Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13199916.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroshitsuji_|_Black_Butler
  Relationship:
      Sebastian_Michaelis/Ciel_Phantomhive, Sebastian_Michaelis_&_Ciel
      Phantomhive, Sebastian_Michaelis/Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Sebastian_Michaelis, Ciel_Phantomhive, Original_Female_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher_x_Student, SebaCiel_-_Freeform, Shotacon, Dubious_Consent,
      Masturbation, Crossdressing, Slurs, Humiliation, Cheating, sebastian_has
      a_short_temper, Slice_of_Life, Pining, jailbait!ciel, nymphet!ciel,
      Eventual_Smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-04 Updated: 2018-03-08 Chapters: 4/? Words: 13879
****** sugar laced ******
by whore
Summary
     a student; spoiled, cocky, a little too pretty.
     a teacher; humble, deprived, a little too tempted.
     what could possibly go wrong?
Notes
     DISCLAIMER: this is 100% fucked. no 9th grader should be having
     sexual relations with their teachers. i know that well. however, this
     is fiction and no minors were harmed in the creation of this.
     consider the warnings, and read at your own risk.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** one *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Sebastian Michaelis sits at his desk. It's a long, dark mahogany piece, topped
with piles upon piles of paperwork.
He rifles through them. Sighs discontentedly.
If there's one thing Sebastian hates about his job, it's the amount of papers
he has to grade. Some of his students don't even bother. Scratch barely-
readable writing into their papers and etching, ripping through and using
stupidly inky pens that bleed into the back.
Honestly, it's a wonder why he still works as a high-school teacher.
He's a humble man. Deserves better than he recieves. A little missus across his
classroom says in hushed whispers why, he would make a lovely actor! look at
those cheekbones, his silky black hair, his beautiful eyes, his lips, his
angular nose — it's a shame he teaches — really, really!
— or perhaps a fashion model! mister michaelis is built wonderfully, too! he is
packing not a bit flab and he is incredibly strong! did you see him help me
yesterday, how he lifted those desks with ease!? oh, how dreamy! 
Sebastian tries to let the rest of the classroom drown out the blabber of two
certain girls. Staring directly at him and murmuring obvious.
mm, it really is a shame. i wish he wasn't our teacher, you know. he's also
such a good person.
helps old ladies cross the streets,
goes to church on sundays,
prays for everybody,
Sebastian Michaelis flushes and holds his head in his hands. Patiently awaits
the bell.
—
Everything is boring, Sebastian thinks, pen in hand as he taps it against the
surface of hardwood. Squints his eyes at incomprehensible chicken scratch and
really, truly tries to decipher it. Could've sworn Finny was a bright boy.
His classroom's dark, dimmed the way he likes it. No students filling up the
shabby plastic chairs. It's all quiet.
Silent. Just the way he likes it — just him and his work.
He squints a little harder. Cocks his head and zones out a bit. Snaps back into
it.
Did this dimwit even try?
Sebastian keeps working, though. Tries to keep his eyes open and gives one last
I-just-want-to-go-home-effort of a read and decides to call it a zero. Bolts up
from his chair and scurries out his classroom — god, he hates that place.
Always needlessly noisy, chalk full of annoying, hormonal teenagers.
It reminds him of headaches and ignorance. Sebastian doesn't like either.
He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, scratches his neck. Clenches his
suitcase and gives one last look at the calm-but-not-for-long room before
taking his leave.
—
Sebastian doesn't have much to look forward to when he gets home.
His cute little wife, dressed in lace, he hopes sheepishly. Maybe a plate full
of double-chocolate-chip cookies. Or a sweet, homemade shortcake. She used to
love making those. Wonder what happened.
He comes home to sugar-coated ear-to-ear grins and warming hugs. Just the same
as yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.
Sebastian's a good man, though. Humble. Takes what he can get. Deserves more
than he receives. He takes her hugs and kisses her forehead like a good husband
should do. Threads his fingers through her hair and asks her about her day.
Lets her ramble on and on about whatever she pleases.
Like a good husband should do.
I've had a long day, honey, he murmurs sweet and low into her ear. Trails his
hand down the arch of her back. Twiddles his fingers suggestive.
The missus only shakes her head, raises a brow and laughs outright. Says
something about mm, not today, i'm afraid.
Sebastian tries not to let his face drop.
Offers a wide, loving smile. Says it's okay and carries on, fist clenched
behind his back.
He wonders what he's doing wrong as he eats the chicken breast and greens she's
prepared for the fifth night in a row.
She's been like this for weeks, and Sebastian is a needy man. Hasn't had a
decent fuck in a month and his hand isn't gonna cut it tonight, he thinks.
He misses her, if anything. Misses back when they were younger, maybe, when she
was carefree and ruthless. Didn't let anybody say shit to her and took what she
wanted. Was a determined, utterly sexy thing, standing little at 5'3, 120
pounds.
The chicken is blander than usual.
Sebastian especially misses the way she'd wrap her legs around his waist in
their fits of passion. The way she drove herself into him. Bow-hips bucking
back and wrapping him up all slick and sweet. Plush breasts fit perfectly in
his hand. His mouth.
The greens are mushier than he remembers. 
Sebastian sighs for the fifth time that night and and stands up.
Cleans after himself and washes the dishes. He hates putting any extra work on
his darling dear — just wants to make things easier for her, maybe woo her a
little. He's starved. Getting a bit more desperate than he'd like to admit.
His hand starts looking better and better as the night progresses, back turned
to his wife and head nestled in a fat pillow.
Sebastian's a good man, though. Wouldn't jerk off with his lover mere inches
away. He gently rises from their king-sized bed and murmurs a soft just going
to the bathroom, honey when she looks at him with a brow cocked and lips
pursed.
He locks the door and turns on the light.
Gulps when he tugs his trousers and undergarments down. Licks at his palm.
Feels a gust of relief at his dick taking a breath of fresh air.
Sebastian wraps a spit-slicked hand around his girth and strokes, muffling any
noise he makes with a towel to his mouth.
He bites down. Moves his fist faster and pauses to thumb the head slow and
pressure-heavy.
He whines into the towel. Picks up a slow, tight-gripped rhythm.
Sebastian flushes at how much precum gushes from his slit. 
Slows his fist.
Picks up the pace again. Fucks into his hand quick and real sloppy. Just wants
to get off and go.
He curses,
and curses,
and curses,
Mmm..!
Moves faster,
and faster,
and faster
and
Sebastian cums quick with a muffled groan. Hand squeezing the hell out his
dick. Orgasm shuddering through him harder than he would've liked.  
This isn't right, Sebastian thinks, ashamed for having jerked off in his
bathroom with the door locked and teeth biting down on a towel for the fifth
time this week. It isn't normal. 
He wonders what he's doing wrong as he washes his hands and cleans up a mess of
cum and sweat. Turns the lights off and closes the door behind himself. Walks
back to his wife and smiles all sweet like he hadn't just whacked off in a
locked bathroom like some dweeby teenager. 
The mister goes to sleep with his arms wrapped tight around a pillow and face
buried sad in its fluff. 
Chapter End Notes
     just wanted to keep this chapter short n sweet !! anyway, feedback is
     much appreciated!!!
***** two *****
Chapter Notes
     HEY sorry for the big ass delay !! i managed to jam this out between
     studying and school so it's not perfect, but i hope you all enjoy it
     nonetheless!
     i have most of my finals this week so the next chapter might also be
     a little delayed, but hopefully after that, i'll update consistently.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
BRRRRRRR
...
BRRRRRRR
...
BRRRR-
Sebastian wakes up with a groan, sticks one hand out from his covers and
searches for his phone with eyes squinty and forehead creased. 
It takes him a good 30 seconds to locate the stupid ringing device; it's
annoying, loud, and blaring. Standard alarm bell.
He turns it off, sits up. Wipes his face and rubs his eyes.
God, I really don't wanna go to work today.
His wife isn't at his side when he turns to look at her side of the bed.
Pillows are ruffled and sheets are pulled back. He didn't think she had work
today. 
He figures it's none of his business and leisurely marches to his bathroom.
Sebastian washes his face and shaves off whatever shadow he had going. Dabs the
too-prominent rings of dark under his eyes with cold water and hopes he doesn't
look as dead when he gets to work. He's been looking a little off lately, he
thinks. 
Maybe chicken breast and greens isn't doing Sebastian as well as he thought it
would.
He shuts off the lights and exits. Throws on something
deemed presentable and professional; he doesn't care for the button-up he
throws on, nor the black tie he fixes around his collar, nor the black blazer
and pants he lazily slides on.
They're nothing special, really. Just a pair he'd bought back a couple years
ago — they all blend into the rest of Sebastian's black, black wardrobe.
He thinks of his wife when he looks at himself in the mirror and laughs, a
little bitter. Thinks about how she'd probably patronize him for wearing black-
on-black for the 5th time in a row, because of course, you always wear black on
black, sebastian! you're so boorrriiinnng.
Sebastian feels a wave of disappointment when he doesn't find her anywhere
downstairs. He supposes he shouldn't —   she's a grown woman, can operate how
she'd like. 
It's not like it's any of his business anyway, he tells himself. 
He feels a little more disheartened when he doesn't find a note anywhere. Lets
a little unsatisfied smile come on his face and huffs a sigh.
Sebastian's fingers want to dial her number. Maybe ask her where she is, how he
misses her already  — maybe that would get something out of her, right? He can
barely remember what kind of person she is. She's gotten all wishy-washy and
sickly sweet; artificial and sickening. He doesn't like to think about how she
could be hiding something from him.
Surely, she trusts him enough to tell him about anything.. right?
Another huffed sigh heaves from Sebastian's lungs.
He tries to think about nothing in particular while his coffee brews.
                                      - 
Sebastian's bored when he plops down in his comfy leather desk chair; it
practically swallows him with how plush and forgiving the cushioning is. 
He doesn't want to open his suitcase nor start the day. He's barely finished
his coffee — wishes he could say he can't be bothered to do anything, but his
bills and mortgage nag at the back of his mind. 
He questions time and time again why he didn't choose a different career path
back when. 
And it's not long til students fill into his classroom, almost as tired as he
is. Hoodies up, sleep deprivation prominent, mouths running with needless
profanities. 
Teenagers, he thinks.
He catches some conversation — something about that new kid. gonna be comin'
into our class today, y'hear?
'parrently he's real rich. his daddy's a multimillionaire ceo of somethin'. i
didn' hear much.
a ceo?! you gotta be fuckin with me, man. that's wild. so we're getting a
spoiled rich kid? great. 
Sebastian bites his tongue, curses softly. Of course. He feels dumb for
forgetting; barely remembers the poor kid's name. Starts with a C. Something
with a C. French. Not particularly common, Sebastian thinks hard with twiddling
thumbs.
He scrambles for the attendance list. 
Phantomhive, Ciel.
Phantomhive.
He's heard that last name before. Sebastian squints his eyes and nudges at the
bit of familiarity Phantomhive induces.  
Phantomhive.
Phantomhive
It takes him a second.
Funtomhive.
...
Funtom.
...
...
FUNTOM.
Sebastian doesn't let his jaw drop. He supposes it would be better to keep that
to himself.
Doesn't need all the other kids running around and hollering that the new kid's
dad owns probably the largest toy and candy company in England. Hell, not just
England — probably the whole damn world. 
Sebastian recalls one time he was in Thailand and he saw roughly three Funtom
shops located in one mall. Each were filled to the brim with either tired
parents and energetic children or tired children and energetic parents.
A small bit of doubtful laughter bubbles out Sebastian's chest. 
Once most of his students have filled up the still-ugly plastic chairs,
Sebastian stands up and clasps his hands. Clears his throat loud and starts
speaking once he's got all his students' attention.
"So, as some of you may know—"
Two boys hobbled in hoodies perk up and listen close.
"—we have a new student joining us today,"
Sebastian already hears quiet whispers of ooh who do you think it'll be? boy or
girl? tall or short? fat or small? cute or ugly? are they— 
"Please do not give them a hard time. Welcome them nicely, yes?" He can already
feel the headache coming on when ignorant whispers grow harsher and louder.
Sebastian figures he should leave the students be til the first bell rings.
Maybe finish his lukewarm coffee. He plops back down in his seat and leans
back.
And then suddenly, more abruptly than Sebastian would've liked, two knocks at
the open door make the class drop dead silent. 
All focus goes to a little figure standing by the door, fist raised and eyebrow
cocked questioning.
Short, gray-haired. If Sebastian squints, it's tinted blue. 
"..."
A really big, stupid smirk. Maybe cocky.
"..."
"Pardon, is this the classroom of Sir Michaelis?" 
The voice that leaves the boy is high and smooth. Matches his exterior pretty
well, Sebastian thinks. 
The boy's a little... peculiar, to say the least.
Choked laughter erupts from the corner of his classroom.
did he just say sir?
"Ah, yes. Please, come in. Take a seat — we'll get started once the others have
come," 
Choked laughter doesn't halt as the kid strides in confident and weird; a
little missus in the corner thinks he stinks of money. Wrists are iced with a
wallet-beating watch and bracelets.
She tries not to let her eyes bulge at how his parents would let him leave the
house wearing something so unconventional.
"Thank you, Sir,"
Sebastian bites his tongue.
"Just Mister will do," 
Kid takes a seat directly in front of him. It's one of the only empty desks,
aside from one directly in the middle, and one in the far left corner. 
Keeps a fat, cocky grin on his pretty boy face. 
Sebastian doesn't let his eyes linger on his pale, pale shoulders.
It's only another 5 minutes that the two other missing students come in to fill
in the seats. 
He tries not to let out an exasperated groan at the puny girl decked in green
and black running into his classroom. Gaping her mouth at the new kid and
taking her seat in the corner. Eyes all googly and bugged, lined with what
Sebastian considers tar-black.
He's thankful that the short, dopey blond that follows, shoulders sagged
forwards and posture slouched, doesn't make any weird remarks. His eyes do
light up a little too fast, though. Whips his head towards Sebastian a little
too giddy, and then at the dark-haired boy in front of him, and then back to
Sebastian, and suddenly he's concerned for the new kid's safety.
He'd rather have them ignore him than stare him down like a pack of wolves
would a white rabbit.
The bell rings.
Sebastian clears his throat and stands. Looks over at the kid and offers a
warming teacher smile, gestures with a hand for him to get up.
Sebastian lowers his gaze upon watching him rise from his desk, smooth
collarbones prominent, parts of his bony chest exposed. Narrow shoulders
adorned with light, light baby-purple. 
The sleeves are too long, too big for the kid's frame. 
"Introduce yourself, say three things, yeah?"
Kid's lips are still drawn in a shit-eating grin. Sebastian can't tell if it's
endearing or annoying. 
They're awfully pink and glossed. 
"Hi. My name is Ciel. I'm new. I like flowers. And I like drawing," Kid counts
to three with his fingers at each thing he lists. Posture perfect, words chosen
carefully. Monotone when they land.
Sebastian swallows.
He doesn't look at how Ciel's ribcage strains through his taut skin by the way
his baby-purple too-small shirt with too-long sleeves expose it. He's a good
man, after all. Doesn't let his eyes skim over a kid's body   — especially not
a boy's.
Ignorant whispers quiet down to snuffed giggles.
h-he looks a little girly, don't you think?
an understatement, mate. we have a sissy boy on our hands.
's he even a boy?
"I do hope you all treat Ciel with care and welcome him well—"
Sebastian keeps his face trained, keeps it straight and stone-cold. He's
mastered the art of poker-facing with what lovely things he's used to hearing
from his students.
"—Now go on, introduce yourselves,"
Another warm, sugarcoated teacher smile.
He leans down to murmur just so that the kid can hear his you can take a seat,
now. Pretends not to see his ears flush red and walks back to his seat.
Sebastian doesn't pay attention as his students start going row by row, saying
their names and something about themselves.
It all becomes white noise after the 5th kid speaks, and Sebastian doesn't dare
let his gaze linger on Ciel. His eyes betray him, though.
hi! m' name's finny, 'nd I like flowers too!
Ciel looks pretty bored. Rolls his perfect fingers in a rhythm atop of
hardwood. Holds his face in his palm. Waits for the rest to stop talking.
Another 5 people pass around.
His hair mops over his left eye. Even under that, Sebastian thinks he's wearing
an eyepatch by the strings that come across his face and around his head.
i'm sieglinde! i like the colour green.
Sebastian stares at how Ciel's lashes cast shadows onto his cheeks.
Sebastian stares at his plushy girl lips.
Now he swears to tear his gaze away from the kid, stands up from his desk after
everyone's finished their useless introductions; a little missus in the back
whines something along the lines of why, i didn't even go yet..!
Sebastian slides on his spectacles, and proceeds with class. Doesn't miss the
way the way Phantomhive slouches his shoulders down and lays his head in his
arms.
                                       -
Ciel's eyelids threaten to drop as the lesson drones on and on. Didn't really
expect to have English first period. 
He thinks he catches a word or two of something about literary devices. Checks
the time.
8:56.
1 hour and four minutes til class is over.  
He heaves a sigh. 
 It's not that Michaelis is boring. Ciel actually thinks he's rather
interesting. When he speaks, there isn't a single person that isn't paying
attention — everybody has this sort of respect for him. It's kind of odd, Ciel
muses. Kind of fascinating, too.
Michaelis' voice is just a little too soothing. A little too easy on the ears,
perhaps glides through his ears a little too fast. Sometimes, it sounds like
something better than English; something a level higher, maybe.
Odd, Ciel thinks. 
Maybe everybody likes him a little too much, too. Ciel doesn't miss how the
trio of skinny blondes seated beside him widen their big blue eyes at Mr.
Michaelis.
He can barely remember their names, despite that they introduced themselves not
10 minutes ago.
One holds her face in the palms of her hands. The other two hastily note
everything that leaves his lips. Not even looking at their papers; just at
dear, dear, Mr. Michaelis.
My eye is bigger, Ciel thinks. And bluer.
Maybe he should be taking notes, too. Ciel supposes he could depend on
his remarkable memory. If all else fails, he figures he can borrow from Heart-
Eyes Girl 1, put his guilt-tripping and pretty boy face to good use. 
He checks the time again.
8:59.
He wishes the time would pass faster.
"—Ciel?"
Shit.
His head snaps up fast. Hurts his neck a bit, but Ciel thinks he'll worry about
that later.
"Pardon me, Mr. Michaelis. Could you please repeat that?"
He hates how formal he sounds when he speaks. It flows from him too naturally,
like a damn robot. Barely knows what he's saying.
"Give us an example of a literary device," Michaelis' eyes stare right through
him. 
They're a lot redder than they are brown. His jaw is strong. Michaelis' jet
black hair frames his face really well, too.
His tone is weirdly cold — different from the gentle, gentle voice that was
speaking mere minutes earlier. Ciel thinks if he could touch it, it would feel
like velvet. Now it feels like hard, hard steel.
Ciel wracks his brain. Doesn't break eye contact, though, keeps his big blue
eye locked on his teacher's narrow, dark ones. 
Literary devices.
Literary devices.
"Metaphors and, or, similies,"
He can vaguely remember things from last year. Got a 98 on the unit test. Feels
a bit of pride swell in his chest when Michaelis quirks the corner of his
mouth, nods his head and murmurs a quiet mhm, good, good.
Ciel feels a gust of relief when those eyes trail off of him. Michaelis has one
hell of a glare. 
He wonders why he doesn't pick on Heart Eyes Girl 1 or 2. They seem to want his
attention more than Ciel does. Eyes still widened big and lips bordering pouty.
Ciel has to bite his tongue to restrain laughter.
I don't have to try, he thinks satisfactorily. I'm already pretty.
Michaelis doesn't even spare a glance to his side of the class any more, like
he's avoiding Ciel's line of desks all together.
He adjusts the hemline of his top. 
Ciel can't tell if it's because of the googly-eyed blondes or if it's because
of himself. 
-
Ciel has a bit to look forward to once he gets home.
When he steps into the foyer, he can already smell Mother's cooking, right
through the door. He recognizes the scent almost immediately; she's been
preparing this for the past 5 days. Swears up and down she wouldn't stop making
it til shes absolutely nails the recipe.
Fortunately, it actually smells good this time around. 
Ciel presses the buzzer. He tries not to cringe when Fur Elise starts ringing
throughout the whole house, echoing right through the door. Father thinks it
sounds sophisticated.
 Sometimes he wonders why they can't just have a normal bell.
The door instantly opens.
"Ciel! Darling boy! How was your first day?!"
His face immediately gets smothered by kisses, Mother's arms sling around his
neck, and Ciel flushes a hot red. 'm not a child, he wants to say. Get your
hands off me.
He laughs uncomfortably. Gently ushers her off himself, drops his bag mumbles
something along the lines of it was alright, mum. relax.
She isn't having it.
Swat.
He jerks instantly. 
 "Ow!"
"Don't mumble at your Mother, boy," 
 A bit too energetic for Ciel's liking, words playful and frolicsome; he thinks
his neck is branded with an imprint of her hand. 
She cracks a grin and starts walking back to where she was previously — the
kitchen, probably. Mother smells like what she's cooking. Calls for Ciel
excitedly, i think i got it right this time! come, come, eat!
Ciel is a good boy, a good son. He doesn't ask her how she managed to fuck up
chicken pot pie four times in a row. Instead, he follows her lead, lets the
delicious aroma of what he's hoping isn't a fuck-up fill his nostrils, and
prays it tastes as good as it smells.
"Doesn't it smell great?"
The scent gets stronger and better as he nears the pot pie; Ciel's tongue
starts producing copious amounts of saliva, and maybe she actually
did not completely fuck it up.
Ciel ponders how she managed to burn the outside, despite the innards being
completely raw yesterday.
It looks pretty damn good, though. Promising. It's presented in a small ceramic
bowl, a single serving, perfectly proportioned. The crust is a nice brown-gold,
looks like it'll flake under light pressure and the steam streaming out of it
hits Ciel right in the face, and suddenly he can't wait to dig in.
He scrambles for a fork and takes a seat at their long, dark dining table.
Waits for Mother to place the dish down; he'd burn his fingertips trying to do
that himself. She has an absurdly large heat tolerance, Ciel thinks, and he
doesn't need to tarnish the smooth, smooth skin on his hands. 
He hears her chuckle quiet and stand back. Probably waiting for him to take a
bite. 
He scrapes the top of the crust with the fork, gently sinking metal into
surprisingly soft dough and chicken.
Nothing faulty yet. His mouth waters some more.
Ciel brings it to his lips.
"...."
"...."
"...."
"Mum, can you please stop staring at me like that?"
"Just eat it, won't you?"
"...."
"...."
"...."
"Dish ish delishush—"
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ciel. That's disgusting,"
He hastily swallows his food and clears his throat.
"You.. did it. It tastes great—" Ciel doesn't need to finish his sentence.
Mother finishes it for him, laughing happily to naught but herself and pumping
her fist, shout-whispering yes!! i did that!!!
He really, truly tries not to facepalm. 
A big, stupid smile breaks out onto his face nonetheless. 
                                       -
RING
....
RING
....
RING
....
RING
....
"You've reached: 4-4-7-7-4-3-2-5-8-6-9-6. The person you are trying to contact,
Ana Michaelis, is currently unavailable. To send a voicemail, dial—"
Sebastian shuts off his phone and exhales, disappointed. Worried. It's 6:08pm,
and he hasn't seen a trace of his wife since the morning.
Ana, dear, where are you?
He stares at the blank black screen. Takes a deep breath and dials her number
for the 5th time. He swears this is the last time. If he doesn't see her
tomorrow, in the morning, Sebastian thinks he's gonna contact the authorities.
After the 24 hour mark, he can file a missing persons report.
Sebastian feels his gut wrench.
His phone rings
and rings
and rings
and
"You've reached: 4-4-7-7-4-3-2-5-8-6-9-6. The person you are trying to contact,
Ana Michaelis, is currently unavailable. To send a voicemail, dial 1. To call
back, dial —"
A loud, frustrated groan rips through Sebastian. He clenches the fragile device
between his too-big fingers, and hopes he doesn't break it when he squeezes
tight. Better than chucking it, Sebastian figures.
Ana has been gone since morning. She could've left at night, for all Sebastian
knows. 
She doesn't leave a note,
nor a voicemail
nor does she call him. 
A good husband would call his wife, ask her how she is
And
A good wife would pick up, respond, put her husband's worries at bay.
Ana declined him. 
Ana declined him.
He finds it hard to stay calm in his stupidly constricting Corolla. 
Deep breaths,
Deep breaths,
he tells himself. Sebastian doesn't want to let his anger get the best of him,
especially not while he's driving, or about to drive. He's seen one too many
car wrecks, and lost one too many family members to blinded-by-fury driving.
He recalls one time he damn near crashed into traffic due to careless,
uncontrolled anger. Ana's voice screaming and hands clawing at the steering
wheel is what saved their asses that night.
Tch.
Sebastian knows what's best for himself. He lowers his seat, rests his head
back and gives himself a few minutes to ground his emotions and make sure his
mind is straight by the time he turns the key, starts up the car. 
He stops squeezing his phone.
What am I doing wrong?
Sebastian tries to evaluate the situation. Doesn't really know what he's doing,
but all he knows is that the anger pulsating through his veins isn't stilling.
What am I doing wrong?
He's done everything right. He treats Ana with care, doesn't force anything on
her. Does everything a good husband should do. Does everything a good
man should do, too. He goes to church on Sundays and donates to charities, even
when his budget is more constricting than the stupid fucking car he's seated
in. 
Sebastian Michaelis is a good man. 
Sebastian Michaelis is a good man.
Sebastian Michaelis is a good man.
What am I doing wrong?
A rough, loud, gravelly yell.
He's about to stomp on the gas, pull out of the parking lot too fast with his
mind loaded with bad, bad decisions when his phone starts ringing.
He picks it up immediately, doesn't bother to check the caller's ID.
"Hello?" Sebastian's nearly panting when he speaks. It's almost pitiful.
"Hey, it's me. What's up with you? You've called me like 10 times within the
span of 4 minutes," A little more than 5 calls, Sebastian thinks, but he puffs
a breath of relief.
It's her.
It's her.
"I'm sorry. Where were you? I haven—"
"I was just out with my friends, Sebastian. Relax. I thought I told you
yesterday,"
He furrows his brows.
"Yesterday? I don't think you said shit to me, yesterday,"
Ana's breath hitches in her throat.
"Do you know how worried I got? I didn't see you next to me in the morning, I
didn't get a call or a note from you, I didn't get anything,"
Sebastian can practically sense her freeze through the phone before she exhales
inaudibly. Sebastian feels it right in ear, though. Can imagine her shoulders
stiffening, too.
"...Don't tell me that this is because I didn't fuck you last night. I sw—"
"What? Ana, I didn't say anything about that. Can't I worry about you? Care
about you, be a good fucking husband to you?"
"I—"
"Forget about it. We'll talk when I get home. I'm gonna hang up now," He
doesn't bother with carrying on the conversation, ends the call and refrains
from throwing his phone. Had he kept on, he knows he would've started yelling.
Sebastian doesn't like yelling.
It does feel like he's gotten a little closure, though. Like a weight's been
lifted off his chest and now it feels like he's actually breathing again.
Sebastian's breath is steadier now, head cleared for the most part and
he supposes he can start driving; maybe reflect on the okay parts of his day,
keep his mind calm.
Sebastian turns the key, starts up his car. Pulls out the parking lot and turns
up the music.
                                       -
  — And drip from leaves, then I recall;
The thrill of being sheltered in your arms,
He likes Chet Baker's voice. How it flows through his radio, how perfectly
piano compliments it, how perfectly trumpet compliments it. The wave of
nostalgia it induces. 
Of course I do
But I get along without you
Very well,
Baker used to be Dad's favourite. Sebastian remembers this song like it was
yesterday that Dad had it playing through the house, simply to drown out
silence. Silence invites evil, he said. 
Sebastian never really understood that, if he was honest. Too much faith in Dad
meant he believed it, no questions asked. 
I've forgotten you just like I should
Of course, I have,
He thinks he might understand it now. 
Except to hear your name,
Or someone's laugh that is the same
But I've forgotten you just like I should  
Sebastian supposes he's overthinking things. Shakes his head, turns up the
music.
What a guy
What a fool am I
To think my breaking heart
Could kid the moon  
...
Baker's voice takes him on a ride of its own.
Chapter End Notes
     chet baker is hands down one of my all time favourite artists; rest
     his soul.
     i seriously can't wait to finish with all the vague buildup and to
     jump into head first into intensity!! stay patient; i have a l o t
     planned lmao.
     let me know what you think of this chapter!
***** three *****
Chapter Summary
     crush
     /krəSH/
     informal
     a brief but intense infatuation for someone, especially someone
     unattainable or inappropriate.
Chapter Notes
     wooO sorry for the delay on the update!! i was a little burned out
     from other things, but hopefully now the updates will be as
     consistent as can be. thank you for being patient with me!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Sebastian cringes when his fist lands against hardwood. He tries not too knock
too hard — already feels bad for cussing at Ana over the phone earlier.
At least I didn't yell, Sebastian tells himself.
It's a second or 10 before the door finally opens.
Sebastian's relieved too easily when he finally sees her. Ana looks bored,
unamused; like she's opening the door to anybody else and it's not like he'd
been worried sick about her. Not like she knew how stressed he was, nor how
close Sebastian was to filing a fucking police report.
 He lets his eyes track her body down and up. The shape of her is lost in one
of his t-shirts; it's more than over-sized on her, and Sebastian doesn't think
she's wearing any pants. For a second, Sebastian's happy. Elated. Content. 
Then he gets angry.
Quick.
He watches as Ana's lips part to speak and cuts off the sentence before it even
begins.
"Really? Are you fucking serious? I spend the whole day worrying about you,
don't get a call, not a text, not a word, and I call you ten fucking times,
have you decline on the last call, and then have you call me back just to say
you were out with your friends?"
Sebastian's voice is a low, controlled rumble, but the words that leave him
scream for themselves.
Angry. Angry. Angry.
Sebastian doesn't like the way Ana's shoulders freeze up.
"You didn't even tell me anything yesterday. Nothing. I don't give a shit what
you think you said. You didn't tell me anything." The words feel like needles
on his tongue and they crunch like glass in his teeth and it hurts to talk to
Ana like this. He hates it. Doesn't think it's right, but his mind steers his
mouth faster than his heart does.
Her breath hitches in her throat —Sebastian can hear it. Maybe it's his own,
but the sound of his pulse drums loud in his ears.
"Sebastian.. I'm sorry," She tries, really does. Sebastian's a calm man. Never
one to lash out, talk back. He's passive and doubtful. Hasn't gotten this
agitated in a while, and he knows Ana doesn't know how to deal with this
situation, and it feels bad when it sinks in. Makes his chest tighten nervous.
Sebastian's mind swerves and he looks straight through Ana; continues talking
in a low, low rumble.
"Do you know how worried I got? Had to keep a straight face all throughout
work, too. Didn't say nothing. Didn't wanna pester you,"
Silence.
"I thought you might've gotten hurt. Or worse. Thought something bad could've
happened to you,"
More silence.
It feels stupidly long; the time between him waiting for a response and how
long her earthy, earthy eyes bore into him.
She lets out this huff and raises her brows.
"Maybe you shouldn't be so concerned with me. I'm not your child, Sebastian.
You're being weird,"
Tense. Sebastian's whole body goes tense.
She goes on.
"I'm a grown woman. I'll do what I want and I know sure as hell that I don't
need you tracking my each and every move."
You. I don't need you. I know sure as hell. 
It hits Sebastian like a fist to the heart and his stomach turns. Wishes his
sadness into vexation, and finds it hard to keep his tongue bitten when he
forces too-angry words back down his throat, clenching his fist uselessly. It
hurts. It hurts.
Ana's face is unreadable, and it feels awfully, awfully long before either of
them speak again. Make a move.
"..."
"Hey, hey, hey—"
She grabs Sebastian by the hem of his coat when he tries to brush past her,
steadying him so that his thigh lays between her hips, and
Sebastian certainly doesn't miss how heated her core seems, or how she looks up
at him with big, green eyes.
Sebastian wants to shove her off.
"You're fucking ridiculous,"
"C'mon, babe. Relax. Lemme help you relax," She drawls out, wriggling her
fingers in the fabric of his jacket. Tugging and pulling.
"You were stressed all day, weren't you? Lemme help you relax,"
Annoying. Annoying. Annoying.
"Let go of my jacke—"
Sebastian can't tell if he's more pissed than confused when he feels Ana's lips
press against his. Way too eager, haughty and excited against his cold, firm,
unmoving lips. He watches her eyes droop shut.
Sebastian's are wide open and angry.
He grabs Ana by her skinny arm and peels her off, feels disgusted and
disappointed; this wasn't supposed to happen, no, not at all.
They were supposed to talk it out, maybe
put each other at ease
not this, no, certainly not this.
The look he gives her is one of disbelief and repulsion. Exasperation splats
through his veins.  Murmurs a small, small i'm having an early night in. i
don't need this right now and takes off his jacket after stepping away from
Ana.
The air is thicker than Sebastian recalls.
Sebastian wonders why he can feel Ana's eyes boring into the back of his head
as he's hanging it. Wants to whip towards her and scream a bit (maybe cry, too,
but he'd never admit that), but he figures there's no way that would end
pretty. Sebastian's tired. The day's been too long, and he feels fatigue
draining him dry.
He wonders if he's expecting too much from her. 
Sebastian's not a stupid man. He can tell something's up, and that she probably
was not with her friends. She hadn't left the house like that in months, and it
makes his stomach flip to think about what she could be doing. Suspicions bloom
in Sebastian's head. It hurts.
It hurts.
She hadn't jumped up on him like that in months, either. Especially not after
rejecting subtle efforts on Sebastian's end time after time.
Sebastian's done everything right, hasn't he? People say he's the perfect man.
Doesn't cheat, keeps God in his heart, doesn't over-season nor under-season his
food. 
Maybe Sebastian is a bit too possessive. Needs to distance himself a bit,
possibly. He prefers to keep his darlings near and dear, lest anything happen
to them. Lest they betray him, perhaps.
Sebastian shakes his head, and runs his fingers through his hair.  Greasy. He
needs to shower.
He marches straight upstairs and shuts the door behind himself, cringing at the
rude SLAM that comes from it and promises he isn't that angry. Sebastian opts
on burying his head into his pillow, and spending 3 hours staring into his
ugly, too-bland cream white wall.
Several thoughts plague him in 180 minutes (why can't he get that
goddamn Phantomhive kid out his head?!), and the feeling of his eyelids droning
shut is what lulls him to sleep.
-
Sebastian wakes up an hour before his alarm. Ana's side of the bed is cold,
just like yesterday. Empty.
The sheets aren't ruffled, though. They're neat and tidy. Look untouched, like
nobody had been there anyway.
When Sebastian walks downstairs, he finds her sprawled out on the couch, t-
shirt riding up her little waist, shorts hanging off her hips. Face shoved in a
pillow, blanketless and cool to the touch when Sebastian runs a hand down her
arm.
It's too cold not to be using a cover, Sebastian muses quiet.
Before he leaves, he makes sure to wrap Ana with one of their bigger blankets;
careful not to wake her. Presses a soft, soft kiss to the back of her neck and
leaves the house feeling semi-decent.
He tries to ignore the pit of discontentment building in his lower abdomen.
-
It's too bright and too early, Ciel grumbles to himself when he steps foot into
Michaelis' classroom. He's the first one in, too.
Ciel gets curious when Michaelis instantly averts his eyes as he makes his way
to his desk, despite chirping out a good morning! and offering a too-warm,
unfamiliar grin.
Wonder why that may be.
Ciel's thighs grow colder by the second, and Ciel reckons he should've worn
something that could actually give him warmth. His pale shorts don't provide
much. Neither do his knee-socks, but there isn't much he can do about that.
Ciel slides into his chair. Michaelis doesn't even spare him a glance.
"Good morning," Ciel attempts.
It's completely silent (aside from the clicking and clacking of Michaelis
typing), and he doesn't take his eyes away from the seemingly stubborn teacher.
It's actually kind of funny to Ciel; he can practically sense how Michaelis
bites down on his tongue, putting all of his energy into training his eyes to
the computer. Occasionally tears that glare away to his mug of black coffee,
and Ciel wrinkles his nose.
He's never understood how people can just drink it straight black. It tastes
foul that way. Too bitter, too strong, it feels like a punch in the mouth. Ciel
prefers his coffee with two creams and two sugars. Nice, sweet, and milky.
Makes him feel warm inside.
Michaelis finally takes a deep breath and looks up at him slow, cocking a thin,
arched brow and quirking the corner of his mouth.
Ciel squirms and presses his thighs together.
"Is there something on my face, Phantomhive?" His voice is raspy, deeper than
Ciel remembers. Ciel doesn't think his face gives it away, but now he's certain
his eyes bulged a little too much at the gravelly chuckle that follows.
"..You're interesting, Sir,"
"Please, it's just Mister,"
"Okay, Just Mister. Whatcha doin'?"
Now they're both smiling, dumb and gleeful. It's probably too early for this,
Ciel ponders as he finds the rings of dark beneath Michaelis' eyes. He looks a
lot less cleaner than yesterday, too, and his tie is wrinkled.
Michaelis lets out this pained chuckle and pauses for a second or two.
"...Teacher stuff. Are you curious?" The dip in his voice makes it sound
mocking and playful, and it sure as hell should not make Ciel's cheeks go as
red as cherry, nor make his insides churn bashfully nor cause his dick to
nearly jump.
Ciel tries to look less wide-eyed and horny and more teasing and tricksy.
He doesn't trust his voice enough to speak smooth and crack-less, so he hums
out a light, light mmhhmm. Doesn't wanna embarrass himself in front of
Michaelis; especially not within the first week of meeting him. The thought
itself makes Ciel's gut wrench.
"That's cute," Michaelis clicks his tongue.
Ciel presses his thighs tighter.
"You're early today, hmm? I've barely looked over my schedule,"
"Why don't you help me set up?" It's not so much as a question as it is a flat
out demand when Michaelis rises from his desk and looks at Ciel expectantly. 
Ciel's more than willing, and he stands up faster than he would've liked, feels
incredibly, incredibly tiny when Michaelis leans over his desk to hand him a
pink marker. Michaelis is broad, his muscles strain through that white dress
shirt, and Ciel thinks his index and thumb could meet around both his wrists.
Maybe meet around his throat, too. Wrap around his thighs.
He feels himself flush light when their fingers brush, and Ciel nearly drops
the marker.
"Relax, kid,"
Ciel is very, very thankful for how long his sweater is when Michaelis lets out
another gravelly chuckle that goes straight to his dick.
His knees are almost wobbly when he walks to the blackboard, and he pretends
not to hear the teacher stifle a laugh.
Ciel's stomach churns some more. He can't tell if it's butterflies or his
breakfast threatening to leap out his esophagus. 
"Here — can you write the date for me?" Michaelis points to the top left corner
of the board.
"..."
"..."
"I don't think I can reach that high, Sir," 
"..."
"...Ah. Apologies. Why don't you write the... the... here, just take the
schedule," Michaelis thrusts a sticky note with somewhat messy handwriting into
Ciel's hands. The blush that lightly taints Michaelis' cheeks doesn't match his
velvet-deep voice, nor his large, large body, nor his intimidating eyes and
arched brows. 
Ciel thinks his heart may burst.
"Also, it's still Mister," 
"You keep your schedule on a sticky note, Sir?" It's Ciel's turn to be playful,
and he can't help the big, cheesy smirk that splats itself on his face. It's
not like he's trying to be cliche or anything   — Ciel feels like this could
easily fit in as a scene in one of those horribly corny chick-flicks where the
schoolgirl's all infatuated with her upperclassmen.
"I— don't worry about it, kid. Just write down what we're doing today,"
And this is that scene where she shares a moment with him. She goes all doe-
eyed and dumb, the camera pans on her shaky hands, and just for
a single moment, when they're both laughing and their eyes meet, she thinks
she actually might have a chance with him.
"It's still Mister!" Ciel catches the quiet murmur that slips through
Michaelis' teeth and tries to bite the laugh that pries its way out his
throat.   
Of course, she later gets her heart broken and falls in love with the
protagonist — the nice guy — or something stupid like that.
Ciel is thankful that he can actually reach high enough to write
down something about literary devices and poetic techniques, knees wobbly and
dick half-hard and heart inflating with stupid teenage desires (Ciel wishes
Michaelis would grab him by the waist and lift him up like a princess (to write
the date), but he'd never, ever admit that).
He barely notices the other students filling in until he turns around to find
the classroom half full.
-
Michaelis' voice almost sends him to sleep again; Ciel thinks he's going on
about literary devices, and makes sure to perk his head up when he hears him
start to call out on random kids. 
Ciel sticks his hand out this time. Wants to show Michaelis he's
a good student, a good boy. Wants to show him he's not slacking. He straightens
out his narrow shoulders and lifts his chin, makes sure his pretty hair doesn't
cover too much of his pretty face.
Michaelis, however, lets his eyes run over Ciel and when he opens his lips to
speak, Ciel's name isn't called out.
Instead, he hears a firm Finny.
He turns his head around, and the kid that Ciel thinks may be Finny picks his
head up. He has drool trailing down his chin.
Ciel wrinkles his nose and turns back around.
"Please, would you care to give us an example of a literary device?"
"Uhh... A what?" Finny's voice is a high warble, and Ciel can hear his saliva
smack with every syllable.
"We reviewed this yesterday. Do you not remember, Finny? Were you sleeping
then, too?" Michaelis has his jaw clenched.
Ciel keeps his hand up and waits patiently. Tries his best not to wave it back
and forth obnoxiously.
"Uhm... No. 'm sorry," Ciel thinks the blond doesn't really have much else to
say when Michaelis scoffs and averts his gaze. Lets out this puff and finally
drones his eyes over to Ciel's eager, eager hand. 
"..Ciel. Would you care to give us an example of a literary device?" Michaelis
shouldn't be allowed to say his name. It sounds too good, too deep and too
smooth. If it were a drink, Ciel thinks it would be some grown-up drink. Some
kind of wine he's seen Mother sip in a special glass on Saturday evenings.
Ciel gulps, his big blue eye lights up, and he nods his head.
"Onomatopoeia; refers to words that are used to depict sounds. Examples of an
onomatopoeia would be woof, huff, pow, and boom," It all comes out a bit too
fast, but Ciel reckons Michaelis catches it all. Ciel talks fast when he's
nervous. Sometimes jumbles his words, too, and it ends up sounding like if
someone were to read from unorganized scrabble pieces.
Michaelis raises both brows and smiles warm and wide. It's genuine and Ciel
gnaws down on his lip to prevent himself from squeaking.
"Very good," 
Ciel flushes pink and presses his palm down on his groin.
He really, really tries to ignore how his heart nearly skips out his chest.
Also tries to ignore the blonde beside him side-eyeing the hell out of him.
Ciel peeks out the corner of his eye, and it's not particularly a nasty glare;
it's more-so fascination than anything. Like he's some creature she's never
seen before.
Ciel clears his throat and offers a subtle little grin.
"Do I have something on my face?"
Instantly, she forces a tight-lipped smile. It looks more like a grimace to
Ciel.
"Erm... No." She doesn't say much else before turning her head away from Ciel.
A bit boring, but Ciel feels this smugness building up in his chest.
He checks the time.
9:27.
33 minutes til next period. 
He groans. Slides his elbows down slow, and buries his head in his arms only to
instantly perk up as Michaelis begins handing out a couple of worksheets. He
says it's to practice their ability to spot literary devices, and Ciel thinks
he's heard the term literary devices about 100 times today.
He quickly fills out the worksheet and patiently awaits the bell.
Absentmindedly doodles on the corners of his page.
-
Tap tap.
Ciel turns around. Blonde #1 looks at him expectantly.
"Hey. Your name's Ciel, right?" Ciel raises a brow. 
Uncomfortable.
"Uhh.. yes?"
"You wanna have lunch with us?" Blonde #1 is smacking gum as she speaks, and
Ciel thinks he's seen this scene in the movies, too, about 100 times. Doe-eyed,
airhead blonde, infatuated with her handsome teacher. Chews florescent pink
bubblegum and wears bras two sizes too big (not that Ciel checked out
her cleavage, or anything. He thinks they're an eyesore).
The little bit of silence makes Blonde #1 jut her neck at Ciel and widen her
eyes a bit, urging him to speak. Ciel just thinks she looks stupid.
"....Sure...?" May as well.
"Hold on, I think he's in my second period! Oi, aren't you in science with me?"
Ciel wasn't expecting the loud, boyish voice to come booming from behind Blonde
#1. He doesn't let himself cringe at the sudden noise (though his shoulders
almost instinctively shoot up — Ciel hates random loud noises).
The owner of said voice peeks out from behind Blonde #1, and Ciel thinks if he
squints, they look identical.
"...I don't know, am I? I do have science next period with Sir F. Abberli-" 
"You ARE in my second period! I sit right beside you, dumbass. Don't tell me
you forgot me,"
Ciel forces a smile and almost feels bad for not even recalling either of their
names. Doesn't feel comfortable with the sudden nickname coming from somebody
terribly unfamiliar.
Nevertheless, he keeps the stupid, horribly forced smile on his lips. It's
painful, but he insists on remaining cordial.
"Uhm.. I might have. I apologize," 
"Whatever. You'll get to know all of us, soon, anyway. You're gonna have lunch
with us,"
Who the hell is 'us'?
Ciel has never been more thankful for the convenience of the bell when it
blares loud and startling, practically in his ear. He quickly hurries out
Michaelis' classroom before remembering—
"Aye! Why are you going so fast?! Wait for me!"
-
After school hours are boring to Sebastian.
He's only contracted to stay until 3:30, but he usually ends up staying until
much, much after, trying to finish as much paperwork as possible
Sebastian hates taking papers home. Almost all are an eyesore; it's like nobody
really gives a shit that he's gonna be reading them later. Grading them later.
Trying to decipher cursive scribbles is something that Sebastian isn't getting
paid for, and fluorescent pink ink makes Sebastian wish he brought his glasses
with him today (and makes Sebastian wish for a second paycheck). 
That kid keeps plaguing his mind, too. If Sebastian's honest, it's almost
getting annoying at this point. Ciel shouldn't even be anywhere near
Sebastian's mind — he'd just finished up with a twelfth grade class, with much
prettier girls and boys 10 times as charming. Girls with big, big racks, nearly
legal and more than willing to spread their thighs for Sebastian (not that he'd
ask, of course — Ana never quite leaves his mind. Eye candy doesn't quite
count, does it?) and boys with higher cheekbones and plumper lips and bluer
eyes. 
It's because he's the new kid and he sticks out like a sore thumb, Sebastian
reassures himself. What boy dresses in shorts and thigh-highs, anyway? not
normal ones. not ones that don't stick out like sore thumbs. 
normal boys don't wear pretty girl shirts, either. not shirts that expose their
pretty shoulders nor shorts that barely cover their bums. 
Sebastian gulps, and curses himself out for even going there.
 He's never considered himself to be perverted. Of course, Sebastian's had his
moments of weakness. Just a little peek, he'd promise himself. Was a
little rowdier in college, but he's past those times, learned what boundaries
and personal-bubbles are after getting slapped and cursed at time after time.
Sebastian wishes he could hold his mind in a death-grip to keep it from
wandering. Because he knows he sure as hell should not be thinking about that
kid's pale, pale legs that seem to go all the way up, despite his minuscule
height. Little bits of baby fat spilling out his knee-socks. Creates the cutest
little pudge, and Sebastian feels his stomach turn.
A good man does not think about little boy legs. Especially not little boy
thighs and pretty, plushy little boy lips. Pink and glossy. Bitten raw when he
zones out. 
It doesn't help that the paper he grades next is Ciel's. 
Kid's handwriting is pretty nice, though. It's clean, neat, and definitely not
an eyesore. He uses dark purple ink, and dots his i's and j's with hearts.
Sebastian can also come to appreciate the little daisy and floral doodles in
the corner of the paper, and how it slowly blooms into the blank white of the
worksheet.
Sebastian snorts. 
Cute.
Ciel's ink doesn't bleed into the back of the page, and his penmanship is
consistent throughout the entirety of the work —doesn't slack off or get messy
towards the end of his sentences. Even his periods are little tiny hearts, and
Sebastian admits to only himself that it's somewhat endearing. 
Kid's not dumb, either. At all. Sebastian thinks he could be at the top of his
classes already, having been in this school for a total of two fucking days.
All of his answers are spot on. He uses perfect punctuation and remembers to
capitalize his letters at the beginning of his sentences. Perfect. All of it's
perfect. Marking it barely takes 5 minutes, and Sebastian's impressed with the
kid. 
Not necessarily too good to be true (Sebastian takes what he can get), but he
thinks Ciel may or may not be a handful and a half. 
Chapter End Notes
     i seriously cannot wait to pick up the damn pace. i feel like i'm
     accidentally gonna let a fat ass spoiler slip and ruin everything
     lmao but hey - patience is a virtue.
     let me know what you thought about this chapter! leave a kudos, too!
***** four *****
Chapter Notes
     IGHT SORRY FOR THE DELAY!!!!!!!!!!! life happened, 20 prompts
     happened, but hopefully this semi-lengthy chapter will make up for
     it!!! uh. forgive the shitty french. i'm still learning and the
     grammar's probably fucked, but just know it was attempted with love
     lmao.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Empty.
Sebastian's house is completely empty.
He used his key to unlock the front door. Wasn't greeted with a smile, nor a
hug, nor the smell of cooking spices loading the air right through the door.
Wasn't greeted with Ana when he knocked nice and hard three times, whistling
quiet and uselessly optimistic.
Sebastian can't tell if his stomach churns with anger or worry. A mixture of
both, maybe. All he knows is that it doesn't feel good, and he doesn't like it.
Not one bit.
Anger starts overwhelming worry quick.
Two days in a row she hasn't been home without an explanation.
Sebastian tells himself to relax, cool down. It's not that serious, right?
Couldn't be. He's being unreasonable.
Two days. In a row.
He at least deserves an explanation, doesn't he? Surely Ana remembers how
worried sick he got yesterday. She wouldn't let Sebastian agonize into
overthinking everything again.
Right?
Two days.
Sebastian is not a happy man.
Two.
His knuckles run white and angry.
Days.
Sebastian doesn't mean to drop — well, more like slam — his suitcase to the
floor. It makes a loud, cringe-inducing BAM, and Sebastian immediately wishes
he hadn't.
Falling victim to anger doesn't make you any better than what induced it is
what Sebastian repeats to himself. Over and over. He doesn't realize how his
palm pulsates painful til he releases his fist, rubs the marks his nails
printed.
It's odd to Sebastian. He wonders why his temper's gotten cut so short. Swears
up and down he used to be a patient, patient man. Could tolerate anything and
everything, all with a wide, jaunty smile and eyes that spoke louder than his
mouth. He shouldn't be getting mad at his darling dearest like this, right?
Bad. Sebastian's not bad. Sebastian's good. But this is not good.
Not good at all.
Sebastian slips off his shoes.
He can feel himself cooling down with every dragged, slouching step he takes.
Good. Better. Sebastian's palm still hurts, and he curses himself for being so
goddamn reactive.
Sebastian prides himself in being collected. Trustworthy. Placid and tranquil.
He's heard it from his own students, too. Heard the he's so calm and
sooothing!. Heard the flattering yet embarrassing you know, sebastian. my son
over here says he'd love to be juust like you when he grows up. you're a real
inspiration, you know.
Sebastian wishes he was half the man they thought he was.
One thought in particular doesn't seem to escape him;
What am I doing wrong?
Sebastian can't help it. Poor man's been wracking his mind with bad thoughts
and ugly suspicions that slowly drive him to worse thoughts and uglier
suspicions. They give Sebastian a migraine and an upset stomach.
He paces around in hasty circles, socks squeaking funny against kitchen tiles.
"Relax. It's too early for this." Sebastian thinks out loud in jittering speech
and forced chuckles. Eyes his fridge for a minute (or five) before opting on
opening it, fingers tentative when they wrap around the handle.
He shouldn't. It's no use.
It takes a minute of Sebastian's thoughts rounding up in conflictions and
jumping to conclusions til he groans in defeat. Mumbles an unsure fuck it and
swings the door open, eyes immediately latching onto a 6-pack of what he most
definitely should not be reaching for.
Those hands work a little faster than his brain, though.
Sebastian hastily breaks two cans of too-old, you-shouldn't-be-drinking-this
Budweiser from flimsy plastic that secures the pack.
He already regrets it when he pops it open, tossing a tiny piece of metal
behind. Brings it to his lips, and feels himself wrench in dread. He'd been
clean for a while, too. Promised not to take a single drop since a
certain incident. Wasn't pretty.
Sebastian doesn't like to think about it.
It'd be a waste to just dump it, though. Sebastian doesn't like being wasteful.
He slides the other can onto his counter, and swears he'll only finish what
he's started.
Besides, it's not like Sebastian can get drunk off one beer. Sebastian's a big
man. Has a big tolerance to match, and an even bigger sense of awareness.
Just one, Sebastian promises. No biggie. He'll give the what's remaining of the
pack away as a surprise gift to one of his coworkers, or something. Bard's not
a picky man. Likes dusty beer. Sebastian thinks he'll worry about that later.
5:39.
20 minutes.
20 minutes that Sebastian's come home. 10 odd hours and 20 minutes since he's
seen Ana. Since he's had any contact with her. It worries Sebastian bad. Way
more than it should. Makes bad thoughts bloom like ugly weeds that drain him of
hope.
Sebastian doesn't mean to finish half the can (was it half? three quarters?
Sebastian can't tell, but the can feels a lot lighter) by the time he pulls it
away from his lips and grunts for air. Tastes just the same as it did 10 years
ago. It brings back memories, nostalgia, and regret.
The other can doesn't look as bad anymore, either. Sebastian's taste-buds yearn
for more, and suddenly, Sebastian really wishes someone was there to slap him
and tell him to get his shit together.
It's pathetic, really.
Sebastian doesn't know how he managed to finish the can of nasty, bitter yeast
by the second time he brings it to his lips. It doesn't even taste good. Tastes
sad and unfulfilling, though Sebastian keeps thinking about that damned second
can.
He shakes his head and crushes the weak metal into a sad, flat circle. He feels
stupid. Incredibly stupid.
Sebastian's stomach churns and bile fills his mouth disgusting.
Sebastian really feels the regret.
When his phone vibrates, a soft hum of bzzt!, he whips it out too quick and too
hopeful. Prays to see a notification with her name riddling the title, or
something. He almost throws the device when he sees it's some weather
notification, and not Ana.
Foolish. Sebastian feels more than foolish.
Maybe he just needs to talk to somebody. Sebastian considers calling a friend
(can Sebastian even call them friends? They're just coworkers that know a thing
or three about Sebastian). Rant a little. Talk about it. His chest swells
heavy, and now Sebastian just misses Ana. Doesn't even feel like he's her
husband anymore. It makes his eyes burn, jaw clench, and Sebastian forces ugly,
bittersweet tears back.
Strong men aren't meant to cry. Aren't built to cry. Sebastian's brain talks
him back into rationality, and he puffs his chest all big and mighty. Takes a
deep breath. Steadies himself.
His fingers dial a number faster than he can process what he's doing, though.
Big thumb presses call, paced rriiiiinnng. rriiiiinnng. rriiiiinnngs fill his
ears, and Sebastian regrets it immediately.
And to his dismay, Ana actually picks up.
"..What, Sebastia-"
"Fuck, it's so nice to hear your voice. Where-Where are you, Ana?"
He can hear her drag the phone away from her ear and scoff.
Sebastian can tell she's wearing the pearl earrings he bought her for their
anniversary last year. Real pearl, real expensive. They clack against the
device, and Sebastian feels a big, stupid smile break out on his face.
Maybe he is a little hopeful. Doesn't know for what, but he feels reassured.
Warmed.
"Don't worry about it. I'll be there in—hahaha, stop, stop, 'm talking to
'Bastian—I'll get home in... erm... like.. an hour,"
Ana doesn't sound certain. Sebastian doesn't like that.
"An hour? Ana, where are yo-"
"Can't you get off my fuckin' back for a day? Juust a day? You've been all
clingy lately, 'nd it's damn annoying."
Sebastian's knuckles run white again.
"..Ana. Where are you? Are you-"
"Drunk? No. Shut up—stop doing that, asshole—You're bein' unreeaaasonable. Any-
Anyway, I'll be there in an hour. Don't getcha big girl panties in a twist."
"..."
"I didn't say anything about you being-Are you fucking drunk? Where are you?
Are you with someone?"
"Seebbassttiiaann. Stop fuckin'-"
"Ana, who is that?" Sebastian's knee's jiggling when he goes to take a seat in
one of the shitty wooden chairs that go with their equally shitty wooden table.
He can hear a distinct laugh coming from somewhere — can't tell if it's male or
female, but it's high and haughty.
Sebastian's stomach turns.
"I'll fucking hang up on your ass righ' n—aha, you priick, I said ssttoopp—I'll
hang up righ' fuckin' now."
He takes a deep breath.
"I'm gonna ask you one more time but this time, you're gonna tell me where the
hell you are and who the hell you're with."
"For fuuucks sake, Sebastian. 's why I haven't given you any pussy for like,
what, a month? 'n last time I tried to give you some, you told me to fuck righ'
off."
Laughter in the background. Muffled snickers.
"What, now you don' have nothing to say? Where did all that confidence go, you
dooggg?" 
"You jus' wanna control me, don't you? 'm not your fuckin' daughter, 'Bastian.
You needta fuck off sometimes."
"'s why we don' even have a daughter. Don' want her to have some jackass father
like yoouu."
Sebastian thinks his tongue might bleed from how hard his teeth gnaw down on
it. Eyes burn blurry. Hurts.
"Helllooo? Y'there? 'Baasstiiaa-" He hangs up. Doesn't wanna hear any more of
it. Painful. It makes Sebastian's chest bubble up angry. Mind speed with bad
decisions. Not good. Sebastian almost hurls his phone across the kitchen before
opting to slide it face-down on shitty dark hardwood.
He bolts up from the shitty hardwood chair and paces in oblong circles, fingers
clenched tight in dark, mussed hair. Mindlessly mumbles. Sebastian lets his
mouth run. Drunk. It's 5pm. Drunk. Ana's drunk. Alone. Not with me. Hates me.
No. She hates me. No. 
Sebastian's surprised at the frustrated groan that rips out his throat. Feels
like sandpaper and leaves an unsatisfied taste on his tongue. Sebastian's
fingers clench tighter. Hurts. He feels a strand (or 50) pull out when he
releases those hands, and Sebastian rubs his head.
"Fucking-"
Thursdays aren't supposed to be muggy and ugly. Not frustrating and stressing.
Sebastian likes Thursdays. It's just about the time that anticipation for the
weekend builds, and it gives Sebastian a spike of motivation. Home feels a lot
cozier, too.
Sebastian doesn't like this Thursday one bit. Home doesn't feel like home. Home
feels constricting and angering. Dread-inducing, maybe. He can't tell if home's
a place or a person at this point, but all he knows is that the room he paces
in, floor he walks on, clock he eyes at feel a little more unfamiliar.
Unwelcoming. Condemnatory. 
It's with a final sigh and puff of Sebastian's chest that he decides on going
out. Home isn't home, so he figures, whatever. doesn't matter anyway. not like
ana'd care or anything. waste of time.
i don't matter to her, do i? not that much, anyway.
He prays the feeling of undeniable sadsadsad building dreadful in his
abdomen'll wear away quick as he drives.
-
Dark roast coffee is calming. It's Sebastian's favourite. Prefers them with no
sugars, no creams. Tastes nice and raw that way; wakes Sebastian up quick,
warms his body quicker. Sugary coffee's never quite appealed to Sebastian (is
it even real coffee if you drown it in milk and additives?). He doesn't
understand how Ana can down those whatever-frappes one after another and
another. Last time he tried to finish one (Sebastian thinks it was caramel-
pumpkin, or something), his teeth felt like sugar-glassed hard-candy and he
nearly threw it back up. How the hell do you drink these? they're so bad for
you! like crack, or something, Sebastian asked disgusted. Ana laughed at him.
not my fault you're just a feeble old health-nut. they taste goood.
shut up. i'm not even that much older than you.
Sebastian thinks that was the last time she gave him a wide, genuine smile. Not
doused in artificial sugar. Not forced nor strained. Pretty. Beautiful.
Sebastian misses that smile.
"Welcome back, Sebastian. What can I get you today?" 
The smile that greets him isn't Ana's, but it's just as wide and just as
genuine. Agni is a kind, gentle man. Polite and respectful. He asks Sebastian
what he wants even though he knows it's gonna be the same thing as always -
 medium dark roast , black, and a carrot muffin. those have the least sugar,
right? Keeps it nice and cordial, even sometimes bowing his head upon
acknowledging customers.
"Medium dark roast, black... And a cherry scone with extra butter."
Agni laughs. Light and comforting. 
"Treating yourself today, hm?" 
"Hah.. Maybe. 's been a long day." Agni makes Sebastian feels semi-normal.
Doesn't put him on a special pedestal, doesn't ask him anything out of the
norm. He minds his business. Sebastian appreciates it more than ever today.
"That'll be 5.99. Cash?"
"Mhm."
Chez La Cerise Noir. Sebastian's always loved this little cafe - it's about 30
minutes away, but Sebastian thinks it's worth the drive. It's humble, homey,
and calms him to the core. He wishes he could come every day.
It's kind of funny, Chez La Cerise Noir. Agni's no Frenchman. The conversation
he and Sebastian had when the teacher'd came with a big smile, speaking too-
curious and too-familiar ah, j'aime votre cafe, monsieur! c'est très bien! tu
parle français, oui? Agni had forced a smile. Scrambled with the pocket on his
apron and shakily pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Uh. if you'd just give
me a s-second. Cheeks flushed dark. uhm. je-je ne.. je ne parle pas français.
je... parle... an-anglais. pardon. 
It was peculiar. Seeing this large, tall man who probably has 50 pounds on
Sebastian mumble unsure, avert his eyes shy. Stumble over his words. Maybe
blush, too. It was endearing, and it took a good 5 minutes of Agni laughing
uncomfortably for him to explain that oh. i just. it's really embarrassing. i
took french class once, and thought that was good enough. i don't- i don't
actually know how to speak french, sir. i wanna change the name, but it's kind
of my brand now. ahaha. uhm. s-sorry.
Sebastian loves the café all the same, though. Loves it from the soft cushion
couches to the semi-stale bread they serve towards the end of the day. He can
also come to appreciate the fact that his spot is never taken when he comes in.
Doesn't matter if it's 7am or 7pm - one promising, cushioned little sofa-seat
is never occupied when Sebastian comes in to relax. Has a little dark wood
table that's roughly knee height to Sebastian, and a small fake fireplace
blowing warm air to his left. It's perfect, and Sebastian occasionally props
his legs up on the table (it's not rude if nobody sees) and reads his book in
contentment. Soft music flowing through the air. Sebastian thinks he's at his
prime like this. Nice and calm. Perfect serendipity.
His gut jumps when he sees the back of a little grey-haired head. Body wrapped
in a thin, white jacket and legs slightly bowed. Calves enveloped by white
knee-socks. Sebastian thinks he recognizes the pink converse.
For fucks sake.
He's too quick to pick out a miscellaneous book from his satchel (To Kill a
Mockingbird? Hamlet? Oedipus Rex? He doesn't look at the cover) and flip to a
random page. Knocks his legs off the table and crosses them quicker, stiff and
rigid.
It's not Ciel.
Couldn't be. What are the odds, anyway? Kid comes to the same coffee shop as
Sebastian at the same day at roughly the same time. Weird (no, it's not - /
you're/ being weird, sebastian he scolds himself), but possible. Sebastian
tries to dismiss his suspicions. Nothings wrong with seeing a student outside
of school, after all. He shouldn't be stressing over nothing.
Why is he stressing over nothing?
Sebastian shakes his head and tries to continue reading (half a page in -
it's definitely Hamlet), though he sees everything in his peripheral. It's
annoying. Sebastian almost groans into Hamlet's inner-spine.
Serendipity feels fake.
Not Ciel turns around, and Sebastian's instantly urged to avert his gaze
because, fuck, shit, fuck, it is Ciel, and the kid grins all wide and cheeky.
Waves his little hand. Turns back around to face the pretty, ginger woman
beside him and tugs on her sleeve. Sebastian hears kid's voice pitch in high
and polite, though he doesn't catch a single word of what leaves that mouth.
Kid turns back around excited.
All Sebastian can manage is a forced, blatantly uncomfortable smile, and
suddenly he wishes the kid buttoned up his jacket because now all Sebastian can
see are those collarbones, those pretty lips, and if he lowers his eyes, he
sees those thighs, and now Sebastian hates himself all the more.
He slaps his gaze back to Hamlet and forces himself to focus on Shakespeare's
scripture. Sebastian thinks it shouldn't take him all of his energy. Leans over
to grab his barely touched mug of coffee, takes a quick sip and swears quiet
when it burns his lips. Sets it back down.
Is he even reading the book? Sebastian's thoughts echo too loud, can't process
words right, can't focus on anything properly, and it takes Sebastian 5 minutes
of being zoned out on the word thine for him to snap back quick and vaguely
confused.
"..You're a slow reader, arentcha, Mister?"
Sebastian's teeth bite his tongue faster than it can roll out a string of
surprised curses.
"That's better."
"Pardon?"
"You called me Mister." 
Ciel almost looks pained when a chuckle bursts out his bony little chest. It
makes Sebastian choke on a chuckle of his own, and it feels (and probably
looks) stupid.
Kid plops down on the seat next to him, squeaks quiet when he lands on
surprisingly soft cushioning, and Sebastian wants to pass out because why, god
why does this kid smell like peaches and cream?!
"What are you reading, anyway?"
Sebastian clears his throat. Furrows a brow and wishes he had his spectacles
resting low on his nose so he could push them up obnoxiously.
"..Grown-up stuff-"
"-Hamlet?"
Ciel scoffs.  
Sebastian blinks.
"Where's your mother?"
"Em... I'd be right here, Sir." The pretty woman from before towers behind
Ciel. She shares the same cheeky grin, though her eyes bear threats and
possession. Sebastian barely has it in him to maintain eye contact, and he
wishes he didn't gulp when he saw the fucking rhinestoned Rolex bedazzling her
thin wrist. She's got jewelry draping off her neck elegant, and yes, this
is definitely Ciel's mother.
"Ciel, dear, won't you tell me who this nice man is?" She slides a manicured
hand onto her son's shoulder and grasps firm. Sebastian can tell by how the
jacket fabric bunches up fast and tight.
"Oh, didn't I tell you? This is my English teacher, Sir Michaelis. I have him
first period eevveerryyddaayy." Ciel's too bright and too charming. Sebastian
hates that it's not fake, either. Hates how a sense of fondness washes over his
senses; especially when that boy looks back up at him with a wide, blue eye and
flutters his lashes pretty.
Sebastian closes Hamlet and places it back into his satchel. Grabs his mug and
grips too tight. Chortles uncomfortably.
"Ohh, yes, I remember - Sir Michaelis! Ciiieeelll, you didn't tell me he'd be
here! Allow me to introduce myself formally." Kid's mother talks fast and clear
and she wears satiny nude lipstick that Sebastian thinks he recognizes; Ana has
at least 10 tubes of of that kind of shade, swears that they have different
undertones!! He's never quite understood nude lipsticks. It's no different than
just, not wearing lipstick. Right? Makes no sense, but Sebastian figures it's
not for him to make sense of.
"I'm Rachel Phantomhive." Like mother, like son, Sebastian muses. She's just as
charming, and those icy eyes warm up to him, and now Sebastian finds
resemblance in those big, big blues. His mother's pretty. Real pretty. He hates
that his eyes instinctively run over her hands in search for a ring, and it's
stupid, because of course she's married.
He wants to bang his head against the hardwood of that little coffee table.
"Sebastian Michaelis. And please, drop the Sir. I much prefer Mister. Or just
Sebastian. For you. Uhm. Ciel's gonna stay calling me Mr. Michaelis." Sebastian
almost rambles, but stops himself before he verges on embarrassing. Takes the
elegant hand outstretched to him into his. Shakes it with a soft grip, and wow,
Rachel has softer hands. The silver of her rings rub against his skin funny.
"Pleasure to meet you, Sebastian. You wouldn't mind if we sat with you, would
you?"
It feels wrong to turn down Rachel and her creased, persuading eyes when she
smiles wider and warmer. Like mother, like son, and Ciel's got that same humble
grin plastered across his little face.
"No, not at all, Rachel. I'm glad to make your acquaintance."
Rachel sounds nice rolling off his tongue. He tries to ignore how Ciel stares
fire-hot holes into his head as his mother takes the seat beside him, leaning
down to rest her elbow on the table and talking too familiar and comfortable
for Sebastian's taste.
-
Michaelis really, really likes Mother. Ciel finds that quick. 
His eyes wrinkle when he smiles wide and gleeful, chuckles deep and bone-
chilling at all of Mother's jokes, jabs of humour. That smile doesn't leave his
face, not for a second while Mother talks about whatever she wants. About
business, work, cooking, diamonds, Father, even.
Michaelis takes it all in with a polite nod and an approval-craving grin.
Retorts with agreement and nothing more.
Ciel doesn't like that. His back's grown tense, wants to stop shuffling his
little feet to keep up with Mother and Michaelis' long, long legs, and feels
frustration building up in his little chest.
He doesn't say anything, though. Being the son of millionaires means he too,
takes in everything with a polite nod and an approval-craving grin. Ciel thinks
he's nearly mastered the art of sugarcoating smiles and fluttering long, dainty
lashes.
Michaelis seems to only have eyes for Mother, though. Fluttery, mascara-sopped
lashes and lip-gloss lathered lips go to waste today.
The air blows cold through Ciel's cool grey hair, and he jams his hands into
his teeny tiny pockets.
Knee socks and denim shorts don't do much for warmth in mid-November. 
"You've let me talk too much, Sebastian. I'm embarrassed." Mother speaks softly
with a softer grin, and Ciel nearly grimaces. 
Though it bares the wrinkles of her eyes, the compassion in her irises, the
humbleness of her cheeks as they rise to fake authenticity - he's not a stupid
boy. That's no genuine grin. It'd be a lie to say Ciel hadn't seen it hundreds
of times before. Mother's a clever woman, and she uses it to coax things out of
people. Feed 'em with pity and get them wrapped around her expensive, ice-
decked, manicured finger. It's gotten sales sold, 6 figures dropped, products
out of stock.
Mother loves to frequent that game, Ciel's found over time. Like mother, like
son, and he bows his head to try that smile of trickery for himself.
The look that crosses Michaelis' eyes is one that makes Ciel's chest throb with
stupid admiration.
Ciel hates that, too.
"Ah, haha, not at all, Rachel. I don't mind. Really." The humble quirk of
Michaelis' mouth is genuine-er and warmer. Ugly butterflies make themselves
home at Ciel's churning stomach.
"Why don't you tell me a little more about you, hm? Got a missus waiting for
you back home? Maybe a couple bundles of joy?" 
Ciel can tell when the genuine glee drops dead from his teacher's face, and if
Ciel were a cat, his ears would perk up intrigued. Tail slinging curious. 
"Mmhm. Got a missus. Just no uh.. bundles of joy." Michaelis scratches the back
of his neck. Awkward and uncomfortable doesn't suit him, and Ciel can tell the
man doesn't want to talk. It's loud in his the way his whole body stiffens,
shoulders rise and tense.
Mr. Michaelis is married. Has a wife. 
Married.
Wife.
Mr. Michaelis has a wife. 
Ciel hates that he was hoping for otherwise. Hates that he actually had a shred
of hope, too. He reminds himself that he'll never have a chance
(whatever that means), anyway. It's stupid, it's ignorant, it's childish to
think he even might. Ciel doesn't wanna be childish. Mister likes women.
Probably likes pretty girls with big tits. Ciel blushes. Doesn't like that.
Doesn't have big tits, either. 
Lip gloss and mascara don't make him a girl. They make him pretty, but Mister
only likes girls. Women. Not boys. Ciel doesn't like being a boy. Maybe he'd
make a pretty girl for Michaelis. Maybe Michaelis would like him better if he
did have big tits and a pussy. Longer hair, maybe. Softer shoulders and softer
legs.
Ciel clenches his tiny fists and hates the burn of tears pricking his eye.
It's stupid.
Mother keeps a charming smile on her lipstick-slick lips.
"She's a lucky lady, hm? You're a wonderful man, Sebastian."
Michaelis lowers his gaze and presses his mouth into a thin line.
"Ah.. Thank y-"
"What's her name, Sir? I'm curious." Ciel blurts it out quick and forced,
immediately feels shit for cutting him off, and keeps his head down. Feels
Michaelis burning into his hair with a hot, hot stare. Ciel thinks he might
throw up the butterflies. 
"..Ana. Her name's Ana." 
"Ana and Sebastian Michaelis. Don't they sound loovely, Mum?" It wasn't meant
to sound mocking, Ciel promises. It's too late to take it back, though, maybe
correct himself a little when Michaelis looks down at him with this look, and
when Ciel meets those dark, dark eyes, it feels like he might faint. Ciel might
faint. His head suddenly feeling 10x lighter convinces him so. Mister's eyes
are pretty, and he thinks there are little specs of rose gold in them. They
look a lot better up close. Ciel thinks he'd be happy if they were the last
things he saw before passing out.
"Qu-Quite so, Ciel." Mother shoots him this other look that makes him wish his
lips were stapled together. "Ana's a lovely name-"
The sound of an xylophone being played interrupts her mid-sentence, and Mother
flinches, blinks. The source comes from one of Mister's jacket pockets. He
stammers a little, mumbles an apology. Fishes his phone out from a pocket, and
Ciel thinks it looks absurdly tiny in his hands.
Michaelis' whole entire face lights up like a Christmas tree.
Then it drops.
Quick.
"Oh. Uhm. I have-I have to take this. Pardon me." 
He holds up a single finger and presses the big green pick up button. Brings
the device to his ear and exhales a puff of cool air.
Michaelis has thick lashes, Ciel finds. Michaelis has strong cheekbones.
Michaelis has a really nice nose. Ciel swallows thick saliva. 
He pauses before uttering out a hesitant "..Ana?"
Ciel's ears perk up.
"Are you home now? ...No, I'm not-" Ciel thinks he hears yelling. 
"Calm down. I'm in public. Ana, c-" A female voice. Loud and pronounced and
angry. Ciel wishes his hearing was a little sharper. 
"I'm not gonna have this con-" Mister gets cut off and hung up on. Right in his
face. Mister really, really seems like a deserving man when he forces an
empathetic smile onto his face. Murmurs an apology and chuckles uncomfortable.
Presses his fingers on his temples and shakes his head.
It's a wonder what he could've done to elicit that kind of phone call. Ciel
thinks he would never hang up on Michaelis like that. Treat him better than she
can.
Mother quirks a brow. Ciel's eye is all wide and curious.
"I shouldn't have taken that in front of my student and his mother. I suppose I
have to go, now." He chuckles awkward. Ciel puffs his chest. "I really wish we
could've ended this on a nicer note, but-"
"Siiirrr, don't apologize. 's not your fault. 's fine! Promise." 
My student. His. 
Mister called him his.
"Thank you, Ciel. It's been a lovely evening." He doesn't hear the and thank
you, rachel. i'm definitely in your debt, haha because Michaelis is warm and
Ciel's cool surface melts quick like glass melding over a hot fire. He thinks
his knees may or may not give out. He doesn't hear his Mother's ahh, not at
all. this was my treat either.
My student. Ciel. His. Thank you.
My student. Ciel. His.
Ciel repeats his name in Michaelis' too-deep voice over and over, fills his
little brain to the brim with thoughts and confessions and unrequited wishes.
He doesn't believe in God. Not really. Ciel thinks this is the first time he's
shut his eyes and prayed that this wouldn't be the last time he heard Michaelis
speak that close to him with that sincerity and informality.
He doesn't know what he's praying for, really, but he hopes for the best. 
(The minute he got home, he went straight up to his bedroom and tugged his
little shorts down as fast as his fingers could manage. Came twice to the
thought of Mister's pretty lashes, cheekbones, and that voice.
Ciel. My student. His.
Thank you.)
Chapter End Notes
     leave me a kudos (pretty please) & comment! let me know how you feel
     about this chapter!
     also, if you haven't already, please go ahead and follow me on my
     tumblr @vexing-young-master! i'm super duper active on there, and i'd
     love to answer any questions y'all have. i also have a couple other
     aus and stuff that y'all can check out, too!
End Notes
     tumblr: vexing-young-master
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!