Ciel Phantomhive from Black Butler

~~~

The sounds of the annual Pumpkin fair buzzed in your ears and were just starting to get on your nerves as you waiting for the next attendee to step up to the archway you stood beneath. The Pumpkin fair was an annual celebration for Halloween, in which little kids would eat candied apples and pie, roll around in the freshly golden leaves, and teenagers would carve pumpkins and sip apple cider. There were musicians that would play jaunty yet vaguely spooky Halloween music, with lots of minor chords and complicated rhythms. Of course there were shops for the reluctant parent to purchase their children meaningless knick-nacks, and games which offered magnificent prizes of flimsy stuffed animals and small bags of candy that could otherwise be purchased with money that could come out of a child's pocket. Nonetheless, the fair was always somewhat enjoyable to you, and either way, you had no choice whether or not to participate.
Your parents had always had their game booth, which they'd acquired years back when desperate for a job, and so you had been working behind the table for as long as you had been able to count money. You were now sixteen, and, although you hated to admit it, you loved your job. Every day from October fifteenth to thirty-first, you worked at the festival, conniving people out of their money so they could try their luck at bursting a pumpkin-shaped balloon with a dart. That wasn't the fun part, though. You loved Halloween, and the atmosphere of it. The thought of ghosts excited you, and the thought of mythical creatures enchanted you- they were things beyond your reach that were just barely accessible on Halloween.
Tonight, though, marked the beginning of the very last week of the fair, and you were intent on making the most of it. Around you, you could smell the distinct scent of pumpkin, as women dressed as witches made homemade Pumpkin Cocoa for children in enormous, black pots. For a second, even you believed they were really witches, stirring around frogs or something else disgusting in order to make a potion.
There were shrieks from the makeshift "Haunted House", which consisted of a few unpaid teenagers looking for a passtime, where they would dress in creepy costumes and hide behind the walls of the small attraction, jumping out at unsuspecting guests. You leaned tiredly on your elbow, hoping somebody would come along and attempt to pop the balloons. Behind you, the prizes were pinned up triumphantly, as though they were golden trophies. It was only four in the afternoon, but you still couldn't help but be bored out of your mind. The sun was still golden in the sky, and the breeze was pleasantly brisk, and you were not occupied. At home were your parents, who had handed down the honorable position of Sort-Of Con Artist to you, where they were baking pies for the fair. You sighed. So far, this last week was in eventful.
Today you wore a honey orange dress that reached the ground; the skirt was nothing special, and there were no petticoats or anything of the like to hold you back. There was matching black trim on the collar and sleeves, which you were very proud of. You'd made the festive dress yourself. Your (h/c) hair fell down your shoulders in shiny waves, adorned with a gem-encrusted Jack o' Lantern hair clip. Next to you was a mug of hot apple cider (spiked with Vodka, which was unbeknownst to everyone around you), and you watched as people shuffled from booth to booth, ogling at Halloween brooches and necklaces, having their palms read by people who no doubt did not acquire psychic abilities, and children attempting to steal candy apples from the stands, before being scolded by parents.
Soon, once the sun dipped halfway below the horizon, twinkling tea lights would be strung across the orange tapestries draped over stands, and candles would glow eerily from the windows of the Haunted House. People could come and listen to ghost stories, which they entirely believed. No longer would children be around bobbing for apples. The entire fair would be infiltrated by drunks.
You didn't much mind the drunk people who came by; drunks always had the tendencies to cough up loads of pocket cash to play carnival games, their altered perceptions convinced that the low-quality prizes were of some worth.
You watched as a short boy exited the Haunted House, his cheeks flushed, hair almost blue from its inky black shade. He was storming next to a taller, thin man in a sensible suit, whom you assumed to be his butler. You fixed your gaze to the pair, amused.
"I was absolutely NOT scared, Sebastian. How dare you insult me in such a way?"
The taller man chuckled. "If you say so, young master."
The "young master" huffed, his face bloomed with red, and you laughed to yourself as you watched. He wore a sensible outfit, perfectly matched and tailored, nothing too baggy or tight on his slim, boyish figure. He was on the scrawny side, but you could hardly tell with his copious amount of clothing. Around his neck was a bright orange bow, to match his otherwise all-black outfit. Festive, you thought sarcastically to yourself. You sipped your drink and watched as the boy crossed his arms and scowled. He shot an icy glare at who you assumed to be Sebastian. "Can we leave? Why must I even be here?"
"Everyone attends the Pumpkin fair, young master. It would be simply unprofessional for your business if you did not attend."
"Yeah, right," he muttered. On one eye was a securely tied black eye patch. The other was a crystal blue. You wondered what was wrong with his eye. Maybe a childhood accident, since that seemed like the only logical option. He looked pretty young, so it wasn't like he could have lost in in war.
You were so busy staring at his eyes, that you were sorely startled when his good eye shot up to face you. You bit your lip to stop from laughing at his furious expression, and in seconds he was barging to your stand.
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing," you said. Then you mischievously raised an eyebrow. "Just a future customer."
"You think I'd waste my precious time on playing silly games?"
"I think so. Unless you're afraid you'll lose."
"Lose?" He practically spat, his face now contorted with anger. "I demand you hand me a dart this instant."
"I will," you said leisurely, tilting your head onto one hand, shooting him a sickly sweet look. "If you hand forward the price."
"You simply cannot ask Ciel Phantomhive to pay you money for such a stupid game."
"I can, sir. Would you like to play or not?"
Behind him stood Sebastian. He glanced around nervously, and then turned back to face you. "How much are you asking for?"
"Two pence."
He dug his hand into his pocket and fished around for a few seconds, before retrieving what you'd asked. He thrust it reluctantly into your hands, and you closed your palm around the coins before distributing them into the cash register.
You handed him three darts, wired with orange and black, with dull tips. The thing about the games were that they were not meant to be won; it was nearly impossible.
He poised himself, pointing his wrist sharply, and squinted as he concentrated on the balloon. You soundlessly accessed the secret panel that was hidden below customers' sight, where you could move the wooden bars the balloons were affixed to, just slightly so the thrower would completely miss. Instead of thinking that the board itself had moved, the person would become frustrated and think they had simply thrown on a wrong path, or into a breeze.
His first throw was so inaccurate, though, that you hardly needed to use the panel, and you had to stifle your laughter as he jutted his finger at you angrily. "That was unfair!"
"No, it wasn't," you said calmly.
"Yes it was! I- I- SEBASTIAN!"
"Yes, young master?"
Sebastian stepped forward from the shadows he had been hidden in. He was an exceptionally attractive man, with raven black hair and ivory skin. There was not a single flaw on his face.
"She cheated."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. She cheated me out of my money."
Well, it isn't like it's a lie, you thought, amused.
"Did you cheat, miss?" He smiled in an enigmatic, charming sort of way that you were sure was what he did with most girls he wanted to get information from.
"No. I just stood here while he threw. It's not my fault he can't throw."
"Why, you-"
"You have two more tries, sir. It's all in the wrist."
But two tries later, as planned, he had not hit a balloon, and was fuming.
After a bit of persuading, he coughed up another 2 pence, which you accepted graciously, shoving them triumphantly into the cash register.
And that's how it was for the next hour; he paid, he attempted, he grew angry, and he tried again. You didn't mind at all; he wasn't bad company, although a bit hot-headed, and you thought he was pretty cute. When you retrieved the "ON BREAK" sign for your supper break, he threw his remaining dart onto the ground and let out a loud groan of frustration.
"If you really want the prizes that badly, I can give them to you. I really don't mind." You were feeling a bit sorry for tricking him, and thought maybe it had gone too far.
He shook his head. "I don't want those stupid prizes. You know, the candy you're giving out is from MY company."
"Your company? Exactly how old are you?"
"I'm fifteen. But do not let my age fool you. I'm head of Funtom company."
Your eyes widened as you came across a sudden epiphany. "I've read about you! Your parents died in a fire when you were-" you stopped mid-sentence. You figured that wasn't such a good idea to mention. He averted his gaze. "I'm sixteen."
"Funny," he said. "I've been here for over an hour and I never got your name."
"It's (y/n)," you told him, gathering your things. "You are?"
"I've told you already," he said with an eye roll. "Ciel. Ciel Phantomhive. You can call me earl Phantomhive, if you'd like."
"I'll stick with Ciel."
"So, (y/n), why are you working at such a wretched booth?"
"Family tradition. And I love Halloween."
"Hm," he said in a bored, thick tone. "I hate Halloween. I have to give out free candy, and planning out how to decorate the mannor is such a hassle."
"Halloween is fun," you countered, exiting from the small wooden door that stood between the booth and the rest of the fair after slipping the padlock onto the register. It clicked easily. "You need to stop being such a cynic."
He opened his mouth, but shut it again once he was allowed the full view of you. His eyes (or eye) dropped from your feet, to your beautiful dress, all the way up to your symmetrical face. You smiled at him softly, albeit slightly uncomfortable. "Something wrong? Am I spontaneously combusting?"
"Huh? No. I was just-" his voice trailed off. He did not finish his sentence. "I'll be back tomorrow. Then I'll beat that stupid game. There's nothing I'm unable to get past."
"Young Master? The carriage," the butler politely interjected. You had forgotten momentarily that he had been there the whole time. For some reason, you felt embarrassed.
"Sebastian? Book an opening in my schedule for four o' clock tomorrow. I intend to come back here."
"Of course, young master." Before the two departed, his gaze flickered on you for a millisecond. There seemed to be a knowing expression on his attractive face, and you nodded awkwardly at him. He lowered his head, and the master and his butler headed off quickly.
You thought nothing more of the encounter until the next day. You stood at your usual position, drumming your fingers on the cash register lazily. In front of you was a half-eaten piece of pumpkin pie, which you weren't technically supposed to have, but it was your stand, so you could really do whatever you damn well pleased. The sounds of pre-Halloween fun clouded your ears, and you enjoyed it. The occasional ping of a bell or scream of a child would sometimes catch you off guard, but you didn't mind. It was a slow day.
"Three darts, please."
You jerked your head upwards, having been focused on cutting another piece of your slice with the side of your fork. There stood Ciel, dressed in a dark gray with a glittering Jack O' Lantern brooch on his lapel. Sebastian was not there, but something gave you the impression that he hadn't been the one to choose the decorative piece for his outfit.
"You again," you said playfully, getting him the darts and handing them to him. "When are you going to give up?"
"I'm not," he said simply. "Now get out of the way, unless you'd prefer a dart through your e-"
"Okay, okay, I'm gone." You moved to the side, and he threw his miniature weapon. A complete miss. The second try was just as much of a bust, and the third was even worse than the first two.
"What are you laughing at?" He demanded, and you turned away so he couldn't see your cackles.
"You're very bad at this game."
"I am not. You're cheating."
"I'm not," you said truthfully. The kid was so bad you did not need to use your trick panel at all.
He suddenly thrust his fist into his pocket, and from it exhumed an enormous pile of coins, which he threw angrily in front of you.
"What's this for?"
"I'm going to play as long as it takes."
"Don't you have better things to do?"
He did not respond, so you gave him what he asked. For the next hour and a half, the two of you spoke about life. He was an introvert, quiet and shy, but bitingly sharp and clever. He wasn't much different from you. His archnemesis was a kid named Alois, who was 16, like you, and he sounded to be quite the prick. He liked chess and tea, and his butler Sebastian helped him sort things out in his enormous mansion. He spun tales of his quirky maid, along with the gardener and chef. He'd make insulting comments about them each ("The chef is quite possible one of the stupidest imbeciles I've ever had the displeasure of meeting in my life"), but from his tone of voice you supsected he was actually quite fond of them.
He did not talk much about his past, and you didn't blame him. He'd had a terrible childhood, and it would be cruel to force him to talk about it. You thought maybe he was a bit insecure about his childish features and height, by the way he scowled whenever he'd recount somebody disrespecting him for his age. He was vengeful, but he was not evil.
He was also a great listener. He'd ask you frequently about your life, feigning disinterest, but he never once interrupted or ignored you. He was not nice, but he was not cold, and that you liked about him- you weren't so fond of unneccesary affection, as you frequently expected the person to be making fun of you or plotting something against you, so his attitude was not a bad thing.
You were impressed. He was strong for somebody who had lost so much at such a young, fragile age, and had accomplished so much on his own, just with the hand of his butler. All jokes about his perserverence aside, he was riveting to you.
"Well, goodbye then," he'd said stoically to you as he departed later that evening, and you expected it'd be the last time you'd ever speak.
But the next day he returned. This time it was at your supper break, and you had just finished locking the booth. He approached you, hands on hips, and cocked an eyebrow. "If you're here to try your luck some more, too bad. It's closed."
"Oh," he said. He lingered for a few seconds, and then spoke again. "Would you like to come into the Haunted House with me? For our amusement?"
"Of course." You slung your bag over your shoulder and began walking with him to the house, spooky and dark, and he followed.
"I'd like to thank you," he said. "You were a very good companion to speak to. It is not often one comes across somebody like you in this day and age."
"No problem. I was just doing my job."
"Still, all the same."
You approached the house and there stood a woman in a black dress, her waist miniscule with a corset binding it, skirts spidery and long, and bodice low-cut. On her hands were lace fingerless gloves. "You two going in?" She was chewing on something, and she spoke with a drawling cockney accent.
"Yes," you said.
Before you could grab your change purse, Ciel ushered forward a couple of bills, and you raised your eyebrows. "Well, thank you."
"Why are you suprised? I feel it's quite obvious that I have a lot of money."
"I don't know. It was just how reluctant you were to spend money for the darts."
"Well, that was different," he said shortly. You proceeded through the doorway, where there were no lights, and saw that the walls were lined with black sheets. Ciel suddenly brought his body closer to yours, and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, without speaking.
"OOOOOOOHHHHHHHH," you heard from around one of the corners, and Ciel grit his teeth. Suddenly his hand was clasped around your wrist.
A figure danced into your line of sight, a white sheet draped over his body. He slowly made his way towards you, and Ciel's fingers tightened.
"What are you doing?" His hands were beginning to grow clammy.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "I'm protecting you. I thought you might be frightened."
"Ah," you said, turning another corner. Fake spiderwebs covered all of the walls, and on a small table was a glowing candle. Behind it was a girl, who you assumed to be dressed as a witch, attempting her best witchy laugh. From your peripheral vision, you could see Ciel's eye widen.
"It's just a girl in a costume," you whispered.
"Of course I knew that," he snapped. "I was suprised at how bad her costume was."
Further down was a couple of boys, both brandishing obviously rubber knives. Ciel's body suddenly moved from your left to your right, as far from the boys as possible, and his left hand immediately grabbed yours.
You didn't shake it off. In fact, you sort of liked it.
"BEWAREEEEEEE," laughed a boy with blond hair and fangs protruding from his mouth. He had a high-pitched voice and a smirk plastered across his pale face. Ciel stopped.
"Alois? What in the devil-"
"Ciel?"
"What is going on?"
Both boys turned to you. Alois turned his lips up nastily. "This your girlfriend?"
"Why are you working here?"
"Doesn't matter! You were so scared," the boy began to dance, his thin body flailing around the tiny room. "Scared Ciel, scared Ciel. You always act so brave and tough and you then whimper like a little baby-"
"-shut UP!"
"-and you need your little ugly GIRLFRIEND to protect you. What a joke!-"
Suddenly, your fist collided with his face. Your body went numb.
"Leave him alone, goddamn it." Blood was dripping in a thin, steady stream from the boy's porcelain nose. You didn't bat an eyelash. There was some sort of advantage living among the poorer working class, after all. And if this scrawny little shit was bothering your friend, who had proved himself to be admirable, you weren't going to stop yourself. Besides, it wasn't even like you'd hit him THAT hard.
Ciel gaped.
So did Alois.
You grinned.
Ciel's hand had not departed from yours.
"And don't call me ugly. Ever."
The two of you weaved through the rest of the halls, hand in hand, this time no longer scared. Ciel had still not spoken. When the two of you finally found the end, you were surprised at the chill of the air. The sun had set, and it was dark. The sounds of children and parents returned.
"Thank you for that," Ciel said. "Although it was a bit unnec-"
"He called me ugly. And he was being nasty to you. I didn't think you deserved it."
"Well, I could have stood up for myself."
"If you say so, mister earl of Phantomhive."
"Are you mocking me?"
"In the best of interest," you said, beaming. "Why do you think your little friend was working in there?"
He rolled his eyes. "I haven't a clue. I hate that idiot."
"Me too." You shifted. He stood in his place, looking at you quizzically. "I should be going-"
"Wait." His hand shot out and grabbed your forearm gently. You stopped in your tracks.
His eyes surveyed your face, and you stood unknowingly, furrowing your eyebrows at him. And then you realized what it was he wanted. He did not budge, though.
Just kiss him, you thought. You punched that Alois kid. How hard could kissing him be? And he's obviously not going to do it.
And then came the other side. You just met Ciel. You barely know him. Don't kiss him, it will only make things uncomfortable.
Do it.
Walk away. Now.
Kiss him, you moron!
And you did. Your lips touched his gently. For some reason, it surprised you that they were warm. He tasted like pumpkin spice. It was better than any 1-pence cider you could spend your money on. And this time, it was free.
He stood still for a second, but then his arms wrapped around your waist. You were a bit taller than him, but not by much, and you slipped your arms around his shoulders easily. His kiss was timid and mild, but you did not mind. It was simply how he was. He could never push affection far. And you didn't mind.
You pulled away. His face had gone crimson.
"Uh. Hello?"
"I just wanted to thank you again, but-"
"Oh my god, I am so sorry. What is wrong with me, I should NOT have done that. God, I'm world's biggest idiot-"
"No. I was going to, uh, say, I liked it. It was not bad."
"Really?"
"Yes. I'd like to, um, see you again, (y/n)."
"Of course."
His hand delicately made its way up to your face. He brushed a strand of (h/c) hair away from your eyes, his sapphire one following it as he did so. "You are a very beautiful girl."
"Well, thank you, I mean-" It was now your turn to flush bright pink.
"It's true. I can't believe I'm saying this."
"May I kiss you again, Earl Phantomhive?" Your lips twitched mischeviously as you stepped closer to him, grabbing both his hands.
"Yes."
And you did.

~~~
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