All Is Hell That Ends With ‘Fair’(Closed ~ One-on-One ~ Rated a possible M)

"I'm still his letter boy," Cyrus joked, "It's been a while since he's asked me to make any hits… and well… at least with that I don't have to deal with-" his voice broke off a bit. "Doesn't really matter, I guess."

He gazed over at the television, but didn't think much of it. That was just another day in the job. Cyrus felt all too numb to acts of violence nowadays. It sucked, but that was just the way things were. They would continue to be that way, even if Cyrus died trying to get out of it.

"So shall we?" he prompted, continuing to walk past the pack of Silence members.

(Lol Cyrus is one of my most developed characters but he's actually from a fantasy story I'm writing)

(Haha thanks @izzy-is-officially-back-from-hiatus!! I’m thinking of giving Marcus his own book but I’m not sure yet. It would be dark and quite shocking)

“I light the fires and get Marx off every now and then. That is my only purpose in this god forsaken group.” He admitted with a scowl that dared the other to oppose - or even judge - the other.

Lighter’s head dipped in a ‘yes,’ trailing after Cyrus with a slight breath of relief. “Yes… lets. I’m sick of this place already. There’s a bar around the corner that sells excellent vodka, they don’t give a fuck who drinks there either. As long as they get their money they don’t complain.”

Once outside, Lighter inhaled deeply. He needed a cigarette badly but had used his last one earlier that morning. He didn’t feel like making a trip to the store anytime soon so he forced himself to man up.

"Lighter…" Cyrus sighed, his eyes flitting to the other, "This is a stupid question, but are you… are you alright?"
He frowned a bit. Probably not how he should have worded it.
"You know what I mean…"
He followed Lighter out and nodded at the mention of the bar, but he was more focused on other things.

The question took the other aback. His green eyes narrowed, searching Cyrus’s face long and hard for something that didn’t seem to be there. “Alright…?” He kicked a rock out of the way as his feet met sidewalk. “I’ve never been alright.” You were alright when your mother was alive. Shut up.

“Why would you care? ‘S not like you can do anything. You’re not even part of the main group.” He sneered, picking the easiest emotion to deal with the situation; anger, coldness. He wasn’t sure how to react, really. No one had ever really asked if he was alright besides Marx back before he revealed his true colors.

"I-I… Sorry… It was probably insensitive of me, I just… A lot of that back there…" Cyrus found himself fumbling for words, "And you're right, I probably can't actually do anything, but like… God… I wish I could. I saw all of your reactions to Marx and- Maybe it's not my business, but…"
He stopped his rambling and bit down on his lip, apologizing again.
Cyrus took in a deep breath and let out a sigh, trying to bring himself back down.
He's not my dad. He's probably not going to hurt me. I don't have to be defensive like that.

A muscle clenched in Lighter’s jaw. “Just forget you saw any of that…” he muttered, his voice wavering as if he were afraid he’d be harmed. “It’s nothing…” Its humiliating. “Marx is m-my consen… consensual partner.” He choked on the words like they were bad cold medicine, sticky and sweet as they slid down his throat. “I’m fine being with him.”

His expression gave his true feelings away. Lighter wanted out. He was tired of writhing under a touch he didn’t want, under a man who forced himself upon him every night they were together.

"I don't want to push you on the topic. I didn't intend to cause any discomfort or tension, but I know what I saw, and I only hope you can one day find a way out. I don't know if I personally could do anything, but… I wish I could," Cyrus replied, his voice falling to a whisper, "Sorry, I'll just… I'll shut up now. Let's get us some drinks. It'd be nice to forget for a while."
Cyrus kept a good amount of physical distance between himself and Lighter, just so he didn't make the whole situation even more uncomfortable.

The small sparks of hope that had been lit when Cyrus asked if he was alright died out. Cyrus was becoming distant with him, just as everyone else had. It was silly to think he could have a real friend.

You’re an idiot. Look where giving your heart out got you.. The insistent voice in his head snickered. He swore he could feel it smile cruelty.

“I’m fine.” He stated firmly, reassuring himself more than Cyrus. He had to repeat it over in his head until they reached the bar, where the noise and alcohol could distract him from the loud thoughts that threatened to crumble him.

Cyrus shook his head in disbelief, but he didn't want to start anything.
He sat down at the counter first, asking for some vodka for both of them.
"Also, sorry in advance if I get intolerably drunk," Cyrus said under his breath, just loud enough for Lighter to hear, "I don't have the best self-control."

The soft words turned Lighter’s ears pink. As much as he hated to admit it, Lighter was a sucker for breathy words and mumbled phrases. They felt soft to him, loving. So much unlike Marx’s harsh and cold words…

He turned his face away and nodded softly, snickering to try and play off his blush. “I’m a raging alcoholic. I lost the ability to control myself years ago. Looks like we’ll both be getting drunk off our asses tonight.” He mused, cracking a wide grin once he was sure the red had disappeared from his cheek. “What’s your favorite alcohol to get drunk on?”

"Sounds fun to me," Cyrus replied, a slight laughing tone in his voice, "And honestly, whatever does the trick, but I am a sucker for good whiskey."
Cyrus started to drink the moment the bartender brought their glasses.
"Not every day I get to get absolutely hammered though. Looking forward to these few hours of bliss, if you can call it that."

Lighter eyed the small glass, tilting his head slightly like a curious puppy. “I forgot this is the normal amount.” He chuckled, raising it to his lips. “Whisky never really got me. Vodka and most everything Everclear is my favorite. Almost pure alcohol. It’s a bliss indeed. There’s something therapeutic in being so drunk you can’t form words.”

Cyrus tapped on his glass with his fingertips.
“Yeah, not to mention how confident you can be despite the fact you can barely speak,” he mused, “Wish I could keep that little bit in my everyday life. Some people get confidence for free, but I usually have to be at least a little tipsy to do something as simple as flirting, for example.”
(Gtg, I’ll be back tomorrow)

(Okay byyyee!)

“Oh flirting is easy once you figure it out.” He thrusted his thumb against his chest, grinning proudly. “I’ve done it for years. Granted it’s all cheap tricks and false confidence but it works.” He took another sip of his drink and leaned back in his seat. “I apologize if this is awkward but, what do you fancy in a partner? Men? Women? Any of the sort?” He was playing a dangerous game here.

Cyrus shrugged. His stature was very relaxed, giving no indicator that he felt awkward about the question.
“Men, women, anyone really,” he replied, “I’ve been in a lot of relationships, but they all seem to just kind of crash and burn.”
He chuckled quietly. It was sad, but he guessed that’s just the way things were.

“They all do seem to be shit, huh?” He murmured, sighing as he drained the rest of his drink and ordered another one. “I’ll pay for the extra drinks I have.” He grumbled, looking over at Cyrus with a curious expression.

“Okay,” Cyrus agreed, also ordering another drink.
He laughed to himself. “Yeah, being in this line of work and being a romantic don’t mix,” he admitted, “But even if I find someone from the outside, usually that ends up sucking too. Man, like I don’t even want sex all that badly, I just want someone to love and hold at night.”

Lighter groaned, rubbing at his face. “That affection stuff is so much better than sex.” He mumbled, shivering softly at the memory of soft touches and warm cuddles. “God I want it so badly I’m afraid I’ll hurl myself off a building if I have to have another one-night-stand.”

“Yeah, I swear none of the people I sleep with have ever even heard of a fucking hug,” Cyrus murmured in agreement.
Cyrus received his glass of whiskey, and before he knew it, he was drinking much more quickly than he intended.

His face contorted into a pained expression. “Not even those I sleep with. No one who deals with me knows what a hug is. They know how to hit, and how to hit hard.” He traced the shape of a bruise on his cheek before downing another glass of some mixed alcohol drink he had ordered. “Not even Marx is gentle with me.”

“Yeah…” Cyrus trailed off, “I cant say I know exactly how you feel but… yeah…”
He rolled up his sleeves to show off a few wounds and bruises. One of the bruises was distinctly hand-shaped, like someone had grabbed him and not let go. Well, that’s exactly what had happened. It was nothing to sneeze at either. Cyrus was a big guy. He wasn’t exactly easy to toss around.

Lighter was hesitant at first, but he soon dropped the heavy jacket he wore, revealing the bruises, hickeys, cuts, and in some places burns that littered his arms and neck. “Guess we live somewhat similar lives, huh?” He murmured, glaring as he felt the bartenders eyes on him.

“I guess so,” Cyrus sighed, “As unfortunate as the situation is, I feel some sort of solidarity with you.”
He rolled his sleeves back down.
“And the thing is, it’s not even the physical part that hurts the most.”

He shrugged the jacket back on, pulling its collar just so that he hid the ugly markings. “The emotional stuff is harder to deal with.”

‘It’s your fault your mother died. Your medications cost us a fortune.’
‘Shut the hell up and let me do my work’
‘No one else will love you like I do… so relax, let me have my fun.’
‘Bastard of a child’

The words constantly echoed in his mind, leaving him drooping and quite depressed. “I don’t understand why my life has to be made harder already.”

“Yeah… For me, it’s my old man. Bastard berates me for things I can’t help,” Cyrus murmured, “And that all started before the physical stuff…”
He was oversharing. Oh god. What if this guy was just spying on him, waiting for him to slip up. Yet his tongue felt loose- he was getting too relaxed.
Cyrus ordered even more to drink.

“Oh lord don’t get me started on fathers. Mine blames me for the death of my mother!” He snarled, baring his teeth to the counter. “He uses me as a punching bag while my brother gets off scot free because he’s has potential.’ Fuck that. He’s lazy and rotten and any potential he had died with his pride.”

Cyrus frowned.
“Oh… I see.”
He fell quiet, contemplating whether to say more on the matter.
“My family… my family’s broken too… Still not sure whether my father killed my mom or not. Sister’s in cahoots with him. He drove my brother to suicide. Sometimes I wish I just had the courage to end it and face what’s next…”
Cyrus swirled his drink around distractedly. He was much less angry, and more melancholy.