I knew.

I saw the tears glisten in the moonlight after I pretended to shut the bedroom door behind me each night. I heard the broken, supressed whimpers he fell asleep to. Worst of all, though, I could tell the Young Master was slowly breaking down, gradually tearing himself apart.

This wasn't the Young Master in love.

This was suicide.

And I knew.


The study was quiet where Ciel was. All the noise of his servants' mishaps, no matter how large it was, seemed never to reach the room. Not a single trouble could be sensed.

But then why did the young boy feel so restless? He found it nearly impossible to sit still for even a few seconds. And then-

And then he remembered.


"D-dammit," he choked quietly, "dammit."

Now there truly was no hope that he would be able to focus the rest of the day. Once he had remembered, it was like a drug to him: the thoughts and memories never ceased, the desire lingered in his soul, the ache he got in his-

But then he remembered something else.

Ciel climbed out of the burgundy chair he was sitting in and knelt on the floor in front of the four drawers attached to his desk. He slowly opened the last drawer and the first thing his eyes landed on was what he needed. Carefully taking out the object wrapped in a white cloth, he carried it outside with him on the balcony. The wind's power soon struck the object, making the cloth tumble off and into the universe.

A gold pistol was revealed.

Ciel's eyes told a story of devestation and his tears made a mess on his smooth, pale, but shaken face. With his trembling hands, Ciel locked the gun.

It's going to be fine, Ciel compromised with himself, I just... I just need to get myself out of this...

Slowly, due to his clammy hands, Ciel held up the pistol to the right side of his head. As he closed his eyes, his knees buckled and arms stiffened.

Then, he wrapped his finger around the trigger and-


I remember finding the Young Master on the balcony one night. He was trembling, but not because he was afraid. He was desperately troubled.

"Young Master," I spoke, trying to sound comforting.

He did not move. No word escaped from his lips and he had not eased his finger from the trigger.

I do not even think I could hear him breathing.

"Young Master, please."

If it weren't for the plea in my voice, I don't think he would have ever turned around. Because when he turned around-

His face was wholly frantic, yet determined when he turned around to face me. I understood why the floor of the balcony was stained with water at that moment. Ciel's face... was completely wet with his own tears.

His eyes did this sort of twitch when he looked up at me. And then I knew he was both in a rage and a helpless state.


But he still did not speak. He just looked at me with his misty, sapphire eyes.

And I knew it was taking such willpower out of him not to break into hysterics in front of me.

"Please put the gun down, Young Master."

Five more seconds and he had not stopped staring at me with those eyes that nearly pierced straight through me.

Then five more seconds.

Then five more.

And then five more until he compromised and dropped the pistol to the ground, like it was cumbersome.

His eyes... they still never left my face.

I will never forget the way he looked at me that night. His quivering lip, the tears on the verge of dripping down from his eyes to his cheeks-

"Please do not do things as reckless as this, Young Master. It is not new information to you that my job is to protect you, life or death." I picked up the gun that was laying by Ciel's feet and wrapped it in a newly-drawn, white cloth.

I was not expecting him to say anything to me that night.

I placed the gun on the railing of the balcony carefully to attend to Ciel. I offered him a cloth to wipe his face with, but he made no change in stance. His eyes would still not leave my face. And his expression never shifted from looking-

Broken. If there were one word I would describe it with. Broken.

"Young Master... is there something you would like to discuss with me?"

Only silence.

"Mm. Very well then. Let us get you to bed."

I was surprised to find that he followed me inside and into his bedroom that night. Just like a child, too brave to call out for help, yet utterly afraid.


This night was different from the other nights, though. This night, the Young Master was not trying to sleep. His eyes were fully open and he clutched the pillow next to his head and wept.

Then he threw the pillow on the floor.

That pillow was followed by all the other pillows on his bed I had carefully adjusted for his comfort before bed.

He then grasped his nightgown, in the same exact place as his heart. He grasped it as if he were trying to find a way to stop the pain in his chest.

And he wept.

And I watched.

And I knew.


I remember finding the Young Master on the balcony one night. He was looking down at the grass and bushes in the moonlight underneath.

"Young Master?"

He did not speak. But I took that as a hint to come closer.

So I stepped up to his side and rested my hands on the railing of the balcony, following his gaze.


"Yes, My Lord?"

"Would you call me insane?"

He did not take his eyes off of the ground.

"And why would you ever ask that?"

"I mean... is it insanity if-" he suddenly cut himself off and turned his head opposite of me. "Nevermind," he whispered to himself, "Such a foolish thing to say..."

A few moments of pure, but anxious silence passed by, leading up to the moment where Ciel spoke with great urgency; as if the words just pushed themselves out of his mouth.

"Is it insanity if one wants something that they know they can't have."

I slowly turned my head away from the ground to fix my gaze on him, gazing at his face with what I would call concern. "I believe insanity depends on your perspective, My Lord. From someone's point of view, anyone can be insane. I do not think insanity has a set definition."

And then he was silent with his head still turned away, staring so intently at the ground, I questioned what he might have found so captivating. It seemed to devour his attention from reality completely.

Many moments passed by without a stated word; only thoughts.

And pure silence.

But the silence was a melancholy silence.

Because we both knew what he wanted.

And I knew it ached him, and I knew it feasted on his hope.

"Young Master, let us get you to bed."

But, I couldn't-


I remember finding the Young Master on the balcony one night. He was staring up at the clear, night sky.

"Young Master?"

"Mm? Ah, Sebastian."

Tenderly, I walked toward him. I could tell he was in a certain state that I would regret if I disturbed. So I did not stand close to him. I kept my distance from his tranquility, off to his side, and I followed his gaze.

He exhaled, looking up at the starlit sky charmingly, "Such a wonder stars are. Don't you think? Every night, they appear in the sky, so faithfully."

"It is a wonder, My Lord."

"Chained to the same place, every night. Yet they shine so brightly."

He seemed lost in his own daze, that I did not want to break, because-

He finally seemed at ease. Yet, at the same time, so fragile.

"And then the birds," he fixed his gaze on a pair of doves nearby, "are chained to the sky as well. Yet they appear so free."

"Indeed, My Lord."

The birds sat together on a branch close to the balcony. Not close enough to stick our hands out and reach for them, but close enough to tell that they were sleeping, nestled warmly together.

"Mm, they must be a dole," he spoke in an almost-whisper.

"They must be."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a slight twinkle from where the Young Master was standing. The twinkle came from one side of his face, and when I turned my head everso slightly,-

He was crying.

I did not need to fully face him to know he was crying. Still from the corner of my eye, I saw the twinkle fall down from his eye and onto the ground of the balcony.

But he smiled and whispered to himself, "So free, so faithful."

And I could only stand beside him.

I did not want to break his bliss.


The hand he used to clutch his nightgown was trembling and the bedsheets were stained by his tears. However, he did not call out. He was silent. There were no more whimpers, no more gasps for air.

But I knew. I still knew.

And because I knew, I cracked the bedroom door open enough for me to slip through and walked to the side of the bed without making a sound. As tenderly as ever, I slid through the bedsheets and took the Young Master into my arms.

"You have no reason to suffer, Young Master. Please," I whispered into his ear.

And he did the only thing he could find the strength to do.

He cried.

But this time, he was crying in my arms.

And I could only hold him.

I did not want to break his bliss.