Ah, there it is.
Surprisingly the final dregs of his response held an element of support. Alois opened his eyes, gaze fixated out the far window just beyond both chairs. in his peripherals, the sketchbook laid against the chair angled toward the bed. The sheets a twisted wad from the night prior, from his propensity to bury himself in them during sleep. When you drew me, you never idealized me. I'm not sure what that means - do you hate me, or do you find me acceptable the way I am? Both seem equally viable, and surrounding yourself with someone you hate could temper steel in a crucible - a phrase you're fond of. I can't tell. It's exciting, but saddening.
Alois plucked the fork from the table and concentrated his efforts on the pancake, first dividing his food into two halves before cutting the remainder into bite-size portions. "I quit smoking because I sought a little more suffering might wrench me from zis quagmire. A lot comes of pain, of misery. It doesn't amount to much, ultimately, because I'll haf' died long before I could develop cancer from it." He hesitated a moment and smiled, shaking his head. "It's strangely harder to fight addiction ze second time around." Maybe it's because quitting cold turkey lacks the propensity for death, as it did with morphine. C'est la guerre.
"Ultimately zat choice doesn't matter terribly. Someone will kill me, and smoking or my abstinence from it has little impact on zat. Eating, however..." Stabbing a chunk of pancake with his fork, Alois lifted the cooked batter to eye level for examination. "Eating gives an immediate impact on survivability. I've done so. much. to prepare myself for deas', Quenton. And to eat now? Zat sounds like pleading ignorance, like spitting in ze face of all my efforts to get to zis point. I know I'm going to die, and I know it will be soon. Why eat, zen? Why go about ze rounds of ze living when zere's a brand across my forehead proclaiming an execution date?
"We don't haf' a lot of common sreads, you and I. I can probably name zem on one hand. And to eat is akin to toying scissors across one of zose sreads - we are bos' going to die soon, even if yours is a deas' not quite literal. And if eating destroys my resolution toward deas', zen I don't want to do it.
"We don't need more space when we're already a tausend miles apart." Yet the fork still shuddered softly in his hand, neither meeting plate or mouth. Finally his gaze averted to the blonde. "I haf' a question for you, Quenton. It's a difficult one to ask, so try not to cut in your answer." You won't understand the gravity of it when I ask, but that's part of the fun - part of your charm. You plainly don't know it when you tear something down. "Are we togezzer?"
Ivynian
