CHAPTER III ✦ Paris
An afternoon in Paris changed Claude's life for the better, but in London he strives to preserve the slow unraveling threads of confidence and trust.
It was a particularly bright summer day, with a humid fog and a cloudless blue sky. A thick layer of pollen coated an old sports bike, concealing its label and luminous black coat. Claude dusted it off with a rag as quickly as he could, first the seat and handlebars, then the front and rear lights and some of the thick iron body. When satisfied, he tucked the rag in his rear pocket and mounted the bike, starting the ten-mile trek to school. A large black rectangular bag hung over his shoulders, and he was dressed in simple jeans with a tight band shirt. The majority of his school uniform was tucked safely within his bag, the bright material safe from the dangers of summer riding.
Claude thoroughly enjoyed physical activity, and never complained about the hike to school. It was a surprise he spent most of his waking hours surrounded by heavy creams, sweets, and sugars while maintaining his athletic build. Grateful for it, the twenty-one year old didn't have to restrain himself whenever he created edible masterpieces, allowing himself to fully indulge in his own senses as he mastered techniques within the kitchen.
The streets were rather clear today, and the ride was usually about an hour. Most of the time he would sightsee the bustling streets of Paris, or listen to an audiobook. He recently started circulating Charles Dickens, and during this ride spent his time lost within the oral pages of David Copperfield, narrated in his native Portuguese. It never took him long to get to school this way.
Once he finally reached his destination, he locked the bike on a rack, checking his watch as he hurried up the steps to the back entrance. He went to the locker rooms first to change into his uniform, a classic white jacket with large black buttons, black slacks, and golden embroidery etched at the hem of his coat. C. Faustus was inscribed in cursive lettering at the left of his chest with two tiny golden stars beneath, displaying his year at the school. When he fixed the chef hat on his head, he glanced over himself in the full-length mirror, satisfied with the ensemble.
It took him years to get to this point, and now in his second year of culinary school he already left an impressionable mark upon his faculty and peers. He was eager to try harder since his mother always encouraged him to pursue baking after discovering his special touch in the kitchen, but despite this, his budding dream to work at a classical French bakery impeded his longing desire to work in floristry. Something about the mysterious life nature gave the world influenced Claude in ways baking simply did not, but with the talent he had in the kitchen, he couldn't let it go to waste. With the culinary arts he thought of a compromise—his tailored talent being the delicate floral arrangements he created with fondant or sugar icing, a tribute to his first love of floristry.
After the first hours of baking, Claude decided to take a break. Lunch had come and gone, and he realized too late that he hadn't eaten anything yet. There weren't any leftovers from the cooking projects that his peers usually shared, and it seemed to be a day of fending alone. His morning project was a small batch of cupcakes lined with purple lilies and large, intricate yellow bumblebees on each topping, a task that took the full morning to complete. It wasn't a proper lunch, and he was in the mood for something lighter with a coffee, and settled upon a classic crème brulée.
It didn't take him long to prepare the simple, delicate desserts. Despite the time constraint, Claude utilized real vanilla beans simmered in the heavy crème, and torched each ramekin until the top layers were a beautiful golden brown. He lightly dusted the caramelized top with powdered sugar and a scoop of fresh mixed berries, making the dish thrive in vibrant colors. He carefully packaged two of them, bringing his coffee in a thin thermos and leaving the kitchen to search for a quiet place to enjoy his snack.
He preferred to eat outside; to connect with nature any time he had a moment to himself at school. A large park was not too far from the main building, and he often walked there to watch people feed ducks at the lake, or attempt risky athletic stunts with skateboards. Today the park wasn't very crowded, and families with young children were out walking their pets. The peaceful scene distracted Claude as he approached his favorite bench, but he paused when he noticed someone sitting in his usual spot. The head was bowed, reading a novel casually pried open at his bended knee, long, slender legs crossed and a portable canister in hand. Tuffs of dark raven hair moved, and Claude met wine colored eyes that glanced up at him.
"Oh, did you want to join me?" His English was heavily accented, as if he didn't speak it often, and his voice was feathery and inviting. He smiled at Claude, and Claude hesitated for a moment, generally preferring to eat alone, but he couldn't resist the kind smile. He moved to sit next to him on the opposite side of the bench, leaning back and turning to glance over to the fellow.
"Thanks." Claude wasn't in his uniform jacket during his break, but noticed this individual was wearing the infamous white coat. Claude couldn't read the stranger's name since a large embroidered black cat covered the lettering. It made Claude smile slightly, but he could see the small, golden star embroidered on his chest right beneath the area of his covered name. "Is it your first year?" He asked to clarify, lowering his bag to the ground beside him. The man nodded, leaning back into his seat, but keeping his rose colored gaze upon Claude's face. He had a youthful, confident charm that aroused interest within Claude, being almost breathtakingly handsome, and yet so very casual while wearing his uniform on a deteriorating park bench. Even the rebellious alteration of his uniform made him all the more intriguing.
"Indeed, it is. Feels like I've been here for ages though—wouldn't you agree?" He closed the novel and set it aside, seemingly interested in keeping conversation with Claude. "I just finished an old hachis parmentier recipe for lunch—do you want some?" Claude arched a brow as he watched the other hold up the silver canister, opening it to reveal a heavy scent of spiced beef and thick mashed potato. "It's something my grandfather made me every birthday." He said proudly, handing Claude a small spoon. He usually didn't take food from random strangers, but since he was a part of his school Claude dared to dip into the food, taking a polite helping and tasting the sampling. The hachis parmentier was a complicated array of flavors, leaving a pleasant kiss of spice on his palate that made him actually experience hunger. This man somehow managed to turn this classic French dish into a wonderful surprise—Claude had never tasted a selection so delectable before. His ocher eyes widened slightly in surprise. There was deceptive talent within this simple dish.
"This is delicious!" He said almost enthusiastically as his tongue rolled over the flavors, eager to taste more. The man beamed, holding out the canister for Claude to take, and moving an arm to rest his chin on a hand, elbow against the frame of the bench. He watched Claude as if no other existed at the park, but Claude assumed he was merely happy to serve his dish to a fellow student. "And does this mean it's your birthday?" Claude asked, taking another small helping and glancing back over towards him. This one definitely belonged at the school. The man shook his head, those sanguine eyes never leaving Claude's face.
"An old tradition, I suppose. Today would be his eighty-eighth birthday, and I had to do something for him. We would have crème brulée for dessert, but I didn't have time to make one." Claude paused, blinking and glancing down at the canister.
"Oh—I'm sorry to hear—I mean…your grandfather. I'm sure he would be proud of you. This," he held up the canister with a sincere smile. "You've done something incredible here. Those hands of yours—this is your ticket. You're incredibly talented." He cleaned the spoon, holding it in his left hand and lowering it to his lap before turning to face the other better. "If you cook things like this, you'll be at the top of the school—and this is just hachis parmentier! I'd bet even Sebastian Michaelis couldn't touch your food or talent—this is miraculous." Claude's face was flushed as he spoke, a natural reaction to the spiciness of the particular dish. The man beamed, and his sanguine eyes appeared to glimmer a motivated hope as he watched Claude.
"You think so?" He said thoughtfully, his eyes finally leaving Claude's face to gaze back to the canister. Claude nodded enthusiastically, feeling some sort of excitement overcome him. He'd never met Sebastian Michaelis, but tried a sampling of his food only once before. This young man's creation rivaled even that budding star of the university. Suddenly he remembered his own lunch, and handing the canister back to the man, he reached down into his bag to retrieve his own desserts.
"Since it's your grandfather's day, you should have this," he said, opening the cover and revealing his crème brulée, now at the perfect temperature for consumption. The other's face was almost unrecognizable for a moment; his eyes widened in slight surprise, and his lips spread as if to say something, but no words came. He simply reached for a ramekin, holding the delicate treat up as if to inspect the intricate designs atop its face.
"This is so beautiful," he murmured in French, and hearing him speak made Claude's heart flutter. The voice was delicately beautiful, and an admirable reminiscence laced between those words. His eyes never left the dessert as he continued to inspect it, and after a long moment of what Claude assumed was contemplation, he witnessed a single tear shed from the crease of the man's right eye, and his voice spoke with delicate wonderment as he smiled. "Are you an angel?"
[✦✦✦]
Claude was taught never to go to bed upset. It was better to discuss your woes before the end of the night, something he strived to keep within his young marriage. However, his partner was known to be unbearably stubborn at times, and refused to speak much after any kind of argument. Tonight was no different, and after seeing Alois off to bed in his guest quarters, Claude returned to the bedroom, seeing Sebastian huddled within his side of the bed, assumedly asleep. He watched the silent lump for a while, crossing over to his side of the bed and slipping between the plum silk sheets. Sebastian did not rouse. Claude watched him for a moment longer, then leaning close to press lips to the back of his ear as he slipped an arm around his narrow waist.
"I'm trying to sleep," Sebastian mumbled into his pillow, making Claude smile as he kissed him there again. "Just let me sleep."
"Thank you for letting him stay... he's a good kid. You're doing a good deed for him, honey." Sebastian rolled his eyes from his angle of the bed, not saying another word about it. He was tired of talking about Alois and he didn't want to deal with this now.
"Can we do this later?" He asked moving an arm to shove Claude away. "You're not getting anymore tonight." Claude chuckled, ignoring the movement and holding onto him tighter, leaning to kiss the small of his neck.
"Not even if I kissed you? You love my mouth...how about here?" Plush lips ghosted over the side of his neck and towards the lobe of his ear, nibbling there with a sharp canine. Sebastian exhaled almost exasperatedly until he felt his mouth, making his body shiver in response despite his protest.
"I'm mad at you, remember? Go love on someone else." He managed, burrowing himself more into the pillow and striving to ignore the arousal within his body. Claude pouted against Sebastian's ear, and pulled the angry lump closer, brushing his waist longingly against the other's rear. He heard Sebastian's breathing slow slightly, a sign he was at least attentive to Claude's movements.
"You don't want to talk because you're angry—fine. We won't talk about it tonight. But I know your other angry language." Sebastian tipped his head back against Claude's shoulder, peering towards him within the darkness.
"And I know what speaks to you the loudest." He declared just as confidentially, leaning to plant a kiss to the underside of Claude's chin. Then he turned away, pulling himself from Claude's grasp to tuck further into his side of the bed, closing his eyes with a satisfied huff. Claude paused, watching the area at the back of Sebastian's neck for a long moment. He didn't want to end it here, but if Sebastian is to be this stubborn, he had no choice but to accept it for the time being. Reaching to kiss the back of his neck one last time, he simply lay with his husband within his arms.
"I love you." Claude murmured.
Sebastian remained silent until he finally fell asleep wrapped within the comfort of his partner's embrace.
[✧✧✧]
Kuroshitsuji character names and likeness © Toboso Yana. I do not own nor profit from Kuroshitsuji.
Fiction story and writing by vakansu (fanfiction ID 9580223). Please do not redistribute my writing.