Ciel should have been used to the fighting by now. It certainly happened enough for him to be. Still, the small demon's hands reached up to grip his ashy strands in frustration. The year was 1916 and in the 27 years they realized they would be bound forever, neither Sebastian nor Ciel looked as if even a moment had gone by. Though Ciel was a man of 40 by now, he still held the face and body of a 13 year old boy. While appealing to some, eternal youth had never been something he cherished. He didn't even like being patronized when he was 13. When Ciel was a human, Sebastian had followed every single order given to him without even a hint of a complaint. Now he took every opportunity to twist those orders around into something totally different and undesired. He took things literally and only followed the order to its most base wording, seeming to go out of his way to make Ciel miserable. Ciel could understand to a point. Sebastian had worked so hard to have him as a meal with no reward in the end. The younger demon just wished Sebastian knew how ridiculous this all made them both look. Those demon's aesthetics were washing down the drain with every taunt.
Ciel sighed and sunk into the couch tiredly. It didn't matter what they were fighting about anymore. Sebastian would profess to not understand his intentions and Ciel would expose it for the absolute bull shit that it was. Sebastian would apologize and just go do the exact same thing all over again.
Ciel rested a hand over his eyes and huffed. What was Sebastian trying to get out of him by acting this way?
"You know what, Sebastian? Just forget it." Ciel muttered, "Forget everything." He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He gasped when he saw those familiar ruddy brown eyes widen before they disappeared.
"No! Sebastian!" He shouted, springing to his feet as he tried to grasp for the front of his fading tailcoat. "No, no no! Come back! I order you to come back right now, Sebastian!" His words were almost screamed at this point.
He never came back.
Ciel sat up 95 years later and pushed himself out of bed. He felt himself rather lucky to have a bed. He hadn't really slept in several months. Demons didn't really need to sleep, but it was nice to rest his body every once in a while.
The apartment he lived in now was a far cry from the mansion he grew up in as a boy. It was was nice and he kept it clean easily, but it was small and cramped in a dreary neighborhood. He reached for his eyepatch and stared at it a moment. The mark on his eye had never gone away, but lately it had started to fade. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Seeing it every morning forced him to remember the demon who abandoned him. Did he blame himself? Of course. Phantomhives were always accountable for their actions. However, he could help but wonder if Sebastian wasn't trying to be given such an order. If nothing else, it reminded him of his own stupidity. On the other hand, part of him was terrified to lose the last chance to find his butler. The man who promised to serve him forver was now gone. He leaned into the dresser mirror to make out the faint outline of his contract. It was very easy to pass it off as mild heterochromia, but he pulled the eyepatch over it anyway. It was as comfortable as his socks or his shirt. It was just another thing to wear now. He tied it back behind his head with no trouble and opened the dresser to pull out a t-shirt. He paused when he let his eyes travel to the newspaper clipping taped to the mirror from March 10 of 1944; the obituary of Elizabeth Middleford. As a human, he'd taken his fiancee's company for granted. He could only assume it was the war that dragged her weary body to a stop. Did he love Lizzy? Of course he did. She was his cousin and one of the few family members he'd had left. She had been his best friend as a child and he was only treated with love even when he couldn't give her any in return. When he couldn't give love to anyone. She was his link to the past. The only thing in those horrible events that never changed. Lizzy was and would always be wonderful. Yet, he felt no remorse leaving without a goodbye. He never minded that their last dance was to a broken phonograph. He was long dead by then.
He slipped the t-shirt over his head and fussed with his hair some so that it laid over his eyepatch as it always had. After grabbing his crumpled jeans from the floor, he pulled them up and fumbled for a pair of soft cotton black gloves. On the back of his left hand was a solid black star confined in a swirled circle. It was not as ornate or old-fashioned as the one on his eye, but it was his mark. His symbol that he was in a contract with a human. He slipped the gloves on- not to hide it from humans, but other demons- and nodded to his reflection before reaching for a black apron on the back of his door, slipping it over his head. Just another day, right?