Chapter Text
It didn’t look good for Ciel. Worst case scenario, he was about to meet a crazy perverted serial killer. Ciel wouldn't be able do defend himself against such an encounter; the boy wasn't particularly known for his strong built. Another option (the likeliest one): Ciel would just waste his time on a man that proved to be as disappointing as the first impression that his online persona made. However, Ciel Phantomhive had a feeling in his gut, and it told him that this man was his chance.
Now, his gut wasn't a particularly gifted one; it was just like any other gut. Sometimes, it could be very right, like when his cousin Elizabeth “Lizzie” Midford called to tell him that she'd received a letter from the university she'd been dying to get into ever since they were little. Ciel's gut told him that it was a letter of acceptance, and when she opened it with Ciel on the line, and he heard her ecstatic cries of joy from the other side, his gut was proven right.
Other times, it was terribly wrong, like that one November night when Ciel missed the last tube, decided against calling an Uber, and opted for the long bus route home instead. It was one of those very foggy nights when white lights suddenly broke through the mist in the middle of the street, only to turn red and disappear within no more than a second or two. As Ciel waited at the bus stop, he wished for a thicker jacket to hug him warm, but all he had was the embrace of the damp November air, his fingers and face and neck left clammy and cold. The bus couldn't come soon enough, though when it finally came to pick the tired boy up, and a pack of drunks started asking him whether he had lost his mummy and daddy and wouldn't stop until they got off half an hour later, that's when Ciel knew that it had been wrong to decide against the Uber. He was even surer of his wrong decision when he could barely keep his eyes open as the bus finally arrived at his stop at half past one. But no other time did Ciel know better that he had made a bad decision than when he noticed that the man that had disembarked at the same stop followed him close behind. Even as Ciel increased his pace, the stranger caught up, and now he just couldn't make another bad decision. When Ciel fished for the phone in his pocket, he was almost sprinting already, but with the stranger closing in on him, he wouldn't be able to make a phone call in time. He resorted to turning around and breathing in for a loud cry for help, but before he could do that, the stranger raised his hand and whispered, “Wait up! You dropped your wallet on your seat.”
Indeed, Ciel had dropped it. Indeed, the stranger carried the wallet in his risen hand. The man apologised for creeping up on him like that, but he hadn't wanted to shout out loud in the dormant neighbourhood at such an ungodly time. Ciel's gut had been wrong to decide for the bus, but also to worry for his life, though perhaps one couldn't blame his gut to be alarmed in a situation like that.
Then there were the times when his gut just overthought things, like everytime two or three new posts in a row received less attention than usual and he thought that his career was destined to go down like a leaky boat.
This time, it definitely wasn't one of the lattermost cases, and his gut was sure that the boy wouldn't get abducted, robbed, or killed that day, either. He would meet the person of interest in a busy café in a populated area at four o'clock in the afternoon – most inconvenient conditions for any kind of felony. If Ciel's gut was still off and today's appointment turned out a failure, at least he would get a good snapshot of one of the place's gorgeous sundaes for his Stories, and thereby do some work. If the feeling in his gut was right, however, Ciel would finally find a new photographer today.
He needed a new photographer. Summer holidays had just started. His old one, Lizzie, would leave for good come fall. Ciel was happy for her, he really was. It had been her dream all along to go to Paris to study fashion design, and Ciel always knew she'd make it. The girl was talented and worked hard for her success. She'd sewn her first clothes when she was ten; at twelve, she produced her first collection. Granted, little Lizzie didn't understand as much about tailoring yet, so her early designs fit awkwardly: larger than planned in some places, a little too tight in others.
At first, it was with great resistance that Ciel modelled the clothes for her, mostly because the eleven-year-old didn't feel particularly comfortable posing for the camera in her overly frilly creations. With great enthusiasm, however, Lizzie continued to work both on her sewing- and photography skills (because for a good portfolio, she had to have good photos), and over the years, she refined both.
With her steady improvement and continuous use of her cousin as a model, Lizzie passed her enthusiasm on to Ciel. He was blessed with a photogenic face, looked effortlessly good in her photos, and he also looked effortlessly good in the clothes that he started to like picking for himself. At first, he hid his enthusiasm because he thought it vain. Ciel didn't have that many occasions to wear fun clothes anyway, since the school uniform was his status quo on weekdays, and he didn't go out much on weekends. His closest friend and dearest cousin, however, took notice of the well-picked outfits that she did see him wear outside of school once in a while. It was also Lizzie that encouraged the boy to open an Instagram account, where his very first post was one of her future portfolio photos . Ciel wasn't even fifteen yet. It was a very casual post; the caption read something like, “Idk what to post, so here's a photo of me wearing a shirt that Lizzie made.” A single photo and a repost to Lizzie's feed with the caption go follow this cutie brought him fifty-four followers on his first day. Not particularly many, by any means, and yet Ciel was baffled. Fifty-four people, and he didn't even know most of them! Half a hundred people saw his picture and decided that yes, this boy was worthy of their attention. If he kept this up, he wondered how far he would be able to make it.
He made it from fifty-four to forty-five-thousand followers in two and a half years. Starryskiesmesmerise , his online persona, had become Ciel's personal little success story. It didn't come from nothing; to be a successful social media influencer, one has to put out high quality content regularly. Daily, if possible. That wasn't easy to do – Ciel was seventeen; still in school, and he took his studies seriously, but so he took his career on the side. Two and a half years of dedicated work to get where he was, sleepless nights filled with homework that couldn't be done in the invaluable golden afternoon hours, and a pair of parents close to taking the phone from their son not only once, nor twice, but many times. The world didn't pause when he had a test coming up, and his followers certainly didn't wait for him to return. Social media are a short-lived business; if Ciel's Instagram went quiet, the engagement of his followers would decrease – his reach drop, and his brand suffer. He was lucky that the Midfords lived close to him, and that Lizzie enjoyed taking photos of him; otherwise, he couldn't have kept it up. It helped that Ciel evenly shared his earnings with her in exchange for her efforts.
Ciel had relied on Lizzie for two and a half years, and now she'd be gone. He'd known for a long time that this day would come, and it wasn't like he hadn't tried to prepare himself. He wouldn't miss her that much – they had the internet, and she'd come home regularly. It wasn't their friendship that was on the line; it was Ciel's career. He was happy that Lizzie could live her dream, but that didn't help him with his own worries.
Ciel had started to look for a photographer months ago. Money wasn't the issue; he could afford the services of a professional with what he made, since he still lived with his parents and had no significant living expenses. The problem was that he had to find someone that could bend their schedule to Ciel's demands, which came frequently and spontaneously. London was full of photographers; full even of good photographers, but finding one that was willing to devote much of his time to one model wasn't as easy as Ciel had hoped.
When Ciel stumbled over the profile of sebastianmichaelis35 , he was a bit desperate. What kind of a lame username is that , and he doesn't even have a profile picture; he's probably ugly as fuck, were his first thoughts. Ciel had landed on that profile because of a really pretty picture that he had seen in one of the tags he always browsed. What awaited him on the profile, however, was a flood of grainy phone pictures of a cat. What a huge no-go.
He was about to return to where he came from, but a feeling in his gut told him to do otherwise, and so he scrolled down instead. Perhaps he had seen them in the corner of his eye: Amid the masses of bad pictures of one and the same feline creature, a few genuinely good photos strewn in: A handful of green landscapes that looked very Scottish, some pictures of clean and impersonal household aids that resembled commercial photography, and most importantly, portraits – the majority of them of a young Indian-looking man. The good pictures on this profile were very different from each other – there was no one style among them. One could have assumed that they were just a chance collection of images taken from Google if the portraits didn't share a common underlying feeling that tied them together. They had an effortless look to them; a little candid, but always refined.
Ciel sensed an opportunity right within his hands. This sebastianmichaelis35 had solid photography skills – even though he was even more skilled at hiding his talent among a load of rubbish. That, however, was Ciel's chance. It was safe to assume that the person at hand didn't often receive job offers, if ever. Ciel's greatest obstacle so far had been finding somebody with enough time to devote to him. Most photographers he had contacted preferred to work with multiple models, and the ones that considered devoting much time to one person seemed to prefer women, which came as no surprise to Ciel. This guy here, however, certainly didn't have the choice.
Then again, what if this Sebastian wasn't interested in photography as a profession altogether? His feed didn't scream hire me after all. Was sending him a message even worth the effort? Was thinking about it worth the effort? It had never worked out so far, so why should it work now? And yet, Ciel had no choice. Time was running out. Better to try and fail than not have tried at all.
With great doubt, Ciel finally composed his message. It was mid-July, uncomfortably hot and humid, and the thought of doing anything at all annoyed him, but what annoyed him even more was the thought of wasting another morning when he really had no time to waste at all. And so he had no choice but hide in the darkness of his room and do the best he could, which was type, type, type.
»Hey Sebastian,
I’m Ciel Phantomhive, a London-based influencer focussing on fashion. I stumbled over your feed by chance and noticed you have a few really nice photos between your cat pictures. Am I right with the assumption that you're the creator?
If yes, I have a job offer for you. I’m currently looking for a new photographer to work with. The portraits of your friend that you posted stood out to me as something I’m looking for. I'm offering a monthly wage of 700£ for about ten hours per week; occasional business trips possible, travel and accommodation will be paid for. If you’re interested, please reply for more details.
Looking forward to your reply,
Ciel – starryskiesmesmerise«
He wouldn’t answer anyway, Ciel was sure he wouldn't. Most people didn’t reply, despite Ciel’s presentable number of followers. He wasn’t sure why that was the case; the boy suspected it was either because he didn’t fit most photographers’ ideal vision of a model, as his unique selling proposition of looking cute and maybe a bit childish made him a niche influencer of sorts. Had Ciel worn a bit more Prada, Armani, or Salvatore Ferragamo, he might have looked posh enough to be taken seriously, but that was not Ciel's image, and he wouldn't change his brand that he'd so carefully created over years. Or maybe it was plainly his age. At seventeen, it was easy to doubt him to be a reliable boss, and while his small and skinny physique contributed to Ciel's overall style, it also resulted in often being estimated even younger than he actually was. Ciel worked with what he had, but sometimes, he did wish he’d leave a more mature impression.
It wasn't like Ciel was unhappy with his appearance. At seventeen, some boys can look well into their twenties, while others seem to be stuck at fourteen, and it was perfectly normal for him to be leaning more towards the latter. That was alright. Ciel was earning a living with what boiled down to his looks, after all – how many people could say that? The boy he always saw in the mirror was a pretty handsome one. He definitely didn't look fourteen, either. Just not twenty-three. He was okay with that, he really was... only complete shitpricks reduced him to his young appearance. It definitely wasn't an insecurity, no.
To Ciel's surprise, Sebastianmichaelis35 replied within an hour.
»Hello Ciel,
Maybe the many adorable cat pictures mislead you but I’m an adult of the same age as my friend Agni, whose pictures I indeed took myself. I work a real job and earn a real wage as a real photographer. Enjoy your summer and study hard next term so you can also earn a real wage in a few years.
Cheers,
Sebastian«
Wow. What a jerk. Ciel had expected some form of rejection, but not this.
He put the phone away and took a deep breath. No use getting angry. What was getting angry going to achieve? Nothing. Nothing at all. It was another failure, Ciel did best accepting that, getting over it and trying again. Another deep breath. Really no use getting angry. Just too bad that he was angry already. Boiling. Ciel picked his phone back up. He'd crush that idiot like a tiny insect. No. He wouldn't. He'd just forget about it. He put his phone away again, left his room, went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of tap water and swallowed it all down at once. Too warm, Ciel thought. It’s about time we get one of those fridges that make ice. He went three circles through the kitchen, poured himself another glass but realised he'd had enough water, so he put it away. He'd calmed down a bit, anyway. Ciel went back to his room and picked his phone back up. There was work to do, pictures to post, a photographer to find. No use being angry. No use. So why was he checking Sebastian's message again? Why did he have to fuel his own anger like this? He couldn't help but counter. Perhaps it made him look childish; the seventeen-year-old didn't care.
»Dear Sebastian,
My bad, there was no way for me to tell that you’re not a toddler who just got his first phone and secretly stays up late to take photos of his kitty cat in the worst light possible and steals photos from the internet. No idea how you earn your money; you can't have many clients, judging from your online portfolio. But maybe you’re one of those sorry guys that take these terrible passport mugshots for a living. What a waste of talent, I stand with my opinion that the few serious shots in your feed are nice. I’m glad I’m not wasting my money on a jerk like you, though. Enjoy the heat wave working your cool job. Meanwhile I’ll go earn my own fake money with my fake job, and look for someone else to give my fake £££ to.
Fuck you very much,
Ciel«
Maybe Ciel overreacted a bit, but it was hot. So hot that his head hurt and it was only eleven in the morning, everything sucked and he just couldn't help it. He knew the reply was entirely unnecessary and it would've all been forgotten in a matter of a few hours had he not answered. And yet that reply just needed to be written. Letting a bit of that steam off cooled him down. That'll show him, he thought. Then Ciel realised that if Sebastian wouldn't leave him on read, he had to expect yet another reply. Neither were options he wanted.
It didn't take long until that message icon popped up on Ciel's screen again. He hesitated to open it. The boy had been quick to lose his temper, but he knew that from a furious reply like his, only another furious reply could come. He didn’t want to be confronted with that; he knew it would only make him madder. It wasn’t the first time he had made that mistake.
Ciel took another deep breath and checked the message.
»See, the problem with you Instagram brats with your rich parents is that all you do is boast about your newest purchases online and expect to be worshipped for spending your parents’ money. And apparently it’s enough to be able to pay someone a wage just to be able to fill your feed with even more proof of your money spending extravaganzas. I’ll give you that you’re willing to pay for the service you want, but I’m not gonna get employed by a kid that doesn’t know what it’s like to work for his money. You don’t know what it’s like to work as a photographer, or work any job at all. As for the content of my Instagram, what does it matter to you what I post? I don’t need to prove myself to children on the internet, I’m not posting for you.«
Great. As expected, Ciel was even angrier now. What sort of arrogant imbecile– » You don’t understand the first thing about working in social media, that’s obvious. People like you get jealous because you only see the persona that people like me work so hard to maintain. Do you know what this is? This is a full-time job next to school. I get less sleep than I care to admit because that's how much work I'm putting into maintaining this account. You can bet your ass that this is proper work, it’s a hell of a lot of work to put good content out there regularly, you should know how much effort it is to go out and shoot regularly, even for the model, but that’s just one part of it. Let's not even begin with the obligatory networking. But you probably don’t even want to understand it, so there’s no reason for me to even try to explain anything. I should’ve saved myself the effort to write this reply altogether. Bye.«
Sebastian immediately typed again.
»Maybe I understand nothing about this 'influencer' thing. But you're right, I couldn't care less. What I care more about is kids not getting enough sleep. Are your parents aware of this? They should see to taking your phone away from you, apparently you're not capable of setting your own limits. And didn't they tell you not to talk to strangers on the internet? I could be a dangerous pedophile for all you know.«
Ciel regretted ever having given Sebastian a chance. He wouldn't opt out of this conversation now, though – giving up would mean losing face, and Ciel wouldn't have that. »How old do you even think I am?«
»I don't know, judging from your photos, thirteen, fourteen?«
»Oh, come on! I don't look THAT young! I'm turning eighteen this year!«
»My bad. I'm not particularly gifted at guessing people's ages, I guess. All the same, though. Shouldn't you be focussing on your A-levels?«
»I AM focussing on my A-levels and that's why I need to work well into the night to keep up both with school and Instagram. That's none of your business, though.«
And that was it. Ciel waited a day for another snarky reply, but nothing came back. Read yesterday 11:34 am . The boy wanted to be offended to be left on read, but there wasn't much that could've been said in reply, so he couldn't. It was hard to let the topic drop, however. It felt as if their argument was incomplete. Ciel wanted to say something, but that would've been petty. Time to let go. It was the beginning of his summer holidays, and unusually hot for Great Britain; he would be smarter to channel the negative energy that came from the weather and idiots on the internet into more profitable outlets – namely, the bubble waffles that he'd treat his cousin and himself to after today's shooting. Lizzie had found a place that put giant heaps of ice cream into them, and that was just what Ciel needed to cool down.
Thinking of ice cream, Ciel was getting dressed when he got another message after all.
»Hi again,
Sorry for yesterday, I spoke out of place. I admit I know hardly anything about social media influencing. I shouldn't have made any quick assumptions about you. If you're willing to educate me on the subject and would still consider hiring me, I'd be up for discussing the details on what the both of us would want out of this job.
Yours sincerely,
Sebastian«
What was that all of a sudden? Had he had a stroke that changed his personality? Did he realise what he looked like now, after he'd spoken to Ciel the way he had? Let alone the suggestion that he might just be a sex offender.
Under different circumstances, Ciel would've just blocked sebastianmichaelis35 at this point. Forget, forgive, live on. Okay, perhaps not forgive , but something along those lines. The way things were, however, Ciel was desperate. It was him that had reached out to Sebastian, and Ciel felt a little responsible for that. Sebastian was a jerk, but perhaps a useful jerk, and as long as there might be use in him, it was worth trying. Lizzie's devotion to helping her cousin out was still going strong, but Ciel knew that it was only a matter of weeks, perhaps days, until she just couldn't keep it up anymore, and he needed a new photographer now, if only to fill in until he found a better one later.
He would proceed with caution, though.
Ciel was on his way out when he typed a quick reply.
»Are you for real? Are you aware you're giving off strong serial killer vibes? Suddenly playing nice and polite like that.«
Sebastian was quick to explain. »Maybe it helps to know that I had a conversation with a friend, and he changed my mind a little bit.«
»Let me guess. Do you need the money?«
Sebastian is typing… Sebastian is typing…
Read 2:12 pm
Sebastian is typing… Sebastian is typing… Sebastian is typing… »Yes.«
Ciel smirked at his phone. Money ruled the world. His potential supplementary photographer here might end up being easy to tame with the simplest kind of bargaining chip. He wouldn’t leave him off the hook just yet, though. » Apologise one more time, and do it properly. Explain yourself and tell me what exactly you’re sorry for. After that, I’ll consider your plea. «
Sebastian took his time, but Ciel didn’t have to wait for too long. »I may or may not have complained to my friend that anyone could do what you do and make money from it, and when he asked me why I don’t just do it myself, I realised that it’s not as easy as it looks. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously. I’m sorry I belittled you and I’m sorry I said you don’t know what real work is. I googled what you do and I’m a little smarter now.«
Ciel huffed. That was good enough. »It really grinds my gears when people write my work off like you did. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider you anymore. I don't know why I'm doing this, but yes, I'll give you another chance. One more word of disregard and you're blocked quicker than you can say 'but I'm broke', though.«
»Alright.«
Wonderful. Sebastianmichaelis35 was subject to Ciel's mercy. If all of this ended up in vain, at least Ciel would have the satisfaction of this loudmouth eating his own words. » But mind you, this is just a yes to a job interview. Nothing has been set in stone yet.«
»Of course, I understand.«
Suddenly, it was all so easy. Too easy, anyone else might have assumed. Not Ciel. Maybe it was the heat on the tube that had gone to his head, but Ciel was hopeful. After three months, finally, for the first time, there was the prospect of finding someone to help him keep his blossoming career alive. Ciel had a looming feeling that Sebastian might be one of those neckbeards; his cat was probably the only woman in his life that loved him. But he could arrange himself with that. Sebastian would only be his supplementary photographer. Ciel's gut told him that it would be alright.
“You look happy,” were the words that Elizabeth greeted her cousin with that afternoon.
Happy? Well, relieved, anyhow.
Ciel arrived at the café a few minutes to four, before Sebastian. It was a place he had wanted to go to for months, but the timing had never been right. The way there was inconvenient both from home and school, but for a business meeting, it was worth making the effort. First thing Ciel did was snap a few shots of the interior: succulents and other evergreens decorated the ceiling like garlands and balloons at a birthday party; wrought-iron tables and chairs competed for space with large flower pots, and lost: even the tabletops were marked out as territory by tiny little cacti.
Ciel would post one of the pictures later, when he was more comfortable. For now, he didn’t really have the capacity to think about how to edit the picture, or what comment to add. He didn’t yet feel like deciding on what to order either, so the waiter agreed to come back when his friend would arrive.
Friend, Ciel laughed to himself. He didn’t even know what the person he waited for looked like. At least that was the case the other way round, and so Ciel couldn’t help but sit upright, keep his face high, and hope that the stranger would recognise him immediately. Ciel regretted not even having asked Sebastian what he looked like; it felt unarming to be left to the other one’s mercy.
Much depended on this meeting and he couldn't wait to get it over with. As he sat there at a table in the middle of the room, on the seat that faced away from the low afternoon sun (Sebastian would have to squint; Ciel wouldn’t have that today), doubts came over him. What if Sebastian did turn out to be a crazy perverted serial killer after all? No; no need to worry if you don't follow him to any strange places. Is he even a good photographer? I don't know, maybe the pictures on his Instagram are just lucky shots. No, there were too many of those; he must have skill. What if he doesn't show up after all, though? Why is he still not here? What's the time? Ah, two minutes to four. What's the time now? Still two minutes. Now? One minute. Now?
“You're Ciel, aren't you?” He felt a hand on his shoulder.
Ciel turned around and looked up. Light scatter blinded him for a split second, but when he did squint after all, the boy could focus on the dark figure in front of him. It was a young man with a backpack; tall and athletic, Ciel could tell from his posture, how the form of his body traced through his black slim-fit button-up shirt, and the forearms, uncovered by rolled-up sleeves. All black – ambitious choice in this heat, Ciel thought. His shirt might have been black, but the man’s hair was even blacker; Ciel didn’t know that hair could be so black that it gleamed. Perhaps it was just the scattered light, though. As he bent down to the younger one, strands of that glossy hair fell into his face and almost-but-not-quite obscured the stranger’s jaw. Ciel could still tell that it was slim but masculine, that he had high cheek bones, and was cleanly shaven; definitely no neckbeard. With a smirk, the man added, “You don’t look as young in real life.”
Ciel spoke with a shaky voice. “Se-sebastianmichaelisthirtyfive?”
“No need to be that formal, you can drop the -thirtyfive.”
Ciel moved his chair aside to stand up.
“Please, stay seated.” Sebastian passed Ciel to take a seat himself, leaving behind an elusive air of cinnamon and roses.
Noble simplicity, quiet grandeur. Ciel had to think of the classicist movement’s motto that had come on his GCSE exams. Well-groomed, understatedly fashionable and handsome, Sebastian was nothing like what Ciel had expected. Safe to say, he didn’t look like what one would imagine a dangerous psycho killer to look like (though you never know), and he wouldn’t have to abduct anyone to have his sexual desires satisfied (or so Ciel assumed). So far, so good; Ciel’s level of fear subsided. It gave, however, space to a different kind of emotion – one he needed a few moments to place. It was an overwhelming feeling; he didn’t quite know where it came from, and he wanted it to go away. He had only just met that man. Feeling so strongly now was completely out of place. And yet he couldn’t help it. He knew exactly what he felt.
It was hatred.
Ciel Phantomhive hated Sebastian Michaelis.