Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sebastian turned on the faucet and washed his hands with warm water. The restroom was exquisitely luxurious: gleaming black marble covered the walls and floors, while golden taps shimmered, reflecting Sebastian’s calm face. A deep crimson soap dispenser and hand lotion sat neatly beside a rose of the same color, placed in a glossy black vase. Elegant lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a gentle yet ample light across the room. A faint, refreshing scent filled the air—a soothing blend of lemon and wood.

 

If Sebastian had been in a better mood, he might have lingered, admiring the modern, beautiful design of the bathroom. But the headache gnawing at his head left him deeply irritated, his lip curling in clear frustration. The small mask on his face pressed uncomfortably against his nose. It was tiny, covering his brows and eyes and extending to the middle of his long nose. Its golden patterns blended with red and black, ironically matching the luxurious bathroom.

 

He turned off the tap just as the door opened. Sebastian didn’t lift his eyes, reaching for the white towel as a voice rang through the bathroom walls

 

“Sebastian.”

 

Sebastian’s left brow twitched at the familiar, teasingly soft tone. Didn’t the auction maintain anonymity? Why was this fool calling him out loud?

 

Quick footsteps approached, and Sebastian didn’t need to turn to know that Grell was wearing blood-red heels. The footsteps stopped beside him, and the sugary, almost candy-like scent of Grell’s perfume assaulted him—annoying as ever.

 

He placed the used towel on the marble counter.

 

“You’re really leaving the auction?” Grell asked, his tone laced with displeasure. His body leaned toward Sebastian, who didn’t look at him, murmuring as if uninterested.

 

Sunday was Sebastian’s only day off.He usually spent it at the church beside his home, listening to the chatter of elderly women, a feigned smile resting on his lips as they lamented how young men of this age never came to church, all the while declaring themselves fortunate to have Sebastian among them. Occasionally, if in a good mood, he’d hand out hard biscuits and weak tea. After the church, he would bury himself in case files, sometimes stopping by a billiard club.

 

“You can’t leave yet—we haven’t presented our special piece,” Grell stepped closer, slowly placing a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, making his brow furrow beneath the mask. Grell’s bracelet caught the light as the gemstones swung, pressing lightly against Sebastian’s suit fabric.

 

Grell was one of Sebastian’s clients—a man accused of murdering girls in the East District. Naturally, Sebastian had taken the case and cleared him expertly, even though Grell’s arrogant demeanor and dreamy delusions made him insufferable. But Sebastian never refused a large sum, and Grell had offered plenty.

 

This was their first meeting since the case, and as a token of gratitude, Grell had invited Sebastian to his auction, knowing Sebastian’s love for auctions and his lack of stinginess for valuable pieces. Unfortunately, Sebastian had only found trivial items worth exorbitant sums. After the first round, he realized nothing here would spark his interest—or his money.

 

“I promise you’ll like our piece—we’ve kept it for a month,” Grell whispered, leaning toward Sebastian’s ear. But Sebastian raised a hand, pushing him away. Grell stepped back, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. He brushed his hand over his jacket, adjusting it slightly.

 

Sebastian shifted the strands of hair fallen over his mask. A staff member in a white suit and matching mask stood at the doorway, glancing silently at Grell. Sebastian heard Grell sigh, muttering something he had no intention of hearing.

 

“Just stay ten more minutes, alright?” Grell’s pleading tone followed him backward toward the staff member tapping his shoe impatiently. Sebastian looked at Grell for the first time, noticing his messy red-updo hair. Despite his white suit, his red heels and accessories stood out prominently.

 

Sebastian averted his eyes. “You’ll compensate me for wasting my time and my mental health,” he said quietly. Grell’s steps paused at Sebastian’s words, irritating the staff member nearly to the point of dragging him out. Grell laughed loudly, shoulders shaking, ignoring the staffer. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he winked shamelessly before leaving the bathroom, and a comforting silence returned.

 

Sebastian did not trust Grell, nor would he ever. The only thing he trusted was Grell’s generosity when spending money—especially when Grell was eager to please him. Sebastian sighed wearily, walking out of the bathroom, eyes dry from lack of sleep. He didn’t usually sleep much, but long hours reading legal texts and case files increased his desire for rest.

 

He walked down the long corridor, lined with a plush red carpet, adorned with paintings on the high walls. Locked wooden doors with massive rusty chains flanked the passage. Ignoring them, Sebastian stopped before the auction hall door. The staff member bowed politely as he opened the massive wooden door for Sebastian to enter.

 

The hall was a restored old opera theater: long staircases covered in the same red carpet, slightly worn seats numbered for convenience, a massive crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling adorned with angelic children’s paintings. The lighting was low but adequate, casting shadows to keep some areas in darkness. High private boxes overlooked the wooden stage.
A kitschy jazz song played repeatedly since the auction began. Waiters moved like ants, serving champagne and light snacks. Guests sat in their places, silent to preserve anonymity.

 

Sebastian carefully walked between the seats, looking down to avoid stepping on anyone. He sat in his numbered seat, placing one leg over the other, holding his seat number plaque. Moments passed until the chandelier lights dimmed, and the awful music stopped.

 

Grell’s loud footsteps echoed as he strode onto the stage, arms raised dramatically. “Welcome back, everyone!” Sebastian ignored the look Grell gave him, noticing the wide smile after spotting him among the attendees. He rolled his eyes beneath the small mask, taking out his pocket watch engraved with his initials. Ten minutes—then he would leave. He closed the watch, setting it on his thigh, and sipped the weak champagne he had grabbed earlier.

 

Grell spoke excitedly, presenting a marble statue and telling a ridiculous story of its history. Sebastian knew this statue hadn’t been stolen from the Louvre in the early ’70s, and the thief hadn’t risked their life for it—nonsense, of course.

 

Sebastian set the glass on his thigh beside the watch, watching the bubbles rise. Nine minutes remained before he could return to the warmth of his home, enjoy a bath, and release the tension of restraining himself from slapping Grell.

 

He glanced sideways at a muttering man stepping on attendees’ feet. Quickly, Sebastian recognized him—Calvin, a client from a few years back. Unconsciously, Sebastian gripped his glass tighter, observing Kelvin sit in the empty chair beside him, which had remained vacant throughout the first part of the auction. Sebastian averted his eyes in disgust as Kelvin wiped his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief.

 

Four minutes in, Grell gleefully announced the overpriced piece’s sale. Sebastian noted Kelvin’s tense movements beside him. Sebastian knew Kelvin’s character—he rarely appeared publicly, especially after that case. His grip tightened on the glass. Kelvin, a corrupt man hiding behind paternal charm, invested his effort and wealth in strange ventures.

 

Sebastian was not pleased to see a former client, particularly Kelvin. He closed his eyes, reminding himself he would leave in five minutes.

 

“And now we arrive at the most important piece of today’s auction. You’ve been waiting, haven’t you?” Grell addressed the crowd sympathetically. Murmurs of excitement and frustration rippled through. Sebastian didn’t miss Kelvin’s jittery gestures, nodding oddly to Grell.

 

Grell’s laughter echoed, booming through the theater. Four damned minutes. Sebastian would soon drive away from this nonsense. Grell signaled one of the staff behind the curtain. Sebastian expected another trivial item—perhaps a painting that survived a fire, or a chair used by a historical figure. But two staff emerged, carrying something toward the stage.

 

Sebastian’s eyes widened beneath his black mask. His grip on the glass loosened in shock. At the center of the stage was a small boy, violently struggling as staff kicked his legs from behind, forcing him to kneel. His hands were bound tightly behind his back. Grell approached, pressing his high heel into the floor, smiling maniacally as he grabbed the boy’s long hair, forcing his neck back.

 

Sebastian was no righteous man; he did not defend the weak or the innocent. He stood with wealth, extracting the guilty from prison, keeping countless secrets in his ledger, recordings of influential figures admitting their darkest deeds. He was utterly corrupt.

 

But this? This was something else entirely—something diabolical.

 

A filthy brown-clothed child, chained harshly, gagged, struggling and groaning.

 

“He’s a bit violent and stubborn, which sets him apart from the rest of our pieces,” Grell said, leaning toward Sebastian. He winked crudely, making Sebastian’s features contort in disgust. Cheers and some approving claps erupted from the audience. A middle-aged woman waved a green-feathered fan, signaling excitement.

 

“Wait, please, everyone,” Grell chided, urging calm. A man beside Sebastian remained tense, sweating profusely, panting like a sick dog.

 

Sebastian wasn’t naive; he knew Kelvin’s hidden nature beneath the mask. He remembered the public outrage when Kelvin had been released with a light sentence. Even the priest had sprinkled salt over him, attempting a ritual purification of a soul far from innocent.

 

Suddenly, Grell announced the starting price: £100,000. Cheers erupted. Sebastian’s breaths grew heavier, the champagne’s taste turning nauseating as his gaze remained fixed on the child beneath Grell’s heel, frozen as the crowd shouted. His small shoulders trembled, movements halted.

 

What expressions were on the child’s face?

 

Sebastian pushed the thought away, reminding himself he had nothing to do with this. He knew much about these gatherings—this wasn’t his first time hearing about such things—but it was the first time he had seen the crowd’s anger and the two elderly men nearly come to blows without staff intervention.

 

He hadn’t expected Kelvin to suddenly shout, raising his seat number. “£500,000!” Silence fell as Kelvin’s voice rang out. Grell’s eyes sparkled, fingers tightening on the boy’s hair.

 

Not Sebastian’s concern. Not his problem. He did not intend to touch the child like a delicate doll. He would feed him, speak to him in a paternal tone, perhaps punish him if needed. Maybe he would see the boy on the news. Would he approve of that?

 

“£1,000,000!” Sebastian raised his hand, ignoring Grell’s laughter. Kelvin gasped in shock, utterly unprepared. He turned, realizing Sebastian wasn’t bluffing. A faint groan echoed from the microphone near the boy.

 

Kelvin muttered, “£1,500,000,” challenging, eyes glowing. His sweaty hand trembled on his cheap suit trousers. Sebastian’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

 

“£10,000,000!” Sebastian raised his hand. Kelvin paled, shoulders stiffening, aware that he did not have enough money—he had lost much after that case. Sebastian realized Kelvin couldn’t even pay a million.

 

Kelvin extended a hand, whispering, “Sir…” Sebastian slapped it away; he did not want to touch those filthy hands.

 

The room fell silent. Only Grell spoke: “The piece is sold!” he shouted joyfully, raising his hands. A heavy feeling settled in Sebastian’s stomach as he glanced at the departing crowd. Staff rushed to drag the child behind the velvet curtain.

 

Sebastian did not dwell on the crowd’s disappointment. The oppressive silence remained as he sat, fingers gripping his glass, the forgotten watch on his knee reminding him that the ten minutes had long passed.

 

He wiped his face with his free hand, dislodging his mask slightly, ruining the carefully styled hair in front. He did not care—he reminded himself that what he did was right. He had not left the child to that fat, vile man.

 

He straightened, walking toward the staffer to follow him. Papers slipped from his hands unconsciously, and he heard the distant voice instructing him to wait in his car until everything was finished.

 

For the second time, he asked himself, Will he be satisfied? Am I doing the right thing?

Chapter Text

The rear courtyard of the old opera house looked utterly deserted. Decaying trees surrounded the space, their fallen leaves carpeting the ground. No one cared for its cleanliness or order. Beneath a distant tree, where the courtyard's lights barely reached, lay hidden black garbage bags. Any ordinary person would have overlooked them, their presence barely raising suspicion—but not Sebastian.

He leaned back against his sleek black car, his latest acquisition from an auction in New York. It wasn’t just any Porsche—it was a limited-edition classic from the 1989 collection, with beautiful red leather seats. Sebastian hadn’t dared to replace a single part inside the car; he had even gone so far as to repair the engine himself.

Sebastian let out a sigh and pulled out his pocket watch, flipping open its cover. Five hours, thirty-four minutes, and eighteen seconds remained before he would head to his office, review cases, and open his doors to new clients. Yet here he stood, in the rear courtyard, watching the hands of the clock, the small black mask pressing tightly against his nose. When he snapped the silver cover shut, the watch let out a sharp click, its sound startlingly loud in the stillness of the courtyard.

A sound pulled Sebastian from his thoughts. The back door of the theater opened, and a massive employee stepped out, clad in a long black cloak. He wore the hood over his head, bowing it slightly, his eyes fixed on the ground. His heavy footsteps shattered the courtyard’s quiet. Sebastian noticed the mask with golden engravings resting across the bridge of the man’s nose.

Despite the dim light of the courtyard, Sebastian could make out the child’s limp body draped over the employee’s shoulder, his legs dangling lifelessly against the man’s chest. With a sense of disbelief, Sebastian noticed the restraints that let out an irritating screech with every step, the chains binding the child’s feet clanging against the man’s torso. It didn’t take long for him to realize why the child was so unnervingly still—he was unconscious, his dirty, gray-stained legs swaying gently against the man’s chest.

The child was unconscious.

The employee stopped in front of Sebastian. Sebastian opened the back door of his car. The man bent slightly as Sebastian stepped back, and then, with brutal force, he threw the child onto the rear seat. Straightening his posture, the employee walked away without a word or gesture. Sebastian didn’t expect anything from him; he remained standing by the open car door, watching the small child lying in an awkward, uncomfortable position. His legs, bound with rusty iron, dangled over the edge of the seat. His back was twisted unnaturally, and his hands rested beneath his frail body. A small gasp escaped Sebastian’s lips as he realized the child’s arms were not restrained. Beneath the tangled, foul hair, he could see the child’s cracked, dry lips—this time, there was no gag to silence him.

Sebastian knew exactly what he was doing. He knew it was deeply wrong—buying a child from an illegal auction, signing dubious papers. Even though he had forged a new signature, it was easy for anyone to recognize his flawless handwriting. Technology these days was terrifying, a double-edged sword.

Sebastian thought: he could leave the child in the nearest alley, place him near a garbage bin, and if the boy was lucky, he might find some leftover food. This small child could survive like this, far away from this place.

Sebastian’s eyes slid down to the child’s ankles, beneath the unevenly cut trousers. He noticed peeling wounds and numerous bruises—some yellow-green, others deep purple and bloody red. Despite these injuries and bruises, the child could survive.

“Wait!” A tense, urgent voice rang out from nowhere. Sebastian slammed the car door and couldn’t hold back a frustrated sigh. Couldn’t this night end quietly for once?
Kelvin approached him with quick steps, clutching the handkerchief that had grown damp from his excessive sweating. By sheer coincidence, Kelvin was sweating at this very moment, despite the chill of the early morning air.

Sebastian forced a fake smile, the kind he reserved for annoying clients who chattered endlessly. Kelvin was about to speak as he approached, but Sebastian cut him off with a question that came out dry, despite the faint curve of his smile “What do you want, sir?”
Kelvin’s eyes trembled with unease beneath the mask, and he stopped just a few feet away. Sebastian’s nose wrinkled beneath his mask at the mingling scent of sweat and cheap cigarettes. Kelvin lifted his damp handkerchief to dab his temples, stumbling with his feet as he struggled to arrange his words.

For a moment, Sebastian thought Kelvin would remain frozen in place, meticulously arranging his words. But to his surprise, Kelvin raised his hands and said, “Could you let the item go?” At least he had tried to ask politely—and that, Sebastian realized, was genuinely surprising given the rudeness of the situation.

“I’ll give you double what you paid, I promise!” Kelvin’s voice rose, growing sharper with Sebastian’s silence. His shoulders tensed, breaths quickening with agitation. “Yes, I’ll give you double—or anything you need! so just give it back!”

Kelvin stepped forward two paces, lifting his chin toward Sebastian, who remained unmoving, his eyes not even flickering.

‘Give it back’ he said, as if Kelvin had owned it from the start. That “thing” was a child.

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth twitched with a sharp, unmistakable sneer. Kelvin was truly a depraved man, a fact Sebastian had never overlooked. He hadn’t forgotten the faces of the children who had stood in court as witnesses to Kelvin’s deeds—empty faces, devoid of any spark of life. When the case ended, and Sebastian had won it with a reduced sentence for Kelvin, not a week passed before he saw those same children’s faces printed on the front page of the newspaper, emblazoned with a huge red headline: “Children Dead.” Sebastian didn’t finish reading the words—he already knew the reason for their deaths.

Their death stood before Sebastian, babbling something he neither heard nor cared about. Sebastian had not committed these misdeeds for the first time. He had deceived a former lover, stolen money from a college roommate, and wrapped his lies in a luxurious veneer before presenting them to others. Yet, the weight of his guilt had accumulated so gradually that, at first, Sebastian scarcely noticed it at all.

Kelvin’s babbling suddenly stopped. His eyes slid to the side, landing on Sebastian. Beneath the mask, his eyes widened, glowing with immense delight—and something vile lurking beneath it. Kelvin was staring through the car window at the child lying inside. He took a step forward, muttering, “It’s really him.”
Another step toward the car, his shoulder nearly brushing Sebastian’s—but Sebastian stepped back, watching as Kelvin opened his mouth, panting heavily, breaths escaping in ragged gasps.

He was panting against the shiny glass of the window, raising his hand to press against it as he muttered, “The same hair color… I couldn’t get a good look at his eyes, but I’m sure it’s him.” Sebastian watched the wet patch forming from Kelvin’s breath. He raised his hand and shoved Kelvin harshly.
Calvin stumbled backward in shock, his steps faltering, his face a mask of confusion.

Sebastian’s brow twitched with unmistakable anger as he looked at the ugly wet patch on his window. He slowly turned to Kelvin, his lips curling with sharp annoyance. “Did you really have to pant on my car, sir?”

Kelvin threw his arms out and shouted, his thick finger pointing at the unconscious child. “You don’t understand! It’s him—it really is him!”

Sebastian recognized the phrase. Kelvin had said the same words within the walls of his office, justifying his actions when he had approached a nine-year-old child, smiling as he did.

The sound of footsteps approached rapidly, and employees in suits and masks appeared. They restrained Kelvin’s arms as he shouted in protest, struggling to push them away, but they held firm and dragged him toward the theater.

Sebastian brushed a stray lock of hair from his mask and ran his other hand over his coat, removing the dust. He caught Grell’s gentle gaze as the man approached, wearing an awkward smile. “Can’t you at least control your visitors?”

Grell let out a broken, embarrassed laugh. Sebastian didn’t want to hear another word, so he turned, trying to end the day. But Grell shouted, “Wait! Take this with you.” Sebastian’s hand rested on the front door handle as he tilted his chin toward Grell, who stepped closer and extended his hand toward him.

It was an iron key, balanced delicately on Grell’s palm. Sebastian didn’t ask what it was for; he took it silently and slipped it into his trouser pocket. He climbed into his car and started the engine.
In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of Grell waving and shouting, “Visit me whenever you need anything!” Then came a twisted laugh, echoing through the courtyard. Sebastian heard it even as the car pulled away. He drove between the dense trees, moving farther from the theater and Grell’s lingering laughter.

Sebastian could pretend it was just another ordinary day, as he often did when in a good mood: returning late from the billiard club, his suit carrying the scent of the lawyers’ cigarettes, listening to their idle chatter as they sipped from glasses of fine champagne. But this wasn’t reality.

There was an unconscious child in the back seat. With every turn, the iron chains clinked irritatingly. The smell of old blood lingered in the car. A mask lay discarded on the seat beside Sebastian, leaving a faint bruise across the bridge of his nose from its tight pressure. Something heavy and metallic weighed down in Sebastian’s trouser pocket.

His home wasn’t far, yet Sebastian didn’t head there. Instead, he drove north, far away from it. His grip on the steering wheel tightened with every silent passing minute, his brows furrowed so deeply that his forehead creased.

The car came to a stop in an extremely dark spot. Sebastian stepped out, the early morning air biting his cheek, the smell of smoke and garbage stinging his nose. With a single, forceful step, he approached the back door and yanked it open, more violently than he had intended.

Sebastian’s thoughts stalled as he looked at the boy lying across his car seat, asleep, unaware of the chaos stirring within him. He leaned over, resting his arm on the car’s surface, studying the boy intently. He knew that leaving him here wouldn’t endanger him—the child would survive anywhere. Though he would suffer in those first days from his injuries, in the end, the boy would endure.

He straightened, hand resting in his trouser pocket, almost pulling out the key—but he stopped. Sebastian’s eyes remained fixed on the greasy smudge on his car window, left there by kelvin’s damp, slippery hand. His breath caught in his chest, and his body went rigid.

Sebastian reminded himself: the child would live, and he wouldn’t see his face splashed across the front page of the newspaper the next morning, Kelvin’s name following it.

 

_______________

 

Sebastian closed his car door with a light kick, careful not to leave another smudge. He walked quietly through the front garden of his house, surrounded by strange flowers and plants. Perhaps he should feel grateful for the garden’s tidiness, maybe even praise Finnian when he arrived in a few hours. But the tension in his jaw and the furrow of his brow did not ease—they only tightened further.

He carried the boy’s frail body in his arms, swaying with the slightest movement Sebastian made. One hand gripped the child’s thigh, the other held his shoulder, trying to keep him balanced against his chest. The boy’s head moved in a way that irritated Sebastian, but his annoyance deepened when the child finally rested his head on Sebastian’s chest.

Sebastian closed his eyes, trying to compose himself, reminding himself that he had brought the boy for a noble and virtuous reason and wouldn’t abandon him just because he was troublesome—even though the child had done nothing wrong.
With great effort, he opened the front door of his house and switched on all the lights. He walked through the living room, nearly tossing the boy onto the pale sofa, but stopped just in time, aware of how filthy the child was.

He walked toward the large kitchen and dropped the boy onto a wooden chair. Sebastian’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he looked at his suit jacket, a gray smudge marking the fine fabric. He’d deal with it once this chaos was over.

Leaning down, Sebastian pulled the key from his trouser pocket. The boy’s back rested against the chair, his legs dangling over the edge, barely reaching the floor. His head hung painfully to the right, arms limp at his sides. Sebastian reached further toward the heavy chain encircling the child’s ankles.

But suddenly, the boy’s arm moved.
Sebastian instinctively stepped back, his eyes widening for a moment. A burning sensation flared across his left cheekbone, something warm running down his cheek to his chin. Had he not recoiled, he might have lost his left eye—a tiny shard of glass clenched tightly in the boy’s hand, cutting his trembling palm.
Sebastian heard a raw, hoarse voice cry, “Don’t touch me!” The boy’s hand shook even more as he raised it toward Sebastian’s throat, threatening him.

And at that moment, Sebastian saw the child’s face.

A single blue eye blazed with violent, raw emotion, the other hidden beneath a brown cloth secured with peeling tape. Tangled hair fell over his forehead, brushing against his thin cheek, stained with old blood and other filth. His dry, cracked lips were twisted into an angry scowl.

The tiny shard that had nearly cost him his eye now hovered just centimeters from his throat. One wrong move, and the boy wouldn’t hesitate to cut his own throat, spilling Sebastian’s blood across the white marble of his kitchen. But with a swift flick of his wrist, Sebastian slapped the boy’s hand away. The boy gasped, the shard clattering to the floor with a sharp ping. His shoulders tensed as he watched it land meters away.

Sebastian lifted his hand, observing the boy’s shallow, held-back breaths and the trembling, bleeding hand. He didn’t touch the boy on the chair—only pressed the tip of his index finger to the cut on his own cheek, feeling the burn. He looked at his finger and saw a crimson stain soaking the clean white cotton. “What a mess,” he muttered.

Chapter Text

Not a single word was spoken. The silence was heavy, enveloping the wide kitchen with its gleaming floors that nearly reflected Sebastian’s empty face. His eyes did not stray from the crimson stain that had ruined the purity of his cotton gloves. The warm liquid would not stop streaming down his pale face. A few meters away, a shard of glass lay shattered, tainted with Sebastian’s blood—and the child’s, who stared at the mute Sebastian.

Sebastian did not straighten; he remained slightly bent, the muscles of his back drawn tight. He tore his gaze from the soiled glove and met the child’s eyes. That torrent of emotion had never faded—it only burned brighter beneath the stark white glow of the kitchen lights. Hatred and fury seemed far too vast to belong in a child’s gaze.

The boy was not content with silence, nor with the cut he had carved into Sebastian’s cheek. His voice trembled with rage as he spat, “What do you want from me?”

Slowly, Sebastian rose from his stoop. His long shadow fell over the seated boy. The child’s legs quivered, and the sharp scrape of chains echoed through the stillness. Yet, with defiance etched into his trembling form, the boy lifted his chin and met Sebastian’s stare.

Sebastian ran his tongue along the inside of his uninjured cheek. Was this what he received in return for his kindness—for the gentleness he had shown the boy? Did the child truly have to brandish that shard at his face? He could have simply said, “Don’t touch me,” and Sebastian would have obeyed, overlooking the insolence in tone and voice. After all, they were civilized beings, speaking the same language. So why did this wretched child choose to act like a beast?

Sebastian raised his hand, and the boy’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly. His blue eyes widened—barely noticeable, yet there. But Sebastian did nothing more than toss the cold iron key into the boy’s lap, making him shrink back against the chair. For all the subtle details Sebastian’s sharp eye caught, the child’s expression remained unchanged—hollow, devoid of any trace of emotion.

Sebastian said nothing. He merely turned toward the cupboard at the edge of the kitchen, opened its door, and drew out a first-aid kit. From it, he took a strip of white gauze and a small bottle of antiseptic. The kit was meager, stocked with little more than disinfectants and a burn ointment.

There was a larger kit tucked away in the bathroom cabinet, but Sebastian was not foolish enough to leave a boy—who had just tried to blind him—alone in a kitchen filled with sharp knives he himself had honed only two days prior. The thought of a blade buried in his gut was far from pleasant; he was not yet ready to meet his god.

So he simply wiped away the blood and left the wound uncovered.

Sebastian watched the boy from the corner of his eye, just as the boy watched him with wary, searching eyes. He saw the bruised hand tug at the restraints, followed by the harsh click of metal—and then the clatter of chains spilling onto the white marble floor, their grating scrape cutting through the silence and grating on Sebastian’s nerves.

Sebastian snapped the kit shut with a click, then turned toward the boy, who had not moved from his place, his gaze never straying from Sebastian. The man’s footsteps carried him toward the table, the sharp taps of polished leather heels striking against the marble, shattering the silence that blanketed the room.

He took the chair opposite the boy and sat down, crossing his long legs with deliberate ease, his hands coming to rest upon his thigh.

Sebastian set a perfect smile upon his face—the kind he wore in courtrooms and before certain colleagues. Though his cheek throbbed with the sting of the open wound, his expression did not falter. He fixed his gaze on the boy, who was already staring back at him.

Sebastian ignored the weight and tension in that look. “So,” he said evenly, “let’s make a deal.”

Beneath the boy’s greasy hair, an eyebrow twitched with interest. Sebastian’s smile widened at the small, telling response.

The situation they found themselves in could lead down only two paths—and Sebastian fully intended to reap the advantages of both.

He lifted his gloved hand, raising his index finger, deliberately allowing the boy to see the dark stain upon the cotton. With feigned gentleness and counterfeit concern, Sebastian spoke: “First, you can stay here.”

His eyes lingered on the boy’s face, smeared with dried blood and marred by bruises that nearly matched the shade of his uncovered eye. The child tilted his small chin thoughtfully, gaze locked on Sebastian since the moment he sat down.

“And second?” The boy’s voice, this time, carried a softness far removed from his earlier threats.

Sebastian raised his middle finger in reply. “Second, you can leave.” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue, coated in honey. He gave a careless shrug, closing his eyes in a gesture of false surrender, as though striving for peace at all costs. Lowering his shoulders, he studied the boy intently.

Sebastian was no fool; he would not so easily relinquish a boy who had cost him millions. Though such a sum was hardly significant to him, he had no intention of letting the child slip away quietly after the chaos he had caused.

If the boy rejected the deal, Sebastian would not hesitate to send him back to that auction and see his money neatly restored to his account. There would be no guilt gnawing at him—after all, he had offered the child a chance to live. It was the boy himself who chose to cast that chance aside.

For a fleeting moment, Sebastian caught a small smile creasing the corner of the boy’s mouth—but it vanished before he could register it.

“Liar,” the boy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, yet tinged with barely concealed disgust that did not escape Sebastian’s notice.

Sebastian blinked in astonishment, listening as the boy crossed his small legs and spread his grimy hand across the pristine table. His expression was triumphant, as if he had seized a treasure. Leaning his head slightly, strands of his long, uneven hair fell across his narrow cheek, one lock clinging to a brown stain near his temple.

“You could have gotten rid of me back in that alley,” he continued, “but you chose to bring me here.”

Though his face appeared blank, the boy’s eyes revealed more than they should. His back was rigid against the wooden chair, legs crossed with defiant pride, small and filthy yet exuding an air of arrogant command.

Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. He did not restrain his smile, which had shifted from soft and delicate to something wicked and harsh. So the boy had been awake all along—watching him wrestle with the decision of whether to abandon him or not. The child had toyed with Sebastian using a cheap trick, reclining in the back seats while silently observing every thought swirling through his mind.

A deep, raw laugh escaped Sebastian’s lips—a bitter, cutting laugh. He laughed at the trick that had deceived him, at how exposed he seemed before those blue eyes, which flickered in astonishment at his reaction.

Tilting his head, black strands of hair fell across his face. He mimicked the boy’s head tilt, whispering softly as if revealing a forbidden secret “You were awake, hmm?”

It was not really a question. Sebastian looked down on this boy—the same boy who had almost blinded him and threatened him with a shard at his throat—finding a perverse amusement in the irony.

Sebastian let out a low moan of pleasure as he pushed his hair back, while the boy hissed in annoyance, “Say what do you want.” It was the second time the boy had asked, but for the first time, Sebastian understood exactly what he meant.

Straightening his back, Sebastian spoke with genuine enjoyment, devoid of any pretense, “I plan to take advantage of this situation.”

The boy’s shoulders stiffened slightly. Sebastian continued, pointing at him, “A small child who cannot rely on himself.”

The boy’s brows knit in intense displeasure, but Sebastian pressed on, pointing to himself this time, “And I’ll take you into my warm home.”

A proud smile curved Sebastian’s lips as he savored the boy’s expressions, which seemed to collapse under a weight of negative emotions. The child’s dirty, bitten nails scraped the table lightly as he hissed angrily, “I am not a small child.”

Sebastian shrugged, murmuring dismissively, feigning indifference.

But the boy did not relent. He leaned back against the chair, crossing his arms over his chest, and asked, “How am I supposed to benefit from this deal?”

What a remarkable question! One that revealed the swirling thoughts hidden within this child’s mind, hinting at intelligence, calculation, and a curiosity far beyond his years.

The situation looked utterly absurd. Sebastian sat on the wooden chair, clad in a meticulously tailored three-piece suit, his white gloves pristine, polished leather shoes gleaming. His black hair was slicked back with meticulous care, and the faint scent of leather blended perfectly with burnt spices.

Even with a few drops of blood staining his shirt collar and marring the whiteness of his gloves, he looked impeccably composed—arrogant smile and all—radiating a perfection almost comically at odds with the chaos surrounding him.

Before him sat a frail child, marked by bruises and open wounds. His hair was an odd, greasy shade, and a tattered cloth lay over his injured eye, a cheap imitation of a bandage. His shirt’s color was nearly impossible to discern beneath the festering stains, the cuts and bruises marring his small face.

Yet, despite it all, his body held a proud, upright posture. His mind—keen, alert, and calculating—was sharper than that of most men Sebastian had encountered that week.

"The house will be yours, as long as you don’t set foot near my office. I’ll give you anything you want—and I mean it. I don’t care what you do or where you go, as long as you don’t ruin or tarnish my reputation."

The boy tilted his chin thoughtfully. Seconds stretched into a long silence. In that moment, Sebastian wished he could pry open that mind and read every thought passing through it.

He was not surprised when the boy murmured, “So you want me to stay quiet… and out of sight?”

Sebastian clicked his tongue in negation, drawing the boy’s attention, and caught the curiosity shining in his uncovered eye. “No. You won’t be hidden from view. I will be your legal guardian, and I won’t hide that.”

The boy’s expression did not change. He remained silent, as if weighing this information carefully, analyzing every word.

What could be better than for Sebastian to appear before the legal community, taking a poor, orphaned child into his home and helping him in every way? He would seem like a guardian angel, a figure of mercy. At the same time, his image would improve immensely in the eyes of countless people. In the best-case scenario, it might even attract clients and boost his bank balance—a truly lucrative arrangement.

"What a noble man you are," the boy spat, as if he had just grasped the hidden meaning behind Sebastian’s words, though the smile on Sebastian’s face never wavered.

The child rested his finger on his chin and said, “I’ll think about it.”

In reality, the boy had very few options: either accept the deal, or Sebastian would return him to the auction. Yet it was amusing to watch him pretend as if he had countless choices that left him conflicted. Sebastian nodded, acknowledging the boy’s performance with quiet approval.

The boy straightened in his chair, and the screech of movement in the kitchen drew Sebastian’s attention. His brows knitted in concern. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The child’s bare feet froze, and he glanced over his small shoulder at Sebastian with a dissatisfied frown. “Didn’t you say the house is mine?”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed further as he pointed his index finger at the boy, his tone laced with clear irritation. “You won’t take a single step in that filthy, disgusting state.”

The boy’s frown deepened, and his shoulders tensed with obvious annoyance. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, casting sidelong glances at Sebastian while bracing himself in place.

But Sebastian noticed the boy’s ears, reddening with embarrassment beneath his thick hair—a genuine expression of shame over his filthy appearance. A truly human, authentic reaction. Sebastian felt a quiet pleasure in witnessing the vulnerability the boy tried to hide behind his frown.

________

Sebastian placed a warm, white cotton jacket and a pair of gray sweatpants by the bathroom door. The clothes had belonged to Finnian, who had forgotten them one day. He made no hesitation in leaving them there for the boy.

He then headed to the kitchen, specifically to the first-aid kit he had set out earlier. Moving to the mirror in the living room, he examined the cut on his left cheek—a wound about one centimeter deep and five centimeters long. It was slightly deep, but not dangerous, though it might leave a noticeable scar. Sebastian sighed as he carefully applied the gauze and antiseptic, closing the wound properly.

As soon as he finished, Sebastian returned to the kitchen to reheat the soup and bread he had eaten. The boy had not yet emerged from the bathroom, and the sound of running water continued.

When Sebastian had led the child to the bathroom earlier, he had teased him, saying he would bathe him with the utmost care. The boy had not responded, simply shutting the bathroom door in Sebastian’s face. Sebastian stood there for a few seconds, stunned by the silent defiance.

He brushed his hair back as he watched the sky light up with the first rays of morning. Only two hours remained before he had to leave for work. Sebastian closed his eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter, listening to the soup bubbling gently. Perhaps he would return home earlier than usual to get some sleep.

He turned off the stove just as the sound of the bathroom door opening echoed. Sebastian didn’t bother to look at the soft, almost imperceptible footsteps approaching. He carefully poured the soup into a bowl, placed a warm piece of bread beside it, and added a glass of water.

Then he turned toward the child, who sat silently in the chair.

Strands of his oddly colored hair were wet, falling chaotically across his clean face. The bruises were still visible, and the cloth remained over his eye. Sebastian placed the soup and bread in front of the boy, noticing the small bandages that had been reapplied around the cloth. Vinyan’s shirt looked oversized on him, and from beneath the table, Sebastian glimpsed the pant waist, folded twice in an attempt to fit around the boy’s hips.

He hid a small smile as he turned toward the pot of food, placing it in the sink, rolling up his sleeves and abandoning the coat of his suit long ago. The boy didn’t move or pick up the spoon; he simply stared at the soup as if it were a personal insult.

Sebastian didn’t need to turn fully to see the expression on the boy’s face. He muttered with mild annoyance, “The food isn’t poisoned.”

He opened the tap, rinsing the soap from the cooking pot. Then he heard a mocking snort, followed by light movements. A few seconds later, the boy groaned in disgust, “It’s far too salty.”

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at the troublesome child, who stuck out his tongue in revulsion, trying to push the saltiness away from his taste buds.

Sebastian rolled his eyes as he set the pot aside and picked up the wooden spoon. “Then don’t eat it.”

He didn’t hear any response from the boy, yet the child continued to consume the warm, soft soup and bread. Silence settled over the kitchen once more.

Sebastian felt the sting in his eyes from hours of sleeplessness, his shoulder muscles taut from long-held tension. He could feel his energy draining away.

Sebastian’s train of thought was cut short by the boy’s voice: “You won’t come near my room, and you won’t knock, either.”

The words sounded like irritating commands, but Sebastian chose to ignore them, eager to move past it and prepare for the start of a new workday. He muttered as he set the spoon aside, “There’s one room on the ground floor, and two upstairs. Choose whichever you want.”

He turned off the tap and wiped his damp hands with a towel. When he looked toward the boy, his breath caught for a moment.

The boy looked fragile in that moment. Strands of hair fell across his pale face, his gaze lowered toward the empty soup bowl. His hand scraped against the polished chair.

Sebastian might have scolded him for it, but he swallowed the impulse, instead observing the soft, tired expression on the boy’s face. His small body slumped slightly in the chair, perhaps feeling some comfort after the gentle bath and the warm meal.

So, in the end, he can still act like a child?

The boy suddenly straightened from the chair and walked quietly toward the kitchen exit. But before leaving, he stopped, taking in Sebastian’s small figure, the living room light reflecting around his tiny frame. A soft whisper, barely there, escaped his lips: “What’s your name?”

Sebastian leaned his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest with a smile. He hadn’t realized they had never exchanged names.

“Sebastian Michaelis.”

Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes off the boy, who stood frozen at the kitchen doorway.

“Ciel Phantomhive,” the boy said, glancing over his shoulder at Sebastian, who smiled inwardly. Phantomhive, then? No wonder the boy had carried himself with such pride and arrogance.

“I won’t take your last name,” Ciel added, lifting his chin as he turned away from the kitchen and living room.

And Sebastian?
He brought a hand to his trembling mouth, a wide smile spreading across his face.

Chapter Text

Sebastian leaned toward the reception desk as he remarked, “All the appointments are finished, aren’t they?”

 

Meyrin flipped through the appointment book with her long, painted nails. Her short red hair, carefully styled that morning, had grown a little messy over the long hours, yet it still retained a touch of neatness. Her black formal suit was elegant, though slightly creased around her thighs and lower back from sitting for so many hours, watching her drama and occasionally jotting down the notes Sebastian dictated to her.

Sebastian still remembered Meyrin’s first day working at the office, she lost many client files and nearly spilled coffee on an important case file he was working on. From that day on, Sebastian never allowed her to touch the case files or enter his office. Although she was slow to learn, she became proficient at entering information into the computer, welcomed clients properly, and organized Sebastian’s schedule well. She also postponed some consultation sessions whenever Sebastian was in a bad mood.

“Yes, sir, you have a few sessions tomorrow early in the morning,” Meyrin said, closing Sebastian’s appointment book as she lifted her chin toward him, adjusting her glasses in an attempt to hide the trembling of her hands.

Sebastian hummed, ignoring Meyrin’s gaze. So, tomorrow he would have free time after noon. He sighed inwardly, these days he had no cases that truly interested him. His office only received fools who rambled on throughout their legal consultation sessions. The situation was deeply disappointing, though of course, those sessions were not free, and that was the only good thing about them.

Sebastian heard the sound of the elevator chime, announcing someone’s arrival. His brows furrowed slightly as he glanced at Meyrin, whose eyes widened a little, looking just as surprised as he was. Turning toward the elevator, Sebastian straightened his posture, and when the doors slid open, he blinked in astonishment, he had not expected this person to arrive.

Tanaka stood in the elevator, holding his wooden cane in one hand while the other rested politely folded behind his back. His features creased into a gentle smile as he looked at Sebastian, who blinked in astonishment. Tanaka walked forward, approaching Sebastian and Meyrin, who fumbled in place with nervousness and unease, as if unsure what to say. Should she tell the old man that visiting hours were over, or should she welcome him warmly? But she fell silent the moment she noticed the smile forming on Sebastian’s face, a small smile, yet a genuine one.

“I apologize for coming without a set appointment,” Tanaka said, removing his hat and placing it against his stomach as he bowed—his movement stiff, yet elegant despite his old age. Tanaka had not changed much, even though a long time had passed since their last meeting. His clothes were still neat and well-kept, and his wooden cane with its beautiful carvings remained the same. However, the wrinkles on his face had deepened, and while his hair had been gray the last time they met, it was now as white as snow.

“It is an honor to have you here, Professor Tanaka,” Sebastian said, bowing as he mimicked Tanaka’s gesture, knowing well that it was a form of greeting in Tanaka’s homeland. Tanaka smiled gently as he looked at Sebastian. With a motion of his hand toward the office door, Sebastian guided Tanaka inside. But before entering, he turned to Meyrin, who was still standing in place, stunned.

“You may go home. I’ll take care of locking up the office,” he told her.

Closing the office door behind him, Sebastian walked calmly toward the wooden cabinet, pulled out packets of green tea, and tapped the kettle to set the water boiling.

“What a beautiful office,” Tanaka said as he examined the room, which looked splendid. Sebastian smiled while placing down the ceramic cups and preparing the tea just the way Tanaka liked it. He poured the boiling water, then carried the cups over to Tanaka, who had settled onto the sofa, carefully setting down his hat and cane. Sebastian placed the cup in front of him and then took a seat on the leather chair opposite Tanaka.

It was wonderful for Sebastian to meet his university professor again—the one who had greatly helped him with his graduation project. They had also worked together on several cases after Sebastian finished law school, and he had cherished those days, for Tanaka never failed to impress him or open his eyes to details he would have otherwise overlooked in the cases.

Sebastian lifted his cup of tea and said, “So, is there a reason you’ve come to visit me at this hour, or did you simply miss your favorite student?” He raised a brow at Tanaka, who did not bother to hide his amused laughter—his cup even trembled slightly in his hand from it. Sebastian took a sip of his tea and, in that moment, could almost taste those days he had spent in Tanaka’s office for countless hours, the two of them working to solve a massive case.

“In fact, there’s a case that has recently caught my attention,” Tanaka said, placing his cup gently on the wooden table. He laced his fingers over his knee, his eyes fixed seriously on Sebastian, who hummed in attentive acknowledgment. Tanaka continued, “There’s a suicide case that occurred a few months ago, but something about it doesn’t feel right.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed deeper as he turned Tanaka’s words over in his mind.

“And what exactly seems wrong?” Sebastian asked, tapping his knee quietly in thought, a habit he had whenever something caught his attention. Tanaka noticed Sebastian’s fingers and smiled slightly before continuing seriously, “The crime scene was perfect. The reasons are clear and flawless. There were no suspects, nor any fingerprints of strangers at the scene.”

Tanaka’s hands moved with each word, emphasizing that the place was a ‘crime scene’ rather than merely the site of an accident. This revealed Tanaka’s line of thinking to Sebastian, he suspected that it was a murder, not an ordinary suicide.

A brief silence settled over the office. Tanaka sat quietly, though his shoulders were tense, and Sebastian noticed faint dark circles forming under his eyes.

“There was no motive for the suicide?” Sebastian asked, breaking the calm of the room. Tanaka nodded, as if he had anticipated that Sebastian would say something like that.

Tanaka took a small sip of his tea. The warm, dim light fell across the wrinkles on his face, making him appear older than he actually was. His eyes still radiated the intelligence and dignity Sebastian remembered, yet there was a trace of fatigue surrounding him. Sebastian nearly let out a teasing remark, but he held back.

“Do you know Dr. Angelina Dalles?” Tanaka asked cautiously, studying Sebastian intently.

 

________

 

Sebastian’s jacket was draped over the back of his living room chair, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. He wore reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, carefully studying the words and occasionally jotting them down in his notebook for later reference. From time to time, he would brush his hair back from his face as he read.

It was already late, but Sebastian couldn’t sleep—especially when he was reading a massive file filled with papers that smelled of ink and peeling glue. There were a few faded stains along the edges of the pages, a clear sign of Tanaka’s hurried handwriting. He had compiled this enormous file on Angelina, capturing every detail of her life as if trying to prove something.

Sebastian didn’t sit at his desk; instead, he leaned over the dining table as he read. For a moment, he might have forgotten that someone else lived in the house with him, so profound was the silence. Yet muffled sounds echoed through the space—noises coming from the child’s room on the ground floor, not far from the kitchen.

The sounds were muffled by the heavy door, yet Sebastian could sense the despair and fear behind those weak, fragile noises. These helpless, pained sounds echoed every night late into the evening, but, as usual, Sebastian ignored them—just as he ignored the empty dishes he saw when returning from work, or the pile of worn clothes at the threshold of the child’s room, and how the cakes she baked seemed to vanish in a strangely unsettling way.

Sebastian didn’t need to pretend to be a concerned guardian or knock on Ciel’s door to check on him—not when the rules they had agreed upon were so clear. The boy had instructed Sebastian not to disturb him, and Sebastian respected his privacy, even though the child’s constant cries could sometimes be irritating. Likewise, the boy respected Sebastian’s rule. Occasionally, Sebastian would notice a small shadow lingering near his office door when he stayed late, yet the child never dared to enter—even when Sebastian was absent. It seemed as if Ciel was simply making sure Sebastian was still there.

Although the child wandered around the house late at night, thinking Sebastian wouldn’t notice, and even stole a few books from Sebastian’s massive library, Ciel never actually left the house. The proof of this was that Finnian never mentioned anything about Ciel’s whereabouts or the reason for the dirty dishes, and the portions of food had doubled.

Sebastian turned the page gently, as if there weren’t a child screaming twenty meters away. He jotted down notes about the schools Angelina had attended and the university she’d gone to in Australia. She had been married for many years but divorced two years ago after realizing she was infertile. Was that enough of a motive for suicide?

The screaming stopped, and the comforting silence returned, allowing Sebastian to think. Angelina had been a sociable woman and wealthy because of her work. Although she worked at a rural hospital in the south, her salary had been very high. Her neighbors were shocked by the news, and her colleagues cried at her funeral. Yet the housekeeper, who visited Angelina’s home every morning, said that Angelina had been acting strangely. However, the housekeeper’s words were not taken seriously, and the case was closed just three days after Angelina’s death—a very short and unreasonable period for closing a case that had occurred only a few days earlier.

Sebastian straightened from his chair and walked toward the kettle, turning it on as he pulled out the drawer, eyeing the different types of tea. The green tea would be bitter, and he had already drunk some just a few hours earlier. Jasmine tea wasn’t a suitable choice while working, nor was berry tea. So he reached for the black tea—not just one bag, but two.

One for himself, and the other for the little guest who had finally appeared with delicate steps. Sebastian heard the boy’s footsteps falter slightly at the threshold of the kitchen, as if he hadn’t expected Sebastian to be there. Placing the two cups down, Sebastian said calmly, “Tea?” He didn’t look up, but he knew Ciel was trying to retreat back to his room and lock himself in once more.

A small hum, almost lost in Sebastian’s thoughts, reached his ears, and he poured the boiling water over the tea bag.

“With milk and sugar,” came Ciel’s voice—rough and dry from having shouted just minutes earlier. Sebastian had forgotten that the little boy had this habit: speaking to others in irritatingly commanding tones.

Setting the kettle aside, Sebastian walked toward the fridge, and from the corner of his eye, he noticed Ciel standing at the doorway. He didn’t step inside, nor did he move away; his blue eyes remained fixed on Sebastian.

He took out the milk carton and returned to the tea, pouring it slowly as he watched the red color turn into a beautiful creamy hue. Sebastian’s back faced the doorway, yet he didn’t need to turn to see those blue eyes staring at him—he could feel them.

Sebastian didn’t ask the boy why he had shouted, nor did he check if he was alright, and he didn’t reassure him with the false words he was so skilled at saying. Instead, he asked, “How many spoons?”

Sebastian reached for the sugar container, and Ciel quickly replied, as if trying to hide the tension that was far too obvious, “Three.”

Sebastian snorted with amusement—of course the boy would choose three spoons of sugar. He couldn’t forget how he had come home one day after putting a chocolate cake in the fridge to let the cream layer set with the cake. He had planned to leave a piece for Finnian when he arrived, only to find the plate completely empty, not a single crumb remaining.

Sebastian stirred the sugar well, picked up both cups, and walked to the edge of the table near the kitchen entrance where Ciel was standing. He placed Ciel’s cup at that end, then moved to the opposite side, away from where the boy stood. Pulling out his chair, he sat down again, ignoring Ciel, who didn’t take his eyes off him. The boy didn’t move or speak, and Sebastian didn’t glance at him either—he simply returned to reading the file.

He wasn’t concerned with a boy who had locked himself in his room for weeks, sneaking out like a sly, filthy rat late at night to eat before returning to his room. Sebastian also didn’t ignore the fact that the child had deliberately chosen the only room on the ground floor, far from Sebastian’s office and his own bedroom. Sebastian had no intention of showering the boy with welcoming words, especially when the child acted as if he were a ghost, unseen and nonexistent. Nor did he indulge the boy’s chatter, particularly when he was in the middle of an important and intriguing case after weeks of sheer boredom and signing papers to become the boy’s guardian.

He jotted down a few notes in his notebook and took a small sip of his tea, but Sebastian couldn’t resist lifting his eyes from the file when he heard the child’s footsteps, muffled as much as he could manage. His small hands were stiffly by his sides, walking barefoot on the cold marble. The dark green shirt, which Sebastian had once borrowed from Finnian, looked strange on the boy, and his coarse trousers covered his ankles and heels due to their length. Despite his pitiful appearance, the boy lifted his small chin and walked toward the tea placed at the other end of the table, picking it up with steady hands—far steadier than Sebastian had expected.

Sebastian followed the boy’s steps as he left the kitchen, but Ciel didn’t return to his room. Instead, he sat on the living room sofa, right next to Sebastian’s carelessly tossed coat. Sebastian raised his brows in mild surprise, turned a page of the file, and resumed reading, trying to uncover any detail that might prove important.

His notebook filled with numerous notes, and Sebastian hadn’t put down his pen since he began. One hand wrote while the other flipped the pages, and occasionally he sipped the warm tea. The silence that enveloped the room helped him focus; though he was aware of eyes watching him, it irritated him only slightly, and he chose to ignore it.

As time passed, the tea grew cold, and the muscles in Sebastian’s shoulders were slightly tense from writing at the kitchen table. His eyes were dry from the harsh kitchen lighting. He almost closed the file and went to his room to sleep, but he stopped when he read a name that seemed vaguely familiar: Rachel Dalles. Where had he heard that name before?

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. He ran his hand through his hair, then carefully removed his glasses and placed them on the table.

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he closed his eyes slightly in thought. Angelina hadn’t taken her life long ago—barely a month and a half ago. He remembered reading in some newspaper about a doctor who had committed suicide just before the start of the new year. The information he had was extensive and precise, yet there was nothing about the time leading up to her death or the circumstances of it—and that struck him as strange.

He closed the file and straightened from his chair, washed the tea cup and used spoons, dried his hands on the towel, and headed toward the table carrying the file, his notebook, and pen. He returned the chair to its place and walked out of the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised to see Ciel sitting on the sofa, lazily leaning back while still holding his cold cup of tea. Sebastian didn’t see Ciel’s face, as the boy pretended to be absorbed in watching a strange TV show without sound. Sebastian knew, however, that Ciel had been watching him the entire past hour.

Sebastian didn’t go to his office but stood in the hallway between the living room and the stairs leading upstairs, watching the back of the boy’s head and his slightly messy hair. He didn’t ignore the tension in the boy’s shoulders, growing with each silent second. Breaking the silence, Sebastian said, “Next time—”

The boy’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the ceramic cup tightly. Sebastian almost warned him not to break his precious cup, but his words died in his throat when the boy turned to look at him.

Strands of his hair, glowing bluish-gray in the dim living room light, fell over his face, which was clean this time—no purple bruises, only faint, scabbed yellowish marks. His wounds had healed noticeably, and his cheek had taken on a slightly healthy tint despite its paleness. His eyes didn’t look at Sebastian with hatred or anger; this time, they were filled with caution and suspicion. Sebastian felt as if he were walking on a tightrope, and any misstep could send him plummeting into the abyss.

Sebastian didn’t know what he should say; he wasn’t sure what words could possibly work when those glowing eyes, heavy with unshed tears clinging to thick lashes, were fixed on him.

Was he crying a little while ago?

“Put your dirty laundry in the basket,” Sebastian said, gesturing toward the basket hidden under the stairs. His voice trembled slightly, causing the corner of his lip to twitch in noticeable discomfort. Ciel’s small nose wrinkled, as if he didn’t like the commanding tone in Sebastian’s voice. Did the boy think Sebastian wasn’t allowed to use that tone?

Sebastian raised his left brow, waiting for Ciel to respond, but the boy blinked with his wet lashes and said nothing. Sebastian turned and headed toward his office upstairs, leaving behind his suit jacket that had been lying next to the child.

He opened his office door and set down the file, then walked toward the shelves where he kept the newspapers, arranged by date and alphabetically. Without hesitation, he pulled out the papers from late November and mid-December, placing them on his desk and moving aside the files he had left earlier in the day. Sebastian flipped through the newspapers—some carried news about falling gold prices, others political reports he wasn’t interested in. He was searching for the paper that reported the doctor’s suicide.

But Sebastian’s hand stopped flipping through the papers when he saw a photograph of a burning mansion—Phantomhive Manor, which had gone up in flames in December, claiming the lives of many people. The image was large, and beneath it, an article was printed in bold letters for all to read: the fire had killed the entire family and the servants. They hadn’t noticed the blaze until it was too late, and the firefighters reported that the fire had been deliberately set.

There were no survivors.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he leaned closer to the printed photograph. Although he had seen the image months ago and read everything in it without much attention, he now noticed for the first time a small child with a bleeding eye inside an ambulance. The same boy was sitting in his living room, drinking his cold tea and pretending he hadn’t been watching Sebastian—the same boy who had nearly blinded Sebastian’s eye.

So why did the newspapers claim the boy had died in the fire?

Chapter Text

Sebastian got out of his car after parking it in the front yard of his house. The cold quickly stung his pale cheeks. He headed to the back door, took out his leather work bag and a grocery bag containing some of the ingredients he needed, and closed the door with a push of his hip as he walked along the stone path leading to the front door of his house.

 

"Sir!" an excited shout caught Sebastian's attention. He stopped in the middle of the vast garden and turned toward the source of the shout. Finnian was kneeling in front of one of the plants he had purchased. Despite the great distance between him and Sebastian, Sebastian could see the mud covering his delicate clothes, which offered no protection against the March cold.

 

Finnian waved happily at Sebastian, a wide smile spreading across his dirty face. Sebastian nodded toward Finnian, who grinned even more when he returned the gesture. Sebastian walked silently toward his front door, hearing Finnian’s cheerful murmurs as he busied himself tending to one of the plants he had recently become obsessed with.

 

Sebastian bent down and set the grocery bag on the ground, then opened his front door, which he had never locked. Since last month, he had been leaving the door open in case the boy wanted to go somewhere—but the boy had never dared to cross the threshold.

 

The moment Sebastian stepped inside the house, he was enveloped by stifling warmth and intense heat that seemed almost capable of melting his skin. His brow twitched slightly in discomfort at the contrast between the temperature outside and inside his home. It was early March, and although they were in northern England, where the weather was usually cold most of the time, the boy had no reason to turn the heating up so high that it felt as if you were stepping into an oven.

 

He hurried toward the thermostat and lowered the temperature by a few degrees. He took off his black wool coat, quickly followed by his suit jacket, and carefully folded them on the back of his white sofa. Then he carried the grocery bag toward the kitchen and set it down on the slightly warm marble countertop.

 

He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up, revealing his forearms and elbows. He then took a black apron and tied it around his waist to protect his trousers, even though he knew they wouldn’t get dirty. He pulled out the mascarpone cheese he had bought, along with fresh strawberries and Italian biscuits.

 

There was a lot on his mind: some court sessions he had to attend next week, the papers he needed to review before filing them in his personal archive, and the case file that Tanaka had mentioned a few days ago. In truth, that case was taking up a significant portion of Sebastian’s thoughts.

 

Sebastian placed the cheese, cream, sugar, and egg yolks into the large silver bowl. He opened the kitchen drawer, took out the cake whisk, and with a swift flick of his wrist, began beating the mixture. He watched as the cheese and cream came together, forming a slightly thickened mixture. He knew the case was extremely sensitive due to Tanaka’s actions.

 

It was late at night, and he was carrying a file concerning the doctor’s life, but there was no criminal evidence or anything related to the crime scene. This was a clear indication that Tanaka did not have the authority or ability to access the official case files.

 

He didn’t know how she had died—or ‘committed suicide’ as the newspapers reported—and Tanaka refused to accept the idea that it was suicide. He didn’t know the exact time her heart had stopped, nor did he know, along with Tanaka, who had been with her or who the main suspect in the case was. All they knew was that the crime scene had been so meticulously staged that it made them suspect there was another truth hidden beneath it.

 

All of these facts were extremely unclear, and only a few minor details had been mentioned in an official newspaper article published a few months earlier.

 

Tanaka is a highly renowned professor, famous for his analytical intelligence and sharp insight. For this reason, he sometimes gets involved in certain cases, helping detectives and lawyers connect and analyze information. However, Tanaka is neither a lawyer nor a detective, so he cannot access any case information without formally requesting permission to do so.

 

There were many questions swirling in Sebastian’s mind, along with other tasks he needed to attend to, such as replying to an email he had received. But beneath all of these matters, there was a curiosity he tried to bury. Occasionally, he would give in to it, thinking about the image he had seen in the newspaper, which he kept in the back drawer of his desk—a picture of the Phantomhive mansion engulfed in flames, and a small child with a bleeding eye.

 

Sebastian searched for a higher-quality version of the image but found nothing. Even the newspaper itself had stopped printing that particular picture, which only made the situation more complicated. Yet Sebastian ignored it, knowing there were more important matters to attend to.

 

Sebastian pressed the coffee machine, which let out a soft sound as it poured the rich, warm coffee into the large cup. He placed a big plate on the counter, opened the box of biscuits, and dipped them into the hot coffee using tongs. He carefully arranged them on the plate while listening to the sound of the door opening—not far from the kitchen.

 

Then came small, hurried steps heading toward the thermostat. Sebastian stifled a sigh as he listened to the click of his finger on the control panel. Of course, the boy would leave his room once Sebastian adjusted the heating.

 

He lifted the cheese and cream mixture and slowly poured it over the coffee-dipped biscuits. The sound of feet approached the kitchen again, but they faltered slightly when he realized he wasn’t alone in the house.

 

Sebastian turned toward Ciel, who flinched slightly as Sebastian’s gaze fell upon him. Sebastian returned his attention to the dessert, ignoring the boy standing silently. He gently spread the spoon to even out the cheese and create a smooth surface. But the boy didn’t move away; he walked toward the refrigerator at the edge of the kitchen, and from the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw Ciel open the door and quietly look at its contents.

 

There was a plate covered with a lid that Sebastian had left before leaving—a turkey sandwich with some carefully cut vegetables placed beside it. But the boy chose to ignore it, his eyes fixed on Sebastian. Pretending not to notice him, Sebastian layered the biscuits over the cheese, forming another layer.

 

“Are you making tiramisu?” the boy wondered aloud, stepping closer and stopping just a few paces from Sebastian, trying to get a glimpse of the plate he was working on.

 

Sebastian looked at the box of cheese labeled in blue, ‘Mascarpone’ the most important ingredient for making tiramisu.

 

“Yes,” he said, placing the mixture over the second layer of biscuits. He was slightly surprised when he realized the boy had figured out what he was making. He heard the boy’s soft hum, yet Ciel didn’t move away; he lingered slightly behind Sebastian. Sebastian didn’t ignore the fact that the boy had left a clear space between them.

 

But suddenly, Ciel reached out and grabbed one of the plastic containers, opening it forcefully, and a loud pop echoed through the quiet kitchen. Sebastian turned around to see the boy stuffing two strawberries into his mouth, discarding the tops. Sebastian’s brow furrowed in clear displeasure as he watched Ciel’s full cheeks moving slowly while he chewed. Ciel raised his eyebrows boldly toward Sebastian, as if questioning him.

 

Instead of taking the strawberries he would use later, Sebastian said in a voice tinged with sarcasm and slight disgust, “Did you have to eat the strawberries without washing them?” He set down the spoon, leaving the tiramisu’s surface uneven, and turned his body toward the boy, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter. Ciel shrugged indifferently, but his eyes never left Sebastian, and he didn’t ignore that cautious look.

 

It seemed as if the boy was waiting for something, but Sebastian pushed the thought aside.

 

He picked up another strawberry and put it in his mouth, his exposed blue eye studying Sebastian. It was then that Sebastian realized the boy’s face was clear at this moment, the bruises having fully healed, except for a small, faint bruise on his temple beneath his tangled hair, which hadn’t been noticeable before.

 

The boy paid no attention to tidying his appearance. Finnian’s shirt was extremely wrinkled, and his shorts, reaching his knees, revealed his legs with some old wounds and scars that would never fully heal. Small dark circles beneath his exposed eye hinted at the sleepless hours the boy had endured.

 

Yet despite all that, the boy was alive and breathing. His skin had taken on a slightly healthier hue, and his eyes glowed more than the last time they had met. And though tension lingered in his small shoulders, the boy was alive.

 

Sebastian tilted his head in thought, folding his arms across his chest as his body faced Ciel. There was an email from one of his employees informing him that the ballet company he invested in would be performing at a theater in England, and they wanted Sebastian to attend the show. It would be wonderful to bring the boy along for his first public appearance.

 

“There’s going to be a ballet performance,” Sebastian said, catching the boy’s attention just as he was lost in thoughts Sebastian knew nothing about. Ciel’s brow twitched with slight interest, and he slowed his chewing as he swallowed the strawberry. He tossed the tops of the strawberries into the sink, paying no mind to the nearby trash bin

 

what a lazy child.

 

“It’s an interesting company, and their performance will be exactly one week from now.” Ciel placed his hand on the strawberry container, waiting for Sebastian to continue. Sebastian did just that, lowering his gaze to the boy’s clothes. “You’ll need a new suit and a few other things.”

 

The boy’s brow furrowed, his forehead wrinkling slightly, and his glossy, strawberry-stained lips curled into a dissatisfied frown at the turn of the conversation.

 

“And we also need to get that messy hair of yours cut,” Sebastian said, averting his eyes from the boy’s lips and taking a step closer to Ciel. The boy tensed at the sudden movement, but Sebastian didn’t come any closer; he stayed in place, lost in thought. A short-pants suit would have looked cute on the boy, but his unhealed ankles and some scars were concerning. He decided to skip that option and buy him a new suit with long trousers instead.

 

“What?” Ciel whispered through his breath, and Sebastian watched as the boy’s expression tightened in displeasure at the news. In fact, the email had been sent to Sebastian a long time ago, but if the boy hadn’t locked himself in his silly little room, Sebastian would have told him about the performance much earlier.

 

Sebastian took another step closer, ignoring the small tension and fear that had formed in Ciel’s muscles. “Your bruises have faded, and that’s very relieving, but what worries me most is—”

 

A closer step. The boy’s breath faltered, and the annoying rustle of plastic sounded from his grip on the container. Yet he didn’t back away and stayed in place. Ciel lowered his hand, placing it calmly by his side.

 

Sebastian knew why the boy was standing there and hadn’t moved away, but he ignored it and stepped closer, leaning slightly toward Ciel. “The bandage on your eye.”

 

He watched the boy’s exposed eye and the trembling of his hand at his side. One wrong move, and Ciel could reach for the open drawer containing large knives—but Sebastian didn’t close the drawer. He remained standing, driven by curiosity.

 

“I’ll call a skilled doctor to examine your eye; it might have gotten infected from that dirty bandage,” Sebastian said in his falsely reassuring tone, trying to calm the boy, who looked at him with clear discomfort at Sebastian’s unnaturally wide smile.

 

For a moment, Sebastian thought the boy had stopped breathing, but a second later he saw Ciel’s slender chest rise and fall violently, his eye glaring at Sebastian with intense resentment. “Stop doing that,” came a small hiss between the boy’s rapid breaths. His shoulders were raised high with tension, and the tips of his fingers had turned white from gripping the container so tightly.

 

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his gaze drifting toward the dirty bandage barely covering the boy’s eye. He tried to glimpse the skin beneath it, but Ciel lowered his chin, letting strands of hair fall over his eye deliberately. He refused to let Sebastian see his eye.

 

“Stop pretending to be worried,” the boy said, his grip tightening even more as his eyes trembled under the weight of emotions swirling through his chest. Sebastian didn’t blink; he watched the emotions carve the boy’s face, reshaping it. His features were now angry and agitated, no longer resembling the timid child who had faltered nervously in the kitchen when he first saw Sebastian.

 

But a small whisper came from the boy—a short sentence, yet spoken clearly, disregarding the anger and disgust that revealed his true feelings. “You’re no better or different from them.”

 

Sebastian’s fingers trembled at the boy’s words, and his breath faltered slightly as he looked at Ciel, who was breathing heavily.

 

Something ugly stirred in Sebastian’s chest—something akin to anger and disgust. Brazenly, the boy spat in his face that he was no better or different from “them,” and Sebastian didn’t have to think long to know whom Ciel meant by “them.” The boy had linked Sebastian to that group of fools. He tried to ignore the child’s words, but the boy didn’t stop; he continued, disregarding Sebastian’s silent warning glance.

 

“Do you think you’re better just because you set a price on me and took me with you? You’re nothing but another man panting after—”

 

Ciel didn’t finish his sentence

 

Sebastian’s grip on his jaw was so strong that he accidentally bit his tongue. Sebastian’s fingers dug into the boy’s cheeks, his hold pressing harder on the small jaw to silence any words. He pushed the boy’s face back until his spine hit the counter, a muffled groan escaping from his closed lips. Sebastian’s massive frame loomed over the trembling boy, his long shadow falling across Ciel’s features, which widened in pure, unmistakable terror.

 

Sebastian leaned closer to Ciel to study his expressions clearly. Fear was unmistakable on the boy’s face; his blue eye was wide, staring at Sebastian in terror. His hand trembled near the drawer, reaching for one of the knives, but Sebastian pressed his forearm against Ciel’s chest, causing his features to contort in pain.

 

The container slipped from the boy’s hand, spilling fresh strawberries across the kitchen floor. Sebastian crushed one underfoot as he advanced toward the violently trembling boy, whose hands gripped Sebastian’s exposed wrist tightly. Ciel tried to push him away, but Sebastian didn’t budge.

 

“That’s right, I’m no better than them,” Sebastian said in a low, emotionless voice to the boy who was barely breathing. He felt a slight sting on his wrist from the boy’s nails digging into his skin, but he ignored it and leaned closer. “I could leave you to rot in that auction and get my money back. Is that what you want?”

 

He tightened his grip on the boy’s jaw, making Ciel’s thick lashes flutter, and a thin, damp layer of tears formed in his eyes.

 

Sebastian knew he was acting despicably in that moment. He knew he had pushed the boy too far and that he would regret it later. He didn’t need to speak those words or make those threats, yet that look of disgust and the boy’s claim that Sebastian was no different from them nearly drove him mad. He felt something swelling in his chest—something ugly and dark—and the only thing he saw through those wet, shining blue eyes was sheer panic.

 

A vile feeling crept over him, sparked by that gaze.

 

Sebastian breathed calmly, trying to regain control of his nerves, loosening his grip on the boy’s jaw and stepping back slightly, though he didn’t move away completely. The boy hissed again, “Stop acting like a spoiled child and remember what we agreed on.”

 

Sebastian gave a slight, silent warning press to the boy’s face, his untrimmed nails digging deeper into Sebastian’s skin. In a swift motion, the boy lifted his leg and kicked Sebastian hard. Sebastian let him—it was a deserved little kick—and stepped back, removing his hand from the boy’s face.

 

The boy’s body trembled as he staggered against the counter, regaining his balance and breath, his eyes rising to meet Sebastian’s. He felt a cold shiver run through him as he watched the small, rough laugh escape from the boy who was barely standing. Mockery filled Ciel’s exposed eye, and the imprint of Sebastian’s fingers on his face turned a deep red, like a freshly blossomed flower.

 

He watched the new bruise forming on the boy’s face, not as if he were fussing over the marks coloring Ciel’s skin. A heavy feeling sank into his chest, but he swallowed it as he watched Ciel straighten up, muttering something under his breath. The boy cursed in French, stamped on the strawberries with his bare foot, and left the kitchen with loud, clumsy steps, matching the sound of his stumbling breaths.

 

Sebastian raised his hand and wiped his face as he sighed deeply. Damn it—what was he doing now? Had he given in to the boy’s provocation? Curse it all. He closed his eyes, and all he saw was that angry, disgusted gaze, as if he had proven to the boy exactly what Ciel had been hinting at. He lowered his hand and saw his wrist bleeding. It wasn’t a large or painful cut, but the sting lingered, slowly burning his skin in an irritating, persistent way.

 

He absently ran his fingers over the pink scar beneath his eye as his gaze slid to the open drawer full of knives. He knew of the boy’s desire to see Sebastian’s blood spilled on that floor. He recognized that desperate look—the one that drives a person to resort to anything to free themselves from that predicament.

 

He sighed again, pressing his temple as a headache began to form. The tiramisu sat on the counter, while the strawberries Ciel had greedily eaten were now carelessly scattered across the floor. Some had been crushed, leaving sticky footprints on the white marble, while others rolled away from Sebastian’s feet.

 

_______

 

The bell rang above Sebastian’s head as he entered the suit shop. He heard the soft music filling the space, and the warmth inside felt especially comforting given the biting cold outside that seemed to gnaw at his bones. Sebastian turned to the elderly man, who smiled in surprise at him.

 

“Welcome, Mr. Michaelis,” the man greeted. Sebastian murmured a quiet greeting in return, his eyes scanning the suits on display—unchanged since his last visit to the shop.

 

“What a surprise to have you visit us without an appointment,” the man said, laughing happily though he seemed a bit flustered. He was probably thinking that Sebastian hadn’t been satisfied with the last suit he purchased.

 

The man gestured toward one of the back rooms, where Sebastian always sat during his visits. “Let me show you to the room. We received a new collection this morning.”

 

Sebastian followed the elderly man as he walked to the wooden door and opened it for him.

 

The room featured a small raised platform for viewing oneself in the large mirrors, good lighting that didn’t strain the eyes, and a massive black sofa for visitors to relax on, with a small table beside it. Sebastian wasn’t particularly surprised when an employee appeared from somewhere, carrying a bottle of water and some small treats—offered even though they knew he wouldn’t partake.

 

Sebastian sat on the sofa, adjusting his coat, which he hadn’t removed—after all, he hadn’t come here to buy a suit for himself. The elderly man tapped his finger toward the employee, who nodded silently. The man rubbed his hands, pleased to see his regular customer. Indeed, Sebastian had been a patron of the shop for over a decade. He preferred this store over Nina’s, which leaned more toward classic clothing with a modern twist and flashy touches. If he ever wanted something extravagant and eye-catching, Nina’s would be his first stop.

 

“Would you like me to show the collection first?” the elderly man asked, smiling a gentle yet cheerful smile. But Sebastian hadn’t come today to see the new men’s collection. He looked up at the man and added, “I want to see the teenage collection first.”

 

The old man’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but he quickly masked it beneath his friendly smile and nodded, despite the small flicker of hesitation.

 

The elderly man left for a few moments and then returned with the same employee, pushing a rolling rack filled with numerous and varied suits before Sebastian. He examined the suits carefully, noting the garish colors—some were light brown with ugly shirts, others a blindingly bright green that almost hurt his eyes. There was a blue suit that looked truly nice, but the short trousers made him hesitate. Then his gaze fell on a beautiful black suit with a pearl-colored inner vest and a simple yet luxurious shirt—something classic, the kind Sebastian truly admired.

 

He pointed to the suit without hesitation, signaling the employee to display it. The employee rambled on about the quality of the fabric, praising the piece at length—even though Sebastian knew he would have said the same about that hideous green suit if it had been chosen.

 

“So, what size would you like?” the elderly man asked, catching Sebastian’s attention. The old man was practical and formal, able to rein in his curiosity and questions, but the young employee’s gaze felt irritating. Sebastian tilted his chin in thought, ignoring the oddity of the situation he found himself in.

 

Ciel wasn’t a very small boy, but he wasn’t as tall or broad as Finnian. His frame was slim, though not extremely short. He examined the suit thoughtfully, then added, realizing he didn’t know his measurements, “I want all the measurements.”

 

The employee choked on his saliva, trying to stifle a cough. The elderly man shot him a warning glance but smiled warmly when he looked at Sebastian.

 

“Of course.”

 

______

 

Sebastian wasn’t surprised that the boy had locked himself in the room all week. He even stopped walking past Sebastian’s office when Sebastian stayed late into the night. Yet the food containers he left in the fridge would be empty whenever Sebastian returned from work. The dirty clothes were left by the boy at the threshold of his room, even though sometimes he would place them in the laundry basket.

 

And even though Sebastian had baked a chocolate cake three times that same week, it wasn’t because of any guilt over those eyes that had haunted him all week. Every time he closed his own eyes, he saw them, as if they were etched onto his eyelids. So, of course, he hadn’t baked the cake out of guilt—not as if he knew the boy devoured each chocolate cake ravenously every time he made one.

 

Sebastian placed a small note on the plate he had prepared for Ciel’s lunch, reminding him that they would leave for the performance tomorrow after 4 p.m. He didn’t know whether the boy read it or ignored the paper. Sebastian settled onto the sofa in his living room, wearing a suit that closely matched the one he had bought for Ciel: a black jacket and trousers, a white shirt with silver buttons engraved with his initials, a pearl-colored inner vest, and a black bow tie. He slicked his hair back, letting some strands fall along the side of his face, revealing his perfect forehead and eyebrows.

 

He heard the soft click of the door as the clock hand neared 3:53 p.m. He lifted his eyes toward the door, which opened to reveal Ciel stepping out slowly, his gaze lowered as he fastened the button of his black jacket. Sebastian tightened his grip on his pocket watch, his eyes never leaving the boy as he walked carefully across the living room floor.

 

The suit fit the boy perfectly, as if it had been tailored just for him. The small shoulders aligned neatly with the jacket, and the silver buttons engraved with Sebastian’s initials looked striking on him. Around his slender, pale neck, the slightly tilted black bow tie didn’t detract from the overall impeccable appearance.

 

The suit was so perfect that Sebastian was slightly stunned. He felt as if Ciel truly belonged in this suit, not in those shabby, dirty clothes. He belonged to something like this, not to wounds and things that left him hurt and in pain. Sebastian felt a weight pressing on his chest as Ciel’s feet stopped in the middle of the living room, wearing one of the shoes Sebastian had bought—chosen without knowing Ciel’s exact foot size.

 

What caught Sebastian’s attention was the leather eye patch he had specially ordered for Ciel. The luxurious black leather hugged the boy’s head and covered his injured eye. His fingers trembled slightly more, and his breath grew a little heavier. Ciel looked utterly captivating.

 

Ciel’s gaze was completely devoid of emotion. His brow wasn’t furrowed, nor were his lips curved in a faint, childish pout. There was none of the tension or confusion Sebastian had seen when he had made tea for him that night. Indifference was the only thing present—and it made the situation all the more unsettling.

 

Sebastian straightened up, pushing aside the thoughts clawing at his mind. He noticed Ciel’s hair, uncut and untrimmed, falling messily over his forehead, and the boy seemed completely indifferent to the disorder. Sebastian was about to tell him to follow him to the bathroom without saying a word

 

but Ciel’s gaze stopped him. He spoke in a calm voice, free of the usual false tone that unsettled the boy, “Let me fix your hair, alright?”

 

He quietly made the request while looking at the boy, who neither blinked nor said a word. Sebastian waited for a few seconds in case Ciel wanted to refuse the request—but he knew Sebastian wouldn’t reject the idea of him going to the show. Despite Ciel’s messy hair, Sebastian knew it gave him an innocent, youthful, and beautiful touch.

 

He didn’t turn around when he heard the sound of footsteps following him and stopped at the bathroom near the living room. As he took out the gel, the boy hesitated for a moment but then stepped into the bathroom—though he didn’t go far from the door. Sebastian’s scrutinizing eyes missed none of these details.

 

He removed his white cotton gloves and placed them on the edge of the sink. Dipping his fingers into the gel, he rubbed it slowly between his hands, his eyes sliding to the child standing just two steps away. Ciel didn’t raise his chin; he simply watched Sebastian’s bare hands for the first time, and his black nails gleamed under the bathroom’s white light. Sebastian stepped forward, noticing the boy’s shoulders tense slightly.

 

"Lift your head a little," Sebastian said in a calm, low voice. Ciel’s eyes rose slightly to meet Sebastian’s gaze. As he lifted his chin, strands of his hair fell back, revealing his beautiful face—this time completely free of bruises, not even the faint pink mark he had on his face that day.

 

Ciel lowered his eyes and silently looked at Sebastian’s tie. The moment felt incredibly fragile, as if any misstep could ruin it. Moving extremely slowly so as not to startle the boy, Sebastian ran his fingertips through the roots of his hair, careful not to touch the skin of his temple. He swallowed, watching Ciel’s thick lashes tremble slightly as he tried not to show any reaction.

 

He ran his hand through Ciel’s hair once more, trying to sweep it away from the boyish face while leaving the rest cascading over half of it, some strands covering the injured eye. Sebastian ignored the fleeting thoughts about how soft the child’s hair was. Its color was unusual, unlike anything he had seen before—extraordinarily unique—and the strands flowed gently between Sebastian’s long fingers.

 

With each stroke of the boy’s hair, Sebastian’s thoughts grew louder and more violent. He wanted to say something—anything—to distract himself from them—but at the same time, he didn’t want to ruin this silent moment.

 

But at one moment, when he saw the boy’s eyes looking at him, gently glowing under the bathroom light, he spoke in a slightly rough, hoarse voice, “We’ll pass by some shops on the way. Do you want anything?”

 

Sebastian’s hand paused mid-strand in the boy’s hair and didn’t move away, even though it had become damp and slippery over time.

 

Confusion appeared on Ciel’s face, as if he hadn’t expected Sebastian to speak after such a long silence. In truth, Sebastian hadn’t expected to speak either. But the confusion quickly faded

 

and the boy whispered, tilting his head slightly, “Anything I want?” His voice was soft and delicate. His thick lashes fluttered slowly, casting a shadow over his eye and deepening its color.

 

His facial expressions were innocent and gentle, like one of those little angels painted on the ceilings of the church Sebastian visited every Sunday. Yet he knew—he knew that this child was nothing but a little demon.

 

Because Ciel tilted his head, Sebastian’s hand slid further toward the back of the boy’s head, his pinky brushing against the skin at the nape of his neck. But Sebastian paid no mind to his nail scratching the pale skin; instead, his eyes became distracted by the earrings the boy was wearing.

 

A blue pearl with a unique grayish tint gleamed beautifully, as captivating as the child’s eyes gazing at him. Sebastian had bought these earrings himself—a pair of distinctive pearls he had spent a lot on, as they reminded him of the boy’s eyes. He hadn’t bought the sapphire earrings, a remarkable piece praised by the store clerk; instead, he was drawn to these pearls that carried the same hue as the child’s eyes and hair.

 

And they really suited him.

 

Sebastian took a deep breath, moving his hand away from Ciel’s hair, a wry smile curling on his lips as he tried to push away his guilt, the clamor of his thoughts, and his embarrassment. A small voice whispered for him to apologize, to say he hadn’t meant it—but he couldn’t. So he spoke in an amused tone, trying to dispel the tension and the gaze that clung to Ciel’s eyes.

 

“Anything you want, as long as you don’t spill my blood on the floor.” Sebastian expected the boy to be embarrassed or to give him a strange look

 

but Ciel’s small lips twitched into a tiny smile as he whispered in a delightfully playful voice, “I won’t promise that.”