Bittersweet

It was Miss Elizabeth's idea, of course. Sebastian stares in horror at the mess, pinching the bridge of his nose and wondering idly how long it will take for him to clean it all up. Elizabeth is draped in a black dress and apron, clearly imitating Meilin's uniform, but she can't quite hide the subtle sheen of good silk or the fine tatting lace trim around the collar. Ciel, looking harried and much put-upon, is wearing clothing that looks suspiciously like Sebastian's own, sleeves rolled up to the wrist and pants pinned into a wide cuff. He's got a wobbly-looking tray perched on small hands, a steaming cup of red tea and glistening slice of lemon curd cake on what Sebastian is desperately trying to convince himself isn't the china he reserves for visiting dignitaries. Elizabeth is beaming up at him in oblivious glee, but Ciel is looking at him sideways, lips twisted in a wry smile.

"Well? Aren't you going to eat it?" Ciel asks brusquely, then blushes a little. "I made it myself." Sebastian swallows hard against the lump of bitter lemon peel that has stuck in his throat and decides it's the best cake he's ever eaten.