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The air in Lau’s den was thick with opium smoke and whispered dealings, a far cry from the crisp, open skies of the Phantomhive estate. Finnian, the once bright and lively boy, hasn’t smiled for weeks, the death of Snake is haunting his every breath. There was a storm hidden in his emerald eyes, as he replayed his companion bleeding out, over and over.
Finnian sat by the window, his fingers pressed against the glass as if willing it to dissolve into open air. Beyond the fogged pane, London’s streets bustled with life, unaware that somewhere beneath their feet, a boy who once laughed like sunlight through leaves was drowning in silence.
Bard and MeyRin arrived days before the gardener did. The blonde boy recalled how the maid greeted him, “Finny!” MeyRin squealed, running up to the boy, Bard following suit. The gardener slammed into both servants, soft sobs echoing the room. The maid’s eyes filled with instant tears as she was about to open her mouth to ask about Snake, Bard put a gentle hand on her shoulder, silencing her.
The anguished look in the child’s eyes showed them he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.
Now, the other two were… alright. Or as alright as they could be. They survived, they endured.
Although a usually optimistic and lively bunch, the trio was slumped. Their respective missions were traumatic to say the least, and the young master and Sebastian have yet to return from their own. Bard leaned against the wall nearby, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember burning dangerously close to his fingers. Mey-Rin sat cross-legged on the floor, methodically disassembling and reassembling her rifle, her movements precise but hollow. The rhythmic click-clack of metal was the only sound she offered, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Finnian swallowed hard, his throat raw. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip apart the gilded screens and silk drapes, to tear open the ceiling and let the sun pour in. He wanted to dig his hands into soft earth, to feel something alive beneath his fingers instead of this suffocating stillness.
The three of them paced anxiously every day, the same question reeling constantly in their heads, similar to a church bell echoing throughout a funeral, “Where are you, Young Master? Sebastian?” Bard finally exhaled a cloud of smoke, grinding the cigarette butt under his heel. “This waitin’ is bullshit,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion. Mey-Rin didn’t look up, but her hands stilled. “They’ll come back,” she said softly, as if saying it louder might break the fragile hope.
Finnian pressed his forehead against the glass, his breath fogging the pane in shallow bursts. Somewhere above, the sun still rose. Somewhere, flowers still grew.
He wondered if the roses in the Phantomhive garden had begun to wilt without him. The boy couldn’t help but frown at the thought, it doesn’t matter anymore, Snake won’t be there to embrace the warmth of the garden ever again. A hand rested on Finnian’s shoulder, “Kid,” he started, voice rough with tobacco, “y’know you are always…. free to talk to us, right?” Mey-Rin's rhythmic click-clack of her rifle assembly paused. The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Finnian swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wanted to speak, wanted to tell them about the way Snake's last feeling on earth was betrayal, about how the light had left his eyes too fast. But the words lodged somewhere beneath his ribs, sharp and suffocating.
Mey-Rin sniffled quietly, “we miss him too.”
and those words were enough to shatter Finnian as he sobbed profusely. Bard barely had time to blink before the boy crashed into him. "Hey—shit—" The cook's arms locked around Finnian instinctively, one broad hand cradling the back of his head as if he could shield him from the pain. Over the boy's trembling shoulders, Bard met Mey-Rin's glassy eyes just as she surged forward, her rifle forgotten with a clatter. She crashed into them both, arms encircling Bard's waist and Finnian's shaking back, her tears soaking into Bard's sleeve.
Even as they clung to each other, a cold undercurrent of dread ran beneath their grief. Finnian's sobs quieted to shaky breaths against Bard's chest, but the same question hung heavy in the air between them yet again, taunting them every second of the day. Bard's jaw clenched. He could feel Finnian's heartbeat rabbiting against his ribs, could hear the way Mey-Rin's breath hitched every few seconds like she was fighting another wave of tears. They were falling apart, and the only people who could put them back together were gods-knew-where, gods-knew-if-they-were-even—
"Honestly, it's a relief we burnt down that wretched hotel!" A familiar voice sliced through the heavy air as Ciel Phantomhive stormed into the room, his cane striking the floorboards with enough force to make the trio jump. "That insufferable Mordis Vladis made my skin crawl. An absolutely repulsive experience altogether." He sniffed disdainfully, "This whole ordeal has reminded me precisely why I despise hotels."
Sebastian followed gracefully behind, carrying several wrapped packages that smelled suspiciously of honey cakes and bergamot tea. His sharp eyes immediately took in the scene: Bard's protective stance, Finnian's tear-streaked face, Mey-Rin's trembling form, and the subtle tension in his shoulders betrayed his understanding even before his gaze flicked to Snake's conspicuous absence.
"We're back," Ciel announced, his usual cutting tone softened just slightly by travel fatigue. His single blue eye swept over them, lingering on their disheveled states. "...What on earth are you three doing?"
Mey-Rin made a sound: half gasp, half sob before she was lurching forward, her legs unsteady beneath her. "Young master! You’re here! You are here, yes you are!" The girl almost tripped on her own two feet as she ran to the boy, crashing into Ciel with enough force to make him stagger back a step. "J-just what has gotten into you!?" he sputtered, his usual sharp tone undermined by the way he didn't actually push her away. His arms hovered awkwardly at his sides as Mey-Rin buried her face in his waistcoat, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
A damp patch spread through the fine fabric where her tears fell. Ciel could feel her whispering against his chest, the words muffled but unmistakable: "I’m so glad, you’re okay...you’re here…" For a heartbeat, Ciel stood frozen, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides, his face a mix of surprise and something dangerously close to fondness. Then, very slowly, his arms came up around her, one hand settling tentatively between her shoulder blades, “well, yes…obviously we’re here.”
The moment stretched, thick with unspoken relief, as Ciel's stiff posture gradually relaxed into Mey-Rin's desperate embrace. Across the room, Bard watched the reunion with a tired smirk before turning his attention to the demon butler. Bard left Finnian's side as Sebastian approached, the two men pausing a few feet apart. The cook scratched at his stubbled chin before breaking the silence.
"Oi, Sebastian."
The demon butler inclined his head slightly. "Bardroy."
A beat passed between them, heavy with unspoken things. Then Bard huffed a laugh, shaking his head, placed his arm around the butler's shoulders,"Got a hell of a story for ya. Nearly checked out on that last job - really should've by all rights." He tapped his temple with two fingers. "Then I hear your posh-ass voice in my head sayin', 'Really, Bardroy? You can't even bake a proper omelette and you think you're going to die now?' Next thing I know, I woke up to Lau's fancy sleeves rolled up, pumping his own damn blood into me."
Sebastian's lips twitched, that barely-there smirk that meant he was amused against his better judgment. “Predictable as always, I see. Though I'm pleased to see you avoided staining Lau's expensive carpets. That would have been truly tragic." Bard barked a laugh, then winced as it pulled at his bandages. With surprising care, he reached out and gripped Sebastian's shoulder. "Yeah well... thanks. For whatever voodoo shit that was."
The butler's eyebrow arched, "I simply couldn't allow you to perish while your custards still resemble mortar paste. The young master's standards must be maintained."
"Asshole," Bard shot back, but the insult carried surprising warmth as he flashed a lopsided grin. He turned toward where Ciel stood, opening his mouth to regale the boy with his near-death tale when Sebastian's gloved hand caught his elbow with deceptive lightness.
The demon wasn't looking at him. Those unnatural crimson eyes were fixed on Finnian's motionless form across the room. The gardener who usually radiated sunshine now stood like an uprooted sapling, his hands hanging limp, his eyes glassy and distant. Finnian always hugged first: throwing himself at Sebastian with reckless abandon, nearly toppling the young master with his enthusiasm. MeyRin was the cautious one, the one who waited until the others had made the first move before tentatively joining in. Yet here she was, clinging to Ciel like he might vanish, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs that spoke of grief too deep for words.
She knew. They all knew. And in her own clumsy way, Mey-Rin was trying to shield their master from that pain, if only for a few more precious seconds. And as Sebastian's hold on Bard’s arm tightened slightly, he figured Bard was trying to do the same, deflecting with his tales and jokes.
Bard followed the butler’s gaze, where Finnian stood motionlessly in the corner, and quickly pressed his lips. His war story, his bravado-filled tale of cheating death died on his tongue. Sebastian's voice cut through his thoughts, lower than usual. "The young master will notice soon enough."
Across the room, Ciel's patting motions on Mey-Rin's back grew increasingly awkward. His visible eye darted about, taking in the scene, Finnian's unnatural stillness, Bard and Sebastian's uncharacteristic silence, the way the air itself seemed heavier. Mey-Rin finally loosened her grip on Ciel, her glasses fogged with tears, her fingers trembling as she smoothed out the wrinkles she’d left on his coat.
"What’s—" Ciel began, then Finnian let out a small sniffle and the earl’s spine went rigid with realization. Without hesitation, he crossed to Finnian in quick strides, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the floorboards. The hand he placed on the gardener's shoulder was firm, but surprisingly gentle. "Finny..." Ciel's voice was softer than usual, the name spoken more like a question than an address. "Where is Snake?"
"Snake 's dead!" Finnian's voice shattered, the words tore from him raw and bleeding, his hands shaking violently at his sides. Ciel went very, very still. For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of Lau’s den around them.
"...I see."
The words were quiet. Controlled. But nobody missed the way Ciel’s hand on Finnian trembled. Finnian crumpled further, his words spilling out between ragged gasps, “It’s all my fault… I should’ve been faster! I'm sorry—!”
"Look at me."
When Finnian didn't respond, Ciel's small hand shot out with surprising strength, gripping the gardener's chin and forcing his head up, “Was it your weapon that caused his death?”
Finnian's breath hitched. "N-no, but—"
"Your orders?"
"I…I didn't—"
"Then Snake’s death isn’t your burden to bear," Ciel commanded, his grip tightening, "his blood is not on your hands."
The gardener looked at his young master, the boy who gave him a home, a family, a reason to love the world, and realized that even if Snake is dead, he himself wasn’t the cause of it. He loved Snake dearly, and it hurts that he’s gone, but he wasn’t the one who got him killed.
His young master said so, and he took every word that slipped out of that young boy’s lips as gospel.
Ciel nodded slowly, turning to look at the other servants, his hand however, never left Finnian’s shoulder as he did so. “When I get the estate back, we will give Snake the farewell and honor of a Phantomhive servant. We'll do it properly. In the gardens. With..." His voice wavered, just once. "With his favorite flowers."
Sebastian spoke up, "The white camellias, then. And the—"
Finnian 's breath hitched.
That voice, Sebastian’s voice, cut through the haze of grief like a flower blooming in concrete. His head snapped up, his blurry vision clearing just enough to lock onto the butler standing there, pristine as always, as if no time had passed at all.
Sebastian, who had taught him how to hold a teacup without shattering it.
Sebastian, who had scolded him for trampling the roses but then showed him how to prune them properly.
Sebastian, who had quietly slipped extra honey into his tea on the days he was sad.
Before he could think, Finnian was moving.
He quickly crashed onto the butler, his arms locked around the demon’s torso , his face buried in the familiar black fabric. For once, Sebastian doesn’t chide him. Doesn’t tell him to mind his strength and to be mindful of the damage his bone-crushing hugs could cause. Instead, after the briefest hesitation, a gloved hand came to rest between Finnian’s shoulder blades. Not pushing him away. Finnian didn’t sob. He didn’t tremble. He just held on. And if Sebastian was here, then maybe,just maybe,the world hadn’t ended after all.
Across the room, Bard let out a quiet huff of laughter, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. MeyRin sniffled, her glasses fogging up all over again. Ciel watched them for a long moment before turning away, his shoulders slightly shaking, taking a deep breath, an attempt to compose himself.
He turned to the window of the room, his eyes fixating on the sky, "You were under my employ, Snake. That makes you a Phantomhive servant until your last breath... and beyond." The words left him in a whisper so quiet even Sebastian would have strained to hear them.
A rare crack in his composure as his voice dropped even lower,
"…And you were ours. So don’t you dare forget it.”