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[alois-the-real-boy]

SAY YOU’LL HAUNT ME || alois & annie

@annie-perrault​

[[ The blanket of grief Kaiser’s death left in his wake has been exhausting, which either does or doesn’t mean much coming from the thoughts of someone who’s perpetually exhausted, anyhow. Alois has been avoiding reminders and conversations about the man at all cost; he didn’t go to the funeral, doesn’t care to address the politics. He resolutely pushes down the idea that the man’s Infection is what killed him, dubbing it ridiculous conjecture — both because they don’t have enough information, and because Alois doesn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t want to believe that, on top of all of the other horrible things his Infection has done to him, it might just kill him, too.

Despite the thick swirl of emotions permeating the colony, Alois hasn’t forgotten his sort-of promise to Orson and to himself; he wants to talk to Annie, offer what explanation he can even if there’s the full potential she still won’t have anything to do with him. The excuses — because that’s what they feel like to him — aren’t good ones. But that doesn’t change the fact that, as Orson said, she deserves to know.

Part of the issue was their paths had been crossing even less than usual this past week, which was saying a lot when they were already fairly hell-bent on avoiding each other in this small colony and their even smaller shared house. Alois could pick Annie’s heartbeat out a mile away, marred and quickened with caffeine and anxiety — and for the first time, as he descends the stairs at some unfortunate-early hour of the morning, he can hear those stuttering beats in some far corner of the common room.

Alois pauses just inside the doorway, his own heartbeat quickening faintly to match. These days he’d normally turn heel and walk back upstairs, let her have the comfort of the room without the discomfort that lingered between them. Tonight, though, he takes the opportunity for what it is; he closes his eyes, takes a careful breath, shoves his hands deep into his pockets, and finally takes a few uncharacteristically tentative steps into the room. Only when he has her attention does he speak, head tilted to the side and voice little more than a murmur. ]]

Hi, Annie. … can we talk? [[ He tries to phrase and tone it in such a way as to suggest she’s well within her rights to say ‘no, we can’t,’ and he’ll respect that and move on. The look in Alois’ eyes, however, doesn’t manage to mask the pleading nearly as well. ]]

[alois-the-real-boy]

CONFESSIONAL || alois & teilo

T. AISLING​:

[ ‘My opposite.’ On the contrary, Teilo has come to know Alois as quite a sensitive man. Underneath the cool facade, the stoic sullenness, is a bleeding, broken heart. At least, this is the Alois that Teilo sees, the one he has had the pleasure of getting to know. Perhaps many would disagree, but perhaps many do not know the Alois that Teilo does. Something whichTeilo does not take for granted.

He says the word, before he explains—’delusions’. And just like that, Teilo understands where this must be going. Death, abandonment, illness… he couldn’t be sure which, but what he does anticipate, is tragedy.

For a couple of moments, at least, he describes the things Lise was experiencing with a sort of detached neutrality. Fact, fact, theory—an attempt to better digest the truth, Teilo presumes. A way to make it easier to repeat. But minute by minute, Alois’ demeanour becomes increasingly strained. His fingers fidget, his knuckles whiten as they grip the pew, or the slick surface of his mechanized arm. The words are hurting him—but more than that, Teilo gets the impression this thing cloaking his friend like a blanket of barbed wire and tar is… guilt.

It becomes clear soon enough. Mouth gently parted, brows tilted and heavy, he aches for his friend in a way that makes him wish he were less analytical than he is. People may sometimes accuse Teilo of being charming and warm—a compliment about which he is flattered—but regardless, he feels somewhat inadequate with uncomplicated comfort. Something without opinion, or problem solving. Just simple, empathetic console.

But he feels this as much as he could feel anything else because Teilo knows the love and loyalty of siblings, and he knows the pain of leaving them behind. But he’d left Brenin not alone, but with their parents. Not petrified and suffering, but relatively safe and taken care of. He can not imagine this torment Alois must be feeling.]

Alo… [He reaches to take Alois’ hand under his own. He’s at a loss, in a way, because nothing he can say can fix this, can truly mollify Alois’ pain.] My dear friend, I am so, so sorry. I can’t even imagine… [And indeed, words can’t even express it. For once, he feels like his language doesn’t measure up, like his vocabulary is inadequate. His hand tightens briefly around his friend’s.] What happened to you, and to her—none of it is your fault, I hope you know. I understand what you may be feeling about leaving her and I don’t blame you for a second… but the world has also brought upon us unspeakable tragedy and change no one could have anticipated, and absolutely no one controls. You are not responsible for that, Alois.

[[ Alois genuinely didn’t know what to expect from this exchange — he’d never told anyone before, obviously, so he didn’t know what to anticipate in a reaction. The way Teilo nearly whispers his voice and the warmth of his hand aren’t unexpected, but Alois still doesn’t know what to do with them. He doesn’t pull away but he doesn’t reciprocate the touch, either, staring down at Teilo’s hand covering his like it’s something foreign.

And it is, honestly. He doesn’t seek comfort, especially not for this, because he doesn’t think he deserves it. He doesn’t think he deserves Teilo’s kind words and his justifications, even if he understands them broadly to be true. ]]

I’m not responsible for what happened to her, but I am responsible for my reaction to it, [[ he finally says, though his voice is more tired than providing much bite. ]] In the same way that her Delusion wasn’t my fault, but leaving her was. [[ Alois shakes his head, pursing his lips. ]]

This is why I hate my Infection. This is why I want nothing more than to get rid of it. [[ Venom creeps around the edges of his voice, tightens the muscle in his jaw. ]] If I hadn’t developed it, I could’ve stayed with her. Weathered the storm. Instead it’s just made me… weak. Weak, and miserable. [[ He can’t think of any more apt way to put it. ]] If I hadn’t developed it, she wouldn’t be out there, alone, wondering- [[ Alois falters, throat tightening and eyes picking hotly. ]] Wondering why her brother, who was supposed to love and protect her, just left.

[alois-the-real-boy]

breaking marble | alois & clove {ruina rex: funeral}

C. MODIUS​:

{Alois’ response is far more curt than he had been expecting and it takes several moments of deep thought before the realisation hits. Ah. Of course. Sure enough, in the PDD’s message history lies the proof; their last text-conversation had been stifled and unpleasant on Clove’s side, everything thrown awry after Kaiser’s death.

Clove can’t fault the reaction his message is met with, for several reasons, but it still manages to give him pause. He considers not dignifying Alois with a response but changes his mind soon after. It is well-deserved irritation after all.

The bottle thuds heavily against the desk after he sets it down with a little too much force, free hand running through his hair in frustration. Sometimes it seems like there’s so much he wants to say to Alois only to be hindered by his own inability to come to terms with what exactly it is he’s feeling.

Sighing, Clove begins to type out several replies, each one deleted before he can get himself to hit the send button. The alcohol helps mute some of his stronger inhibitions but it’s still not quite enough. Only eventually does he settle on something and sends it off before he can change his mind yet again.}

‘Can we taLk? i understand you’rr angry at me but Fuck. I cha nüm so witer mache. Du bisch z’einzige i därä schiis wäut wo no sinn macht.’

[[ Clove doesn't respond right away, but Alois doesn't manage to fall back asleep — a light doze at best, one that lets his mind wander to concern as sleepiness starts to take it and his irritation bleeds away. He knows Clove was upset with the way things went with Kaiser because he lashed out, and Clove no longer seems to lash out at Alois unless he's upset.

Alois likes to think, anyway.

It's not an excuse, though, and Alois is just awake enough to be irritated again when his PDD chimes a second time. An airy scoff leaves his lips at 'Can we taLk?', but he quiets again as he continues reading. 

He'd always meant to polish his German more; the language of his grandparents, on his mother's side. But time had been in short supply for him before the apocalypse, and learning a fourth language tended to fall by the wayside.

Alois remembers enough, though; enough to pick out, 'you're the only one in the world that makes sense.'

He buries his face in his hands and groans softly. Anyone else, and he'd be convinced it was a line. Maybe it's still a line, coming from Clove, but a genuine one tempered with stress and drink. It’s enough that Alois doesn't have the heart to retort meanly.

He steadies his PDD against the pillow beside him so it doesn't clack around his artificial wrist typing his response. ]] 'We can talk. I'm just in my dorm, but I can meet you somewhere.' [[ And much like Clove, Alois has to send it off quick before he changes his mind. ]]

[alois-the-real-boy]

quiet words // dot & alois

D. SPECKTER​:

[She placed her hand on his arm, head still on his shoulder. Lise… It was a nice name.] I think it’s wrong to assume, but I do it all the time so I can’t really make that judgement. [A pause.] Yes. I do think you were wrong.

[Moving her arm back, she played with the frayed edges of her sweater once more, staring down at the floor.] You know, you’re probably the closest friend I have. [One of the only proper friends she has. Dot had no clue how that’d happened, she didn’t have a nice personality, she knew that. However, for some reason, he had chosen to be around her.] No matter what dumb shit you do or say, I might get mad, but I’ll always stick around. So never worry about that okay? [It wasn’t until the words had come out of her mouth that she groaned, that was too much emotional attachment for her liking.] God, that was embarrassing.

.

[[ ‘I do think you were wrong.’ Alois glances down towards his lap, nodding faintly. Not what he wanted to hear, naturally, but what he needed to. That was probably one of the reasons he liked Dot so much; like him, she didn’t often see the reason to mince words.

She continues, though, and… it surprises him. Maybe it shouldn’t, since Alois feels largely the same way, but maybe he’d also not expected things to be equal — for whatever reason. Except he was usually the one feeling less, not more. ]]

Thank you, [[ he says quietly, genuinely, giving Dot another careful squeeze even as he starts to smile, a faint and earnest thing. ]] Me, too, you know? [[ Only now does he pull his arm back, collecting his hands into his lap to inspect the contrast of them. ]] You mean a lot to me. And I wouldn’t blame you if you get mad at me sometimes, [[ Alois adds, with both an air of humor and absolute truth. ]] But… it also means a lot that you’d stick around. And I will, too.

[[ He nudges her arm gently with his own, easier smile on his lips. ]] Very embarrassing for both of us, I think. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. We have reputations to maintain.

[alois-the-real-boy]

Where There’s Smoke || Jo & Alois

J. PARKER​:

[Jo gives a half nod, punctuated with a shrug and a tap to shake the ashes from her smoke.] More than I hoped, but less so under these conditions. When I imagined teaching, it was in a much more stable environment, where the biggest problems I had to worry about would be helicopter parents and who’s stealing my lunch from the teacher’s lounge. [Given what she’s faced in the last six years, those problems don’t even seem like problems. She’d laugh, now, if some parents came storming into her office demanding…whatever helicopter parents usually demand.]

I teach history and literature, ages eleven up. It’s not quite what I had in mind when I decided I want to be a teacher but…I enjoy it. And I love my students. It’s funny– I always used to feel so awkward around kids. I was a horrible babysitter. But it’s like teaching is a whole different thing; it lets you see a whole new side to them. It’s the same reason why I studied history and literature in the first place. To get to know people as they really are.

[She’s rambling again, and catches herself by quickly pressing her cigarette to her lips. She can practically hear Rosalind teasing her about ‘sounding like a damn greeting card’.] Sorry. Um. What do you do around here? When you’re not. When you have free time?

✑

[[ A much more stable environment. Alois smiles, mostly to himself, because that’s likely everyone’s going assumption; they expected to get to 2163 in a much more stable environment. There’s nothing quite as unstable as not knowing what your next meal might be, or if another round of asteroids might fall, or what the hell is happening inside the brain of every Infected individual.

It’s also funny to him that Jo admits to being a horrible babysitter. Obviously he doesn’t consider them and teachers one and the same, but there’s a naked honesty in the admission that Alois appreciates with a smile and a nod, taking a drag of his cigarette.

Jo apologizes and Alois isn’t entirely sure why, so he shakes his head and exhales a stream of smoke to illustrate that it’s fine. ]]

I’m Infected, so. [[ He straightens out his right arm to get the sleeve of his ill-fitting jacket to ride up, then shows her the splash of red at the inside of his wrist. ]] Not a lot of free time. [[ And it seems embarrassing to point out that when he does have free time, he’s just trying to find some peace and quiet, ideally to sleep. ]] I’m sure you get asked what your favorite books are all the time, so instead I’ll ask: which ones are usually guaranteed to put you to sleep?

[alois-the-real-boy]

BETWEEN THE WARS || alois & clove

C. MODIUS​:

And here I was thinking TinTin is the only good thing to come out of Belgium. 

{He’s finding it gradually more difficult to focus as Alois’ fingers work at his knee, the heat of the touch shooting up his leg and through his body like a bullet. It’s a pleasant feeling, and although distracting, Clove doesn’t necessarily want Alois to stop. There’s something inherently more intimate about being this gentle with someone while still clothed, the idle touches and casual contact such normal things in contrast to their usual situation. Clove finds he hasn’t craved this kind of tender affection in a very long time. If anything, the longer he considers it, the harder it becomes to pinpoint more than a handful of moments in his life where he’d actively sought out this kind of company.

For so long Clove had been satisfied with being alone. He’d been satisfied with loving artists long dead, for paintings and carved marble to take up all the space and time in his head. Very rarely had he experienced the desire to venture out for something more, something deeper than the casual affairs between people his age. He could blame it on his upbringing, on society’s expectations, the listless churning of time, the fact that he always seemed to notice a person’s flaws first.

Or he could tell the truth for once and admit that the world burning to a crisp had forced a new perspective unto him; people aren’t meant to be alone. It isn’t a weakness to ache for human connection - it’s a clear and deliberate survival instinct. It’s so human that even now, amidst all the chaos and turmoil, people are still gravitating towards each other. They still crave the warmth of someone else beside them, need the reassurance that they’re not going through this alone.

Clove rarely counts himself amongst the masses, but in this instance he finds he doesn’t mind quite as much. It’s one of the last things they all have in common.

Eventually he slides his hand into Alois’, gaze focused rather stubbornly on a patch of sofa between them. It feels like too much all of a sudden; too much of him bare when he’s given nothing away yet. Can Alois still hear the increased rhythm of his heart, now beating rapidly for entirely other reasons?}

I don’t know exactly where it came from. {His voice is barely above a whisper now, but it’s fine. He knows Alois can hear him just fine.} I wish I could say it has some grand and spectacular meaning, but as far as I’m concerned it’s a spice. Uhm. During the winter months my mother would make these oranges with cloves in them. She’d stick them into the peel all around the fruit and then she’d hang it up somewhere in the house. They always smelled incredible. It’s not a very flattering origin story but I like to think the combination of orange and cloves reminded her of her own childhood. That somehow she tried to keep a part of her past alive with me.

[[ Clove’s cool fingers slip between Alois’, and it seems to ground the both of them even as Alois isn’t oblivious to a little stutter-step and gentle flutter in Clove’s heartbeat. He’s so endearing like this, soft around the edges with a mixture of the private quarters and nostalgia. Alois wonders how much credit he can take for it, too, but thinks maybe that’s a road best not traveled down lest he not like the answer.

Clove’s words are soft and his tone gentle and rounded, a far cry from his usual chilled, clipped authority. Alois doesn’t like to think of the times the man has snapped at him in irritation and frustration, but it’s difficult not to draw the contrast, such as it is now. Clove is a different person like this, and Alois can’t help but wonder which is more genuine: which is meant to be the ‘real’ Clove?

The electric kettle clicks off and Alois manages not to flinch, not even considering the intimacy of the gesture before he brings Clove’s hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of his hand, squeezing gently before he lets go and gets up. ]] For new years we often had smoutebollen, [[ he offers, glancing only briefly at Clove as he goes about pouring them each a mug of fragrant tea, absently impressed with the shelf life of who-knows-how-far-expired tea bags. ]] A sort of beignet. Which is usually one of the smells I associate most with the holidays. [[ Not that Alois has had the chance to smell them the past five years. They’d had them just before the end of the world, ringing in a new year no one expected to turn as quickly and hardly as it did.

Alois crosses back to the couch with one mug in hand, pausing in front of Clove with a quiet smile, one that stands in sharp contrast to the panic he’d first burst into the room with. The fingertips of his right hand reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from Clove’s forehead, wandering down to linger over a high cheekbone before he offers the mug of tea. ]]

But that translates roughly to ‘lard balls,’ so I don’t think it would’ve made nearly as flattering a name as Clove. [[ His eyes linger on Clove for a moment longer before he blinks and smiles, then crosses back to grab the second mug of tea for himself. ]] You and your mother… were the two of you close?

[alois-the-real-boy]

SOME KIND OF SOLACE || alois & felix

F. TURNER​:

[It’s not what he’d wanted—well, obviously none of this is what he’d wanted. But he’d not wanted Alois to leave, exactly, and the room feels colder without him. Emptier than it’d been before he’d shown up, and Felix can’t help but wonder if he’d known he was going to be saying all this when he was walking up to meet Felix in his dorm, or if it’d blindsided him the way it’d blindsided Felix. 

He’s not sure which answer is better. Or which is worse, rather, because both make him feel pretty shit. 

But he’d had to ask him to leave. He’d had to ask him to leave because this numbness would expire, soon. His anger would subside and Felix was afraid of what would be left in its place. He knew it would be more embarrassing. And if Alois was going to play him like this, the least Felix could ensure is that he kept up appearances. That he’s effortless confident, endlessly self-assured and independent. He doesn’t need anybody. He doesn’t need the validation of some boy. After all, he’d had everything once. Fame, money, admiration, accomplishment. Beauty. He doesn’t need anyone or anything, except for maybe (secretly) his father. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t. 

Sure enough, when Alois leaves, Felix sits quietly for a few minutes, then closes the curtains of his bedposts, and cries.] 

FIN.

[alois-the-real-boy]

change in frequency || bode + alois

B. LINDQVIST​:

[Bode has spent a life of wanting. Not from lack of money or choice but instead in the matters that held more weight than monetary value could procure. He lacked familiarity with strangers, lacked the ability to hear and as ironic as it was, he lacked the ability to properly communicate who he was and what he felt out loud. He was best when angry, best when overwhelmed with stress and lack of sleep. It’s what he has always known, to change it now felt more trouble than it was worth. 

So when Alois swept past his accidental overture of longing for Lindqvist Manor he found himself equally relieved and disappointed. He tucked it under some dark spot in his mind and moved forward as if nothing had happened. The way he always does.] Some might consider what you can do a miracle. [Bode included. Not that he thought God had much to do with their infections.] Suppression isn’t something I would be comfortable teaching you.

I can help you funnel sound like a radio. Tune in and out of frequencies you do or do not want to hear. Full suppression would be a bit like..well a bit like someone taking your ability to hear at all. [He tugs on his earlobe absentmindedly, his hearing aid shifts slightly. It’s subconscious, the checking of sound.] I can imagine how overwhelming it must be for you, I don’t take that for granted, but perhaps we can try it my way first? 

Earlier you said you heard two birds close by? I want you to focus on their chirping. Don’t think about blocking out everything else around you, instead hone in on the birds until they’re all you can hear. 

[[ ‘Some might consider what you can do a miracle.’ Alois doesn’t bother to mask his scowl, one that only deepens as Bode continues. He doesn’t care what Bode is ‘comfortable’ teaching him; this training is meant to be about him, isn’t it? Alois’ own levels of comfort?

Calling it a miracle sounds dangerously like the Radicals Alois can’t even begin to comprehend. Maybe they’re the ones who’d just gotten the better draw of the lot; maybe they just had more patience when it came to trying to control their so-called ‘gifts’ rather than, as Alois wants, to simply get rid of it.

‘Can you imagine?’ he wants to ask, but knows he’s just being petulant because Bode isn’t telling him what he wants to hear. Alois reigns in the bite of his tongue, lets the indignance tighten the muscle in his jaw instead, and simply listens. He’d been the one to ask Bode for help. The least he can do is, yeah, try Bode's way first.

Suppressing the other noises by trying to hyper-focus on one isn’t really something he’s tried. Hyper-focusing on anything isn’t really something he’s tried, for fairly obvious reasons. Without otherwise responding, Alois lets his eyes slide shut and exhales softly and quietly, and listens. He listens beyond the sound of Bode’s breathing and his heart beat, beyond a persistent wind that whistles distractingly in the rafters.

But he can hear the birds now, a little more clearly for his concentration. He can hear the scrape of their wiry feet on the branches and the occasional jostling of a dry leaf, punctuated with the odd chirp that nearly makes him flinch in surprise. ]] Okay… [[ Alois says carefully, hands and fingers still laced in front of him. ]] And now… ?

[alois-the-real-boy]

breaking marble | alois & clove {ruina rex: funeral}

C. MODIUS​:

@alois-the-real-boy​​

{Clove hates funerals. There are likely precious few people who actively enjoy milling around talking about a deceased person, but the fact alone that some have the stomach to eat and drink like it’s a social gathering rather than a wake makes him physically nauseous. Still, he can’t really fault people for enjoying a break from the mundane day-to-day routine, finding it increasingly hard to believe that anyone is here because they’re actually sad about Kaiser.

Quinn had grumbled but Clove is glad they’d left the organising to Cambie. He’s been laying low as far as feasible: sticking to his suite, avoiding most meal times, keeping his door shut and locked for peace of mind. It’s a new low having to hide away like this but Bode’s advice, no matter how unwarranted, had rung true. Kaiser’s death set off chain reaction amongst the more politically inclined Infected, the consequences of which they have yet to face. Remaining out of sight and mind might be cowardly but smart.

He doesn’t manage to avoid the funeral entirely. It’s only following Quinn’s demand that he at least show his face and act a little mournful that Clove agrees to making a brief appearance. And brief he keeps it. The moment it’s over Clove is out the door, hands in his pockets, head ducked against the wind. Keen to avoid anyone with similar ideas he rapidly makes for his suite and, more specifically, the bottle of whisky kept behind a row of books. Getting drunk isn’t a terribly sophisticated move but the sting of alcohol is the only thing he knows will help shut up the louder thoughts.

Not stopping to grab a glass, Clove is a third through the bottle and already considerably unsteady on his feet when idea occurs. The more rational side of his brain silenced by the alcohol he makes quick work of typing out a message on his PDD, contents significantly less eloquent than what he usually produces.}

‘WHat’re you dooing? Pleash tell me youre nt actually at the funeral.’

[[ Alois holds little love for colony-wide gatherings, and he held far less love still for Kaiser fucking Bähr.

He wouldn’t go so extreme as to say he was glad the man was dead, he didn’t smile when he saw the colony-wide address, but it was a near thing. Enough that, when the day of the memorial rolls around, Alois feels no need to attend whatsoever. His roommates have been around the colony long enough to have stronger opinions, so if there’s one thing Alois does have to try and hide his excitement about, it’s the fact that they’ll be reliably gone for that span of time.

‘You sure you don’t want to go? Not even for the booze?’ Austin had asked on their way out the door, but the expression on Alois’ face must’ve been answer enough.

By the time the rain starts falling, Alois has been asleep for hours. It’s the longest bout of uninterrupted rest he’s gotten in some time, so maybe now, yeah, he is glad Kaiser is dead. Even the sound of the sky opening up is distant and steady enough that, despite waking him, doesn’t really interrupt Alois’ rest. He curls up tighter under the thick blankets and for once, almost misses the chime of his PDD.

He blinks at the message, then frowns. Almost three days of nothing, and now this? Alois is still too sleepy and subdued to be outright angry, but it’s enough for him to be curt and vague in his response. ]]

‘No. I didn’t go.’ [[ He types out ‘are you drunk?’ and then deletes it. Obviously Clove’s drunk. Alois shoves down the burgeoning concern and rolls over, closing his eyes again with a slow, metered sigh. ]]

[alois-the-real-boy]

SOME KIND OF SOLACE || alois & felix

F. TURNER​:

[Felix isn’t buying the ‘expectations’ line, because it feels like a line. It feels like someone talking down to him, someone placating him with big words and the frustratingly even temper of a ‘grown up’ who’s too ‘mature’ for all this silly drama stuff. Who is ‘above’ Felix’s heartache, his feelings of betrayal. He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. Nearly bites through his lip, instead. Expectations. Please. This isn’t about expectations. This is about intention and… saying things you don’t mean. Saying things that made Felix feel genuinely desired and cared for and… fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He keeps his eyes cast down to the bed as he angrily wipes a tear off his cheek. 

A cheek that suddenly feels raw from the cold slap of Alois’ next declaration: ‘I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.’ 

Felix scoffs, but it feels like a choke. He’d laugh, if he weren’t so smothered by the hurt of it. Friendship? What friendship? Alois is a liar. He’d lied, he’d said that he…

But that’s not really true, is it? He’d never said in what way Felix had been ‘special’, he’d never said Fee meant anything more to him than a fling and a pretty thing to have on his arm at a party. But Felix had thought this time was different, that Alois was different. And Alois had sworn that not wanting to sleep with him had been about wanting to do it right. This right. Why would he say that if it was just a bunch of….

When Alois starts faltering in his speech, Felix finally looks up and meets his gaze. There’s no victory in seeing Alois trip, no vindication in seeing his pain. And yes, Felix thinks he sees real concern there, real hurt, but Felix doesn’t trust his eyes to tell him the truth, anymore. If he’d been so wrong about Alois before, how could he trust his judgement of something so fucking stupid as a ‘look’ in Alois’ eyes? Maybe he’s just a good actor. A good, cruel liar. 

‘I want you to understand that you mean something to me, Felix.’

Fee wants desperately to look away then, but for some reason he can’t. He’s frozen and staring at those huge, hazel eyes, feeling more vulnerable by the second. Even as he hates hearing it, (because how fucking patronizing and insulting is that, being told to your face you’re not good enough for romance or sex or love, but they’d totally want to be your friend?) he wants to believe it, too. He wants to believe that earnest, sad look in Alois eyes, wants to believe that every moment of this Whatever It Was hadn’t been a fucking lie. But his head is spinning and his heart hurts and his eyes are puffy from crying tears he’d not given permission to fall and he’s proud and he’s sad and—more than anything—he feels foolish. And he will never admit that. How dumb he feels, how played. As dumb as the tabloids always tell him he is. Maybe they’ve been right all along.

Quiet. Again. For several beats or many more, he’s not sure. He swallows, and his face grows steely as he looks away again. He nods.] Right. [It’s not sarcastic, but it’s not reassured either. It’s just a sound to make that isn’t a scream. Just a speed bump laid down to fill the time, to delay saying anything of meaning.]

I, um. [A whisper. He falters. Hollow. He feels hollow and tired and he needs to think but he can’t think about this anymore, either.] I think you should go now. Yeah. 

[Because he doesn’t have anything left in him, and if he’s going to break, he’s not going to let Alois watch. He doesn’t know how he feels about Alois’ desperate pleas to be heard, that he quote, unquote, ‘cares’. He doesn’t know if he believes him or not but he does know that it’s not really important right now. It doesn’t change anything.] 

[[ For a long moment Felix looks at him, simply looks, and Alois can’t do anything but look back. He hates this, the raw expression in Felix’s eyes, the sick turn of his own stomach as he realizes, piece by piece, that there may be nothing about this that’s salvageable. Alois knows this is his fault. He let things go on for too long, let himself have the best of both worlds where he could mean something to Clove in private and mean something to Felix in public.

Selfishness. There isn’t any other word for it. Alois had spent all this time willfully ignoring the growing attachment between them because he wanted to believe he could have all of it. Obviously, he doesn’t deserve that much.

Felix finally looks away, and the heavy feeling in Alois’ chest drops. ‘Right.’ Alois frowns and barely shakes his head, not that Felix will see it.

‘I think you should go now.’

There’s a finality in the statement that tightens in Alois’ chest, a finality he wants to fight against but knows he doesn’t have the right to. It’s a wonder Felix hasn’t told him to leave before now, he thinks.

Alois dredges for literally anything else to say, but predictably, comes up short. He wishes he had a little more of his father’s heart in this scenario, and less of his mother’s chilled diplomacy. Nodding faintly, he hesitates one last time before standing, and even there he pauses, fingers twitching where he wants to reach for Felix’s shoulder but… doesn’t. ]]

Okay, [[ he says quietly instead. It sounds loud to his own ears, but probably not nearly so much to Felix even in the heavy, subdued air of the room. Lips pressed into a thin line, he just nods again. ]] ... okay.

[[ Alois walks to the door, pausing and letting his fingertips touch the frame as he glances back. Anything else he can think of to say dies on his lips. None of it feels like it’d be good enough, so with one last muted nod, Alois’ hand slips from the door frame and, as requested, he leaves. ]]

[[ End. ]]

[alois-the-real-boy]

CONFESSIONAL || alois & teilo

T. AISLING​:

[To Teilo’s recollection, there’d been at least one mention of Alois’ sister, but it’d been vague, and concerning how Alois had wound up leading a clan. She’d not come up again, nor had Alois explained why he was no longer with her, and Teilo hadn’t asked because he was all-too aware of how easily people are lost to them, these days. One minute they’re there, the next, they flicker out like a candle flame and there’s so little they can do to stop it. Nothing they can do, most of the time. 

And perhaps it’d been somewhat selfish to not probe too much—because though it was partially out of respect for Alois’ privacy, Teilo also has a tough time swallowing the guilt. His fortune after D-Day, that his entire immediate family is still alive, if separated. That doesn’t negate the risks that they might not be, one day (Maker forbid), but it’s still nothing like losing everyone and everything in the blink of an eye. His parents and Brenin were Uninfected and safe, in another Colony in Connecticut. Arlo had found Nesta in Canada, where they had both remained and been registered. He can’t be sure of their Infection Statuses—the fact that they’d danced around the subject in their last letter all those months ago led Teilo to believe that at least one of them was Infected, if not both—but they were the eldest of the Aisling siblings, and they were willfully independent and strong. Teilo had no concerns about them being able to look after themselves—and each other.

So he’d not asked for details about why Alois had come to the Colony alone—but he had presumed she’d likely passed, and just hadn’t wanted to broach such a sensitive subject so early into their getting to know one another. 

[He listens carefully, never looking away from Alois’ face, even his blinking infrequent. He takes a small breath, not wanting to say too much, as it’s Alois’ story to tell, and Teilo’s time to listen. But he also wants to give Alois’ a chance to gain the courage to keep going, to not have to feel engulfed by the silence that follows this part of his confession.] 

[And then, he speaks softly, gentle and almost intimate, in the way it’s only for Alois, the way it hardly echoes in the cold, empty chapel.] You mentioned her once, I believe. But you didn’t specify what happened to her. I could only assume. [A beat.] What happened?

[[ Telio’s voice is quiet and careful, a care Alois doesn’t feel entitled to. He shifts in the pew, subtly nervous energy making it a struggle to sit still. He leans his elbows on his knees, fingers lacing in front of him. The thumb of his right hand presses a line across the palm of his left, feeling the pressure sensors react; self-soothing or grounding, it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t work.

‘What happened?’ Each time Alois thinks he knows where to start, he hesitates and then skips a little further back in time. Finally: ]] My family… my sister and I. We were never hugely famous, but we were recognizable… enough. [[ Alois in particular occupied an odd niche of fame, his face in magazines, articles and adverts, documentaries of his childhood. Lise was often recognized just by virtue of being with him. Another thing he can blame himself for. ]] There were times when we’d go out where we’d be followed. Photographers, reporters. I was more used to it than she was. She was more prone to… [[ He trails off, not sure how to put it, and ultimately shrugs. ]] Lise was sensitive. My opposite. [[ For the first time, Alois cracks a ghost of a smile, a tenuous thing. Lise was the fiery bleeding heart to his practical stoicism. She took after their father, and he, their mother.

Alois’ right hand runs over his face to chase the smile away. ]] I’ve heard people say that Delusions can be based on who the person was before. With Lise, she… [[ His words grow more halting, more difficult to string together and force out. ]] She started seeing things. Just shadows in her periphery, at first. Like she was being followed, or chased. She spent a lot of time trying to ignore them, probably… for my sake. Our Infections came about at the same time. At first I kept trying to tell her that maybe… it was her sight, like it was my hearing, but. [[ Alois swallows hard, shaking his head. ]] Months passed, and obviously that wasn’t true.

[[ He hasn’t looked at Teilo once since he started speaking, afraid of what he might see or of what to anticipate. Alois simply keeps talking, because if he stops, he’s worried he won’t be able to start again. ]] She became more and more skittish as time went on. Sometimes she couldn’t even look at me. Peoples’ faces… [[ He gestures at his own, with a lazy circle of one hand. ]] They’d change, she said. Their bodies, too. They’d twist into something horrible and indescribable. [[ Every time he’d pressed and Lise had tried, she’d just ended up a sobbing mess in his arms. His hands flex absently, emptily in front of him, remembering the weight of her. ]]

Slowly but surely, it drove her insane. [[ Alois presses his lips firmly together, like he wants to keep any further elaboration trapped firmly inside his mouth. It may seem like he won’t continue for a moment, but finally, he dredges up the words, drags them forcefully from his throat. ]] There were times where… all she could do was scream. And with my hearing, I… [[ He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky, defeated breath. ]] The pain was excruciating. [[ Even so, Alois obviously doesn’t think this is a good excuse. He still thinks it a weakness, a character flaw he couldn’t push past for her sake. ]] There wasn’t anything anyone could do. Nothing she could do. Nothing I could do. Other than… [[ Leave. He swallows the word down like acid, then forces it up again. ]]

Leave her behind.

[alois-the-real-boy]

Where There’s Smoke || Jo & Alois

J. PARKER​:

[Jo laughs, more out of relief than anything else. Although she doesn’t really expect anything extreme to happen here, she’s run into more than a few people over the years that blew up at the slightest provocation. Fortunately Alois seems like the opposite type; able to roll with the punches no matter how rough.]

[Her eyes flicker to his arm and she is sorely tempted to ask about it, but she’s just shoved her foot in her mouth and she isn’t keen to do it again so soon.] God. Conversation pieces. Um. Shit. [As usual in these situations, Jo’s mind goes haywire. Crazy apocalypse stories? Opinions about books she’s read? Her students?] Well. I’m a teacher, which is funny because I never technically finished my degree. You could say I was forced to take an extended leave of absence.

✑

[[ Alois cracks a smile at her diplomatic turn of phrase; ‘extended leave of absence.’ Maybe he’ll have to start referring to the past six years after the apocalypse as that more often. It’ll make it more entertaining, even if it never gets any more palatable. ]]

I take it you really like it, then. Teaching. [[ He tilts his head, rolling the cigarette carefully but deftly between the pristine white middle finger and thumb of his left hand. ]] An apocalypse is a pretty good excuse to leave something behind if you don’t like it, but you decided to continue. [[ Alois can’t really relate; as much as he'd liked some of the teachers in his expensive private school, the profession had never appealed. Even if he hadn’t had his life already laid out for him, Alois doubts it’s something he would’ve ever considered. ]] What ages and subject do you teach?

[alois-the-real-boy]

quiet words // dot & alois

D. SPECKTER​:

[Dot hummed, thinking of what to say. Honestly, she had no clue what to do in this sort of situation, if anything like that happened to her, she would’ve just told them to fuck off. Not a thought she’d be sharing today.] I think that you start with the apology, then ask her to hear you out. I think Annie would get it, she’s nice.

[Annie reminded Dot of… Well, she wasn’t entirely sure, but it was something pleasant at least.] I can’t say I’m going to understand what you went through, I’ll never know the full extent of your feelings, but I understand where you’re coming from. Pain sticks around. [She finished her sentence with a shrug. If only she could take her own words to heart. She was unsure as to where these thoughts were coming from, maybe Mitch had really reached her. He’d be quite smug to hear about that.] I think she’ll understand.

You just have to find her and explain. From my perspective, it’s going to weigh on you until you do. A good friendship lasts through this stuff, right? Don’t people always say ‘communication is key’? [Dot didn’t know much about long-lasting friendship, but she felt as though she was picking it up along the way. She just hoped her words hadn’t offended him, perhaps she should’ve stopped talking. God, all of this sounded like a therapist textbook.] Sorry, I’m rambling again. [Her head still rested on his shoulder, but the rest of Dot’s body tensed up. What if he got mad at her advice? She really needed to stop being so nervous.]

.

[[ ‘Pain sticks around.’ Alois exhales, a soft tremble around the edges, and nods carefully. It’s both what he wants to hear and not. Misery loves company, but he wishes he could spare Dot from that. He realizes there’s precious little he actually knows about her, what her life was like before the end of the world. Alois was young — so was Lise — but Dot was even younger.

Now doesn’t really feel like the time for that, though; it’d just seem like a diversion from talking about his own issues, and that wouldn’t be wrong. Alois doesn’t want to talk about this, but at least it seems like Dot understands. She thinks Annie will understand, too, and Alois really has to wonder if that’s the case. ]]

Don’t apologize, [[ he chides, not that there’s much actual force behind it. With her head resting on his shoulder it’s natural for him to shift, draping his arm around Dot to give her a careful squeeze. ]] It’s good advice. And I know you’re right. I need to talk to her, because… she deserves to know. And if she decides she still doesn’t want anything to do with me, that’s her right. [[ Alois tries to say so like it wouldn’t affect him, but it would. It already has, not being able to talk to Annie. Or not-talk to Annie, sitting in their comfortable silences. ]]

I was wrong. Wasn’t I? … assuming I’ll lose her just like I lost Lise. [[ He doesn’t know where the impulse to ask comes from, since it’s not like any of them know. If they knew that much about Delusions, Alois might not even be in this mess. ]]

[alois-the-real-boy]

change in frequency || bode + alois

B. LINDQVIST​:

[If Alois retreated at the sound of Espen’s name it went unnoticed. They never did practice the art of conversation well enough before the sky fell. With time that could possibly change, if Bode was willing and as nice as it is to see a familiar face he’s unsure how much he should entrust to Alois.] Ah, you haven’t been here long at all then.

[He thought to prod about what prompted him in leaving the clan to come here but again, that seemed like a conversation for another time. Bode had time to unravel the spool of thread, but one mistake, one lashing of a silver tongue could cost him. ]

[Bode returns his smile, this part was easy enough, the familiarity of easy smiles and innuendos. He laughs, something warm and light like a bird song, easy—familiar.] Mm, right, well I’m honored you thought of me, Asch. I hope I can serve you well. [A wink is thrown his direction, less as a flirtation and more as a secret understanding between the two. When he hears he trained with another Increased Hearing he nods once, slightly amused.] Glad to hear you’re making friends! Here I was, worried you’ve been roaming the halls all by your lonesome until I arrived.

[He clicks his tongue against his teeth, leaning away from Alois at his question. He knew he’d ask about his infections eventually, it was a prerequisite after all but he found himself once again wondering how much to tell Alois. He observes the other for a moment, the seconds ticking by as he comes to a decision. Like an invisible hand he reaches out towards Alois, the string in his head that somehow, for whatever reason can connect to the mind of others, attaches itself to Alois before unraveling into a cloud, a drop of water spilling into a puddle. The process is as easy as breathing, he watches Alois’ face, he lets out a breath as he effortlessly pushes the image of Lindqvist manor, a place Alois has never been. The house stands tall against the sky, the pillars of the manor expansive and white, the stairs leading up to the door made of white stone, the front doors large and emerald green, the handles bronze—slightly aged from the years of cruel Swedish winters. A large garden sprawled out from all sides. A labyrinth of flowers and lush greens. The image painted over with an overwhelming feeling of longing. It’s only then that Bode snaps the connection, Lindqvist manor disappears, they’re back in the dimly lit chapel. A second passes, two, three.]

Does that answer your question? [Bode doesn’t look at Alois for a moment, a part of him ashamed. He swallows the strange grief he feels crawling up his intestines. Perhaps he should have shown him the Praeteria instead but it’s too late for that now. He would only admit to one infection, not both. Not yet. He clears his throat once, he returns his gaze to the other’s.] Well shit, Asch, don’t keep me waiting. I showed you mine, show me yours.

[[ ‘Making friends.’ Alois almost laughs. Making them, losing them, pushing them away. ‘Making’ implies there was something purposeful about the connections he had, but Alois’ friendships had, for the most part, fallen into his lap. Or crept up on him. Before D-Day, every one of Alois’ friendships had a purpose. Networking. Clout. Now, he just doesn’t know. Making friends in a world such as this only seemed like setting himself up for failure. He wondered if the same could be said of trying to transfer whatever he and Bode had that resembled a relationship to the present.

Easier to move on from that without elaboration. Bode falls quiet when Alois asks about his Infection, and Alois waits with a mixture of patience and subtle confusion. Is Bode not a fan of his Infection, either? It wouldn’t inspire much confidence in his tutelage; like an art teacher that hates art. But maybe Alois is just projecting.

Before he has too much time to think on that, there’s a gentle brush of something against the edges of his mind; it reminds him of Koda, similar but different, and for that moment, Alois’ eyes flutter shut. The images are vivid — he didn’t realize telepaths could do this — but so too are the associated feelings. An expansive house full of nostalgia, gardens and grounds tinged with indelible want. A melancholic ache settles deep in the pit of his stomach, but Alois isn’t sure it entirely belongs to him. When he opens his eyes again there’s a sheen of tears he quickly and forcefully blinks away, brow knit as his gaze returns its focus to Bode. ]]

Neat trick, [[ he says with a careful sidestep of emotion, a dance they’re both familiar with. Alois absent-mindedly rubs a hand over his chest, like he can push the ache away. ]] There’s not nearly so much of mine to show, is there? [[ But he supposes he can tell. Alois’ eyes drift, unfocused. As far as Bode is concerned, a silence settles. For Alois, it’s the opposite as his attention bleeds outward. ]]

There are two birds in the tree to the north-west of the chapel. [[ He supposes he can blame hunting rotation for focusing on the animals first. ]] Three girls are walking along the path towards the Hub. They’re complaining about the poor state of breakfast, like it’s not the same crap we eat every day. [[ Alois draws his focus back, tilting his head as he looks at Bode and shrugging lazily. ]] Ta-da. [[ With zero enthusiasm. ]] I’m getting better at focusing it. Picking different sounds apart. What I need more help in is… suppressing it. [[ But maybe that’s already obvious, written in the exhaustion on his face. ]]

[alois-the-real-boy]

SOME KIND OF SOLACE || alois & felix

F. TURNER​:

[He wants to find Alois’ affirmations comforting, but he can’t help but feel that they fall short. ‘Too little, too late’, he thinks, though he desperately doesn’t want that to be true. It could just be pettiness and hurt, responsible for throwing that thought around, but at this point he can’t separate himself enough from his emotions to really be able to tell the difference.

Alois doesn’t want to ‘ruin this outright’. Felix isn’t sure how to take that. Maybe because he doesn’t know what it means. What does Alois not want to ruin? This ‘special’ thing between them, or just their so-called friendship? Their chance at something good, something more, or Alois’ convenient facade of actually giving a crap? Is it all just a deliberately woven web of lies he doesn’t want to come down and apart, for the sake of his own self-image? Or does he actually care about Felix in a real, honest way? But if that were true, why would he be doing this? Why would he be choosing this ‘someone else’, over Felix? Felix can’t make sense of it. He can’t do the math.

He looks down, quiet for a long time. He shakes his head a little, thinks again about asking Alois to leave. He doesn’t want to the conversation to be over, because the finality of it would also make it real, would solidify this as the result, but he also doesn’t know what to say. Or what Alois wants him to say. 

Caught between his desire for affection and his pride, he can’t even be sure what he wants, at the moment. It all feels confusing and unclear.]

You don’t want to ruin it. [A weak echo, quietly skeptical. On the verge of scathing, but he’s too vulnerable to manage it.] I don’t know what that means, [he finally admits.] What are you trying to do, then? You said you—[his breath catches, and he thinks about what Alois said the night of the party—shuts his eyes tight—the excuses he’d given Felix, those pretty promises about chivalry and taking their time and Felix can’t help but feel lied to all-the-fuck-over again. He’s straddling a line between heartbroken and furious.] You promised. [Yes, he’d actually said the words. He’d made Felix trust him, that the patience he was asking for wasn’t about not wanting him, but rather about something else. Something kind and gentle that Felix rarely experienced, because the kinds of men who pursued him in his life wanted one thing and one thing only and they didn’t know a thing about sincerity or gentleness or chivalry.

He takes another breath, and his eyes close. His tone keeps fluctuating back and forth—from vulnerable to fearful, to skeptical, to scathing. He doesn’t know how to handle this, how to feel. Each time he attaches to one emotion, he gets weighed out by another one, and he finds himself switching gears.] I didn’t ask you to do that. I didn’t ask you for anything. If you wanted to keep coping a root and a gobby wherever the fuck else, you could have just said so, but. Like, you want to take a step back, whatever that means, but are you saying that to him? A step back from what? We’ve barely gone anywhere to take a step back from. It sounds a lot like wanting to ‘ruin it’, to me.

[[ Felix falls quiet for a long moment, but quiet is never actually a thing for Alois, not anymore. He can hear the staccato-fast beat of Felix’s heart, the way his own blood is rushing in his ears. His elbows rest on his knees with both hands laced in front of him, and Alois stares down at them with the faintest frown. He waits for… he doesn’t know what. To be told to leave, probably. He’d deserve it. Alois knows he could just leave, too, but this isn’t a rip-the-band-aid-off situation. It wouldn’t help anything.

Not that Alois actually knows how to help this — fix it.

When Felix finally finds his words, they come with a tumult of emotion that Alois carefully absorbs, takes in stride. ]] You’re right, [[ he begins simply, voice low and even and soft. The thumb of Alois’ right hand smooths an arc over the textured palm of his left. He should’ve said something sooner. Should’ve been clearer. Should’ve examined his own feelings more closely in any attempt to understand them instead of shoving them in a bottle, like he always did. ]] I wasn’t up front with my expectations because I didn’t know what to expect. [[ He didn’t expect to care for Felix as much as he did, as much as he does, but voicing that would be simultaneously too much and not enough. He cares for Felix, deeply, but at least for now, it can’t be in the way Felix may want him to. ]]

What I meant is that I don’t want to ruin our friendship, [[ Alois finally says, though the defeat in his tone suggests he realizes it may well already be far too late for that. His thumb brushes an arc back over his palm, feeling the feedback from the plates more than he ‘feels’ the touch of his other hand. It’s not grounding enough. Alois feels adrift, at a loss for words. He’s only articulate when it’s clinical. Simple. Nothing about this is either. ]] What I meant is that… I know I’ve fucked up, but I know that realization isn’t good enough. [[ Wasn’t soon enough. ]] If you want to tell me to leave, I’ll leave. I want- [[ Alois hesitates, then ultimately shakes his head. ]]

I want you to understand that you mean something to me, Felix. I’m not doing this because you don’t. [[ They wouldn’t be having this conversation at all if he didn’t, but Felix is worth more to Alois than his usual cut-and-run. He just doesn’t know how to express that in a way that seems fair, or in a way that’ll mean what he wants it to. ]]

[alois-the-real-boy]

Where There’s Smoke || Jo & Alois

J. PARKER​:

No kidding, [Jo agrees. She’s always been terrible at small talk, but trying to do it now is like trying to start a fire with wet matches.] It’s just like…what else is there to talk about, you know? We don’t have any of the old conversation pieces. No school, no jobs. Family’s always going to be a gamble. Seems like the biggest casualty of D-day was small talk.

[A second later Jo remembers where she is, who she’s with, and the ribbon on the tree, and she nearly drops her cigarette.] Oh god. I didn’t mean– shit. I’m sorry. That was such a stupid thing to say. I mean, I guess I just proved my own point but…God, shut up Jo. I’m sorry

✑

[[ Alois’ eyebrows creep higher at Jo’s statement, but he doesn’t really have the chance to point out the insensitivity of it before she’s already realizing for herself, practically falling over apologizing. It’s ridiculous enough that Alois just chuckles, a breathy thing comprised mostly of cigarette smoke. ]] It’s fine, [[ he reassures her, and not for the first time. ]] If I didn’t have thick skin before the end of the world, it’s practically bulletproof now.

[[ There’s a modicum of a lie crept in there; if Alois likes to think of himself as bulletproof, then talk of his family is the biggest, bloodiest chink. He wonders if Jo hadn’t lost anyone because she hadn’t had anyone to lose, but he doesn’t have the heart or the emotional fortitude to mull over the “‘tis better to have loved and lost, than...” of it all. ]]

I do some work in the infirmary, [[ Alois offers, smiling almost slyly at her as he switches his cigarette from right to artificial left, taking a drag and nodding once. ]] There’s one of your old conversation pieces. [[ Though judging by the two stripes on his PDD, it’s not enough that he’s an Elite. ]] Now you.

[alois-the-real-boy]

CONFESSIONAL || alois & teilo

T. AISLING​:

[Teilo can feel Alois unclench a little in his grasp. Like a knot come loose, he’s at least fractionally unravelled when he sighs against Teilo’s shoulder. It’s nice—as is the softness in Alois’ eyes when he pulls away just enough to look at him, to make, if not a confession, then a confession of a need to confess. A want to, perhaps. 

He hasn’t quite let go of Teilo, and Teilo finds himself grateful for it. He’s realizing more and more that Alois fills a very specific—if unusual—space in his life. Siddhartha is his best and closest friend, in that they’ve known each other for years now, and Sid knows Teilo arguably better than Teilo knows himself. But his relationship with Alois is one of a nature that only comes along a couple times a lifetime—if one is lucky, that is. The kind of relationship that you know in your bones was born long before you even met and became fast-friends. And in fact, meeting was less like meeting and more like…. simply falling into step on a path already earmarked for the two of you. 

Alois somehow feels both like family, and like brotherhood, while still being starkly different than what Teilo actually knows blood-brotherhood to be. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but his love for Alois is fierce, and he feels as though it’s not new, but rather centuries older than himself. If he were the type to believe in reincarnation, he’d say without a doubt that he and Alois have been bonded in every one. Perhaps with varying contexts, which might explain the sensation that’s difficult to label or fit into a box. ]

You know my ear for you will always be non-judgemental, Alois. [And he thinks about making a crack about becoming a DA, but he decides against making light. The lines on Alois’ face are… taught, the curve of his mouth a little too straight. Something is definitely bothering him, and until Teilo knows what, he wants to be careful about what he says.] 

Should we be sitting for this, then?

[[ Alois desperately wants to believe Teilo when he says his ear will always be non-judgemental. He believes Teilo believes that to be true, but he doesn’t yet know this secret that’s been eating Alois from the inside-out like the salt rust clinging to everything on this godforsaken island. ]] Probably, [[ Alois admits with a faint nod, and before he can lose his nerve. He squeezes Teilo’s shoulders and only then reluctantly pulls away.

The chapel will have to do. Alois already knows it’s empty, since he hadn’t heard anything inside except the flutter of wings from a trapped bird in the rafters. He pockets the small project he’d had to distract him waiting for Teilo; it’s tempting to continue so he has something, anything to look at other than their dour surroundings or his friend’s face, afraid of what he might see — but that seems both irrational and counter productive.

Stepping over the chapel’s threshold, Alois picks the furthest pew back on the left, side-stepping the narrow bench and settling onto the flat, uncomfortable seat. He wonders if they make them so undesirable so people can’t fall asleep during services. He then takes a breath and forces himself to focus, which works as far as tipping his head slightly back and trying to spot the bird he can hear flitting around. Alois doesn’t believe in signs, but he does believe in poetic irony. Lise had always been mon oisillon; my little birdie. ]]

I had a sister. Lise. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned her before. [[ Anyone else and Alois would assume he hadn’t, but with Teilo, so many things are different. Teilo is the one he trusts the most with his deepest inner-workings, his worst parts. It’s why they’re having this conversation to begin with. ]] If I did mention her, I might’ve said that she died. That’s not… entirely true. [[ Alois glances down at his hands cradled in his lap, frowning. He doesn’t know that it isn’t true, he supposes. If God were merciful, Lise would be dead by now. The thought prompts a hard lump in his throat, one he tries to dislodge with a hard scrape of a swallow. ]] When I left my clan, I left her with them.