There is a subtle tightening of Alfred's hand against the table - but he is trying to remain level. Starting to have to work at it, though.
"I don't -I don't understand why you want this so badly, Herbert. Why do you want me angry? I'm just - just trying to fix these pants, and I have no idea where this is coming from."
A sewing pin near Alfred's hand rolls itself away from him, and he doesn't quite notice.
"Because I've never seen you angry. Not really. And I don't think it's good for you to bottle it all up. I think you should be able to -- to feel whatever you like. I think you tamp yourself down because you worry about being too much."
He's seen how Alfred stands sometimes, shoulders hunched. Or how he takes a tiny corner of the sofa for himself. Seeing how he'll start to say something and then pull back, reign himself in. Try to take up as little space as possible.
"I'm giving you permission to be too much. Get mad, if you want." And with that, he picks up the seam ripper and bends it in half. Just to see how Alfred will react.
"Herbert. Really, I'm fine, I'm - I don't need to-"
But he knows Herbert has a point, of course. He knows he buries everything, he knows it isn't healthy at all, he knows his anger manifests in quiet, risky ways. And now he's thinking about it, and thinking about the Professor, and his father, and everything he keeps pushing down uselessly because he doesn't want it to boil over -
"I felt like breaking something," he shrugs, and sets it back on the table. "So I did." The set of his jaw is a good sign, he thinks. It's the same set he gets when he's trying not to get upset about something.
So he does it again. Taking one of Alfred's yardsticks and snapping it over his knee.
There is a Visible Twitch in response to the snap - Alfred looks down to the table for a moment, taking in and letting out a steadying breath before he stands up from where he was sitting. He smooths out his shirt, he brushes bits of thread from his pants, and he turns toward his lover, pushing an...unsettling smile onto his face.
"I know what you are trying to do," he chirps, over-bright. "But it isn't funny."
"I'm not doing it to be funny," he says, moving over to where rolls of cloth are lined up against the wall. He tips one over, and gives it a kick, watching it unroll itself all over the floor.
Alfred's eyes follow the fabric as it unrolls, and that fixed smile fades, flickers. Herbert is absolutely getting to him, and there is something just a little more angular in the way he moves as he stops the roll with his toe.
"Not going to what? I dare you, Alfred. I dare you to get mad at me. I want you to. And we both know you'll do anything I want. Because you're so nice." It's said with a bit of a sneer, and he winces internally, because perhaps that's a step too far.
The sound is...sharp. His expression still doesn't change yet, and he doesn't look around the room - not even as another bolt of fabric throws itself to the ground. He takes a step forward, and his movements are angular, graceful.
The candles in the room shudder, and then go out. Alfred doesn't react to this, either, just...slowly advancing towards Herbert. A ticking bomb, moments from going off.
"Do you think so?"
Alfred would never hurt Herbert, not really. Not even now, so his hands remain at his sides as he comes closer, closer, knuckles white and eyes blazing.
It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the new darkness, but when he does, he sees Alfred stalking towards him. Looking like he could spit nails and that's fantastic. That's what he was hoping for.
"Yes, exactly. How do you feel, Alfred? Right now, in this very moment. How do you feel?"
A pincushion hurtles across the room behind him. More fabric falls. He works his jaw for a moment, seething as he comes to a stop just in front of his lover, blue eyes absolutely BLAZING.
"...I feel...disrespected. Like - like I could burst. Shocked you would say that to me - because you KNOW. You KNOW how I FEEL ABOUT THAT."
His hand darts out suddenly, flattening with a loud CRACK against the wall just beside Herbert's head. His fangs are bared, he's shaking, and there is something dangerous in his posture. (Maybe not JUST dangerous, though, the way a wicked edge is creeping into his tone.)
"Yes," he hisses, delighted. There's a hole in the wall and Alfred's psychic pulses are causing things to fly around the room and yes this is what Herbert wanted. A complete loss of that very so strong control that Alfred has on his emotions. For Alfred to let go entirely and just let himself feel things.
"Doesn't it feel good? To give into your emotions for once? You've smashed a hole in the wall. You could break a mirror next. You could go to the kitchen and shatter every plate in there."
Herbert is GLAD that he's angry - and that stokes him even further, coaxing a furious hiss from the pent-up young man. He's not sure why this is making him quite so furious, exactly. It's hard to put a finger on, and that's even MORE irritating.
"Good? HOW could this feel - I don't LIKE destroying things, Herbert - I don't-"
On impulse, the hand in the wall rears back, twining instead into his lover's collar and pulling him very close. He still won't hit him, but - oh, he is LIVID.
"I FIX things. I'm the man who FIXES things, not the one who BREAKS THEM. That is what I am FOR, that is what I was always SUPPOSED TO DO - PRESERVE, UPHOLD, REPAIR EVERYONE ELSE'S MESS-"
Oh.
He blinks, looking for all the world like he has just popped a joint that had been locked stiff for 25 years.
There it is. Herbert's grin only widens as he's hauled closer, infuriatingly enough, and he sets his hands against Alfred's chest.
"And isn't that exhausting? Always being the one to fix things. It's not what you're for, Alfred. You're a person, with emotions that you're allowed to feel instead of just jamming them down or aside.
The realization doesn't switch the anger off. And that's the thing, isn't it? It hurts still, like he's just pulled an arrow out and now he's bleeding. Usually, Alfred's frustration manifests in flushed tears, in curling up and sobbing. Right now, there's ice in his veins, a still fury settling upon him like a mantle.
His hands tighten in Herbert's collar a moment, eyes darting down to graceful hands on his chest. If his heart could beat, it would be pounding.
"It is. It is exhausting, and I - I-"
He lets go of his lover, but doesn't move away.
"Not in here. I don't want to break anything I'm going to have to repair." Well, that's a new tone. Frigid, sharp. "You want me to break something? Fine, Herbert. Take me somewhere else, then."
"To the kitchen, then. All those plates are gathering dust." He wraps his arm around Alfred's shoulders and leads the way down to the kitchen.
Once they're there, he throws open the cabinets, stacking plates on the table. The bowls and cups and goblets he leaves, since they use those, but they have a fair share of dinner plates and platters they can work their way through.
With a wicked grin, Herbert picks up a plate and flings it against the wall, laughing as it smashes into pieces.
It makes sense. They don't need plates for anything. It still feels strange to be setting out to break things simply to do it, and a twinge of guilt threatens to take Alfred back down from his rage. He watches Herbert stack up dishes, taking one in his hands and turning it over, wariness in his expression -
Until he visibly flinches at the sound of the plate shattering.
'Clumsy boy - get a broom and sweep that right this instant! Thoughtless - you must be better.' His jaw sets hard.
"...I'll show you thoughtless, Father-" he hisses suddenly, rearing his arm back and hurtling the dish hard at the ground in front of him.
"Perfect!" Herbert cups his hands over Alfred's face and presses a firm kiss to his mouth. He takes another plate and lets it fall to the ground, then grinds the pieces beneath the heel of his boot.
The kiss is sudden and - surprising, given the circumstances. But it reinforces the thrill that he wasn't quite sure he'd felt, the rush of catharsis lancing through his heart. He blinks at Herbert, watches the plate drop, then takes up another.
He looks at it, tracing a line in the dust on it.
"...And why SHOULD it always be up to me, anyhow? No one ever asked ME what I wanted while I was alive-"
SMASH. Another.
"No one ever liked who I WAS until I got HERE - not my family, not my teachers, not my classmates, CERTAINLY not the PROFESSOR who could not even REMEMBER MY FUCKING NAME-"
This one hits the wall. Alfred's shoulders are shaking, something vaguely manic in his expression as he finally, FINALLY stops trying to mend the dam around his own heart he's been patching for so long.
Oh it breaks Herbert's heart to hear that. That no one appreciated Alfred for the wonder that he is. But now, now at least he has the von Krolocks. He has Magda, who Herbert knows adores him. He has people who care what he thinks, how he feels. People who only want the best for him.
Herbert hands him another plate and squeezes his shoulder, kissing his cheek firmly. "You're doing marvelously, my love. Let it all out. Everything you've been holding back all these years. It's safe, here. You can be yourself, here."
The kiss, the reassurance is met with a breathless look, something like a pained whimper as he tries to process all of this, sort out what his feelings are, what they REALLY are -
He picks up another plate, fangs bared in a little snarl as he lets his mind wander, does as Herbert is saying, lets it finally rise up and out of him
"I can - I can be myself here, finally, and - and that's-"
A memory floods his mind's eye.
"That's more than I can say for the way my own FATHER saw me visit home with a BROKEN ARM and CHIDED ME FOR NOT BEING CAREFUL - I couldn't - I couldn't even tell him WHY-" The porcelain vibrates between his fingers.
"Someone BROKE MY ARM because he CAUGHT ME LOOKING and I couldn't even be HONEST ABOUT THAT because my family was SO WORRIED that they couldn't STAMP IT OUT OF ME."
The plate splinters itself without even being thrown, crumbling to the floor in shards.
"Your father was cruel and senseless," Herbert hisses. He moves towards Alfred again and embraces him this time, kissing his hair. Not to smother his feelings but to reassure him it's all right to feel them.
"You are who you are, and you love who you love. And that is beautiful. The more fool them for not seeing that.
But you will never have to live with that again. Every emotion is welcome. You are allowed to feel whatever it is you feel at any given time. And that is all I'm trying to show you, my love. No feelings are bad, or wrong, and you should be free to feel them whenever you like."
Alfred doesn't return the embrace right away - his arms are, for a moment, stiff at his sides, body shaking. But the words help steel him again, bring him back to his senses, and he slowly leans into Herbert, burying his face against soft blonde hair.
"I...I guess I never really...realized how badly it all...hurt."
But he's not coming undone like he normally is - not melting into sobs. He's done plenty of crying.
He just sounds...tired.
So tired.
"There's a reason I don't...talk about it all, Herbert. I don't mean to keep secrets from you. I just - I've locked it all away for such a long time. I had to, or - or I-"
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"I don't -I don't understand why you want this so badly, Herbert. Why do you want me angry? I'm just - just trying to fix these pants, and I have no idea where this is coming from."
A sewing pin near Alfred's hand rolls itself away from him, and he doesn't quite notice.
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He's seen how Alfred stands sometimes, shoulders hunched. Or how he takes a tiny corner of the sofa for himself. Seeing how he'll start to say something and then pull back, reign himself in. Try to take up as little space as possible.
"I'm giving you permission to be too much. Get mad, if you want." And with that, he picks up the seam ripper and bends it in half. Just to see how Alfred will react.
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But he knows Herbert has a point, of course. He knows he buries everything, he knows it isn't healthy at all, he knows his anger manifests in quiet, risky ways. And now he's thinking about it, and thinking about the Professor, and his father, and everything he keeps pushing down uselessly because he doesn't want it to boil over -
Then Herbert bends the seam ripper.
His jaw sets.
"...Herbert...why. Did you. Do that?"
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So he does it again. Taking one of Alfred's yardsticks and snapping it over his knee.
"Whoops."
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"I know what you are trying to do," he chirps, over-bright. "But it isn't funny."
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"I'm doing it to annoy you. Upset you, even."
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"Engel." His tone is sweet, but...discordant.
"Please stop that. I'm not - I'm not going to-"
His words peter out. Definitely getting to him.
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Nice.
Too nice to do anything but what anyone else wants. And Herbert had never said it this way to him before.
He is absolutely stock still - his eyes wide, expression inscrutable, shoulders taut. He doesn't talk. He doesn't breathe. He doesn't cry.
But slowly, very slowly, there is a low rumble as some of the objects around him start to rattle.
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"I think I've hit on something."
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The sound is...sharp. His expression still doesn't change yet, and he doesn't look around the room - not even as another bolt of fabric throws itself to the ground. He takes a step forward, and his movements are angular, graceful.
The candles in the room shudder, and then go out. Alfred doesn't react to this, either, just...slowly advancing towards Herbert. A ticking bomb, moments from going off.
"Do you think so?"
Alfred would never hurt Herbert, not really. Not even now, so his hands remain at his sides as he comes closer, closer, knuckles white and eyes blazing.
He's furious.
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"Yes, exactly. How do you feel, Alfred? Right now, in this very moment. How do you feel?"
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A pincushion hurtles across the room behind him. More fabric falls. He works his jaw for a moment, seething as he comes to a stop just in front of his lover, blue eyes absolutely BLAZING.
"...I feel...disrespected. Like - like I could burst. Shocked you would say that to me - because you KNOW. You KNOW how I FEEL ABOUT THAT."
His hand darts out suddenly, flattening with a loud CRACK against the wall just beside Herbert's head. His fangs are bared, he's shaking, and there is something dangerous in his posture. (Maybe not JUST dangerous, though, the way a wicked edge is creeping into his tone.)
"I am ANGRY, Herbert.
Is THIS what you FUCKING WANTED?"
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"Doesn't it feel good? To give into your emotions for once? You've smashed a hole in the wall. You could break a mirror next. You could go to the kitchen and shatter every plate in there."
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"Good? HOW could this feel - I don't LIKE destroying things, Herbert - I don't-"
On impulse, the hand in the wall rears back, twining instead into his lover's collar and pulling him very close. He still won't hit him, but - oh, he is LIVID.
"I FIX things. I'm the man who FIXES things, not the one who BREAKS THEM. That is what I am FOR, that is what I was always SUPPOSED TO DO - PRESERVE, UPHOLD, REPAIR EVERYONE ELSE'S MESS-"
Oh.
He blinks, looking for all the world like he has just popped a joint that had been locked stiff for 25 years.
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"And isn't that exhausting? Always being the one to fix things. It's not what you're for, Alfred. You're a person, with emotions that you're allowed to feel instead of just jamming them down or aside.
So break something, for once."
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His hands tighten in Herbert's collar a moment, eyes darting down to graceful hands on his chest. If his heart could beat, it would be pounding.
"It is. It is exhausting, and I - I-"
He lets go of his lover, but doesn't move away.
"Not in here. I don't want to break anything I'm going to have to repair." Well, that's a new tone. Frigid, sharp. "You want me to break something? Fine, Herbert. Take me somewhere else, then."
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Once they're there, he throws open the cabinets, stacking plates on the table. The bowls and cups and goblets he leaves, since they use those, but they have a fair share of dinner plates and platters they can work their way through.
With a wicked grin, Herbert picks up a plate and flings it against the wall, laughing as it smashes into pieces.
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Until he visibly flinches at the sound of the plate shattering.
'Clumsy boy - get a broom and sweep that right this instant! Thoughtless - you must be better.' His jaw sets hard.
"...I'll show you thoughtless, Father-" he hisses suddenly, rearing his arm back and hurtling the dish hard at the ground in front of him.
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"You're doing marvelously, my dear."
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He looks at it, tracing a line in the dust on it.
"...And why SHOULD it always be up to me, anyhow? No one ever asked ME what I wanted while I was alive-"
SMASH. Another.
"No one ever liked who I WAS until I got HERE - not my family, not my teachers, not my classmates, CERTAINLY not the PROFESSOR who could not even REMEMBER MY FUCKING NAME-"
This one hits the wall. Alfred's shoulders are shaking, something vaguely manic in his expression as he finally, FINALLY stops trying to mend the dam around his own heart he's been patching for so long.
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Herbert hands him another plate and squeezes his shoulder, kissing his cheek firmly. "You're doing marvelously, my love. Let it all out. Everything you've been holding back all these years. It's safe, here. You can be yourself, here."
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He picks up another plate, fangs bared in a little snarl as he lets his mind wander, does as Herbert is saying, lets it finally rise up and out of him
"I can - I can be myself here, finally, and - and that's-"
A memory floods his mind's eye.
"That's more than I can say for the way my own FATHER saw me visit home with a BROKEN ARM and CHIDED ME FOR NOT BEING CAREFUL - I couldn't - I couldn't even tell him WHY-" The porcelain vibrates between his fingers.
"Someone BROKE MY ARM because he CAUGHT ME LOOKING and I couldn't even be HONEST ABOUT THAT because my family was SO WORRIED that they couldn't STAMP IT OUT OF ME."
The plate splinters itself without even being thrown, crumbling to the floor in shards.
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"You are who you are, and you love who you love. And that is beautiful. The more fool them for not seeing that.
But you will never have to live with that again. Every emotion is welcome. You are allowed to feel whatever it is you feel at any given time. And that is all I'm trying to show you, my love. No feelings are bad, or wrong, and you should be free to feel them whenever you like."
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"I...I guess I never really...realized how badly it all...hurt."
But he's not coming undone like he normally is - not melting into sobs. He's done plenty of crying.
He just sounds...tired.
So tired.
"There's a reason I don't...talk about it all, Herbert. I don't mean to keep secrets from you. I just - I've locked it all away for such a long time. I had to, or - or I-"
He lets the statement rest there.
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