"The closer you get to the light, the greater your shadow becomes."
-Kingdom Hearts
Alfred seemed to have Arthur pinned beneath him on the mattress, not that it meant Arthur was contributing any less. Subtle moans drifted from their lips as they felt nothing but love at the moment. Arthur's hands messed up Alfred's hair and left his skin tingling from where his timid fingers touched. Alfred's own nimble fingers played with the buttons on Arthur's shirt, wanting to remo—
"Alfred F. Jones! What in God's name are you doing?!" a change of air and a new figure stood aghast at the doorframe as the accused subject's eyes snapped up to meet his mother's.
Alfred's eyes widened in alarm at being interrupted—by his mom none less—and tried desperately to think of an excuse.
Giving a somewhat defeated look, he grinned sheepishly. "Kissing Arthur?"
"Well I can see that! Was this whole adopting thing just so you could keep dating or whatever? What happened to telling me about this?"
"No! We're not dating, this just- just sort of happened!" Alfred shook his head.
"So you go around kissing everyone that you feel like? And that looked like it would have been more if I hadn't come in here. You're only seventeen!" his mother exclaimed.
"I'll be eighteen in a couple months!" Alfred argued.
"You're actually considering it!"
"I'm not! I swear!"
Although blushing immensely, Arthur managed to compose himself enough and sit up straight.
"Mrs. Jones, really, it was nothing. Just a mistake. Haven't you been our age? Were you always perfect?" Arthur turned the matter to her.
Alfred's (or should I say both of theirs?) mother gave a sigh and looked back at them a bit more empathetically.
"Of course I've made mistakes, especially at your age," she admitted. "But you two are brothers now, and this is incest. Keep that in mind, and know I'll be checking on you two more often."
On that note, their mother walked out of the room, sending one last glance over her shoulder as she disappeared behind the frame. Alfred and Arthur gained more distance between them on the bed and didn't look anywhere in particular.
"Well that was awkward," Alfred broke the silence and looked over at Arthur.
Arthur nodded, unable to bravely find words like Alfred did.
Even the walls and carpet were silent except for creaking whispers of old hinges when a door opened or closed. The quietness was becoming all too familiar, and Alfred raised his voice to speak again.
"But at least you got her off our backs. I don't know what she would have done if she knew," he laughed.
Arthur looked over his way somewhat curiously. "Knew?"
Curiosity peaked in Alfred's eyes, as if they were on different pages of the same book.
"Well, we're not just friends now right?" Alfred asked, tilting his head.
Arthur was quiet for a moment before he replied, "I was serious when I said this was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened."
Alfred's smile fell slightly. Everything that just happened… Everything he just felt—thought both of them felt—was it all wrong? Was the electricity sparking through his body only with himself? He couldn't take that. It just felt wrong to assume such a thing. It had to be both ways.
"You didn't… Feel anything?"
"It just… Just happened. We lost our minds for a moment."
Something akin to impatience flowed through Alfred's body.
"But you're dodging my question," Alfred pressed and grabbed hold of his wrist.
"We were caught up in the moment. This isn't love," Arthur stated in a low voice, still looking away.
Then why is my heart beating so fast?
Alfred turned so he could look at his face directly, forcing their eyes together. Green and blue irises dancing in perfect harmony and yet discordant was the music.
"I want you to look me in the eye and say you didn't feel anything in that kiss."
Arthur felt spikes prickle up his arm at Alfred's touch and jerked his hand away. He stood shakily and turned to face him, gazing blindly into his passionate eyes. And such words found from his chapped lips felt so cold.
"I felt nothing."
Arthur Kirkland ran with a burning heart—though the burn not from running this time. The chilly night air worked against his cold arms and torso, only a thin shirt and layer of makeup to cover the flesh. He knew it was only making it worse to run, but he needed to clear his head.
Everything was fine in his life—less complicated—until he met Alfred. And yet, until he met Alfred he hadn't much of a life. For the first time in his life he'd known compassion and love—and not only romantic love. Just simple brotherly love. Kindness in a sense.
This wasn't right.
It felt as if he was just clinging to the first source that was decent to him. He's overreacting. There's a difference between love, like, and lust. Since he's never had anything remotely close to them… How does he tell the difference? But there's a reason they all start the same way.
He's a child.
Arthur had never had his first crush, his first love his first like even. Why must there be those whom expect him to act on impulse and come crashing down when he's so lost?
Arthur didn't know for how long he'd been walking before he found himself sitting on a park bench next to a stranger. Well perhaps not a stranger; he looked familiar but he couldn't remember his name, though his face seemed familiar.
"Stop looking at me like that, bastard, what do you want?" came a brash voice through the shadowy air.
"Sorry," Arthur apologized softly, "It's just that you looked familiar."
The man next to him squinted through the dim shadows, and Arthur could make out his features from under the dim street light.
"Feliciano?" Arthur inquired.
"It's just like everyone to think I'm my brother," the twin mumbled and crossed his arms.
"Sorry, I'm Arthur. What's your name? I don't think we've properly met."
Lovino scoffed. "For good reason, too."
Arthur sighed. He didn't need to question any further to know he wasn't going to find much a companion out of this guy. He pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned back on the bench. The air pushed his hair around and he didn't bother to fix it. He felt so right out in nature. He often wished he didn't leave Oscar.
There were lightning bugs out that night. They flashed around and mingled with each other to fill the void of silence. Arthur was never much for words anyways. Words were nothing compared to the beauty of action and sight. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.
You could hear the faint laughter in the background by a couple passing by behind them. They were in their mid-twenties, and by the looks of it, they were deeply in love. Arthur could feel his lips lift into a soft smile; an action that was not often performed by the boy.
The crickets' arthritis had been cured and pulchritudinous music was played on woodwind instruments. Arthur took a deep breath and took in the pine and whistling breeze. He felt like he belonged out here. Caged walls reminded him of the past; the trees and wind reminded him he was free.
"So why are you out here?" Lovino asked quietly, not rashly for a change.
Arthur's smile stretched. "What am I out here?"
"I just asked you that, idiot," he stared down at the flowers that were wilting.
"Well I guess it started as running here to escape Alfred. You?"
The man flung his arm in the direction of his home. "Waiting for the Spanish bastard to clear out of my house."
They were submerged in another chilling silence.
"Life is so screwed up," Lovino blurted.
Arthur turned to look at him sideways, half in question, half in agreement.
"Isn't it?" Arthur asked, turning to face the normally-angry teen. "Want to talk?"
Lovino sighed looked down at his feet. "I just… Everyone always looks at how amazing my brother is and expects me to be the same," he started in a quiet voice. "I'm not fucking perfect like him. Don't they get that? My grandfather especially. He treats Feliciano like God and pushes me down a river. My dad died in war; MIA. My mom left when she realized our dad was never coming back. Everyone leaves me."
Arthur's gaze had drifted away during the story but he hung onto each word.
"What about you?" Lovino turned the tables.
Arthur almost smiled. "It's complicated."
"So I spill my life story and get nothing? Give me something to go on."
The night air swirled between them and the stars danced in the sky as they gazed upon the ballet show. There was a certain quietness overcast on them as if it was raining, and yet, they were so dry and cool. A strange sort of silence and beauty.
"I was born in England," Arthur started.
"Explains the accent," Lovino interrupted softly.
Arthur nodded briefly.
"My mom died in child birth and there's no record of a boyfriend or husband. A lot of people just thought that she got pregnant on mistake by some guy while having fun or whatever. I'm not so sure about it though. Anyways, after that, I was put up for adoption and someone here in the US adopted me, and here I am," Arthur spared any gruesome details.
Lovino said gruffly, "I guess I'm not the only one with issues."
A pair of familiar arms appeared and grabbed Lovino.
"What the?!"
"Lovi~!" Antonio's voice chimed.
The melancholy atmosphere lifted and the moon took the spotlight from the dreary stars.
"Let go of me!" a blush spread over his cheeks and he swatted weakly at the arms.
"Never!" Antonio grinned and managed to pick up the smaller man and carry him back in the direction of their house.
Arthur watched their figure retreat almost as soon as they had appeared. He could hardly make out a shout from the distance, obviously Antonio's voice.
"Bye, Arthur!"
Arthur chuckled to himself, not bothering to reply since Antonio probably wouldn't be able to hear him from this distance.
Deciding it's about time to go back as well, he stood from the park bench almost sadly and walked back solemnly in the direction of Alfred's home.
By the time Arthur was home, Alfred seemed to have returned to his own room and was presumably asleep. Arthur managed to slip into the house without anyone noticing his absence, not that anyone would care if he was gone anyways—God, he had to stop thinking like that.
His bedroom seemed gloomier and the walls confined him in such a manner he didn't feel fond of. He opened a window just halfway and felt the cool air leave imprints on his skin. He gazed out into the luminescent stars and he wished—just for a moment—that he could be an astronaut.
It's a silly dream, really; a dream that all children have at some point. By the time you reach a certain age, the cruel world had a tendency to wring out any aspirations lingering in your childish heart. Being an artist wasn't a logical profession. Being a dancer couldn't pay the bills. A musician? Forget it. You're not smart enough for math. Those two really smart girls in biology class already have the scientist job laid out on a silver platter.
And you can't be an astronaut either.
If Arthur concentrated just enough, he could change the colors of things in his mind. He could visualize things that weren't there all on his own. But, they were there, to Arthur they were. For something to be "there," what are the requirements? Must others acknowledge it? By that definition, a lot of things in Arthur's life wouldn't be "there."
His bed felt soft, and yet, a certain roughness at the same time. The pillow wasn't under his head, leaving him staring at the ceiling. Black splotches clouded his vision, and before he knew it, his eyes slipped shut and he fell into a deep slumber.
Arthur was climbing a rope and his hands felt slippery and damp. They hurt with the pain of a thousand suns. His body weight pulled him down and he clung to the dingy thing with all his strength. It was the only thing he could see, for the rest was black—pitch black shadows. He could hear other people struggling around him, and he felt pity well up in his heart. But why, when he was in the stuck in the same situation?
He felt lost.
His hands were crimson and it led trails of splotches and grotesque prints on the rope. He could see his flesh ripped and tattered at the palm. Perhaps his hands were bleeding, but in this light, you never were too sure.
Arthur's mind was murky and he couldn't see past any amount of fog clouding his thoughts.
Oh his mind, it was so weary and it wouldn't work at all. It was a clock with a broken hand and a missing peg. His brain felt smashed into mushy pieces and shredded into things that no one cared enough to place into a waste bin.
Everything about his body felt tired. Fatigue was all too familiar to the boy and he wished to close his eyes—just for a moment. There were many kinds of sleep, and he didn't know which one he would succumb to if he allowed himself. He didn't know if he wanted that, and for all he knew, he could want to welcome sleep with warm, open arms and a scarred heart.
Gradually, he felt his hands slipping on the liquid caked over his hands. Clenching his teeth, he gripped harder and fought the urge to yelp of pain. His muscles felt tense and he lost his grip, his fingers unwrapping from the taut hold.
He could feel he was falling—he could. But where was he falling to? Centuries could have passed in the time he was sitting in nothing. His heart jumped up to his throat and sheer fear was crawling from every orifice in his body.
He could feel he was falling—he could. But he was frightened of where he would land.
"I found him!" Antonio sang loudly as he opened the door boisterously with a struggling Italian in his arms.
Feliciano didn't look too surprised and greeted them at the door.
Antonio and Feliciano seemed to submerse in a conversation while Lovino continued to slap weakly at his shoulder, obviously losing his drive. No one else seemed to look his way, though he was in the arms of one whom was in the conversation. Of course, he was always in the shadows of a greater figure.
Antonio's smile stretched wider around the pair and he glistened brightly even at dusk. Lovino was enraptured in his own mind while the blabbering idiot continued to spout nonsense. Why the world tended to speak in such ways, Lovino would never know.
It didn't take long for Feliciano to offer the wonderful man a chair at the dinner table, only for the offer to be turned down by a glance at the clock. Antonio bid his farewells, sending Lovino an unnecessary smile on his way out.
And the act crashed as the last soul left.
Feliciano's dopy look dissipated and Lovino's scowl melted to a neutral tone. This seemed routine for when family was on its own.
"Are you ready for dinner?" Feliciano asked his brother in a tone much lower than he would if others were present.
"Anything's fine," Lovino responded blandly.
The table was set in relative silence, but it was not an awkward silence; that is just what things were like in the Vargas household. The plates and utensils clinked around as they touched the fine china and scraped up food. The usual meal was spaghetti and meatballs. Being from Italy, they were quite good cooks—especially with anything with tomatoes or pasta.
"You shouldn't shut him out," Feliciano said quietly, almost cautiously.
There was a few moments of silence before Lovino responded, "I don't know what you're saying."
Hurt flashed over Feliciano's features.
"We used to tell each other everything," he said, "Why are we so different now?"
Lovino shook his head. This wasn't worth his time, he decided. His brother would just often be in these types of moods when their grandfather was not home and they were there alone for dinner. They didn't care much—they tried to convince themselves. They were adults, and they were mature enough to handle themselves—they tried to convince themselves.
"I can tell," Feliciano tried to continue.
"Tell what?" said Lovino, a bit agitated at this point; his fork pierced a meatball.
"You're growing fond of Antonio. What's so wrong with that?"
Lovino put down his fork. "I don't know what you're going on about," he insisted almost viciously, "But I would hope you think before you speak next time."
The unsettled man stood from his dining chair with a squeak across the wood flooring, picking up his unfinished plate of food and taking it to the sink. He wasn't that hungry that day, he reasoned. He turned around in the direction of his bedroom to see a grim looking Feliciano a few feet from him. He looked at him with such remorse in his eyes glistening of unshed tears.
"I know you're scared after what happened with me," his voice trembled, "but don't let your love slip through your fingers when you have a chance."
His footsteps were far too loud as he walked forward, holding his hands and gazing wistfully between his fingers.
"Don't let him slip away like mine did."
I hope you liked this chapter! I admit, not much happened, but I focused more on character development. That's important too right? Also I'm trying to make this last until 50k so that might also be making up for lack of things happening.
I have decided: I'm going to rewrite this as a novel for NaNoWriMo. THEREFORE: Updates will be a lot more frequent. My goal is to write 1k a day, so updates will be every three days (and if I miss a day feel free to PM me and go all WTF ARE YOU DOING WRITER-DUDE?!) So it'll be done sometime by the end of October. THEN I can rewrite a chapter a day during November and have it all done by the time it's due! WHEW I HOPE THIS WORKS!
Remember to review~