It's Complicated.

Chapter 1

Buildings crowded the city. Gray tombs with scaled skin stood sentry over their inhabitants. They reached and stretched and strained for the block of solid gray cloud clogged sky. Gargoyles prowled atop brick and stone buildings carved with intricate architectural design breathed a graceful life into the inanimate walls of rock and concrete. It created the illusion of eyes constantly look down, down on the citizens with an annoyingly superior sort of air about them. Red brick buildings cowered beside these with paint tattooed into their facade and empty windows shattered and boarded up tight. The air was thick with perspiration. Rain would fall and then stop again like the flip of a switch. But instead of carrying an umbrella most everyone ducked–hoods or coats above their heads–nearly blindly into cabs, doors, underneath tarps, you name it.

Allen F. Jones opened his eyes with a protesting groan as his alarm screamed at his to get up. Part of him wanted to ignore it and go back to bed, but the greater side knew it would do him no good in the end to roll over for just 'five more minutes'. He yanked the warm blankets off himself and shivered as his bare feet touched the freezing cold ground. Rubbing his bleary eyes with one hand, the American slapped the alarm silent and reached his arms up into a stretch. He turned to his landline and clicked the flashing red button while he walked over to his desk of drawers.

"Hey Allen, it's Jeff, call me back about that job you wanted. Thanks."

The brunette pulled on a T-shirt and glanced over at the time. He had a little while yet until he absolutely had to leave. Pulling on a pair of worn out jeans, Allen mentally calculated how much time he'd have and what he might do with it. He turned to the clock with a bored expression before he realized.

"Oh shit." He hissed. That clock was about an hour early. He had twenty minutes to get ready and get to work before he was late.

That's what found Allen rushing between busybodies, his battered brown boots sinking into puddles and his hair a soaked mess clinging to his forehead. He jammed his elbow into yet another asshole who decided to shove up against him instead of just moving their own damn selves. If it wasn't cheaper, healthier and probably a little faster in this traffic to walk to work every day he wouldn't bother bringing up his blood pressure at the hands of these idiots–especially in this weather. Not wanting to drench his favorite jacket he took refuge underneath the shelter of one of the many buildings and just stood there, waiting for another break.

Unfortunately for him the silence was more than enough to get the gears going in his head. Thinking about the complex emotions in his life wasn't something he liked to do seeing as he use to spend so much time downing those thoughts in bars. Allen didn't know exactly what it was that drove him to leave the place he'd called home for so many years. One day he opened his eyes and there was nothing more in the world he wanted–no, needed than to just get out, leave. It was like holding back tears, the longer he stayed the more his chest hurt and the harder he found it to breathe.

There hadn't been a time in his life when he felt truly motivated to do something more with his life. His roommates, his brother, and him made a sort of dysfunctional family within themselves. This being the norm he'd never really questioned how life could get much better, or why he'd want it to in the first place. Now that he was living alone with a few jobs to keep him afloat, life in the city of Chicago hadn't been so bad, not at first.

But even as rays of sun battled with the chilly wind, the weight of loneliness leaned heavily on his shoulders. This was definitely the farthest away he'd ever been from someone who cared about him, or was suppose to anyway. If he was honest he was pretty dependent on others not so much for things, but for a sense of presence. Though he'd rattled off the people who he might still be able to turn to should everything go to shit, he still felt alone in the world like no one would even know if he went missing. There wasn't anyone waiting at home who would be there when he woke up, or later that night so he could scare the shit out of them at the door. No one to eat dinner with, no one to mess around with, no one…

Leaving home sucked.

A particularly forceful burst of wind kicked up a few droplets of water, splattering Al right in the face. He scrubbed his cheeks dry and–deciding that was enough of a sign for him to get going–started off and back into the crowd. He looked down at the time–he wasn't late just yet–then back up as the restaurant he worked at came into view. Maybe he'd feel better when he got home and took a nice, hot shower.

Working a few jobs really wasn't as bad as it seemed. The tinkle of a familiar bell rang as he entered the restaurant and walked straight into the kitchens. Waving at a few familiar faces as he passed, the American settled into his day washing dishes, serving up food… just normal stuff. He only worked here until later in the afternoon but it was nice. He liked the different people that came through. They weren't great but the people he worked with weren't complete dicks which was a plus. Not that he'd seen yet anyway.

"Thanks doll." One of the waitresses cooed when he handed her a plate of steaming pasta. Allen blinked. Long feathery blond hair curled around her pale cheeks and contrasted against her cherry red, plump lips, thin waist, and large hips. She batted her blue eyes at him and giggled. He was positive she brushed their hands together on purpose when she reached for the food.

"You're welcome." He mumbled, trying not to stare. Whether he was interested or not he could appreciate an attractive person, man or woman.

A giggled escaped her lips and she held out a folded piece of paper. "The name's Marisa. Call me sometime, won't ya?"

The brunette looked down at the number, heat still lingering on his face. "Um, thanks."

"It ain't nothin cutie." She moved a piece of blond hair back behind her ear and turned with a cheeky wink to deliver the food.

Allen lingered on the scene just long enough for it to become awkward. As he made his way back to the kitchen his burgundy eyes strayed back down to the number still in his hand and he felt his heart clench in his chest. Luciano constantly lingered in his mind and in his heart. He wouldn't allow himself to think about the Italian for more than a moment before he tried anything, anything to not think about the way his stomach fluttered when he kissed him…

Allen sighed. He glanced back at the waitress' hips and the things the light's were doing to that blond hair. He wasn't ready for a relationship. Not that what he and Luciano had was anything to brag about. In fact, he should've felt embarrassed with the way things turned out. After all there was a reason the older brunette never came back. That scene played over and over again in his head. That jilt echoed in his ears a thousand times over the hundreds of times his mind wandered back to that bar he'd grown so fond of returning.

Allen pocketed the number without a second thought.

When his shift ended and he dried his callused hands on a towel, walked out of the restaurant and gazed about the messy, dirty, unfriendly place he now proudly called home.

…

Nighttime in the city was always a pretty dangerous affair. Allen accepted the fact he lived in a place where it was easy to get jumped. Even though lights made the city a constant lantern in the dark, his little slice of Chicago had its shadowed alleyways and dark streets lit by nothing but street lights and the wide unblinking eyes of cars cutting through the pitch. Dimmed by age, the lights here barely outshone that of the moon's silver rays.

Allen lived in the rough end of the neighborhood. Everything here reeked of criminal activity but the American prefered it that way. There was something about danger he liked too much for his own good. Paint peeled off the sides of buildings, trash blowed past his feet as he walked with that eery silence that almost always bore trouble. If car horns weren't honking or pedestrians hollering something was off balance.

Allen halted at the sound of gunfire. He twitched. It sounded so much closer than it usually did. Realizing he'd stopped right next to an alleyway, the brunette's head turned toward it with a curious frown. He knew that was a shortcut. Hoping that this would help him avoid trouble, Al ducked into the alley and–constantly glancing behind him–quietly walked down the dark street.

His footsteps echoed eerily off the brick alley walls. For a minute or two he thought he was in the clear. Nothing blocked his path and he could see orange light pooling before the edge of the street. The brunette let out a breath of relief and quickened his step considerably. At some point clam, his now racing pulse surrounded him as he sprinted toward the seemingly unreachable end.

Just when he stepped back onto the cracked sidewalk on his street a body slammed into him, and they both stumbled onto the ground. Allen cursed and reached up to his afflicted head to soothe it. "Ow, what the hell–?"

At once the figure leaped forward and pinned the American against the alley wall. He hadn't even had enough time to get a good look at them before they had him trapped. Allen's cry was snuffed out by a hand clamping over his mouth. In the struggle that ensued Al managed to grip onto the stranger's shoulder, pushing with all his might against them to no avail. For their stature they were incredibly overbearing. It took him a good minute to realize something hot and wet coated their fingers and was now dribbling down Allen's dark skin. Copper flooded his senses, that must've been blood. His heart pounding deep within his chest. He itched to be rid of the sensation and continued to sporadically buck against their grip. Al opened his mouth to chomp down on the figure's sticky flesh when a parade of footsteps marched past them one after the other. The pair of them relaxed and Al's reddish eyes widened against the dark concealing them. Whoever they were didn't want to hurt him, did they? Just as soon as everything became still and the footsteps were long out of range, a groan disturbed the silence and the figure slumped against Allen, breathing at an unhealthily rapid speed.

"Shit." Allen mumbled, grabbing for their arms as they slid down reluctantly. Against the light of the street light behind them, the American could see them quiver in an attempt to hold themselves upright. "Hold on there. Jus' get down It's a'ight. It'll be fine." What the hell was he doing? He drew a complete blank, every once of him screamed to get out, just get out because what else was he suppose to do? He had to do something–anything. It hit him and he quickly whipped out his cell phone. Even as he fired up his phone he questioned why he was bothering with this random stranger who now he knew wasn't trying to kill him, but that hardly meant anything. They could literally be anyone: a serial killer, a rapist, a thief and yet…

Dried now, the blood on his face cracked as he cringed before the light of his phone, shocking his sensitive eyes and sharply bringing his face into view. He was half crouched on the ground with his other hand holding tightly onto the figure before him. Blood slithered thickly down the long boney fingers of the pale hand that reached up and gripped onto his tightly. Allen relaxed–his heart still ramming against his chest–when he realized the figure was pulling his phone away from his eyes. He didn't have the heart to yank it back from such a weak grip which seconds ago somehow managed to pin him securely against the wall they now leaned against. "Hey stop that, I need to call you a–"

The electronic glow of his phone revealed a pair of fuchsia eyes and dark chestnut hair plastered to a sweaty forehead with dried blood smeared against dark skin, tanned just a few shades lighter than his own. His jaw was rounded, not unlike that of a women's and when he spoke his accent was obviously Italian.

"Don't. Please."

Allen felt his energy leave him along with the color in his face. "L-Luci?"

"Don't… call me that, asshole." He panted, losing his grip on the American's hand and would've fallen backward had Allen not surged forward to grab him, holding him tightly against his chest. He felt weak with reminiscence. "And stop… touching me."

Allen shook slightly, his anxiety peaking. His breath escaped his lips far too fast as his stomach squirmed and writhed. "Do y-you want me to drop you?" He managed, his mind unable to comprehend the scene in front of him.

Luciano muttered something in what he assumed was Italian and curled his fingers around Allen's jacket. "Just… Shut up."

"Wha–no! You need to tell me what to do, I don't know what to do!" Luci let out a sigh and went slack in his arms. "Luciano!" Tears were soaking his eyes, was he going to die? His throat constricted. He didn't even attempt to mask his sob. "Oh God what am I gonna do?"

"Allen." Luciano grunted. "You need to calm down."

"How are you so calm?" Al demanded, all too aware of the blood staining his hands and Luciano's climbing unresponsiveness. Allen's legs quivered beneath him. Would they even hold him if he stood? "I need to call an ambulance–"

"Don't. You. Dare." Luciano snarled, producing a pistol out of absolutely nowhere. "If you call any 9-1-1 number, I'm going to shoot myself, you hear me?"

"Christ." This was too much, it was way too much. Allen's chest constricted. "Put the gun down, please Luci."

"Swear to me you won't call anyone."

"If you're going to die–"

"I'd rather die than have that happen you stupid fuck if you want me to live you're going to have to help me out yourself."

"I-I can't." He always broke under pressure. "There's so much blood…"

"Deep breaths Allen. I'm going to be fine." Luciano soothed, sliding his pistol back in its holster. Sweat glazed the Italian's forehead, his breath choppy and irregular.

"Don't give me that chicken shit! You're gonna die and I dunno what to do!"

"You're being overdramatic. Shut your trap, and get us out of this alleyway before I slap you."

"Like that's gonna to do any–"

Luciano's palm struck his cheek before he could finish. "Stop that and do what I tell you."

Allen clenched his jaw tight, looking expectantly down at his counterpart. His skin burned with the aftermath of Luciano's hit, the pain momentarily distracted him from his fears. "O-ok."

"First thing you're going to do is get us the fuck out of here. If anyone else was nearby you've probably alerted them where we are–don't freak out." He warned as Allen tensed up again. "Just focus on doing this one thing."

Allen nodded, noting the waver in Luciano's voice. He held tightly onto him as he stood, his legs quivering underneath him. Luci gripped onto his shoulders as Allen peered around the street corner. He felt as though something was following him, prowling just out of sight. Every step he took seemed to echo too loudly off the buildings. The stone gargoyles stood witness as Allen ducked into the back door of his building, thanking every god he could think of the place at least appeared empty. He rushed up to his room, shifting Luciano's weight onto one arm as he took out his key. Al Looked down at his charge as he shut the door. Luciano had a hand flat to his side. Blood seeped past his fingers causing Allen to avert his eyes hastily, his stomach lurching. Luciano looked as though he'd pass out at any given moment, he needed to know what to do before then or he'd be stuck. Propping Luciano up against the wall as soon as the door shut, Allen nealt down and placed a hand on Luci's fevered forehead. "W-what do I do now?"

Luciano jumped a bit at being addressed. Clearly he was more out of it then he was letting on. He seemed to be forcing every word from his mouth as though it strained him to do so. "Do you have any gauze… or maybe a shirt you don't care too much about?" Allen thought a moment, then nodded. "Ok, I just need you to stop the bleeding… Can you do that?"

"Yeah… yeah." The American felt himself relax a little at Luciano's calm complex. If not for the blood the Italian would've appeared simply tired. He closed his eyes for seconds at a time–his eyelids were drooping when they weren't closed–and panted heavily in between sentences. His usual straight back slouched forward and he was speaking slowly and deliberately. Allen tried to dilute himself into thinking he was just tired to keep himself from hyperventilating as he threw open his closet and grabbed onto an old shirt, rushing back to Luciano.

He's going to be fine, it's going to be ok, one thing at a time Allen, just this and he'll be fine. Al thought over and over again. He stopped when it came down to actually addressing the wound. "U-um…"

Luciano shifted to pull off his jacket. Allen placed two hands on his shoulders. "Here." He grunted, shoving the clothing from his friend's shoulders. Luci glared as Allen reached forward, grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, and ripped it right down the middle. A layer of sweat reflected off his chest, he looked like he was struggling to swallow his breaths. Allen threw the bloodied shirt somewhere within his room and looked down at Luciano in panic.

"Quit staring at me… and help cover this thing." The Italian ground out.

"S-shouldn't I clean it first or somethin'?"

"I'm more worried about bleeding out at the moment…" He slumped further down the wall. "When you get the blood to stop you can go ahead and do... that."

"Ok. U-um…"

"Get on with it!" He barked. Evidently Luciano's patience had reached its limit.

Trying not to be too awkward Allen wound the cloth tightly around Luci's waist. The Italian winced when he tugged the cloth tight, finally tying it together. It wasn't too pretty but it worked all right.

"I-I think I got it." Luciano placed a hand over the cloth, letting out a relieved sigh. His eyelids drooped as he slumped forward, Allen reached out to catch him. "Luci?"

Allen shook him gently, his hand flew to Luciano's throat, his heart pounding and eyes wide as he shifted his fingers underneath his jaw. The American let out a breath of relief when he felt his counterpart's pulse tap steadily back against his fingertips. Allowing himself to finally relax, Al closed his eyes and held Luciano against his chest.

"This ain't how I imagined we'd meet again…" He muttered as he stood and took up Luciano in his arms again. He hadn't noticed in his terror just how light the Italian felt in his arms. He settled Luci onto his bed, placing a hand on his still shiny forehead. "Well, least you ain't feelin' as hot now." He muttered. His room was just big enough for him, meaning there was no couch and hardly any furniture at all. So he decided he could sleep on one of his chairs for the night. Allen pulled the blankets over Luciano. Flakes of dried blood settled onto his sheets but he was far too tired to care or try and prevent this from happening to begin with. He decided to just give Luciano space, though he probably could've settled down next to him he was terrified accidentally hurting him. Collapsing into the most comfortable chair he had, Allen fisted his dark hair as a headache slammed into his skull. The now dried blood on own his hands cracked as he moved his fingers.

None of it felt real. Had Luciano Vargas, the guy he'd convinced himself he'd never see again just knocked into him in an alleyway not far from his apartment, bleeding out and needing his help, in Chicago–worlds away from where they'd met? The more he thought the more times he had to look over at the Italian, just to assure himself this wasn't some weird dream. Having him here was way too surreal. Part of him was relieved it wasn't just some weird fever dream, but part of him wished Luciano had just…

Wait a minute–what the hell had he been doing to begin with? Allen looked again at Luciano's sleeping form. His mind had been too preoccupied with just trying to keep the Italian from bleeding out he'd forgot to question. Luci was curled into a tight ball and lying on his good side, breathing regularly. He still looked pale but Allen was relieved he was stable for the time being. For once it seemed he'd done something right. At least he hadn't fucked it up big time and killed him. On impulse his fingers once again found the throbbing vein just underneath Luci's jaw to assure himself it wasn't palpitating out of control or just barely fluttering at all. He placed his other hand against his own pulse to compare the two, sighing heavily when he decided it was all right.

"Damn, one of these days you're gonna give me a heart attack." He murmured, placing his palm against Luciano's cheek. "But I'm glad you're ok."

Before doing anything else, Allen reached for Luciano's hip and removed the black .22 pistol from its holster. He looked down at it with loathing bubbling in his stomach. As though it was the weapon's fault and not Luciano's rash behavior that drove him to threaten himself with suicide should things be put into the hands of the authorities. Wondering about why he would rather risk himself at Allen's care instead of professionals, the brunette carefully unloaded the gun and tossed it into one of his drawers. He opened the window to his apartment and threw the tiny gold pellets onto the pavement below. They scattered, never to be reclaimed.

Dare he even check the time? Resigning himself to the fact he had to, Allen looked down at his phone and winced. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning. Usually he didn't get coffee but something told him he'd be needing it desperately when he woke up. Still ignoring the blood smearing his dark skin, Allen curled up on the chair and closed his eyes.

(AN):

Hey guys, I'm back!

So I've been working on just a lot of different things at once. I'm trying to keep myself motivated to actually write because it's getting harder to keep myself wanting to write for some reason. I haven't figured out why exactly but school and upcoming exams is definitely a factor. The product of trying to rid myself of writer's block is this. I don't actually know if I'll go anywhere with this, I kind of like how With That Pretty Face of Yours ended and I guess if no one really likes this I'll probably end up taking it down and forgetting about it entirely. I don't know, I guess it just feels a tad forced at this point and this first chapter feels rushed but I feel like I needed to get something out.

I'm trying to get other stuff written, I'll get there but updates are gonna be slow along with new stories. I'm going to try cutting back a bit on my America and Italy fics and get out a Germany Italy fic or two out sooner or later.

That's all, thanks for the lovely reads and reviews!