Alfred walks into the kitchen, carrying yet another box and sets it on the island countertop. He shakes his head in exasperation as he notices all the boxes that still needed to be unpacked. He had told Arthur to get started on the kitchen, but as per usual these days he hadn't listened. He doesn't know what he had expected really, when he'd handed Arthur a box and sent him on his way, he had just mumbled something under his breath before stalking off.

Alfred leans on the counter and looks over at Arthur to see what he's so engrossed with. It looks like some kind of book. Alfred smiles gently, Arthur had always had his nose in a book growing up. He's glad that he seemed to be getting back into the habit again after so long.

He watches him for a little while longer before a thought pops into his head.

"Hey, Artie, this house is really old, you think it could be haunted?"

Alfred laughs when Arthur just glares at him in response before directing his attention back to the book in his lap. He sighs and stands up, he'd better get started on hauling more boxes in before it gets dark. Lord knows he won't get Arthur's help anytime soon, not until he was bored with his newfound treasure. Arthur still wasn't really talking to him, but at least he was starting to act just a bit more like himself. He had looked at him, even if just to glare. It's been a rough few months. Things were finally starting to settle down. Obviously they would need time, a lot more time, to heal, but he could see it happening now. He couldn't before. Not in their old house, not with all those old memories. Marianne would have wanted this, for them to start being happy again. All they needed was a fresh start and this house was just the thing. Alfred couldn't wait to get things back on track with his remaining son.

Arthur lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He likes the house so far. It's kind of like being transported back in time. The bathrooms have clawfoot tubs and there were real Tiffany chandeliers or so the realtor had said. There was even an office for his dad. He knows his mom would have loved this place. Especially the kitchen, she had loved cooking. He could almost picture her standing at the counter and talking him through the steps of whatever dish she happened to be making. Not that it ever did much good, he wasn't really one for cooking. She had always said it was okay though because he could bake. "We all have our talents" She'd always say with a gentle smile. The only thing that seemed out of place in the kitchen was the cheap tiled floor. Well, that and the journal he had found in there. He doesn't know why but he feels drawn to it.

Ivan stands in the doorway, watching as the boy gets settled in his room. Arthur. Ivan thinks that must be his name anyway. He doesn't know for sure. So far his father has only been calling him Art.

"You're being creepy."

Romano. His voice is unmistakable, and it has become something of a habit for him to show up here, in this room. My room he wants to say, though technically it's not anymore.

He turns his head lazily in the direction of Romano's voice and holds back a smile when he sees him peering out from the closet.

Romano casts a suspicious glance around the room, notably relaxing upon not seeing anyone or anything else.

"I was hiding from Feli. He was getting too damn excited about our new "guests". He wants me to sing with him." Romano scowls as he says this. "I don't know why he insists on us doing that. There are better ways to haunt someone."

"You do have a lovely voice."

"Shut up." Romano glares at him, there is no real anger behind it though, and puts his hands to his slightly red cheeks. "Damn it, ghosts shouldn't be able to blush. I'm just glad Antonio isn't here right now. He'd call me a fucking tomato or something."

Ivan laughs. That is something Antonio would do. "Where is Antonio?"

"The basement, I think. Probably polishing his axe. I don't really care."

Romano glances over at Arthur and watches him read Ivan's journal for a few seconds before turning back to Ivan.

"So, where did you leave it this time anyway?"

"One of the kitchen cupboards."

Romano nods. "You'll probably win this round."

Ivan hums. "We'll see."

"It's totally unfair, you creepy bastard! You're the perfect ghost material. All we have is singing and well, Feli's pretty good at the whole crying thing, I mean he should be since he does it all the fucking time."

Ivan shrugs and doesn't point out that Romano cries just as much. "It worked on me, you know." Though he thinks he would have always ended up this way.

"I don't think that last one counted anyway." He continues.

Romano snickers. "Oh god, it counts. It definitely counts. That was the fastest I've ever seen someone move out. They didn't die, but you sure as hell traumatised those three for life."

Arthur awakes, sitting up quickly, with a gasp. He'd fallen asleep reading the journal, and his dreams consisted of harsh whispers and soft crying, the kitchen floor covered in red liquid, oozing towards his feet, deep scratches in the wood. He glances at his phone and sighs. It's late. And he didn't even help his dad with unpacking. He feels guilt sinking in, he knows how hard his dad has been trying for him. It's just, he hates how normal he's trying to be, joking and smiling. As if nothing's wrong, as if everything is normal. It's not. It won't ever be. He decides to head down to the kitchen. He might as well unpack a few things while he's up, it's the least he can do. Worthless, he mutters to himself.

Ivan watches Arthur from his perch on the marble countertops and wishes he had his scarf to fiddle with. He hasn't gotten used to the feeling of being without it yet. Arthur was rummaging through the cupboards, talking to himself every so often.

"That guy seems unstable."

Ivan nods in response to Antonio's statement. He puts a hand up to his neck and feels the rough scars he knows are there. He is too.

There is a snort of laughter from one of the figures sitting on a stool at the island. Romano looks up from where he'd been laying his head down on the counter and gives Antonio a look.

"You murdered two people with an axe and then offed yourself with that same axe, I mean who does that?!" Romano snaps. "I don't think anyone would call that anywhere near stable, jackass. None of us are."

"I apologized for that little incident, Roma!" Antonio whines. "And you know it was the house that made me do it."

"What the fuck ever, asshole. You can't use that excuse with me."

"But, Romano! I-"

Feliciano, who had been sleeping on the stool next to Romano's, jumps up quickly when Arthur sits in his spot. He shudders.

"I hate when that happens!"

"Tch. If you were awake that wouldn't have happened. You sleep too damn much. Ghosts shouldn't even be able to sleep."

Arthur shivers as he sits at the kitchen island, suddenly freezing, he wraps his fingers tighter around his mug. He would've used a teacup, but they were still in one of the moving boxes and he doesn't feel like rifling through them just yet. At least his dad had remembered to unpack the teapot and his collection of teas. It was quiet. The only sound in the room was the clock on the wall, tick-tock, tick-tocking. He glances up at it and sighs. "3:37. Might as well be up for the day." He finishes his cup and gets to work on the rest of the boxes.

Alfred stretches his arms above his head and yawns. He'd already showered which usually serves to make him more alert, but he still feels pretty tired. Moving is exhausting. He had stayed up until around one in the morning, putting stuff away and organizing. All their furniture had been delivered before they arrived, but they still had a ton of other belongings to unpack. Plus they needed groceries. He had picked up a few essentials yesterday, like coffee, milk, sugar, bread and a few frozen pizzas for their dinner. So much left to do. He makes his way down the stairs and as he nears the kitchen he notices the babbling of the coffeepot and the smell of freshly made coffee in the air. He pauses in the doorway and takes in the sight of Arthur sitting there, looking tired, wearing the same clothes as yesterday and nursing a cup of tea. He can almost see Marianne sitting next to him, holding a cup of her own and asking Arthur what was wrong. She was always so much better at the emotional aspects of parenting than he was. He had been the 'fun' one who let too much slide. She had been the one Arthur could always talk to, even if she was also the one who disciplined him. Which they had always laughed about, considering his job was people talking to him about their problems. She would be able to make this better, but, he thinks, if she were here there would be nothing to fix in the first place. Alfred gently ruffles Arthur's hair as he walks by on his way to get coffee.

"Hey, thanks for making coffee, Artie. How long have you been up?"

"Just since five." Arthur lies, tiredly.

"It's only seven. Are you sure you don't wanna get a few more winks of sleep in? I can finish up in here."

Arthur shakes his head no. He watches as his dad adds a huge splash of milk and an absurd amount of sugar to his coffee. He drinks his tea the same way, which Arthur thinks is ridiculous.

"Hey, buddy, you wanna go grocery shopping with me? We need to pick up a few more things or we might starve!" Alfred says, forcing a laugh.

"No. I think I'll just stay here and unpack some more."

"Alright." Alfred says, voice softening into something more serious. "I should be back in a few hours. I need to do the shopping and then run a couple of errands."

Arthur nods. He waits until his dad leaves and then continues reading the journal. After his first cup of tea and when he'd finished putting away the boxes of dishes and things, he had went back upstairs to grab it. The first ten pages or so are normal things. The writer's family had just moved into their new home. The writer was a girl, or he thinks they were. They had mentioned knitting and a love for flowers, especially sunflowers. That and the delicate, flowery writing seemed to point towards the journal's owner being a lady. Though he himself liked doing needlework and gardening so maybe he shouldn't be so quick to assume, but he was sure it was a she. On the eleventh page, she had started hearing voices and occasionally she would feel someone tugging on her scarf.

"Poor girl." Arthur mutters.

Antonio snickers. "Did you hear that, Roma? He thinks Ivan is a girl."

Romano sighs. "Yes, I heard. It wasn't that funny."

He needs a break from Antonio's presence. He stalks from the kitchen, shooting Antonio a warning glare when he moves to follow.

"Ivan? Feli?" Romano calls out from the bottom of the stairs, peering into the basement.

"They're not down here." A light voice sounds from the shadows.

"Emma. It's been awhile."

She laughs, moving into the dim light spilling down from the open basement door, and smooths down her dress. "Yeah, well. You never come visit me."

Romano shrugs. "I've been busy. And a dark, damp basement isn't my idea of fun."

"Scaredy-cat." She grins when Romano sticks his tongue out at her. "But, you're right. Perhaps I should go upstairs every now and then. Visit you and maybe get in on all the haunting." She says, wiggling her fingers and making a ghostly "Ooooooo" noise. "Speaking of, did you place a bet yet?"

"No, but if you entered the race, I know who I'd root for." Romano winks, smiling. He always forgets how easy she is to talk to.

Emma's laugh sounds again, bright like a bell. "Well, aren't you just a sweetheart. Personally, I think it'll be Ivan again this time or maybe Lizzie."

Romano hums in agreement.

Romano finds Ivan in the garden. He sits down, digging his fingers into the dirt.

"I miss gardening." He sighs, lets the soil run through his fingers and looks up at Ivan. "I just really want a tomato. Or some pizza, real pizza, not that frozen premade shit these idiots have in the freezer. God, I miss eating good food, real food. How is it that people who can actually cook never move in here?"

Ivan shrugs and lets Romano vent.

"It's just... I wanna see something new. I'm tired of seeing the same old shit every day. Every fucking day! And Antonio. God, I just want him to leave me alone! He keeps talking like nothing's changed. Like we're still this happy couple, like he didn't fucking murder me. With an axe! I mean, I guess, maybe if it was just me I could handle it. Maybe. But he killed Feli too! And that right there is just unfuckingforgivable. That asshole thinks that just because he said sorry that I should forgive him. Well fuck that. He needs to r-"

Ivan reaches out and intertwines his fingers with Romano's. Romano cuts off his rant and sighs quietly.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

Notes: It somehow morphed into Russia/Romano. I'm working on more, I just wanted to get something up for Halloween.