you say you want your love to work out right

[faking]

Who: alois (too hot) trancy; ciel (too cold) phantomhive
When: tues., oct 16, afternoon.
Where: ciel's office, and then some.
Summary: They probably each suspected it was too good to last.
Warnings: Language? Probably yandere themes? They don't have the greatest hearts. Also slow tags, I'll bet. hurr

It might be cliché, but he lives for that: Alois wakes with a start.

The plush chair yards away from Ciel's desk is a good napping place, and Alois finds himself there sometimes when he's too tired to keep his eyes open during the day. It's nice, because Ciel's presence isn't too far away, and it's probably nice for Ciel too because Alois isn't antagonizing him. Compromise. Usually, then, Alois sleeps easy.

Dreams don't generally color his naps or nights, and he certainly isn't one to be plagued by nightmares all the time. Claude Faustus was the one to dictate the play of Alois' consciousness, more often than not, and while nightmares were sometimes a useful tool to develop Alois' dependency, they don't and almost never have come as frequently, as, say - Ciel Phantomhive's. So, when it comes down to it, Alois simply hasn't built up much of an immunity to dreamy spooks...

His head jerks up from its resting place on back of the chair; his eyes come open quickly. His brows are furrowed, and his skin is chalky and cool, and his lips are parted to accommodate the suddenly labored breaths he must take. Bats and centipedes and stinging beetles, and no spiders to eat them. Was it his skin crawling, or were they underneath...?

He puts his hand to his forehead, mussing his fringe, astounded at his own mind. This isn't normal for him, and it leaves him shaken. He wants his face held right now.

Comments

[littlest_lord]

"What can I do for you then? You know I hate to see you upset." And it was the truth. The last thing Ciel wanted was Alois tearful and inconsolable.

[faking]

"Nothing, I don't know, I don't know if there's anything to do." He rubs his eyes again, and squeezes Ciel's hand. "Claude, if he were here, Claude would fix it, but when it's like this, I don't know..."

[littlest_lord]

And that's when things turn icy. Any concern that Ciel might've been showing melts away in an instant. His expression hardens and his visible eye narrows. Words taste sharp in his mouth.

"Claude would fix it? Of course. I'm incapable of anything but that bastard can surely set everything right."

[faking]

Surprised, Alois looks at Ciel and draws his hand back, but realizes his mistake and reaches for it again straight away. "I meant because— of course he can fix dreams." Bumble. He supposes he can mend it if he links fingers with Ciel, though.

[littlest_lord]

Linked fingers could only mend so much. Ciel let his hand be taken again, but it did little to quell his irritation.

"Of course."

Saying less speaks volumes in this instance.

[faking]

It does speak volumes, and Alois is much more apprehensive for it. "You know I didn't mean it like that. You do, don't you? My dreams have always been his domain. That's all."

Alois Trancy is not especially skilled at saying good things.

[littlest_lord]

"And now he's gone."

Ciel doesn't want to hear about what constitutes Claude's domain. He doesn't want to hear it at all.

"What else is his then? Since we're on the subject."

[faking]

That's a cold blow, though perhaps more warranted than Alois understands. He winces back, regains himself, and goes harsh instead, pulling an expression that he doesn't often use on Ciel anymore: if Ciel is chilly, Alois is molten. He drops Ciel's hand again, but this time he makes no move to reclaim it.

"You should know better than to ask me to answer that."

[littlest_lord]

Fire and ice - they've always been opposites and yet eerily mirrored in one another. The temperature in the room might've risen for Alois, but for Ciel it's dropped.

"I think I've every right to ask you to answer that. If I'm to marry you, I deserve to know what will be mine when I swear 'I do'. Or am I no better than a mistress to your heart, Alois Trancy?"

[faking]

His mouth is half a sneer, half a smirk, though he doesn't feel like smirking at all. It's reflex, to make faces like he's looking at something lowly. It makes him feel further away from the situation— and this is definitely a situation he'd like to be far from. So the shape of his lips lie for him.

"What, Ciel, what? Do you think I'm going to cross my fingers at the altar or something? That's nice, yes, thank you. But don't fucking act like you don't play the lying game just as well. And don't act like you have more of yourself to lord over me." It's a sore spot. Ciel is just as splintered - or, almost. Never mind the heart, at least.

He touches a finger to just underneath his right eye, smarmy the whole time, and then spreads his arms wide in gesture. "Because if you want to put it that way, you can have as much of me as you can see."

He knows his cheeks are still pale from his fright, and he knows it's made worse by how awful this is making him feel, but he doesn't have it in him to be pliant. He's a pot of water left too long on the stove, and his insides are hissing fiercely, now.

[littlest_lord]

"I can see ALL of you!"

His heart drops into his stomach and he can feel it fizzle and hiss, eaten away by the acid that boils there. He can feel it creeping up his throat, burning and causing steam to rise to his head.

"When have I ever lied to you?! Answer me that, Alois Trancy. When? You've lied to me ever since you met me. You had the audacity to keep my soul in a bloody tea tin and I even forgave you for it! Like a fool I've bent to your will, I've put up with annoyances and fits and you turn it around and throw it back in my face."

Tiny fingers reached up to rip the eyepatch off his eye, teeth grit.

"Do you think I want anything to do with this contract anymore?! It's worth nothing! Unlike you I don't fall into despair because Sebastian won't love me. The very thought of it makes me ill. I'd tear out my eye with my own fingers if I ever thought I'd fall sick enough to think of him so fondly like you do Claude!"

He lets the eyepatch drop to the floor, trying to steady his breathing.

It's all Ciel can do to refrain from ripping the ring off his finger and throwing it in Alois' face.

[faking]

Before Alois can stop it, his chin trembles, but he reigns it in quickly. "If you think you can see all of me right now, then we really don't understand each other." The words rising out of his throat feel like needles or sharp teeth or black fingernails. "And if you don't understand me, you did lie." He shakes his head curtly, angrily, and squeezes his eyes shut. "I can't hate everyone who hurts me, Ciel. Not like you do."

And he flares up, suddenly, looking at Ciel's face through wet, clinging eyelashes, cheeks gone from white to pink in his fury. His voice raises, too. "Guess fucking what, Ciel, having a heart doesn't make me less than you!" The sneer comes back. "You think I'm sick, but you can't rightly claim to be any better than me."

(That's why I love you so much, you know?)

[littlest_lord]

"And now I haven't a heart, do I? I'm heartless, is that it?"

He wants to vomit. He wants to tear his hair out and puke his guts right there out onto the floor. It's now, in this large spacious office, he takes note of how much taller Alois has grown in comparison to him. Offhandedly, some part of him realizes that it won't be near a month before Alois has his birthday again.

"Maybe I don't want to have a heart anymore! Maybe I'm sick and tired about caring and worrying over others. All it does is make me ill. All it does is make me want to hang myself."

Tiny hands have formed fists then, as he holds them at his sides. Alois' eyes may be damp, but his are ice cold.

"And I don't hate everyone. You hurt me plenty and yet I'm enough of an idiot to ask you to marry me. Maybe I am mad. No, I certainly am."

[faking]

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."

[1/2]

[littlest_lord]

"I don't WANT to know about him! I'm sick and tired of him and hearing his name! I've had to put up with his damned existence for far too long, forced and kicked into a corner like some discarded dog, waiting pathetically to be thrown a bone. Do you know what it's like to be told you're a tool? That you're nothing better than a doll to be used for someone else's happiness? Have you any idea how badly I wanted to simply lay down and die while you were mourning? How sick and tired seeing you like that made me? And then, when he left, I feared you'd fall into the same vat of despair as you had before?"

He's yelling again now, throat raw. Everything Ciel looks at is tinged with red. His right eye hurts, throbbing in his skull. Maybe if he was lucky it'd fall out like Break's had at dinner.

"It'd be an easier existence as a statue. I'd much rather prefer it."

Choking. He feels like choking. The bile in his throat stings and he can taste it on his tongue. His head is spinning and everything about this is awful. He should've just been compliant. He should've just let it slide as he usually does. But no, today he'd snapped. Today was just enough to push him over.

[2/2]

[littlest_lord]

Alois had said his insides hurt, that he'd rather his heart in a blender. Ciel'd rather his heart cut out and buried in a coffin. Where was Undertaker when you truly needed him?

"Do you realize, have you truly realized, that you are the only reason I bother to try and exist anymore? The purpose I've given myself so I don't drown myself in a bath tub every time I look at myself in the mirror? The reason I drag myself out of bed every morning and try to put on a decent face to everyone around me? That I sit down and do all this god awful boring drudgery called paperwork so you can go spend money on whatever frivolous stuff suits your fancy? So that everyone living under this roof can want for naught? Am I still too stony for your liking?"

His legs feel weak, knees unstable. He wants to fall to the ground and fall through the floor, down and down until he'd be buried below.

"I'm not happy, Alois. I haven't been for years. I want to be, but I don't think I'll ever be allowed to be. The damned aren't allowed such things, so why did I ever convince myself that it was still possible for me, despite everything that has happened?

Why did I think it was possible for someone to love someone like me and nothing else? What sort of delusion have I been entertaining?"

Because he'd never be good enough for it. He'd never be enough for anyone.

[faking]

First and most immediate, a scoff. "Oh, you're tired of it, are you, tired of hearing a name, of Claude, Claude, Claude, Claude, CLAUDE FUCKING FAUSTUS, is that what you're tired of?!" It's shrill near the end as the blood rises to his face, and his lashes are dropping tears again. He hates hearing all of this, mostly because a lot of it is true. He wishes he could wheedle sweeter lies out of Ciel. That would be nice.

A rush of air leaves his lungs, and he feels surprisingly winded. He swallows, to steady his throat, and looks at Ciel more evenly now, with far less blind fury. "I would never mourn for Claude like that," Alois snaps. "It's not the same." He raises his chin defiantly, a challenge, eyes like dry ice at this point, his tears an odd contrast to the hard light over his irises. "That's how I'd mourn for you, though."

Hopefully that means something.

He ought to be speaking more softly. His heart should be more gentle. Don't say that, Ciel. Have a life, Ciel. But it isn't fair, that Ciel doesn't understand— "You're fucking stupid," he says defensively. "I never wanted - I never wanted you to do all that—" He bites his lip, steels himself again. "I always want you to stop working. You idiot, I always want to sit with you and see your face whether or not it's decent. And need I remind you that I still have one demon left to me?" The heel of his boot grinds against the carpet. "Do you honestly think we'd run dry, that our house would crumble to dust if you just put down your shitty pens for a while? Hannah would sooner feed you pies till you pop, stupid!"

—Oh. When did that happen? Suddenly he's crying in earnest, all anger seemingly vanished, unable to convey himself and hating everything for it. He doesn't know what to say, much less how to say it. This is a really terrifying experience. He rubs at his face fervently.

"I want to be a good reason for you, but how the hell am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to do that if I can't even convince you that I love you so much?" Many words don't come out smoothly; Alois feels like he's being punched in the ribs from the inside, and he can't stand straight for how his crying weighs on his own shoulders. "I don't—"

He covers his mouth to stifle himself - not so much his crying as his words - and then bites his palm as he makes himself stand up straight again. His tears are still coming freely, but his throat seems to be obeying him. He looks in Ciel's direction, but past him. His hands are very trembly.

"It's true, what I said. I'm sure Hannah could produce well enough on her own." His chin juts up again, and the habitual sneer is just barely making itself known. "So I won't be spending any of your earnings on this holiday I'm taking." It's like someone's pouring steak knives down his gullet. "An indefinite holiday. I'll be taking Hannah with me, but your servants will do fine without her." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just, I need, I'm taking a holiday. I don't care."