That's not what I meant, I didn't mean it like that, you're right; I'm a liar and I'm lying right now. Alois doesn't say any of those things, of course. That would be much too decent of him. "You aren't mad, you're just stupid." (I'm stupid.) His voice is lower again, both in tone and volume, and - ah, there it is. Time for tears over his cheeks, though they come sparsely for now. "I'm always trying to make you pleased. I'm always trying to make you smile. Have you any idea how fucking hard it is to think of new things to do for you? I think I've tried everything."

He breathes in deeply, sharply, and presses his fists to his eyes.

"I'm trying and trying. I always try! But don't you get it? My insides hurt so badly and I don't know what to do!"

And, so easily, from self-pity to rage: "I'd rather have my shitty heart in a fucking blender than this. And you think I want that for you? I don't care if I'm selfish! I don't care if it's selfish to want things for you! You - you act like it's so easy for me to love people, but it's not and fuck you for thinking it. It's the hardest thing ever, Ciel. The only difference is that I'm not - crafted from fucking marble!"

That final outburst leaves him redder than pink, and with salty cheeks. His eyes are brighter for crying, too. He's seething; his teeth are grit; and his eyebrows can't decide whether to knit together out of anger or despair.

He will always be dramatic, even though legitimate aching.

One more slips out— "You won't ever know, about Claude, and I can't expect you to. But don't act like you do."