Hola mis conejitos~! And that's all the Spanish I care to write.
So here we are, part two. I don't think there's anything you need to know this time around. Oh! No, there is.
Ireland - Brian
Scotland - Alastair
Wales - Evan
Northern Ireland - Patrick
And Happy Birthday to me! As a gift to myself, I'm giving you guys this chapter! Because I love giving. It makes me happy to make others happy.
Enjoy!
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
Last minute Christmas shopping is the absolute worst. Right now Arthur was walking around the local mall, doing his best to collapse into himself so he wouldn't have to touch anyone. Unless it was from someone familiar, he hated physical contact of any kind. He did whatever it took to avoid it. Throngs of families, teenagers, and singular persons like himself were bustling around the building. Some stores were employed with workers wearing strained smiles, while others housed those who made no attempt to hide tired eyes and who seemed like they'd rather eat rusty nails than be there one more minute. The man tried to be as nice as possible to these people, asking simple questions and giving simple answers if he were approached. If the store was out of an item, he wouldn't stand there and shout for an hour about how they were surely wrong and he demanded to speak to a manager, but simply thank the employee and leave. All of the relieved, grateful expressions he had received were enough for him.
Hours passed, and anything even remotely promising had either been out of stock for some time, or so far out of his price range that he gave no second glances. Right as the blonde was going to stomp out of that hellhole with nothing more than a big ol' "Fuck you", a tiny store hidden in a lesser populated area caught his eye. Clean windows were lined with replicas of various famous objects and paintings. The replicas were obviously those of a low quality, and Arthur had a very strong urge to bitch at the owner for their ridiculous prices.
But... that store had given him an idea, so he decided to spare it and it's employees his wrath. Practically running, he left the Mall and breathed a refreshing breath of fresh air as he burst outside. The cold was, for once, welcome. He was tired of inhaling the murky, dirty, hot air that wafted throughout that building. A shower sounded quite nice at the moment.
First, though, he needed food. Skipping breakfast had been a mistake, because he should have known he would not be eating lunch if he were still shopping around noon. Which he had been, and the Brit almost gagged every time he passed the Food Court. If not from the smell of the different food stalls, then from how some of those people were eating. Not all, and he sympathized with those who wanted to be anywhere else than next to a table filled with four children and a stressed mother, and an obese man who had sweat and other questionable liquids dripping down his neck.
Vehicles filled the streets, and Arthur almost opted to leave his crappy car and walk home. Then he remembered it was a forty-five minute drive, and grudgingly made his way to the beat-up automobile. The door was heavy, and he had to use all of his strength to slam it closed or else it would fly open while he was driving. Again.
Traffic was a mess, and for some inexplicable reason people tended to forget how to drive when the weather was something other than sunny and clear. Resisting the urge to smash his head into the steering wheel, the blonde sat back and closed his eyes at a red light. He was cold. Although his air conditioning worked, his heater had been shot since he bought the car, and he felt his fingers freezing through his gloves.
Suddenly the back door swung open, and Arthur cursed his luck that day along with his lack of automatic locks. Digging between his seat, his hand found and clutched the knife he stored there for such occasions. The man was ready to turn on whoever had the balls to break into his car - while he was in it, no less - and show them that they had picked the wrong person to rob/murder/kidnap/whatever.
"Hey Artie!" a loud, unmistakable voice screeched in his ear.
Arthur's grip loosened on the weapon, and he half turned in his seat to glare at the beaming thorn in his side sitting in the back seat. "Alfred," he growled, "what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"Hey, wow, don't be mad! I saw your moving piece of scrap metal and thought I'd be a hero and save you from sitting through traffic alone!" Laughter erupted, and Arthur could do nothing but sigh and roll his eyes. He was used to this.
"Yeah, or you were tired and wanted to sit your lazy ass down," grumbled a third voice, alerting Arthur to Matthew's presence. The youngest gave a glance to the hand still in between the seats, and Arthur quickly retracted it. "I told you we should have knocked first."
"Ha ha ha! Knocking's for losers!" Arthur was about to scold Alfred, but a horn blowing behind him alerted the oldest to the green light and you need to move your ass now, buddy. He hated impatience (call him a hypocrite and he will chew your ear off so bad you'll form a phobia of English accents).
Once they got going, the Brit broke the silence. "So, what are you two doing out today?" He glanced at the twins in his rear view mirror.
"We were shopping," Matthew answered, gesturing to the bags dumped along the floor.
"You?" asked Alfred,
"Same." Then he took out a cigarette, lit it, and rolled his window down half way.
"Dude!" exclaimed Alfred, who was sitting behind the driver's seat, "It's fucking cold! Close the damn window!"
"I'm not going to expose you two to secondhand smoke." Matthew was snickering as Arthur grinned smugly.
"Then don't smoke! It's gross anyway," complained Alfred.
Waving it off, the green-eyed blonde flicked on his turn signal. "Yeah, yeah. It's on my list."
Folding in on himself, Alfred whined about the biting wind until the driver finished his cigarette and rolled his window back up. There was a comfortable silence as the trip proceeded after that. In his seat the American was still slightly moping, but the other two knew it was best to ignore him. Yes, it was beginning to be a pleasant drive. That is, until Alfred's stomach growled.
"I'm hungry!"
"No shit."
"Feed me, Artie!"
"You know can't cook, git."
"Well duh!" laughed the loud blonde, "I meant, like, McDonalds or something."
"You know I refuse to step foot in that place."
"Yeah yeah, you don't know what you're missing, dude."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I saw a video where a rat was crawling in a pack of buns, and the manager said to only throw the ones with bite marks and shit away, and use the rest."
The silence behind him was counted as a personal victory.
Matthew pointed out of the window. "How about White Castle?"
Arthur gave the white building a skeptical once-over. The only times he had eaten that food was when someone else went on a food run at three in the morning from a whole house full of people who were either completely drunk, extremely high, or a mixture of the two. Those tiny burgers taste like fucking steak when you're wasted. But now he was sober, and would have said no to the grease soaked food if it wasn't Matthew asking. With a defeated sigh, he turned into the lot and drove around the drive-through. At least he didn't have to eat inside of such an establishment.
A slider each was given to the twins to hold them over until they got back home. Arthur took one as well, not caring about the interior of his car. Well, Alfred was the only messy eater in the vehicle, but he was like four sloppy people in one. It wasn't bad, but the blonde told himself it was because he was starving and anything would taste good right now. Suddenly a store he frequented came into view, and he was reminded of his earlier idea. Switching lanes, he easily pulled into the lot.
Stepping out of the car, he explained, "I need to get some things really quick. I'll be right back." Poking his head back in, he added, "Oh, and Matthew, I'd like to eat soon, so make sure that one doesn't get his hands on the food." Matthew nodded as his brother adorned a pout.
Arthur loved this shop. It was old and run down, but in a way that gave it character. A whole wall was given to him by the owner to paint on, and he took full advantage of it. Different forms of art, ranging from a child coloring with crayon, to a teenage girl painting with water colors, to a boy sculpting a figure out of clay, and so on were depicted. Flying Mint Bunny was mingling around them with a beret and painter's palette. Splatters of color were dotting him as well. The writer gave a fond smile to the wall.
Behind the counter sat a brown haired man texting on his phone. Once he saw Arthur, he immediately gave a lazy grin. "Arthur. How are you?" he asked, his voice quiet and soothing.
"Fine. Yourself?"
Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, Heracles locked his sleepy leaf eyes with Arthur's brighter emeralds. "I'm doing great. Kiku's coming to my house for Christmas... even though he's not Catholic. I'm excited..." A sweet smile never left the Grecian-American's lips. Even though he never looked anything other than tired, there was a twinkle in his eye that Arthur positively itched to capture on paper.
"That's fantastic."
"Mmm. Do you need help with anything?"
Wandering over to the canvases, the Englishman put a finger to his lips. "I need one of these. And new detail and fan brushes." Heracles looked slightly surprised, but didn't question it.
"Would you like for me to get your brushes?"
"Sure," approved the blonde, trusting his friend's knowledge of art supplies. Skimming through the canvases, Arthur hummed a tune as he searched for one he liked. Heracles met him at the counter with the brushes. "Thank you for the help," he said after he paid for his stuff. The other gave a nod. "I have to get back to the car now. Alfred and Matthew are in there and.. well..." he trailed off. A quiet chuckle was his response. Turning to leave, he called back, "Bye. Tell Kiku we need to get together soon, yeah? I miss him."
Waving to the Brit's back, Heracles called, "Bye.. I'll pass the message." Slumping in his chair, he rested his head in his arms and gazed at his phone once more.
Upon exiting the store, Arthur saw his two cousins looking... normal. Too normal. However, as he came closer he could make out the tell-tale signs of a scuffle. Pieces of their hair were sticking up, clothing was bunched, and Matthew was not even attempting to hide his victorious smirk. Alfred was pouting, again, with his arms crossed.
"Thank you for protecting the food, Matt."
"Any time, Art." Oh, he was absolutely radiating smugness. Alfred harrumphed, and the elder didn't press for details.
The drive home was uneventful. Once they were parked, Alfred perked up and dashed into the building and up the stairs. Shaking his head, Matthew began to grab their bags, and even though his brother was the strongest out of the three of them, he neglected to take a single one. "I'll help," offered Arthur. He slung the food and art bags over one arm, smushed the canvas between his arm and side, and grasped a few of his cousin's bags with his remaining limb.
Thanking him, the quieter blonde easily managed the rest. The duo stepped up the stairs to see Arthur's door wide open, and Alfred sitting at the marker stained dining room table. Green irises rolled. "Honestly." Matthew agreed. The gift bags were set down first, followed by the plopping of the food on the table. "I'll be right back," announced Arthur, and turned to the energetic twin. "If I come back and the food is gone, it's your head." Alfred playfully bowed before proceeding to dump the burgers, fries, and chicken rings on the wooden surface.
As he walked to his room to set his canvas and brushes down, he heard Matthew's shy voice calling his brother a disgusting pig as Alfred ate each of his sliders in only one bite. Arthur shuddered at the mental image, and was glad he didn't have to witness the real thing. He would have most likely lost his appetite. Pulling out his phone, he texted his aunt, informing that her kids were staying the night at his apartment. Not a minute later he got a response.
FROM:
Aunt Amelia
Thats cool! Tell the boys I love them~! O! And you know youre coming over for Christmas with your brothers right? Great! See you later sweetie! :D
7:37P Thur-22
Arthur made a mental note to buy extra ibuprofen.
.:.:.:.:.
"Twas the night before Christmas,
and all through the street,
many creatures were stirring,
seeking homes and heat.
A man famous and unknown passed house by house,
in hope the one he sought had it's bright lights doused.
To his surprise his hopes had come true,
The only things lighting it, quaint bulbs of blue.
And Roma in his night clothes, and I in my-
"I'm going to kill Alfred," hissed Arthur. His iPod was at his house, so he couldn't drown out the tune of The Night Before Christmas from his head. Every year he was forced to read it to his two cousins on Christmas Eve. Catchy tunes and poems get stuck in his head easily, and he can't help but parody them.
In his arms was a prettily wrapped present tied with his best ribbon work and a large bow. The canvas, now painted and full of color, was snug inside. Again, his Italian had changed his style. Electric blues and neon yellows were absent, replaced by soft dirt, natural greens, and vivid yet earthy reds. It was all amber and tan and soothing. On the surface was Romano, wearing old, dirty clothing and harvesting in an endless field of tomatoes with a smile of unperturbed joy. A simple straw hat rested on his head, and propped on his hip was a basket already brimming with the bulging fruit. The sun was shining, and the skies were clear. His ever (in)famous Flying Mint Bunny was hiding in the shadows of the plants, for once not apparent at first sight.
Honestly, once the writer finished, he didn't want to give it up. He wanted the real Romano to smile like he had painted, but doubted he would ever see such a thing. Something so happy and carefree. The boy really would look better with something other than a scowl on his face.
Oh. He made it to Antonio's porch. As it was already late, Arthur wasn't going to risk waking anybody up and having to face Spanish Wrath. For the night, the gift was going to have to be left outside. Which would not damage it since he coated it in plastic before wrapping it, but he didn't like the thought of some desperate asshole stealing it. It was very much a possibility, since it's happened already to other households.
Placing the package under the porch swing, the Englishman took one last glance at the home before walking off.
He did not see the flutter of curtains, nor hear the opening of a front door.
.:.:.:.:.
Days passed by after Christmas, and Arthur did nothing but the bare minimum of living. That includes eating, sleeping, showering, and working. Assuming to bring extra ibuprofen was smart. All five of his brothers were already hard enough to deal with, but throw in his aunt's family and he felt lucky to have survived.
No one was very wealthy, so the gifts weren't piled up to the ceiling like in those feel good Christmas specials. There were enough, and even though it was a pain, family was what really mattered to them all. Arthur's brother's made him open a package that held a little red dress, short but simple with a turtle neck that would "hide your lack of tits". It was to be expected, and he was unimpressed when they shoved a ruby clutch in his hands. Though he got curious as they urged him to open the purse. Inside was his real present. A golden bracelet with a variety of charms dangling from it. Slightly lost, he looked to his siblings. By the way they were averting their eyes and sheepishly scratching random body parts, he deducted it would spoil the mood to tease them. Clasping the jewelry around his wrist, he took the dress and gave it to his mom.
"I think this would look much better on you."
Alice smiled and accepted the gift. It was a sweet moment. Until Amelia started laughing and shouted, "Yeah, that dress is perfect to hide her lack of tits!" Which caused the rest of the room to turn red and awkward. Except for Alfred, who joined his mother with his own unique laughter. Punching her sister, the green-eyed woman began an argument and commented about how she was surprised Amelia doesn't topple over every time she stands up. The husbands sighed, this being normal with their wives, and the children (except Alfred) exchanged glances. Arthur decided it was time to pull out the pills, and offered some to everybody. They all jumped at the opportunity.
Now it was the 29th, and the Brit was taking time to walk around outside. He had no destination, but the fresh air was a welcome change to his stuffy, paint and marker fumed apartment. As he passed a coffee shop, he idly looked through the window and almost did a double take. Sitting at a booth across from Feliciano and Ludwig was Romano seeming like he very much did not want to be there. A cute pout plumped his lips as he stirred the mug in front of him with a spoon, his head in his palm. Then he glanced towards the window and saw Arthur. A tiny blush creeped to his ears, and the blonde gushed on the inside. Outside, though, he waved friendlily.
Being too engrossed with each other, the other two didn't notice. Romano looked to them, then back to Arthur and made a gagging gesture. Chuckling, the blonde gave an overly dramatic sympathetic expression back. Tan lips twitched with a smile, and amber eyes crinkled slightly. Arthur was stunned. He wanted to see it again.
Again the brunette turned his attention to the duo across from him, and Arthur followed to see that they were still oblivious. It was sweet, but it's bad manners to ignore someone sitting right across from you. Amber irises rolled and turned back to green. Arthur was happy to have the other's attention, and reveled in it. For a moment they stared at each other, then he jerked his head as if to say, "Come and walk with me."
Looking perplexed, Romano shrugged and flagged the waiter over. After a brief discussion the man departed only to come back a moment later with a lidded Styrofoam cup. Ludwig and Feliciano finally noticed something was happening, and the oldest of the trio sneered a little while dumping the rest of his drink in the container. Buttoning up his coat, he waved over his shoulder as he left the shop.
for a moment they stood facing each other, and Arthur was glad that he could blame the color on his cheeks on the weather. Romano wasn't faring much better, and it was a comfort to the blonde to know that he wasn't alone.
Romano tore his eyes away, his earlier pout returning. "Stupid bastard."
"Hello to you too, dirty mouth," greeted the amused Brit.
"Tsk." Arthur gave a crooked smile, and poked the boy with a fingerless-glove-turned-mitten hand. He was so happy that he was finally getting another shot to talk with the Italian one on one, and his heart beat fervently.
"Come on, let's walk."
He scoffed, but complied. "I'm only doing this because anything is better than being the third wheel with my dumb brother and the potato brain."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"Then I'll have some beer and a romcom marathon as well."
Romano laughed, and the Englishman wanted to bottle it up so he could listen to it over and over. "How old are you, bastard?" he asked, his smile still ghosting across his vision.
"Why should I tell you?" teased the blonde.
A smirk. "So I know if I should call Dateline or not."
Arthur snorted, causing the brunette to look at him funnily. "I'm twenty-one, git."
"Git?"
"It's a British thing," he waved off. "So, how old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?"
"Che palle! I'm eighteen, fucker!" Romano shouted in indignation, successfully attracting a number of stares. Arthur was too busy laughing to care. It seems anytime he's with the boy they obtain the scrutiny of the public. Not that they cared. "Whatever," grumbled Romano. They stopped at a crosswalk as the traffic lights turned. "What are you doing out here anyway?"
"Just out for a stroll." His laughter had finally died down. Yes, Romano was a lot of fun when he was calm.
"It's fucking freezing out! Why would you willingly walk in this?" he questioned, baffled.
"I've barely left my flat in days. Christmas was pretty harsh."
"Flat?"
"Oh," Arthur huffed, "sorry. Apartment."
"Oh. How long have you lived here?"
Genuinely surprised they've been civil to each other, the Brit slowly let his defences fall. He was pleased to know that they could talk like this. Extremely. Lifting his fingers, he talked to himself noiselessly as he counted the years. "Around ten. You?"
"Three. Me and Feli came to live with Antonio after our grandpa died."
Arthur didn't say how he already knew. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Eh, shit happens," shrugged the boy. Arthur caught the sadness he was trying to hide.
Deciding to steer the conversation away from that topic, the blonde asked, "How was your Christmas?"
An appreciative glance was his reward. Then a scowl overtook it. "Pretty fucked up. I mean, some of it was okay. Antonio, Feliciano, and I went to Mass first. That was fine, but stupid Feli invited that potato sucker and his potato sucking older brother over, and stupid Toni invited this girl, Bella, and her stupid older brother over. She's nice, but Larz..." Here he made a face of disgust, and Arthur felt protective of his old friend.
"Larz what?" he prodded. If something happened, he wanted to know.
"I don't know. That bastard just creeps me out. He was really quiet and wouldn't stop sending these, like, murderous looks to Antonio." Romano was frowning now, and Arthur already missed his smile. "I'm pretty sure he does some kind of drugs too. Bastard's eyes were all droopy and kind of red."
"He's really not a bad guy," Mumbled Arthur, snuggling his nose into his scarf.
Whipping his head towards the taller man, Romano shouted, "What? You know that asshole?" Suddenly he fidgeted uncomfortably.
"And his sister," he nodded, not wanting his company to dash away. "We went to school together. Went through some shit together. All of that fun stuff. He's just not a people person." He stretched his neck sideways and smirked. "Kind of like you."
"Well neither are you, bastard," scoffed the Italian.
"I won't deny it."
After that there was a silence. Both boys had almost smiles tugging at their lips and eyes. Somehow they entered a small park without noticing and focused on the beautiful scenery. Clouds floated in a sheet overhead, tinting everything a grey-blue. Snow blanketed the ground, patches and strips disturbed and slushed from people making walkways, or children playing. Dark, naked trees towered over them, snow mounting in crevices and branches disturbed by roosting birds. The small pond was frozen, and scratch marks made by skaters like looping lacerations were apparent. Poorly constructed snowmen dotted the shore. Birds were pecking through the cold snow, scavenging for any food buried under the thick white.
It was peaceful, but Romano seemed to be in a talkative mood. "So, bastard, why was your Christmas so rough?"
"Ugh. Try sitting in a room with five roughhousing brothers, two cousins, one who is obnoxiously loud, while your mum and aunt argue about bra sizes, among other things. It gets to be exhausting." Arthur groaned. Simply thinking about his family made him want to crawl in a hole and become the first of the mole people.
A whistle. "Wow. Your family sounds like a train wreck."
"That's a nice way to put it." There was a tender tilt in the Englishman's tone and expression that contradicted the sarcasm. Lifting his wrist, he showed Romano his sparkling charm bracelet. It only comes off his wrist when he showers, and then goes right back on. Call him sentimental, but it means a lot to him. "My oldest brother, Brian, is a jewelry maker, and I think he let my other brother's make their own charms for me. This one," Arthur pointed at a very pretty shamrock, "is his." Next he touched a less professional attempt at a lion; it looked mildly retarded. "This is Alastair's."
"What is that?" asked the Italian, his nose scrunched in either disgust or confusion.
"A lion." Romano was baffled, and Arthur couldn't blame him. "The next one is Evan's," he continued, gesturing to a dragon that still was not very good, but was obvious as to what it was at least. The next two, a flax bloom and a rose, were cupped in his palm. "These two are from Patrick, which surprises me since he and Brian can't sit in a room together for more than ten minutes without a fight breaking out. And he's only thirteen."
"You're really not helping with trying to amend my assumption about your crazy ass family," Romano deadpanned.
Smirking, the Brit rebutted, "I was supposed to be trying?" Amber irises rolled. "This last one is from my youngest brother, Peter. Please, don't ask why he made, well, tried to make, a goat. I honestly have no idea, and I don't want to even attempt to understand what goes on in that little cretin's mind."
"Jesus. I'd rather live under some highway than with a family like that." Romano tried to imagine such a family, but instead a house filled with Antonio and five Felicianos popped in his head. It made him fear he would have a stroke.
"I don't know if I should take pride in your complimenting of my survival skills, or offended that an Italian thinks my family's too crazy to live with."
"Bastard."
Chuckling, Arthur bumped the younger boy's shoulder. "Luckily I don't live with them anymore. Patrick and Peter are the only ones left living with mum and dad." Glancing over, he saw the brunette hum and give a nod. It was surprising how well they were getting along. After all of this time there have been no real arguments, and the shouting has been kept to a minimum. Arthur felt a little bold.
"Did you get anything interesting for Christmas?"
Stumbling over a chunk of ice, Romano's cheeks darkened. He shifted and stuck his hands in his pockets, as if becoming as small as possible would help him disappear. Arthur hoped his painting hadn't been thrown in the trash. It would devastate him.
As Romano took a few deep breaths, the Brit inched closer as inconspicuously as possible. "Y-yeah, I did," stuttered the Italian, voice pitched just a tad higher than usual. "I got, uh, a new cell phone from Antonio. Feliciano got me a bunch of clothes, which is stupid since we wear each other's shit all the time. Oh, and Bella made us all, like, a shit-ton of chocolate."
"Mmhmm. Anything else?"
"Uh..."
"Anything at all?"
"Maybe..."
"Really? What was it?" Obviously Arthur knew exactly what it was, but Romano was a stubborn one. Not as stubborn as the Brit, however.
Shaking with his cheeks flushed in what Arthur could only guess was anger, he waited for another explosion. Stomping over to a bench, the brunette plopped down. There was a generous dusting of snow on it, but he didn't care. Both disappointed he had ruined their fun, and worried about his friend (because that's what they were now, right?), the Englishman followed. When in a good mood, Romano was amazing company.
Literally, the Italian could freeze is ass off, but Arthur refused to do so. He stood in front of the other, patiently waiting. Ungloved hands covered Romano's face, and when he finally did say something it came out too low and muffled. Now was not a time to tease him, so Arthur softly coaxed Romano. "I can't hear you."
"I said," his voice was louder, but still fogging behind his hands, "Why did you do that?"
Crouching down, Arthur sighed. For balance he rested his arms across Romano's jean clad knees. They stiffened, but nothing else. "I don't know," he finally answered. It was not a very satisfactory answer, but it's all the blonde had at the time. "Listen, it's really hard to explain. Like, I don't give a shit about what other people think of me, or what I do, which applies to you as well, but after that night we first met I couldn't get you out of my head." Finally Romano emerged from his palms. His cheeks were still heavily flushed, but fortunately not in anger. Arthur was happy to see his face.
"Why?" Arthur really hoped he wouldn't keep asking that. It annoyed him. But this was Romano, and he was finally trying to breach the communication barrier they had. He wanted more than a just kind of maybe friendship. Plus, that pout was begging to be kissed away.
Whoa, he mentally smacked himself, too fast.
"I don't know." The other scoffed. Arthur's head dropped. Maybe it was time to just say what was on his mind. What he knew and has known. What he wants. Jeez, his therapist would be doing somersaults if he knew Arthur was breaking out of his comfort zone. Ever since that portrait he's known how much he liked the saucy Italian, even though they've barely even interacted. Then today happens, and just that meaningless conversation has been the highlight of his entire year. Maybe if he can get Romano to trust him, even a little bit, he could convince him to give them a chance.
"After we met I could never completely forget about you," he began, catching and holding those amber eyes that haunt his everything. "Then I went to paint something for Larz, and told him about you. He told me how you lived with Antonio, and would come with him whenever you guys wanted to hang with Bella."
"Wait," interrupted Romano, who had forgotten that Arthur was still touching him, "why does it sound like you know Antonio?"
Smiling guiltily, he responded truthfully, "Well, that's because I do."
"How?"
"We used to date..."
Even though he had his head in the lion's mouth, the Brit was very close to laughing at Romano's gaping expression. It was funny. "W-wha-?" For once the Italian was at a loss for words.
"Oh shit," whispered Arthur. Something had just occurred to him. "Please tell me you know he's gay." He really didn't want to deal with the Spaniard if Romano didn't know. If so he might as well pack his bags now before he was sent on his royal guilt trip. Damn Antonio and his stupid kindness and sweetness and perfect ass!
"Huh? Of corse I do!" Arthur let out a relieved breath. "How could anyone not see how fruity that man is?" The Englishman chuckled. "No, I mean, you fucking dated him?"
"Yeah, he's a great guy. We just didn't work out. Which was my fault," he added as a mumble. Thinking about how all of his shit and messed up life drove away someone truly cared for saddened Arthur. At least they were okay now. It made him feel a little better. Romano wanted to ask more questions, but sensed that it was best to let the topic drop. A few moments passed, and the blonde pulled himself out of his stupor. "Anyway, after that you were even more prominent in my mind, and I wanted to let it all out. That's when I came up with your name and wrote it on that car."
"It was different," murmured Romano absentmindedly. Receiving a questioning look from Arthur, he flushed. "I mean.. from your other shit. It was different. The color and style and shit. It was... softer, more mellow I guess."
The brunette's ears burned as Arthur beamed at him. "That's exactly what I wanted! It's what I see when I think of you! Those colors, they're so weird and different for me, but I really like them."
"The painting. It was the same." Looking to the blonde, Romano detected a pink petal dusting the bridge of his nose. He didn't believe it was from the cold. "Why did you paint that?"
"I wanted to see you smile." The Brit's voice was small, and his eyes were diverted.
"My smile?"
Green glanced at amber through yellow. "Yeah. I think it's pretty, and much better than your frown.
Not knowing what to say, the brunette could only stare desperately at the man. "P-pretty?" He wanted to be angry, but miserably failed.
"Alright then," Arthur snickered, "Then I find your smile very handsome, my good sir. Better?" A cocky spark reignited in Arthur as his confidence trickled back.
"Are you really flirting with me, bastard?" Romano didn't look angry. Maybe a little defensive. Sad? Arthur couldn't understand why.
"And if I am?" he asked back, squeezing the other's knees for no other reason than because he felt like it.
Distrust was leered at the other's hands, but the Italian was in too deep of thought to do anything about them. "I... don't know what to say."
"Hey, if you're straight just say so. I'm not going to pressure you into doing anything that would make you uncomfortable." Arthur wouldn't admit how that thought made his chest tighten and lips slightly quirk downwards.
"It's not that..." the Englishman perked up. "I mean, I kinda do like girls more, but I don't really care." By the way his face was tilted and shadowed, it was difficult for Arthur to clearly see his expression. Then it moved to look at the blonde, and Arthur finally grasped at what Romano was feeling.
Confusion.
Not just every day confusion, but a deep, dark confusion that left a person with a constant defensive wall surrounding them, and inner turmoil not unlike a tornado. It was something Arthur knew all too well.
Romano needed to talk. Who knows how long he has been like this, and Arthur feels like he needs to do everything in his power to help. Not here, though, for his legs were cramping and it really was quite freezing. Also, it was just plain stupid to have such a talk in public, sitting on a wet bench in the middle of December. It needed to happen somewhere warm and private. Somewhere where Romano could openly express his self without the self conscious fear of being scrutinized by others.
Taking the Italian's hands between his mittens, Arthur stood. Startled at the unexpected movement, Romano looked up at the pained expression across the other's face. Arthur bent his legs behind his back a few times to try to get his blood pumping through them. He prayed that the hellish pins and needles feeling wouldn't happen.
"Hey, come to my apartment with me."
Rapidly blinking, Romano took his time hearing what the other had said. "What? Hell no! I barely even know you, bastard! Why the hell would I do that?"
Squeezing the smaller hands, Arthur smiled kindly. "Because I know what you need right now. Look, I'll call Antonio and tell him where you are. Please, Romano, trust me," he pleaded with his expression, trying to convey how serious he was. Romano was visibly crumbling, and Arthur hoped he understood how much he wanted to help.
"Fine... Go ahead and call him," he grumbled. With a scowl, he stood. Arthur gave a crooked smile. "You're going to have to let go of my fucking hands now, bastard." Feeling a yank, the blonde was surprised at how disappointed he was without that warmth against his palms.
"Alright, brat," he said, unearthing his phone from his pocket, "Alright."
.:.:.:.:.
Although Arthur's apartment was clean and organized, it was still relatively small and not very luxurious. Furniture consisted of scavenged pieces he found at either secondhand stores, yard sales, or whatever his family didn't want anymore. Most every surface had paint splatter or marker markings on them. To Arthur, it was a very comfortable environment that was well loved and lived in, but the man couldn't help but feel somewhat self conscious as Romano entered his home with an unreadable expression.
Not that he cared! So what if Antonio's family had money, and the adopted Italian twins are living in a nice house with matching decor and unlimited hot water?
Okay, so he was a little envious. How could he not be?
After hanging his coat and scarf on the coat stand, he held his hand out to take his guest's as well. A moments hesitation later Romano shrugged off his outerwear and gave it to Arthur.
"Would you like a drink?" asked the blonde, trying to banish the awkward atmosphere they could both sense descending upon them.
"No, I'm fine." He wasn't helping. Outside it was okay. There were other people walking around in the wide open, easily escapable space. Behind closed doors was a lot different. No easy way outs existed, and there was no one to potentially overhear anything. It was frightening for both of them; Arthur because of his standoffishness, and Romano because of his general dislike of humans.
The older man sighed, already feeling his stress levels rise. Crushes sucked, and he was annoyed that it had gotten him into playing therapist for a boy he honestly did not know. Curse his heart. Grabbing the Italian's arms, he drug them to his couch accompanied by a barrage of what he assumed to be Italian insults.
As he plopped down he pulled Romano along to rest in an inelegant heap beside him. With a pink face, the boy grumbled under his breath. Arthur clamped a hand over his mouth just as he was opening it to bitch at the blonde for manhandling him.
"Listen," Arthur started, biting his lip, "I can tell you're keeping a lot of shit bottled up right now, and personal experience tells me that that's not good. So we're going to sit, and you're going to talk, got it?"
"I'm not bottling anything up!" denied the boy. Anyone else would have been fooled, but Arthur could see past Romano's wall and notice all of the little quirks and twitches his own body knew all too well.
"I won't tell anyone. I promise."
"I said I'm not fucking bottling anything up! What are you, deaf?"
"You're lying."
"I am not, damnit!"
"You are."
"There's nothing fucking wrong with me, bastard!" Romano shot up, screaming with his fists clenched at his sides. Tears were fought back and he was trembling. This is what Arthur wanted, for once. They were getting somewhere, and judging by how fast it took he figured that the brunette needed this more than he had first thought.
"I never said there was anything wrong with you." He was playing with his words, but Romano seemed to be the blind with anger type, and wouldn't notice.
Lost, disbelieving amber eyes opened. Chancing it, Arthur laced their fingers together and lightly tugged so he would sit back down. Romano was deep in thought, and the blonde waited patiently. Their fingers were still intertwined.
"I don't understand you, bastard." It was so quiet, but Arthur gave a small squeeze to show that he'd heard.
"I've been told I'm not an easy person to figure out." he answered wryly. " What do you think is wrong with you?"
It looked as if Romano was about to argue with him. Then he deflated and took on a small, but powerful frown. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing would come out, like his tongue was super glued to the roof of his mouth. A growl emitted from his throat as a scowl creased in his eyebrows. Clearly the Italian was frustrated.
An idea then hit the Brit. Sliding to the ground, he told Romano to follow his example. The other gave a "What the fuck are you doing?" look, but silently complied. Arthur then turned Romano and himself so they were facing away from each other and leaning on each other's backs. An adjustment to their hands later, and he deemed them ready to continue.
"Now, answer my question," he said in a firm, but soft tone.
A deep breath followed an audible gulp. "Everything."
Frowning, Arthur waited for the other to continue. He didn't. "Everything is wrong with you?"
"Yes."
"That's bullshit."
Romano's body tensed, but he didn't turn around. "What the fuck do you mean? Of course there's nothing right with me! Hell, there must be something wrong with you if fucking interested in me!"
"There are a lot of things wrong with me, but we're talking about you right now," Arthur chuckled. "I think you're lovely."
"You're a fucking idiot." The Englishman hummed lightly. "How can you like me? I'm all fucking moody and grumpy and boring and can't do anything right but insult people!"
"I think you're passionate. You're like a firework. Loud, pretty to look at, and filled with color."
"You're impossible," groaned Romano.
"Not impossible. Just very difficult."
"Asshole."
"It's all part of the package," he laughed. "I like everything about you. You're calming to look at, and you're fun to talk to. You don't hide your opinions about things, and your personality is so unexpected when someone first meets you. I like the unexpected. I think you're brilliant."
"B-bastard..." Even though he couldn't see, Arthur was sure he'd made the boy go red in the ears. "You're still a retard. Why wouldn't you want to flirt with someone nice, like my fucking brother?"
There it was. The root of all of Romano's insecurities.
Pale tightened around tan. "Your brother is charming in his own way, I'll admit. He's very cheerful and seems to bring nothing but joy to those around him. He's lively and easy to befriend," Arthur could feel Romano's head fall, and immediately felt terrible, but such truths were necessary, "but he's also obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. His feelings are easily hurt, and the real world is more than likely going to chew him up and spit him out once he graduates from school." Romano snorted at this, and unknowingly eased the blonde's mind. "Now back to you. Yes you're grumpy and have the mouth a sailor would admire, but I can also see that you're very loving to those close to you, and protective of your family.
"Now lets look at me. I'm an illegal street artist who has made shit decisions in my past, can't use the oven without setting something on fire, and puts on a mask of indifference to hide just how scared people make me. But I've been working hard to get my life back in order, I'm fiercely loyal to my family and friends, and I'm quite fond of embroidering unicorns on pillowcases." Real laughter sounded through the apartment, and Arthur desperately hoped he was getting somewhere with Romano, because that last thing was an accident and he didn't want to be deathly embarrassed for nothing. "We all have our own faults and points that shine, Romano, and as long as you have a good heart, there's no reason for anyone, not even yourself, to dislike you." Dropping his head to rest on the other's shoulder, he locked onto the sweet smelling brunette's eyes from the corner of his own. "It's just a bonus that you're so cute. Oh, sorry, I mean handsome."
Romano was trembling with flushed cheeks again, but Arthur was glad that it wasn't negative this time. It was from embarrassment and that uncomfortable feeling when you're someone who doesn't take compliments well. Arthur grinned. Suddenly the Italian turned and buried his nose into the Brit's neck. "Don't you say a fucking word," he grumbled, and Arthur felt the dampness that could only be a tear seeping into his skin. One tear was followed by another, and soon the blonde was leaning against the sofa with his arms wrapped tightly around Romano, and had the other's limbs wrapped around him just as tightly, if not more so. As long as it was Romano, he would gladly give all of the comfort he could manage.
Eventually Romano stopped crying, and began to take bone shuddering breaths to try and get himself together. Arthur all the while murmured into his hair and kissed his temple. This time in his home had been emotionally draining, but satisfying none the less. For another while they sat on the carpeted floor, Arthur rubbing soothing circles in Romano's spine as Romano none too discreetly used his collar to wipe his face.
"Feel any better, my little Italian?" asked the Englishman with a hint of playfulness. He wanted to show that they were definitely done with their talk. Romano elbowed his shoulder, and mumbled something into the cotton of his shirt. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."
"I said my name's Lovino, you deaf bastard."
Stunned, Arthur sat there until a bright smile overtook his entire being. He hugged Lovino (Lovino Lovino Lovino) even tighter and turned his lips to the brunette's ear. "My name is Arthur. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lovino."
A shudder went down the Italian's spine, though he would forever deny it. Leaning back, he smiled at Arthur, making the Brit's heart skip a beat. "I'd have thought we were past such introductions?"
"Of course not, love." Ro-Lovino blushed at the endearment, not knowing that it was not used strictly for romantic interests. Though Arthur rarely used it anyway, so it really was special in this case. "We've never properly introduced ourselves before." Romano's eyes rolled. "So tell me, will you go out with me, Lovino?" He really liked saying the other's name. It felt nice rolling off of his tongue.
Lovino hummed and gave a playful smirk from under his lashes. "I'll think about it."
.:.:.:.:.
"I'm going to Heaven."
"You're a fucking idiot."
Unfortunately this was not Lovino, no matter how familiar that insult was. To be fair, he was sure the Italian would have many, many more choice words for him if he knew what Arthur was up to. It was incredibly stupid, Arthur knew, but it was something he felt that he had to do. He didn't have to do it at all, but admitting that would make him turn tail and go back home. Which he refused to do.
But dear God was this stupid.
"If you die, don't blame me. I tried to talk you out of this."
He turned to face his friend, Alexander, a boy with strawberry blonde hair and red-brown eyes. A cranberry trench coat hugged his frame as a little hat was tilted and clipped on his head. An almost unnoticeable lisp impeded his speech from his Romanian born parents, who had moved to the United States shortly before their child was born.
Next to Alexander was his on and off Bulgarian boyfriend, Mitre. At the moment they were on, after a testosterone filled battle of the alpha male between Alexander and Gilbert, both vying for the attention of Elizabeta after the Hungarian broke up with her boyfriend. It ended in neither of them winning, and both with giant, frying pan induced knots on the back of their heads. Mitre was an optimistic boy with umber-brown hair and light brown eyes. Also worried about Arthur, he had taken to singing a song under his breath to calm his nerves. He wasn't very good at dealing with stress.
The Brit sighed in exasperation. "I know, I know. You're here to make sure that if something does happen, someone will be there to do something about it right away."
"Don't jinx yourself!" snapped Alexander, smacking his forehead. Arthur smiled apologetically and crouched to check his small bag. Everything he needed was there. After making sure his baggy pockets were also properly equipped, he stood and shouldered the bag.
"Alright. I should be done relatively quickly. I know what I'm doing, and could paint them in my sleep," he smirked, albeit nervously.
"That should help, since, you know, it's pitch black out and everything," deadpanned the Romanian-American.
"Come back safely," said Mitre, stepping closer to his boyfriend, "Or maybe ve can go home just now, and I make a nice dinner?" It was a last-ditch effort, and although it didn't deter Arthur, he was still grateful for the sentiment.
"I'll be fine." he said. No one mentioned the shake in his voice. If they did, the man would have blamed it on excitement rather than fear.
Just like most of his other excursions, it was dark out. Alexander had driven them to the nearest highway, and parked half on the pavement, and half on a hill that ran along the road for miles. He was an absolutely ridiculous driver, and obviously drove so dangerously on purpose. Especially since he was the perfect model whenever the police were around.
Arthur was simply consoled that it wasn't Bella behind the wheel.
The writer walked towards the structure of the large signs hanging above the highway. Once at the bottom, he simply stared up at his destination. It was very, very high, and he was sweating despite the frigid air. If Arthur was not careful, he could easily fall to his death. Now was the time to panic, because once he was up there he couldn't let anything avert his focus.
Taking a deep, steady breath, he gripped the metal in front of him. The extreme cold was enough to seep through the thick leather of his gloves. A few steps later, and he was a couple of feet from the ground. Glancing behind his shoulder at his friends, he saw Alexander give him a thumbs up, and Mitre a tiny wave. He turned back to his task.
Step, step, step. Echoing through the night were the sounds of his boots hitting the crisscrossing beams of steel, and his labored breathing. Maybe he really should quit smoking soon. Down below there was a steady trickling of automobiles. Either they didn't notice what he was doing, or simply didn't care. After Arthur was certain he had found the meaning of forever, he made it to the top. On all fours, the Englishman slowly crawled his way to the back of the nearest sign.
Secured around the blonde's waist was a bungee cord. One end was hooked to his belt loops, and he took the other to attach to a part of the structure. Arthur covered his mouth and nose with the mask hung around his neck. As he slid the bag off of his shoulder, a gust of freezing wind blew and rocked the writer to the core. His calm came back as soon as it was over.
Only two colors lay inside of his bag, and he took his favorite mint green to paint his signature Flying Mint Bunny on the silver of the sign. Once he finished the green, the Brit pulled out his black to paint the face and outline a couple of features. The tip had previously been replaced with the thinnest tip he owned. After that Flying Mint Bunny was completed, Arthur unhooked from the steel and carefully crawled to the second sign. Like the last time, he clasped himself to a beam and began the process all over again.
It was as the man capped the green spray paint when things went terribly wrong. A rouge bat flapped right into his face, startling Arthur and pushing him backwards. His feet, which were tucked into the steel beams, stopped him from falling, and possibly saved his life. Though at that instant a fiery pain shot up and engulfed his left leg. He felt the snap, and swears he heard it too.
From below he could hear a mortified squeak and a panicked, "Damnit, Arthur! don't you dare fall!" Everything sounded muffled, and the writer became dizzy from the rushing of his blood. But he was so close, and if he didn't finish this piece, then everything would have been for nothing. Arthur relied on his pride and stubbornness to get him through the next few minutes.
Gripping the steel with his hands, he used all of his upper body strength to pull himself back up into a sitting position. Arthur's heart was beating harder than ever before, and he panted lightly. The pain in his leg formed tears in his eyes, but he squared his jaw and wiped them away. Yanking the black out of his bag, he was about to fervently finish the Bunny before he thought better and stopped. It would be bad if he made a mistake right now, so he took a moment to calm down.
Not five minutes later, and he was done. The blonde did not regret any of this, and knew he never would. These Flying Mint Bunnies were more than something to prove how great of a street artist he was. They were not there as a way to claim kingship. They are a symbol, a proposal of sorts, specially made for a slender, red faced, scowling Italian he'd recently met.
If this didn't prove how serious he was, nothing would.
Materials were packed away, and Arthur yanked off his mask. Fresh air tasted amazing, even though the chill burned his lungs. Unhooking himself, he began the agonizing trek back to sturdy ground. Arthur wasn't exactly sure how he was going to get down, but guessed he would have to grit his teeth and deal with the pain.
"I seriously hate you, you fucking dumbass!" called Alexander as he neared the ledge.
"That's great," Arthur grunted, "but can you two stand under me? My leg is broken, and if I slip I'd like to land on something other than concrete."
"You're leg's broken?" shouted the blonde.
"Oh God! Are you okay?" yelled Mitre at the same time.
"Yeah, just peachy." He heard the Bulgarian mumble something that was most likely an apology. Heads of blonde and brunette stood beneath him, so he timidly began his descent. Moving his left leg was impossible. Arthur was forced to rely on his arms as he let his legs dangle until his good foot found a perch, and climb down enough to repeat the process. It was exhausting. Every time he dangled Alexander would curse in Romanian, and a Bulgarian prayer followed right after.
If Arthur thought going up took forever, coming down was most definitely the equivalent of infinity. Finally, he was low enough for his friends to grab onto and support him. The writer was extraordinarily thankful for his gloves; he would not have been able to grip the cold, sharp steel beams if they weren't protecting and warming his fingers. Helping Arthur limp back to the car, the couple sat him just inside the rear seat.
Mitre quickly ran to grab the flashlight in the dash as Alexander relieved the Englishman of his bag and cord. A light flashed on the duo, and all three of the boys stared at Arthur's leg. Slowly, Arthur grasped the cuff of the fabric and eased it up.
"Oh shit!"
"It is not having to be amputated, right?"
Arthur could only stare. Well damn. The calf was twisted almost completely sideways, and his knee looked as if it was going to break out of his skin. Even though there was no blood, except for shallow scratches made by the structure, the sight of his mangled leg was gruesome. Looking at it, the man was surprised it didn't hurt more. Now that he was not moving the pain had receded to a harsh, burning throb, but wasn't as bad as one would expect.
"Ve need to be going to the hospital," worried the brunette, face pale from staring at the twisted limb.
"I know, I know, just... let me get a picture first, 'kay?" Arthur rolled his eyes as the Romanian-American brought out his phone and clicked the camera option.
"Are you serious?" asked Mitre, looking both disturbed and incredulous. "We need to be going now!"
"One sec," There was a snap. "Holy crap that's awesome!" Alexander showed the picture to Arthur, who had to admit the darkness seeping through the yellow of the flashlight and low quality of a cell phone camera really did make an eerie shot. He'd need a print out.
"Okay, you are done," said the Bulgarian, pushing his boyfriend towards the driver's seat. "Now if you are not minding, hospital please?" Over his shoulder, Alexander smirked, showing off his sharp snaggletooth. Shaking his head and helping the Brit get all the way into the car, Mitre walked over to sit beside Arthur to make sure he was okay on the road.
Just as he'd expected, the drive to the hospital was perfect and smooth. Alexander bragged about his awesome driving capabilities all the way there. Mitre was obviously not listening, choosing to sing along to the radio in semi-broken English. All in all, Arthur had an enjoyable night.
.:.:.:.:.
"Well, that is definitely broken," assessed the dark skinned doctor, his deep brown eyes examining Arthur's leg behind black rimmed glasses.
Alexander snorted. "Really?"
"Is he going to be okay?" queried Mitre, pinching the blonde next to him to behave.
"I'll be fine," reassured the Brit. Turning to the doctor, he asked, "I'm sorry, but I can't help but notice that you have a slight accent. Where are you from?"
Dr. Aboya smiled, his white teeth sparkling. "I'm Cameroonian." Now understanding the French tilt his letters took, Arthur nodded. The doctor then prodded Arthur's leg, his dark hand contrasting with pale skin in a way Arthur quite liked. "I believe we're going to have to go through with surgery."
The Englishman groaned. Alexander snickered. Mitre elbowed him in the ribs.
"How did this happen, by the way?" asked Dr. Aboya.
"I was carrying some things up the stairs to my apartment, and tripped and fell down the stairs. I guess I landed awkwardly or something on my leg." Lying was easy for Arthur, and his face betrayed nothing to the older man.
Aboya hummed to himself. "I see. That's most unfortunate." While the doctor's back was turned, Arthur kicked Alexander in the thigh with his good leg, as he saw the tell tale signs of outright laughter bubbling in the other's throat. "I'm sorry to say that you'll have to wait for six 'ours before we can begin. Your stomach must be empty before we can put you under anesthesia." He apologetically smiled.
"That's alright," sighed the patient. "You two can go if you want," he added, turning to his two friends. "Thanks for driving me here." And for coming with me earlier.
Grinning, Alexander threw his hands around the back of his head. "No prob! But yeah, it's late, and I'm tired. Plus it's past Mitre's bedtime," he teased, bringing his arms back down to wrap around a pouting Bulgarian's waist.
"It is not."
"So you do have a bedtime?"
"No! No more twisting my word around!"
"Boys, boys," the African man chuckled, "not so rowdy. We are in a hospital."
"Go home, you two. I'll be fine," encouraged Arthur. All of this excitement added to his broken leg was putting a lot of stress on him, and he wanted nothing but quiet right now.
"Okay," said Mitre. Smiling, he laced his finger's between Alexanders. "Inform us of how you are doing vhen you can, okay?"
"Will do," promised the Englishman. He smirked at the Romanian-American, who was trying to appear cool even though his flushed cheeks and goofy grin told everybody otherwise.
"Yeah, well, see you later, man." Clasping Arthur on the shoulder, Alexander then turned to leave with Mitre.
Arthur let out a deep, relieved breath. Aboya laughed. "Some friends you've got there."
"That was only two of them," scoffed the blonde. Another deep laugh sounded.
The duo then began discussing the surgery, paperwork, persons that should be notified (Arthur shuddered), and a plethora of other medical mumbo-jumbo. In between the business they bantered animatedly about football (European, that is), and found a nice companionship in each other.
.:.:.:.:.
Five more minutes.
Apparently, the universe hated him as no one would listen to his inaudible pleas. Many voices resonated in the room, all seeming to talk at the same time. They were trying to keep quiet, but obviously failing.
"Shu' th' fuck up," groaned the semi-conscious man. The noise stopped, then came back at ten times the volume. Oh, Arthur thought, it's my family. Fantastic.
Hazed green eyes cracked open, but snapped shut right away. It was unbearably bright, and his mind was far too foggy to attempt to deal with it. His body felt sluggish and numb, except for his left leg, which pulsated under his cast. It was annoying. Whether he was thinking about his family or broken leg, he couldn't tell.
Breaking through the cacophony was his mother. "If you all don't belt up this instant, I will tan the hides off of each and every one of you, hospital or not!" It went hushed instantly, and Arthur loved it when Alice's terrifying side was used on others besides him. It was hilarious. No one dared to question her threats. Not after the last time. "Now, Arthur," she started gently, and he felt a pressure in his hand and figured she was holding it, "are you alright? How do you feel?"
Fluttering his eyelids once again, the man found it was still too hellishly bright and kept them closed. "'M fine. Can' feel much of anythin' righ' now," he murmured. "Tired."
"The doc said you fell down some stairs." That was Alastair. "But he told us he does not believe you. Says the angle of the break didn't make sense or somethin'" More silence. "So, what happened?" prodded the redhead.
"Mmmm... Go 'way. No one likes you," was Arthur's response.
"Lil' bastard."
"Alastair!" Alice reprimanded, giving her son The Look. She then turned back to the bedridden blonde, ignoring the not so hidden snickering of the rest of the children. "But he is right, love. What did you do last night?" Motherly steel ingrained in her tone, and Arthur inwardly sighed. He wasn't getting out of this entirely, but he was in no mood to talk about his graffiti.
"It wasn't anything bad. Promise. Can I tell you when I'm not feelin' like shit? I'm too tired to be bothered righ' now." Alice scoffed, and most likely rolled her eyes, but agreed.
"So ho-"
"BASTARD!"
"Craaaap."
As the door slammed open, Arthur shot up in his bed faster than one would think possible. It was bright, but his eyes were open, and in front of him was Lovino, but it was still so very bright, but Lovino is so warm and dark and that's the only way he could stand the bright. Storming over the the side of the bed opposite of Alice, Arthur would have been dancing if the Italian didn't look so murderous.
"You fucking idiot! What the hell were you thinking? No, don't answer! You weren't, were you? Fuck! You stupid!" he slapped the blonde's arm, "Retarded!" slap "Fucking!" slap "Idiot!" slap "Fucker!" slap "Bastard!"
Aside from Lovino's heavy breathing, the room was deathly silent. Which really was not a very good metaphor since they were in a hospital.
"You saw it, then." said Arthur, staring at the bed sheets.
"I-" Lovino didn't know what to say. All of his feelings evaporated after screaming at his maybe boyfriend.
"Whoa whoa whoa! Who's the ankle-biter?" asked Brian.
Snapping out of their own little world, the two glanced around the room. All of Arthur's brothers, his mother, Amelia, and his cousins were there. Was it allowed to have so many people in a room at once? Arthur didn't know, but his family was one of a kind, and he didn't blame the staff from stepping back and letting them be. It was the smartest route to take.
"This is Lovino Vargas. He's Antonio's cousin," introduced Arthur, loving how red the brunette's cheeks were becoming for so suddenly being put on the spot.
Instantly, an uproar of introductions and backwards compliments ensued. Lovino was obviously overwhelmed. Nudging Alice, Arthur silently jerked his head towards the rest of the family. "You all know that my threat still stands, correct?" she asked in a honey sweet tone that sent shivers down everyone's spines, even the Italians. Again, the silence was deafening.
Dr. Aboya chose that moment to enter the room. He looked slightly defensive, and Arthur figured he was waiting outside by the door until it seemed safe to come in. "I see you weren't over exaggerating last night," he admitted to the patient.
Smirking, Arthur replied, "Not in the least." His family gave him knowing pouts.
"I really should have warned the staff," the Cameroonian mumbled, then announced in a louder voice, "It looks like everything is fine, and you may sign out and go home whenever you like."
That was good news. Arthur wanted nothing more than to leave the place. It was much too boring and sterile and white. Definitely not his favorite establishment in the world.
"I do want to schedule an appointment in about three weeks so I can check on your progress and replace the pins," added the doctor. Waving, he left the overstocked room as quickly as he could without seeming impolite. If he could, Arthur would do the same. Though, he wouldn't go far. He could tell his mother had already planned for him to stay with her for who knows how long, and there was no escape.
"Hey mum, could you sign me out?"
"Sure, love," she agreed. Standing up and stretching, Alice then rounded up all of her boys and Amelia before walking out.
"Bye, Artie! See you soon!" called Amelia.
"Alfred, Matthew, would you mind helping me dress?" he lowly requested, looking away.
"Ha ha ha! Sure, dude! But jeez, you really are getting old if you need help with that!" teased Alfred with a cheeky grin. A pillow whacked him in the face.
Lovino was blushing. "Hey, when they're done I'll have them send you in, okay?" said the Englishman with a tender smile. It didn't go unnoticed by the twins.
"Che, whatever." The Italian stomped out of the room, and Arthur thought it was with less energy than usual.
"You like him," said Matthew.
"So?" It was all the Brit had. Snarky comments were, at the moment, unheard of to him. Anesthesia was still running through his veins, and he really wanted to go back to sleep. Matthew took pity and left it at that.
"He your boyfriend?" asked Alfred a bit sternly.
"I'm trying. Last we talked he was thinking about it." Matthew set his clothing on the foot of the bed, and bumped his brother to help him sit Arthur up. After they got the green-eyed blonde sitting, they ran into a problem. Arthur was naked under the medical gown.
"Duuuuuuude! Not cool!" whined Alfred.
Rolling his eyes, the older boy asked whatever deity watching over him what he had done to deserve this. "I don't like it any more than you. Look, all you have to do is get them above my knees, and I can do the rest," he snapped.
Alfred whined more, and the task was predictably left to the more mature of the twins. Boxer briefs were carefully slipped around Arthur's legs, and the man took over while thanking Matthew. Next were his trousers, and Arthur thanked the stars that they were a pair of his graffiti wear. Even though they were baggy, and his cousins were being careful, his leg still throbbed with every movement. Ripping the pale gown from his torso, Arthur grabbed and wiggled into his shirt, followed by a hoodie. Since he could only wear one sock and boot, he threw the others at Alfred and told him to carry it. Pouting, he reluctantly obeyed.
"Can you send Lovino in, please? I need to talk to him."
"Sure," said Matthew. Grabbing Alfred, he exited the room. The door did not even have a chance to close before Lovino pushed his way through it. A scowl housed his face, but Arthur was glad his fury had dissipated. Lovino took a seat in the chair his mother was previously using, and stared at the clasped hands in his lap. Not a very good start.
"Lovino-"
"You're a stupid fucking idiot..." Arthur could not find it in himself to be annoyed at being cut off. It was an extremely idiotic thing for him to do, after all. His sarcasm and sass wouldn't work if he were in the mood to use it. The Italian was genuinely distraught. "And you know what? I found out from Antonio, who found out from some bastard I don't know! How many other people knew before me?"
"I don't know." At least Lovino wasn't screaming. "May I explain?"
"Do you really have a good reason? Then sure, I'd love to hear it. I want to know why you were up there in the first place, I do watch the news, dumbass! And I want to know why you didn't call me last night!" Crossing his legs and arms, he gave Arthur a scolding leer.
The blonde frowned. He wanted to show the painting to Lovino himself. Though not by much, those Flying Mint Bunnies were different than usual. One had a set of bushy eyebrows set over bored eyes, and the second had it's mouth in the shape of an upside down v with a curl spouting from it's head. Obvious to anyone who knew the boys that they were being represented, Arthur knew that only they would know the true meaning behind the picture.
Impatience made the brunette begin tapping his foot. Arthur thought it was cute. "You know what the signs mean. I wanted to prove that I really like you, and it was my way of asking for you to give me a chance."
"Well I already made my decision before that, dumb bastard."
"You did?"
"Yeah, and now I'm thinking about changing my mind! Why wasn't I the first one you called last night?"
"I didn't call anyone last night, git!" Exhausted and forming a headache, he threw his hands in the air.
"...What?"
"I forgot my phone in my friend's car with the rest of my stuff. I didn't want anything on me to link back to the graffiti, so I left it all in the car and forgot to take my phone out of my bag. I mean, my leg was at an angle that no leg should ever be. Excuse me for being absent minded," he huffed. Quietly, Lovino glanced away, and the Englishman closed his eyes. They stung pleasantly, and he didn't want to open them again. God, Lovino could be difficult. "Alexander must have told someone, and it just spread around. I'm sorry I never called, but I couldn't remember your number and I literally woke up right before you came plowing in here," said Arthur, more subdued this time.
Hanging his head, the brunette sighed. He slid his amber irises to Arthur's hand laying beside a bony hip and bashfully took it in his own. Nothing was said, but they squeezed lightly. "Sorry. I let my temper take over, and wasn't thinking right."
Smiling at him, Arthur lifted their hands and placed a kiss on the back of tan skin. "It's alright. How about this, you can be the first to sign my cast."
With a flushed face, Lovino turned his head to the cast clad leg. An eyebrow raised. "Why is it pink?"
"Because I'm manly enough to pull it off," smirked Arthur. Lovino rolled his eyes and snorted, then examined it closer.
"Uh, I think somebody beat me to it."
"What?" Looking down, the blonde saw "Property of Sealand" and a bumpy illustration of the flag Peter has posted all over his room scrawled on his ankle. "That little tosser!" he shouted.
Lovino laughed. "Whoa! Your accent gets thick when you're angry." Huffing, Arthur crossed his arms and grumbled threats under his breath. "But I don't see a name, so technically I would be the first to sign it."
Surprised, the Brit stopped his growling and looked at Lovino. A smile twitched at his mouth. "I'd like that very much." On the table next to Arthur was a Sharpie marker. He grabbed it and gave it to his boyfriend(?). Taking it, the Italian crouched in front of Arthur's broken limb. Which brought him dangerously close to a foreign crotch, and he averted his eyes before he was caught staring. Choosing a space on the outside of the thigh, he began to scribble.
When he pulled away, the Englishman craned his neck to read the upside down message.
Get better soon, bastard.
Lovino "Romano" Vargas
A picture of a tomato leaning against a cup of tea sat next to the text, and the brightest grin Arthur could produce was directed at his (now positive) boyfriend. Wrapping his arms around his Italian's shoulders, he buried his nose into a soft, tan neck.
"Thank you."
"Whatever, bastard."
Minutes passed as they hugged, and they would have continued if Alice had not walked in with Arthur's crutches and medication. "Am I interrupting something?" she smirked, giving her son a mischievous wink.
"Artie's got a boyfriend!" sang Amelia, standing behind her sister.
Both boys blushed down to their necks and jumped away from each other. Alice stomped on Amelia's foot, taking pity on them. "Okay, sorry, sorry. But I can't help it. I get to be the embarrassing mum now," she snickered.
"Evil woman."
She shrugged. Pointing at Lovino, she asked nicely, "Would you like to come home with us, dear?"
Still heavily red, he managed to glance at Arthur and get out a "Yes, ma'am."
Arthur stared at him in shock, but undeniable happiness.
Taking up graffiti was the best thing to ever happen to him.
Fuck, he had Alfred to thank for this, didn't he?
.:.:.:.:.:.:.
Note time!
I don't know about you guys, but there really have been people up here that would steal delivered packages from other's porches to either sell, or re-gift for their own family. Yeah, I know.
And the lovely Nyotalia America and England make an appearance as the boy's mommys~.
Romania and Bulgaria also get a cameo~! Because I adore them. And then, you know, Cameroon is there like BAM! Moar Cameroon love, people! Yes, he's canon, so use hiiim! Haha.
Oh, and there actually is a video of that McDonalds rat in the buns thing. I may be American, but I refuse to eat that food unless it's forced upon me. I mean, ew, right?
SO! I'm definitely not done with this AU. There are a lot more scenes and flashbacks I want to do, but I have a new fic I want to work on, so for now it is complete. When I do write a new part, I'll upload it as a chapter to this story, 'kay?
Oh! And I have a Tumblr! It's Skadiyoko, just like here. Come and play with meeeeee~! *Belarus face*
I really do hope you all liked this, and thank you for reading and favoriteing and following and reviewing~! Each one gives me this warm, fuzzy bubbling happiness that lifts my spirits every time I see them.
I love you all, and shall see you next time!