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Description

The stars are beautiful. They sparkle and dance throughout the night, painting the night sky with such brilliance that your fingers twitch, wanting to pick up a paintbrush and capture it. You wish you could snag one of out of the sky. It's already filled with so many of them, the disappearance of one wouldn't make a difference, would it?

They remind you of the stars inside, dancing, smiling, shining. But those stars inside - nobles and the like - have a sort of darkness behind their shine, a sort of cunning behind their masks. You don't fit in with them, and wish you never will.

Your skin itches under the mask that covers the top of your face. It's a pain, being dragged to a masquerade to form connections that might come in handy someday, yet you're standing on the balcony, finding more interest in the stars than the world you were born into. The wind finally caresses your face as your fingers pull the white mask off, and you let out a small sigh, only to be cut off by a deep chuckle behind you.

"There's a reason why masquerades are called masquerades, you know."

Startled, you spin around to meet the ruby gaze of a man you are sure you have seen before. No mask, and the sheer elegance of his face makes your breath hitch and your knees fold.

His lips tilt up in an amused smile, and your eyes narrow. "Yet you're not wearing a mask either, sir."

"Me?" He laughs, sending chills down your spine. "Of course not, I'm not a guest."

You blink, a memory of the man in front of you flashing behind your eyelids, and it takes a moment for his words to make sense. "Right. You're Phantomhive's butler, aren't you?"

The smile continues dancing on his lips as he takes a small bow. "That I am."

You raise an eyebrow, turning back to the starry night sky. The elastic band of the mask is looped around one of your fingers, and you consider hurling it into the garden below. "And what is the Earl's butler doing outside while the party is ongoing?"

"Entertaining guests," his words flow so smoothly you'd think they were recited. "As well as passing time until the young master calls for me again. You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, miss."

You blink, glancing back at the ball you never want to join. You just don't fancy dancing with and talking to strangers in this kind of social gatherings. You don't even know the Earl. Not on personal terms, but then again, who did? Your parents just didn't allow you to decline an invitation - neatly written words spelling out your name and praising your works that you believe don't deserve to be read by the nobles - from the famous Earl Phantomhive that you knocked into on the streets weeks prior, books and unfinished manuscripts scattering across the ground.

You glance at the butler, musing. "Oh, maybe I am. The stars are great company."

And they are. If only you had a pencil to scrawl down the ideas that come to you while you're out here, listening to the music that flows from the hall to where you stand, gazing at the twinkling stars and wondering if one ever vanished into darkness as it blinked, and never came back.

A low hum comes from the man's throat as he steps closer, stopping beside you to stare at the sky. A gloved hand moves to cover his mouth as a huff of laughter bursts from it, and you think you hear the man muse something under his breath, but it was never clear.

In puzzlement, you cock your head at him, at which he only shakes his, nodding in the direction of the dance hall. Bright, brilliant music drifts to the balcony where you stand, and you don't understand what he's trying to tell you. To go back in and dance with the rest? To put on your mask and show yourself at a masquerade held in this mansion only select few would ever set foot in? Then he holds his hand out for you, red eyes seemingly staring into your soul and forcing your heart to beat faster.

"It might be atrocious for a butler to do so, but may I ask for a dance?"

You almost splutter as you process his words, eyes widening. "I-I'm really bad at dancing. You really don't want to ask me-"

He chuckles softly, cutting you off and staining your cheeks red. "But I do. It's just a dance. I don't have ulterior motives," he pauses, regarding your uncertain expression with amusement dancing in his eyes. Edging into your view and pretty much forcing your eyes to meet his, he stares steadily into yours before adding - a sentence that's almost swept away by the gentle breeze - "I swear."

"Don't blame me if I soil your shoes," you sigh, trying to brush off the shivers that crawled under your skin and up your spine to no avail. Your cheeks only burn a brighter red as you place your hand in his.

He grins as his hand wraps around yours - it's cold, but your nerves are the exact opposite, and you don't quite care - and that's the only warning you get before he pulls you into a twirl that has you stumbling to follow. His movements are full of a grace that you find yourself mesmerised, almost hypothesised by, and though you know you're following the beat of the music, it slowly ceases to exist. It's as if he had cast a spell to make you so... enraptured by him that you'd forget everything else.

It ends too fast. You're set back on your feet gently as the music fades, and he's stepping away too fast, ruby eyes still lingering on you.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He smiles - he seems to be always smiling, but this one is a softer one, and you can't be sure, but perhaps there's something different in there too. "You didn't step on my feet."

"I think you were just too good at avoiding mine," your breath comes out in huffs. You need to stop sitting at home unmoving all day.

"Well then," he glances back in the direction of the hall. "It appears the young master needs my assistance."

You blink, trying to shake off the disappointment that has started to settle in your chest as soon as he said that last sentence. "Then... You'd better get going."

"Of course. Thank you for the wonderful company," he gives a small bow, and you think he's going to leave, but he catches you by surprise when he grabs your hand, wrapping your fingers around the white paper maché you had forgotten about. Your mask... He must have taken it from you as he pulled you into the dance. Afraid that you'd drop it, maybe.

"Don't forget to wear your mask after you're done looking at the stars. Though I'd prefer you without one."

Just when you thought the red had disappeared from your cheeks, it materialises at full force, and it takes a while for you to open your mouth.

"Hey! You haven't told me your name."

His footsteps slow as he looks over his shoulder, eyes a beautiful red you know you wouldn't forget. "Sebastian. Sebastian Michaelis."

You watch him go, mind full of ideas and stories to write and tell of this Phantomhive butler, because you're sure there's something more to him. Well, you could find out another time, you decide, because there's a promise in his voice that you are going to meet again. And you'll be waiting for that to happen.

Around you, the wind blows just the slightest bit harder. It's an affirmation.

Description

The stars are beautiful. They sparkle and dance throughout the night, painting the night sky with such brilliance that your fingers twitch, wanting to pick up a paintbrush and capture it. You wish you could snag one of out of the sky. It's already filled with so many of them, the disappearance of one wouldn't make a difference, would it?

They remind you of the stars inside, dancing, smiling, shining. But those stars inside - nobles and the like - have a sort of darkness behind their shine, a sort of cunning behind their masks. You don't fit in with them, and wish you never will.

Your skin itches under the mask that covers the top of your face. It's a pain, being dragged to a masquerade to form connections that might come in handy someday, yet you're standing on the balcony, finding more interest in the stars than the world you were born into. The wind finally caresses your face as your fingers pull the white mask off, and you let out a small sigh, only to be cut off by a deep chuckle behind you.

"There's a reason why masquerades are called masquerades, you know."

Startled, you spin around to meet the ruby gaze of a man you are sure you have seen before. No mask, and the sheer elegance of his face makes your breath hitch and your knees fold.

His lips tilt up in an amused smile, and your eyes narrow. "Yet you're not wearing a mask either, sir."

"Me?" He laughs, sending chills down your spine. "Of course not, I'm not a guest."

You blink, a memory of the man in front of you flashing behind your eyelids, and it takes a moment for his words to make sense. "Right. You're Phantomhive's butler, aren't you?"

The smile continues dancing on his lips as he takes a small bow. "That I am."

You raise an eyebrow, turning back to the starry night sky. The elastic band of the mask is looped around one of your fingers, and you consider hurling it into the garden below. "And what is the Earl's butler doing outside while the party is ongoing?"

"Entertaining guests," his words flow so smoothly you'd think they were recited. "As well as passing time until the young master calls for me again. You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, miss."

You blink, glancing back at the ball you never want to join. You just don't fancy dancing with and talking to strangers in this kind of social gatherings. You don't even know the Earl. Not on personal terms, but then again, who did? Your parents just didn't allow you to decline an invitation - neatly written words spelling out your name and praising your works that you believe don't deserve to be read by the nobles - from the famous Earl Phantomhive that you knocked into on the streets weeks prior, books and unfinished manuscripts scattering across the ground.

You glance at the butler, musing. "Oh, maybe I am. The stars are great company."

And they are. If only you had a pencil to scrawl down the ideas that come to you while you're out here, listening to the music that flows from the hall to where you stand, gazing at the twinkling stars and wondering if one ever vanished into darkness as it blinked, and never came back.

A low hum comes from the man's throat as he steps closer, stopping beside you to stare at the sky. A gloved hand moves to cover his mouth as a huff of laughter bursts from it, and you think you hear the man muse something under his breath, but it was never clear.

In puzzlement, you cock your head at him, at which he only shakes his, nodding in the direction of the dance hall. Bright, brilliant music drifts to the balcony where you stand, and you don't understand what he's trying to tell you. To go back in and dance with the rest? To put on your mask and show yourself at a masquerade held in this mansion only select few would ever set foot in? Then he holds his hand out for you, red eyes seemingly staring into your soul and forcing your heart to beat faster.

"It might be atrocious for a butler to do so, but may I ask for a dance?"

You almost splutter as you process his words, eyes widening. "I-I'm really bad at dancing. You really don't want to ask me-"

He chuckles softly, cutting you off and staining your cheeks red. "But I do. It's just a dance. I don't have ulterior motives," he pauses, regarding your uncertain expression with amusement dancing in his eyes. Edging into your view and pretty much forcing your eyes to meet his, he stares steadily into yours before adding - a sentence that's almost swept away by the gentle breeze - "I swear."

"Don't blame me if I soil your shoes," you sigh, trying to brush off the shivers that crawled under your skin and up your spine to no avail. Your cheeks only burn a brighter red as you place your hand in his.

He grins as his hand wraps around yours - it's cold, but your nerves are the exact opposite, and you don't quite care - and that's the only warning you get before he pulls you into a twirl that has you stumbling to follow. His movements are full of a grace that you find yourself mesmerised, almost hypothesised by, and though you know you're following the beat of the music, it slowly ceases to exist. It's as if he had cast a spell to make you so... enraptured by him that you'd forget everything else.

It ends too fast. You're set back on your feet gently as the music fades, and he's stepping away too fast, ruby eyes still lingering on you.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He smiles - he seems to be always smiling, but this one is a softer one, and you can't be sure, but perhaps there's something different in there too. "You didn't step on my feet."

"I think you were just too good at avoiding mine," your breath comes out in huffs. You need to stop sitting at home unmoving all day.

"Well then," he glances back in the direction of the hall. "It appears the young master needs my assistance."

You blink, trying to shake off the disappointment that has started to settle in your chest as soon as he said that last sentence. "Then... You'd better get going."

"Of course. Thank you for the wonderful company," he gives a small bow, and you think he's going to leave, but he catches you by surprise when he grabs your hand, wrapping your fingers around the white paper maché you had forgotten about. Your mask... He must have taken it from you as he pulled you into the dance. Afraid that you'd drop it, maybe.

"Don't forget to wear your mask after you're done looking at the stars. Though I'd prefer you without one."

Just when you thought the red had disappeared from your cheeks, it materialises at full force, and it takes a while for you to open your mouth.

"Hey! You haven't told me your name."

His footsteps slow as he looks over his shoulder, eyes a beautiful red you know you wouldn't forget. "Sebastian. Sebastian Michaelis."

You watch him go, mind full of ideas and stories to write and tell of this Phantomhive butler, because you're sure there's something more to him. Well, you could find out another time, you decide, because there's a promise in his voice that you are going to meet again. And you'll be waiting for that to happen.

Around you, the wind blows just the slightest bit harder. It's an affirmation.