al_truism | (Old) IC Contact Post

From:

[ cleaning is no easy feat in pitch-black dark. so, it's entirely likely that those kind of responsibilities and chores had been held off until things had calmed down. when light does break in, through windows or from lamps, there is a slight new layer of dust here and there. nothing too extreme, and for the most part, it should be easy to get solve back on track.

should be.

there's a hole in a bathroom wall and the mirror is all in pieces, and one by the door in his and luca's room. broken bits of glass or porcelain lies, well, just about everywhere. (hopefully, they have some dishes and various things left!) what used to be a thin-bound, dog-earred paperback rests in pieces of yellowing paper across one of the rooms. there can only be one culprit. he's already been told what he needs to take care of well over forty minutes ago, and he's started none of it.

nope. instead, he's taken what lamps aren't being used, an old coloring book—most of the images are butterflies, birds, or flowers, and most of them are missing, and one of the lambs into some small, unused bedroom to hide.

the lack of sleeping and eating he's done the last week shows: there're bags under his eyes, his wrists, already small, seem somehow smaller. his knuckles are still raw, congealing with blood from when he became furious and terrified enough to send it through one of the walls, and while the blood from bashing the bathroom mirror has subsided, there's still stains on his arm and tiny flecks of glass embedded in the skin. his knees are black-blue things, from all his stumbling over or flat out crashing onto them in moments of true horror.

so, there he is: in a corner, behind a wall of three bulbs, one flickering constantly, coloring purple petals into a flower with one hand, and stroking a lamb's ear with the other. ]

From:

al_truism

It's always days like this that Al finds his work has been cut out for him. He'd told Alois over the PCD to start cleaning up, but he gets home and bites back the urge to call for him.

Slowly, he counts to ten, and goes to find the boy. And a rainbow lamb, apparently.

Al doesn't scold him. Instead he comes over, gently shooing the lamb into his arms.

"Alois, what did I tell you about bring the outside animals inside the house-"

He stops, frowning with concern.

"... your arms- you're hurt, dear, come here."

From:

ex_apricots766

As soon as Al comes through the door, he knows he's there, but doesn't bother to look up until Al's collecting the little lamb. It's then that Alois shifts onto his knees, and is starting to stand to fight back for it the baby if he has to. "He doesn't want to be—"

The rest of Al's words make him falter in his building, argumentative tone. A glance down at them, his arms, he even twists one around to check out the abrasive scrape he'd managed in one of the past days to earn on it. "Oh. Right. I forgot about them." Blood is such a disgusting color, fresh or stained old.

From:

al_truism

"He's going outside. If you want to visit him, you can, but he can't come in here."

Al's gentle about it. The lamb gives a little bleat.

"... come on. Let's take him home, and I'll patch you up."

From:

ex_apricots766

There's a grumble, a petulant look, but he's actually too worn out to pitch a fit right now. Besides, he'll probably go back out when no one's looking and bring it back in again.

"If they didn't make walls so fucking hard, it wouldn't be a problem right now," because clearly he needs something to bitch about. He is following, though.

From:

al_truism

Al gently shuts the lamb back in the pen, and it happily trots over to the rest, before waving Alois back into the house and to the kitchen, where he washes his hands and hunts down the first aid kit.

"No, you need to find softer things to punch, like pillows,"

From:

ex_apricots766

Pillows are for ripping feathers out of, not that he remarks on this. Alois sits atop a counter, lightly swinging his legs and waits.

"Do I look older?"

From:

al_truism

"... compared to when?"

Al blinks and sets it down, holding out his hands for the boy's arm. He has antiseptic and a pair of tweezers.

From:

ex_apricots766

"Last week."

He offers one, the least bad of the two. His heels thunk lightly against cabinets.

From:

al_truism

"Not really. Are you concerned about growing? This will sting-"

He pulls out the first shard, covering the cut with the antiseptic pad.

From:

ex_apricots766

"I'm not tall—oww!!" A shriek, is what it became. "Al. Fuck."

From:

al_truism

"I know," he tells him, not ungently. "Bear with it, these all have to come out or they'll be infected."

From:

ex_apricots766

''Stupid...'' it's a quietly self-admonishing. His legs have stilled entirely, and he grips the counter, turns face, and waits.

From:

al_truism

Al works quickly, plucking out each shard, the cleaning the wounds carefully. The risk of infection here is so high, and Alois could easily become sick.

When he's done, he works on his knuckles. Gentle warm hands.

From:

ex_apricots766

His shrieks become softer, or he only gasps or winces, but he doesn't swear again or give Al a disapproving look. Which ever arm or hand isn't being tended to, he chews the nails of. They had been pretty, well-kept when he arrived, and now they were stubby, scabbed or scabbing at the edges.

He gnaws a thumbnail, shears it with teeth taking it down from nearly half the nail bed, and new blood immediately bubbles forth. He tastes it before hissing, and because he feels troublesome, he sticks his whole thumb in his mouth to hide it.

From:

al_truism

Al reaches up to catch his hands when he finds him doing it, but the final look is one of concern.

"Alois, you're hurting yourself..."

From:

ex_apricots766

''It doesn't hurt.''

From:

al_truism

"It will later," he told him gently, and took his hand to clean the fresh wounds. "Do you know why you're feeling like this?"

It made him sick at heart to see.

From:

ex_apricots766

Anxious? No, he really doesn't. A lack of butler-in-shining armor, expecting lights to go out again, a whole mess of things, but nothing precise. In fact, he hadn't consciously thought of it as being deliberately harmful to himself.

He shakes his head a little, while staring at the floor, and a hand comes up to meet his mouth purely out of mindless habit.

From:

al_truism

Al catches his fingers softly, pulling them pointedly down from his mouth.

"You touch everything with your hands," he explained. "If you keep doing this it could get very infected. You're not in trouble," Al added, "I'm just worried."

From:

ex_apricots766

Alois glances up when Al takes his hand again, before shifting to Al's face, eyes slightly widened, to listen.

''Sorry,'' because he doesn't know what else to say about it, but mainly because Al has had to say 'worried'. ''I don't really think about it.''

Edited Date: 2012-11-12 07:38 pm (UTC)

From:

al_truism

"When it heals we'll work on breaking the habit."

Al leaned in, gave his forehead a quick kiss, and gave him a smile.

From:

ex_apricots766

From Al's endearing peck, comes a lingering, doubtful gaze. An affection child doesn't always mean a trustful one.

The boy's fingers clench his shorts, resisting the urge to sensually bite his own lip, ruin more tiny fingernails, or yank Al's hair.

He smiles back, too sweetly.

''O—kay.''

From:

al_truism

A second later, Al notices that tensing up, the sudden look in the boy's face, the way the smile just go strained, and realizes that he thinks Al's going to hurt him -- just like he's been hurt before.

He pulls back, stops touching him, and gives him a steady look.

"... I'm not like them."