A/N: Another week down, time for chapter four!
Warnings: some minor harsh language, inappropriate thoughts about a minor
Much like the day I brought him home, his long black lashes fluttered open when I walked into my bedroom to wake him. Though, I was sure it was the delicious aroma of the eggs and bacon I had on the tray in my hand that actually aroused his consciousness. He seemed to be adjusting to his surroundings . Apparently, he still wasn't used to this living arrangement. Rightfully so, I suppose.
I set the tray on the table before lifting him up into a sitting position. He let out a tiny squeak. If I wasn't in such a hurry, I may have stopped to tease him about how pathetic it sounded. I doubt that would've done much to put me in the stubborn child's good graces though. I set the tray on his lap, grinning madly.
"I've already eaten breakfast. I have to get to work, so I'll see you when I get home. Do you need anything before I go?" He just shook his head wearily.
"What is it you do for a living?" He inquired suddenly as I turned to leave. It was a rather unexpected question. In fact, it was the first sign of interest he'd displayed in front of me. I just turned back to face him and flashed a wicked smirk.
"Now, why should I tell you anything more about myself when you refuse to do the same. That's a bit unfair, wouldn't you say?" I asked teasingly. He sighed and looked at his food with that forlorn expression he wore so often. I didn't have time to talk, I was already running late for work. Still, it was a possible opportunity to learn something about this mysterious boy.
"What do you want to know?" He asked, the look in his eyes seeming to suggest he regretted it immediately.
"What happened to your right eye?" It was bold. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have asked that particular question right off the bat. The likelihood of him answering it was slim, at best. As I assumed, he remained quiet, glaring angrily at his food through his left eye. His right eye was squeezed shut, as per usual. That must be tiresome. . .
I walked into the laundry room, where I had folded all of the washed fabrics the night before, and grabbed the silk eye patch. He looked at it with a perplexed gaze when I presented it to him. As if to answer his unspoken question, I said;
"I found it on my way to work yesterday. It was in the alley where I found you. I washed it with your clothes last night." I was almost sure I had witnessed a flash of a smile for a brief second when he turned his eyes back to the piece of silk in my hand. He took it from me and tied it, in a dead knot, around his head. I had to resist the urge to take it off and retie it. I was really late for work now, and I couldn't lollygag any longer.
"Thank you," he said softly, not bothering to look up at me.
"You're welcome," I said before turning and running out of my house in a rush. Late for work two days in a row. What's become of me? I pride myself on punctuality. At least I used to. . .
By the end of the day, I was beat. Taking care of Ciel, cooking, cleaning, and working, paired with little sleep, did not bode well for my level of stamina. This truly was trying. How I was going to survive finals was the true mystery. Not to mention, my day was far from over.
My students could tell, by the bags under my eyes, that I was not doing well. Thankfully, they let me lecture and didn't speak. Granted, most of them don't care about my lectures anyway. Very few of them even take college seriously. Such a pity. . .
When I got back home, I threw my tote bag on the sofa and plopped down next to it to slip my shoes off of my aching feet. Not even a minute later, I heard a feeble "Sebastian?" echoing from my bedroom. Hmph, that boy can't let me rest for even one minute?
"Yes! I'm coming!" I hollered. I could hear him grunt loudly in annoyance. What was so imperative that he couldn't wait the few seconds it takes me to get from my living room to my bedroom? When I finally got there, he was sitting up, rocking back and forth, wearing a look of panic.
"There you are! Where the hell were you, I have to piss like racehorse!" He screamed, holding his groin as if it would keep him from wetting himself. Without hesitation, I picked him up and carried him to the bathroom. All the while, I couldn't help but ponder his previous social status. I found it a bit strange that this was the first time I'd heard the boy use slightly foul language. Given the fact that he was an orphan, (that being the case, he had no parental guidance) one would assume he would be very foul mouthed. The way he spoke was always educated and dignified. Not at all what I would expect of poor homeless child. At first glance, he is just that. But it's clear to me now that there is much more beneath the surface. I just knew my curious nature would never let it go.
I held him up while he relieved himself, my large shirt allowing him easy access to his equipment. To put him at ease, I looked away, as I had done during all of his past potty breaks. The fact that putting him at ease was my only motive to avert my eyes made me laugh internally. I'd be remiss if I didn't admit to having many impure thoughts. Quite honestly, I have them all the time. In addition, I have engaged myself in fantasies featuring very repelling subjects. Even so, they have yet to include a child.
It is difficult not to fantasize about the boy. His pale silken skin, even with the scars, is the most resplendent sight I've had the pleasure of beholding. The enigmatic, far away look in his exposed eye breeds a tale of horror, pain, and rage that, to me, is so very tempting. But I've never been one to give in to foolish impulses. That's not to suggest I've never had them, I've just been smart enough to know where the line between fantasy and reality lies.
He finished his business and I carried him back into my bedroom. He sighed happily as I set him down on the bed. I left him alone for a moment, only to return a few seconds later with his, now semi clean, clothes. He huffed and struggled as I began to strip him of my shirt.
"Why are you putting me back in those rags?" he said haughtily. This child never ceased to amaze me. He always tried to maintain control, even when he clearly had none. I just smiled as I picked him up to slide his little trousers over his puny legs.
"Because we're going out," I said calmly. His left eye widened as confusion washed over him.
"Going out? Where?" he asked, his voice climbing a little higher than usual.
"To get you some new clothes. You can't wear the same outfit forever." He seemed at a loss for words, for his exposed eye remained the size of a saucer and his mouth hung open gracelessly.
"Are you crazy?" he sputtered eventually, "You plan to buy me clothes? You don't owe me any favors. . . what obligation do you have to buy me anything?" It was clear he was slightly irate. "Besides, how do expect me to shop when I can't even stand?" I hadn't considered that. No matter, the solution is simple.
"Your need for clothes does not stem from any obligation on my part, it's merely a necessity if you plan to stay here," I said, "It will be far more arduous for me to have to wash the same clothes every day. Wouldn't you agree?" He just glared incredulously at me. "As for your means of transportation, I'll carry you until we get inside, then you can sit in the shopping cart."
"Absolutely not!" he screamed firmly, "I will not be pushed around in a shopping cart like some sort of toddler!" As stubborn as ever.
"You've no other option. I cannot carry you throughout the store. In any case, it would be even more humiliating if I did. And refusing is futile, simply because I'm going to do it anyway. Do tell, do you plan to just stand up and frolic away if I attempt it?" Egging him on probably wasn't the nicest thing to do, but, as it happens, I'm not a very nice guy. Ciel did have to get it through his head eventually that I am his temporary guardian. Even if I'm not the best candidate for the job.
"Fine," he said finally, through his teeth. I finished dressing him and carried him, gingerly, out to my black Nissan. He was pouting, with his arms crossed angrily over his slightly concave chest and his lips fixed into a tiny scowl.
Once we were on the road, the silence was almost deafening. The faint back beat reverberating from my speakers only seemed to make it more uncomfortable. Every so often, I'd glance over at him briefly to find him scowling still. A particularly short green light in the epicenter of rush hour caused a bit of traffic. He hadn't moved a muscle. For lack of anything better to do, I attempted to make conversation.
"You know, your face looks as though its gotten its color back. I take it you're feeling a little better then?" He nodded curtly but said nothing. "So, what kind of clothes do you think you'd like to get?"
"Anything that isn't in tatters," he says coldly, not taking his eyes away from the road ahead.
"Come on now, surely you must have some sort of preference?" I asked playfully, hoping to brighten his foul mood a little. I should have known better than that by now. He remained silent, as I expected. No matter how many times he chose to ignore me, I was determined to break this child's defenses. As stubborn as he was, I could be stubborn too.
For now though, I just let it go. It takes time to polish a precious jewel to perfection. We sat in silence for the remainder of the trip. When I parked in a vacant spot, I saw him sink a little lower in his seat out of the corner of my eye. I don't blame him for being nervous.
I got out and walked over to the passengers side, careful not to bump my head as I reached in and lifted him out. As luck would have it, we parked two spaces away from a cart return. I pulled one aside and placed him in it gently. As small as he was, he was a tad bit too big for the toddler seat. Besides that, it was embarrassing enough that he couldn't walk on his own and had to be carried around. It would only give him more reasons not to trust me if I placed him there. So, I put him in the larger portion of the cart.
The department store was buzzing with customers of all shapes, sizes, creeds, and colors. There were a few gawkers, more than likely just curious about the immobile child. Perhaps wondering why he wasn't in a wheelchair or the like. The store did provide motorized chairs for just such an occasion, but I had my doubts Ciel was qualified to ride in one. He'd likely crash it into something that I would have to pay for. This arrangement was much safer, for him and for everyone else.
So we made our way through the swarm of flesh and sweat to the young boys clothes. The racks were full of polo shirts and khaki shorts, which somehow didn't seem to suit Ciel. Still, I displayed a few of them, holding them up to his body for comparison. His expression revealed nothing about what was going through his head. All the same, I was almost certain he was not pleased by the choices presented to him.
I happened upon a pinstriped button down that seemed a little more fitting for the homeless aristocrat. I held it up for him, raising my eyebrows, as if to say; "What do you think."
"It's fine," he said unenthusiastically. I handed it to him. Before long, he was buried under a pile of clothes so tall that he was hardly visible beneath them. I pushed the cart over to the fitting rooms and carried him into an empty stall, along with a handful of clothes.
Once inside the stall, I set him down on the little bench and got to work stripping him of his tattered clothes. Again, he was as calm as a cucumber. His expression was remarkably stoic. You would think he might be the slightest bit excited about getting some new clothes. I found my curiosity peaked again as I pondered this child's bizarre indifference.
It took almost an hour to try on all of the garments I had picked out for him. A few were too small, others too large. By the time I had changed him back into his rags, his eye patch had fallen off completely and his beautiful blue-gray hair was sticking up every which way. I brushed it down with my fingers and tied his eye patch back in place. He exhaled deeply. In the weak state he's in, he must be exhausted.
I replaced all of the ill fitting clothes where they belonged and began the journey to the checkout queue. On the way, we strolled past the young girls clothing. I'm sure Ciel thought I hadn't been paying any attention to him and that I hadn't caught the brief, interested glance he gave a particularly frilly dark blue blouse. . . but I had caught it. I relished it, in fact.
He gasped when I stopped the cart abruptly and turned around. I held up the blouse and examined it. It seemed to be about his size. It was a fine, silken material, with ruffles and lace elegantly accenting the collar and the hem of the sleeves. I couldn't deny that it would look stunning on him.
"Do you like it?" I asked innocently, hoping he wouldn't be too proud to admit to liking it.
"That's a girl's shirt. . ." he said, as if that answered my question.
"I realize that. Do you like it? There's no shame in it if you do." He didn't appear to be falling for my obvious attempt at easing his insecurities, if the aggravated line of his brow was anything to go by.
"No. I do not like it," he said, crossing his arms in defiance again. He looked away from me for a moment but then turned his exposed eye back to glare at me expectantly. As sure as the tundra is unforgivingly frigid, Ciel was lying. Thus, without another word on the matter, I threw the shirt into the cart. He didn't protest. Out of my peripheral, I saw a hint of a smirk forming in the corners of his mouth. In an instant, I realized why he had no desire to buy new clothes. He liked girls clothes. . . How delicious.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed chapter four, despite Sebastian's creepy pedo impulses. What's that? You've been looking forward to the creepy pedo impulses? Oh, I see. Then you'll be happy to know you haven't seen the last of them. XD Review if you have the time please!
Note: I had not featured Sebastian helping Ciel relieve himself in the previous chapters, as pointed out in the last chapter by Aznlee. He has done it, I just haven't featured it. Not because I was too lazy to write it, just that it would be horribly mundane and uneventful, which is okay for a novel but not really for a fanfic.
Title: Peacocks are known to be vain, elegant, and pompous. They are often associated with nobility. At this point, Sebastian is certain he's dealing with a sophisticate. They are also revered for their beauty. Male peacocks are much more flamboyant in color than their female counterparts.