The Thorn Of The Rose. (sebaciel fanfiction sebastian x ciel)

Rose Thorns

Sebastian Michaelis had always loved roses. They symbolized everything he loved about his demonhood, and everything that he was. Thorny, mysterious, difficult to understand. Hurts to touch, hurts to love, hurts to hold. And beautiful. Achingly beautiful, a beauty that holds within it something much more powerful and dark, like a vibrant sunset giving way to the night sky.

The young master kept a garden in the courtyard of his home. It was nothing compared to the garden at the Queen's Palace, or even the gardens at some other noble homes, but it was filled with many fragrant blooms. Sebastian often tended to the garden for two reasons; the gardener was absolutely inept at his job, and he sometimes hid his cats and kittens among the bushes, one place the proper young earl would never tread.

His young master's favorite flowers were sterling silver roses. They stood out among the dahlias and chrysanthemums and lilies of the rest of the garden, a sort of ethereal magic allowing them to glow in the early morning sunlight. They were lovely, like any other rose, but had thorns to match the beauty. Long thorns, as well, protruding to at least a centimeter. They lined the stem like birds on a tree branch.

Every once in a while, Sebastian received an order from a particularly happy version of his young master. The earl would ask for a dozen sterling silver roses that he may place in a vase for his office. Requests like this usually came when Ciel Phantomhive had solved a particularly difficult case, and he felt the need to spruce up his workplace. Sometimes, after winning a good game of chess, or coming out on top in a game of pool, he would ask Sebastian for his favorite roses. And the butler would comply.

He went through a very specific procedure when preparing the sterling silver roses for his young master. The faithful servant would peruse the garden for the twelve most perfect roses, flawless in everything. He would gently remove his white satin gloves and pick them at the base of the stem, where they would attach to the larger rosebush. Sebastian would gather the roses in a cloth and bring them to the kitchen, making sure that not a single petal had fluttered to the ground. He would set them with great care on the counter, unfolding the cloth hammock they lied in.

He would then pull out a sharp knife. One by one, carefully and gently, and taking care not to fold the stems of the roses, he would pluck out each thorn, one by one. He would pull out a bowl, discarding each one of the needle sharp objects as he pulled them. When Sebastian was grooming his young master's roses, the flowers used up every iota of his strength, his energy. He was devoted to their utter perfection.

One one fine afternoon in February, Earl Ciel Phantomhive sent his footman, Snake, to notify his butler to pick some roses for him. The earl had recently finished wrapping up a twisted, cruel, murder case, and he needed something to distract him for a little bit. The utter dejection and despair he had felt after seeing those people, lying so still, ceasing to breathe had shaken the young teen, and spurred some very dangerous thoughts that he wanted to get rid of immediately. He needed something of beauty, so what could be more beautiful than his favorite roses? Yawning sadly, Ciel began to address the remnants of his paper work.

Sebastian, after receiving the message, began to go about his rose-plucking routine, every step meticulous and precise. He picked the blooms, dethorned the blooms, and placed the blooms in an antique crystal vase to accentuate their flawless beauty. He picked up the vase, and began his walk towards the young master's room.

He had stopped in front of the door and was peering through the peephole to see if his young master was present, when he saw something that thoroughly confused him. Ciel sat at his large oak desk in a big armchair that was way too big for him, as per usual. But this time, his head lay on the desk. Sebastian heard the young master let out a sigh of defeat. The butler gaped. His master always covered up emotions, or at least the "meaningless" ones, like despair, and sorrow, and love. What made him so upset? He vowed to find out. If the little earl was upset and he had not fixed it, what kind of a butler would he be?