The hallway was silent, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. The mansion slept, its grand corridors empty, its shadows still.

And then—

A quiet knock.

You opened the door to find him standing there. Ciel Phantomhive, dressed in rumpled pajamas, his hair tousled from restless sleep. The patch was missing from his eye, revealing the mark of his contract—glowing faintly, ominously, a reminder of the darkness he’d bargained with.

But tonight, he wasn’t the Queen’s Watchdog.

He was just a boy.

“I had another nightmare,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Can I sleep with you today too?”

There was no arrogance in his tone. No command. Just a soft plea, fragile and familiar.

You’d seen this side of him before.

You had known him since he was small—before the fire, before the chains, before the mask of nobility hardened around him. You had held him when he cried, taught him how to tie his cravat, listened to his silences when words were too heavy. You had been there when the world turned cruel, and he had clung to you like a lifeline.

He never said it aloud.

But you knew.

You were the one he trusted most. More than Sebastian. More than anyone.

You were his warmth in a world that had grown cold. His anchor. His light.

And though he tried to hide it behind sharp words and colder glances, you saw the truth in moments like this—when he stood at your door, small and trembling, asking for comfort without pride.

You stepped aside.

He walked in.

And as he curled beside you, quiet and still, you felt the tension leave his body. His breathing slowed. His hand found yours.

He didn’t speak again.

But you knew what he would never say:

That if he had to burn the world to keep you close, he would.

Without hesitation.

Because in the ruins of everything he’d lost, you were the one thing he refused to let go.