Malice Mizer BINGE
"Crouching Dante...Hidden Vergil.." LOL. By the way, I LOVE Malice Mizer :heart: I've been listening to my new CD of them ALL DAY. (Thanks Verge, I love you, you demented cherub) So here's the new installment of my untitled adventure!
Untitled
Chapter: 4
Warnings: Nothing much. Alot of bully violence, though. MUCH cute moment-ness.
…”Do not lose hope in this world, for it will lose hope in you…”
“Who was that kid before?!” A punch landed itself into Grey’s gut, making him clutch his stomach in pain, leaning against the bricks of the school behind him. “Are you even friends with blackies, now?!”
“Yeah, I’ve got a right mind he’s got Callsbury bewitched in ‘is head o’ somethin’!” The boy beside the other said. The brown haired taller boy behind the two stepped foreward, grabbing Grey’s bangs, and jerking them back to look up at him, he sneered “Maybe we need to beat it out of that pretty boy head of yours, then?”
Storm grey eyes widened a split second before his head was slammed into the brick behind him. Spikes of pain and black dots made his vision swim before his eyes and his eyes prick with the starting of tears. I’m not gonna cry, damn it! He felt his body pitch toward the ground as the gravel of the school’s alley met his soft cheek, scratching it in places.
He saw feet come flaying at him as searing kicks were dealt to his side. “You know ‘ow much gold the wench cost me even after you skipped out?! I ‘ad to pay outta my allowance money this week fo’ that!” A particularly hard kick was dealt to his already pained stomach. He groaned and his fingers were pulled out from out under his body, stepped on and driven into the sharp gravel. A pained cry escaped his bloody lips “What will your parents think if they knew you were hanging around with a blackie? Huh?”
“They’d be thrown out of the club.” One of them said, his voice was distorted from the pain and overall swimming of his head.
Cruel laughter above him and taunts kept coming with the pain. So much pain… He closed his eyes tightly against the inevitable tears, but they just came anyway, shaming him.
“Hey look, pretty boy’s crying!”
“Aww…di’ we bruise your perfect skin, girly?”
Tears spilled out from his clenched eyes, dampening the gravel and dust poking into his cheek. He’d never been subjected to such pain and humiliation before! It hurt so badly! Where were the nuns? The father? Where were his other school mates? Why didn’t they help him?! Someone! Anyone! Help me! His mind cried out piteously.
Where are you now?! Came the angry, unconscious thought; surprising even him.
From behind the group surrounding the poor Grey, a rock sailed across the air from the fence-hitting the brown haired tall boy square in the back of the head. Hard.
“What the--?!” He whipped around, eyes scanning for the culprit. He started for the first kid he saw.
The other boys turned back to Grey, kicking a cloud of gravel bits and dust into his face a last time before following the taller boy, “We’re not done with you yet!” “Righ’ so don’t you go telling any Sisters or we’ll beat ye twice as hard!”
Grey sat up as best he could, wide eyes following the bullies’ direction for his savior. He found none with guts enough to throw a rock at Nigel Andrews-even though he was currently yelling at a random kid he thought was the culprit.
Except-it might have been a trick of his eyes, but he thought he saw a flash of black slip from behind the shadow of a tree that grew on the other side of the schoolyard fence. Had that been…? He shook his head. Of course it hadn’t been, you dimwit, how could he have found you twice in a row when you were in trouble? It was probably some brave or foolish kid on the schoolyard who had ran away.
Shaking his head and unsteadily getting up even with the support of the wall made Grey’s head spin once more, almost blinding him with dizziness. He took one curious look back to the tree and then ran back into school, heading for the lavatories.
***
Thankfully, he’d managed to get home without much incident, and his ribs didn’t hurt as much at the end of the day. But he was still ashamed and angry. Ashamed he’d cried and allowed himself to beat him without striking back-how much like a girl he had acted. Angry. Angry because they supposed to be his friends. (Even though he knew they weren’t really; It was just their parents’ standing that drew them together) Angry because no one had helped him in time. Angry because none of the nuns or the Father had asked of his injuries-they knew who had done it! It was because they were afraid of them, just like he was, afraid of their parents! And that just made Grey even angrier. And to add insult to injury, he was helpless against it all. None one would help him.
And he was afraid. Grey was afraid that the boys would tell their parents about the mysterious blackie who had taken up his company-and worse, his parents would kill him if they were made the laughing stock of ‘The Club’.
All on his way home, he prayed to Vion his parents would be gone by the time he came home. Even more, that Nigel and the lot wouldn’t tell. Walking carefully down Dutch Hill, he stared at his sore fingers, and another worry dropped into the growing pile at the bottom of his stomach-what if I cant--?!
He ran home the best he could after that, stopping only after he had shut the door safely behind him. He panted, looking around the entry room, listening for any sign of his parents nervously.
“Grey is that you?” Came the voice of his mother.
Grey’s stomach dropped, fear dripping in his veins at being caught looking so bruised by his parents. Hopefully he could just slip around them and bolt straight up the steps.
To more of his terrible luck, his father had walked into the room from the kitchen’s door, in mid sentence. “By Vion! What is the meaning of your appearance?” He demanded in a booming voice, making him wince. This made his mother come in, mildly interested, face drawn in shock at the way he looked.
“Grey Ralph A. Callsbury! What in the name of Vion are you doing sloughing around the neighborhood looking like that?!” She gasped, hand raised to her breast in surprise, scolding.
“Why isn’t it clear, Marie? Boy’s gotten into a fight!” Came the stern voice of his father, making him shrink back against the door. He just wanted to be sucked up by the floor-into pitch black darkness…quiet.
A gasp from his mother, “A fight! Grey! Do you have any sense of decency?! What if te neighbors saw you like this? We’d be laughed out of the club!”
Grey didn’t meet her eyes nor the harsh glare of his father. If you only knew! All you care about is your reputation! I have to be perfect and endure bullying just because you want to have richer friends! He felt the tears coming once again in hopeless, shameful anger, and bit his ripped lip to stop himself. He could taste the prick of blood on his tongue and it settled him. He slipped his injured hand behind his back so the couldn’t see the crooked fingers.
“Boy! You don’t ever care about us, do you! It’s always about you, isn’t it? What about if we want to maintain a clean reputation! You disappoint me! Get upstairs!”
No, it’s always about you-you’re the ones who don’t care about me! He bit back his retort and bolted up stairs, blonde hair whipping behind him, out of place from his previously neat tie. He ran to the haven of his large room, brushing roughly past a shocked maid who was dusting the banisters.
“Young master!” She called.
He raced past her, slamming the door behind him savagely in a display of un-noble-like behavior. He locked his door with a click, sore fingers cracking in protest. Loosening his school tie, he threw it somewhere on his floor, slipping into his comfortable overstuffed and well-used chair by the already stoked fireplace. It was already dark outside his window…he noted.
Heaving a heavy, worried sigh, he rose shaking fingers to the object lying on the table nearby in it’s red velvet case. His brows knit in anxiety, hoping it would not be true…
***
Sighing, the dark boy collapsed onto the cold marble of the City Square statue’s pedestal.
He’d literally ran around the whole city in his little bout of restlessness. And resentfulness. The tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him. He frowned. He was lucky to reach the boy in time by the fence before something serious was hurt-besides that pride of his.
It was the same again…he’d felt this pang of electricity jolt at his stomach and the brooding feeling of dark clouds above his head. His gut feeling told him something was wrong, mainly with his ‘Boy’. He had slipped out of school silently enough, got around the city guards patrolling the streets, and slipped behind the tree’s shade that rested behind the boy’s schoolyard fence. An unknown feeling had shot through his veins starting in his stomach as he saw three boys huddled around something on the side of the school. He heard a cry from the ground and recognized it as the blonde. He’d thrown the rock in a surge of hot-blooded anger and it’d hit the tall boy right in the back of the head to his satisfaction.
He knew the feeling for what it had been, now. It had been anxiety. Worry for the boy whose fate had been unwillingly tied to his own. He leaned back against the cold statue the only thing separating the stone from his naked back was his thin, dirtied white school shirt. Off-handedly, he missed the comforting warmth of being wrapped in the only thing he’d managed to keep from his home, that burgundy wine colored wrap.
Getting up, Vallak decided to look for the boy once more; even though he knew where to find him. Heading in the direction of Dutch Hill, he smiled softly-maybe he could get his wrap back after all if he asked nicely. Never did it occur to him it was for any other reason…but the back of his mind thought otherwise.
***
Sitting by his open window Grey fumbled with the object in his hand frustratedly. He let out a noise that only proved all the more his aggravation as he tried for the umpteenth time to play his violin sonata with shaky, sprained fingers.
He tried so hard to make it come out right like it had always had, but it wasn’t. His fingers fumbled ungracefully with the bow, fingers aching with the abuse. Eyebrows knit together and his lip bitten even more as a feeling of immeasurable frustration and hopelessness at his situation. The cold chill from the coming winter night did nothing to soothe the shame in his cheeks.
Again he tried, but the sound came out mangled and his hurt fingers kept on slipping. Anger welled up for the third time today inside of him, and just thinking about all the other times made his disposition even worse. “Why won’t it work?!!” He cried out, grasping the neck of the violin as if to strangle it, holding back the urge to smash the precious instrument on the wooden floor.
Instead he grasped it to his breast, holding it close as he curled into himself on the chair, bursting into hot, frustrated tears. He wept so hard it wracked his narrow shoulders, and the thoughts of all the events of the whole day and the night before made him weep even harder, fat tears rolling down tearstained tracks down his red cheeks.
He’d never been so hopeless. He wanted out of this existence. Why did he have to be born here? Into this wretched family where no one cared about him and constantly pressured him? Where he was bullied and called a female for his weakness and appearance, and now this!
He let out a wail when he realized with fingers like these, he might never be able to do the only calming thing to him again in his miserable life.
The cold breeze from the window shifted his dirtied blonde hair around as it tickled his palms that were pressed into his eyes. A shadow blocked the moonlight from the window. “Why does the poor, beautiful creature cry so?” A voice rang melodically from the windowsill.
The boy let out a yelp, much to the amusement of Vallak, and whipped around, surprising him with the red rimmed eyes and tearstained face. He’d never seen the blonde cry. He thought his pride would never allow it. This must be why, he guessed, that he was crying alone in his room. “W-why are you here?!” He a gasp fell from his pink lips. “H-How?”
Vallak flashed him a strangely comforting yet smug grin. “I’m very nimble, you know.” He just sat there, crouched in his window like it was everyday he came to visit people at night in their windows. This of course, wasn’t true, but he was indeed very used to coming and going by means of windows.
He climbed down, throwing himself in a nearby empty chair, despite the boy’s protesting, shocked noise. “Don’t invite yourself in!” He sputtered.
Vallak chose to ignore him and watched him with searching, brilliant green eyes at flickered yellow in the light of the fireplace. He rested his elbow on a soft, not stiff armrest and then his cheek on his knuckle. “What ever is the matter, boy?”
The blonde’s glare was lost, and he dropped his head and his guard, not having it in him anymore to rejoinder the darker one. “I…” His voice broke but he tried hard not to cry again. His pride was hurt enough; he would not let this bothersome boy see him cry, too.
Vallak’s eyebrow lowered, catching quickly onto his change of moods. So…this boy wasn’t all there in his perfect life. It figured, money could never buy happiness, and never would. “I came back for my wrap, might you still have it?” He said, quickly changing the path of the conversation.
The boy’s head shot up, anger returning in a surge. ‘Don’t you even care about anyone but yourself?! It’s your fault all this happened, anyway!” He yelled at the other sitting across from him leisurely.
Vallak’s face slackened to mild surprise. “My fault?” He said, playing the part of the dimwit. “Whatever did happen to you?” He said; a tad bit in a mocking tone.
“Those boys saw me with you!” He shouted, standing up suddenly, fingers painfully grasping the material of his breeches. The violin and bow clattered to the floor. “Now I’m the laughing stock of them! They even hit me! Many times!” His eyes snapped shut at the terrifying memory of boots coming into contact with his stomach, shoulders… “If my parents find out about you--! If their friends find out about you! I’ll be killed by my father!”
Vallak’s single eyebrow rose, watching the boy from his spot on the chair. “You were in trouble that time. I came.” He said simply, to him, hoping that he would understand. It was so hard to communicate to someone so different from him.
The boy rushed forward, beating his fists on his chest in a fit of petty anger, “It’s all your fault this happened! Because you can’t leave me alone!” he started to hit harder, and tears started to fall again, “Why can’t you just--!”
Vallak grabbed his thin wrists, pulling them off himself and straightening the boy, holding him in place, “Will you stop?!” He barked.
Shining gray eyes widened and he stopped in mid sentence, leaned over Vallak as he was grasped strongly by the wrists.
“I’m sorry.” Vallak said in apology, in a gentler tone, suddenly feeling bad for treating him that way. He loosened his grasp on the delicate wrists, looking the boy straight in the eye. “…I’m sorry.” He repeated.
The boy broke his hold, shame coloring his cheeks at the sudden outburst. “…” He didn’t know what to say.
The darker boy got up, sighing and stared to shift about the contents in his draws, looking strangely determined.
“What are you doing?” The blonde asked in a quite tone.
“Aha.” Was the muttered reply he received, as he watched him withdraw a roll of bandage from one of his desk’s draws. He turned to him, “Come here.” He ordered softly. The boy gave him a strange glance and warily made his way over to him.
He gasped as he gently grabbed his long, awkward fingers, proceeding on wrapping each of them in bandage. He made a slight clicking sound of pity when he came across the one dislocated finger. “Come closer,” he said drawing him in by the waist like one might do to a woman. This action brought color to the boy’s cheeks, along with how close he was to him right now. So close, he could pick out the scents on him…like the earthy smell of dirt and the musk of sweat from running. Had he been running?
The boy looked sideways at him but his face was down turned to his hand. “This is going to hurt a bit so hold onto me and don’t look.” He murmured his way. Fear caught in his throat, and he tried to pull his hand away but it was held fast as eyes looked down into his, “Just trust me, if I don’t fix it, your finger will grow the wrong way.”
Fair eyebrows knit together cutely with worry, and he nodded once, but warily, turning away, and grasping his shoulder with his good hand.
Vallak nodded as well, taking it as a yes. He sighed once before grabbing the crooked finger and giving one quick, sharp tug. There was a gasp from the boy and the grip on his shoulder told him he was in pain. He quickly set the bone back into place with a reassuring snap. The hand on his shoulder dropped and the boy let out a breath he’d been holding. “Ah.” He said quietly in pain.
Vallak proceeded on with wrapping the rest of the beautiful, long, regal fingers. He let his own fingers run over them more than medically necessary as he bandaged each one, reveling at how different their fingers were.
The boy’s were soft like a noble’s knowing now hard labor like Vallak’s had, hard calluses forming roughly over his fingertips, unlike how the boy’s were only in few, strange places. Like ones that ran just so right behind perfectly manicured, squared fingernails and one on the right side of his long middle finger that told of long hours of school and time spent with the quill. He was done more quickly than he would have liked, but the boy’s patience was trying and he would not stand for someone standing there ogling at his fingers.
The boy watched him work with a slight smile on his face as he ran his fingers over his own in feather light touches, that neither hurt but tickled, making him shiver. Non one had ever been this gentle with him before, not even his own mother, it felt…nice after so much unkindness he’d received.
The darker boy drew back, much to his relief, and said “There.”
Vallak gave him a comforting smile, “Now don’t use that hand for a while, let it heal.” He then widened his smile, “I’d like to hear you play the violin when it’s healed, though.”
For some reason beyond him, the boy blushed a deep hue of pink. “Uhh…I’m not really…” He shook his head and looked up at him instead of at his shoes, “What is your name?” He blurted, asking for the second time.
Vallak gave him a vague smile that confused him and batted his eyes at him, “You flatter me, boy, asking twice of me.”
“I just---!” He answered, flustered. “Vallak.” Interrupted his embarrassed words. Gray eyes widened in surprised. It did not occur to him yet that Vallak had placed trust in the him by giving him his name. An action that only happened between friends.
“And what is yours, boy?”
“It’s not boy, for certain!” He retorted, blushing again. “It’s Grey. Grey R. A. Callsbury.” He said haughtily.
“Ah.” He purred in satisfaction, eyes instinctively going to Grey’s own. So that’s why…
“Grey! Who’s in there with you? I heard voices!” His mother called from the other side of the door. Grey gasped as the door lock clicked open to his mother, looking worried. She shook her head.
“I could have sworn…”
Grey’s head shot back behind him to where Vallak had been standing only moments before, eye wide. He smiled discreetly and turned back to his mother. “You must be imagining things, mother.”
She huffed and left, closing the door.
The blonde walked over to the window, the curtains blowing in the cold wind as he shivered and closed it, looking up at the silvery winter moon. “Vallk, huh?” He said, smiling softly, looking down at his bandaged hand.
Chapter 4 End.
Yay! They FINALLY know eachother's names. Or is it too soon? I'm worried once again that I'm taking the plot and character development too fast. Don't hesitate to tell me so, it helps! Oh, by the way, like my new icon?
Untitled
Chapter: 4
Warnings: Nothing much. Alot of bully violence, though. MUCH cute moment-ness.
…”Do not lose hope in this world, for it will lose hope in you…”
“Who was that kid before?!” A punch landed itself into Grey’s gut, making him clutch his stomach in pain, leaning against the bricks of the school behind him. “Are you even friends with blackies, now?!”
“Yeah, I’ve got a right mind he’s got Callsbury bewitched in ‘is head o’ somethin’!” The boy beside the other said. The brown haired taller boy behind the two stepped foreward, grabbing Grey’s bangs, and jerking them back to look up at him, he sneered “Maybe we need to beat it out of that pretty boy head of yours, then?”
Storm grey eyes widened a split second before his head was slammed into the brick behind him. Spikes of pain and black dots made his vision swim before his eyes and his eyes prick with the starting of tears. I’m not gonna cry, damn it! He felt his body pitch toward the ground as the gravel of the school’s alley met his soft cheek, scratching it in places.
He saw feet come flaying at him as searing kicks were dealt to his side. “You know ‘ow much gold the wench cost me even after you skipped out?! I ‘ad to pay outta my allowance money this week fo’ that!” A particularly hard kick was dealt to his already pained stomach. He groaned and his fingers were pulled out from out under his body, stepped on and driven into the sharp gravel. A pained cry escaped his bloody lips “What will your parents think if they knew you were hanging around with a blackie? Huh?”
“They’d be thrown out of the club.” One of them said, his voice was distorted from the pain and overall swimming of his head.
Cruel laughter above him and taunts kept coming with the pain. So much pain… He closed his eyes tightly against the inevitable tears, but they just came anyway, shaming him.
“Hey look, pretty boy’s crying!”
“Aww…di’ we bruise your perfect skin, girly?”
Tears spilled out from his clenched eyes, dampening the gravel and dust poking into his cheek. He’d never been subjected to such pain and humiliation before! It hurt so badly! Where were the nuns? The father? Where were his other school mates? Why didn’t they help him?! Someone! Anyone! Help me! His mind cried out piteously.
Where are you now?! Came the angry, unconscious thought; surprising even him.
From behind the group surrounding the poor Grey, a rock sailed across the air from the fence-hitting the brown haired tall boy square in the back of the head. Hard.
“What the--?!” He whipped around, eyes scanning for the culprit. He started for the first kid he saw.
The other boys turned back to Grey, kicking a cloud of gravel bits and dust into his face a last time before following the taller boy, “We’re not done with you yet!” “Righ’ so don’t you go telling any Sisters or we’ll beat ye twice as hard!”
Grey sat up as best he could, wide eyes following the bullies’ direction for his savior. He found none with guts enough to throw a rock at Nigel Andrews-even though he was currently yelling at a random kid he thought was the culprit.
Except-it might have been a trick of his eyes, but he thought he saw a flash of black slip from behind the shadow of a tree that grew on the other side of the schoolyard fence. Had that been…? He shook his head. Of course it hadn’t been, you dimwit, how could he have found you twice in a row when you were in trouble? It was probably some brave or foolish kid on the schoolyard who had ran away.
Shaking his head and unsteadily getting up even with the support of the wall made Grey’s head spin once more, almost blinding him with dizziness. He took one curious look back to the tree and then ran back into school, heading for the lavatories.
***
Thankfully, he’d managed to get home without much incident, and his ribs didn’t hurt as much at the end of the day. But he was still ashamed and angry. Ashamed he’d cried and allowed himself to beat him without striking back-how much like a girl he had acted. Angry. Angry because they supposed to be his friends. (Even though he knew they weren’t really; It was just their parents’ standing that drew them together) Angry because no one had helped him in time. Angry because none of the nuns or the Father had asked of his injuries-they knew who had done it! It was because they were afraid of them, just like he was, afraid of their parents! And that just made Grey even angrier. And to add insult to injury, he was helpless against it all. None one would help him.
And he was afraid. Grey was afraid that the boys would tell their parents about the mysterious blackie who had taken up his company-and worse, his parents would kill him if they were made the laughing stock of ‘The Club’.
All on his way home, he prayed to Vion his parents would be gone by the time he came home. Even more, that Nigel and the lot wouldn’t tell. Walking carefully down Dutch Hill, he stared at his sore fingers, and another worry dropped into the growing pile at the bottom of his stomach-what if I cant--?!
He ran home the best he could after that, stopping only after he had shut the door safely behind him. He panted, looking around the entry room, listening for any sign of his parents nervously.
“Grey is that you?” Came the voice of his mother.
Grey’s stomach dropped, fear dripping in his veins at being caught looking so bruised by his parents. Hopefully he could just slip around them and bolt straight up the steps.
To more of his terrible luck, his father had walked into the room from the kitchen’s door, in mid sentence. “By Vion! What is the meaning of your appearance?” He demanded in a booming voice, making him wince. This made his mother come in, mildly interested, face drawn in shock at the way he looked.
“Grey Ralph A. Callsbury! What in the name of Vion are you doing sloughing around the neighborhood looking like that?!” She gasped, hand raised to her breast in surprise, scolding.
“Why isn’t it clear, Marie? Boy’s gotten into a fight!” Came the stern voice of his father, making him shrink back against the door. He just wanted to be sucked up by the floor-into pitch black darkness…quiet.
A gasp from his mother, “A fight! Grey! Do you have any sense of decency?! What if te neighbors saw you like this? We’d be laughed out of the club!”
Grey didn’t meet her eyes nor the harsh glare of his father. If you only knew! All you care about is your reputation! I have to be perfect and endure bullying just because you want to have richer friends! He felt the tears coming once again in hopeless, shameful anger, and bit his ripped lip to stop himself. He could taste the prick of blood on his tongue and it settled him. He slipped his injured hand behind his back so the couldn’t see the crooked fingers.
“Boy! You don’t ever care about us, do you! It’s always about you, isn’t it? What about if we want to maintain a clean reputation! You disappoint me! Get upstairs!”
No, it’s always about you-you’re the ones who don’t care about me! He bit back his retort and bolted up stairs, blonde hair whipping behind him, out of place from his previously neat tie. He ran to the haven of his large room, brushing roughly past a shocked maid who was dusting the banisters.
“Young master!” She called.
He raced past her, slamming the door behind him savagely in a display of un-noble-like behavior. He locked his door with a click, sore fingers cracking in protest. Loosening his school tie, he threw it somewhere on his floor, slipping into his comfortable overstuffed and well-used chair by the already stoked fireplace. It was already dark outside his window…he noted.
Heaving a heavy, worried sigh, he rose shaking fingers to the object lying on the table nearby in it’s red velvet case. His brows knit in anxiety, hoping it would not be true…
***
Sighing, the dark boy collapsed onto the cold marble of the City Square statue’s pedestal.
He’d literally ran around the whole city in his little bout of restlessness. And resentfulness. The tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him. He frowned. He was lucky to reach the boy in time by the fence before something serious was hurt-besides that pride of his.
It was the same again…he’d felt this pang of electricity jolt at his stomach and the brooding feeling of dark clouds above his head. His gut feeling told him something was wrong, mainly with his ‘Boy’. He had slipped out of school silently enough, got around the city guards patrolling the streets, and slipped behind the tree’s shade that rested behind the boy’s schoolyard fence. An unknown feeling had shot through his veins starting in his stomach as he saw three boys huddled around something on the side of the school. He heard a cry from the ground and recognized it as the blonde. He’d thrown the rock in a surge of hot-blooded anger and it’d hit the tall boy right in the back of the head to his satisfaction.
He knew the feeling for what it had been, now. It had been anxiety. Worry for the boy whose fate had been unwillingly tied to his own. He leaned back against the cold statue the only thing separating the stone from his naked back was his thin, dirtied white school shirt. Off-handedly, he missed the comforting warmth of being wrapped in the only thing he’d managed to keep from his home, that burgundy wine colored wrap.
Getting up, Vallak decided to look for the boy once more; even though he knew where to find him. Heading in the direction of Dutch Hill, he smiled softly-maybe he could get his wrap back after all if he asked nicely. Never did it occur to him it was for any other reason…but the back of his mind thought otherwise.
***
Sitting by his open window Grey fumbled with the object in his hand frustratedly. He let out a noise that only proved all the more his aggravation as he tried for the umpteenth time to play his violin sonata with shaky, sprained fingers.
He tried so hard to make it come out right like it had always had, but it wasn’t. His fingers fumbled ungracefully with the bow, fingers aching with the abuse. Eyebrows knit together and his lip bitten even more as a feeling of immeasurable frustration and hopelessness at his situation. The cold chill from the coming winter night did nothing to soothe the shame in his cheeks.
Again he tried, but the sound came out mangled and his hurt fingers kept on slipping. Anger welled up for the third time today inside of him, and just thinking about all the other times made his disposition even worse. “Why won’t it work?!!” He cried out, grasping the neck of the violin as if to strangle it, holding back the urge to smash the precious instrument on the wooden floor.
Instead he grasped it to his breast, holding it close as he curled into himself on the chair, bursting into hot, frustrated tears. He wept so hard it wracked his narrow shoulders, and the thoughts of all the events of the whole day and the night before made him weep even harder, fat tears rolling down tearstained tracks down his red cheeks.
He’d never been so hopeless. He wanted out of this existence. Why did he have to be born here? Into this wretched family where no one cared about him and constantly pressured him? Where he was bullied and called a female for his weakness and appearance, and now this!
He let out a wail when he realized with fingers like these, he might never be able to do the only calming thing to him again in his miserable life.
The cold breeze from the window shifted his dirtied blonde hair around as it tickled his palms that were pressed into his eyes. A shadow blocked the moonlight from the window. “Why does the poor, beautiful creature cry so?” A voice rang melodically from the windowsill.
The boy let out a yelp, much to the amusement of Vallak, and whipped around, surprising him with the red rimmed eyes and tearstained face. He’d never seen the blonde cry. He thought his pride would never allow it. This must be why, he guessed, that he was crying alone in his room. “W-why are you here?!” He a gasp fell from his pink lips. “H-How?”
Vallak flashed him a strangely comforting yet smug grin. “I’m very nimble, you know.” He just sat there, crouched in his window like it was everyday he came to visit people at night in their windows. This of course, wasn’t true, but he was indeed very used to coming and going by means of windows.
He climbed down, throwing himself in a nearby empty chair, despite the boy’s protesting, shocked noise. “Don’t invite yourself in!” He sputtered.
Vallak chose to ignore him and watched him with searching, brilliant green eyes at flickered yellow in the light of the fireplace. He rested his elbow on a soft, not stiff armrest and then his cheek on his knuckle. “What ever is the matter, boy?”
The blonde’s glare was lost, and he dropped his head and his guard, not having it in him anymore to rejoinder the darker one. “I…” His voice broke but he tried hard not to cry again. His pride was hurt enough; he would not let this bothersome boy see him cry, too.
Vallak’s eyebrow lowered, catching quickly onto his change of moods. So…this boy wasn’t all there in his perfect life. It figured, money could never buy happiness, and never would. “I came back for my wrap, might you still have it?” He said, quickly changing the path of the conversation.
The boy’s head shot up, anger returning in a surge. ‘Don’t you even care about anyone but yourself?! It’s your fault all this happened, anyway!” He yelled at the other sitting across from him leisurely.
Vallak’s face slackened to mild surprise. “My fault?” He said, playing the part of the dimwit. “Whatever did happen to you?” He said; a tad bit in a mocking tone.
“Those boys saw me with you!” He shouted, standing up suddenly, fingers painfully grasping the material of his breeches. The violin and bow clattered to the floor. “Now I’m the laughing stock of them! They even hit me! Many times!” His eyes snapped shut at the terrifying memory of boots coming into contact with his stomach, shoulders… “If my parents find out about you--! If their friends find out about you! I’ll be killed by my father!”
Vallak’s single eyebrow rose, watching the boy from his spot on the chair. “You were in trouble that time. I came.” He said simply, to him, hoping that he would understand. It was so hard to communicate to someone so different from him.
The boy rushed forward, beating his fists on his chest in a fit of petty anger, “It’s all your fault this happened! Because you can’t leave me alone!” he started to hit harder, and tears started to fall again, “Why can’t you just--!”
Vallak grabbed his thin wrists, pulling them off himself and straightening the boy, holding him in place, “Will you stop?!” He barked.
Shining gray eyes widened and he stopped in mid sentence, leaned over Vallak as he was grasped strongly by the wrists.
“I’m sorry.” Vallak said in apology, in a gentler tone, suddenly feeling bad for treating him that way. He loosened his grasp on the delicate wrists, looking the boy straight in the eye. “…I’m sorry.” He repeated.
The boy broke his hold, shame coloring his cheeks at the sudden outburst. “…” He didn’t know what to say.
The darker boy got up, sighing and stared to shift about the contents in his draws, looking strangely determined.
“What are you doing?” The blonde asked in a quite tone.
“Aha.” Was the muttered reply he received, as he watched him withdraw a roll of bandage from one of his desk’s draws. He turned to him, “Come here.” He ordered softly. The boy gave him a strange glance and warily made his way over to him.
He gasped as he gently grabbed his long, awkward fingers, proceeding on wrapping each of them in bandage. He made a slight clicking sound of pity when he came across the one dislocated finger. “Come closer,” he said drawing him in by the waist like one might do to a woman. This action brought color to the boy’s cheeks, along with how close he was to him right now. So close, he could pick out the scents on him…like the earthy smell of dirt and the musk of sweat from running. Had he been running?
The boy looked sideways at him but his face was down turned to his hand. “This is going to hurt a bit so hold onto me and don’t look.” He murmured his way. Fear caught in his throat, and he tried to pull his hand away but it was held fast as eyes looked down into his, “Just trust me, if I don’t fix it, your finger will grow the wrong way.”
Fair eyebrows knit together cutely with worry, and he nodded once, but warily, turning away, and grasping his shoulder with his good hand.
Vallak nodded as well, taking it as a yes. He sighed once before grabbing the crooked finger and giving one quick, sharp tug. There was a gasp from the boy and the grip on his shoulder told him he was in pain. He quickly set the bone back into place with a reassuring snap. The hand on his shoulder dropped and the boy let out a breath he’d been holding. “Ah.” He said quietly in pain.
Vallak proceeded on with wrapping the rest of the beautiful, long, regal fingers. He let his own fingers run over them more than medically necessary as he bandaged each one, reveling at how different their fingers were.
The boy’s were soft like a noble’s knowing now hard labor like Vallak’s had, hard calluses forming roughly over his fingertips, unlike how the boy’s were only in few, strange places. Like ones that ran just so right behind perfectly manicured, squared fingernails and one on the right side of his long middle finger that told of long hours of school and time spent with the quill. He was done more quickly than he would have liked, but the boy’s patience was trying and he would not stand for someone standing there ogling at his fingers.
The boy watched him work with a slight smile on his face as he ran his fingers over his own in feather light touches, that neither hurt but tickled, making him shiver. Non one had ever been this gentle with him before, not even his own mother, it felt…nice after so much unkindness he’d received.
The darker boy drew back, much to his relief, and said “There.”
Vallak gave him a comforting smile, “Now don’t use that hand for a while, let it heal.” He then widened his smile, “I’d like to hear you play the violin when it’s healed, though.”
For some reason beyond him, the boy blushed a deep hue of pink. “Uhh…I’m not really…” He shook his head and looked up at him instead of at his shoes, “What is your name?” He blurted, asking for the second time.
Vallak gave him a vague smile that confused him and batted his eyes at him, “You flatter me, boy, asking twice of me.”
“I just---!” He answered, flustered. “Vallak.” Interrupted his embarrassed words. Gray eyes widened in surprised. It did not occur to him yet that Vallak had placed trust in the him by giving him his name. An action that only happened between friends.
“And what is yours, boy?”
“It’s not boy, for certain!” He retorted, blushing again. “It’s Grey. Grey R. A. Callsbury.” He said haughtily.
“Ah.” He purred in satisfaction, eyes instinctively going to Grey’s own. So that’s why…
“Grey! Who’s in there with you? I heard voices!” His mother called from the other side of the door. Grey gasped as the door lock clicked open to his mother, looking worried. She shook her head.
“I could have sworn…”
Grey’s head shot back behind him to where Vallak had been standing only moments before, eye wide. He smiled discreetly and turned back to his mother. “You must be imagining things, mother.”
She huffed and left, closing the door.
The blonde walked over to the window, the curtains blowing in the cold wind as he shivered and closed it, looking up at the silvery winter moon. “Vallk, huh?” He said, smiling softly, looking down at his bandaged hand.
Chapter 4 End.
Yay! They FINALLY know eachother's names. Or is it too soon? I'm worried once again that I'm taking the plot and character development too fast. Don't hesitate to tell me so, it helps! Oh, by the way, like my new icon?