both suck, by the way.

Just for the record, I love Sebastian/Ciel to death. But emotionless Sebastian, if slightly OOC, is very interesting too… plus he's kind of a smartass jerk most of the time anyway. So yes. Enjoy this drabble that was messily thrown together in about 30 minutes.

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No matter what kind of game he tries to play, he can never fool you.

You must give him some credit; not very much disturbs your Young Master, your child king. The world is his chessboard and the people his pawns, and you are lucky to be valued more. (Ah, but they have no clue just how very lucky you are…)

The rest of them can fall and he will not care- this is what Ciel likes to insist.

But being one hell of a butler, you notice things. Some days he fails to take the bait, like when you tell him he's drinking Earl Grey tea when you both know he isn't; you're just so obnoxiously competent that there is never any real reason to correct you unless you create one on purpose. Or how the omnipresent troubled expression refuses to leave his face even in sleep, at the end of a day that leaves him mentally exhausted, plagued by more demons than just you.

Or times like now, when you bathe him as usual before bed, and you notice his apathetic expression betray him; his hand twitches for your gently scrubbing one, presumably ready to snatch the sponge from you and scrub himself raw.

"Young Master."He doesn't turn around. Of course he doesn't. He isn't going to show any weakness he can help, and the weakness in his eyes shows more with every emotionally disturbing investigation.

This child is stronger than any useless human you've ever known.

(But still so very, very fragile…)

"What, Sebastian."

You feel the warm moisture radiate off of him as you lean close to his ear. "You mustn't let these things eat at your soul, you know." He shivers involuntarily from the sudden whisper against his ear, and a smirk creeps to your face.

"S-stop that. I have no idea what you're talking about." His voice is angry as he waves a hand over his shoulder, but you note the stutter and take some pleasure in it. "Hurry up, I'm tired."

"Yes, my Lord," you answer obediently, and this is the last word exchanged between the two of you until he is again resting in his bed, when he asks you to please stay until he falls asleep, just tonight (implying that you will not mention the last several times he has made this request, so you don't, but you remember).

Finally, he falls asleep, and his breathing turns regular though his expression doesn't, and you can tell this will not be an instance of happy dreams as you wish him every night. You realize that for all he has, he is the most deprived a child could possibly be.

(And even still, you are deprived of too much yourself to ever really care.)

"He mustn't let such things eat at his soul," you sigh to yourself. "It's such a pity."

He'll leave nothing for me.

Your irises glow pink in the dark.