The warm summer breeze tousled the lone butler's hair as he made his way up the grassy slope with graceful, composed strides, stepping lightly. The sky was a vivid blue, the sun beating down, and the warm smell of grass filled the air.
He brushed the hair off his forehead, letting it fall into place around his face, before tightening his grip on the immaculate bouquet of sterling roses in his hands. He resisted the urge to pull the glove on his left hand up, hiding the remains of his tattered contract with the young earl.
Ciel Phantomhive.
The butler's lips curved up at the thought of his rascalike master, filled with cold cunning and an insatiable sweet tooth. He reached the top of the incline, and found the very child he was thinking of perched on an unremarkable gravestone.
The child turned his head, his slate grey hair fluttering in the wind as he did so, falling neatly over his right eye and ever present eye-patch. He tilted his head, pale skin glowing in the summer sunlight, and stated, "Sebastian," his lips set into an uninterested frown, his blue eye condescending.
The butler's lips merely curled up higher, and he bowed with ease that spoke of someone who was unperturbed by the young earl's perpetually ill-tempered mood. "Young master," he replied, his smooth baritone dignified and unfaltering, "I don't think it is wise to hold conversation in a graveyard," he paused, "or rather, it is unsavory to do so."
The earl's expression shifted into something much gentler, his blue eye softening, and the cold expression withering. It was an expression Sebastian was treated to during rare occasions and only in the privacy of the earl's bedchambers.
"There's nothing to be done about it Sebastian," he remarked, his voice exalted and proud, despite his delicate appearance. The earl's eye shifted, then landed on the bouquet of roses in Sebastian's hands. Sebastian noticed the child's gaze.
"For you, young master," he explained, "I know they are your favorite." He looked up and gave Ciel a small sincere smile, gentle and soft. The earl noticed, and a ghost of a smile settled on his face, wry and small and pained.
"Come here Sebastian," the earl murmured, voice tender and somber and fragile. Sebastian hesitated, before placing the bouquet neatly at the foot of the grave, and then looping his arms around the earl in a warm embrace. His young master leaned into the embrace, nuzzling into the crook of Sebastian's neck, his small hands curled into Sebastian's hair, frail and elegant and deft.
Sebastian pulled the earl closer, and tightened his grip on the delicate back, inhaling the scent of Ciel. Sebastian felt a finality about this embrace, as if it was a goodbye. His grip tightened even more at the thought.
All too soon, the earl pushed away from Sebastian, and gave him a peaceful smile. "Good bye, Sebastian," he said softly, happy in a way Sebastian had ever seen before. Before his eyes, the young earl seemed to shimmer, like vapor in sunlight, and then disappeared all together.
It was only then he realized the gravestone had words Ciel Phantomhive, died August 26th, 1889, age 13 engraved.
Author's Note: Thank you Kimberly T for bringing the formatting problem to my attention, along with a possible solution. Also, thank you Barnabad (Guest) for your lovely review. It really shoved me into action and brightened my day. :)