Alrighty now, folks. Here I have, in my opinion, a fairly long chapter. Because I adore you all. Thank you to everyone following this story, I'm truly flattered by the interest in it. Please enjoy this newest installment!
Warnings: language, alcohol use, OOCness, some sexual-ness
Pairings: hinted Lars/Matthew (Netherlands/Matthew), eventual Alfred/Matthew, past Matthew/someone
Disclaimer: Only in my wildest dreams...
Alfred stared moodily down at his beer, exuding an aura of sorrow and utter defeat. Even the stubborn cowlick that stood proudly apart from his short blond hair seemed to droop sadly. Mouth set in a pout, the young man looked completely pathetic.
The normally cheerful blond had trudged in nearly twenty minutes ago, looking rumpled and sullen, and demanded a drink after plopping onto a barstool. The thinly veiled anger in his eyes and chilly demeanor instantly told Arthur that all had not gone well and that the man was in no mood to chitchat.
If he had to guess, he'd definitely say that things did not go well with Matthew the previous night before.
So Arthur had slid over a bottle of American beer Alfred tended to favor and then silently began drying glasses with a towel, standing far enough away that his younger brother wouldn't accuse him of hovering but close enough that he could watch Alfred.
And they said he had no tact.
So, Arthur waited. He made and served drinks, shouted at people who became too rowdy, and all the while kept an eye on the abnormally silent man off in his own personal, sorry world and sliding him new drinks (he'd drive Alfred back himself later). The atmosphere of anger and pain seemed to swell around Alfred and anyone who approached the bar stayed away from the blond, finding the exuding aura uncomfortable.
Finally, as the rush seemed to die down (since a group of drunken college students had stumbled outside in a giggling mass), Alfred sighed deeply and Arthur felt his ears perk.
"He's on a date." Pained blue eyes looked up at him and Arthur, who was wiping down the counter, stilled and waited for his brother to continue. "Right now. Right now, my Mattie is out there on a date. Right now, he's probably listening to that stupid, ancient bastard, looking right at him and smiling that sweet smile of his—you know, the one that makes you feel like you're the most important guy in the world? And, they're probably sitting right next to each other—intimate-like—and the pervert probably has his hand on Matthew's knee and Matthew is probably just giggling and smiling and…and—damn it." Alfred swore, slamming down his glass. The alcohol sloshed over the rim of the glass and splashed onto the counter, spilling over his hand, but he paid no attention to it. "Right now Matthew is probably so fucking happy with someone who isn't me."
Arthur was silent. He wanted to give Alfred the opportunity to express himself.
"It's not fair." Alfred mumbled, holding his head in his hands. "Why did Lars have to show up now of all times?"
Oh. It was Lars.
Arthur gently patted Alfred on the shoulder, not quite sure what to say. He felt sorry for the poor man. He wanted nothing more than to see his younger brother happy, but how could he blame Matthew? The violet-eyed lad was like a second brother to him and if Lars made him happy, what could he do?
Though, Arthur wasn't surprised by the new information. He had known for years that Lars had doted on Matthew. Francis had once complained to him, going on about how Lars had placed himself into the younger man's world and how he flooded the other's home with dozens of bouquets of tulips that ranged from every color and shade possible. Francis had criticized the man's age (since Lars was somewhere in his early thirties at least) and involvement in illicit activities. It had really only been a matter of time since Lars made his move, especially considering Matthew's adoration of the Dutch man.
But, here was Alfred utterly heartbroken and Arthur felt rather useless.
"Bollocks. You're over-reacting." Arthur tried to say soothingly. "Chances are they're friends and nothing more."
"Or maybe they're fucking right now." Alfred snapped bitterly. He was upset, angry with himself for not acting sooner. He was angry at Matthew for going out with Lars. He was furious that the stupid old European pervert had stolen his thunder and true love.
He couldn't stand the thought of Matthew with someone else. It had been the same with Katyusha. Every smile, every kiss, every touch just added fuel to the inferno of jealousy raging in his stomach. He had been so relieved when the two had finally split, but he had been too cowardly to act. Then Matthew started to date a pretty girl from Seychelles and the inferno had roared to life. Watching the two laugh and converse in rapid French made him gnash his teeth and it took everything he had not to sabotage the relationship because only villains hurt their friends. Then Matthew had that fling with that Communist from Cuba but luckily it was short-lived otherwise Alfred would've kicked that guy's ass all the way back to Havana.
And now it was the same with Lars. He couldn't block the images of the pair. The entire day, thoughts of Lars seducing his best friend, thoughts of Matthew welcoming his advances tormented him.
And it was more than anger. It was despair and it was awful and he fervently prayed to Reagan and Roosevelt and Washington (…oh and God too) that the date would be a disaster and Matthew would kick that old man to the curb and then run to him for comfort because he would totally be standing there, looking really fucking hot, with his arms held out to hold Matthew so the shorter blond could cry on his broad, manly shoulders. And then he would sweep Matthew off his feet and, be all like, "Matthew, don't cry. I'll always love you." And then Mattie would smile and kiss him and then they'd ride off into the sunset on a snow-white stallion.
And that was how it was supposed to be, damn it.
"I doubt they're fucking." Arthur said flatly, somewhat disturbed by the vacant look in Alfred's eyes and the faint blush on his cheeks.
"Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure?" Alfred snarled, shoulders tensing. "Did you have one of your 'fairies' follow them?"
Arthur glared. Ungrateful git. "Just because you're angry, does not mean you can tease me about fairies." Because they totally exist. "And yes, I'm sure because Matthew and Lars just came in."
Alfred whipped his head around so fast that Arthur was impressed that he didn't fling himself off his chair. Indeed, Matthew and Lars had just entered the bar. Dressed in casual, but still nice clothing, the pair seemed to be talking animatedly. However, Matthew's gaze flickered over to the brothers and he waved shyly, giving Alfred an unsure look.
"Why does Matthew look like he's worried you'll try to cause bodily harm and most likely do something incredibly stupid?"
"Probably because I snapped at him last night after Lars left and then stormed out of his apartment without telling him why I was there in the first place."
"Of course." Arthur rolled his eyes. "You really know how to muck things up, don't you?"
"Save the lecture for later Artie! They're coming over." Alfred hissed.
"How many times have I told you not to call me by that ridiculous—Why, hello Matthew. And Lars. It's been a while hasn't it?"
"It has indeed. Nice place you've got." Lars grinned. "Got any Grolsch?"
Arthur smirked. "Haven't changed at all, have you?"
Alfred wanted to throw a dirty look at Arthur for being buddy-buddy with the enemy (even though Arthur actually had a decent relationship with the ashen-haired man), but a hesitant hand on his bicep had him focusing all his attention on Matthew who was looking at him with a worried expression.
"Is everything okay? I know you were upset last night." Matthew said softly, so the other two men wouldn't overhear. Alfred felt his heart clench painfully, acutely aware of how close Matthew was and how kind his violet eyes were and how warm the hand was on his arm.
He swallowed roughly and laughed loudly. "Yeah, no, everything's okay. I don't even remember why I dropped by last night anyways!" He grinned widely, expression not even faltering when Matthew stared at him, unconvinced. "Seriously dude! I'm fine. Honestly, Matt, you always want to talk about feelings like some girl. Do I have to revoke your man card?"
"You're such an asshole." Matthew glared. Stupid Alfred. Always being a jerk when he was legitimately concerned about the American. "At least I don't cry when I slip on ice."
"Hey! You promised to never mention that!" Alfred grumbled. Matt could be such a douchecanoe. "And it happened, like, once."
"Yeah, and you cried like a little bitch." Matthew said smugly. "Maybe you should hand over your man card."
The two began to bicker, gaining the attention of Lars and Arthur who watched with interest as the blonds went at it. It may have seemed vicious to anyone else, but there was no real heat to either man's words. In fact, if Arthur hadn't known that Alfred was facing heartbreak, he would've assumed that nothing was out of the ordinary.
But he could see the tentative way Matthew would pause, briefly, and search for signs of anything wrong with Alfred. And he could see glimpses of raw hurt in Alfred's eyes whenever Matthew blinked.
Arthur held back a sigh. He could only hope that things would work out for the best.
"So, you were out with Lars tonight?" Arthur said slowly, green eyes calmly locking on Matthew. The blond had slipped back up to the counter to bring the next round of drinks to the table where Lars and Alfred sat along with Gilbert and Belle who had arrived not too long ago. The group was well on its way to getting completely smashed and Arthur could see that even Matthew had consumed a fair share of alcohol that night judging by the rosy blush across the bridge of his nose.
Said blond blushed faintly and averted his gaze somewhat guiltily. "Don't tell Francis, please." He said softly.
"Why on earth would I tell that frog anything?" Arthur grumbled, knowing full well Francis would wear clashing patterns before accepting Lars as candidate for his precious brother's heart. "That's your choice, lad."
Matthew smiled and Arthur felt heat rise in his cheeks. Alfred was right; the boy had a nice smile.
"A-anyways!" He said, looking away to refill the drinks. "How was it?"
"It was alright." Matthew mused, pulling himself onto a bar stool and propping his elbows on counter. "It wasn't even a date really. Just dinner."
"So he kept his hands to himself?" Arthur asked sternly, eyes sharp under prominent eyebrows.
Matthew looked at him strangely. "Why wouldn't he?"
There was an awkward silence.
"…The rest are in the back!" Arthur said hurriedly, turning on his heel and rushing into the back room.
Matthew blinked and when the sandy-haired man returned, he suddenly remembered, "Oh and Gilbert said he called over Antonio and Francis."
Arthur swore. If those two came, no doubt so would Antonio's boyfriend and his boyfriend's brother. That meant Gilbert's brother would come too. And that meant he'd have to deal with two drunken Germans and Belle.
It wasn't even midnight yet.
"Remind me to kill Gilbert later." He muttered.
Matthew smiled brightly, an eerie, almost evil glint in his eyes. "I can take care of Gilbert if you're too busy."
Arthur raised a bushy brow. "You know, Francis and Gilbert made up."
"Yes, and?"
Arthur shrugged. If Matthew enjoyed tormenting Gilbert, then who was he to stop the blond's fun?
He changed the subject. "How drunk is Alfred now?"
"He's talking about you fondly."
"Good grief." The Englishman muttered. He'd definitely have to drive the other home tonight.
Matthew grinned cheerfully and grabbed the tray of drinks Arthur slid towards him and, with a quick thanks, he slowly made his way back to the table, trying not to stumble or drop the drinks.
The sound of a bell twinkling signaled the arrival of the rest of the party and Arthur couldn't help glaring disdainfully at the newcomers.
His mood soured further when Francis sauntered over to him, leer on his face and blue eyes mischievous.
It was going to be a long night.
Hours later the party had finally dwindled down. By that point, many of the bar occupants had retired for the night, leaving only the close-knit group of friends. All in all, the party hadn't been too awful. Gilbert and Ludwig had only needed to be dragged down from the table three times and Belle and Lars had only argued once. Francis had only groped him five times before Arthur had decked him and he tried to get Belle to comfort him (only to be slapped when Belle wasn't that far gone to realize his hand was trying to slid up her shirt). Lovino hadn't broken anything out of anger and Feliciano didn't break anything out of stupidity. Alfred hadn't burst into tears and tried to woo Matthew through song (he had nearly done it once, Matthias once admitted, but Matthew had fallen asleep before Alfred could finish his voice warm-ups).
Yes, not a bad night indeed.
However, judging by the looks of things, it might be soon.
"I'll take Mattie home!" Alfred snapped, sounding surprising sober. However, he was swaying on his feet. Actually, perhaps swaying was too generous a term. He was flailing about with all the grace of a three-legged baby giraffe and too drunk to realize he was yelling at a fast-asleep Feliciano and not Lars. "'Cause I'm the goddamn hero, got it?" He punctuated the end of his exclamation by thumping his chest.
Lars, who had an arm around Matthew (who was leaning against the taller man and far more interested in the inappropriate tale Gilbert was weaving to realize Alfred was accusing Lars of planning on raping him while he was intoxicated), merely rolled his eyes and said, "You can barely stand upright. How do you expect to get him home?"
"I'll call a cab!" Alfred responded, stubbornly. "But I'll get Matthew home. So hand him over!"
"How about I just take you both home?" Lars asked, knowing full well he had a higher level of tolerance for alcohol and drunken bullshit (thanks to years of drinking with Belle and dragging her home).
Alfred continued to argue loudly and Arthur sighed before calling out, "I'll make sure they both get home safely. Take care of Belle."
Lars glanced at him and nodded grudgingly, setting Matthew down in a chair. Immediately, Alfred shoved Antonio, who happened to be sitting in the chair next to the blond, out of his seat and sat himself down, scooting closer to his friend.
Slowly but eventually the group disbanded until Arthur was left with the two intoxicated blonds.
"Alright, Alfred. Matthew. I'll drive you boys home." Arthur said in a no-nonsense voice. He had no desire to waste anymore time. He'd take the boys to their respective homes, put some trashcans within vomiting range and then go back to his own flat. He could use a strong drink before bed.
He managed to get the two men up and out of the bar before flagging down one of the many taxis that drove around the area (since the area was renowned for its many bars).
Unfortunately, he realized that, in between trying to keep Alfred from falling on his face and blinding himself with broken glass and trying to keep Matthew from taking off his pants (the boy tended toward nudity while drunk, a habit he picked up from Francis, who often partook in it even when not drinking), that he had forgotten to turn off the lights. Ushering the boys into the cab, he commanded them to stay put while he went back inside.
It's just a shame Alfred's listening skills became nonexistent after four beers.
Arthur watched as the taxi disappeared down the street as he roughly ran his fingers through short hair. "Bloody hell."
This probably wouldn't end well.
Probably not Arthur. Probably not. -shakes head- Yeah, so I've been around drunken people. So...yeah, that explains the lack of detail. So I hope this chapter was okay. Let me know what y'all think! (maybe I'll update faster ohoho~ -shot-) Nah, just kidding. Anyways -cues dramatic music- the next chapter is when shit gets real. Get excited~ -prances away-
