Fourth day! I'm struggling to keep on track whoops please end me
I am consecutively working on all the other prompts now yikes, schoolwoooork. WE CANZ DO THIS! I don't own Hetalia nya.
Day 4: Sure, Blame It On The Signal
Summary: In which texting is super unreliable, tears are shed and Arthur unleashes his wrath on an unsuspecting Lovino. For Day 4 prompt: Misunderstandings. Heads up for more vulgarity, sad Alfred and pissed off Arthur.
"I'm leaving you, I found someone else," is not a great morning text to wake up to from your boyfriend of two years. Even more so if said boyfriend is currently overseas for a business trip and you're waiting for him patiently back home, expecting him to keep in touch with you every now and then when he has the time.
Alfred's initial reaction to the text is a bit delayed in his sleep-addled mind. It actually makes him laugh because he misreads the "leaving" part for "loaving"; yeah, like Lovino would ever use cheesy words like, "I loave you, I miss you" over text. When he puts on his glasses and rubs his eyes some, ready to send a reply, his heart drops a little when he rereads the words on the screen. Leaving? As in, leaving, leaving? Lovino can't be serious, right? The Italian is totally joshing him, man. He's just woken up.
What time is it in Australia now, 8, 9:30pm probably? Lovi would be getting ready for bed.
Two or three confused question marks followed by a straight-faced emoji and no answer back later, the panic settles in and Alfred jumps out of bed, freaking out. Heck, what if Lovi was serious? He could have met some new pretty coworker today, and instead of getting ready for bed, the Italian is getting ready to PARTY. OH GOD, is this really happening? Why isn't Lovi answering him back?!
Australia... Australia...
He doesn't know anyone from Australia personally who could help him out, since calling Lovino for answers is already a futile option. Maybe his boss and most trusted big brother/friend Arthur does though, like that Jett Kirkland dude cousin person or whomever. His boyfriend isn't responding, damn it! This is so uncalled for! Over text, during a trip, when Lovi knew he'd be waiting for him at home and he knows he hadn't even done anything wrong?! Is this really the climax of their two year relationship?
It was staring at Lovino's empty side of the bed, all smoothened out with his extra pillows stacked up together by the headrest that does it for him and Alfred falls to his knees, ready to start sobbing.
Why?
Damn it why, it's not fair, this is a nightmare and he just has to physically throw himself at something to wake up from it.
.
.
.
Leaving... Leaving you... Leaving you, found someone else...
...Oh lord, Alfred needs time.
Time to think things through. Time to let reality sink in, time to prepare for the worst because he isn't sure he'll be able to handle anything else at the moment.
It is to this same apathetic disposition that Arthur answers the phone to minutes later, chills running down his spine when the normally cheerful Alfred tells him he's not coming in to work in the coldest and most detached tone he's ever heard.
"Alfred?" The Brit says fondly, unaware he's treading into deep waters.
"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm not feeling well." And wasn't that the understatement of the year! Even when the American felt sick, he still manages to add in a few, "the hero can get better in a pinch!" comments here and there. There's a rustling sound from the other side of the line followed by the jingling of keys that prompts the blue-eyed man to quietly ask, "What are you doing, Arthur?"
"You idiot, I'm coming over. There will be none of your useless protesting, thank you very much, this isn't like you and I'm worried!" There's the revving up of a car now. "Sit still and don't do anything, you git! I'll be there soon!"
"I don't need you to c—" is Alfred's reply but the line goes dead.
.
.
.
Well, fuck.
Now what? Cry into a slice of pizza? Binge on cookies and cream ice cream? His legs are beginning to hurt in his not-so-comfortable squat and he stands, only to flop back down on the floor a second later when he trips over the edge of his pyjamas. Wow, this is pathetic. Alfred is lazily lying on the carpeted floor in the same room he and Lovino shared.
This, is the gray-coloured carpet Lovino specifically picked for their cozy two-storey house in Washington, his beloved hometown.
Those, are Lovino's socks he sees under the bed, all scrunched up and mindlessly disposed of, not having seen the light of day for God knows how long. Lovi always did leave his socks around almost everywhere, be it between the couch gaps, on the dining table or even in the freezer, for heaven's sake. And he called Alfred messy...
Man, this entire room smells like Lovi...
The blonde is crying pathetically again when a loud door slam resounds from downstairs — wow, Arthur's here — and just the sight of another person in the same house that HE AND LOVI OWNED drains what's left of his will to do anything productive today.
"Christ," Arthur mutters under his breath, getting to his knees to help his protégé up. "What's happened to you, dear? You look unsightly, your face is all blotched up! Have you been crying?"
No shit.
"Lovi... he... he..." What the heck happened to his Thursday? The American had plans to upgrade the backyard garden fence if only so Lovi would be impressed with him when he returned from Australia. Oh man, Lovi was planning to plant forget-me-nots... Haha... Hahaha...
"Lovino?" Arthur copies, concerned. "What happened? He's not unwell, is he? Have you tried contacting him?" Of course Alfred tried contacting the Italian, was the green-eyed man daft?
Crawling over to the unmade bed where the American knew he'd left his phone, he flashes his companion the very same text that's got him so down in the dumps. "He... he said he's LEAVING me! I d-didn't know w-what I d-did, w-woke up to this, prob'ly gunna party with some pretty girl, I've tried to be so good, not g-good enough, fufu..."
Arthur snatches the phone, thick brows furrowing as he reads off of it and he snarls, one corner of his mouth twitching. Then the man goes back to supporting Alfred onto the bed. "I knew that arsehole was a good for nothing, two-timing bastard! DAMN IT! Always popular with the ladies, I had my suspicions about him for ages," he grinds his teeth irritatedly.
Through hooded eyes and blurry spectacles, Alfred could see his big brother/friend clenching his fists and craning his neck, ready to take out a man. Arthur may have been small in stature, but he wasn't a CEO of a company for nothing. The green-eyed Brit glances at Alfred and almost immediately, that deadly temperament of his dies, replaced with concern. "Alright then love, you sit there and I'll make you breakfast, yes? Then we'll do something about killing your boyfriend."
"NO!" Alfred shouts. "No... no breakfast and... no killing either." He sighs, a hand running through unruly golden locks. "I'm... fine. I just need to sleep, maybe."
"Are you sure you don't want to eat?"
The blue-eyed man may be sad about the ordeal, but he wasn't ready to die yet, thanks very much. He shakes his head and shows his thanks by giving Arthur a thumbs up, glad to have company with him on this bitch as doomsday.
Leaving the bespectacled blonde to himself, Arthur makes himself at home by looking around for things that may belong to Lovino, already brainstorming what kind of spells he could recreate to summon the devil on that blasted Italian. Alfred may have disclosed murder but a haunting is not a prohibited option. Who does that coward Italian think he is, hooking up with his baby brother and breaking his heart in one of the worst ways possible two years later? 'Tis a wanker, is who. This betrayal will bite that prat in the arse, damn it. Arthur will make sure of it.
Ten hours later, local Canberra time, Lovino wakes up to a dozen or so missed calls, thirty-something voicemail messages and seventy-fucking-five texts, all from the same number.
What in the world?
Oh hang on, not from the same number. There's Francis and Gilbert's caller IDs, idiots they are; probably thought it was funny to spam him while taking turns trying to reach him or whatever. Quite a lot of texts from Kiku and some random number — "FUCKING IDIOT GIT WANKER PRAT LIGGER ARSEHOLE TRAITOROUS SON OF A BITCH ASS COWARD CUNT FACE, I swear when you return to America I will castrate you and feed your remains to the wolves!"
Umm? Erhem, this is illegal. How dare this stranger harrass him with such language! Scrolling down some more, he recognizes Matthew's number and reads pretty much the same kind of ranting (Lovino thinks it's ranting? It's written in Quebec French so he doesn't understand anything but the words mange de la marde severely stand out. Eat shit? What? What did he do? Why was Matthew mad?) like the previous anonymous texts.
Then there was Alfred's several miss calls and messages. The last thing he reads is, "I still don't understand, but whatever your reasons are, I'll respect them because it's you. I love you, Lovino. And I'm so sorry." before they stop altogether. Last sent on 3:55am. Um? Okay, this entire situation is beginning to make him nervous.
Lovino knows he wasn't drunk last night, although he could admit to having just left a dinner party with his company's Australian share partners. Then he went to sleep because he was so damn tired and mentally drained. Did he say something to Alfred that he somehow can't remember?
The brown-haired man revisits the aforementioned conversation and almost stops breathing when he sees exactly what he'd sent. Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god Angel Gabriel, this isn't what he'd intended to send. Lovino had a picture attached to that text — at least, there was supposed to be a picture but all he sees is the GODDAMNED TEXT. He checks his Photo Library. There he is, arm in arm with Cate Blanchett, one of Alfred's favourite actresses. She just happened to be vacationing at the same hotel their meeting was held at and upon seeing and recognizing her (Al cannot say he doesn't pay attention to his interests NOW), Lovino made damn sure he sucked up his dislike for random conversations so he could get an autograph for his beloved.
But now he won't have a beloved if he doesn't get things under control.
Vaffanculo, he meant the text jokingly! Oh fucking shit, he's in so much trouble. This just explains the texts and voicemails, holy hell, Alfred's protective family is lashing out at him, shit!
Calling isn't going to make the cut, even though for some good reason, Alfred hasn't blocked his number yet. Lovino needs to return to America. NOW. He hastily packs up everything he owns into his suitcase, dials his brother Feliciano to fill in in his absence then all but yells into his phone when his boss Antonio picks up. "Bastard boss, please please please I need your help. There's an emergency with Alfred and I need to go home. TODAY."
"Today? But the meeting doesn't end till Su—"
"I KNOW! BUT I NEED. TO. GO. HOME. DELAY ME MY PAYCHECK OR MAKE ME DO OVERTIME WITHOUT PAY IN THE NEAR FUTURE, I NEED YOU TO DO THIS ONE THING FOR ME, DAMN IT!"
Antonio only answers when Lovino is done bursting out of his room and thundering down the hotel stairs. "Fine, I get it. Meet me in reception, I'll hand over your early return ticket."
"Fucking thank you, I owe you Antonio, oh my god I think I'm going to be sick—"
The flight back to America is only the beginning of Lovino's soon-to-be hellish weekend. Curse the USA for being twenty-three hours away from Australia, damn it; one who is in a hurry can only do so much on a plane. He's attempted calling before takeoff, really he has, but everytime the Italian dials his boyfriend's number to give him a head's up, the guilt eats away at him and he wants more than nothing but to smash his head against the nearest wall.
This is agony.
The green-eyed brunette all but rushes through Immigration that Saturday afternoon, shooting the officers who judged him for his fumblings a critical look of his own. He kids you not; the minute he arrives back at his shared home, he's surprised by the suspicious metal pole barricades positioned around the area, thorned rose vines curled along their ends. And if that isn't warning enough, then the creepy fabric sign hanging from his and Alfred's room window reading, "BEWARE OF CHEATING BASTARDS!" (written in questionable red ink) is enough to faze the flustered Italian. That's not something his kind-hearted lover does and would have done no matter the circumstances, which could only mean...
"Alfred!" He calls warily. "Alfred, I'm home, holy fucking shit, I'm sorry, I would never leave you, this is all a misunderstanding!"
After much waiting for a response, the front door swings open violently and out comes up a... dear heavens, it's a monster! Lovino freezes in his spot, suitcase abandoned and he whimpers (IT WAS A MANLY WHIMPER people, oh my god, he's in actual hell and it's all his fault!)
"YEAH, YOU BETTER BE TERRIFIED OF ME, YOU WANKER, you've got the gall to show your face in here? After what you did?"
Finding his own voice after steeling himself, the younger counters, "In my d-defense, this is m-my h-house! Who a-a-are you? I s-should be asking you w-why you're here, you m-monster! What have y-you done to my front lawn!"
The addressed monster de-robes himself, revealing a very pissed off blonde about Lovino's height and possessing the bushiest eyebrows the Italian has ever seen. Bushy Brows... this is the Bushy Brow boss whom Alfred always talked dearly to him about? WHAT WAS HE DOING HERE?
Bushy Brow Arthur circles the object of his detestation like prey, ready to attack at any time. "If I were you, Lovino Vargas, I'd leave this complex immediately. Alfred doesn't want to see you, you two-timing dipshit."
"I am not two-timing! And he can tell that to me straight to my face, I don't want to hear it from some creep who I don't even know! Move it, prick."
"No." The Brit makes his point very clearly, barricading the path to the door. "Do you own the lease to this house? I'm pretty sure it's under Alfred's name, and Alfred is paying for it with his money, money that he earns to sustain you, and this is how you treat him back?"
"Who the heck is sustaining who, carogna? This house is just as mine as it is Alfred's and I do half as much work to help him out, damn it! M-M-Move it and stop w-wasting my time!"
"Lovino?"
The barely audible wheeze from behind the two arguing men catches their attention. Alfred's still in his clothes from two days ago, blonde hair heavily unkempt and glasses barely on his face. There are pillow marks on the guy's left cheek which Lovino only notices close up when he forcibly pushes Arthur aside and runs up to the American, terribly remorseful.
The blue-eyed man questions, "Lovi, w-why are you here? Aren't you s'pposed to be in Australia?" The latter ignores all that and jump hugs him, desperate hands running through Alfred's hair and head nuzzling at his lover's neck. Oh no, his Al's been crying because of him...
"Amore, I'm so sorry; sweetheart, I would never leave you! I know I'm difficult and I'm not affectionate most of the time but I fucking love you, damn it!" He breathes. "It was a mistake, I shouldn't have joked around like that. Please forgive me..."
Arthur is just standing there, witnessing all of this unfold in front of him and he gags in his apparent displeasure. He's known Alfred for years, there was no way his protégé would take all these lies face-value and—
"You flew all the way from Australia and ditched your meeting just to say apologize to me face-to-face?" The man in question whispers. "You know you could have called, or texted even? I wouldn't have cut ties with you."
"I know." answers the Italian. "But I didn't want to risk any chances of you not picking up. I wouldn't risk any chance of losing you; you're the most important thing in my life." At this, Lovino pulls away from his boyfriend's embrace and tries to find that envelope he made sure was easily accessible in his suitcase. Then he returns to Alfred's side, git Arthur fuming at the sidelines.
"I know how much you love your Hollywood movies and I happened to meet one of your favourite actresses in Canberra. So I got you an autograph. And a picture with her and myself. I was supposed to attach that picture when I sent my text to you but I forgot and I fell asleep unawares." the brunette explains regrettably. "I'm never going to caption shit like that again."
"Lovi..."
The thing Alfred was staring at may have been a brochure for the hotel his boyfriend stayed at, but the elegant scribble written at the front addressed to him personally is one of the sweetest things he's ever received. Lovino knows all is forgiven when the taller scoops him up and takes him back inside. "I love you babe, let's have makeup sex right now."
Hah! There is no way Lovino would have argued with that.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, a distressed Arthur remains in his stance, jade eyes burning through the door that's just been slammed close without any acknowledgement of his presence. The front lawn retains its creepy fairytale evil lair state but it's been ignored, just like that. ALL HIS HARDWORK! "Are you fucking kidding me? You ask for help and this is what I get! I demand a refund of my time!"
Sadly enough for the British man, no one asked him to do anything.
Wow did I ask for a rollercoaster plot what have you done brain and hands XD For those who are wondering whatever happened to Al's protective family: news travels fast and it was alll just a misunderstaaanding...
Damn, this prompt man.