Thank you for all the reviews and critique. I appreciate and would love to receive more. Also, warnings for this story have been added to the first chapter.
Here's chapter three this time; please enjoy.
6 A.M.
London Heathrow Airport explodes with life, especially at five in the morning.
Ciel arrives at the airport dragging along his navy-blue trolley case– the one he always uses when he leaves England. He's wearing his tan-coloured bucket hat, a blue shirt that exposes his collarbones, a black waistcoat, gray shorts, and black sandals. Aunt Angelina had picked out his clothing that morning, and she obviously didn't know how cold the airport could be.
Every air conditioner they own is probably on full-blast, yet I look like I just came from a casual walk on the beach, Ciel thinks, ignoring the goose bumps on his arms.
He verges off to the left of the automatic doors, off towards the arrival and departure screens, just to take a quick look at them before going to check in.
He's supposed to meet Sebastian and Francis on the other side of Terminal Five.
Standing in the midst of the tiled floors, he stops for a few seconds and stares up at the flight schedules. His eyes scan each flight, picking apart each of them, trying to decide where his plane is. Among the flurries of numbers and letters, one flight will land in Japan, another in Spain, and another in Germany. He's never been to any of those places; he's never gone abroad in the 'true sense.'
Once his eyes spy the 6:00 flight he's looking for, he sees it's on time, and he can sigh in relief. It will stop in Colorado for an hour layover, then, it will head straight for Las Vegas, Nevada.
He surveys the flight schedule for a few seconds more, not necessarily looking for anything, but only looking because he still feels tired. There are people all around, shuffling around him, clunking their own noisy luggage cases along. Thus far, nobody has recognized him, everybody is too engrossed in their own flights.
Ciel stares into the flight schedule until he's not even reading it anymore. His eyes have glazed over, and for a moment he falls asleep dead on his feet. He had been packing all night, and now the effects were catching up to him. Perfect.
A person's luggage snaps loudly against a crack in the tiles and rouses him awake. He sways slightly; his legs are crumbling towers, but only for a moment. He catches himself, braces his body on his own trolley case.
"I'd better check in," he says, as he runs the back of his palm underneath the eye uncovered by his bangs. He just wants to wipe the few dustings of sleep from his eyes. Just a few.
His eye alights on the navy and dark gray check-in service counters that stand clustered all over the area. A sparse few people are spread around them, checking in, murmuring to themselves, getting their things, leaving only to get whipped back into the rushed current of nameless faces.
Ciel decides to join them. He places one finger against the touchscreen. The screen freezes up for a moment, then moves on to the questions. He types in his identification, then prints his ticket. It's a thin, yellow piece of paper, coated in black ink. He double-checks it and reads his name, his flight times, and his seating arrangements.
Tucking the ticket into his pocket, he drags his trolley case to the front where they're taking bags to board. The conveyor belt is being staffed by a hardened-looking, grizzly man. His eyes are light teal, and Ciel takes notice of his tanned biceps bulging beneath his uniform. He smiles nonetheless and bids Ciel good morning with his extremely thick Cockney accent.
Probably a smoker, Ciel figures, noticing the deep creases lining the man's mouth, but he ignores his thoughts, nods the man a good morning and offers over his trolley case. It takes a moment for the man to register the bag, but when he does he nods to Ciel.
"It's all sorted out now," he replies, though 'sorted' sounds more like 'sore-id.' "'Ave a good flight, mate."
Ciel offers only a nod because he feels too tired to speak. Then, he turns and leaves with his ticket, passport, identification papers, iPod, asthma medicine, and two books of the Sherlock Holmes series. He passes through the alleyways flanked by check-in counters, and empties into terminal territory.
The ceiling's much higher and the area seems ten-times more spacious. Everything seems louder. Ciel drifts through the crowds like a feather. He follows the signs on the walls until he finds the security checkpoint– his least favorite part of the whole journey.
He falls into line behind a man in a plaid raincoat and in front of a woman with tangly red-hair and her freckled child. He removes two of the blue bins from the pile, hesitates, then decides all his things can fit in just one bin. So he offers the extra bin to the woman behind him, hoping that by showing her kindness she'll keep her shrill-voiced child from poking his fingers through Ciel's pockets. She smiles gratefully at him.
He slips off his sandals, bare feet touching the freezing tile, then drops the bin on the metal railings. He drops his hat and his shoes inside, then he empties his pockets. Ciel notices the man dressed in plaid is fast, as he's already scooting through the X-ray machine. Ciel picks up his own pace, sliding the bin across the railings up to the short black curtains. Behind him, he can hear the freckled child smacking loudly on bubble gum. Smack, smack, smack. He isn't quite irritated by the noise yet.
He slides his bin through the curtains, keeping his eye on it the whole time as he walks through the X-ray machine. The woman staffing the X-ray machine motions for him to come forward. He complies. He notices her hair is a similar colour to the mother behind him, only the security woman hair isn't as fiery. She motions for him to stop with a stiff hand. After a second or so, she motions for Ciel to come through and thanks him.
Ciel picks up his things, pocketing the things that can be pocketed and shoving the books under his arms. He slips his shoes on, then heads to find Terminal Five's gates.
As he walks, he takes in all the shoppes. There's a store called Boots, and another called Excess Baggage Company. He considers going into the luxurious Bvlgari, but he'd be better off finding his gate first. That, and he just wants to sit and shut his eyes.
The gates are spread far, far away from each other, labeled with either 'A,' 'B,' or 'C.' After picking through the crowds of blurred people, he finds Gate B. Most of the seats are filled with people tinkering with their cellphones and tablets or being immersed in the glow from their laptop screens.
Ciel sighs, then walks among them. He picks his way to the overflow seating area, away from most of the people hooked up to the power outlets. He sits in one of the square, green chairs. Fortunately, the two next to him are empty. He doesn't want to be bothered.
He would take out his cellphone to play a game, but when he reaches his hand in his pocket he remembers that Francis took it. His fingers brush against nothing but cotton. He lays his head back as far as it will go, his eyes opening and closing, opening and closing. They feel like sandbags, stiff.
In one of the short moments that his eyes are closed, he hears a shuffle of fabric and his name being called. Sebastian's voice. He recognizes the tone and opens his eyes, but only so much as slits. He sees the world through cracks. He sees Sebastian's face, his scarlet eyes, through a sliver in the world. His agent's smiling as usual.
"We've been awaiting your arrival."
"Has Alois arrived yet?" Ciel asks. He's re-closed his eyes, though he's well-aware that Sebastian is now taking a seat in the empty chair next to him.
"Not yet, but he won't be long."
"How many minutes till boarding?"
"Fifteen."
Ciel wavers between being awake and asleep. He's now thinking of useless things, filling his mind with the sounds of squeaking luggage cases, fast chatter, and the clicks of laptop keyboards.
"I'll be certain to wake you up when we're called," Sebastian says. Ciel can hear the mirth in his voice as usual, and he only nods because he doesn't want to speak anymore. The last thing he hears is the sound of a rolling suitcase and a kid shouting. The voice is of hazy familiarity.
"Mum, Mum, my seat is F-17!"
It turns out the freckled kid is sitting behind him, but Ciel's too sleep-deprived to care. He just wants to shut his eyes.
"About thirty-three pounds make fifty-two American dollars." Alois stands in front of the money exchange counter, dropping the spare American coins into his outstretched palm. It will all be going towards souvenirs. Not the dinky kind– like coloured mugs and key chains with his name on them. (He highly doubted he'd find his name on one of them anyway, unless he looked for the name Jim. But there was no way he was going to parade around with anything that had his dull real name on it.)
He isn't exactly sure what he's going to buy. What was Las Vegas famous for aside from casinos, nightclubs, and alcohol? All of which are off-limits, he recalls bitterly.
He pockets the cash in his black pants. A dumb move, yes, but the airport is crawling with security guards. Let's hope they do their job, Alois thinks and can't help but smile at the thought.
"Are you ready yet?" Claude asks. The man has been standing, feet together, like an army officer the whole time. Alois' almost reminded of a dog, waiting for their owner to return. His smile widens.
"Why are you in such a hurry? We've already gone through baggage check-in. Besides, I'm hungry."
"We still need to go through security," the man glances down at his wristwatch. "There are thirty minutes until we board."
"That's plenty of time to look around," Alois says, waving his hand. He really doesn't know anything about airport schedules since he never really pays any attention. But, evidently, thirty minutes is like saying five minutes. At least, to Claude. Prompt and tidy and punctual Claude.
But since Claude was so nice and carried his bags for him, Alois decides not to cause too much trouble and complies. Claude leads the way to the security check-in quickly, as if he goes to the airport every day. They drop into line and are prompted by the signs to place all their belongings into the bins and to remove their shoes.
Alois' standing behind an African-American woman who is speaking to one of the officers. Her accent is pleasant, and from the glimpses he catches of her face, she's gorgeous.
She's wearing a black winter coat that Alois can't help but feel envious of. It has a nice glossy texture and smooth inky buttons. But she probably wears it better anyway. He doesn't like to wear black other than his pants.
She walks through the X-ray machine and Alois can smell her perfume. A strong scent, but not overpowering. He watches as she goes through the X-ray, then he follows her. The officer that's directing him motions him through once he's been scanned.
When he's motioned through, he collects his things from the blue bins: his cellphone, identification papers, pocketbook. As his fingers brush against the cellphone, he wonders if Claude is really so observant. What if he were to leave the phone? Would Claude notice? He decides to try it out and leaves the phone in the bin. A stupid move, yes, but he wants to know if Claude really is as hawk-eyed as Alois believes he is. He walks to the opposite side of the X-ray generator to wait for Claude while slipping on his shoes.
When Claude stands in the X-ray, Alois can't help but laugh. He looks strange standing with his arms spread out, almost like he's playing a child's game with the officer. Monkey See, Monkey Do. But his face isn't exuberant like a child's at all. His face and tone are always the same– solemn and sombre, unchanging. Alois thinks that Claude would have that tone no matter what happened. The same tone and the same impassive face no matter what. He entertains the thought of Claude getting hit in the face with a soccer ball and not even flinching.
Claude passes through the machine and meets up with him. He's already slipped back on his shoes and has collected his belongings from the bins. Alois wonders if he's noticed the phone.
"You left this in one of the bins," Claude responds, and offers over Alois' cellphone. "Don't lose sight of it."
Shoot, Alois thinks, there's no fooling him. He pockets the phone after nodding innocently in agreement. But then he grabs onto Claude's arm and points.
"Look, Starbucks. Let's go there and get breakfast."
"We should be going to the gate; we'll be boarding soon," Claude counters, his glasses gleaming. But Alois ignores him.
"I'm hungry and it'll only take a second." Alois rushes off towards Starbucks anyway. He knows Claude will follow whether he believes in going to Starbucks or not. He again thinks of Claude's obedience like that of a dog's.
When they get inside Starbucks, Alois immediately points out one of the bagels in the window. "I want that." He waits for Claude's response, because he knows all too well that Claude will tell him...
"You need to watch what you eat."
"It's only ten calories from fat," Alois responds and orders it anyway. Claude settles for black coffee.
When they leave Starbucks, Alois notices the Chocolate Box and turns towards Claude. "We should go there next– just for a second." He tacks on the last part quickly because Claude's staring down at him. It's strange, because Claude's face seems to never change, yet Alois feels as if he's irritated now.
"It's just one more place," he replies, adding a tone of pleading to his response. "How much time do we have left?"
Claude checks his watch again. "Fifteen minutes."
"That's, like, half an hour. We have enough time."
"No. Fifteen minutes is like fifteen minutes."
Alois looks around and finds the overhead directories. Their gate is about a three minute walk, maybe two if they were to run.
"We're already near our gate. It won't take long. Just give me five minutes."
Claude stares at Alois for a moment. His eyes are unmoving, bleak, cold as they always are, and for a minute Alois thinks he's mad. But when he opens his mouth and confirms, "Five minutes," Alois smiles and rushes towards the store with the chocolate waterfalls flanking the entrance.
He amuses himself by picking up the teddy bears with chocolate bars attached to their backs and the packets of hot chocolate. But it doesn't take long for him to decide that he just wants a bar of plain milk chocolate. After he purchases it, he rips it open and begins to nibble on the edge.
"You shouldn't be eating chocolate so early," Claude responds. He eyes the chocolate, almost as if it's some sort of enemy. "There are too many calories."
"I'll only eat one square," Alois says, and shrugs it off. He hasn't told Claude, but he's celebrating. Celebrating leaving the country. He's leaving England, and that's all he wants. As he eats through the square of smooth chocolate, he watches his feet, mapping each step he takes.
It doesn't take long for them to reach the gate, as expected, and Alois can't help but smile at Claude as if to say told you so. Claude notices the look, but only fixes his glasses to respond. They both take a seat near the boarding entrance. Alois notices that it's 5:58– two minutes to spare.
He lays across three chairs, not caring when Claude stares at him. He lays his head against the uncomfortable arm of the chair and prepares to wait. He can smell Claude's coffee from where he sits. It makes him think– plain black coffee is very fitting for Claude. Drab, bitter, and sharp.
"Did you remember to bring your passport?" he asks, placing his shoulder bag on the seat beside him.
"Of course," Alois responds and flashes him his passport picture as proof.
"Is there anything else you need?"
"No, I don't think so."
Alois sits still a moment more in silence before he catches Claude's eye. He follows his gaze across the seating area to that of a strong and broad-shoulder man clad in black. This man has eyes like garnets. He's quite handsome, and Alois guesses he might be some kind of model or superstar or something. But his mind stops when he notices the boy sleeping beside him.
And he can't help but grin.
"That's my colleague, right?" Alois asks and stretches so he isn't lying down anymore. "Ciel Phantomhive... and his agent."
"Yes," Claude responds, all too suddenly. "Sebastian Michaelis."
Alois snickers. "That's a dumb name. Michaelis?" He sounds out the word in his head a few times. It sounds foreign almost. But he begins to think of something else as his eyes wander off even further to the right.
"And what about her? Who's that blonde woman?"
"I'm assuming that's the make-up artist."
Alois clicks his tongue as he peruses the woman. She's dressed all in dark colours, blacks and grays, and her sandy hair is tied in a sleek bun. There's one loose fringe that hands down near her eyes. Even with three rows of chairs between them, Alois can see her eyes are stabbing. The way she's sitting makes her seem dignified: both hands folded onto her lap, knees bent at the perfect angle, feet aligned, but Alois thinks she looks like a bulldog.
The intercom crackles and a woman's voice says that their flight is now boarding.
Everyone in the area rises, shuffling, scratching, chattering. Claude stands up too and Alois follows him, glancing across the room. Sebastian is still seated. He's bending over towards Ciel, shaking him gently by the shoulder, his mouth moving in words that Alois can't hear.
The boy's eye slowly opens, a sapphire window. He rubs at his eyes, reminding Alois of a child. But as Alois continues to watch him, he can't help but notice the other eye– the one that's covered. It appears to be concealed with an eyepatch, and from what Alois can remember, it was the same one Ciel had worn since they had first met at school.
Before Alois can think a bit more on it, Ciel turns towards him. Their eyes meet again.
Ciel tenses. His eyes fall into an icy glare. He scowls.
Alois follows Claude, but looks over every few moments to see Ciel's party of three following behind. The third time Alois turns, Ciel's right beside him, taking him by surprise.
"Where were you?" Ciel asks, trying and failing to keep some kind of ire out of his voice. "We were here waiting for you. Sebastian informed me you didn't show up until a little after a quarter to six."
"What do you care, Sleeping Beauty? I still showed up."
"You can't be late to a shoot. I can't tolerate that."
"Well, aren't you arrogant. Take that stick out of your butt, Ciel, we're co-workers now." Alois smiles his most sugarcoated smile at him. "Let's work together, if only for this shoot, okay?"
Ciel doesn't appreciate the insult; Alois obviously doesn't care. The two board the plane and move all the way to their designated seats. One on the left of the aisle, the other on the right.
"Fair enough," Ciel replies, taking a seat across the aisle from Alois.
Alois smiles back even wider as he takes his own seat. "I'm glad we now see eye-to-eye."