Disclaimer: I don't own Pandora Hearts. I haven't even finished reading it! Please enjoy. Lyrics are The Birthday Massacre's 'Kill The Lights'.
We Were In The Garden
and after midnight we're all the same
no glass shoe to bring us fame
nobody to take the blame
we're falling apart
The perfume of roses and the freshness of cut grass have never seemed putrid until now, and Break has smelt them drench in blood, drenched in sin. Vincent's smile is a curling thing, languid across his lips, sly and sleek and vicious. He stands, relaxed and slack-shouldered and at ease, with his eyes fixed on Break's face, and Break hates him for that. He despises him for his emptiness.
Vincent holds himself like a child at play, and the cunning smile slips sickeningly into soft edges and gentle affection. Break wants to lash out at him, nails and teeth, to cast off his shirts and tear and tear at Vincent's skin until he rips Sharon's whereabouts right out of him. But he stills himself because it doesn't work like that, and he will do anything for his princess.
The air is still and silent as Vincent draws closer, revolting in his grace. His steps fall like he's dancing, swaying in a breeze that isn't blowing, as his fingers land underneath Break's chin. Break lets him push, lets him tilt his head up, and he casts his gaze down, never breaks eye contact with the monster before him.
And we all here have sinned against the good and clean, but maybe you're the worst of us, and maybe that's still me –
"I almost wish it wasn't all so predictable," Vincent laments, sighing. His breath runs along Break's cheek, and Break turns his face away. "Such a simple trade. You're not even losing anything you've not already lost."
Break swallows anger, swallows hate. He says, pleasantly, as if they are discussing the roses, "You really are the most repugnant person I have ever met."
When Vincent laughs, he sounds innocent. His eyes crease, his face lights up. A kid on Christmas morning. Break's words might as well be his favourite gift. "If only it wasn't so easy to push you to where I want you, Break. It could be so much fun for us."
Break smiles a wintry smile, and catches Vincent's hand in his own as he raises it. Skin meets skin delicately, and Vincent's eyes of fire and blood are hooded and dark. There is nothing delicate between them. This touch is a lie, and Break knows that Vincent thinks it's just so much damn fun.
I will not let you touch me now; I shall touch you first. I shall catch your smiles and strokes and secret looks and I shall fling them back, if that is how I build my gate against you.
Vincent moves away before Break does, but as Break lowers his hand, Vincent catches it, fingers tight against his wrist and a cold, taunting kiss pressed against his cheek. Vincent laughs his awful laugh and steps back, all the violence and the cruelty and the madness shrouded in silk and smiles and sunlight.
"See you soon, Mad Hatter," he says. He disappears into the roses.
Break is left alone in the garden with his hate.