~*Chapter Seven: Kiss, Kiss*~
Thank you everyone for your reviews! They are my good things in life. :') The story is starting to get a little bit more serious, but I still hope you enjoy. We hardly see poor Mattie in this chapter, but he'll finally get a decent role next segment.
I won't be able to update for maybe a week or so-I start new Summer classes soon, so have yourselves a freaking long chapter!
To those of you who requested a Mochi, DanieSora, you may have the Lichtenstein Mochi, though I have to warn you, Switzerland Mochi may be very angry if you try to take her away! Silentbunny17, have yourself a Russian Mochi. (If he gets sad, be sure to give him sunflowers, vodka, and of course, his American Mochi.) ^_^ Trypheria gets the awesome Prussia Mochi, although be warned: He needs a lot of attention! Kaylm Aditra, please look after England Mochi! You can feed him anything you like, though he needs his tea (And his American Mochi). :p :) Artemis Fortune, please look after Italy Mochi! He needs lots of love and good food!
The American Mochi is for the Vampire Alchemist. Be sure to give him lots of hugs! (And hamburgers, mind you.)
Fight on, Mochi, mochi, fight on!
~*oOo*~
Flashback: Thirteen Years Ago
It was a wintry afternoon at the Jones' residence, and Mrs. Jones had invited the members of her Young Mother's club over for a social. The women were gathered in the dining room, laughing and gossiping as they enjoyed hors d'oeuvres. A tiny, smartly dressed Arthur waddled around with a little platter of biscuits, and it wasn't long before chitchat turned to cooing, especially when Arthur bowed ridiculously low and left the room.
"Agatha, how in the world did you train your son?" Mrs. Honda enviously asked Mrs. Jones. "Such an angel!" The house was filled with murmurs of agreement.
"He's just such a well-mannered love!" piped up Mrs. Bonnefoy, shaking her head with a small chuckle. "I know the boys get along beastly, but Francis could certainly learn something from him. He squeezed out an entire tube of toothpaste in the bathtub yesterday. Can you imagine the mess? It's bad enough that every time I turn my back, he's trying to paint the cat!"
Like a bunch of hens, the women clucked sympathetically. "And Arthur has such a nice vocabulary," added Mrs. Łukasiewicz with a sigh, taking a rueful bite out of one of Arthur's biscuits and very nearly chipping a tooth. "Anywhere you go these days, you really can't expected to be called 'sir' or 'ma'am' anymore. Young people these days have no courtesy, but your son holds the door open for everyone and talks so nicely! It's so refreshing to see."
"He'll definitely be the lady killer," agreed Mrs. Beilschmidt, sipping her iced tea. "So mature and independent at his age! My little boys still cry whenever their Daddy goes away for business, and they're seven and eight years old!"
Another member chimed in, "My little Roderich gets into fights with the little girl next door and comes home covered in scrapes, bawling his eyes out. Even after I clean and bandage the boo-boos, he needs a full hour's coddling before he'll calm down! Not like Arthur. I don't think I've ever seen the lad cry." She leaned back in her seat and chuckled slightly. "Does he even know how to?"
"Rubbish!" exclaimed one of the women teasingly, waving around a biscuit. "Proper gentlemen do not show their tears! They have none! Why, their tear ducts dried up while they were still in the womb!"
The women started cackling. Mrs. Jones smiled graciously, though the smile did not touch her hurt eyes. Arthur's mother wearily drew her fingertips through her wispy blonde hair for a moment and daydreamed of being in one of the other women's positions—looking after a normal, troublemaking child with dirty fingers that missed you when you were gone and liked to cuddle and was capable of loving back.
Then, came the all-too familiar pangs of guilt. Shame! Exclaimed the nasty voices in Agatha's head. How dare you think about your only son that way? You're such a selfish, undeserving parent! Poor Artie! No wonder he's so unwilling to open up to you! You're just like your mother—a neurotic, needy witch!
In a flash, a filmy layer glistened in Agatha's eyes, but just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and Agatha was actively chatting with her girlfriends again after someone wisely changed the subject.
~*oOo*~
"So, there's no chance? None at all?"
Never, ever had Arthur Kirkland Jones expected to find himself in this situation. But here was she, her green eyes filled with tears, hopeless hope carved into every line of Bella's features.
Feeling rude, he looked away, but he did not know where to look. He swallowed—a difficult feat, considering how dry his mouth was—and coughed, wondering if he ought to pat the other green-eyed blonde on the shoulder.
"…I'm sorry," the sixteen year old said uncertainly, shifting uneasily from the one foot to the other. "Bella, you're really a very nice girl and you've been very kind to me and I like you, but I'm not…really in a position where I can pursue a relationship right now. I—"
The Belgium girl stomped her foot, attracting attention from passerby in the hallways, the very thing Arthur hoped to avoid. He didn't want rumors of him having a lover's spat with Bella going around, especially to the ears of her menacing big brother. "Why not? I like you Arthur. You're so grown-up and well-read! And you said just said you liked me. Why can't we just give a try?"
Arthur bit the inside of his lip hard. "Bella, you don't understand. I really, really need to focus on my grades right now."
"But you've made honor roll like, forever! Geez, I'm not asking to marry you or anything—I'm just asking you to give me a chance!"
"I'd like nothing more than that," Arthur lied beneath his teeth. "Honestly. It's not…"
"Don't give me the 'it's not you, it's me' garbage!" exclaimed Bella passionately. "And you're a sophomore for Pete's sake, so why can't you have any fun for a change?"
Patience weakening, Arthur glared at her.
"But that's exactly it. Bella, I need to have the most superb grades possible so that I can get into a great college and get a life for myself!" he exclaimed passionately. He knew he was overplaying it just a little, but it had worked the first three times, so why wouldn't it work now?
"I can't afford to slack off even for a moment! I need to work AND get a scholarship so I can pursue a doctorate! Even if I just take out loans, it will take years to pay them off, and I don't want to wait even longer than I have to before I can have my own house, my own car, my own life with my brother! I'm sick of living a second-class existence, and I'm even sicker of watching my little brother live with it! I'm not going to allow us to fall through the hole most foster-kids fall into and never come out of! That's why I can't permit myself to get involved with anyone right now, especially you, because I'll be too distracted! I hope you understand."
Bella just stared at him. Then, to his horror, tears started to dew in her eyes. He coughed again and felt in his pocket for his handkerchief, worried that Bella would hit him, but then the girl leapt forward like a tiger and wrapped her arms around his neck. He choked, turned red, and resisted the urge to throw her off bodily. "Acck! Bella, I demand that you—"
"You…you are SUCH a sweet guy, Artie!" she exclaimed, and Arthur cringed at her usage of Alfred's pet name for him. "Ohhh…I'm so, SO sorry I didn't like, understand earlier! I heard the rumors, but wasn't sure if they were true….you're such a nice guy!" The young woman drew back and wiped at the corners of her puffy eyes. "Of course, I'm disappointed…I'd hoped you were just letting Elizabeta off easy, but I totally understand where you're like, coming from! You're so cute, trying to look after your little brother and stuff! For totes!"
Arthur wrinkled his nose at being called 'cute.' Well, at least she wasn't making nearly as big a scene as Elizabeta, who had started sobbing with delight upon learning the reason of her rejection. He tried to regain his composure. "So, I hope you understand why I can't take you to the winter formal…"
"Oh! For sure!" exclaimed Bella, wrapping her arms around him again, ignorant of Arthur's shudder. "You gotta look after your brother! It's like you're the hero in some Christmas movie! Just promise me that you'll like, wait for me and stuff!"
"U-Uh…sure."
Bella beamed, pecked Arthur on the cheek, and seized his hand and a sparkly pink pen that had been behind her ear. She scribbled a number on Arthur's cheek and ran down the holly-covered hall, humming merrily to herself. Arthur slowly shook his head and scowled at the phone number on his hand, which Bella decorated with half a dozen little hearts. Splendid. Well, at least she hadn't used permanent marker like Elizabeta had…
He turned to his locker and got his books out, checking his watch. That had taken longer than expected. Now he was going to have to hurry so that he could take the bus to work and pick up Alfred later on…he rushed outside, blinking at the weak winter sunshine, and hopped on his bicycle, shivering as he wrapped the green scarf Alfred had clumsily knit for him around his mouth, and took off for the restaurant he worked at as a busboy. The owners had been at first unwilling to hire someone so young and inexperienced as Arthur, but they'd cracked when they heard his sob story. Everyone did, which was why his (true) story worked so magnificently in his favor so often.
As Arthur started growing taller, girls who had in previous years dismissed him as an creepy little eccentric had begun to turn their heads towards him in curiosity. He was no longer a 'loser,' but a 'loner,' which they evidently thought was attractive, and he was no longer a 'know-it-all' but someone 'very smart,' which they also seemed to think was attractive, and he was no longer thought of a 'cranky, hot-tempered ass,' but as a 'moody' sort of person, which girls evidently found sexy. The fact that he was unique amongst his peers—someone who spoke old-fashionably and came to school primly dressed instead of being a slob—made him seem interesting.
And of course, there was the sob story. Everyone loved the sob story: Orphaned at an early age, living in a children's home with one of his little brothers, working hard so that he could triumphantly pull them out of the gutter. A regular tear-jerker.
Bizarrely enough, the fact that he was completely unobtainable seemed to make girls crazier about him, making Valentine's day a living hell. He wondered if the girls knew or cared that all the chocolates they stuffed in his locker invariably wound up back to Alfred, who was only too happy to "dispose" of it.
Arthur snorted to himself as he parked his bicycle, shivering in the cold. As least they had gotten out of school early today so that he had more time at work to hide if yet another admirer came through the doors. Yet again.
In short, Arthur Kirkland Jones found himself in the most unexpected and somewhat terrifying position of being an absolute chick magnet.
~*oOo*~
While Arthur enjoyed his fair share of attention, thirteen year old Ivan rued over his complete and utter lack of it. Even as he tried to work, jealousy was clawing at his insides like a trapped cat, and frustration was searing through his veins at the sound of her voice. They were talking next to him, ignorant of him, though he was in perfect earshot.
"So, Lili, do you think you can come?"
"Of course," a soft, sweet voice answered. "I'm very excited, Alfred. I don't know what in the world I'll wear, but it'll be fun as long as you're there."
He could hear Alfred shift in his chair, and though he couldn't bear to look, he still saw Alfred smiling goofily, abashedly, cheeks rosier than normal.
"Aaaahhh, Lil, you're makin' me blush…"
The Russian didn't know why he felt so fed-up with the world at that moment, or why he'd already snapped two pencils before third period, but he felt absolutely lousy. 'Alfred has right to talk to anyone he likes,' he thought, wincing as he pressed his pencil tip against the paper too hard and broke the edge. 'You're just being a jealous nut like Arthur because you don't have anyone else to talk to besides Natalya…' he shivered. He'd much rather chat with his old Mochi. Mochis didn't come into your room at night to snip off a piece of your hair for their album.
When the bell rang, Lili stood up, blew Alfred a shy kiss, and left with her girlfriends. Ivan practically had to drag his swooning friend into the hallways, looking none too happy about it.
"That girl…" Alfred let out a giggle and then clapped a hand over his mouth, looking anxiously over his shoulder. "Dude, I liked her so much when we were kids…must be fate."
Ivan just let out a noncommittal grunt. Alfred went on:
"Artie's goin' on all the time how we're too young ta be datin' and stuff, but Iv, I really, really like Lili."
"I know," said Ivan shortly. Alfred spent a good 75% of the week telling him so. Alfred glanced curiously at his best friend, coming down from his high to notice Ivan's lack of enthusiasm.
"You okay, man?"
"Fine," said Ivan curtly, slowly turning his head towards Alfred and baring all of his teeth in an attempt to smile. Judging by Alfred's disturbed look, it didn't work so hot.
"You sure you don't wanna come?" asked Alfred pleadingly as they walked into the library together for study hall, sitting down together. Ivan just shook his head.
"Nyet. I do not dance."
Alfred just lifted a brow. "Aw, c'mon, man! You did an excellent funky chicken at your seventh birthday party," he sniggered, and Ivan immediately had a hand over Alfred's mouth.
"You promised never to speak of that again!" he hissed, heat rising in his cheeks. The librarian hushed them. Blue eyes watering Alfred just looked at him and chortled silently, his warm lips shaking underneath Ivan's large hand, face glowing with warmth. Ivan took his hand off of Alfred quickly, immediately searching around him for any gawkers. Alfred sighed.
"C'mon, dude, it's not like they're so bad now…"
"Says the one who had to dig his gym shoes out of the toilet again last week," said Ivan curtly, noticing the humor evaporate out of Alfred's face. He missed it. "They are too frightened of me now to do anything but talk behind my back."
Alfred shrugged; Ivan stood a good head and a half taller than anyone else now, and the kid remained as bulky as ever, though the baby fat clinging to him was starting to give way to some muscle as he, Matthew, and Alfred had taken to playing hockey together. Other bullies stayed clear of him, stayed clear of Alfred if Ivan was in clear sight, a hulking warning sign hovering behind the young teen.
But despite the fact that Mrs. Braginski made Alfred take seconds, thirds, and fourths when he came to dinner and the boy had eaten what had to be half a truckload of chocolate from Arthur's admirers, the boy was simply a skinny little matchstick who was an open target to a great number of creeps. While he wasn't nearly so unpopular as Ivan, he was constantly having his books knocked out of his hands or having signs such as 'homo' taped to his back. Alfred elected not to tell Arthur about the fact that he was being bullied, because the sophomore would simply show up and his fists would fly.
"Ya sure you don't wanna go?" he asked, and Ivan flipped through his science book so as to not have to look at Alfred's infamous puppy eyes. "It's Christmas. That can your present to me."
"I already bought you your present," said Ivan, smirking slightly as Alfred gasped.
"What? Really? Dude, what is it? What is it, what is it, what is it?"
"Can't tell," Ivan sang, wincing apologetically when the librarian shushed them again. "Christmas isn't for two weeks. But you will definitely love it."
Alfred pouted. "Dude, that's not cool. You know my gifts are always something cruddy, like a pinecone bird feeder or an ornament."
"Your gifts are never 'cruddy,'" soothed Ivan, not mentioning that he'd never thrown away a single one, kept them in his special box. "They are made with love, da?"
Alfred rolled his eyes and flushed slightly. "Man, that's so cheesy."
"But true?"
"Yeah, yeah." Alfred put his chin on his hand and smiled, eyes twinkling, and Ivan started as he felt something warm shift inside of him, like a sleepy bear stirring from hibernation. "You know, it's not gonna be any fun without you there."
Ivan felt slightly queasy, though he didn't know why. "N-nyet. You will go with Lili, and have lots of fun." He paused. "Ah…does Arthur know…?"
Alfred immediately whipped his head back and forth, back and forth. "Nu-uh! And it's gonna stay like that, okay? Please?"
For a brief second, Ivan considered what would happen if he were to tell Arthur, who would likely have a temper tantrum. 'You're too young to be taking anyone to a dance, Alfred! I forbid it! Do you hear me? Either you tell Lili you don't want to take her, or you stay home.' The idea is surprisingly tempting, but as Ivan would sooner take Arthur to the dance than break Alfred's trust, he nodded, and Alfred beamed at him again.
"Thanks, man." He held up his fist, and Ivan clumsily bumped it with his own. "But you SURE you don't wanna go?"
Have his mother force him into a ridiculous outfit, comb his hair in a way he hated, and then be subjugated to Natalya clinging to his ankles, insisting that he take her with or stay home? Watch Alfred and Lili awkwardly slow dance while he sulked alone in a corner, watching them? Ivan would pass, thank you very much.
"Nyet," he said again, with finality. Alfred sighed in resignation and turned back to work. Ivan followed suit, but after ten minutes of their pens scratching on paper, Ivan couldn't help but ask:
"Is Arthur taking anyone to the high school dance? I have heard they are having one."
Alfred nodded absentmindedly. "Nope. Weird, huh? Artie's so…., but he is sure is a ladies' man." The blond chuckled to himself. "That's just too weird to try and imagine, right?" he frowned thoughtfully. "Wonder why he doesn't wanna go?"
"It is a mystery to me," Ivan semi-lied, and the two didn't exchange another word for the rest of the period.
~*oOo*~
Agatha supposed she'd been fairly spoiled as a child. Her father, Arthur Kirkland—for whom her firstborn had been named after—was a quiet, withdrawn sort of man wholly incapable of showing much affection for his child or his wife. Instead of planning family events, her father had dreaded them and escaped them whenever he could, preferring to spend his time reading or fishing or staring out pensively over the sea rather than attend a graduation ceremony or a reunion.
He had been a man good at telling stories, but that had been it; he was curt, cold, and Agatha might as well have tried to hug a stone wall rather than attempt to hug her Papa's leg.
Looking back, Agatha thought that perhaps even he had sensed his lack of warmth towards his family and had tried to make up for it by giving them lavish gifts rather than hugs and kisses. But even at six years old, though she became the proud owner of a grand dollhouse with dozens of accessories and seven new dollies on Christmas morning, Agatha would have rather had the hugs and kisses.
However, it certainly wasn't as though she hadn't gotten a large supply of them; her mother was an extremely kind-hearted, somewhat needy woman who very much needed an outlet for her affections—almost Papa's antithesis. Agatha remembered the hundreds of kisses that Papa had only ever endured, so rarely ever reciprocated—and recalled the time she'd found Mama curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing helplessly. Papa had thrust the hat Mama had very much wanted in her hands before he'd left to go fishing again. It had been her birthday. She had clutched at her wriggling daughter that day, planting her with countless kisses and caresses that had become irritating and frightening very quickly.
For some reason, Mama wouldn't leave Papa, despite Agatha's urging. "I just can't," she croaked, rocking back and forth in a corner on the night of her tenth anniversary. "It's just me, sweetheart, just me. If I work harder and be a better wife, he'll be home more often, you'll see," she'd insisted. "Papa loves me. Papa loves me." She'd been an incredibly insecure person, constantly buying new clothes and dieting, shopping for creams that the telemarketers claimed would give her skin a 'soft, youthful glow.'
When Agatha came home from college to visit at 19, she'd discovered that Papa's once dull eyes were now filled with a strange, almost wild sort of energy. She'd only seen him twice during her week-long stay, and he'd incredibly absentminded—even more so than usual. When he was home, he spent an incredibly long time in the shed out back, and had told his daughter off very harshly for approaching it when she'd came to fetch him for dinner.
On the last night of her stay, Agatha watched Papa's car zoom out of the driveway from the upstairs window and had tried to comfort Mama, who was in a drunken stupor on the carpet.
Once her anger towards Papa had dimmed somewhat, curiosity had overwhelmed her—was her Papa into hard drugs or something?—and she'd crept into the old shed and discovered The Secret that had carved its image into her eyes forever and dissolved any bonds her family might have had left.
When Agatha married Stanley Jones, a friendly man who had known her family's history and loved her anyway, she vowed that she would create the family that she'd never had growing up. She had the great fortune of being both lover and best friend to the man she married, which is the most one can hope for in a partnership, and they both craved to create a happy, healthy home with loving children. While she hadn't liked the idea of naming her first child after her father, Stanley had insisted that it was a good idea to change the name's history, to turn unluckiness to success.
And she gave in, though she wished she had not. It was bad enough little Arthur reminded her inexplicably of her father, so why did she have to name him after the man? It was like having her father around again, except in fun size. While her son was a great deal more polite and articulate than Papa, he scarcely ever smiled and would not hug her on his own. There was so little sense of childish wonder and whimsy in his eyes, even when he was read his favorite fantasy books. It seemed he was born a little skeptic, unable to show love to his own mother. Mrs. Jones laughed alongside her friends though she inwardly just plain hurt. Her husband found Arthur's standoffishness as something endearing, not abnormal in any way.
But Mrs. Jones joined the clubs full of fretful mothers and read the guidebooks. Something just seemed off in Arthur, and she wondered if maybe there had been something wrong in Papa too. He'd been born in a time where not a third of the diagnoses for social/cognitive/emotional had even existed. What if he'd had something that had been unchecked for years, something that had passed to Arthur?
She'd taken Arthur to countless pediatricians. Did he have Autism, which might explain his emotional aloofness? No. She didn't think that had been the case, anyway. Did he have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, considering how uptight he was about neatness? No, they assured her. Arthur was simply a tidy child, and OCD would not explain his emotional state, which three doctors claimed was rather eccentric, but not abnormal. Many of the specialists congratulated her, told her she was raising quite the genius.
As she watched Arthur gather sticks in the backyard and plant them into the ground, Agatha debated taking her son to a few more specialists. Her husband had been good-natured about the business at the beginning but was now getting rather annoyed, thought that she was insinuating something was off in their brilliant baby's heart or mind. While she'd never do such a thing, she yearned for an explanation, a puzzle piece that would explain this distinct coolness she felt about her only son and help her fill it in the emptiness. She desperately longed to hear Arthur call her 'Mommy,' and he wouldn't even do that! He stiffly called her 'Mother.' What child in this day and age did that?
Maybe Arthur had no real problem, no need of a diagnosis, but she wanted help her little baby be happy. It was the least he deserved.
Sighing sadly to herself, Mrs. Jones went back into the house and started fixing Arthur's lunch. She would take him to at least one more pediatrician, would get it out of the way as she needed to go the doctor's herself. She had been getting terribly queasy lately, and her ankles had begun to swell.
~*oOo*~
At the end of the school day, Ivan and Alfred met each other in the halls and started discussing a movie they wanted to see as they wrapped up in their winter wear (Ivan had taken his beloved scarf back for the time being).
"—I totally would have made a better Captain America!" huffed Alfred as he zipped up his beloved, slightly oversized bomber jacket. "Seriously, who does Chris Evans think he is? I—"
Suddenly, a girl squealed and seized Alfred's arm. "Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!" she sang, her face lighting up with terrible glee. Bewildered, Alfred turned to look at Ivan, who looked nonplussed. The girl's chant was picking up attention fast, and soon they were surrounded by a sea of smiles. Alfred tried to tug his hand out of the girl's grasp.
"Uhh…wha?"
Suddenly, without warning, three boys shot out of the crowd, their arms wrapping around Ivan's. The Russian's purple eyes widened in panic, his struggles to throw them off useless as even more people came forward to immobilize him.
"Nyet! What are you doing?"
"Heeeeelp!" wailed Alfred as a boy wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist—Ivan felt a surge of anger boil inside of him—and the blonde was pushed towards his best friend. Everyone was laughing, giggling, stopping to watch, all pointing at them, at the ceiling….as if on unison, the two boys raised their eyes to the ceiling, where a small spring was hung, its berries gleaming faintly, as if in delight to their predicament.
Ivan closed his eyes and silently swore to himself. Shit.
"Weeeellll?" sang out a boy named Matthias. "You know the rules! Pucker up, you two! Then we'll spring ya."
Alfred weakly struggled against the boy and two girls holding him down. "Oh c-c'mon! YOU pucker up with your boyfriend! Or your mother, considering she's the only girl YOU'RE likely to ever smooch—"
Matthias scoffed even as people roared with laughter at him. "Yeah? Well I ain't under the mistletoe buddy, so ya gotta kiss!"
"Who says?" challenged Alfred, still fighting against the arms holding him, but only more came to help restrain him. Matthias raised an eyebrow.
"I do, you little queer, or your head's gonna go in the toilet with the shoes."
"If you do that," said Ivan sweetly. "I will kill you."
The crowd actually quieted somewhat at that, and people shot worried looks towards one another. But Matthias just laughed uneasily.
"You? You might have the brains of a bucket and be a lumbering shit, but everyone knows ya don't really have what it takes to get ya hands dirty."
Ivan stepped forward with a great deal of difficulty. Alfred gulped at the positively dangerous expression on his best friend's face, and even Matthias, captain of the football team, wavered a little.
"Try me," said Ivan coldly. Matthias just rolled his eyes.
"Just kiss him, and we'll leave you alone!"
"Kiss, kiss!" mocked Gilbert, ignoring Alfred's struggles and holding tight to him. "C'mon! Tell your tubby Russki to kiss you, Alfred, just the way you like it. C'mon, kiss him!"
"Kiss, kiss!" exclaimed Elizabeta's little sister Lisa, dragging out her camera. "Please! Kiss, kiss! Kiss, kiss!"
The chant picked up amongst the students until it was a roar:
"Kiss, kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"
Ivan's mouth dropped open, and Alfred looked in the crowd for a helpful face, maybe Lili's or Matthew's, but he saw no one who would help them. Even Kiku, who was a fairly good friend of Alfred's, was holding up his phone, prepared to take a picture. Alfred growled under his breath. Asshole. He threw his head back and groaned weakly.
"Will you leave us alone if I just…do it already?" he asked tiredly.
Ivan felt sweat start to bead underneath his neck, prickling softly as his heart began to burn, desperately throbbing against his throat as if it wished to pop out and was rebelling angrily against confines. 'He can't possibly mean…'
The crowd started jeering in affirmative. Alfred shrugged lightly, looking cool and uncaring as he somehow managed to in a crisis—Ivan would have loved to know how he did that—and tentatively stepped forwards towards Ivan, looking unsure of himself.
The beige-haired young man just stared at him, hands quivering, moisture beading his palms underneath their rough leather gloves, and his mouth dried. He felt paralyzed, unable to move even if he did not have half a dozen people holding him down.
The hall was growing incredibly hot as Alfred got closer and the cries got louder, and Ivan's heart was going crazy in his chest, his lungs contracting and releasing like a jellyfish's body, and his stomach twisting and curling itself into knots. Everything was going into hypersensitive mode, though his legs remained numb, unfeeling roots, planting themselves obstinately into the crowd as Alfred approached him. He looked down; Ivan's breath hitched as he saw the toes of Alfred's boots slowly rise upwards—
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"
As he came closer, there was the heat of Alfred slightly leaning against him as his face tilted upwards, and Ivan's eyes shot up and the two were barely inches apart and he wanted well he didn't know what he wanted there was just this second this eternity this now this craving—
But suddenly, there was a new voice, one so loud and terrible it cut through the mantra of the crowd and people jumped, expecting to see an angry teacher or the principal.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?"
Arthur Kirkland Jones strolled through the crowd and thrust the two startled boys apart, immediately stepping in front of Alfred like an Aegis shield, face red with anger. The students who'd been holding Alfred down started to complain loudly, but their protests died when Arthur turned to them. For a smart boy who was known to be well-mannered and reserved, it was remarkable just how much he looked like a raging bull, pawing the ground. The very air above him appeared to be simmering with his rage.
"What the hell," Arthur snarled. "Is wrong with you little brats? Huh?" People shouted, cat-called, and booed, but he remained fixed in his fury. "Forcing a pair of boys to kiss, huh? You seem to like that rather well—tell me, are you all a bunch of dykes and queers? Want to get off on that? Well?"
To a crowd of middle-schoolers fretful about their reputation, no sentence could have been quite so effective; everyone scattered like a school of tiny fish before an approaching whale, keen to not make eye contact with one another. Ivan suddenly found himself free and turned to look at Arthur, who was hugging Alfred.
"Now, are you alright?" fussed Arthur, leaning back from the hug to eye Alfred critically. "Those little swine didn't hurt you, did they?"
Alfred rolled his eyes but leaned forward to hug Arthur again, and Ivan saw Arthur smile faintly in satisfaction. "Nah, they were just bein' real creeps. Not a scratch on me. What about you?" he asked Ivan, turning to give his friend an worried look. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"
"…nyet," said Ivan, almost wishing that he'd had been roughed up a little bit, just so that Alfred would approach him again. Alfred smiled in relief before turning to his big brother. "Guess I should thank you, bro."
"But of course." He wrapped an arm around Alfred's shoulders and Ivan simmered.
"Da, thank you," muttered Ivan, thinking that he'd rather kick Arthur rather than thank him. "Thank you very much."
Ivan went home feeling rather dejected.
~*oOo*~
The next day at school, when Alfred tried to talk with Lili, the young girl had just looked at her shoes and told them how nice she thought Alfred was, but she couldn't go to the dance with him after all, because…because there was this thing she had to go to. Ivan comforted Alfred as they walked out of school together, Alfred's normally bright and optimistic eyes dreary.
"Is not so bad, da," Ivan tried to comfort him, patting his arm. "I will go to dance if it will make you happy. We can make fools of ourselves together."
Alfred smiled a little at that.
"Thanks, but no thanks, man. I don't really feel like going at all anymore," he said honestly, lifting up his head to look Ivan in the eyes. "The night of the dance…maybe we can just…hang out together?"
Ivan beamed at him.
"Of course, da, what a question! You know you are always welcome at my house." His expression faltered a little bit. "U-um, well….Natalya is…."
"Kind of scary?" asked Alfred. Ivan shook his head. "Da. Nyet. She is very little and confused about how things work. She does not hate you."
Alfred looked skeptical, his breath coming out in puffs in the bitter cold. "She locked me in the closet when we were playing hide and seek, Iv."
"She said she did not know you were there."
"That's what she said." Alfred looked up at the puffy gray clouds overhead. It looked like it might snow soon. "But I'd love to come."
"It is a date than, da?" Ivan could have slapped himself for his phrasing.
Alfred just bobbed his head, grinning. "It's a date."
~*oOo*~
True to form, Mrs. Braginski was delighted with the idea of Alfred coming over, and Natalya less than charmed. Ivan's mother insisted that Ivan ask Arthur to come over too, which neither boy was very pleased about. Playing the role of ridiculous, overbearing parent, Arthur hadn't really wanted Alfred to go at all, protesting that it was a school night. But when Alfred told Arthur that he'd been considering going to a dance with a girl (it wasn't QUITE a lie, he had considered it when it was still an option), Arthur was gung-ho for a trip to the Braginskis, or at least as gung-ho as Arthur could be about a trip to the Braginskis.
Natalya had been the one to open the door when the boys arrived, her dark eyes narrowed in unmistakable dislike. Arthur stared coldly at her. Alfred had shifted from one foot to the other, smiling nervously.
"Um, h-hey, Natalya." He squeaked.
Natalya tried to close the door, but Ivan appeared out of the corner and held it open, frowning at his little sister. "Nyet! You are very rude, Natalya. Welcome," he said, cheerfully to Alfred and indifferently to Arthur. "Please, come in." The little girl sent Ivan a positively withering look, but reluctantly stepped back, hands on her hips.
Mrs. Braginski had been standing over the stove when the boys entered the kitchen, but the little woman had turned upon hearing Alfred scurry towards her, smiling broadly as she wiped her hands on her apron and folded him into an embrace. She smelled of soap and soup. "Hey, Mrs. B! I missed you!"
"Oh! Privyet! Hello, my little padoctb, joy!" Mrs. Braginski kissed Alfred on the head, unaware that Arthur was trembling with resentment just a few feet away. She leaned back and eyed him critically. "Ah…Alfred, you are looking peaky, da?"
"Hello, Mrs. Braginski," said Arthur cheerfully, stepping forward with his hand extended before she could hug Alfred again. "Lovely weather outside for winter, eh? And are you implying that I don't make sure that Alfred gets fed?"
"Ar-thuuuuur!" exclaimed Alfred, ears going red. Ivan saw red. Mrs. Braginski just blinked and quickly regained her composure.
"I am sure you do excellent job," she said. She looked as if she were about to hug him, but settled instead for his hand stiffly extended towards her. "But my role is to worry just a little, da?"
"Yes," said Arthur, in a voice that was too polite to be sincere. "For your children, of course."
Mrs. Braginski raised an eyebrow. "I consider Alfred to be second son." Arthur looked as though he'd been punched in the stomach, and opened his mouth to calmly retort, "Oh really? Is that so?"
"Alfred, let's head upstairs," said Ivan hastily, pulling his best friend towards the nearby staircase, Natalya in hot pursuit.
~*oOo*~
After some time, Katyusha's car had honked in the driveway, and Alfred, Ivan, and Natalya had scurried out to meet the twenty-three year old woman who had gentle hugs and smiles, even for a crabby little sister. Ivan took one of his big sister's hands and Alfred had taken the other and the four had headed back inside. It was starting to snow, fat flakes drifting serenely in the breeze.
Watching Mrs. Braginski greet her oldest child and gather her three children in her arms made a painful lump rise in Alfred's throat, and he was grateful when Arthur's hand reached underneath the table and squeezed his own.
Before long, the six were crowded around a little table, spoons clinking against bowls as they ate their soup and bread. Katyusha happily talked of her internship in a hospital in Idaho, and her mother listened while Natalya just picked at her food, glowering daggers at Arthur, who was glowering across the table at Ivan, who was glowering at both Arthur and Natalya, the latter glowering at Alfred, who just chirped questions to Katyusha about work in a hospital and remained oblivious.
Soon enough, Mrs. Braginski brought out dessert—blini—and Ivan watched in stupefied wonder as Alfred happily shoveled them down. He'd always adored blini, but he wondered how Alfred could hold them all. Soon, he felt just quite full just looking at the boy eat, his own plate of blini only partially touched.
Mrs. Braginski shouted down their protests and insisted that she clean up herself, leaving the youngsters alone at the table while Mrs B washed pans in the kitchen. Katyusha produced a deck of cards and they began to play, but considering how often Natalya left Alfred in the ruins, it seemed very likely Natalya was cheating somehow. Arthur's attention kept wandering away from the game. He seemed deep in thought.
He stood up after awhile, claiming he needed to use the restroom—Natalya peeked at Arthur's cards when she thought no one was looking—and came back a moment later, looking troubled.
"Alfred, can you look at something for me?"
"Hmm?" His brother looked up from his cards, frowning slightly. "What? What is it?"
Arthur smiled apologetically, fingering his shirt. "I think I've lost a button, but can't be sure…can you help me look?"
"Sure." Alfred hopped off his seat and approached Arthur in the doorway (Ivan slapped Natalya's hands before she could scoop up his cards) looking thoughtfully at his blouse. "Whoa. You're not missing a button—the King of Clean and That Is Tidy buttoned his shirt wrong! Someone take a picture!"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Hilarious," he said dryly, his eyes wandering up to the plant hovering above them. "Oh…mistletoe."
Alfred blushed and immediately stepped back. "Oh, eww. No thanks."
Arthur shrugged helplessly. "It's a tradition. Bad luck to ignore it." Alfred looked bewildered.
"So why didn't you make Ivan and me kiss that other day?" he asked blandly, and Natalya's cards fluttered to the floor.
"What?" the ten year old asked in a terrible voice, the blood draining out of her face. "What was that? What does he mean, big brother?" Ivan inched his chair away from Natalya's, frowning at Arthur.
"Nothing, Natalya—we were under the mistletoe—" Natalya let out a sharp gasp of horror. "—but nothing happened. So Alfred does not have to kiss Arthur, da?"
"I think it is good idea, just to be safe," said Natalya. Ivan frowned at her and approached the brothers, peering at the plant as he stood underneath it. "Big sister, that is not mistletoe!" he exclaimed. Katyusha blinked, shuffling the cards.
"What? Ivan, do you not see the berries? Of course is mistletoe. But if you do not wish to kiss, no one will die of it, da?"
"They do need to kiss!" boomed out Mrs. Braginski's voice from the other room, much to Ivan's horror. Her head popped out of the door and she gave the three under the plant a frown. "None of you may move from that spot until you kiss. I will not have bad luck swept into house near New Year." Mrs. Braginski was a very superstitious woman. Ivan's heart sank.
"Well, that settles it Alfred," said Arthur, shrugging his shoulders in defeat even as he grinned ear to ear. Oh, how Ivan wanted to slug him! But Mrs. Braginski held up a hand. She was not finished.
"Alfred, kiss Arthur. Then Ivan, kiss Arthur." Natalya whimpered and Ivan immediately started protesting. Arthur looked as though he'd been ordered to swallow a can dog food, lid, container, and all. "Then Alfred must kiss Ivan."
"Mama…" whimpered Ivan. "Nyet…."
"Da," she said sharply. "Do not argue, son. Now get with kissing or I will not be happy."
"Nyet!" exclaimed Natalya angrily, running to her brother's side and clutching him tightly. "Nyet! Ivan will not kiss Arthur and he will not kiss Alfred!"
Ivan looked piteously at his eldest sister, who was concentrating very hard on dealing cards, though she shook with silent giggles. "Sister, help…"
"I think I will be the staying of right here," she said simply. Mrs. Braginski just crossed her arms.
"Natalya, you are not permitted to move from that spot until you kiss Ivan, Arthur, and Alfred."
"Mrs. B, is this really necessary?" whined Alfred unhappily. Natalya slammed her feet.
"Nyet! I will happily kiss brother but not Arthur and—"
"ENOUGH."
The voice was a surprise from such a tiny woman, more like a thundering roar, and Natalya immediately fell silent, though her eyes glittered with resentment as she scowled. Mrs. B stared at them.
"You think I am kidding, da? You must kiss. Or stay there all night. I can wait." To demonstrate her point, she drew herself up a chair. Alfred groaned and buried his face in his hands.
"…fine…." He mumbled unhappily, exchanging commiserating looks at Ivan. "Let's get this over with."
Natalya stood up on her toes and turned towards Ivan, puckered up. The boy rolled his eyes but kissed his little sister on the cheek, which placated her somewhat. She tried to step out of the little circle but upon seeing her mother's flashing eyes reluctantly stepped back in, little arms crossed. She was definitely sulking. She gave Ivan a big wet smooch on the cheek, and Alfred could see his best friend wipe at it in disgust.
Alfred bent down and kissed her hair with as much as enthusiasm as if he'd been asked to kiss a rabid cat. Natalya made a face and wiped at her head, as though afraid Alfred would leave germs. Natalya "kissed" Alfred on the cheek, though judging by Alfred's wince, the little girl had managed to use teeth.
Arthur very reluctantly bent down and he and Natalya glared at each other for a moment. Then Arthur kissed the air above Natalya's head and Natalya nipped at the air beside his cheek, and not at all in a playful manner. Mrs. Braginski nodded.
"Natalya, you may step out. You are done."
The little girl did so gladly, still staring angrily at the Jones brothers. Katyusha looked up from her cards. "Ivan, why don't you and Arthur kiss Alfred at the same time?" she asked gently. "Get it over with." Ivan desperately wanted to say nyet, but saw a spark enter Arthur's eyes. So, the scheming creep wanted to seem like a better kisser, da? Ivan narrowed his purple eyes, caught up in the heat of the moment. If there hadn't been fiery determination running through his veins, he might have actually caught up with his thoughts and have kicked himself. But it was just a friendly kiss. A kiss that had to be good, better than Arthur's. Natalya looked tremendously unhappy.
Alfred covered his eyes as both Ivan and Arthur bent towards him, Arthur smiling self-assuredly, Ivan's face set. The two leaned towards opposite sides of Alfred's face, and Ivan's heart started singing in his veins the way it did the other day. Still eyeing Arthur, Ivan turned his lips towards Alfred's cheeks and—
-and Alfred yelped and bent out of the way red-faced as Ivan and Arthur's lips accidentally connected for the briefest of seconds. Natalya went scarlet with rage and started hissing like a rattlesnake; Alfred's hands were over his mouth as Ivan started gagging, and Arthur began to retch, both rubbing their mouths furiously, as though they'd been burned.
"I—you-eeeyyyyyyuuucccccccchhhh!" howled Arthur, pawing at his face ferociously. "What the devil was that?"
"You are one to talk!" exclaimed Ivan furiously, using his sleeve to scrub his lips clean. Uggh, even after six or seven baths, his lips would still feel so incredibly filthy!
They both glared at Alfred, who was doubled up on the floor, laughing hysterically. He wasn't alone; Katyusha was trying to hold her laughter in to no avail, and Mrs. Braginski was actually clutching a stitch in her side. Natalya looked incensed. "Well, Ivan and Arthur both kissed at same time, so they are done with each other," said Mrs. B ironically, chuckling at the death-looks the boys were exchanging. "Alfred dear, you may have…dodged that one, but you must kiss Ivan and Arthur before you may go."
Tears running down his face, Alfred stood up, still silently shaking with laughter as he turned to face his brother. Arthur bent to kiss him on the lips, and Alfred reluctantly returned it, making a face. "There. Arthur, you may step out. Alfred? Vanya?"
The competitive burn in Ivan abruptly died as the boys looked at each other. Alfred smiled apologetically and looked at his shoes. Ivan shuffled forward, not saying anything. He would kiss Alfred on the nose and be done with it—then the boy could mimic him and MAYBE they wouldn't go to bed too humiliated to look at each other. He leaned forward, pressing his pale lips against Alfred's nose, and the boy started and immediately swiveled his head up, his lips accidentally brushing Ivan's.
If the blood had burned before, now it boiled; Alfred's eyes widened and Ivan just stared at him, too surprised to move, too distracted to want to move—
And then it was over. Arthur stepped back under the mistletoe to drag his brother away, and Natalya seized Ivan around the waist and tugged him back. Mrs. Braginski sighed.
"Arthur! Natalya! You stepped under the mistletoe! You must start all over again!"
~*oOo*~
Nine months later, little Arthur was frowning as Stanley took Matthew out of the room. Agatha's hands twisted themselves into the sheets, though she told herself not to be silly. 'So what. Babies cry. Arthur will forget this before dinner.'
Arthur tried to climb off the bed, but Mrs. Jones held him fast. 'Please. I don't want you to be like him, to be unable to have a relationship with anyone!' "If he cries, fine. Just try, okay, dear?"
Arthur pouted considerably, but allowed Mrs. Jones to place the second wriggling bundle into his arms. 'Please bond, please bond like the books said you would, please….' She thought desperately, praying with all of her might that Arthur would like Alfred. 'Please, I don't need him to love me but these boys need a kind elder brother, so please…'
Arthur determinedly frowned at Alfred, who was slowly settling in his arms, gas making his lips twitch up every now and again. The annoyed look on Arthur's face slowly melted away, and Agatha knew Arthur thought Alfred was smiling at him.
Perhaps he was. She would never know for certain.
The clock gently ticked away the seconds beside them, and Alfred began to settle into his rhythm, occasionally kicking ever so slightly at the air with his pajama-clad foot. Arthur's fingertip settled on the little leg and danced to the tiny scrap's foot, and there was that grin from Alfred which may or may have been a grin at all—was the boy ticklish?
Alfred squirmed as Arthur lightly stroked his little foot and Arthur stopped, his expression becoming brooding. Alfred let out the softest of coos and gripped Arthur's finger when it moved to his pitifully tiny hands. Alfred mewed like a kitten and smiled again, settling down.
Arthur's eyes glowed as he gently touched Alfred's cheek again, and the little boy swallowed heavily as Alfred gurgled, turning his face towards Arthur. Arthur did not smile, but looked entranced, as if he were holding a priceless treasure or his own child.
But the look was not entirely fatherly. There was a strange intensity growing in Arthur's eyes as he held the infant, lip wobbling slightly as if Arthur were about to cry. Mrs. Jones faintly felt something drop in the air, though she couldn't specify what in the world it was. It was as she were feeling a resounding vibrato from Arthur's own heartstrings.
Slowly but surely, a smile blossomed on Arthur's face, and he looked awed, blown away. The scene would have made the cover of thousands of Hallmark cards everywhere.
And yet, for some reason, the picture made Mrs. Jones very unnerved as she lowered her phone corder. She told herself to not be silly—after all, Arthur was a child with his sibling, not a desperate man enamored with a young woman—but all the same, she thought it best to move Alfred away for right now.
Because that was the precise way HE had looked at HER all those years, when THEY had met.
'Of course he's this fascinated—he's just met him,' thought Agatha Jones as she wiped her eyes, still partially touched by the overwhelming sweetness of the moment. 'By the end of next month, he'll be tired of them both.'
But maybe this was a very good thing. Maybe Arthur would finally get attached to someone. Maybe this was precisely what her little boy needed.
Sunlight drifted on the little boy and his brother from the window, and Alfred sleepily opened his eyes at the ray of light that fell on one of his eyes, making it sparkle. Arthur's breath hitched as Alfred's gaze wandered back to Arthur.
And Alfred smiled, or didn't smile, but Agatha's own breath caught at the tenderness Arthur showed as he moved the back of his head towards the light so the sun wasn't shining in the baby's face.
"You are a sweet thing, aren't you honey?" she asked Arthur, dabbing at the corner of her blue-gray eyes. "I think you and Alfred are going to get along just fine."
Arthur just nodded, still entranced. Agatha reached out for her newborn.
"I'll tuck this little guy in now for right now—"
Quiet kindness and wonder dissipated; Arthur started as if he'd been shocked, and the dreaminess on his face abruptly gave way to horror. He immediately drew the baby back with a sharp gasp, his green eyes frantic.
"No! Mine!" the three year old said desperately as his mother gave him a stern look. She was admittedly a bit shaken herself; Arthur rarely let himself get very worked up over things.
"Arthur, give him to me," said Mrs. Jones, as firmly as she could, scowling as Arthur attempted to soothe Alfred, who was mewing again, tremulously this time. "Don't be difficult. He needs to go to sleep."
Arthur just scooted farther away on the bed, Alfred still clenched in his arms.
"In a minute."
"Now." She couldn't explain why it had to be this very second. Weak as she was from giving birth just a short while ago, she still pried Alfred away from Arthur, who was gaping at her, astounded.
What happened next, she couldn't have prepared herself for: Arthur absolutely lost it. The boy threw his head back and started to scream—a horrifying scream, a piercing, grating shriek of agony, as if his mother were tearing into his innards rather than trying to put his brother down for a nap, and he threw himself at her even as she staggered to her feet in her hospital gown, clutching a distraught Alfred in her arms.
"M-Momma, Momma," sobbed Arthur, tears flooding down his red face. Mrs. Jones felt an inward rush and a resounding thrill; never once had Arthur called her that! "Gimme Alfred, Momma. Just another minute!"
Agatha hesitated, her heart breaking quietly. "No, sweetheart. Alfred needs to go beddy-bye."
Arthur pulled at her pajamas and cried heartily, frantically scratching at her legs as she put Alfred in his bassinette and tried to soothe both boys. "Shhh, Alfred, Shhhhh, Arthur, Arthur, calm down, you're scaring Alfred, Arthur—OUCH!" she howled. "We do not pinch, young man, and WE DO NOT SCRATCH! Stop it IMMEDIATELY or I'll—I'll spank you!" Never had she once hit Arthur.
Arthur threw himself on the floor and started beating his fists and feet against it, wailing in misery even as Alfred wailed. Stanley rushed back into the room, green eyes wide with panic. Aghast, he stared at Arthur writhing on the hospital floor, tears pouring out of his eyes and mucus dribbling everywhere on his red, red face. He exchanged an amazed look with Mrs. Jones, who looked ready to cry herself. Matthew's crying picked up at the noise, and now the room was a ridiculous explosion of screams. Mr. Jones rolled his eyes as he listened to what Arthur was saying.
"Oh, for God's sakes—"
"What do I do?" asked Mrs. Jones between barely moving lips. Stanley just looked at her.
"What do you do? I'll tell you what you can do—give him the damn baby, Agatha!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, looking increasingly distressed as Arthur's wails swept back into hysterical screams.
He scooped Alfred up, attempted to comfort both crying twins at once, and approached Arthur, whose cries were dying down. Stanley bent down to Arthur, always the kind, good guy who liked to be friends with everybody.
"Hey champ, would you like to go on a wheelchair ride? Huh? I bet the nurses wouldn't mind if we borrowed one for a moment. I'll push you around the halls. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
Even through his tears, Arthur threw the man a suspicious look. Mr. Jones chuckled.
"Yes, you can still hold Alfred. Or Matthew," he offered, not noticing Arthur's nose wrinkle slightly.
"I want Alfred."
Mr. Jones nodded, then, he handed the baby with the maple-leaf shaped birthmark over to his wife before he scooped up Arthur, and carefully maneuvered a crying Alfred into the boy's arms.
"Hold tightly to him now—not that tight! Okay, buddy, let's go." With Arthur in his arms and Alfred in his—Mrs. Jones thought vaguely of Russian nesting dolls—he left the room, leaving her alone with a whimpering baby in her arms. When her senses came back to her, she cradled poor Matthew in her arms and wept silently, loving him with all of her might even as fear prickled her insides, making her sick to her stomach.
Something was wrong.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
You bet your sweet behind there is. *Sighs* UsUk lovers, you WILL hopefully get your rush later on...but for right now, I'm tired and I think we've had enough of an incest fest.
Please, please review! Next Chapter: A Night of Vodka And Words. I wonder what's gonna happen here? ;)
Forgive me for any type-os, need to find a Beta! Ta, my lovelings! *Runs off*
