surfacage | trick or treat

Entry tags:

!ic,
!private

trick or treat

So of course, here's Jack, meandering down the corridors with a bowl of sweet candies in arm; every now and then he'd reach in blindly for one and eat it.

"Mister Ja~ack," he sings, apparently looking for that one Contractor counterpart of his - but he's just passing the music rooms here and then, perhaps looking to catch a certain someone.

[for

casse_sablier.]

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"Do not make such a face," Glen looked back blankly at Jack.

Jack ducked his head, turning away as his cheeks colour in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. Should I go fetch you anything?"

Glen took the water only, "This is fine." If he ate this late, he was sure he would not sleep again for hours.

"I - "

Jack waited for Glen to finish his glass of water, placing it back on the bedside table - before kneeling next to the bed again, pillowing his head on folded arms on the sheets.

"You're still cross with me, aren't you?"

Glen looked away, how could he be cross with a face like that leaning at his bedside?

"I am merely tired. I will be fine."

"Go back to sleep?"

Jack looked down at the sheets, thinking that he's lying. "I'll - I'll stay the night, if you'd be needing something."

"-And if that something is quiet?" glen knew he was picking on him, but he needed someone to pick on.

Jack looked up, eyes wide, and his mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before he nodded, biting his lip.

'Sorry', he mouthed, covering his mouth with his hands.

Oh, that was no fun. Jack wasn't playing along, perhaps too frightened to notice the smirk on Glen's face.

For a moment Glen wished to use the blonde, to take as he wished from him with no strings attached. He knew better, however, because he knew he loved Jack, that he could love this Jack, given the right time and circumstance. Still, he said nothing, made no move to tug on his hair or kiss his lips. It would serve no purpose in the end but to hurt both the other and himself.

Too bad Glen didn't know just how terrified this Jack was of him - or any Glen, for that matter, how deep his scars and fears ran.

Jack settled, back down on the edge of the bed, and the silence stretched awkwardly as he waited for Glen to fall asleep, or to give him another order. Either or.

"Tell me, Jack. Did your wickedness spawn only from your jealousies, or were you born with such shadows?" Yes, he was certainly picking on him, and let it become obvious.

Well, that was certainly a way to break the silence. Jack narrowed his eyes at Glen, remembering how acidic his words could get.

"Did yours?" He mumbled under his breath, before looking away. "What does it matter to you?"

"You claim to love me yet you can not answer that?" He raised an eyebrow, "And I am merely curious how such a transformation could take place. If there is an ounce of wickedness in Jack's heart, it is only because I put it there."

Jack's eyes shot wide at Glen's answer - seven years of living being at his beck and call - and he laced his hands again, tightly.

"I grew up differently, that's all."

Glen could see what he was doing, but wasn't able to back down just yet. He hadn't done any bullying in some time, and though he preferred not to bully Jack, this one he felt less sorry for.

"Oh?" It was a request for him to go on.

Fine. Fine. If Glen was being difficult about this, then why not give him food for thought?

"I was under the care of a governess - who only cared about her wages - all the time. My family and I were barely on speaking terms. My brothers would bully me; I had only a handful of friends, those that they had not managed to scare away.

I first learned to lie when I was five, first learned to hurt other people when I was seven. My first sweetheart was my first kiss, my first lover, and she broke my heart just before moving away. My first kill was at sixteen, and I never looked back. I apologise if my life doesn't make a satisfactory bedtime story, Lord Baskerville." His tone was icy, without him realising it. "Would you like another?"

Glen liked hearing the icy tone, preferring Jack be more genuine than frightened. It was far more interesting to say the least, "Oh no, do go on."

"I hate you so much," he snaps coldly, without thinking, like vitriol frozen in ice.

Glen doesn't snap back or make threats. He does not even glare. Instead, he looks at him blankly thinking how difficult it must be to love someone and hate them in equal amounts.

And he hates that look, too; it's worse than Glen smirking or snapping back. Because it means that Glen feels nothing for him at all, not deigning to let Jack see.

He lets his head fall forward on the sheets with a thump, feeling defeated.

"Really, Jack, you should make up your mind about me."

The bullying is actually making him feel better, not that it should have anything to do with his recovery.

"Why can't it be both?" He huffs, looking up with his chin on the bedspread instead. It was easy to forget he was terrified, sniping like this.

"Don't cry, Jack, really," Glen is frowning, but his voice is entirely unsympathetic.

His tears dry nearly instantly at the order, and he draws back, getting to his feet.

"You're just the same as him, aren't you?" He says, finally, expression blanking out. "I'll go get some more water."

"Am I?" He tilts his head to the side, bangs falling. "You thought I was different?"

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