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Immortal	By : zoni Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 4535 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji. I do not make any money off of my fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
              The official final chapter of Immortal was supposed to be chapter five. However, thanks to DeviantArt, I ran into a problem - at 12,500 words, it was too long to upload in one piece. So, it has now been split into two pieces, which will be chapter five and chapter six.

              I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I apologize for it taking so long to get up.

              Please look forward to the final installment!

              The scent of alcohol and sickness reaches my nose even before I walk through the sliding glass doors of the emergency room. The paramedics and police were more than willing to direct me to the hospital that my young master had been taken to, though they would tell me no more.

              The evening is still young, and it is not a weekend. While a few people are sitting in the pleather chairs that make up the hospital lounge, it is mostly deserted. I pay them no mind as I pace toward the reception desk. As I approach, the nurse sitting behind the podium looks up at me. I wonder if the expression on my face is really so dire, as she is reaching for an admissions slip rather than simply asking what she can do to help me. I raise a hand to stop her. "I am sorry, but I do not need to be seen. I am looking for someone. He would have been brought in a short while ago by ambulance."

              She looks up at me skeptically, but her hand moves away from the admission slips. After a moment, she turns back to the computer screen in front of her. "What is the name?"

              "Frederick Randall," I say without hesitation. The name that my young master is using to run his company is also the name that he is using for his own identity, though he will always be Ciel Phantomhive to me. He had no identification on him. I am quite certain of that. However, if he was conscious then that is the name that he would have given them. I wonder if he has ever cared for any of these aliases that he uses.

I expect her to type the name into the computer to check, but instead she looks up at my sharply as if I have done something wrong. The name is familiar to her, and I doubt it is because of his age or the circumstances in which he was brought in. Quietly, she asks, "Are you family?"

              "I am his guardian," I tell her, not batting an eye. It isn't a lie. I am his guardian, though not in the sense that she will assume. I have done a very, very poor job of it thus far. For now, that does not matter. I know enough to gather that he was alive when they took him away from the scene of the accident, but I have no way to know how severe his injuries were. It is also possible that something may have happened during

the journey from my apartment complex to the hospital. This hospital is one of the finest in the city, and I do not take the fact that they brought him here to be a good sign. After all, the hospital that was only a few blocks from my apartment would have been more than sufficient to treat minor injuries. However, minor injuries would not have left that much blood on the cement behind the vehicle.

              From behind the computer monitor, I can see that the woman is thinking over her options. I can only imagine what his file must look like on their computers. Perhaps my young master has managed false information to make his information look more normal. I wonder what birth date he has listed. After a long moment, the woman lets out a heavy sigh. I wonder if there is more to this situation than I realize. I have not frequented hospitals in recent years, but I cannot imagine that her behavior is normal. She asks, "Can I ask for your name?"

              "Sebastian Michaelis."

              She says nothing. After a moment, she stands and excuses herself. When she returns, there is another nurse with her. This new woman beckons me over and leads me to a quiet corner that is away from the other patients waiting in the lounge. She looks at me apologetically. "I am sorry for the wait, Mr. Michaelis. Mr. Randall has been to our hospital before, but he has never been accompanied by his... by yourself."

              "May I ask what happened?" I say.

              "Of course," she says. "He was brought into the hospital via ambulance about twenty minutes ago. He is currently in surgery. The police called to let us know that someone would be coming to see him, so I am certain that you already know that he was involved in a vehicular accident."

              "How badly was he injured?" I ask. This is what I am concerned about.

              She frowns for a moment before shaking her head slightly. "Unfortunately, I am unable to tell you that just now." When she sees the dark expression on my face, she holds up a hand defensively. "Not because I wish to withhold information from you, Mr. Michaelis. He was taken into emergency surgery and I am uncertain of what they will find. I can tell you that he was taken into surgery for internal bleeding. If it were not Mr.

Randall, I would not even be able to tell you that much."

              "I see." There is a long pause, and I am uncertain of what else to ask. There is nothing that I can do.

              "I know that you must be worried about him, but for right now the best thing that you can do is wait and pray for him." She smiles at me. I cannot even smirk at the dry irony that her statement contains even without her knowledge. "There is a waiting room just down this hall. Have a seat and be patient. I will come and tell you as soon as I have news."

              Sitting and waiting is something that I should excel at after my year of service to John Anderson. The falsely soft covers of the hospital chairs are uncomfortable, but they are enough. I am very aware of the sound that the second hand makes as it ticks away in the clock hanging on the wall. It has been more than two hours

since I first set foot inside of the hospital, and I still do not know how my young master is fairing.

              This is an emotion that I am already familiar with. I have felt it before. It is a sense of unease at not knowing how badly he may be injured, not knowing if his life is in danger. However, in the past, the feeling has been fleeting. I have only felt it for a single moment as I have watched an assailant launch themselves at him before I intervened. Now, there is nothing that I can do to step between him and the danger that he is facing. I am unaccustomed to feeling this way for this long, and the feeling does not bode well with me. I find myself glancing up every time that I hear the sounds of shoes on the tile floors of the hallway just outside of the waiting area.

              For once, I think I can understand the way that a human might feel. I hate being forced to wait and wonder as much as any mortal man might have to. This is what he has done to me. Before I left his side, there was no problem too great for me to solve. I was the solution, the answer, to all of his needs and desires. The situation that he is in now is different. There is no solution. There is nothing I can do to save him this

time.

              Nearly an hour ago, I pulled the glove off of my left hand. I have spent much of my time studying the lines of our contract that grace the skin there. He is still alive. At least, I believe that the presence of our seal on my skin is proof enough of that. Even in the short time since I discovered that he was injured, I have been forced to think about many things. My duty to him. Our contract. I have even considered the connection between us, the one that I have not yet reestablished and which I tamped down on so completely when I left the first time.

              After John Anderson was disposed of, I had been looking forward to reestablishing that connection. I wanted it. I still want it. When a contract is formed between a demon and a human, the demon will mark that human with the seal of their contract. The closer to the eye that the seal is placed, the stronger the bond between them. No matter what might happen, that demon will never lose track of their master. They may follow them to the very depths of Hell itself and yet that connection will not be lost.

              Darkness and hopelessness surround these deep ties, binding my master and myself so that I might find him and devour his soul even if he should run from me. Humans who delude themselves into believing that demons are benevolent creatures would do well to remember the true nature of the bond that ties them together. And yet, my desire to reestablish that connection and once again feel his presence is not malicious. I simply wish to be able to feel his presence there at the other end, wherever he might be.

              The clock is the only sound that accompanies me as I slide my eyes closed and feel for him, for those tenuous threads of our contract. Even though I have cut them and tied them and in every way forced them out of my mind, they still remain. Fragile and Broken, they have always haunted the edges of my mind as I consider the promises that we made when I found him dying on that altar to a beast so many years ago. His broken body, his blood on the tiles. All of these things pull his mind to me, even as I am certain that he is once again lying broken and bloodied on a table only a few rooms away.

              There is no magical moment or bright light as I manage to force the connection between us open once more. There is only a warm, vague feeling at the back of my mind. Even when the connection was first established, I was not aware of his presence unless I was consciously searching for him. In the beginning, I had not really bothered with that unless he had been abducted. As time had passed, though, I found myself

keeping the connection open between us constantly until that final night. I was always aware of him. Now, I find myself hoping that this will not bet yet another final night, especially when I cannot be by his side.

              While I can feel him, I have no idea how severe his injuries are. I know that they are not minor. After all, why would a surgery take this long to simply repair a fractured bone or to close a wound? Beyond that, however, I truly have no way of knowing. It is frustrating, but there is nothing to be done for it. There is nothing that I can do but wait.

              My eyes drift back up to the clock, watching the second hand as it circles the face. My wait is coming to an end. Slowly, I look up at the doorway as a man walks in. "Mr. Michaelis."

              I get to my feet. This is not the nurse from before, but he obviously knows who I am. Truthfully, I am rather surprised that they have not tried to verify my identity. Perhaps it is simply standard procedure, and I doubt that anyone else has shown up to claim my young master.

              The man carries himself with a more professional air even though he is still dressed in scrubs. A doctor. I gather that he has come with news. I do not know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing that the doctor has come to talk to me. The only thing that I know is that my master is still alive. I reach out to shake his hand. "Is he out of surgery?"

              "Yes, he is. I know that the nurse you spoke with earlier wasn't able to give you many details. Frederick came in with multiple leg fractures, a cracked rib, internal bleeding and a large abrasion on his abdomen and left hip," the doctor tells me. "Our main concern was the bleeding. He had lost quite a bit of blood by the time that they got him here. However, we were able to stop the bleeding and set the leg. We've bandaged the abrasion and we will keep an eye on it. There isn't much we can do for the broken rib. With rest, his own body will take care of that. We have him on pain killers, to ease the discomfort. However, Mr. Michaelis, I believe that he will be able to return home fairly soon. He was very fortunate."

              "That's good to hear." My response does not match the amount of relief that I feel. Regardless, a smile spreads across the doctor's face. I wonder if my emotions are more visible in my expression than I would care for them to be.

              "Ordinarily, we would keep him in the pediatric intensive care unit for a couple of days to keep an eye on him, but..." He pauses, as if considering his words. "Well, I'm certain that you are well aware of how very valuable both Frederick and yourself are to our hospital. That being the case, I've arranged for him to be transferred to a private room. He'll be moved up there in about an hour, and you can see him then. Once he is settled, I'll be in to talk to you about where we will need to go from here."

              "Thank you," I say, barely registering as he tells me which room my young master will be taken to. He shakes my hand and leaves.

              Even if I hadn't been told which room my young master was being transferred to, I doubt that it would have been hard to figure it out. In one of the largest wings of the hospital that contained patients, the hallway he was placed into is sparsely populated. The door to the room itself is unremarkable, a plain and neutral brown with the number 826 clearly visible on it. The two men standing outside of the door are what made it remarkable. Both men are tall and obviously athletic, dressed in plain black suits and standing outside of the room without glancing about. These must be the hired bodyguards that my young master had mentioned before.

              As I walk toward the door, one of the bodyguards glances at something in his hand before looking back up at me. He stares intently for a moment before nodding to the man at his side. As I approach, he says, "Go on in, Mr. Michaelis. We were expecting you."

              The item that the guard was glancing at is visible as I move past them, sliding the door open in front of me. It is a photograph of my young master, myself and all of the servants that I had served with previously. It was the same photo that I had seen online not so long ago. It has been less than a week since I found him in that small bakery so unexpectedly. Already, he seems to have made a point of reintegrating me into his life. So quickly, I wonder if I have not been the only one who has regretted the past century of being apart. The door shuts behind me once I finally step into the room and see him. His tiny form is framed in a large hospital bed. On either side of it, there are a number of monitors and machines that are beeping and clicking. A bag of IV fluids hangs from a pole, with a smaller bag hanging beside it and feeding into the line. Even though it is a private room, it still looks like part of an intensive care unit.

              Just seeing him is a relief to me. Quietly, I walk over to the side of the bed and take a moment to simply study his face. My young master. His skin is waxy and pale. His hair is a tangled mess. He smells wrong, covered with chemicals and medicine. And yet, I have never felt happier to see him than I do now. Bending over the bed, I press my lips to his forehead. Relief courses through me at this reassurance that he is alive.

              How close have I come to losing him for good tonight? I do not really want to know. Death, on the whole, does not bother me. The death of humans is inconsequential and inevitable. When it comes from my own hands, I enjoy giving it. When I left my master's side and made the decision that I still regret, I had even wished that he might live a normal life and eventually die as all humans should. I will not say that I wonder why the thought of him dying now bothers me. I know why it bothers me, and I am fine with my own emotions for him. However, I am not satisfied with the thought that my presence at his side this evening could have prevented this. That thought makes me surprisingly uneasy.

              There is a light knock at the door of the room. I straighten up, putting a more proper distance between myself and my master as the door slides open. The doctor from before steps inside, offering me a professional smile as he walks toward me once more. "I see that you've managed to find your way up here without any trouble."

              "Yes, thank you," I respond.

              "Well, that's good." He looks down at my master and I can see his eyes also glancing over to the monitors that surround the hospital bed. Keeping track of everything on the monitors is a nurse's job, but seeing a doctor that pays attention sets my mind at ease slightly. I doubt I will be totally happy until my master opens his eyes, though. The doctor adjusts one of the machines and turns back to me again. "In addition to what I've already told you, he will have extensive bruising. While we'll have to see how he's doing

after he gets out of here, he'll also probably need physical therapy for his leg. He was lucky, Mr. Michaelis.

              "When do you think he will wake up?" I ask.

              "In a few hours," the doctor responds. "When he does, he will be groggy. His throat will be sore. I have prescribed some pain medication, but there's a standing order not to administer it unless he ask for it. Either you or he can use the call button to summon a nurse, if that is the case.

              "I should also let you know that nurses will be coming in to check on him every once and a while. Ordinarily, visitors are restricted, but... well, you and Frederick are always welcome in our hospital. Though, next time, perhaps you will visit under happier circumstances."

              Yet again, I have the feeling that there is more to the hospitality here than meets the eye. It doesn't matter. I am simply glad that he is being taken care of. This is a hospital, not a manor house. My own expertise has never extended to knowing how to heal humans. I am much better at killing them. In this instance, I am grateful for the doctor that has taken care of him and very likely saved his life. "Thank you."

              He nods and, after a moment, turns and leaves through the door of the room. I sink down into one of the chairs beside the hospital bed and look at my young master. Time passes, hour after hour. Once an hour, nurses come in and check the monitors that he is connected to. They write notes and adjust dials as necessary. They pay me little mind, greeting me as they come in and wishing me a good day as they leave.

              I dislike having this much time to consider the situation with my young master. It is disconcerting to realize that only three days have passed since the morning when I found him again. It seems much longer to me. In such a short amount of time, everything has changed. Somehow, the beautiful, sleeping boy that is laying no more than five feet from me has managed to completely turn my entire life upside down. He does not know, and I doubt that he will ever fully realize the effect that he has had on my life. He is oblivious, and oblivious he will remain. Demons do not become attached to their masters. They do not become overly involved. They do not fall in love with their prey. A demon becomes everything for the master he serves. And yet, somehow, he has become everything to me.

              Once again, Ciel Phantomhive is my young master. Once again, I am his loyal servant. Now, I must wait for my master to awaken and see how this situation will unfold. Even though the doctor said that he was very fortunate, and that he would be well enough to leave sooner than might otherwise have been the case, I still feel slightly disconcerted by his state of unnatural unconsciousness. I do not think that feeling will pass until he opens his eyes.

              The hours tick by and the nurses come and go. Just after six, I look up and realize that my young master's eyes are open. He is staring into nothingness. I am not certain whether or not he is actually awake. Quietly, I say, "Young master?"

              "What happened?" he asks. The words are rough and slurred, his voice thick with both sleep and phlegm. I stand and walk to the bedside. Reaching out, I touch his hair lightly. His eyes drift over to me.

              "I am uncertain of the particular details," I tell him, "but I do believe that you were struck by a car."

              "Are you sure it wasn't a train?" he asks. Sarcasm. The slightest edges of a smile touch my lips even as I turn to go and pour him a glass of water.

              "Quite. Would you like to sit up a little?" He nods. Pressing the button on the side of the electric bed, I listen to the quiet humming as it slowly moves him into a position that at least vaguely resembles sitting. Leaning forward, I help him to take a couple sips of the water. Softly, I ask, "How are you feeling?"

              "Like I was just hit by a car," he says, looking up at me and shaking his head slightly when I hold up the glass of water for him again. I set it on the rolling table at the side of the hospital bed. Very quietly, he says, "You're here."

"Yes," I say. I had assumed that my presence would not be a problem. Is it possible that I have assumed

incorrectly? I know that he was hesitant about me before. Even this morning, I could still sense his uncertainty just before he left my apartment. "Would you prefer that I leave?"

              "No." Even with his drowsiness, the response is immediate. "I just thought that you..."

              "That I what, young master?" I look towards him as I patiently wait for his response. He takes a moment as he considers what words to use.

              After a moment, he looks back toward me and huffs. "I thought that you would l-"

              Whatever it is that he is about to say, his words are cut off by a knock on the door. It slides open and once again admits a doctor. It isn't the same man as the night before. Instead, it's a woman. She walks across the room and shakes my hand before greeting Ciel. She really must assume that I am his legal guardian, rather than someone of no relation. In a warm and friendly voice, she covers all of the information that I was

told last night and relays that information to my young master in a way which most adults would use with a small child. Strange. Even though he has always been young in appearance, I have never really thought of him as a child. Oh, I have teased him to that end before, but he has never really been anything less than what he is.

              While her words are calm and reassuring, I find myself paying little attention to them. For the most part, I am paying more attention to my young master's reactions. He listens as she tells him what happened and the treatments that they have already started implementing. His face sours when she tells him that there will be physical therapy required. Nearly as fast as she has come, she leaves.

              When she is gone, silence settles in. My young master is more alert and aware tan he was even a few minutes ago. even so, he isn't looking at me. I am still wondering what he was about to say before we were interrupted. "You were saying, young master?"

"I'm tired," he says, gracefully avoiding my question. He nods toward the cup of water and I help him to drink a little more before he sinks back onto the thin, crinkling pillows that the hospital has provided.

              "Get some rest, young master," I say, bowing gracefully. I set the cup back onto the rolling table and turn to go back to the chair that I was sitting in earlier.

              His voice is quiet as he calls my name. "Sebastian."

              "Yes?" I turn to look at him.

              "I'm glad," he says, pausing, "... that you're here."

              My chest constricts painfully as I look at him. His eyes are clearer, but still troubled as he looks up at me. I am well aware that I can do little to ease the discomfort that he is in as a result of the accident. The most that I can do is follow any orders that he might give me. After all, I am once again simply one hell of a butler.

              Unable to resist, I turn and walk the few steps back to the side of the bed. Reaching down, I run  my fingertips along the side of his face. There is nothing that I can do about the fact that I was not there to stop him from being injured by that car. I do not hold any grudge against the driver whose vehicle malfunctioned. It was an accident, pure and simple. However, I am endlessly glad to have him safe at my side now. Very slowly, I lean down and capture his lips in a kiss. Despite his sleepiness, my young master joins in the caress. His face is cradled in my hand as I pull away from him, brushing my thumb over his cheek. "I have something to show you, young master. Unless you are too tired."

              "What is it?" he asks, looking up at me tiredly.

              I pull my left hand up to my lips and quickly pull the soft cotton fabric of my glove away from my hand. I hold my hand up so that he can see the clear black lines that are etched into my skin. "I thought that you might like to know."

              His eyes trace down my fingers and across my skin slowly as he takes in what I am showing him. I can see his lips turn up in the barest hint of a smile as he realizes what is different from the last time I showed him my hand. "You ended it."

              "Yes." I am smiling.

              "Sebastian..."

              "Yes?"

              "Don't do that again. I don't like the thought..." he tells me, yawning. He leans back into the pillows sleepily. "... of you in another contract."

              I take my hand away from the side of his face and press it over my heart, bowing slightly as I whisper, "Yes, my lord."

              I doubt that he knows that I also do not like the thought of being in a contract with someone else. Even when I had broken the oath that I had made to him and left his side, I was never truly at ease with that particular concept. Even so, it is unheard of for a demon to promise themselves to one master and one master alone. Is it a wise thing to do? No. Not in the slightest. It is easily the most foolish thing that I have done in centuries, if not in my entire life. And yet, even as the words leave my mouth, I know that I mean them. My young master has told me not to enter into another contract. I will follow those words until the end of eternity, even though it may mean that I will never again eat another meal. Still, I will not regret this decision, no matter what the future might bring. At my side, my young master is sleeping.

              Another day has come and gone. Now, my young master is sitting up in bed and very much awake. I have spent most of the morning sitting and pretending to read a newspaper as I watch him bicker with overattentive nurses and the doctors who continue to come in and out. They've mostly finished with everything that they needed to do, and the traffic has stilled.

              The doctors seem to be impressed by the fact that my young master is awake and feeling as... energetic as he is. This is bolstered by the fact that my master has insisted that he is not in much pain and does not need additional medication. I suspect that he is lying, but I am also well aware of the fact that he is a very strong person. In all truth, I am rather proud of him for being able to muster this much attitude while wearing nothing more than a hospital gown and being poked and prodded by a parade of strangers. I would tell him so, but I value my life.

              In the absence of the medical personnel, my young master has spent the better part of the last hour making phone calls. Even when he is injured, it would seem that he still feels the need to focus on the business that he has run so well for more than a century. He is still on the phone as I walk back through the door of the room carrying tea bags and an unfortunately plastic teapot. There are no bodyguards outside of the door any longer. They were dismissed nearly as soon as my young master had woken up once more.

              The teapot is placed on the rolling table and I do my best to prepare a cup of the tea that was provided by the hospital, despite the less than ideal conditions. When the concoction is presented to him, he makes a face. "What is this?"

              "Pre-packaged and provided by the hospital, I tell him, attempting to sound apologetic. "I am afraid that your doctor was most adamant that I should not bring in any outside food or drink items to prepare for something more suitable.

              The young master lets out an indignant snort. "You could have managed it, if you really wanted."

              "Yes, but then I would have been deprived of the thrilled expression on your face," I tell him, smirking. He glares at me and I can feel the smile of my lips widening. Rather than allow him to tell me off for the substandard food, however, I decide to change the subject and ask something that I have been curious about. "Young master, I have been meaning to ask you, but why do you receive such special treatment at this hospital?"

              "Oh, that," he says, as if it is barely something that he has thought about. "I figured you would have noticed. Have a look at the placard on the wall."

              In this hospital, they have gone overboard with making certain that every room is labeled multiple times. There are small plaques displaying the name of the wing and the room number on both the interior and exterior of each room. In the case of patients who will be staying more than a few days, there is even space for their name to be added or for another label to be affixed to each sign. I haven't bothered to look at the plaque that adorns this particular room, as I already know which door it is and who is inside. Looking at it now, all mystery of the excellent service is easy to understand. It reads simply 'Room 826, Dalles Wing.'

              "I am assuming that the name Dalles is referring to Angelina Dalles," I say.

              "Quite." He takes a tentative sip of the tea, apparently deciding that having the bagged abomination is still better than no tea at all. "About ten years ago, I was shot and I wound up in this hospital. The hospital was running out of funding, but the doctors were competent. They were also extending their budget beyond their means by funding additional research projects. Rather than let the hospital run itself into the ground, I felt that it might be fitting for Funtom Company to make an appropriate donation. We also sponsor several women's health and childhood cancer fundraisers every year for the hospital."

              "That was very considerate of you, young master," I say, taking a seat once again.

              "Considerate?" He raises an eyebrow. "It's publicity. Ours ales went through the roof for six months

after the donation was announced. On top of that, if I am injured then I get excellent care at this hospital."

              I look around the room and observe the large amount of equipment that is still present. He is also still attached to several monitors. Dryly, I tell him, "Perhaps there are other changes that need to be made if you wind up in the hospital frequently enough to merit your own room."

              He ignores the comment and sets the cup of tea to the side, looking away from me. "Do you have any personal belongings that will need to be moved?"

              "Young master?" I ask curiously, confused by the sudden change in subject.

              "I am assuming that, as you have agreed to return to my service, you would have no objections with residing in my house," he says, looking up at me. "I do travel a fair amount, but I keep residences in all of the cities that I spend any significant amount of time in. London, Paris, New York and Tokyo all contain major company offices, at the moment. I maintain sizable housing in all of them except Tokyo."

              "I do not have much in the way of personal belongings," I tell him. "Much as when we first entered into our contract, my things are few."

              "Few?" Confusion and skepticism color his voice. "Last time, you had nothing."

              "In truth, young master, all that I have currently are things that I have kept from my time in your service." I am not lying. On the last evening that I spent in his mansion so many years ago, it isn't as though I left behind the very clothing that I was wearing before I vanished into the night. I had grown surprisingly fond of the uniform that I wore. Sentimental, yes, but I still have it. It has been well cared for in the

interim, even though I have not worn it since the night that I left. Sentimental and foolish, but something that I am glad to have kept. I also have one other memento. A photograph of my young master, one of very few that were taken. Yet again, incredibly sentimental and foolish. I have never before kept belongings that I had in a previous contract. While I understand the attachments that humans place on such objects and the things around them, I myself have never really felt much inclination to keep something simply to remind me of the past. I exist in the present. Humans use such attachments to delude themselves into feeling as though the past is present. I have never had any such delusions, and yet I have still kept these things.

              From the hospital bed, my young master is still looking at me skeptically. "What did you keep?"

              "The uniform that I wore in my time as your butler," I tell him, "and a photograph of yourself."

              A very pretty blush settles into his cheeks when I mention the photograph. Unable to resist, I mention this. "Young master, you are blushing. Why?"

              "Shut up." The blush on his cheeks deepens even as he says the words. He looks away from me, huffing.

              It is delightful to be able to tease him like this. However, there is something else that I am wondering. "Young master, there is something else. Why is it that you have asked me to return to your service, knowing that I left before? Even if you do believe that I have no intention of eating your soul, my past actions--"

              "Are the past," he says, cutting me off. Slowly, he turns his head back to face me. Even through the dusky shield of his bangs, I can still see the outline of the contract seal in his right eye. "I asked you to return because you don't lie. I trust you. If you say that you will stay, then you will stay."

              I do not have the words to formulate a response to a statement like that, though it isn't really the response that I was looking for. I would be lying if I said that I was not surprised to hear him say that he trusts me. He has noticed me watching him. Meeting my gaze, he continues. "I also prefer having you at my side. I... don't like ti when you're gone. even if you do leave eventually, you are still here for now. You make

things easier."

              "Easier?" I ask him. Quietly, I move from my position by the door back to the hospital bed. Bending down slightly, I straighten out the hospital gown and run my fingers through his hair, returning it to some semblance of neatness.

              Under my fingers, he sighs quietly in feigned annoyance. "I just like having you around, that's all."

              "You did say that, yes. Why?"  I cannot resist pressing him for an answer. His avoidance of my questions is both very typical and yet strangely charming. I stand up once his hair is straightened and simply look at him.

              "Idiot," he mutters and looks away, leaning back into the pillows behind him. When he notices that I am looking at him and smiling, the blush returns and he asks, "What?"

              "You are still very much yourself, young master," I tell him.

              He falls silent for a moment. Then, he asks, "Well, what about you, Sebastian? You came back. While you may not have originally intended to do so, you've agreed to stay with me. Why?"

              "Did I not tell you the other day?" I sit beside him on the bed, something that I would never have dared to do when I had served him a century before. Reaching up., I let my fingers trail down the side of his face to feel the smooth porcelain of his skin. I pull my hand back to a more proper distance after a moment, but I do not stand from the bed. Instead, I lean forward so that my lips nearly brush against his ear. "You are

my young master, who I have promised to stay beside and protect. My place is always at the side of my master, who I care for very much."

              The way he shivers at having me so close to him is delightful. He allows me a few small seconds of being this close to him before he gives another indignant snort and turns his head away from mine. I lean back and move to stand. Before I can, however, one of his hands snakes up and grabs my sleeve. I follow the pull and in an instant find myself kissing him once again.

              The way he effects me never ceases to amaze. I am unaccustomed to this feeling, to this desire to be so close to another person. Even so, since finding him once again, I have wanted to be close to him. Demons destroy humans. Our lives, our very existences are based on the ability to break them completely. And yet, in this moment with him pressed so sweetly against me and the taste of his lips on my tongue, I know that he could destroy me in an instant. If he had died in that car accident, if he had not survived, it would be much the same as if he had taken my own soul. Never before have I so completely desired the presence of one person or thing. Only my young master.

              The kiss ends as he pulls back, looking up at me uncertainly as if he has just realized that he kissed me. In his eyes, I can still see doubt. He truly is not certain whether or not I will stay by his side. Perhaps he believes I will leave again, or devour his soul and then vanish into the night. the only way that I will ever be able to erase that doubt is tot stay by his side and show him that I mean what I say. "I will not leave your side again, young master. Not unless you order me to do so."

              That pretty pink flush covers his face once more even as he reaches for the cup of tea that is still sitting on the small table at his side. He doesn't respond. I lift myself away from the bed and go to stand by the large window that makes up one wall of the room. Despite the affection that I feel for him, this tie between us is still tenuous. How long will it be before the strands are mended? Possibly never. These are the consequences for actions that are long past. And yet, I do not regret the decision to try and mend things. I have promised him more than I have ever promised any master before, and I am not bothered by that fact.

              My memory is not perfect, but I can still very clearly recall the night that he first called me. It is all too easy to take myself back to that moment. My mind's eye can still see the darkness of that sacrificial altar and the room that contained it. The first sight, the first scent, of the dripping blood that flowed over the edges of the stone table where that small body lay. I am old, even for my kind, and I had not taken a contract for the sake of food in nearly a century. What was it that drew me to him, even then? Not his appearance, nor the way he smelled. Certainly not his strength, for he was at death's very door. Perhaps some sense that he was not simply what he appeared to be, a small dying child, caused me to extend the offer. Much like my current offer to return to his service, I did so simply because I wanted to.

              The contract that we formed at that time has not degraded or changed. It is exactly as it was all of those many years ago when I tore apart the people who had sullied his body and name. He was ever faithful to the terms that we had laid down. Unlike myself, he tells lies. And yet, in this covenant, it was I who chose to break the promise that I had made to him. Shame is an unfamiliar feeling, foreign and vague even in the darkness of time. Perhaps it will fade in this new life that I will build with him.

              From behind me, I hear an odd thumping sound as something hits the ground. Then, an electronic beeping and a choking cough. Turning, I see my young master leaning forward even in the elevated bed, one hand pressed to his chest. Something has just gone very wrong.
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Immortal