Chapter Text
The sound of footsteps against marble broke through the fog in Ciel’s mind. They echoed softly through the bedroom and into the bathroom, each one controlled in its approach. Ciel went still. He didn't turn.
Steam drifted upward around him, blurring the edges of the room, the surface of the water rippling faintly with his breathing. His back remained to the doorway, shoulders just visible above the bath.
He did not dare move. What was he meant to say? Sorry, I confused sex with love. Sorry, I assumed that because we shared a bed, we shared something deeper. His jaw tightened.
He had been inexperienced when they met. That much had been obvious in hindsight. He had not understood the difference between desire and attachment. He had assumed consistency meant meaning. He had assumed that the intensity between them extended beyond physical connection.
Now he understood.
Sex could be recreation. Sex could be a way to relieve tension. Sex could be something powerful and still empty. The realization burned worse than silence. His fingers tightened around his knees beneath the water. This would not happen again, he told himself. The feelings. The expectation. Perhaps the sex as well.
He didn't know how to approach it casually. He didn't know how to give himself physically without attaching significance to it. If detachment was required, then perhaps distance was necessary. His voice, when it finally came, was quiet but controlled.
“You do not need to explain yourself.”
He kept his gaze fixed forward, on the blurred outline of tile and steam.
“I allowed myself to misunderstand the nature of what we were doing.”
Each word felt precise, like a Senate address delivered to an invisible audience.
“I mistook sex for a mutual romantic relationship.”
The admission felt like glass in his throat.
“That will not occur again.”
He swallowed.
“I apologize if my confession made things inconvenient.”
The surface of the water trembled slightly as his breathing shifted. Ciel remained facing away from him, posture upright despite the vulnerability of his position. Mascara smudged faintly beneath his eyes. Steam curled around his damp lashes.
He refused to turn around. He refused to let Sebastian see the fracture in his composure. The silence stretched between them, dense and waiting.
Sebastian did not remain standing.
Instead, he lowered himself to the bathroom floor at the opposite side of the tub. He sat with his back against the marble, long legs folding in, knees drawn slightly upward in unconscious mirroring of Ciel’s posture.
They faced one another. Steam curled between them.
Ciel did not lift his head. Mascara had smudged faintly beneath his eyes, dark streaks against pale skin. He had not wiped them fully clean. He had not tried very hard.
Sebastian didn't ask how he felt. He didn't need to. The Force carried it plainly. Sadness and heartbreak pressed outward from Ciel in quiet waves.
“I did not realize I relied on you as much as I did,” Sebastian began.
His voice was low, stripped of its usual edge.
“Until we were separated.”
Ciel’s fingers tightened faintly around his knees, but he still did not look up.
“You were a significant part of my training,” Sebastian continued. “Your restraint. Your discipline. Your refusal to surrender to anger. It altered how I approached my own instruction.”
Ciel’s breath faltered almost imperceptibly. Sebastian rested his head lightly against the rim of the tub, turning just enough to watch him through the rising steam. His hand shifted slightly along the marble, not touching yet, but close enough that heat from his skin carried across the narrow distance.
“I brought you something,” he said. “In the hope that you would forgive my prolonged absence.”
Ciel’s gaze finally lifted. Sebastian had never apologized to him, at least not directly. This was not a clear apology either, but it was close. Closer than Ciel had ever received.
He looked back down almost immediately, overwhelmed by the shift in tone. Sebastian was infuriatingly handsome even seated on a bathroom floor, immaculate despite the setting. It felt unfair that someone so composed belonged to an order that rejected attachment and rejected him.
Yet if Sebastian had not been Sith, he never would have been assigned to Ciel’s protection. He never would have been his instructor in the Force. Some contradictions were unavoidable.
Sebastian extended his hand. He reached through the steam toward Ciel’s left hand, still partially submerged. His fingers closed around it, lifting it carefully from the water. Droplets traced down Ciel’s wrist as Sebastian placed something small and cool into his palm before withdrawing.
His sleeves darkened slightly where they brushed the bathwater. He didn't acknowledge it.
Ciel opened his hand. A ring rested against his damp skin. Silver wrapped around a deep red oval gem, delicate metalwork resembling vines curling protectively around the stone. He did not recognize the crystal.
“It is beautiful,” Ciel murmured, voice softer now. “I do not recognize the gem.”
His gaze lifted. “But why give me this at all?”
Sebastian reached forward again, retrieving the ring from Ciel’s palm. He did not hesitate this time. He slid it onto Ciel’s ring finger. It fit perfectly.
“This is a kyber crystal,” Sebastian explained. “I bled it myself before setting it into the band.”
Ciel’s eyes widened faintly.
“There is a possibility it may alter its hue,” Sebastian added. “Crystals can respond to their bearer’s relationship with the Force. Its current state reflects my imprint. That may not remain permanent.”
Sebastian lifted Ciel’s hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckle of the finger that now bore the ring. He did not stop there. His thumb traced slowly along Ciel’s damp wrist, deliberate and warm, grounding rather than possessive.
“May this serve as assurance,” he said quietly. “If I am ordered away again, I will return.”
He did not immediately meet Ciel’s gaze. A small pause lingered before he continued.
“You are the only one I would have chosen to return to.”
The words settled between them with weight.
A faint blush colored Ciel’s cheeks beneath the remnants of smeared mascara. His lips curved into a small, disbelieving smile. He understood. Sebastian did not speak in grand declarations. He demonstrated. He stayed. He touched. He returned.
Sebastian’s hand remained wrapped around Ciel’s. His thumb moved again, this time brushing gently across the back of Ciel’s knuckles, a quiet apology for the silence earlier. A quiet confession of his own.
Ciel shifted slightly in the bath, resting his cheek against his knees, now facing Sebastian fully. His left hand, adorned with the ring, remained intertwined with Sebastian’s right. He held on just enough to confirm that Sebastian was there.
And this time, when silence settled between them, it did not feel like rejection. It felt like closeness stretched thin and humming. Like something fragile but alive.