Being the cousin of the infamous Lord Phantomhive did have some perks, such as being able to stay at his mansion over the summer while your own was being renovated.

But as you soon found, you weren’t the only guest.

There was a prince of India, a very famous Prince Soma.

But you weren’t really so interested in him as you were in his little butler, who you soon found out to be known as Agni.

Over the course of the summer you had grown close, often making trips to the garden together, enjoying each other's company.

He excluded a kind of seriousness and reverence and grace in everything he did and said, and it was quite captivating.

He often stole glances at you, as you did to him.

The two of you would cook, though Lord Phantomhive generally forbade you from it saying that it was ‘servant’s work’.

You did not believe in such things.

Today was a day like many others. He washed the flour off his hands and wandered to the garden where he found you in the terrace, still in your nightgown due to the hour of morning, the smell of spices and incense that was embedded into his clothes greeting you before his soft smile and voice could, laced with a faint but detectable Bengali accent.