A/n First ever posted fic. :3 there will be boy on boy love in this, amongst other unwholesome things. Don't like don't read. There will be mature themes in this such as the usage of drugs for recreational usage (which I do not advocate) and other serious themes. Read at your on risk.
*bows* I sincerely hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I Do NOT own any of the songs used in the story. I also do NOT own Hetalia. Or much of anything really, except maybe a ramen cup and some Pocky.
Arthur Kirkland lay un-moving as the rays of dawn graciously cast
themselves through the slits and cracks of the blinds, exposing this
light to travel and wander, meandering over the different bumps and
shapes of furniture and people and trash.
His heart pounded. He dare not open his eyes, grasping around for his
surroundings by his other senses.
His head ached and throbbed, his pulse livid in his body, blood
rushing through his aching form as if to scold him for pushing himself
past his limits for yet another night. He cringed, relaxing to feel
past the immediate discomfort. He was face-down, he was certain, on
the floor which was hard and abrasive, yet caressed him with it's soft
brittle fibers and lay firm beneath him, his aching body left to
resent the sting of it's hard and flat nature. The carpet pressed
against the flesh of his arms, chest, stomach, and feet. With this he
came to realize not that he had lost his shirt, shoes, and socks, but
rather he had managed to keep on his very tight denim trousers.
Along with the softness, he realised that the carpet was damp around
him, in the most undesirable way- right by his face. It was then his
sense of smell slapped him, the putrid smell of bile filling his
nostrils enough to make him sick again. His stomach churned, but he
had nothing left to throw up. He had passed out in his own acidic
vomit.
The room was silent save for the thrum of the world outside the
window, and the faint sounds of breathing and snoring, alerting him
that he was not alone in this room.
*Flashback*
Arthur was alone with his friends before the real party even started.
The trio of males sat across from him as a record scratched an old
familiar melody delicately in the background. Arthur took a hit off of
whatever-the-hell-it-was he was smoking, laughing as his head clouded
over from the inside, vision fogging slightly before everything became
incredibly clear. He was sitting with his three best friends, the only
people, he knew, that truly gave a rats ass he was living. He pondered
their closeness as Gilbert took a long hit, making O's with the smoke
and his lips.
He cocked his head. "What would you think if I sang out of tune would
you stand up and walk out on me?" Antonio snorted, nodding vigorously.
Gil muttered a "ja" through his glazed over, yet sarcastic smile.
Francis merely smirked, eyebrow cocked, intense listening skills
playing themselves through. He always listened like this. Especially
when he was high.
"No, really. Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song," he winked,
meaning it for Francis. He rarely gave a damn about image and being
proper when he felt this damn good. "And I'll try not to sing out of
key." He promised, Gilbert cracking up as if it were the funniest
thing he'd ever heard, Arthur laughing along with the group as he
added in earnestly, yet oh so casually: "Oh I get by with a little
help from my friends." Antonio aw'ed appreciatively. Francis gave his
hand an appreciative across the coffee table, and Gilbert pretended to
gag as if he weren't high enough to be touched by the statement, even
though they all knew deep down he was both touched and higher than a
kite.
Arthur took another hit, vocalising the euphoria it gave with a little
hum. "Mm,I get high with a little help from my friends," they all
shared a knowing nod. Arthur was far more gone than the three of them.
"Mm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends." Try what? They
all didn't know, but who cared really. They were all swimming in a
glazed reality- everything was sugar coated. They hardly had to try
but everything just felt so /right/.
Francis batted his eye-lashes, either pretending to be intrigued, or
as far gone with Arthur into this deep rant about friendship. And God
it had been a while since they last made love. At least a week, and
Arthur was so much more fun when they were high, he gave in so easily.
Though it was always a fun game to play when he was sober.
The thought of being sober made Francis wither, just a bit, so he took
another hit.
Gilbert smirked, watching Francis' reaction before asking, "do you anybody?"
Arthur blushed, "I need some body to love." He smiled a bit bashfully.
He felt absolutely wonderful.
Antonio gave a knowing smile, cocking his own eyebrow. "Could it be anybody~?"
Arthur shrugged, brushing off the question simply. "I want some body to love."
He looked down for a moment trapped in the memories of a past that
seemed so distant to him at that moment, wiping away a tear before
taking another long deep hit.
"What do I do when my love is away?" He sighed, remembering.
Francis noticed the shadows in his eyes, wondering how to work this in
his advantage. He moved to sit beside him, winking at his friends as
he laced their fingers."Does it worry you to be alone?" He asks.
Arthur did not respond, not thinking about the question as he enjoyed
the warmth by his side, to high to even care who it was. "How do I
feel by the end of the day?"
Francis stroked the side of his face. No fight as he expects."Are you
sad because you're on your own?" He whispered, standing because this
pre-party is nearly over for the group. He was about to enjoy his own
after-pre-party-party.
Arthur grinned, something most were unaccustomed to when seeing him in
their company. "No, I get by with a little help from my friends,"
Francis lead him away to his bedroom, whispering something about
stronger stuff in there, more potent.
"Mmm, get high with a little help from my friends," Arthur winked. He
knew where this was leading to, and he felt too good to deny it. If
he'd regret it in the morning, chances are it would make one hell of a
night (whether he could remember it or not.)
Francis forced him against the wall once the door was closed."Mm,
gonna to try with a little help from my friends."
Francis smirked placing his cheek against Arthur's own and whispering,
breath hot enough to make Arthur shiver, senses heightened to his
already sensitive ears, "do you need any body?"
Arthur bit his lip feeling the words travel down his spine to his own
groin. "I need some body to love."
Francis pulled away, looking intensely into Arthur's eyes, loving the
way he was malleable in the Parisian's own hands. "Could it be
anybody?"
Arthur fisted the back of Francis' hair, drawing him closer. "I want
somebody to love."
*end flashback*
And that was all he could recollect, cutting off more than half of the
night. He was grateful that he had even bothered to put his trousers
back on, wondering now if they were in fact his own. He could place a
few more moments amongst the party, asking people if they believed in
love at first sight, and more proclamations of his friendship and how
his friends would kill him with how good he felt, but he'd be damned
if that way out wouldn't be the best thing in his life.
He sighed, collecting himself for a moment before rolling onto his
back, groaning with the aches as he forced himself to sit up, holding
his forehead as he felt himself grow dizzy. Then one eye at a time he
forced himself to look, blinking rapidly with the blazing light around
him, arms wrapped around himself as a few tears of frustration fell,
waiting for his eyes to adjust to the harsh light.
Once his eyes managed to adjust he managed to find his current
surroundings familiar. In fact he was here almost every week, at
least. It the same apartment from before. Good to know he had most
likely stayed here.
The room was lit by only the morning sun, the coffee table broken from
whatever happened the night before, with glasses shattered beside it.
It was coated in a film of smoke and what appeared to be chalk if one
was unaware of the nights proceedings. The floor was littered with
empty cans, dirty needles, random pieces of clothing (sometimes whole,
other times ripped to shreds) the butts of cigarettes and a random
stranger here and there in similar positions as Arthur.
There was a naked couple, entangled together on the couch. Arthur
vaguely remembered the two men coming to the party with women escorts
but thought nothing of it as he pulled an extra rug over his puke
stain. He picked up a discarded shirt-
'Pink Floyd... I don't have this one...'
-figuring he'd make a trade with a sleeping stranger. His group of
friends lived in the crummy apartment right across from his anyway.
The lace was run-down, a bloodstain on the wall covered up by
Antonio's turtle tank, now turtle-less Arthur found himself noticing.
He tip-toed out the door into the hall walking into his own apartment
which he never kept locked. He had nothing worth stealing anyway, and
if he had such items he was a master when it came to hiding them-
sometimes right under the bloody floor boards.
He placed his hand on the doorknob, jolting with the cold brass
traveling up through the inside of his arm- a feeling he enjoyed more
than he probably have ought to. He felt a small, hollow smirk touching
the corner of his lip. He turned the handle to the right, holding
every intention of simply passing back out in his own moth-eaten
sheets and stained pillow.
He opened the door, stepping inside his living room, it barren save
fore the futon and old television set, an old beaten coffee table and
well-worn book-shelf. The Kitchen was attached to the living room,
visible. With a little counter separating the rooms. A cobweb danced
in the corner, close to an AC vent.
Had he been holding something, surely he would have dropped it, breath
knocked out of him by the sight before him, heart stopping, and eyes
widening. He tried to speak but no words would come, loss of air too
great.
"D-dad. It's good to see you..."