Towers

14

"You can't argue against something that you know is true." Francis yawned. "I would laugh if I cared enough to."

"I don't get it." Alfred leaned back into his chair, relaxing into it. "You so suddenly got into this weird mood."

"I wish I could say it was sudden." Francis tiredly sighed, his eyes drooping-half lidded. "I've been like this for years. It's the real me, if you haven't noticed. Why else would I be arguing and asking so much about a fake self?"

"I thought-"

"Never think, it's dangerous." Another yawn. "Just a single thought could put you in my position. Pinned by the gun of emotions."

"Am I distraction then?"

"Absolutely." Francis' eyes finally closed. He half smirked. "Look at that, you even willed me to smile." He flicked his eyes back open. "Truly the perfect distraction."

"Distraction from what exactly?"

"An itch."

"Itch?"

"Oui." He dropped the smirk. "I feel static all over but I have a terrible itch poking at me that has me aching to scratch it. I've scratched it many times before and almost every time, I've regretted it."

"What is the itch exactly?"

"That's the question only you have stuck around enough to ask." Francis started rolling up his long drooping sleeves for Alfred to see what under them. Both smooth and jagged looking scars tattooed his arms. Faded ever so slightly as if they were recent. When in fact, they weren't. Ten years to the day was when they were given their place. "Isn't it sad? I'm the image of beauty to most of the world or at least, I act like I am, and here I have the ugliest thing known the man. Isn't it sad?"

Alfred could only stare, stunned by the sight. He swallowed hard. He didn't react how Francis thought he would. No, Francis thought he would lose it and burst into a stone cold rant about what he had done. Alfred only stayed calm as if calculating his next move. This was a game of chess alright. Two kings and one pawn for each. It was a battle of who would get their queen first.

"I disagree."

"With what exactly?"

"Scars aren't ugly." Alfred looked down at his own arms. "Doesn't make getting them pretty but it's like a drawing. Isn't that what makes tattoos attractive to people? It's art even if it's painful to get. Scars are like that. There's a story behind them just like tattoos."

"The stories are awful and you know it."

"Doesn't change the final product."

"I suppose that's fair." Francis rolled his sleeves back down. "Tell me, Alfred, how many do you have?"

"Don't see how that matters."

"Because you're a hypocrite."

"So?"

"Makes all this pointless doesn't it?"

"Not at all, helping gets the itch to stop for me."

"The only thing stopping me is the fact that you're here."

"Then I won't leave."

"Stubborn as always." He frowned and sat up. He brought up his hands to his hair as it had been tied up to keep out of his face. It was starting to give him a headache.

"When are you going to try to get yourself out of this?"

"When I'm happy."

"When is that?"

"I'm not sure. I'm always so numb." He tilted his head enough to look at Alfred. "Mind making me feel something?"