Summary: Frontage, veneer, pretense, charade, façade… no matter how you word it, Luke and Tear were lying to everyone but each other. :drabble: :Lukear:
Guy threw the pillow over his head; every night it was the same thing. He never knew two people who carried more of a disdain for one another than the teenage soldier and the teenaged red haired heir to the Kimlascan throne.
"You idiot!" roared Tear. "That's not what I—"
"Don't even try, you know that's exactly what you meant!" retaliated Luke. Even after he had cut his hair and vowed to change, sometimes he could be pushed over the edge and reverted back to the whiny boy who had been trapped in the manor.
Guy rolled over in his tiny room in the Albiore as he could hear the two argue their way down the narrow passage containing a number of overnight chambers. Still, even with the pillow nearly suffocating him, their voices still rang through the steel walls quite clearly.
"If that's what I had meant, then I would have said just that!"
"Stop lying already! Don't you think I can handle the truth?!"
"Not with that tone of voice. You sound like a spoiled child!"
Guy groaned angrily; there were no nearby windows he could jump out of.
"This is ridiculous!" Tear spat, reaching for the door to her chamber. "If this is the way you're going to act, I'm not even going to bother trying to get any sense into your thick skull!"
Luke followed suit near his own chamber door, just across from hers. "Fine by me! I didn't wanna hafta listen to you nag anyway!"
Tear growled loudly, opening and slamming her door. Luke opened his door and walked in, turning to face Tear with a sly grin. She returned his smile and flew towards him soundlessly, latching onto him like a ravenous, hungry cannibal, beginning with his mouth.
With a happy (stifled) laugh, Luke slammed his door convincingly.