Azur Lane: Under Development

Chapter 4: Liars

"Ah, welcome back. How was your break?"

"..."

"Not too great, huh?"

"No, it's not that. I was just thinking."

"Do entertain me."

"Not really thoughts to say out loud."

"Perverted ones?"

"Perverted ones are much more appropriate to say out loud than melancholy ones. Especially in the presence of a person of your standing."

"Ouch. That one actually stung a bit. Do you really think so low of me to arrest all logic for passion?"

"Perhaps. Certainly don't know you as well as some of the candidates I've scouted."

"How is that so?"

"These candidates... I mince them up into their lesser elements. Their IQ. Their tests. Their recommendations. Their past achievements. Their personality tests. Their disorders. Their quirks. But the sum of its parts are nowhere close to the actual thing. But better than just knowing someone of a surface level."

"I'd like to think that we know each other much better than on a surface level."

"Perhaps. But people wear masks all the time. I don't think you're any exception."

"I've been nothing but honest to you during our entire time of knowing each other."

"I never said anything about dishonesty. People have honest masks as well."

"I feel like you're overstepping your bounds here."

"I suppose I am. The one time I tried to say the first thing on my mind, I get denied. Me and you, we're both full of baloney, eh? Not to worry: it won't happen again."

—

The commander couldn't sleep that night. He wasn't sure who he hated more: Bismarck, for laying out the facts like that, or himself, for making it true. It made the whole night leave a bitter taste in his mouth, more bitter than the punch he consumed. But soon he exhausted himself entirely from his tossing and turning, and fell asleep.

Usually he had no dreams. He closed his eyes, and opened them. It didn't make him feel particularly more energized, but he'd fall asleep during the day without it. Still, reliving moments of his past during his sleep were never pleasant. Just let him go unconscious for several hours a day in peace.

But even his waking was none too peaceful either. He roused himself to an early morning which let in the unholy light into his room at an hour which made his head pound. He moaned, and stuck his head under his covers. But the direct sunlight was powerful enough to go straight through his duvet and his eyelids to light his brain aflame. He wasn't sure if the throbbing headache came from the punch or from the lack of sleep. Either way, he wanted the blinds closed.

Grimacing, eyes closed as much as possible, he tumbled off of his bed, closed the blinds, and collapsed back in bed in one fluid motion. Someone cleared her throat.

He narrowed his eyes outside the protection of his cover to see who it was. After recognizing the figure in the darkness, he groaned and threw his duvet back over his head.

"Belfast, I thought I told you to not enter my room."

"Ordinarily, that'd be the case," she agreed, not moving from her position. "But in this case, duty calls." He looked again to see a dreaded file in her hands. He groaned, and made preparations. Not before shooing out Belfast. He was still able-bodied. He didn't need to be coddled to get changed.