Heads-up: This story was published on AO3 with the tags "Eating Disorders," "Mental Health Issues," and "Implied/Referenced Homophobia." At least one of those tags starts coming into play this chapter.
"So I had an interesting conversation today," Vincent Phantomhive— Ciel's father and de facto manager— says while scooping up a dumpling. "One of the American skating officials came up to me and thanked you. He says you and Knox are setting a good example for boys back in the U.S. who might want to get into skating."
"What about Sebastian?" his mother, Rachel Phantomhive, asks, giving Ciel another serving of noodles before he even has to ask. It's a tradition for them, going out to dinner the night before a competition's first event.
Vincent sighs. "Well, Sebastian just isn't right for that sort of thing . . ."
"What do you mean?" she presses. "He's a beautiful skater . . ."
"Exactly," Ciel cuts in with a snort. "America wants— hell, everyone wants boys to remember that figure skaters are actually athletes. You want kids to join because it's a sport, and a tough one at that. Not just because of glittery shirts."
"Right," Vincent nods. "And if you get anywhere near the podium, Ciel, I swear advertisers will be eating you up. Razors, cologne, Swiss watches, deodorant— if a man could need it, you'll be selling it."
"And god forbid we miss a chance to monetize our son," Rachel teases, sending them all into chuckles. When it comes to Ciel's career, Vincent is overzealous, and Rachel can be, too. Ciel loves them for it.
The next morning, as Ciel skates onto the ice for the team competition, he looks around, scanning the crowd for his parents. He sees them only a few rows up, waving the Union Jack, cheering for him and for Queen and Country, and he flashes them a smile. Then he makes his way to the center of the rink and tilts his head down, waiting for his music to start.
And he is off, cranking out element after element. Triple axel, perfect. Quad toe, slightly unsteady— only a +1 for Grade of Execution, he calculates, even as he speeds into his next move. Triple lutz and triple toe in combination, perfect . . .
The scores are high, two points better than what he had predicted himself. The crowd is cheering, Grell is practically suffocating him with her hug, and Ciel is satisfied. While he can't win a team medal— the rest of the British skaters are not nearly as strong as he is— he has made his mark. He is gearing for a medal in the singles competition, and now the judges and the whole world know it.
The next competitor takes the ice— Ronald Knox, chosen as his country's representative for the male's singles sub-event, because, yes, America lacks confidence in Sebastian. Ciel smirks.
He wonders whether Sebastian watched his routine.
Note to the ice-skating nerds- I took a creative license and shortened the team competition, so each skater/pair of skaters only skates a long program (as opposed to both a long and a short program, as happened in Sochi). My headcanon is that a whole bunch of skaters protested that skating two programs in the team competition would tire them out for the subsequent individual competition, compelling organizers to reduce the demands of team competition.