Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: I have so many ideas right now, and so many that are better than this… but here I am. Writing this one. XD; It's just as well; I needed a break from dark!fic.

Warnings: SebaCiel. (Does that need a warning?) Fluffy. Probably OOC, but I don't care. :D Anime based, but contains references to the manga. Beware the British English! Also, I like the color purple.

Dedication: For my darling Nene, because I was totally thinking of "Phobia"'s Sebastian and Ciel while writing this. 3 And also for Askee, because we each promised to write something for this particular… let's say "event." XD

XXX

Bicentennial

XXX

8:43 AM

"Why, hello there, little boy. Are you lost?"

The voice is smooth and low, a laughing purr that matches the Cheshire smile that slinks its way onto the speaker's pretty face. Dressed in form-fitting jeans, a stylishly frayed shirt, and an open leather jacket, the attractive young man offers his hand to the child in question; the fingerless gloves adorning his palms are as black as his hair, coat, and nails. The dark color exemplifies the alabaster pallor of his skin, making him seem rather ethereal in effect.

Despite his obvious youth, the boy to whom the man has spoken is no less beautiful a specimen. Slim and elegant, the child wears a button-down jacket of vibrant azure and heavy boots made to match his ebony fasteners. At the sound of the other's voice, he looks up from his pink-tinged knees; he had seated himself on the ledge of a large marble fountain, crafted to look elegant but in the context of its placement is nothing more than a tacky distraction. As such, it serves well as a meeting place: a blotch of sallow white, of soothing nothingness, against the dizzying rainbow array of sights and sounds and lights and mingling people. As the boy scrutinizes the speaker, a spurt of artificially-blue liquid is shot towards the sky, and the scent of chlorine fills the brisk January air. Just beneath the mechanic whirl-sigh-hiss of concealed machinery, tinny mobius melodies can be heard tumbling from masked loudspeakers.

"If I am," the 13-year-old replies evenly, picking a stray piece of lint from his otherwise immaculate attire, "will you take me home?"

The older one chuckles, doe eyes flashing a deviant shade of vermillion as the sun peaks through the hazy clouds. "Shouldn't you at least wait until a stranger has offered you candy before you make such a proposition?" he teases, fingers coiling covetously around the tiny hand that has slipped into his own, as petite and seemingly breakable as a glass doll's. With a gentle pull, the child is on his feet. "One might think you desperate."

The boy snorts, flicking his glance upward; beneath the heavy curve of onyx lashes, his cobalt irises glisten with maturity… like a sapphire, ancient and alluring. "I can think of sweeter treats to sample," he returns suggestively, in a saccharine husk that no one his age should be aware of, let alone be able to skillfully utilize. But then his grin softens, losing its depraved bite in the wake of genuine happiness. "Still, as we can't have anyone thinking I'm desperate, I believe you are now obligated to buy me candy."

9:17 AM

"Where would you like to go first, Ciel?"

It shouldn't make him blush, not really, that simple collection of letters. Two syllables: casual, familiar, and "only natural," as the other might say, while wearing that long, toothy leer of his. Only natural, in this day and age. Only natural, considering the progression of their relationship. But even though Ciel himself had been the one to request the use of his given name— You're drawing far too much attention to us, calling me by such an archaic title, Sebastian!— the electric pang he experiences upon hearing it never seems to fade away; like lightening, the intimacy shown in those unanticipated moments of verbal affection shoots a shower of sparks from ears to lungs to heart. Whenever his name falls from those glossy, grinning lips, Ciel feels his insides overheat and glow.

He is fairly certain that his outsides do the same.

Self-conscious (but still privately pleased), the boy buries the lower half of his face—nose, smile, the rose tinge of his cheeks— behind the raised collar of his jacket and manages a haughty, "I've no particular preference."

Sebastian chuckles.

"As you say."

The hand encircling his own gives the faintest of squeezes, as if in reassurance. As if to say that he still feels it, too.

Ciel is already very warm at this point, with his little body clothed in wool and his swollen heart all aflutter, but he uses the frosty weather as an excuse to stand a bit closer, anyway. To coil his arm through Sebastian's. And he can't help but wonder—as they stroll past cooing couples, married men, wedded women, and tittering teens of all different genders—if they look as if they're on a date, too.

10:34 AM

In truth, they know this amusement park like the back of their hands. Or the back of the other's hand, as it were. They're aware of how popular each attraction is, when particular side shows start and finish, the general length of every line, which booths sell the tastiest snacks… There's no need or reason to wander around, following aimlessly winding paths, pausing at intersections to consider signs.

But they do so anyway, because it eats up time.

After making their first, full circle of the overcrowded, popcorn-scented grounds, Sebastian pauses beside a lamppost, decorated like a maypole for the holidays. Through layers of cheap velvet ribbon, a ridiculous number of rectangular markings protrude, pointing left and right and this way and that— like a signpost in Wonderland.

"Well?" Sebastian prompts, tilting his face to consider the child beside him. "What would you like to ride?"

For a pensive spell, Ciel returns the stare… then he allows his eyes to slide towards the crimson stripes of the garish pole before them. His head cocks, his lips purse, his gaze slides back and fore, back and fore, over the bubbled letters that direct park patrons towards roller coasters and merry-go-rounds, arcades and food shops.

An idea curls up the corners of his mouth.

With a telling smirk and meaningful tug, the boy leads his companion towards the bathrooms, free hand already moving to pop the buttons of his coat.

11:02 AM

"I would like to buy the red one, if I may."

"Of course," the teller chirps, and skillfully separates the scarlet balloon from its equally boisterous brethren. A cheerful blonde (who, based on her age, is probably working through college), the young woman graces Ciel with a sisterly smile as Sebastian picks through his wallet for change. "Aren't you a cutie?" she coos as she beams, and her heart melts all the more when Ciel instinctively ducks behind Sebastian, watching the stranger through the gap in the other's elbow.

"Ciel, what are you, five?" Sebastian chastises—affectionately exasperated—as he and the girl make their exchange. "You needn't be rude."

"Oh, it's okay, don't worry about it," the employee titters, still gracing the pouting child with an enamored sort of expression. "He's just shy, the little sweetheart. Aren't you, love?"

Ciel glares, but doesn't dignify the question with a verbal response. The girl remains entirely unfazed, going so far as to pat his head (the bloody cheek!) before returning her attention to Sebastian. "Is he your son?"

And when the pretty female offers Sebastian a look that suggests she wouldn't care either way, Ciel decides that he's had enough. He may be used to these sorts of encounters, but that doesn't mean he likes them; in retaliation, he swiftly swings himself around Sebastian, all possessive arms and twining legs… And once he's fully garnered her notice, Ciel pushes himself onto his tiptoes and slips his tongue into the mouth that opens to offer an answer.

"Ah—!"

It is a brief kiss, but blatantly sexual; Ciel pulls away with a wily grin and a snap of saliva, plucking his balloon from Sebastian's frozen hand. "Thank you, Daddy," he then sings, and skips happily off, content to leave his servant to wipe the look of horrified disgust from the carnies' pasty face.

When the elder man catches up a minute or two later, he doesn't share his companion's palpable amusement.

"You are going to get us arrested," he scolds, even as he re-laces his fingers through Ciel's.

"Would you really let the police come between us?" the child counters with a scoff, unfazed by the other's irritation. Instead, he watches his new toy bounce and bop and wave… at least until Sebastian's hand readjusts his chin, anyway, and instead of a round, ruby balloon he finds himself staring into a pair of round, ruby irises.

"No," Sebastian murmurs, "I would not. But neither would I allow a mortal girl to come between us."

…touché.

The boy does not speak. He doesn't grumble or apologize, or even bother looking guilty. But the demon can tell by the shifting of his bitty booted feet that the message has been understood.

They continue onward without further mention of the incident, barely noticing when the red balloon slips free and floats away.

11:47 AM

Anything to eat up time.

"Are your hands cold?" Sebastian asks as they wait amidst a thrumming throng of tourists, lined like ants and packed like sardines between guardrail and gates. The child—caught swaying in the human tide— looks momentarily startled by the inquiry, and is about to ask why the other would assume… but then Ciel realizes that he's fallen into the habit of feet-stamping and palm-rubbing, just like the other boys and girls who've crowded around them.

A veritable chameleon, he is.

"Here," the elder chuckles, gently prying apart his companion's hands and wrapping them in his own. Then he slips both sets of intertwined fingers into the pockets of his jacket: toasty little havens of body heat and leather. Through the worn, thin fabric of the coat's inner lining, Ciel's knuckles brush against raised ridges of bone and flesh— teasing touches of hip and muscle, their warmth achingly familiar against the satin of his oversensitive flesh.

"Well, now. That seems to be working quite nicely," Sebastian remarks. And the boy can hear the undercurrent of laughter that thrums beneath the polite veneer of his voice… can practically feel it, as if it were as tangible as the blood that has rushed to stain the apple of his cheeks. "How is the rest of your body? Still chilly? Shall I give you a hug?"

The suggestion is innocent (and meant to sound so), but there is a devil's promise lurking within the innocuous proposal. And that is why Ciel's blush fades from magenta to burgundy, his mind reeling with thoughts and memories and other scandalous sorts of wishes.

But they are very nearly at the front of the line, now, so aloud he only grumbles: "This is sufficient, thank you."

11:53 AM

"Now remember," Ciel decrees, the words barely audible over the shrill shriek of the coaster car's protective bar. With a decided thump, said bar falls like a padded guillotine, encircling the riders in its (seemingly) secure embrace. All the same, those contained within the aluminum cart jiggle and jerk, vibrating along with an unseen, rumbling engine. "The ride is more fun if you keep your hands in the air."

In example, the boy thrusts his arms upward: lithe and slender and properly vertical; then he shoots Sebastian a pointed look. The look becomes a glare when the other's actions do not mirror his own.

"If I may," Sebastian retorts instead, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant as his fingers coil around the restraint that rests snuggly against their middles, "it is far safer to—"

A lower lip juts outward, young face scrunching in an unintentional pout; that expression alone manages to derail Sebastian's current train of thought. He has lost the battle long before Ciel's command rings through the air… Even so, he manages to hold out until the boy snaps, "I order you to put your hands up!"

Their glossy coaster car gives a metallic grunt, inching experimentally forward. Sebastian sighs, smiles, and does as he's told.

"Yes, my lord."

12:29 PM

The starving will eat anything, even funfair junk. And there is certainly nothing "junkier" than the corndogs that rotate in the street vendor's kiosks —round and round, like hamsters on a wheel… and who knows; that could very well be what they're made of. But even so, it wouldn't bother Ciel; he has, after all, dined on far worse in his day.

"I've been wondering," he says ponderingly as he slides the golden treat into his mouth, fried breading varnished by layers of warm grease. His tongue laps at the crest of it; he likes it best when the crust is a bit soggy. "Why are hotdog wheels always so squeaky? These things are literally oozing oil— wouldn't that oil drip down and properly lubricate the device? …Sebastian?"

He twists his head towards his silent companion, sitting beside him on the painted park bench. Ciel half-considers prompting him for a response, but soon realizes it'd be pointless; if Sebastian had heard any of his previous ramblings, it was likely only the mention of the word 'lubrication.' Ciel has long-since familiarized himself with the carnal glitter in the scarlet eyes that are so eagerly watching him eat. It is such an excruciatingly ravenous look, the child can't help but simper and giggle and remove the corndog with a spittle-slickened pop, waving it between himself and his butler.

"I apologize, did you want a taste?" the little one teases, elfin tongue darting out to clean the corners of his sneer. "I would be more than happy to share. As you always say, you have to give to receive..."

He licks the soft, plump length once more, tiny chest aching with unvoiced laughter as he watches the gears in Sebastian's immoral mind turn… much like those squeaky hotdog wheels. Ice cream cones, lollipops, bananas— chocolate-dipped or otherwise—, popsicles and (obviously) creamsicles, candy canes, rock candy, Toblerone, and now…

"You are no longer allowed to eat corndogs," Sebastian decrees, his silken voice raspy with lust as he delicately readjusts his body. As if he might be able to keep Ciel from noticing how he'd subconsciously leaned closer. (Doubtful.) "They are bad for both your health and my own."

"Oh dear. Are you feeling somewhat… peaky?" Ciel inquires, his tone as mockingly innocent as his wide-eyed, overly-concerned stare. He suckles on the corndog's tip for a fleeting moment longer; the breading melts away, revealing a bitty peephole of pink that makes even the child think, yes, corndogs should definitely be on the banned list. All the same, his leer gains teeth when Sebastian chokes on a groan. "You do sound a bit out of sorts. Do you need to use the restroom?"

The elder levels his charge a very wry glower. It would have been slightly more effective, Ciel thinks, if his butler's cheeks hadn't flushed to match his lost balloon. "I would take you with me," Sebastian retorts, and it is not so much a threat as it is a promise. Or perhaps it is not so much a promise as it is a threat. The child isn't really sure anymore, but that doesn't keep him from beaming.

"Oh, I would be alright by myself for a minute or two," he sweetly returns, licking a dewdrop of grease from a daintily crooked pinkie. "I don't need to use the toilet right now, thank you."

Another muffled slurp, another strangled moan.

"…you can be a huge brat sometimes, you know that?" Sebastian drawls, and he sounds both frustrated and wholly amused as his master (feigningly affronted) stands as if to storm away… but instead drops evocatively atop his butler's jean-clad lap, shifting and settling and rub-rub-rubbing as he push-pulls his unhealthy lunch in-out of his sinful little mouth.

Around the sodden corndog, Ciel's lips curve into a wickedly chipper leer.

"I know."

1:04 PM

Honestly, it is rather embarrassing, getting caught so often…

"Go! Go, Wild Earl, you ca— Sebastian?" Cheeks ruddy with excitement and the bite of mid-winter wind, Sebastian's enthusiastic master pulls his attention away from the cheesy costumes and histrionic tendencies of the people on stage long enough to grace his butler with an expression of concern. "Are you not enjoying yourself?"

The devil's response is an affectionate smile, though the gentle arch is interrupted by the round of his knuckles. He settles his chin more comfortably in the camber of his palm, elbow propped against his crossed knee as he nods. "I am having a great deal of fun," he then verbally reassures, and when Ciel is convinced of this fact (or, rather, when he can no longer bear to ignore the action on the distant rostrum), Sebastian returns to watching his favorite show: bright navy eyes, waving willowy arms, lilting voice raw from shouting and booing and laughter…

"No, you idiot! Are you daft? Get him— get hi— yes! Go, go, go!"

Often, it is difficult to remember that Ciel Phantomhive is a child. But at times like this, Sebastian can't help but wonder how he could ever forget.

"Yea! The Wild Earl wins!"

2:19 PM

Ciel doesn't need to be scared, of course. He knows his way around this park, knows how best to summon his servant, knows that (if worse came to worse) all he'd have to do is shout "I'm here."

But when he turns around and realizes that Sebastian is not behind him—that the surge of strangers leaving the arena had swallowed him from view— the child's immediate reaction is one of fear. Of raw panic, clawing at his insides. And in truth, he isn't entirely sure why. He can survive on his own, after all— it has been (quite literally) ages since he was fully dependant; Ciel is proud of the fact that his days of pathetic, parasitic clinging are long behind him.

Why wasn't Sebastian behind him?

To his left and to his right, friends and families frolic and flow; he rocks in time to the crowd's cadence, but he does not stray from his small patch of concrete. He will be found faster, he knows, if he stays put. And so he prepares himself to do just that: buries his fists in his pockets and his mind in his musings, biting his bottom lip as he waits. Alone. Which shouldn't bother him this much— no, it shouldn't. What is the worst that could happen, being alone? Alone by the gleaming light of decorations, by the banners the flicker and waver like flames, by the strangers with their carnival masks: familiar, eyeless, because they are actors, actors, actors—

Ciel jolts, throat constricting around a scream as somebody swiftly grabs his wrist. But when he turns to break away, free hand snapping out to assist in the process, he suddenly realizes that the masks are not the only familiar thing. He knows this touch, scent, warmth better than anything else in the world…

"There you are," Sebastian sighs, and his shoulders slump as if a heavy burden has fallen from them. It is a sensation that Ciel can relate to, for he feels exactly the same way… Though he, of course, has a reputation to uphold, and hides his face from view before his butler has a chance to notice the look of relief that has taken his features hostage. Even still, Sebastian can probably feel it—teary eyes and all— for Ciel's chosen hiding place was the devil's shirtfront. "I apologize for losing sight of you—some of those children are vicious pushers."

The demon shivers faintly, as if reliving a bad memory; Ciel snorts, the sound of it muffled by the fabric of his companion's top. "You're an idiot for sounding so anxious," he then grunts, even as fretful fingers twist in dark cloth. A wet sniffle; a snooty cough. Watching him squirm, Sebastian can't help but smile; the hand that is not holding Ciel's shaking shoulder comes to rest against the downy crown of his head. The little hypocrite… "You've said it before. Because of our Contract, you always know where I am. How I am."

It is a reminder, and not just for the butler's sake. "Indeed," Sebastian agrees, fingertips straying once more. This time, the spindly digits gather beneath Ciel's chin; with a ginger touch, he tips his master's face upward, and presses a feathery kiss to his brow. "But just because I know, doesn't mean I do not worry."

For a moment, the child says nothing.

Then, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like another "idiot," he whirls around and walks away… holding tightly to Sebastian's hand.

3:57 PM

Sebastian has lived far longer than anyone would ever guess. Humankind has always made far too many assumptions based on appearances, of course, but even his fellow demons frequently fail to realize his true age. He has not existed for decades, centuries, or even a mere millennia— he is more than that, older than that. It might be easier to simply call him timeless.

And yet, for all of that—for all of the thousands upon thousands of years that he has lived, for all of the thousands upon thousands of things that he has witnessed—Sebastian doesn't think that he has ever seen anything that has made him laugh as hard as he is doing right now.

"Would you shut up?" Ciel snaps, blushing brightly as he rips the fuzzy blue hat from his head. In his trembling fist, the cap's white google-eyes jitter and swivel, watching Sebastian as he collapses against the doorframe. "It's not that funny!"

The loss of the spectacle does nothing more than exacerbate the situation; Sebastian flaps an encouraging hand as he doubles over, so amused that it physically hurts. "N-no-no-no," the demon wheezes—though he keeps cutting himself off with more snickers. "Sweet Satan, Ciel… P-put that hat back on, it was just too adorab—buh—bahaha…!"

The child continues to glower beside the collection of mascot hats, each one designed to be suggestive of a popular cartoon character. It was a stylistic choice that Ciel hadn't been fully aware of when he'd first noticed the cap; he'd just found that particular shade of indigo appealing. And he'd thought it looked rather warm. And he hadn't thought Sebastian had been looking when he'd ever-so-sneakily dipped behind the mannequins and pulled it onto his head. But of course, he could never hide anything from his servant…

"You sound like the Undertaker," Ciel hisses, fiddling angrily with the hat's decorative tassels. But then he realizes that was part of the problem; he throws the cap atop its many felt brothers, content to let it rot beneath the "Sesame Street" sign. "Let it go! I'm never wearing a hat again, dear Lord."

"Oh yes, you will…!" Sebastian corrects, still giggling like a madman as he forcibly rights himself, clutching at his stomach as if someone had punched him. (Which is a good idea, now that Ciel thinks about it.) "We are buying that. And you will wear it next Sunday."

"No, I won't," the child informs, crossing stubborn arms over his chest and glaring daggers as Sebastian gleefully plucks the hat back off its table. Tears of mirth have added a mirror-smooth sheen to his eyes; Ciel can almost see himself reflected in them. "Even if you buy it, I will never wear it."

"You said the same thing about the kitty ears," Sebastian reminds—almost sing-song— as he practically dances over to the cashier, grinning from ear to obnoxiously pierced ear. "As you may recall."

Ciel does recall. He also recalls the very… passionate… way that Sebastian had beseeched him to wear the ludicrous decoration. Though he hadn't begged, the devil had wound up on his hands and knees in front of him… And what with all of the pleasured purrs that were escaping his lips, anyway, Ciel had thought maybe—just maybe—it wouldn't hurt to make Sebastian happy every once in a while…

Wallet out and purchase bagged, the demon leers, knowing that he has won.

But then he hears the bell-sweet ting of a second register.

"Hey, Sebastian," Ciel coos when his servant glances over, curiosity in his gaze. "Did you realize that they had an Elmo hat to go along with the Cookie Monster one?" He beams nastily as he holds up an equally-fuzzy red hat, ping-pong-ball google-eyes and all. Revenge is a dish best served in the cold, after all. "I think it will match your eyes beautifully. And now we'll match, too, next Sunday."

Pushing himself up to his tiptoes, the boy politely thanks the bewildered cashier and collects his change and plastic sack. And Sebastian, despite his disgust at the idea of putting such an unattractive monstrosity upon his head, can't help but sport a second, softer smile.

"As to be expected of the young master," he quietly chuckles, and the two exchange purchases as they leave the merrily lit store.

4:32 PM

We have still got time, Sebastian had said.

A gasp, a groan. Against the cold tiles of the porcelain wall, a bare knee molds and scrambles, balanced atop the toilet paper dispenser. In the aftermath of a perfectly-placed thrust, said knee quivers and jerks, making the contraption's many metal rings and bars clatter-clank-jangle. On the opposite side of the narrow, overheated stall, a second leg is pressed flush against a barrier of flimsy plastic. Like the boy to whom it belongs, the leg scrabbles and scrapes, kept aloft by willpower and friction and tightly-coiled tension, still-booted toes scuffing up the gaudy green paint. Ciel's nails do the same, scouring marks into the door that his palms keep locked, sweat-dappled head lolling between raised arms as he wriggles his uplifted behind; twin moans of pleasure are drowned out by the banging of that door in its jamb, hinges rattling in a rhythmic, desperate, wanton sort of way…

We could ride your favorite ride again, if you'd like.

5:09 PM

"…it's getting rather late, isn't it?" Ciel mutters, attempting off-handedness as he stares coolly through the Ferris wheel's grubby window: out over the throngs and the mess and the winking carnival lights, glittering like multicolored stars in the early evening sky. "The idiot will be getting back to the house, soon."

Sebastian hums his assent, watching his master watch the world. "We are probably pushing our luck as it is," he adds under his breath, a faint frown marring his lovely face. "You know how he feels about me. He will be quite cross with you if he realizes what you do—and who you do it with— when he is working."

"Let him be as cross as he wishes," the young boy grouses, nails sharpening ever-so-slightly as his hand balls into an aggravated fist. "He can hardly do anything about it. If he orders me to stay in the house, I'll summon you there. If he commands that I not see you, I'll simply close my eyes. It's not like I need vision, anyway." He sighs jadedly, resting his tired head against the grimy Plexiglas. "I've become very adept at finding loopholes, Sebastian. And he knows it. The only way he could truly control me on Sundays is if he took me to church with him, but too bad for the coot—I can't enter the damned place."

"And what a pity it is. You would have made such a cute altar boy."

Ciel levels his butler a dry glare, aware that he'd meant to lighten the mood but unable to appreciate that particular brand of humor. "Don't think the old fool hasn't tried," he grumbles, and that shuts Sebastian up right-quick. "Still makes me dress like one, from time to time… if you know what I mean."

With a heavy, disheartened sigh, the little devil allows his voice to trail off, his gaze to sink low. Ebony-tipped fingers loop in his lap, caught snug between his squeezing thighs; with a near-silent flop, Ciel repositions his head—allows it to fall from the window to Sebastian's shoulder.

"Sometimes…" he then admits, his voice a reedy whisper that cracks between soft syllables, "I wish I really were a lost boy." The child offers a despondent smile— bitter laughter in his foolish admission— as he nestles nearer, closing his eyes and sucking down a calming, sweet-scented breath. "I want you to take me home."

The weary profession rips at Sebastian's heart; the aching desperation of it all is echoed in the quiet hiss of affirmation that escapes his lips. Mouth clamped shut against a torrent of shared emotion, Sebastian curls a possessive arm around his master's frail body— hugging him all the closer, all the tighter, in the depression-tinged hush of their two-person cart.

"Soon," he quietly promises, pressing a butterfly kiss against his charge's forehead. "We'll go home together soon, Ciel."

The ride is soothing and slow, but ends far too fast.

5:31 PM

"Same time next week?"

"Of course. Oh, wait, next Sunday is a perish retreat… let's meet a mite earlier, shall we? At 7?"

"As you wish," Sebastian purrs, and he grins because Ciel isn't the only one who wishes it. Like many other parting couples, they hold hands beside the kitschy fountain—swinging interlaced fingers back and forth, back and forth between them. It is a silly gesture, as senseless as it is stupid… but Sebastian has come to appreciate such inanities in recent years. Perhaps he is going soft. Or perhaps he has simply learned to treasure any time he gets to spend with Ciel. "Though the park does not open until 8."

"I'm certain we can find some way to entertain ourselves until then," the boy decrees, gracing his butler with a suggestive, quirky smile. "For instance, I could wear my new hat. That will keep you entertained until the park closes, I'm sure."

"It is your fault for being so endearing," Sebastian retorts, brushing his nose against Ciel's in a velveteen Eskimo kiss. The temperature has dropped along with the sun; now, even the demon's hellfire skin is riddled with ice. His master shivers… but it is only partly from the chill. "Be careful on your way back. Call if you need me, your master be damned."

"Oh, he already is," the child flippantly replies, in the distracted tones of one who is busy with other, more important thoughts. Thoughts that—after a brief pause—he chooses to share.

"Sebastian, I've been thinking, recently. That is, for the past hundred years, or so." He hesitates, as if waiting for approval to continue; his companion gives it with a subtle, prompting nod. "I've gone through a fair share of Contracts, now. I've had all manner of tamer. And I've come to realize that… well, I don't treat them like you treated me. That is to say—even at your worst, you always seemed to… to care. Sometimes I think of that moment on the Isle, back before… everything that happened… and how you acted at the end. Or what we then thought was the end. I'm never that kind. Ever. And I don't see a reason to be."

Ciel clears his throat with an awkward cough, their woven hands coming to a gradual halt. Sebastian, in turn, blinks once, faintly bewildered by this impulsive and utterly unexpected monologue. Admittedly, he is also intrigued—both by this aberrant speech, and by the blush that has steadily crept up the little one's throat: staining from chin to the tips of his ears.

"It was then that I came to realize that… that even back then, you felt something for me. You weren't just pretending like I thou… anyway. You felt something for me, just like I felt something for you— something I didn't want to name or acknowledge. And even decades later, after we started… um, that is to say, only the brainless state the obvious, you know? It would be a waste to say what we both already knew, I guess. But… I don't know, maybe it's because my master has forced us to spend so much time apart, but… But I thought, maybe—even though it's dumb— I could tell you how I feel… since I'm not around to show you much, anymore."

Explanations done, oration over, Ciel gulps down a deep, noisy, bracing breath—

And then furiously shakes his head, embarrassed features burgundy in the twilight glow of the January moon. He steels himself; he tries again. The child's parted lips quiver (much like his petite fists), but he can dislodge no words from the back of his throat; he mouths soundlessly for a spell, clearly feeling stupider and stupider as he does so.

In the wake of it all, Sebastian chuckles. The poor thing is trying so hard… "My lord, you do not have to strain yourse—"

"Shut up and give me a moment!" Ciel snaps, writhing—as if in agony—as he bounces from foot to booted foot. "I can do this. I want to do this. I'm going to do this. Alright. I… I lo… —oh, bother!"

A rushing of wind, a flurry of feathers. Despite himself, Sebastian can't keep from jolting in surprise, visibly startled when he notices that he is, quiet suddenly, alone beside the fountain. Well, that is not completely true. There are still other tourists around, of course, but his young master is nowhere to be seen. In his stead, a sleek black crow has perched itself upon his shoulder, onyx head cocked and beady eyes bright. With a bitty squawk and a beat of his wings, the crow shuffles over to the far right, open beak mere centimeters from Sebastian's waiting ear…

A whisper reverberates in his head, flustered but sincere. And the three simple words make Sebastian's secret heart flutter, nerves buzzing with electricity and warmth despite the bite of frost in the air. In the aftermath of his mortifying declaration, the shy little fledgling spares an instant for an affectionate nuzzle, then soars off into the night— cawing out a congratulatory phrase that makes the other pause.

Momentarily bewildered, the remaining devil counts out the days of the New Year on his hands.

That's right. Today is the fourteenth, isn't it?

"…oh, young master," a touched Sebastian breathes, grinning so widely that he fears his face will break. It certainly feels as if it might, tingling as it is… Or maybe his cheeks burn for another reason entirely. With a sidelong glance at his reflection in the fountain pool, the demon's suspicions are confirmed; a telling splash of color has dyed his features an exultant shade of pink. How undignified. But still… "It was, indeed, a very happy anniversary."

I love you, too.

And with a final, tickled chuckle—morphing, like its maker, into an avian cackle— Sebastian, too, takes flight.

XXX