The World's Stage
Chapter Thirteen
Complicated
[We should talk.]
The act of practicing is important, critical, and for Alfred useless because he already knows the songs, already knows the chords, already knows the high and lows, the limits of his voice on others, the diminishing of the intervals. He knows all of this and yet chooses to practice more, harder, until his lips are dry and his throat burns from every octave skip and every high note he doesn't understand how Yao hits with such ease. It's the competition and the nature of being the best at everything that pushes him so far; he stares at Arthur who seems to glance every minute at his vibrating phone, he frowns before leaning closer.
"You going to take that?" He asks, and Arthur noticeably stiffens in stature, his arms going limp. Yao and Ivan are off talking in the corner of the rectangle wall, there reflections within the mirrors bright with emotion, possibly livid.
Are they arguing? Of course not.
"Ahhh. No, no, no. It's fine." Arthur says, but Alfred is nowhere near convinced. He tries to glimpse at the caller and wonders if his sudden itching curiosity is due to his natural character. He doesn't like how Arthur stands stiff, ready to hurl his phone at the wall. It's too easy to read him.
They stand for a moment; still, the air is quiet with the vibrating and the rustle of jean and plastic medal. It's difficult to ignore and Alfred scratches the back of his neck, watching as Arthur's face reddens with a possible irritation. He glances at the mirror wall and now it looks like Ivan and Yao are hardly whispering. He can almost hear the conversation, about truth about family, and Alfred thinks about Mattie and how he is still lying about his existence.
There is more to the story, more to the lies he is saying, and like what Yao seems to be carefully repeating is that it's, complicated.
The noise does not stop, and he finally asks again, irritated, "you're certain you're not going to take I—"
"Okay! Okay!" Arthur finally says breathing mechanically, his eyes eyeing him narrowly. "I don't see how it concerns you, you knob head."
Alfred chuckles although his eyes gleam, "So, wanna' tell me who it—"
"Sod off!"
Alfred laughs louder before nodding, as Arthur retreats into another corner away from him. He turns to watch Ivan and Yao, Yao's face is pale, too pale, for his normal ethereal complexion and Ivan looks off, his face is wretched into some kind of pain, he almost wants to intervene because Ivan is now shaking with rage, and Yao is stepping backward hands fisted into balls of pure white.
They can't be fighting.
He chooses to blink a blind eye.
It's not about him anyway.
"You don't understand," he hears Yao say with a venom he's never heard before, even from a distance Alfred can hear the thick shame, a hidden guilt that only makes Ivan's body tremble more. The distance between the two is small, and they look so mismatched together it almost makes him laugh. It's funny, because he knows what Ivan feels is more akin to romance then friendship, it is no longer the straight foreword friendship, the trusting, the soft gentle loving. It is heavy, burning with passion, an inferno of desire and cold-hearted selfishness. It is madness and loving and sweet simples all put together.
He hears Yao again, "It's complicated." And he agrees; the two are.
"Then tell me, I can't help if I don't understand," Ivan whispers harshly, his eyebrows etched into a concerned furrow, and Yao's heart leaps in guilt and shame. He wants to tell him he can't. That if he does it's over, that Kiku is his brother and that it is his fault for conjuring such a beast. Because it was his responsibility, because for once this is his fault—a miscalculation of things. That once again…it's complicated, and that Ivan getting involved will only add to the mix of trouble. He looks at Ivan's concerned eyes. How can he hurt him by getting him involved?
He needs time. Why does no one understand that?
"I don't need your help. You don't unders—"
"Then make me, Yao!"
Ivan's voice is loud, and even Yao yelps in sudden panic, he looks lost briefly before anger consumes his pallor.
"What are you doing? You don't understand anything; stop putting yourself where you don't need to be. You're constantly up my back, and it's stressing me out, act your age! Just…—
There's a pause and Yao looks lost, once again pale, "Just give me a break!"
Arthur stops what he's doing, his own harsh whispering into his cell quiet, the accented voice of the other remains still, and he pulls the phone from his ear, the quiet murmuring of someone briefly taking his attention away. He stares at Yao and he feels like he can see the age pulling at the pale Asian. Feels like he can see the sickness, the accumulated use of pills, the tired soreness, the bruises that last a little longer, and suddenly he feels this out weighing pity.
Gold eyes meet his own, and he flushes, turning away, ashamed.
Alfred remains oblivious to the craziness of the situation until Yao stomps off, his face sickeningly pale with a kind of blush that makes Ivan heart stutter. It's quiet again with soft foot falls and Alfred whistles, turning to look at Ivan whose face is pink from embarrassment, the scarf on his neck looks unbearably tight, and he watches Ivan hold the two ends and pull the ends further.
It itches and Ivan's face falls through a stream of emotion. Hurt, anger, a deeper rage, and he sighs through his nose before smiling, bone chilling, cold, harsh on pale features. Ugly, Arthur thinks, it is so ugly, and Ivan only pulls at his scarf again.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Arthur says away from the receiver. Ivan's smile grows.
"Just a little argument," Ivan says to loudly for his liking, he winces and is shocked when a familiar voice comes out of the intercom of Arthur's phone. Stringy, but accent and all is obvious.
"Ivan? Is that Ivan I hear, dear Arth—"
The call ends so suddenly that if it weren't for the accent, and the remainder of Francis's face with a call time, no one would have noticed anything. But once again, Arthur is also easy to read and his body language says more than his words, despite his expanded vocabulary.
He stands, face pink much like Ivan's and Alfred feels a terrible sinking feeling in his gut. A brittle and burn somewhere within him that is telling him to ask what exactly is happening, to not remain clueless, but a part of him chooses to remain ignorant. It is absolute bliss and he likes the feeling of innocence and not knowing.
He can't get in trouble this way.
At that moment he feels warm all over and the only thought in his head is that something is terribly wrong. Something is positively rotting in there lush garden of flowers and fame. Like a phantom of warning and he stiffens, rubs his hands together and stares deeply into the mirrored wall.
"Is that Francis?" Alfred spits out, and is responded by firm steps heading outside the studio. Ivan and Alfred standalone after the door slams, his body leans against the walls, Ivan doesn't fit the centre of the empty and vast room so he follows Alfred's lead and stands closer to the edge of the shining mirror. He stands quiet and he notices how tense Alfred is standing, his stature is not relaxed, muscles tensed, and within him he finds the urge to ask if he's alright.
After all, they are friends.
"That was Francis." Ivan says darkly, and despite knowing the reassurance he feels a surge of betrayal , a comrade gone a miss, left, ditched. There is no kind way to say it, no nice or soft blow to the leaving. It's just a fellow member who left. He feels strange when he sees his own reflection within the mirror.
Alfred relaxes and his smile is tight, "Yeah, y'know, I thought I was finally over how he left, I mean, he asked and we agreed, but…"
Ivan nods, "Da."
It's quiet, and then Alfred says something that shocks even Ivan. It makes him feel colder than before, it makes him feel scared and it strikes within him deeper than any wound. Like the truth bluntly said, there is no time to react.
"Don't you think everything is falling apart,"
Ivan's jaw goes slack, Alfred sees and coughs.
"No, no, I mean, well, I feel like we were so tight together before," he wants to use words that mean more like broken, shattered, flawed. Something deeper but he doesn't say anything and just laughs strangely, it comes out high pitched and Ivan's strange face deepens. Alfred's smile twitches to the left, grim, and after a while Alfred is tired of smiling and it turns into a grim line.
Ignorance. Should he remain this oblivious?
But he's still a hero, isn't he?
Complicated, way too complicated.
After a while, with the room quiet Ivan sighs, akin to a growl. "I haven't drunk anything in a while, I need a drink."
Alfred's eye widen, he pauses before grinning, "yeah, same."
Another moment, their eyes meet briefly, "Why don't we drink out? We'll hide well, can't have the media behind us."
There's a little desperation that Ivan does not miss, and he's not that cruel, but he contemplates anyway.
The fight with Yao makes him drowsy and strengthens his need for vodka. Cloudy memories of sunflowers, far away yellow, crying and the feel of dirt on his hands make him frown. Yes, he is tired, not exhausted, but tired, and feels like the constant draw of a breath is tiring and it drives him crazy.
He feels like he can somehow remember the distant memory of dirt between nails, brick falling, falling to fast hitting bone. Was it bone or something else? Red and yellow painting everything. There was screaming to.
It's like a flash before his eyes, and then the room is no longer covered in mirrors but walls of snow and old brick, he blinks. The walls expand, he feels bitterness and rage he presses his eyes closed, and this time when he opens them he's back in the studio, Alfred by his side.
He ignores it. A nightmare probably. He blinks, relieved when he's still standing in a dreadful silence.
"Yes, that's a good idea."
Yao stomps off, off to where? The kitchen, the fake community filled with competitors, cameras, and the awaiting moving boxes of appliances. His stomach churns and the sense of heart wrenching guilt once again makes its way into his heart. It aches with more force when he remembers upset- concerned violet eyes and the feel of utter shame from Arthur. Shame, and he shivers in disgust, his memory bringing him to the multiple times Arthur's been coughing. Sick, he can't be sick.
He doesn't notice someone in the kitchen until he hears a sudden foot step, his arms flail and he turns so sharp that the other stumbles before smiling.
A French man smiles gently, hands amidst curly hair. Light falling on his face gently, semi violet eyes stare kindly at him, wrinkling at the edges making his cheeks illuminate in a healthy hue.
"Francis?" Yao says slowly, "Francis." And like what he does to Kiku, he scrutinizing examines how Francis is, he's tall and his face has a certain defined shape that makes his western features look striking. He looks healthy and when Yao finishes his search for sickness he quietly smiles. Fiddling with his toes within his shoes, restless to leave.
All that matters is that Francis is well.
"Yao." Francis smiles and he looks happy if not the tight wedge between his eyes and his smile. There is a gap between the two and the older man frowns. He gestures for Yao to sit down and Yao complies, his face smoothing out whatever ripples of emotion he had. He places his hands together; face stern and business like, tongue gnawing inside his cheek, eyes darting at the door.
Restless.
"How have you been?" Francis asks first, and he beams kindly and it takes Yao everything to smile back. Because something lost is lost, and they lost Francis. He tightens his smile, places his hands on the table, boney and unhealthy pale. He hopes Francis doesn't notice but Francis does, and briefly flickers away from attention before pursing his lips. They lose eye contact and Yao breathes a sigh of relief.
"I'm good," Yao says, and then he jokes around slightly because the air is too heavy with questions and inquiries and confirmations of the closure that all of them never had when Francis left. "I'm always good."
"Oui? Bon, bon*," Francis replies shortly, and Yao feels the urge to ask 'why'. Why leave when they were doing so well, why leave Arthur? Arthur. Why not commit to what they had, why were you so selfish? His smile widens when Francis opens his mouth and he nods, agreeing to something he says. This rift between them is unbearable and he edges his own smile, putting up his indestructible facade, putting up a barrier for the better. They aren't partners any more, they are competition.
It would be easier if they hadn't known each other.
[Yes? Good, good]*
"How is Arthur?"
Yao freezes. It's a sensitive topic and he smiles gently before nodding, "well."
Francis doesn't look satisfied so he presses on, "Oui, mais*… how is his health?"
[Yes, but…]
Yao freezes again and this time, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he vividly remembers coughing and sore throats, he licks his lips. Smiles, before narrowing his eyes. He tries to piece it together but fails. Thinking is becoming distracting when there are so many other matters in his head.
"What?"
Silence. They stare quietly into each other's eyes. It's a silent game of answers. He's not sure who's winning, he's just certain something is wrong, something is getting implied and that maybe Arthur really is sick.
Francis pauses for a moment before tilting his smile to the right, quirking his head to the side. "Non, non, just a question.", and then he stands up like there was no other purpose to their talk and Yao feels offended if the slight irritation on his smile says anything. The short blonde ponytail sways and he has this urge to finally ask his questions for the team. He clenches his fingers into tight balls, eyes flickering onto the floor, watching with a certain depth at their shadows and silhouettes. He watches as they fade and flicker like candle light.
"Francis."
The man turns around slight irritation on his features, impatience, and Yao forces to swallow the strange kind of nervosity in his throat.
"We miss you." He really shouldn't say the second part but he does anyway, "Arthur misses you."
And maybe he receives a smile, or maybe a head turn that tilts too far to the left to be comfortable, and it's these gestures that make it blindly obvious that Francis may not believe him. Because then Francis smiles one of those smiles that hides things, that kind of flirtatious pucker that makes Yao gag, and remind him of everyone else's here within this facility.
Fake.
Why now?
He remembers the woman who cautioned him and he finally understands. He needs to blend in with these other people who wear similar masks.
With one last glance, Francis nods before walking away, and what is left is a feeling of dissatisfaction—emptiness. Like a piece of hope deprived of a chance, Yao bows his head, his charcoal reflection staring back at him, and he notices how he may have lost some weight because his shirt seems to drag lower than before.
A lot has changed since before.
He sighs before pulling at his hair, finding the fridge and hoping that if anything, that at least his hunger would be satisfied.
"Vodka." Ivan says again, despite it being his second or maybe third shot. But it doesn't really matter because he has high tolerance, he thinks. In fact he has high tolerance for many things such as his indestructible admiration for Yao, and his intervals of pain that all seem to level out as he takes another high ended swallow. He feels distracted which is good, and it makes him enjoy the bitter after taste even more.
He lazily glances around, women, girls, are girls even allowed, are staring at him, and if it weren't for his brooding mood he would have waved or smiled. Maybe signed a few autographs or naively ask some of them to join him, but he doesn't and he glances at Alfred, who is making his way through his first glass of weak American liquor.
"That's weak." It's the alcohol talking and the large sunglasses fall onto the tip of his nose, his coat drags most of his weight down, covering him all the way to his knees. No one really knows that he's a star or that he's hiding more than just filthy amounts of cash within his pockets, they don't care, and he's relieved.
"America isn't weak!" Alfred retorts and Ivan rolls his eyes.
"Pathetic."
He finishes his second or third and decides to wait out the feeling of bubbly happiness, he's riding out the feeling of relaxation and he glares at Alfred who is already beginning to hiccup. Weak.
"It's liquor, Alfred." he closes his eyes briefly before opening them to Alfred whistling at a few women that share similar faces. Dusty blondes, green grey eyes, the pretty kind.
Alfred grins toothy before looking back at the Russian who seems amused. The bubbly sensation is not giving off and the sudden realization hits him.
"What?" Alfred asks before taking a huge swallow of liquor, it burns his throat but he swallows it down anyway. Opac light hits him and he grins, watching his skin burn with brighter hues.
"Are you in love, Alfred?" It's his third, fourth round and he swallows with no hesitation.
Alfred chokes. Wiping at his jaw with his fingers, brownish liquid dripping from his mouth, he gags.
"What?"
Ivan does not relent.
"Are you in lo'"
Alfred interrupts.
"Are you drunk?"
Hesitation. Ivan careful ponders before smiling a small smile.
"No."
"Oh my god, you're drunk. I knew this was a bad idea…Damn i-"
"Are you?"
Alfred pauses before shrugging, answering the inquiry anyway. He rubs the back of his neck, glances away before answering.
Hints, these are all hints and Ivan maybe grins.
"I don't think I am."
"Think harder." Is the response and Alfred almost cracks a smile if not the terrible daunting stare coming from clear violet eyes. The lights dance around them, he tries to think, but the liquor is getting in his head.
"I still don-"
"I like Jao." Ivan says calmly, and only then does Alfred see the genuine sadness and joy muffled in his eyes. Ivan's forth shot moves back and forth, rocking between them.
"I like Jao." repeated, and Alfred just listens.
"Why do you like Yao?"
"Jao." Ivan corrects and stupidly, Alfred just grins. He can't help it, he feels like he can giggle and dance, all the while taking the heat of the pub and flow with the laughter and the cheering. He feels drunk, which is a very bad, bad thing but thoughts are getting incoherent and laughter is growing in volume.
"He is pretty.." Ivan says dizzily, and that's when Alfred realizes that there is no way they can walk back sober. He curses under his breath, pushing the glass in front of him away, the liquid slugging slowly back and forth makes him gag. His head aches slightly and he rubs his tense arms.
"Ivan, Ivan," he chides, testing just how drunk Ivan really is. "Dude, get up, come on, get up."
"No." Ivan say's and when lifted his weight seems to double and Alfred wants to punch the Russian for being so vulnerable at a time like this. He takes a hand in his hair, flipping over strands and pulling at it with his fingertips. Should he call a cab? No, he bites his fingernail, that's too risky, and right now he can't risk any more than getting caught in bad media. He can almost see the headline, [Alfred and Ivan caught sneaking out liberally to drink out?!]
"He...strong, da? Jao is strong."
Alfred nods, "right, right". He's not really listening.
He pulls out his mobile phone, typing in a quick text before groaning. Hoping that Yao and Arthur would spare a glance at his plea of help. Sitting down with an angry huff he pauses to look at Ivan who has his head in his hands, chin on the table of the bar.
"Continue." he says curtly because he can't stand the bigger man staring at him. But in all honesty, he doesn't want him to continue either way.
"Jao, stronger than you."
His smile is tight, "yeah? Sure, sure."
His phone vibrates and he's relieved to see Arthur's small sentence inquiring what happened.
AJ:[Something bad happened guys, need your help.]
AK:[What happened?]
He types slowly, wording it carefully only to see that Yao has responded.
YW: [What did you do this time?]
AJ: [Drinking out, Ivan is drunk]
AK: [There's a mini bar at the campus. What were you thinking?!]
YW: [I agree with what Arthur is saying ^]
He groans, holding in a giggle at the same time. Ivan is done his rambling and continues to stare quietly at him, which bugs him more than one can imagine. He quickly sends a small idea of the location, apologizes, before muttering a thanks when both of the replies are:
AK: [On my way, stay there.]
YW: [Coming, don't go anywhere.]
He slumps into his seat, slowly shaking his head of thoughts.
"Jao...Jao insfires* me," Ivan is sitting straighter again, like he wasn't at all drunk and this time he seems drowsy. Like he's asleep which is a later stage of drunkenness and its effects on oneself.
[Yes, a BTS reference]
"Do I inspire you?" Alfred asks curiously becoming aware that finally, Ivan is truthful and vulnerable which is good thing to abuse and toy with. He smirks playfully, twirling around his cup on the table, half empty or half full but half something all the same. He's not one for optimism, in fact, it makes him sick. It sells easy and the public loves it. He uses it, as a personality, a separate version of himself. It gets him good media.
"Yes." Ivan says seriously, gravely mismatching the jokingly tone Alfred used. Colours look strange on his skin and suddenly Alfred is aware that the only neon beams that look good on Ivan's skin are his own colours, purple and the small hint of dying red from the harsh transitions. The club is loud, booming in sound and it's starting to disturb him and his balance.
"You don't care about what people think. Z'good, da?"
Alfred flushes, nodding eagerly before smiling between grins.
"And Arthur? Does he?"
A pause, "Da. Z'he good and precise knows what's right. Looks good, but angry most times."
The blond nods, bobbing his head excitedly. Agreeing to every single thing. He stands satisfied before noticing rushing blurs at the entryway. Yao holds the noisy bar's door open for Arthur and they scurry likes rats undetected through the lobby. But the dancing and the convulsion of motion are too loud, to mesmerizing in itself for anyone to notice them.
They looks strange, Yao is wearing a thick knitted scarf, hiding his neck while Arthur wears darker shades. Long jackets hiding frames suit both of them and the strange mismatched patches of colours match how awful the transitions are of the cheap party lights.
They stand out in more ways than one but tonight the bar is full and it seems that the music is even louder. It's a good thing, and he feels the vibrations of the bass rile him up. He feels upset that they came so soon.
"We...we ca—" Yao begins to say, but Arthur gently nudges him away. Looking angry and frustrated.
"Alfred. What were you thinking? We have priorities now, you cannot just go like some simple minded, uncivilized fool— imbecile, and act so willfully! You bastard! Costing us so much for your own pleasure! You'll be sorry when the media comes!"
Ivan watches blurry. It's all too blurry but he sees raven black hair so he attempts to stand straighter. Gold eyes meet him and the wave of euphoric confusion clouds his mind. Jao, Yao, there's two of them?
There is a speaking noise but he doesn't really hear the words, he just knows that when the Asian man tries to hurl him on his shoulder, he attempts to shake him off. Because this isn't Jao, and the idea of betraying his own morals scares him.
"No." He says using more force then he needs because he sees some kind of familiar pain in the other's eyes.
It takes a while but after there is no longer any noise and he groggily agrees to stand up with Arthur because Arthur is some kind of constant. Jao, Yao, whoever, it's too complicated and it's starting to make him feel sick. He takes a swing at his almost empty glass, swallowing the last drops of vodka when Arthur swings a slim shoulder over his own, and the black haired man watches with a small frown. It's laughable and finally Ivan feels like laughing and just smiling so he cracks a small lip pressed smile which makes the other flush in some kind of seething impatient anger.
"C'mon Yao. Let's head back."
Yao nods, staring deeply into Ivan's lidded eyes. He once drank with Ivan, and he knows Ivan can handle multiple drinks, but even a man his size has a limit. He silently counts the bottles rimmed with transparent drops, four, even that's pushing it for the Russian. He sends a half glare at Ivan, tilting his head to match the crooked angle of Ivan's own. He silently hopes that Ivan will recover from the drunkenness soon. The clarity in the violet eyes sway, concentration is a miss.
"Yeah, let's go- aru…"
Alfred follows behind him, leaving behind a couple ten bills, although the green paper looks restless. He has a small growing headache and the feeling of dancing and happiness is wasting away much to his displeasure, but as it fades he welcomes the seriousness and the logic of his brain trying to rework its circuits.
He jogs to Yao who stands by the door, Arthur seemingly effortlessly carrying a limping Ivan. No one notices them, no one cares, which is concerning and amazing all at once. He stands silently for a moment, just watching opac light blend with neons, watching primary's fade into shades, it is magical he thinks, briefly, but it's probably the foreshadowing of a sore migraine.
"I'm sorry." He says when he snaps out of the lull, and he means it, truly. He needs to start thinking things through but at times he doesn't know how. Like everything is happening to quickly for him to understand. He exits the bar, glancing back at the bright lights and the heavy smell of perfume and alcohol. He likes this kind of atmosphere but Arthur is right. He has face to keep, he has a reputation. He does not have a choice, there can be no mistakes.
He needs to think more before he does things. He closes his eyes and shuts the door. He can't continue on like this. He needs to change.
"Is Ivan okay?" Yao asks when he joins his side, watching Arthur effortlessly drag the other.
"Be more careful." Yao reprimands after, going soft for no apparent reason. Alfred needs to look down to meet the elder's eyes, and he sees concern somewhere clouded in amber. It reminds him of what Ivan said, of the pills of the constant drain of energy.
"Ivan cares for you a lot." he says bluntly and he laughs nervously. "He cares a lot, a lot."
He's not good at this. He flushes, ears turning pink and he pushes his glasses up. He knows what Ivan means, understands with little difficulty. Yao is strong; Yao is more than what he seems. But he is also weak and frail and breaks easily like China and glass. He pauses, staring at Yao who stares at the floor; the sun looks good on him because it makes his skin less sickeningly pale, less like a painting on a bleached canvas, more vivid and colourful. He opens his mouth, "He really, really, like, a lot, a lot, a lot cares about you."
He admires Yao. It's simple, and he holds a breath, enjoys walking slowly and embraces the warmth of the evening sun.
"He cares about you to." Yao says dryly, eyes downcast. Looking at the flying pebbles he's starting to kick with more energy. The sun is slowly setting and he feels the guilt again. He wants to tell Alfred the truth, because Alfred is in all ways easy to talk to. Liar, he thinks when he looks back up to see Alfred staring at the sun. The glow making his skin look warmer than it already is. He needs time. Still needs time. It's complicated and he knows this, they know this. Does Kiku know that? Does he care?
The world spins around him, Alfred is speaking and he is laughing, smiling like it's alright. A rapid breath, his heart beats to fast; it is beating way to fast.
Liar.
No.
Accomplice.
No.
Worse than Kiku.
What can he say to that?
The ground shifts back, his vision clouded momentarily stops and then he hears what Alfred is saying. Something about love and family but he misses it completely. He's too busy calming his frantic heart. He doesn't understand what happened.
"Alfred?"
The American man looks down, questioning with a grin. Alfred is so much more than what the public displays.
"Do you trust me?"
There is no heartbeat, there is no pause, and there is no hesitation.
Yao's heart breaks.
"Yes." Alfred grins, "of course, dude!"
And the sun looks good on Alfred, unlike Yao because he feels like he's burning under the spotlight. Feels afraid and vulnerable for the first time in such a long time, while Alfred walks with confidence and strides with a form of elegance that makes Yao smile sadly. Alfred is amazing, phenomenal is all ways, he admires Alfred. Envies him.
They are too good for him, to good, to kind. And what is he? He wants to scream and tell them that he's a fraud. That they shouldn't trust him, and he feels like their faces are becoming blurs with crosses on them. Because why is he talking to people with such genuine kindness? How is he so selfish that he can destroy their harmony? Why has he become like this?
Alfred laughs about something and he smiles back.
They are all so amazing.
The realization doesn't hit him as surprising and he looks at the ground for the remainder of the walk.
He is utter scum.
—-
There is a letter written when they get back. Neat, clean, folded carefully with precision and pressed gently. The care and detail makes them uneasy, even Ivan's stare seems to clear.
We are terribly sorry to inform you that the date for the first challenge will be changed to tomorrow. Prepare to head to the main lobby tomorrow for performances. Best of luck, and sorry for the inconvenience.
Roma Antiqua
Owner
Authors note
Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Yes, I am loyal to all of my stories, and despite a lack of time will always come to update them!
So it's clear Arthur's sick of some sort, and the feud between Yao and Ivan draw a bigger rift in all four of them. But what about Francis and his knowledge on the topic concerning Arthur? Or Alfred's part in the growing mystery and relationships within the ALLIES? And now we have another problem, Ivan's strange remembrance of a dark dream, or is it reality?
But lastly, has anyone truly guessed the ultimate plot between Yao and Kiku? I suppose not, the biggest evidence will be in the next chapter!
Next chapter you see everyone competing for the label of first place!
You responded! Ahaha, yes the confrontation was probably the best part of the chapter! Aha...my new story MEMO is dark, the writing style is quite different, almost disturbing. Hopefully, you will enjoy that new exploration of writing styles? Will the AXIS cheat? Maybe, maybe not, next chapter you will see! As for Ivan's possessiveness, yes, I suppose it's due to mere desperation, haha. Yes, you missed quite a bit, but I am so glad that you have come back, and hopefully well?
Your reviews are honestly a huge part in the completion of my chapters, I never want to continue until I get a review (mostly yours) that in detail gives me good feedback, so I know what to change and what not to. I'm glad you enjoy the pairing of Ivan and Yao! It is by far my favorite; however, I won't let that shun the others. Once again, I want to thank you because your reviews make me smile, make me feel inspired a new to try my best and expand on my chapters. In fact, sometimes when you guess my plots I add factors because your ideas and assumptions give me more ideas, they are honestly THAT good!
Be well! Happy New Year! I'll wait for your next review!~