Detention- High School AU Ciel X Reader

“Miss (y/l/n)!”
You squeezed your eyes shut at the brash words.
“Shit.” You had been so close to getting away with your plan. You could hear Mey Rin’s snickering as she dodged the corner, just missing Professor Michaelis’ line of sight. You rolled your eyes, reminding yourself to yell at her later on for abandoning you. Sheepishly, cheeks flushing bright red, you turned.
“Miss (y/l/n)?” The handsome teacher was now calmer, approaching you slowly. “Care to tell me why you’re not in class?”
“Uhh,” you paused, racking your brain, and avoided his narrowed glare. “I was just using the lavatory, Professor.”
“Mhm.” He circled you slowly, his footsteps echoing on the marbled floor. “Then why are you holding a bag of sweets and a coffee, as opposed to your books?”
Busted. You and Mey Rin, your closest friend, had skipped the utterly boring Shakespeare Studies hour to go out and buy some refreshments, which you both deemed perfectly reasonable. Besides, you would have fallen asleep in that class without caffeine or sugar to stimulate your brain anyway, so you would have been missing class either way. You were so close to not being spotted, but now everything had gone to shambles. And worse, you’d be getting all the blame for something Mey Rin was part of, too.
You were in a ton of trouble now.
God damn it.
“I, uh, crap,” you muttered under your breath.
“Detention after school for the next week, Miss (y/l/n). We don’t tolerate cutting important fundamental classes for going out and buying sweets.”
“Great.”
“You know where the detention hall is, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Report to your classroom now, or I’ll add another week of detention.”
You huffed and turned on your heel, shoulders slumped. At least you still had your candy. You listened as his footsteps resounded quieter and quieter, until you no longer heard them at all. As soon as he was out of earshot, you took off around the opposite corner you were supposed to. Mey Rin was about to have her ass kicked.

xxxx

“Doing time, huh, (y/n)?”
You looked over at your friend, Finny, as the two of you walked through the wide school halls. You had just turned around the corner to the infamous detention wing when he’d uttered the words, clear blue eyes widened. You guiltily smiled. He was so sweet and innocent. The idea of detention was as foreign to him as, say, skipping homework. He was your only freshman friend, but he was the only one of the lot you found tolerable.
“Yep.”
“Tsk, tsk. What’re you in for?”
“I went off campus with Mey Rin to buy snacks. Professor Michaelis caught me.”  
“Oh, no! He’s the toughest teacher of them all!”
You laughed. He was so genuine. “Yeah, I know. Hence the fact that I’m in for detention every day this week.”
“Well, at least he doesn’t run detention. Then it’d be worse.”
“Yep. Bye, Fin. I’ll be over your house later.”
He left, and you held your books tighter to your chest. This wasn’t your first time getting detention, and you knew how things worked. Either you sat and did nothing, did homework, or listened to music through headphones. Otherwise, you could get in an hour of dozing.
The hallway was somehow darker and paved with shadows, and your Mary Janes hitting against the floor echoed loudly. There was only one classroom in this area of the school, the detention room, which had a small window in the door, which was blocked off with red construction paper.
“Rules of the detention room,” you read out loud, a smirk playing at your lips. There was a large white poster pinned by its corners in the middle of the door. “1. No eating. 2. No talking. 3. No cell phones. 4. No music. 5. No cussing. 6. No sleeping.” You chuckled. “Yeah, okay.”
You opened the door and entered. It was an all-white room, from the ivory desks and the milk-colored walls to the too-small plastic chairs. There were only a few students occupying the room, most of which were staring off into space. Nobody looked up as the door slammed shut. The only one to react was the woman running detention, who turned around and smiled softly. “Sign in and take a seat.”
You edged to the back of the room, slammed your books onto a desk, slung your black backpack over the back of the chair, and plopped down. You crossed your legs, and then yanked up your thigh highs, which were rolling down.
Once finished with adjusting as soundlessly as possible, you surveyed your surroundings. At the desk adjacent to yours, a boy with hair so dark it almost let off a bluish glow sat, hunched over a notebook.
You drummed your fingers on your desk. He glanced up.
Only then you saw that he had a thick piece of gauze taped over his right eye. You were curious, but didn’t show too much attention, so he wouldn’t feel self conscious. You smiled politely.
He looked back, stoic. Not even a flash of a grin appeared on his young-looking face. You recognized this boy, but couldn’t remember when you’d ever seen him- probably when you passed him in the hallway as you both walked to class. He was remarkably short, and you wondered if he was a freshman.
Either way, he was kind of an asshole. He had shut his notebook and was now sitting up straight. You noticed he wore a wrinkle-free white button down, slightly oversized, tucked into crisp violet shorts that landed midway down his thigh. On his feet were plain black shoes.
He didn’t dress like most of the other boys in your grade. There was a fairly strict dress code, but most of them wore ugly sports jerseys with baggy jeans and absurdly expensive sneakers from Nike. You appreciated that he was dressed nicely, despite his attitude towards you. Most boys were too caught up with their masculinity to dress appropriately.
You pulled down the sleeves of your woolen gray jumper and narrowed your eyes at him. “So you’re just gonna ignore me?”
“Excuse me?”
He jutted his chin up at you, and a large piece of hair fell in front of his eyes. He angrily brushed it away.
“I smiled at you. I never smile at people. And you straight up ignored me. Ruuuude.” You were only halfway sarcastic, but played it off as a joke.
“I don’t smile at people.”
“Well, you're a little moody. Lighten up.”
“Excuse me?” he repeated, rising slightly in his seat. You raised your eyebrows at him expectantly, and he sat back down.
“I’m not fighting with a little boy who’s still in his emo phase. How old are you, thirteen? Fourteen?”
“No,” he snapped. “I’m sixteen. I’m your age. And I am NOT emo. How dare you even assume-“
“You’re in my grade?”
“For God’s sake, I’m in your Shakespearian Studies class.”
You stifled a snort.
“What the hell is it?” He was glaring at you, tapping his mechanical pencil on his desk sharply, and fidgeting his legs all at the same time.
“Nothing. That’s what I got detention for skipping. You know, I never noticed you in my class before.”
“I sit in the back. I despise most everyone in that class. A bunch of imbeciles-“
“Hey!”
“Not so much you, though.”
Your insides warmed. “How sweet. I’m not as moronic as the rest.”
“Do you have a sarcastic response to everything?”
“Yes.”
He turned away from you, but your eyes lingered on him. He had a sharp jawline, skinny face, and creamy white skin. On his wrist was a large watch. You were surprised you’d never noticed him, although you did have a faint memory of catching sight of him scribbling in the back of the class. He opened his notebook, flipped a few pages, and stopped at a blank sheet. He began scrawling words, ones you could not read from your position, and you sighed.
“What are you here for?”
He grunted. “You again?”
“I asked you a question.”
“I got into a fight with somebody.”
Your eyes widened, and you leant forward with morbid interest. “Really? Who?”
“Do you know Alois Trancy?”
Who was he kidding? Everybody at Pawn High knew who Alois Trancy was. He was a douchey, loud-mouthed popular boy in the grade above who was prominent in both theater and sports. He constantly disrupted class, flirted with anybody with a pulse, and insulted anybody who got in his way. You always avoided him, and luckily had never said more than two words to the boy.
“Of course.”
“Him and I detest one another.”
“I think everybody detests Alois Trancy.”
“Not his group of friends. Those wretched triplets- God, I hate them.”
You snickered. “What’s your name?”
“Ciel Phantomhive.”
“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n),” you said, brushing your (h/c) hair off of your shoulder. You smoothed your pleated skirt across your lap carefully, shifting in your chair. Your butt was starting to hurt from sitting, and you couldn’t wait to leave. Your eyes darted to the clock on the far end of the wall. It had only been ten minutes since detention started. Was time really dragging by that slowly?
“I know who you are,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You go around with Mey Rin, that freshman Finny, and the senior, Baldroy.”
“Mhm.”
“All of you are trouble-makers.”
“Really? How so? Finny wouldn’t do one rebellious thing if his life depended on it.”
“Well, for one thing, you’re in here-“
“-So are you.”
“And I see you and Mey Rin cutting classes all the time. And do you remember the time last year you and Baldroy were caught smoking in the field?”
“That was one time. Geez. How do you even know about that?”
“Everybody knew about that.”
“Enough about me,” you said, opening the textbook that lay on top of your small pile. You had intended to work, and so far nothing had been done. “Who do you hang out with, Phantomhive?”
“I prefer to keep to myself.”
“I see. And yet you’re speaking to me.”
“This was not my choice,” he muttered, his face suddenly turning a deep red. “You keep talking to me!”
“Right. But you have the right to not respond if you didn’t want to.”
“I-“ he furrowed his eyebrow and slammed his fists down. “Fine. You know what? I’ll ignore you now.”
“Okay. Have fun with that.” You turned to your books, flipped to the page on the French Revolution in your History textbook, and began scanning the material. You hardly cared if some emo boy with strangely proper speech patterns wanted to converse with you.
1789, fall of the church, democracy, Bastille, yadda yadda yadda. Who cares?
Bored, you ran your fingers over the text, scanning but not registering. Who even came up with the idea to teach this sort of thing? It happened so long ago! Besides, you weren't living in France, anyway, so what did this even have to do with you?
Fine, then. I’ll do some Trig.
You opened to the next textbook in line, which was dully titled “Study of Trigonometry and Mathematics: Grade 11”. As you opened the pages, a cloud of dust burst into your face, and you were suddenly enveloped in a coughing fit, causing everybody in your vicinity to turn and gawk at you shamelessly. As your chest heaved, you couldn’t help but think to yourself, well, that’s what I get for never doing any homework.
Subconsciously, you side-glanced at Ciel, who was glaring at you from under his swoop of black hair. You returned to what you were attempting to do, and minutes later you heard a snap, and then a slew of quiet curse words coming from the boy next to you
“Ciel, didn’t you read the RULES before you came in here? No bad words!”
“Do you have a pencil I could borrow? I ran out of lead for my pencil.”
“I thought you were ignoring me.”
“I’m not in the mood for such childish games. Do you have a pencil or not?”
“Fine,” you said, fishing through your bag to find one that was surely floating around at the very bottom. “Hope it doesn’t infringe on your masculinity if it’s a pink sparkly mechanical pencil.” Your fingers wrapped around a thin cylinder, and you pulled it from the black hole that was your bag. Sure enough, it was shimmery, and it was a rosy tinge.
“I don’t care what the color is.”
You tossed him the pencil, and he examined it distractedly. Within seconds, he was back to writing.
“What are you even writing in there?”
“You AGAIN?”
“I’m bored as hell, okay?”
“I’m writing poetry, if you’re really that interested. I can’t imagine why, though.”
“Ooh, poetry? Can I see?”
You would hardly admit it, but poetry was a habit you were fond of.
“Absolutely not!” He slammed the notebook shut and narrowed his eyes (or eye) at you. “What is it you’re trying to get from this?”
“I just wanna read something you’ve written. Come on, just one look?” You lowered your voice. “I write poetry sometimes, too.”
“Fine.” He opened his notebook to a random page, scanned the contents, and handed it to you gingerly. Your eyes flashed over the words.

Crimson flames will engulf all I hold dear
And yet ice still paves my heart.
I have seen hell
It is where I reside
Quiet and deadly
Raven sundrops.

“Wow.”
He moved uncomfortably, his face burning up even more than it had earlier, and you began flipping through the pages eagerly. Before you could read another word, he had snatched it out of your hands.
“I told you that you could read that one page, not every damn word I’ve written in that book.”
“Ciel, you’re really talented.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“No. I think you’re really smart. Why don’t you contribute more in class?”
“I told you, everyone is moronic.”
“Nah, I think you’re just shy.”
He was a violet shade now, his face twisted in anger and some other emotion you couldn’t catch hold of. “Shy? I am certainly not shy-“
“Yeah, whatever. I’d make fun of you for writing emo poetry if it weren’t for the fact that it’s actually really damn good.”
He seemed a bit flustered, but at this point he had composed himself. “Thank you.”
“What was that poem about?” Once the words slipped from your mouth, you knew you’d crossed your boundaries. He looked at you, studied your face, and for a minute you felt as though he was burning a hole in your (e/c) eyes. For a second, you saw a flash of pain in his normally expressionless cerulean eye.
“None of your business,” he finally snapped.
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Thirty minutes,” came the monotonous voice that belonged to the detention lady. You breathed a sigh of relief. Soon enough you’d be out of this confining dungeon. It hadn’t been all bad, though. Ciel was a strange, yet interesting person to hold your attention. He was cute in a way you weren’t sure of. Childish, almost, yet you could see from his under eye circles he had been forced to grow up fast. He was intelligent, you could decide that much for yourself, and you admired how he wasn’t afraid to write his feelings. Teenage boys normally cowered from that sort of behavior. You were surprised you hadn’t noticed him sooner, although he remained quiet most of the time.
For the rest of detention, you read the engravings in your desk, littered with graffiti and engravings. Aside from profanities, you could make out the phrases, “anarchy over capitalism”, “don’t trust what the system tells you”, “i hate my life”, and “only two more years 1982.” Hm. Strange to think that desk had been around for that long. Had any updates been made to the detention room since it was first constructed? The walls were plain and chipped, it seemed, and the desks were old and made from real wood rather than the snazzy plastic wood that had come in the latter years.
“Detention is dismissed.”
You could hear the scraping of chairs and scrambling of eager students who were ready to go to practice, or their friends’ house, or simply home to sleep. When you looked up, after gathering your books together and returning your things to your bag, everybody had already ducked out, including the teacher.
Your eyes fell over to where Ciel had been sitting, and it was then that you realized he’d left his marble notebook that he’d been scribbling in so furiously. You were apprehensive at first, but when you thought about it, it made sense. Your hands danced over the cool surface, and within seconds, your heart pounding, the notebook was tucked away safely in your bag. You’d give it a read later. For now, you wanted to get the hell out of there.

xxxx

“Ciel Phantomhive? You know him?” Finny’s attention was set entirely on you, as you relayed the tales from the detention room to your friends.
“Well, now I do.”
“He’s kinda cute, dontcha think?” Mey Rin was sitting on Finny’s sky blue bed, filing her nails and scrolling through her phone.
You shrugged.
Bard laughed, reached for a cigarette, and was about to light it when Finny lunged forward from the spot on the ground he had been sitting on. “No smoking in the house! I’ve told you a hundred times!”
“Am I the only one who didn’t know about this boy’s existence?”
“Pretty sure,” Bard said, tucking away his cigarette pack. “So what exactly was the point of you telling us this? So what, you met a moody boy in detention.”
“Well, he left his notebook behind.” You reached into your back and pulled out the battered old book, presenting it like a trophy. “Aaaand-“
“You’re gonna invade his privacy?” Finny’s mouth was gaping, and you rolled your eyes dismissively.
“Yep. He left it lying around, anyway. So what?”
“Ooh,” Mey Rin said. “I love sensitive boys. Especially poetic ones.”
You thumbed through the pages until you found the last page he’d written in. Graphite smudges covered the whole sheet, and his handwriting was small and messy. You read it quietly to yourself, and then paused in shock.

She
She, she is intoxicating
(h/c) ocean, glittering
Mouthy, enthused
Enthralling
And yet we’ve only just met
What am I to do?
(y/n)

“Uh… guys… I think he’s been writing poetry about me.”
“Huh?”
“Actually, he’s definitely been writing poetry about me.”
In a split second, the three were surrounding you, reading over your shoulder and taking in the words, and suddenly you felt guilty. You’d read into this boy’s thoughts, thoughts that were most definitely private.
But all the same, you couldn’t help but feel flattered. And… something else. Your stomach was infused with a jittery feeling you rarely felt. He liked you! He thought you to be enthralling. He compared your average, unkempt hair to an ocean.
“Oh my,” Mey Rin said, eyes wide. Finny seemed shocked, while Bard was cackling.
“Wha’ a pretentious asshole!” he laughed, throwing his head backwards as he let out guffaw after guffaw.
“I don’t think we should do any more reading. I feel bad.”
“What are you going to do?” Finny asked.
What WERE you going to do? You had no idea.
With a shrug, you changed the subject. “How about we watch some anime? I’ll figure this out tomorrow.”
And, for the rest of the evening, the four of you watched Madoka Magica on Netflix while you tried to clear your mind.

xxxx

The bell rang.
Shakespearian Studies.
If it were any other day, you’d be dreading the class. Your teacher was horribly boring, and you always found yourself out cold when she droned on and on about Macbeth. However, today, your heart was jumping as you sorted out what you were going to say to Ciel.
You walked through the doorway, your best blue mini skirt ironed perfectly and swaying neatly at your mid-thigh.Your woolen ivory knee socks itched, but that was hardly what was on your mind. At the back of the class, Ciel was unpacking his things.
“Hey, Ciel?”
He turned, flinching at his name, his expression softening when he saw you.
“You, uh, left your notebook in the detention room. I kinda thought I should take it before some asshole took it.”
You placed the book on his desk and looked at him, nervous that somehow he’d be able to read you and know you’d read the poem. And, looking up at you, he almost looked like he knew.
“You didn’t, uh, read any of this, did you?” He gestured to the book with a jerk of his head.
You didn’t respond. He sighed.
“Uh, thanks for comparing my hair to an ocean. That was really nice of you. And, you know, being called enthralling was pretty nice too. Don’t be embarrassed.”
Of all the times you’d seen him blush in your short period of acquaintance with him, this was the deepest shade of red you’d ever seen him become.
“Just leave. I don’t wish to hear any mocking. God, how could I be so-“
You set your hand on his shoulder. “-Ciel, I think you’re wonderful. You’re talented, and so different from all the other assholes at this dumb school.”
“I-uh-agh. Thank you.”
You bent over so you could be at his eye level, smiling playfully. His one eye, covered in gauze, presumably was angled at you. You blinked nervously, and then decided to just go for it. He was cute, he was smart, and, most importantly, he was interested. So why not make the leap?
Your lips touched his gently. You felt him kiss back, slow and soft, and that was that. He tasted vaguely of Earl Gray tea, your favorite.
And then it was over. The kiss was finished, short and sweet. You never were a fan of excessive PDA. You stood up. Both of you were tinted rosy in the cheeks, you were sure of that.
“Thanks for the poem, Ciel. I find you pretty enthralling too.”