Chapter Text
Ciel Phantomhive, the teenager with a drug problem.
His concerned aunt brought him to Dr. Sebastian Michaelis’ office, a psychiatrist that operated from the comfort of his apartment. It made patients more comfortable than walking into a doctor’s office, he said. And for the most part, it worked. His success rate with recovering patients was through the roof— the few that weren’t successful were juvenile criminals that had to return to juvy, as the therapy simply wasn’t enough.
Ciel had gotten into drugs at a much younger age than most people. Spice—or, as Ciel called it, Mamba— Valium, and maijuana were his poison, only claiming to have tried molly a handful of times. Anything he could get his hands on, really. Instead of calling the police, his Aunt Angelina turned to the medical field.
Smart of her. It wasn’t the time yet to scare him clean. If he wasn’t willing to clean up himself, rehabilitation may be considered.
The young boy was constantly attending parties with all sorts of paraphernalia, and one was even raided once a neighbor caught wind and called the police. Ciel was able to hide his intoxication and escaped jail time, being driven home to his aunt’s house after the ordeal in the back of a police cruiser.
Foolishly, that didn’t stop him from going on other excursions. A family friend recommended one Dr. Michaelis to help, as he specialized in addiction recovery and even had a PhD in psychology. He took their insurance and seemed the perfect fit.
Angelina had her nephew by the arm as they proceeded down the clean-cut hallways of the apartment building, nearly dragging him behind her, past rows of doors and minimalistic art, Ciel’s sneakers shuffling on the nice rugs over perfect hardwood. By the time they reached the end of the appropriate hallway on the appropriate floor, she stopped in front of a trash can just short of the doctor’s apartment.
“What?” Ciel snapped.
She huffed, and took the boy’s hood down for him, fixing his messy hair, and rather forcefully pulling the half-eaten lollipop from his mouth. She tossed it into the trash, despite her nephew’s argument.
“Hey! What the fuck was that for?”
“You need to look presentable for your psychiatrist.”
Ciel narrowed his visible eye up at her. “He knows I’m here for drugs, it’s not like a fucking lollipop is gonna damage my image.”
“I don’t appreciate your attitude,” Angelina barked, maybe a little louder than necessary. “I’m trying for you, okay? Don’t fuck this up.”
Ciel refused to speak until they reached the doctor’s apartment, promptly shoving his hands back into his pockets and keeping his gaze downcast.
Angelina gently rapped on the door after checking her notes for the millionth time to make sure they were in the right place. She would die of embarrassment if she was at the wrong apartment.
The fine oak door opened and they were both greeted with a small smile. “Ah, you must be Angelina Dalles,” the man said, then looking down at her side. “And Ciel, I presume?”
The man’s scent hit him in the face like a freight train—dark, musky, a little spicy. An alpha. He took in a deep breath, his nose crinkling as he tried to ignore it. He didn’t like people that spoke too properly. It made a funny feeling down his spine, and the man’s English accent didn’t help.
A giant smile spread across Aunt Angelina’s face, almost exaggerated. “Yes, good evening.”
“Please, come in.”
The doctor himself was an unassuming man. Maybe thirty-five,tall and lean, and dressed like a boring college philosophy professor; a sweater with a dress shirt and tie underneath, nice jeans, and polished, rather expensive-looking Brogues. He had jet-black hair that perfectly framed his high cheekbones and thin reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Ciel couldn’t help but imagine that his thin-lipped smile was fake as fuck.
Hands behind his back, the doctor led them into his apartment. Ciel kept his silence as he observed the trappings of the apartment; he had learned to scan a room he didn’t know. See potential dangers and exits, gauge personality, in case anything went wrong.
Nothing was particularly staggering about the living space. But it was… odd. It was a relatively large apartment, at least compared to others he’d seen. It had an open floor plan, big windows to let light in, a decent view of the city, and exposed brick walls. The living room consisted of two leather couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle, a large flat screen TV over one of them. A bubbling fish tank sat near the window, and stairs to the right of the spacious kitchen led to a loft bedroom.
But there was something weird that made Ciel’s stomach churn more than being in an apartment-turned-doctor’s-office.
Taxidermy.
Shelves and display cases of different small birds, some in domes on perches with dried flowers. One case even had a few skulls in them. A look into the kitchen revealed a tiny bluebird, pinned and spread on the marble counter, ready to be mounted.
Morbid son of a bitch.
Angelina spoke up and nearly startled Ciel. “Be good, okay? And, um… I’ll see you at six,” she said, taking her hands from Ciel’s shoulders. She adjusted her purse from over her shoulder and extended a hand to Dr. Michaelis. “Good luck, doctor. I hope we make progress.”
The doctor smiled politely at her and took her hand in a firm shake. “And I, as well. We’ll see you soon.”
“Wait,” Ciel said, turning to his aunt. “You’re not staying?”
“Of course not. I have a date, and you have shit to talk about.”
Ciel didn’t dare argue. Once Angelina said her farewell, and the door shut behind her, Sebastian turned to the teenager awkwardly standing in his living room, hands in his pockets. The boy eyed him as he strode across the room, brows narrowed and suspicious. “Thirsty?” Sebastian asked, “Water, soda, or anything?”
Ciel refused to reply, only watched the doctor reach into his fridge for his own can of Coke.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll just pick one.”
Ciel’s throat was scratchy. “Uh… I like Fanta.”
“Fanta it is, then.”
The man retrieved what was asked for and made his way back into the living room, setting their drinks on two coasters that looked like orange geode slices. He sat down on the couch opposite Ciel, crossing his legs and looking up at his patient. “Sit, Ciel. Please. Let’s get started.”
Ciel swallowed hard, the saliva in his throat going down like molasses. He balled his hands up into fists beneath his too-big flannel sweatshirt and sat down, cracking his can open in the deafening silence aside from the gentle bubble of the fish tank in the room.
“I know it’s rather daunting, getting shoved in a room with a strange doctor and told to spill your greatest secrets,” Sebastian started, rolling down his black sweater sleeves. “But I promise to make your visits as comfortable as possible so you can go at your own pace. I’m only here to help. Alright?”
“Yeah,” was Ciel's short reply.
“Good,” Sebastian said, a smile on his pale lips. “Now… why don’t we start with why you’re here to see me?”
Ciel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He took a swig of his orange drink, maybe a little too big of one, and bit at his lip, unwilling to make eye contact. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Are you sure? I’m an unbiased party. That’s the appeal of a therapist, most often.”
“Uhuh,” Ciel drawled.
Sebastian leaned back in his seat, adjusting himself on plush leather. “We can start small, then. How do you like your home life with your aunt?”
Ciel finally made eye contact with him, but it was sharp, angry. He didn’t speak.
“That’s fine with me,” Sebastian said calmly. “We can sit here in silence all you’d like. I have you booked for another…” he drawled off, looking at the big clock on the wall, “hour and forty-eight minutes.”
The boy grunted, a pointed tch leaving his lips before he got up and made for the door. He wrapped his hand around the door handle, sighing when it didn’t budge. There was no visible lock to undo, no keyhole. He just… couldn’t open it. He whipped his head around to the doctor still sitting so nonchalantly on the couch. “So, what, you lock kids in here like a fucking creep?”
Sebastian answered him calmly. “I deal with unstable patients more often than not. All the locks on my doors and windows are for both yours and my safety.” He took in a deep breath, his ruddy eyes drifting to Ciel’s grip, still on his gold door handle. “Like it or not, Ciel, you’re stuck with me for two hours a week until you can clean up.”
Ciel just about snarled at him. “I don’t need to clean up. I’m fine.”
Sebastian crossed his arms. “Tell that to all the pills you took two months ago to try and escape your issues. Now please… let go of the doorknob, and come talk to me.”
Ciel let his grip on the doorknob loosen until he let go of it entirely, and shoved his hands back in his pockets. He sat down on the opposite leather couch with a quiet huff.
“Was getting your stomach pumped at the hospital a big enough deterrent to get clean?”
That glaring blue eye never tore away from Sebastian. “Maybe I’ll use something else next time.”
Sebastian let out a small sigh. “That’s not the point, Ciel.”
“I know.”
Cold, uncaring. That single blue eye held pure ice, like the freezing depths of the ocean.
This would be a long session.