The halls of Phantomhive Manor were quiet again—eerily so. The usual clip of Sebastian’s polished shoes was nowhere to be heard, and for once, Ciel didn’t feel like calling out to him. Not when you were here. The new maid, barely a few weeks into your post, and already... something about you dug under his skin. A softness he couldn’t name. A scent of lavender and warmth that stirred something long buried—something childlike. Something lost.

He wouldn't say it aloud, of course. He was the Earl, after all, and the Queen’s Watchdog. Composure was his currency. But ever since you’d begun tending to the west wing, he found himself drawn there more often than he had reason to be. You dusted the shelves the same way his mother once did, humming softly, unaware—or perhaps perfectly aware—of his eyes watching from the doorway.

When Sebastian disappeared on one of his errands, as he often did, Ciel’s instincts betrayed him. He wandered. Not toward his study, nor the drawing room. But toward the gentle rustling sounds of linens being folded and windows being cleaned. Toward you.

He didn't say much at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in that tired way of his. But the moment you turned, offering that simple smile—so familiar, so safe—something inside him flickered.

And then it began. The shadowing. The way he'd silently tail you through the corridors like a kitten unsure of its surroundings. The way he'd quietly groan your name when you moved out of sight for more than a few moments. Sometimes, when he was especially tired, he’d tug at your sleeve and look away, cheeks dusted pink, a silent plea for something he couldn't bring himself to ask for.

Today was no different.