Alois x Reader One Shots

ch.9 - a fateful sweven

The slums; Alois Trancy's favourite place to explore.

Oh, what a wonderful thing sarcasm was.

Disgusted, he kicked at the thick clumps of dirt gathering on the soles of his plum-coloured boots. It was truly revolting here.

Alois wanted to go home already, but for some reason it felt right to be in this area. There was someone he was looking for.

He didn't know how to explain it, but last night he had dreamt of meeting a girl in the slums, a pretty girl, a demure girl.

It was scarce remembered, but he was sure her image was imprinted in his brain.

The sweven left him with a deep anticipation throbbing in his stomach.

He hadn't remembered her name, he could only see the way her lips moved when she whispered it.

Oh, how much easier it would have been if he had only paid attention.

He jeered around a sharp corner, keeping his feet neatly tucked to himself as he walked. He didn't want to step on any little fingers as he passed.

He had been in the slums for a while himself under the not-so-gentle ruling of the former Trancy head.

He knew what it was like to stare through blank eyes, to feel helplessly dirty and disgusting, to sleep vulnerable under the prying eyes of the stars.

He knew what it felt like to sleep hand-in-hand with the dazed child beside him, to cry himself to sleep, to want to scream out in despair only to realise he had lost his voice.

It was a horrible feeling, truly. So horrible in fact that he wouldn't wish it on even the worst of his enemies.

His eyes flickered to the children's ashen faces and he upturned his nose in annoyance. No sign of her yet.

The slum stench of abandoned children en masse permeated his clothes and skin. He was afraid he'd be able to smell it even when he had left.

He scowled to himself, leaning his nose into his armpit and sniffing.

Did he stink of the slums, too? He hoped he did not. He didn't want to smell funny to a girl he was to meet and impress.

"My lord?" Claude called questioningly over Alois' shoulder at his antics. The boy pulled a face and turned away, adjusting his cowlick.

"Shut up, Claude." He muttered, feeling his cheeks flare. Why he was embarrassed, he did not know.

As his icy eyes surveyed the downtrodden remains of an old shop, they caught a flicker of movement.

It was a girl, no older than fourteen with long, unkempt mousey-brown hair and blue eyes that seemed to smoulder lazily with defiance.

She looked so out of place, yet her disheveled appearance ensured she too lived in such a filthy area.

She was average-sized, scruffy, feculent-specked and painfully familiar.

It was her, the girl from his dreams.

His fingers twitched upon the loose arm hung at his side. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, but in order to suppress such an immodest gesture, he simply clutched it tightly behind his back with his other hand.

"Hello, Miss." He greeted curtly, politeness cutting through his tone.

The girl turned to him and seemed to freeze for a split second. She was composed the next.