The Phantomhive manor’s training room was dimly lit, the cold air carrying the faint scent of dust and old wood. Soft grunts of exertion echoed as their body tensed, muscles burning with each controlled push-up. Sweat dripped from their brow, but they refused to falter.

And then—weight.

Sebastian, draped over their back like a lounging cat, idly filed his black nails with a silver tool, his expression one of pure, lazy amusement.

“Truly, young master’s tantrums over sweets are becoming insufferable,” he mused, his voice dripping with theatrical exhaustion. “This morning, he nearly threatened bodily harm over a missing éclair. An éclair, of all things.”

They gritted their teeth, pushing upward against his weight.

“Oh, don’t slow down now,” Sebastian purred, pressing down ever so slightly with his knee. ”I’m simply helping you improve, my little imp.”

Their arms trembled, but they refused to give him the satisfaction of collapse.

He hummed, feigning innocence. “Really, you should be thanking me.”