Alright, so here's chapter two~ :3 I'm still trying to figure out and how it all works and stuff, so my things might get a bit confusing! Sorry! But As a note, if I do happen to get anything wrong, or you feel as if the Personalities are off or something, feel free to tell me – albeit nicely- and I will be happy to try and fix it, but until then here's chapter two~
"For the last time Francis, I said it was nothing!" The Brit exclaimed, getting agitated. The Frenchman had been pestering him ever since he'd arrived exactly ten minutes and fifty-two seconds late- a new record- from his lunch break. Even hours later, he still hadn't dropped the subject – much to the Briton's disdain.
"But you are never late," He said absently, staring out the window of the college's café. Arthur had just finished his history exam, but he could still feel the faint heat on his cheeks from the Starbucks. He brushed it off as being the chilly weather. Arthur Kirkland did not blush.
"I told you that I just got caught up at Starbucks, alright? There was a long line." A lie. Arthur was very used to telling them. Apparently he had been ogling the stranger for a lot longer than he'd realized because he had become late. He'd never tell Francis about the boy, lest he risk being accused of being a pedophile and a hypocrite. But the boy couldn't have been that young, could he? Arthur shook the thought from his mind. No. He told himself. The boy was a stranger, he'd seen him on a chance encounter, and there was no possible way he would ever bump into him again, so there was no reason to be thinking about those deep blue eyes or that cute nose or-
He rubbed his hand over his face, and immediately felt the hot blush that had crept up onto his cheeks. God damn him what was his problem? He'd never blushed like a silly school girl before. Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself. He was being stupid. Like he'd said, there was no way that he would ever see him again and-
"Arthur?" Francis asked, leaning forward. "What are you blushing for?" He asked, that fervid smirk plastered onto his lips. Arthur frowned and glared angrily at his books.
"I'm not you git!"
"Yes you are, don't be so defensive!" Francis chuckled. He loved to annoy the Brit, on any and every occasion. Ever since Francis had found out Arthur 'swung for the other team', the teasing had gotten much much worse. Arthur didn't really remember exactly how the Frenchman had found out. All he remembered was the face of a pretty man and about four mugs of scotch. Furthermore, it wasn't as if Arthur didn't irritate easily. "Who was it?" Arthur blinked, and looked at the blonde blankly.
"What do you mean?" Francis pursed his lips as if to say 'really, mon cher? As if you don't know.' Arthur scoffed. "No one. God forbid there be a line at the most popular coffee shop in America!" He shouted at the man, beyond patience with him. Really, why did he tolerate this man?
"Oh, so you met him at the coffee shop?" Arthur groaned, planting his face straight into the table. God save him. Sooner than later would be nice.
"I did not say that." He muttered into the table, misery consuming him. Was it three yet? He needed to go get Peter...
"You did not have to." Francis smirked, Arthur could feel it. "Really now, who's taken my precious Arthur's heart?"
"Dear God!" Arthur sat up, all but slamming his fist into the table. "No one alright?" He stood up, gathering his things. Francis watched him with a bemused expression glazing over his eyes.
"There's no need to get all pissy about it."
"Shut up wanker." Arthur muttered. The Frenchman smirked, and pushed a lock of 'perfect' golden hair behind his ear. He did not know why the Frenchman always followed him around and pestered him. He had never, not once shown the man a flicker of kindness, and yet he still persisted. He was annoying. Furthermore, Arthur had long ago gotten annoyed with all of his 'dates.' One night it would be a cute girl, the next a boy who looked a suggestive age. There was no end to the long slew of dates and one-night stands. He was the ultimate…what did they say… schmoozer? Well in any case, he was a player for both teams, as it seemed, and his morals were more than a bit skewed. Arthur did not enjoy his company, and he didn't like Peter around him either – he didn't want that plague to rub off on his sweet, impressionable little brother.
Arthur shrugged on his coat, scarf, hat, and scarf and hurried out the door, leaving the Frenchman alone in the café with a
"Bonsoir~" Following after him. Arthur promptly ignored the comment, hurtling himself out into the snow.
"Peter!" He called, motioning the young boy from the school yard. He was talking to some girl at the swing set. Why were they outside? It was too cold…shouldn't this be illegal? Whatever. Upon the second call of his name, said little brother turned, waving at Arthur. He held up a single finger, causing Arthur to scoff. Arthur had been slightly late today – Peter should have taken care of this before now. He sighed in defeat. He had never been late in his life. Today was just not his day. He waited patiently as his little brother spoke to the girl. He could see she was giggling, her laughing breaths billowing away from her too-red lips. He couldn't see what his brother was doing, his back was turned. The girl laughed one more time before Peter finally started to leave, casting her a wave. She waved back happily, kicking her legs forward. Peter's boots crunched beneath the snow as he scurried over to his elder brother.
"About time." Was the first thing that popped out of the younger blonde's mouth. Arthur immediately frowned. Oh no – today was not his day.
"Shove it." He muttered as he turned on his heel to start the long trek back to the apartment. Living in the city had its advantages, but the walking in twenty degree weather was not one that Arthur counted as an advantage. Peter jogged to catch up with his brother's quick pace.
"Hey! Wait for me!" He exclaimed, pulling his knit scarf closer around his neck. Arthur could see his ears from here, a bright, bright red from the cold.
"Where's your hat?" He asked in mild concern. It really was his fault that he didn't have it, but Arthur still worried. Peter crinkled his nose, staying unusually quiet. Arthur frowned. "Peter?" Arthur looked down at his brother, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He looked a bit crestfallen. Arthur felt his heart jerk a little. He knew his brother had problems at school. A lot of the boys didn't like him, and pushed him around. He only hoped that this wasn't the case today.
"It's nothing. I just forgot it at home." Arthur frowned. He knew that wasn't the case – his brother was a terrible liar.
"Peter." Arthur sighed, feeling a small twinge of pity for his younger brother. He drew his younger brother to his side, his head reaching just up to Arthur's armpit. He felt Peter sigh.
"A boy took it from me at lunch. He said it looked like a little girl's hat and threw it in the dumpster." Arthur frowned.
"Bloody wanker." He muttered. Peter had had a hard transition from London to America – and the kids at school didn't exactly help things.
"It's fine really." Arthur could feel the falseness of his words as soon as they leaked out of his mouth. Poor Peter. Arthur only wished that he was there when this sort of thing happened. He wasn't afraid of smacking around a little kid – but he was pretty sure that you could get arrested for that here. He wasn't really sure. It didn't matter really. "They're just jealous." Peter muttered into his coat.
"Oh yeah?" Arthur mused, turning down the familiar corner on the street. Peter had deemed the lamppost the official 'half-way resting point to our awesome apartment.' The first time they had come here, they had scaled the city trying to find their pre-reserved room. Their directions had turned out to have quite a few fallacies and Peter had demanded that they stop right there at that corner because 'His feet hurt like hell.' Arthur had scolded him for using such language, though he knew that he was the one who he'd gotten it from. Arthur had always been told he should wash out his mouth with soap. Of course he never took the criticism literally, and hadn't done so to Peter either. It still didn't please him though.
"Yeah." Peter nodded to himself happily. "I'm the only one in our class that Isabelle will talk to." He beamed up at Arthur, seeming quite pleased with himself. Arthur smirked down at him, more concentrated on the walk home than the conversation he and his brother were currently discussing.
"Oh? Who's Isabelle?"
"Only the prettiest girl in the whole school!" Peter exclaimed. Arthur smiled down at his little brother, feeling the smallest bit of pride. Peter had himself a little girlfriend. Arthur smirked.
"Oh? So you have a crush on her or something?" Peter's smiling face fell into one of embarrassment and denial.
"N-N-No! I do not!" He insisted indignantly. "She's just really nice!" Arthur smiled, ruffling his little brother's hair. What kind of older brother would he be if he didn't harass him every now and then? "Not like you know the prettiest girl at your school!" Arthur kept his face level. No, Peter did not know he was gay. He wasn't ashamed of it per se… he just- he couldn't explain it. There was just a part of him that didn't want to explain to his little brother's prideful eyes that had always admired his elder, always respected him; that his hero was queer. It just didn't sit well with Arthur. Furthermore, he had no idea how Peter would react. If anything he didn't want to change Peter's view of sexuality. He was too young for that anyhow. Arthur smiled and chuckled.
"Ah no, no I don't." He hugged his younger sibling to his side, happy to almost be home. Today had been beyond trying – verging more on hectic. He missed sitting in the sunroom in London, sipping tea and reading a good book – even if it had always been raining. Things were never so slowly paced in America. But there was nothing quite like the relief of getting back to the apartment, the relief of realizing that he would get approximately sixteen or so hours of sublime relaxation. It made him feel quite comforted to be going home. He looked forward to it every day, and today was no different; until the younger blonde popped the dreaded question.
"What's for dinner?"
Arthur made sure to get Peter to leave his shoes by the door so that the snowy slush would not track through the house. No – he refused to clean that up. Then, he removed his younger's coat, and scarf; hanging them up on the coatrack. Peter then scurried over to the couch, sliding around on the hardwood in his socks before reaching the safety of the carpet. He flopped down onto the couch like a sack of flour, burying his face in the cushions with a loud sigh sounding much like:
"Dyyyyyaaaaaaaah!" Arthur shook his head.
"Really Peter, do try to refrain from breaking the couch. You could, in the very least, act a bit like a gentleman." The American's laid-back casualness had rubbed him the wrong way, but Peter had accepted it quickly – as most children would. Peter had picked up the nasty habits rapidly – much to Arthur's disdain. He really was a failure of a brother sometimes.
"Nah," He nearly cringed at the use of the word. Such a harsh blow to the English language. "The couch is perfectly fine, quit being such a nag." Arthur pursed his lips. He also did not like the back-talk. He'd get over it he hoped. Arthur removed his winter clothing, hanging it up accordingly. He shivered in the cold, cranking up the thermostat a couple degrees. Peter pushed off the cushion, still managing to take up the whole couch. Arthur already could have told you the exact words that were about to come out of the younger boy's mouth. He was going to say 'jeez Artie, I'm starving! Order some food or something!' like he was incapable of feeding himself. Arthur would sigh irritably, and tell him that he was not in fact starved, he was probably just peckish. But, Arthur hated redundant, repeated conversations, so instead of indulging in the pointless conversation he decided to mutter:
"Scoot over." To his younger brother in a quite irritable tone. Peter, being quite used to his brother's strange attitudes, crinkled his nose, positively unfazed.
"I don't wanna." He nearly whined, knowing that the use of the word 'wanna' coupled with his child-like whine would set the Brit's teeth on edge. And sure enough, he saw his elder's jaw clench, and his lips purse.
"Peter, I am not in the mood. Move over." Peter frowned, unfazed. He would not give up so easily – he was a growing kid after all, and he was freaking hungry.
"Well I was here first!" He insisted. "And I hereby claim this couch as my rightful property until you get food! And I don't want any of your homemade stuff! That stuff reeks!"
…
"My food does not reek you ungrateful brat!" Arthur choked, refraining from aiming a smack at the kid. Just what had gotten into him lately? Peter just stuck his tongue out at Arthur before stretching his little ten-year-old- legs across the entire couch as best as he could. Arthur swore he was becoming more childish by the day. He frowned in irritation. He could easily pick up the boy and physically remove him from the couch…but he had a point. It was nearing five thirty, dinner was due. Caving, he sighed. "Pineapple or anchovies?" A grin split on Peter's face as Arthur grabbed for the phone. He curled his legs in as he chirped out his preferred flavor of pineapple pizza. Anchovies were always just wrong to him. And they certainly shouldn't be going on pizza. Whatever crank thought of that must've had a couple of screws loose.
Arthur plopped down onto the couch, as he dialed the pizzeria's phone number. He'd had it long memorized, considering the sheer amount of times that he and Peter had eaten it once they moved here. He'd be damned if they didn't know him by name. Shouldn't he get a discount for being their MVC?
