“𝐀𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮…” ❤︎
Alfred x Pickles (?) LMAO IDK
༘⋆📼˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ TW: VIOLENCE.
The days felt increasingly empty in the place that was supposed to be his mind. At an amusement carnival that had now become a rollercoaster of endless emotions.
There he was, sitting, letting out a sigh that not even he knew was contained. His chapped lips curved into a small “oh,” the faint hisses of boredom were filling that gloom, that empty space that urgently needed to be filled. Or everything would collapse…Again.
His eyes, swollen from crying, wandered lazily through the dark corners, his mind was blank, but not in a good way, he was not “blank” as people describe an episode of ecstasy. He was blank because he decided to submerge into the deep sadness that crossed his being.
As if that were not enough, and although it did not help much, he was constantly visited by someone who claimed to hate him. He harassed him as if it were a hobby, his favorite pastime.
“You arrived!” It trailed from his lips, his eyes falling on the figure standing erect in front of him, his sadistic smile appearing not to intimidate him.
“Of course you do, brat…It's not like you know anyone else, or like there's a single person who likes you.” His voice was full of sarcasm and loaded with supposed hatred. Unlike before, the mocking and malicious laugh he let out every time he humiliated or tried to humiliate Alfred was no longer there. It had slowly vanished with the wind.
Slowly, his hatred dissipated, if there was even hatred beneath those cold, hard layers of his suit, fur, skin, bones and everything else.
“Anyway, what are you doing sitting there?”
“There's nowhere else to go…I can't do anything else.” His tone was void of any emotion except sadness, the sadness was perceptible. You would notice even if you were miles away.
However, as unlikely as it seemed, the sadness was mixed with a warm tone of joy? or maybe not. It was as if the dark, empty room now glimmered as it welcomed its guest.
“And you plan to stay there until you rot?”
Again, that tone full of feigned hatred. He forced himself to play the bad guy role, even though he didn't really want to. Even if his mind screamed at him to stop harassing Alfred, his ego would never allow it. For nothing in the world would he allow himself to stoop to such a level. For nothing in the world he would help someone who "hates with every fiber of his being."
Or at least, that's what he claims…
“No, but where do you want me to go? I can only wander around…I won’t get anything.”
Alfred's voice echoed again in each of the dark corners, in what remained of the Playhouse, in its safe place turned into ruins.
“I didn't ask you if you wanted to get something. I’m just saying get up now, your ass will freeze.”
The sentence itself was stupid, how could his flat ass freeze if he couldn't even feel pain in that place? Anyway, Pickles just wanted to annoy him.
“Where do you want me to go then? I don’t want to be alone.”
"I don't know, maybe to lose you in hell…This way I can annihilate Jews and make soaps with them without having to hear your unbearable voice."
His frown and mocking expression grew, if that was possible.
Alfred stood up without protest, his eyes avoiding contact with the other. Then he just walked aimlessly, trying to get to the other corner, but in reality there was no corner, it was just an illusion to convince him not to try to escape.
“Where are you going?” Pickles muttered under his breath, clearing his throat right after his murmur. “I mean…Get lost, brat. I don't want to see your disgusting face again!”
His complaint did not get a response, only the sound of retreating footsteps filled Pickles' ears. It was strange, his words always ended up making Alfred cry, but now he was just walking away.
Suddenly feeling a pang of anger, or desperation perhaps, his arm reached out almost involuntarily to stop Alfred, his grip strong enough to hold him there, but not enough to leave a mark.
“Wait, brat.”
“Didn't you want me to leave?!” For the first time, he had raised his voice at him, but the tone of his voice was pathetic as he tried to break free from Pickles' grip, “Let go of me!”
“Don't think I'll let you go, you moron.”
“I told you to let me-
Alfred stopped dead, his breath seeming to be drained from his lungs a few seconds later. Piclkes had grabbed him by the neck, lifting him from his spot, his scowl intensifying, his black eyes shining with jealousy.
Could he let it slip away just like that?
Well the answer is no.
“I'm not going to let you get out of here, you hear? I don't allow you to get close to anyone other than me. It boils my blood to see you even look at another, it turns my stomach to see you smile at Dominatrix, that's why I made sure there is no other left who can take you away from me.”
He didn't care that it was killing him here and now, the sick jealousy he felt was clouding his mind.
To the point that I couldn't hide anything from him…
“That's why I destroyed this place, I turned it into ashes just for you, for us. I made sure to kill anyone who dares to lay an eye on you…I killed them, because I can't stand the fact that someone breathes the air of your breath.”
“You're a fucking sick person.” Alfred drawled between labored breaths. “I told you to let go of me…” And he began to try to kick him, to desperately try to free himself as his consciousness drained out of him in a matter of seconds.
“Don't think I'll let you go.” He muttered under his breath, his grip on Alfred's neck loosening. But just a little.
“Please…” Alfred repeated, his hands clinging to Pickles' arms, getting no reaction from him. “I don't want to be alone again. “I don’t want to go back to reality.”
Then as his eyes were about to close, he was dropped to the ground with a thud, and the figure standing in front of him laughed, extending a hand to him.
“Are you stupid, idiot? Do you think I'll let you die? If you die I will too. As much as I want to make fun of your corpse for hours.”
“Don't tell me that.”
A sob escaped his lips, Pickles' hurtful words taking effect on him.
“Are you going to cry that easily? You won’t complain or anything?”
Alfred shook his head, another broken sob forced out. The thought of being alone hurt more than the recent strangulation.
“Why are you so mean to me? I never did anything bad to you…”
“Ugh, brat.” Pickles snorted, rolling his eyes and walking over him.
He took Alfred's face in his calloused hands, there was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, he would describe it as disgusting and unpleasant. But he refused to let it go. He refused to hold it back any longer.
“You're a nasty crybaby.” He continued, pulling the other's arm tightly, bringing his face closer to his.
“What are you doing?!” Alfred said breathlessly, trying to move away, but being prevented by the other's iron grip.
“I hate you, brat.” But he didn't mean it, judging from the way he then closed the distance between his lips, it was obvious that he didn't really hate him.
On the other hand, Alfred's heart seemed to LITERALLY burst out of his chest, blood rushing to his head in what seemed like just a blink, he was left speechless. And it wasn't because his mouth was occupied with Pickles's lips, but because that kiss seemed to take his breath away in a way that threatened to suffocate him.
“I hate you…” He repeated, his voice cutting like his claws, which held Alfred closely.
But I didn't hate him, it was impossible. His actions contradicted his words, which no matter how hurtful they intended, did not have a mere hint of a threat. Well, he was the kind of person who would say “I only do it because I feel sorry for you.” Even after the most passionate kiss a person could give or receive.
୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅
Neither of them could focus on anything but each other, Alfred's sadness faded, as did the evil in Pickles' eyes and voice. Nothing else could be perceived, and if that were not enough, when he opened his eyes, the warmth of the other's death grip was no longer there, at least not physically.
Alfred had returned to the world he hated more than the empty Playhouse, he had returned to reality. He still felt that suffocating pressure on his neck and the pain in his arms.
Now he would have an excuse to escape from reality, an excuse to return to his empty fair, which little by little was recovering its color…
THE End :)
DUDE MY FINGERS HURT A LOT UGH