fuck it, WIP preview because im so slow churning out content these days
a/b/o Sebastian-is-a-therapist au
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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 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, either. It gave him a funny feeling down his spine, and the man’s English accent didn’t help.
A giant smile spread across Aunt Angelina’s face. “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; 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 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. The living room consisted of two leather couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle, a big TV over one of them. A bubbling fish tank near the window. 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 deafening silence besides the gentle bubble of the fish tank in the room.
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