This is my next Fruk fic. I haven't posted in a while because life is busy. I hope you enjoy. This first chapter is more of a prologue. The next chapter will be a time skip ahead.

WARNINGS: This fic is dark and gruesome with Language, rape, abuse, self-harm, depression, anxiety, bullying, and light mentions of sexual situations if you can't handle or don't like, please leave now.

Summary: Arthur saw himself as a disgusting person who deserved the life he was given, even though he hated it. He was imperfect. Everyone around him seemed to have it so much better. And no one seemed more perfect than Francis Bonnefoy. That boy seemed to have everything: looks, friends, and a good personality. But what secrets does Francis have? What if he wasn't as perfect as Arthur originally thought? Perhaps he had his own set of imperfections.

Disclaimer: I, in no way shape or form, own the anime Hetalia or any of its characters, and I never will.

The Imperfections

Chapter 1:

Unlucky

Let's just say my deck of cards for life weren't that great. That is, my life was rough in almost every viewpoint. Of course, as most of these tales go, no one knew that, who would notice anyway? I spent my life living day to day, my main focus was survival. I'm not just speaking of high school. My family was as dysfunctional as it got until it was only my father and I. I try as hard as I can to act normal to the public, but the secrets of that house were dark and painful. Long baggy sleeves and pants were my normal, trying to hide the pain and punishments I received from the only one left who was supposed to care. I was convinced that my life would always be like this, full of hardship and misery; my imperfections were too great. Who would care about someone as damaged and broken as me?

The last year of High School was supposed to be the time where everything was coming together, creating the path for one's life and happiness. Students visited universities and began final preparations for when they left the nest and began the long journey of adulthood. Everyone was so excited on that first day that it was almost sickening. Thoughtless chatter and giggles filled the hallways of that building I had found refuge in for the past four years. I hated how they could all be so happy when I was so miserable. Selfish, perhaps, but when you were just hoping to make it through the night like I was, you didn't much care about selfishness. I found myself labeled as an outcast. I wasn't even from the same country as these blokes. Then again, this school was oddly diverse. I stuck to myself; who would want to talk to someone like me anyway? I was smart, but only because I had to be if I wanted to get out of here, but my social skills were the equivalent of nothing. I was Arthur Kirkland, the quiet, weird, creepy British boy with large eyebrows that should be ignored or made fun of at all times unless I was needed to get an A on a project.

Friends were not an object of mine. I didn't go to parties or go out of my way to talk to someone. I ate lunch in the bathroom or the library, seeking some peace before going home. Home… the word did not fit where I spent my 'free time'. It was hell. Hell that everyone had managed to escape except me. Why would they leave you behind? Someone would later ask me. The world is indeed a selfish place. My mum left before I could remember, and no one knows what happened to her. As for my brothers, as soon as they were old enough they were gone without a second thought to me. Someone had to take care of father after all. I was the unlucky little brother. Someone had to be the punching bag for him to let out his drunken anger, or be the mute being that did all the cleaning, shopping, and repairs. What they didn't know, however, was how bad it really was, and I would never tell them. I lived day by day working to survive this last year of school, then perhaps travel back home, real home, to England, and maybe, just maybe, be happy.

'It was too early for this' was my first thought as I sat in the back of my first period, History. Students were excited, and these wonderful people of the world had already gotten their laughs from my sad appearance or awkwardness. I sunk down, just waiting for the teacher to attempt to make people listen or get a point across. I had always tried my hardest to get good marks in school, hoping for a chance to be noticed by some college and have a chance of leaving. I made fairly nice grades despite my situation, most likely because education was where I found safety. The long nights I spent hiding in the only room in the house that would lock, the bathroom, were made easier by the books I took home to keep me company. I watched the door, observing who my enemies would be for this class, and began to build up my defense of cold remarks and hard exterior. My body ached from the previous night, and my exhaustion was setting in. I couldn't remember the last time I had comfortably slept in a bed or had a full meal.

Suddenly, I heard the loud laugh of the one person that I actually made an effort in communicating with. Long, overdone blonde hair and sharp blue eyes made their way into the class and scanned for a place to sit. Bonnefoy. The Frog spent his time flirting with every object in the room and was so bright it should be illegal. His flamboyance was known by everyone, and they all loved him for it. Everyone save me, of course. I scowled at his presence, preparing for a year of constant teasing and bickering. I would never admit it, but he was the only one who never had true malice in those accented words of his. His jabs were always out of humor, and I never was truly hurt by them, just very irritated. He probably had spent at least two hours on his hair that morning, as he was the last person in the class. And, of course, as fate would have it, the only seat left was right next to me. I saw the glint in his eyes as he realized this and began to strut over. I put on my best glare as he sat slowly in the seat, and for a moment I debated on actually kicking the whole thing over.

"Well look who it is. Did you miss me, lapin?"

I scowled and looked the other way. "As if, frog."

It was stereotypical that French and English people hated each other, but no matter how hard I tried to deny it, I couldn't really hate him. Francis Bonnefoy was the only person who never actually tried to hurt me, and the arguments we had were one of the few things that actually brought me the smallest bit of entertainment. I tried not to say anything to him as the class drug on, as last year we both had our fair share of outbursts. He didn't seem as interested in me today as I thought he would be, and he simply sat and paid attention, casually chewing on his pen cap. How annoying. Even more so was when I realized that I was focusing on this idiot rather than a teacher. Letting out an irritated huff I tried my best to pay attention to the usual 'how this classroom works' lecture. However, as the period went on my mind began to wonder to things it normally did when I didn't have my guard up. What would it be like tonight? How bad would my bruises be? Would he…? I felt a shudder pass through me and suddenly felt very dirty. But I always felt this way. I was filth.

The next thing I knew, the bell sounded and I was shaken from my thoughts. I looked around to make sure I wasn't dreaming and caught the eye of that bloody frog. For a moment I thought he looked concerned as he studied my face for a moment. His eyes that were normally filled with mirth and arrogance had something different to them. I didn't get a head of myself. Why should he care? I wasn't important enough for his time.

"Are you alright? Were you daydreaming of my gorgeous face?" The blasted frog asked with a smirk.

I gave him my sharpest glare and stood up to move on, "Sod off, idiot."

Without looking back I left for my next classes. He probably didn't think anything of it. I managed to make it through physics, calculus, and government before the lunch bell without an incident. Being rather proud of this fact, my day lightened just a little. I knew full well that the lunch room was the equivalent of a war zone, so as always I checked the library. It was crowded to my disappointment. It was the first day after all. With a small sigh I headed towards the other place I could wait out the storm of socialization. Trying to avoid as many people as possible I eventually found the bathroom that no one ever used. Apparently it was too dirty. How fitting. Sliding to the floor in the last stall, I closed my eyes. I could finally take a small break from everything happening around me. I relished in the silence that was comfortable rather than tense. I read over the different writings on the walls for the thousandth time since this started. I had them memorized by now. My eyes fluttered and I tried to think of positives that were coming. English class was next, my favorite. That would be good. After that, I went to creative writing and phycology before I had to return to my cage.

As the bell rang signaling a return into the loud chaos of the hallways, the familiar nervous feeling settled in my gut. I knew I would be home in the next three hours. I would be with him. Standing up slowly, I moved as quickly as I could and found my English class promptly. The teacher already sat at his desk chatting with another student. I instantly recognized him as Mr. Vargas, the guardian of Lovino and Feliciano Vargas, twin brothers from Italy. He was known for his own type of flamboyance and bright personality. Hopefully, I wouldn't be as annoyed with him as I was with a certain Frenchman. Taking my normal seat in the back, I began to look at the different posters and books that the room had to offer. It seemed interesting enough; at least there were a few new books I could read.

Class had just gotten started when the one person I thought I would avoid strode in. He apologized for his being late and of course was graciously welcomed. I sighed and slid down in my chair. He turned to smile at me. Me of all people. Part of me actually wanted to smile back. How ridiculous, I couldn't be letting myself be tricked into believing he cared. No one did. Mr. Vargas began the same ramble as every other teacher on the first day and I tried to pay at least a little attention. His Italian accent rang through the room of students who were then feeling the effects of waking up early for the first time in three months. As soon as the class was over, the rest of the day flew by and out of my hands, and before I could stop it the final bell rang. I tensed up immediately. It was time.

Slowly, I rose from my chair in phycology and my numb legs carried me out the main doors. I could feel my heart pounding as I followed the old sidewalk down to the street of run down houses where I resided. It was the poorest part of the surrounding neighborhood so even if anyone did hear, they probably wouldn't care. There was a time limit. If I was even ten minutes late, it would be much worse. The already short walk became shorter and shorter until I found myself on the front steps. I stared at the chipped paint on the old, dented, dark blue door and the siding that was falling off of that small house. Here I was. Taking the deepest breath I could manage, I stepped inside. Instantly, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke filled my nostrils. I scanned the filthy front room that was full of broken furniture and glass. Before it was too late, I slipped upstairs to the bathroom that I considered my safe place. I had all of my clothes and valuables stored there, as well as all the house medicines and bandages. I set my bag there and stopped to stare at my reflection. It wouldn't be this nice by morning if I had one slip up.

Taking careful steps down the stairs, I moved into the kitchen to start dinner. Luckily for me, my father couldn't tell the difference between good food and my food, as I couldn't cook for the life of me. All that mattered is that I didn't make a mess and that it was waiting for him by the time he got home in approximately forty minutes. I stuck to frozen dinners, as that's what we could afford, and I began to preheat the oven. I then set the table and went about making everything spotless from last night. Everything was mostly going smoothly as the dinner that I didn't even really look at was set in the oven. I could only wait now. I was used to this nervousness that surrounded me everywhere. My stomach was in knots, I was sweating, and my heart felt like it could burst from my chest. This was my normal.

It wasn't long at all before he stepped through the door. His boots sounded against the hard floor and I tried not to make a sound. Right as I set his dinner on the table I felt his presence in the kitchen. Looking towards the floor, I backed away, letting my captor sit in his normal chair to eat. I could only wait until he was finished before cleaning his plate and hoping he wouldn't get too drunk. I could smell the alcohol on him when he came in so I assumed he had already had his fair share. His fork clanked against the plate over and over until finally it was set down in the normal rough manner. Being the good prisoner I was I hurried to clear the table, working to be absolutely silent, and not a nuisance. He wouldn't be as likely to notice me if I didn't make a sound. I tried so hard and things were going so well, but I wasn't expecting him to screech the chair across the kitchen floor. I jumped enough to drop the plate loudly into the sink. Swearing to myself silently, I heard him pause. Several terrifying moments passed as I felt his eyes staring at the back of my head. It was coming I knew it. He grumbled a few words that I was sure were insults and moved to open the fridge, pulling out one of the many beers that were stocked in our refrigerator. Those were the only things he would ever buy for himself.

I didn't get hit immediately. I was able to finish cleaning up before he threw his then empty bottle across the room to where it shattered only feet from me. I knew it would be worse if I ran. He began screaming obscenities at me and called me the names that were pounded into my head until I believed them. Worthless, filthy, damned. The calloused hand found itself in the back of my hair and I was dragged back and hit in the face hard. He began his usual rant of how it was my fault everything was the way it was. Mother would still be here if it weren't for me. The family would be happy if it weren't for me. I was the problem. A blow to the stomach. If I didn't exist none of this would have happened. We would be rich. All because of me.

I was curled up on the floor, taking blow after blow. I just closed my eyes. Perhaps it would go faster this way. I tried to think of happier things, like England, warm tea on rainy days, happy (though there were few) memories of the past. I grew numb to his beatings. Even when his belt was taken from his pants and my face became covered in my own blood I tried to go away. At least in my mind I would be able to have serenity. Tears streamed down my face and blurred my vision. It would be over soon, I kept telling myself. He would be tired soon. It didn't come soon enough. By the time he was finished with me, I had a bloody nose, split lip, and several other welts and bruises that I would have to work to hide for tomorrow, if I managed to go at all. This was the unlucky life I was given. I heard him trudge up the stairs and a door slam, leaving me to pick myself up. My weak, shaking limps pushed me off the floor and I tried to calm myself down. The pain was slowly coming back to be now. Sniffling, I used the wall to stand myself up. Half crawling and half walking I slowly managed to make it up the stairs to my bathroom.

Barricading the door, I turned to look at myself in the mirror. I supposed it could have been worse. Taking one of the dirty rags I washed the blood off of my face to get a clear view of what I would have to cover up. It wasn't a huge deal, who would notice anyway? I began the long process of slowly stripping down to observe my battered body and try to clean my unlucky self. I was blind to the ribs that could be seen. Blind to the fact that I had old scars and cuts everywhere. This was what I had always looked like, never knowing anything different. I deserved to look like this, a hideous abomination, someone who was never to be loved or cared for. Someone who was nothing. Someone like me.

So this is the first chapter. Sorry if it jumps around or goes to fast, but this will be a long fic going well beyond the high school years.

Translations:

Lapin-Rabbit

Review if you wish.