Oposite Paths

Kyoya looked over at the boy. Surely, he should have let him keep going on his own, beacuswe Kyoya was busy. He didn’t have time to deal with a kid that obviously didn’t want anything to do with him. But Kyoya found himself to be too nice. Especially considering his entire family was full of doctors - and if he walked into any hospital, he could practically do whatever he wanted. 

Bending at the waist, Kyoya spoke. 

“My name is Kyoya Ootori. My father is the benefactor to almost all hospitals and clinics in Yubari and Hinamori.” He straightened, keeping a rather plain face. “Please allow me to replace your stolen items. You can think of it as an “I owe you” kind of deal. I cannot allow you to continue on your way without the items that you so clearly need.” 

Kyoya felt that it was always good to have people owe you something. That way he always got what he wanted. And honestly, Kyoya really couldn’t care less about whatever bullshit story this kid was telling him. At least he could have some sort of chain tied around his ankle. 

Well wasn’t he a insistent one. He was still baffled at how this entire city seemed to be wrapped around it’s own obsession with paying forward any sort of karmic justice they could; a jarring difference to his own self centric England where every man for himself included stepping on any poor soul in the gutter to be just that much higher...

That wasn’t to say Ciel was a fool, it took more than a few hundred years to breed out the selfish nature that lived in all humans; and even as this man leaned down to his height did he see not a benefactor but a patronizing man wearing the mask of a saint.

“He that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.” 

Kyoya just needed to get to work. Palette was slowly starting to pick up some regulars, and he was already late. Well, late for being early enough to be there for opening. Coming right from classes and going right to work would ultimately kill him. There was no time for sleep, and if it wasn’t for the food Palette provided to their guests, Kyoya probably wouldn’t eat. 

Granted, he was more than exhausted, practically a dead man walking. And he should have been paying attention as he hurried toward their building. It was partially his fault when he ran into the boy in front of him. He was about to start on a lecture to this kid about how paying attention was, but when he let his eyes focus on him, he could help but feel pity for him.

“I’m fine,” He murmured, reaching out to help steady the boy by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

And while Kyoya wasn’t a doctor (yet), almost everyone in his family was, and he could tell that something was not right. 

He noticed the hand over his eye. “Is your eye alright?” Kyoya sincerely hoped that that wasn’t his doing. 

It has entirely habit that Ciel tossed his shoulder, intent of removing the hand that had settled upon it. Regardless of the good intentions this man carried in his contact; Ciel by nature hated to be touched.

Unsteady on his feet, he kept one hand firmly over his eye; the other groping to grasp the light-post had been using as his anchor before his unfortunate collision. 

“Why, yes, that would be correct,”

between Izaya and- well, himself, technically this elaborate undercover scheme was not all that necessary. The grin on his face? Priceless. So merry, so fake, yet well crafted to be that of genuine enjoyment. Certainly because seeing this little boy, composed of pride, eat the dirt in which he used to step on, was the best thing he had ever encountered since coming to this rather…unusual…island.

When the Phantomhive child first appeared on Izaya’s doorsteps, why, he had a field day. The mere concept that someone could be both arrogant and needy at the same time rather tickled him. Oh, at first he laughed, laughed for a solid ten minutes, then cooled himself, producing a state as serious as it could get. Talking to a thirteen, whatever, year old, and one who seemed to be on the same level as himself, deemed itself quite unusual, yet, utterly fulfilling.

Without Namie, Izaya functioned well enough, yet the emptiness of having no one to nag concluded to be mere torture. Ciel, unbeknownst to himself, fit the bill swimming as a replacement secretary, and thus this scene here develops. 

It takes all of his will power not to laugh at the boy– he even nearly misses sight of the target because the amusement lapped up from Ciel briefly shined over the main objective. Poised readily to play along, a sharp something pricks his hand, stopping his amusement ever so briefly. First Izaya assesses, and, upon discovery, the smirk on his face hikes right back up again. Ah, the little shit.

“You wanna see the ponies?” He teases, edging over to Ciel’s level (in height), and while some might have heard it as a playful voice- it actually screamed patronizing. 

“Well, it’s gonna be rather difficult to see them all the way down there, no?” Without missing a beat, Izaya wiggles his hand free of utter torture, and bends down to clasp his slender hands around the waist of the little brat.

“Up we go!” Such glee leaked from that malicious mouth as he heaved the boy upwards, at least into his arms and-

by God he was no Shizu-chan.

What was it with this city and manhandling him. In his own time; there was one man and one man only who dared lay a hand on him, let alone lift him up into his arms like he was something precious and yet... Everywhere he turned someone was laying a hand on him for some reason or other.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t say a word about it. As far as the flocks of people around them were concerned they were nothing more than a father and son enjoying the carnival... Oh how Izaya would hear about his displeasure later.

He was fuming behind his mask of a contented child a storm was raging against his chest. That sickening tone that dripped from feigned words served no purpose other than to remind him just who had the shorter end of this deal; his only solace in that quick flash of pain he saw as his nails broke skin.

Though he was given no time to gloat in his ‘victory’ before he felt the man’s hands close around his waist.

He wouldn’t dare.

.... Or he would. With no warning the boy found himself hoisted into the air and settled in Izaya’s arms; doing all he could to fight the humiliated burn from filling his face as he kept the well rehearsed smile painted where it should be. Izaya was a dead man.

In theory his position allowed him to scout out their target from a perfect vantage point, also allowing for close communication without suspicion but for all purposes... He was still being held in the arms of the older man, forced to sling his arms around Izaya’s neck to keep himself balanced and comfortable as his knees locked at the man’s hips. ... Dead. He was a dead man. Two could play this game. If Izaya was to have twisted amusement at his expense than why should he be the only one having to hold tight to character.