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Tea Cup: I wonder where Arthur got his ringtone, ne? 8D Ahaha, I wouldn't categorize this story into the mystery department, because the answer to what happened to Alfred is revealed pretty early in the story…Thanks so much for reading this story!
And thank you all for giving this story a chance! It's good to see new and old faces (Pen names?) as well~ :3
Arthur was certain that lunch period was designed specifically to separate the popular, fortunate students blessed with friends from the awkward, antisocial outcasts like him.
When all his morning classes were over and he finally fished his lunch sack out of his locker (Peter was right; Arthur had accidentally taken his lunch. Not that Arthur was complaining, since Peter always got a treacle tart included into his meal), he thought that he had at least one moment in that day to relax. The morning classes were hectic; textbooks as heavy as dumbbells were shoved into his arms, consecutive classes were on opposite ends of the school building, and that Francis Bonnefoy character would always appear out of nowhere and either give Arthur a playful slap in the rear or make a crude comment about his eyebrows. However, when Arthur stepped into the commons area where the midday meal was eaten, he took one long stare at it before marching right out again. Everything clashed with him; it was too crowded, too loud, too close and personal for someone who had no one to even talk to. It felt like a crime if he ate there without saying a word, but who was he supposed to converse with?
Instead, Arthur wandered aimlessly through the halls for a good ten minutes before stopping before the music wing. The corridor was peacefully silent, with only the band, choir, and practice rooms to occupy it. Arthur shrugged to himself before entering the music wing. The pianos and clarinets could keep him good enough company. Just for today. Tomorrow he would find an adequate lunch date, he promised himself. Tomorrow.
As he passed a band practice room, Arthur caught sight of color in the corner of his eyes. He glanced curiously through the glass doors to see a familiar teenager lounging by the piano, lazily plunking on the dusty keys. Arthur immediately recognized him as one of his classmates in his English class. He hesitated, having the right mind to move on and find a silent and empty room for himself, but found himself knocking on the door.
What in the world was he doing?
The boy with the white hair looked up curiously. He spotted Arthur and gave him a crooked smile before nudging the door open with his foot. Arthur took the invitation and slipped inside, quickly closing the door behind him.
"You're avoiding the commons?" the teen said teasingly.
"Of course," Arthur said reluctantly. "You too, I presume?"
"I wouldn't call it avoiding," the other said. "I prefer 'rescuing myself from the onslaught of conformists and pretentious snobs otherwise known as the student body.'"
"Catchy," Arthur commented, leaning against the wall. "Mind if I rescue myself along with you?"
"Not at all. Be my guest," the white-haired lad said. "Who would pass joining my slice of sanctuary?"
Arthur smiled wryly before pulling a plastic chair from the corner closer to the piano and seating himself on it. His classmate continued carelessly playing the keys.
"Gilbert Beilschmidt, am I correct?" Arthur asked.
"Of course," Gilbert confirmed. "Who else would I be?"
"I don't know," Arthur said.
Gilbert didn't speak or acknowledge the fact that Arthur had spoken to him. He continued playing simple tunes on the piano, his white hand dancing atop the stained and sticky keys.
"And you're Artie Kirkland, right?" Gilbert asked. He put both hands on the piano and began to play adequately.
"Arthur," Arthur said automatically. Everyone found it necessary to shorten his already easy name into something as childish as 'Artie' for some reason.
"Yeah, I know it's Arthur. I'm just calling you Artie for short," Gilbert said dismissively, not catching Arthur's point. The piano, though old and tired after numerous years of being played, still sang a poignant but soothing tune in its crystal voice.
"So you play piano…How long?" Arthur asked, once again putting an effort to small talk as he opened his brown paper sack to eat his lunch.
"Not long," Gilbert said. "After my cousin Roderich began. I prefer the harpsichord."
"No one uses the harpsichord anymore," Arthur laughed.
"It's still a heck lot better than the piano," Gilbert said stubbornly. "I also do the violin. But I don't really practice it a whole lot anymore."
"High school studying gets in the way, huh?" Arthur asked, lifting the plastic bag holding the soft bread and butter sandwich from his sack. The white bread was slightly flattened from being crushed by the apple juice box and pudding. He hurriedly stowed away what he considered childish food from sight.
"You can say that again," Gilbert said. "But we're getting closer and closer to graduation and we can get the heck out of here."
"This place getting too old for you?" Arthur chuckled.
"I just need to get out of here," Gilbert said gruffly. "I don't care where I'm heading, whether it's the highway or right off a cliff. I just have to get as far away from here as possible."
Arthur nodded. He never actually understood that feeling to its fullest; he was always whisked away before he had the chance.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, noting that Gilbert didn't have any food with him.
"I never eat lunch," Gilbert said dismissively, closing the lid over the piano keys. "But thanks anyway."
Arthur only consented to eat the treacle tart and the apple juice box. The butter sandwich and pudding remained untouched. Gilbert entertained himself with Arthur's juice box for a while, much to Arthur's displeasure ("I haven't seen these things since I was four! How do you use these things?" "You suck on it, Gilbert…" "Artie! What vulgar language! I'm surprised!"), until he caught sight of someone outside of the practice room. He immediately stiffened and stood up from the piano bench.
"What's he doing here?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Arthur craned his neck to see a very tall student through the glass. His already brawny body looked even larger and foreboding from the thick sweater he wore and the pale scarf around his neck that looked very out of place. Arthur vaguely remembered seeing him in his advanced calculus class, but he never caught the classmate's name.
"Who is that?" Arthur asked. He turned to Gilbert. Gilbert was pressing himself against the wall, his dark red eyes narrowed as he eyed the taller student with great resentment. He looked like a sniper out for the kill, spying on his prey and waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
"You don't want to mess with him," Gilbert said in a low voice. "In fact, don't even look at him."
"Well, that tells me everything," Arthur said dryly. "What's his name?"
"Ivan Braginski," Gilbert said reluctantly. "What a pal he is."
Arthur cast Gilbert a confused look. Gilbert shook his head and let out a dry chuckle.
"Let's just leave. Maybe we'll see Toris somewhere. He's not a conformist or a pretentious snob," Gilbert quipped. "I don't even know why Braginski would be here. He is in any music classes or anything." He glanced at Arthur warily. "Just—be careful, okay?"
"I'll heed the warning," Arthur said with uncertainty. Looking at Braginski through the glass door, he didn't seem any more harmless than a child. Then again, a rhinoceros in the zoo was considerably less formidable than a rhinoceros out in the wild raging toward you with its horn.
Gilbert pushed open the door and beckoned Arthur to follow. Arthur felt like he was partaking in some sort of spy mission as he quietly followed Gilbert out of the room. Gilbert eyed Ivan from the corner of his eyes as they passed him, his muscles tensed as if ready to attack.
Ivan's purple eyes drifted toward the two boys and locked onto Gilbert. Gilbert gritted his teeth and refused to return the gaze. Arthur could feel Gilbert's antipathy radiate from his skin as his steps became more rigid and quickened. Arthur braced himself, expecting Ivan to confront them or attack them physically.
However, Ivan remained rooted at the spot, gazing at Gilbert and Arthur with empty eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak up, but he never made a sound. When the two were almost out of the music wing, Gilbert cast an uncertain glance back at Ivan over his shoulders. Ivan was already walking away from them, soon disappearing from view. Gilbert chewed on the inside of his lip before pulling Arthur out of the music wing.
"That's different," Gilbert remarked blankly.
"You got me worked up there, you know," Arthur accused. "I expected him to—I don't know—breathe fire on us or shoot arrows out of his mouth."
"He used to," Gilbert snorted. "Throw in a frigid aura around him that seriously nears absolute zero and you've got the general idea."
"What do you mean by that?" Arthur asked.
Gilbert furrowed his eyebrows at Arthur. "He gives people hell. You may think I'm exaggerating or trying to scare you, but I'm not."
"It was hard to tell earlier," Arthur admitted.
"I know it was," Gilbert said, frowning. "I don't trust it. This is like Stalin suddenly blessing his poor and downtrodden people with endless amounts of money and food and a Rolls-Royce each. Something just doesn't click."
"I'm pretty sure there are big differences between Braginski and Stalin," Arthur laughed.
"The only one I can think of is that Braginski is Russian and Stalin was from Georgia," Gilbert said. "Other than that…"
"I suppose you know this from firsthand experience?" Arthur inquired.
Gilbert tilted his head to one side curiously. "Perhaps. Unfortunately." His eyes sharpened suddenly. "I didn't submit to it, believe me. I fought back, but it made things worse. Not just what Braginski started to do to me, but then Alfred thought it would be great to play the 'good guy' and—"
"Alfred?" Arthur interrupted, perking immediately at the familiar name. Gilbert automatically closed his mouth. "Who's Alfred?"
Gilbert hesitated and shrugged resignedly. "Someone from this school."
"I wonder if I have met him before," Arthur said to himself.
"Probably not," Gilbert muttered. He stretched his arms over his head. "He doesn't go here anymore."
"Pity," Arthur said apologetically.
"Meh," Gilbert mumbled. "He decided to leave; what can I say? We all have to leave sometime."
Arthur nodded, though he couldn't quite grasp the words. "Doesn't happen to be Alfred F. Jones, does it?"
"You're quick," Gilbert replied, biting on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, he left. I guess he's pretty lucky. It's a lot better than here."
"If you're still griping about the problems of pretentious conformists, then I'm afraid that they're everywhere you go," Arthur said lightly. "They breed everywhere."
Gilbert shook his head. The smile slid off his face and he faced forward.
"I remember when my little brother's best friend moved, but he didn't get a chance to say goodbye to him," Arthur said, trying to start some small talk. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he wanted to do anything to close up the gap between two conversations. "We had to go to a funeral instead, I think."
"…Oh," Gilbert said awkwardly. Arthur mentally slapped himself for starting such a grave conversation. Who in the world wanted to talk about funerals? "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's fine," Arthur said heedlessly. He groaned and rubbed his forehead. "That was a lovely conversation starter, wasn't it? Funerals. Boy, do we love talking about them."
Gilbert gave a crooked smile. "Hey, it's one of those conversations that would be memorable. You probably don't have them often."
"Want to start one now?" Arthur said sardonically. "Let's begin with the basics: Ever been to one?"
Gilbert's face hardened for the briefest moment, but even Arthur could immediately tell. He then felt cold dread and regret overflow in him. He was such an idiot for starting a morbid conversation like this. Who actually wanted to discuss these things?
"Nope," Gilbert replied shortly. "Never been to one."
"…Ah," Arthur said gawkily. "That's…that's good." He shrugged a shoulder. "Okay. Yes. Let's not pursue a conversation like this again."
Gilbert snickered and playfully shoved Arthur to the side. "Good boy. Good plan." He checked the time on his cell phone. "Hey, we've got time. Maybe we can find Toris somewhere."
"Does Toris not eat in the commons?" Arthur questioned.
"Yes," Gilbert admitted, zipping his jacket. "Well, he used to. In fact, I used to. But we just stopped, you know? He usually eats in random classrooms by himself." Gilbert frowned, trying to fix his stuck zipper. "I don't know why though. I mean, he's got friends during that lunch period eating in the commons, and he used to eat with them. Actually, he used to eat with—" Gilbert licked his lips nervously before shoving his hands into his pockets.
Alfred? thought Arthur, but he held his tongue. What was so special about this kid that he made anyone stop dead in their words when the subject of conversation approached him?
It took them about four classrooms until they finally located Toris Lorinaitis. The small brown-haired boy was taking refuge in an abandoned mathematics classroom, burying himself in studying. Gilbert knocked on the doorway, announcing his arrival. Toris looked up immediately from his work, a little disheveled.
"Ah, it's just you," Toris said, relieved. "I thought it was—you know—"
"No need to fear. He's lurking in the music wing right now," Gilbert said, sitting on top of the teacher's desk. "By the way, this little tyke whom I've taken under my wing is Artie Kirkland. Artie, meet Toris Lorinaitis."
"Taken under your wing?" Arthur repeated, raising an eyebrow skeptically. Gilbert cracked a smile and shrugged. Arthur rolled his eyes at Gilbert before extending a hand to Toris. "Pleasure to meet you."
"L-likewise," Toris said nervously, shaking Arthur's hand.
"Feliks and Raivis keep asking me about you in history," Gilbert informed him. "They all think you're fasting or something because you never come eat with them at lunch anymore."
"Ah," Toris said quietly. He closed his textbook and shoved it into his backpack.
"You haven't already grown tired of them, have you?" Gilbert joked. "You've buddied up with them not that long ago."
"I haven't," Toris mumbled, staring at his notes, but his green eyes didn't actually absorb anything written on them.
"What are you studying?" Arthur asked, noting the many filled notebooks sprawled across two joint desks.
"Philosophy," Toris said, smiling in spite of himself.
"I heard taking this school's philosophy is like suicide," Arthur said, surprised.
Gilbert turned away from the two and gazed absentmindedly out the window. Toris fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, afraid to look at Arthur in the eye.
"Yeah," he stammered. "Yeah, I suppose it's difficult. More than one would expect."
"I think we better get ready for class," Gilbert cut in automatically, not taking his eyes off the window. "They're as boring as hell, but we've got to slave through them to graduate, right?"
Toris nodded shakily. Arthur immediately had the feeling that he had, once again, said something terribly wrong. He wanted to apologize, but he didn't even know what went wrong. This felt even worse than when he was trying to bat his annoying fairy friend away and ended up accidentally slapping a little girl.
"Yes, probably," Arthur said hurriedly. "In case I get lost again. I don't want to be late for yet another class."
"Pip pip, cheerio, poppet," Gilbert teased. Arthur scoffed and rushed out of the room, desperate to tear away from the sticky web he was trapping himself in. When he was a good distance from the room, he let out a troubled sigh.
How was he supposed to survive another four months in this school if he couldn't even understand it?
Gilbert watched Arthur's retreating back from the reflection on the glass window. When he was long ago, he let out a loud sigh and slid off the teacher's desk. Toris was quietly gathering his notes and stowing them all in his backpack in a haphazard manner.
"So really," Gilbert said, "why don't you hang out with them anymore?"
Toris remained quiet as if he didn't catch Gilbert's words. Gilbert leaned on the chalkboard, watching Toris carefully.
"I don't know," Toris said so quietly that Gilbert almost missed it. "It feels wrong. I feel wrong."
"Why do you say that?" Gilbert demanded.
Toris shrugged tiredly before zipping closed his backpack. "I just don't know. I really don't. You can ask me all you want. I won't be changing my answer."
"And you think that doing this would redeem yourself somehow?" Gilbert asked. Toris froze. "You don't even know if you even need it."
"Of course I do," Toris said in a shaking voice. "We all must have been a part of the reason, right? If he—if he couldn't even find one—I don't know the word—loophole or exception in this world, that means even I wasn't enough, right?"
"Don't talk like that," Gilbert said swiftly. "If there is anyone out there who deserves most of the blame, it should be—" He stopped himself immediately.
"Who were you going to say?" Toris asked grudgingly. "Ivan?"
"No," Gilbert muttered, turning away from Toris.
Me.
"What took you so long?"
Gilbert glared at Ludwig before unlocking the car doors. "I was walking down to the parking lot. Is that a problem?"
"At the pace of a frostbitten sloth?" Ludwig said testily. Gilbert wrenched the door to the driver's seat open and clambered in as his younger brother sat in the passenger's seat. "Why are you still wearing that jacket? It's not even chilly. Aren't you hot?"
"No," Gilbert lied, zipping the jacket up even more. "You should be used to this. I always wear long sleeves."
"I don't understand why you do that," Ludwig griped.
Good.
"So I take you had a marvelous day at school?" Gilbert said dryly, revving up the engine. "You're practically glowing with happiness."
"It's been a long day," Ludwig muttered, tightening his seat belt as Gilbert pulled the car onto the street. He cast a glance at his older brother and raised an eyebrow. "Seat belt, Gilbert."
Gilbert didn't hear him the first time. Ludwig gritted his teeth in irritation and raised his voice dangerously. "Gilbert! Your seat belt!"
"What about it?" Gilbert said blankly. Ludwig groaned and reached over Gilbert, pulling the seat belt over his body. "What the—stop it, West! I can't see the blinking road, for the love of God!"
"I told you to wear your seat belt, didn't I?" Ludwig snapped.
"Our house is five minutes away! I don't need to strap myself down like I'm going to the moon to go back home!"
"A lot can happen in five minutes," Ludwig argued. "It doesn't take an hour to accidentally veer off the road and crash into a tree or another car or a lamppost! Do you want to die?"
Gilbert gripped the steering wheel tightly. He glued his eyes to the windshield wiper, but his mind was far from the road. "If I wanted to die by car, I wouldn't have you riding with me, would I?"
Ludwig clenched his teeth. "The proper answer would be 'no.'"
"Why?" Gilbert said coldly. He was barely fazed by Ludwig's sternness. He was used to it ever since he got a motorcycle.
"I shouldn't have to tell you why!" Ludwig exclaimed. "Can't you take better care of yourself? Lately you've been tossing your own life and health back and forth as if it was just a rubber ball!"
Gilbert instinctively pulled down on his long sleeves. "I'm a troublesome stereotypical teenager. What do you expect?"
"I expect better from you," Ludwig said quietly. Gilbert snorted.
"What is it about me that doesn't fit your standards, may I ask?" Gilbert said in a biting voice.
"Why are you like this?" Ludwig snapped. "You keep acting like it's no big deal and it worries me to death. I have to keep chasing after you making sure you don't kill yourself or anything!"
Both Beilschmidt brothers felt a tremor run down their spines. Gilbert was digging his nails into the thick rubber coating of the steering wheel, his lips taut. Ludwig swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the car.
Hypocrite.
"Gilbert—"
"We're home. Happy?" Gilbert said sharply, pulling onto the driveway of their home. He jerked off the seat belt and kicked the car door open. "See? It wasn't that bad."
"Gilbert," Ludwig tried again as he climbed out of the car. "Gilbert, I wasn't thinking about—"
"I get it, I get it," Gilbert said hurriedly, unlocking the front door.
Ludwig tried to say more, but Gilbert waved his hand as if to brush the subject aside. He wouldn't even look back at Ludwig. Ludwig knew there was something Gilbert was holding back, that he was hiding, but he wouldn't even let Ludwig know that he was.
"You weren't like this before," Ludwig mumbled, even though Gilbert was far from earshot.
Ever since—
Of course.
Ludwig quietly entered the house and locked the door behind him. He sank into the dark and bone-chilling silence of the house. The home that used to be bursting with Gilbert's laughter and shouts was now as silent as death.
But of course.
It had been thirteen days since it happened.
It had been thirteen days since the home was alive.
It had been even longer since Ludwig saw Gilbert just smile.
And it's because of me, isn't it?
Is it possible to get too obsessive with writing?
Just recently I decided in the late evening to make a blog just for the heck of it. However, I didn't make a blog so I could talk about food or art or books or whatever (though food would probably be my first topic if I was blogging for myself). Nah, this blog was so that I could practice writing for a certain fanfiction that may or may not exist.
Yeah…it's Gilbert's blog.
Don't get excited; it isn't a KESESESE ORE-SAMA kind of blog. I'm using this to find a new characterization of Gilbert, and if any of you know what kind of stories I write…
Aha. Ahahaha. Ha.
I don't know how long I'll stick to it.
So yeah, in my mind, it's Gilbert that's blogging, not me. I kind of doubt anyone would read it; I pretty much am doing it to get a gist of who he is and publicizing it…I don't really know why. The 'start a blog' button looked really tempting.
