So this is a small diversion chapter away from Arthur and Gil because I really wanted to resolve the whole Francis-Antonio-Lovino thing. I figure something's got to give.
I am very evil, and I am also using crack pairings as plot devices. So over the next two chapters there will be Denmano, with Arthur and Gil as spectacularly unsubtle matchmakers. Oh, and one-sided SuDen, proper SuFin and depressed Denmark. Should be good!
Also the tomato martini is trufax. Google it.
I own nothing except the plot. You can eat my hand if I'm lying.
From now on over the next week I will upload a series of 1000-ish word mini-chapters tying up a few loose ends so I can focus on In the Heart of the Forest and Please Don't Send Me Roses in particular. This should be done by a week on Saturday, fingers crossed.
How to break a heart in under twenty words Part One
Lovino was on his third tomato martini. They were damn difficult to make; tomato water takes ages to acquire, but he fucking deserved it. When the tomato bastard comes back I'm going to throw the glass at his head. So fucking there.
At three o'clock, before Lovino went off on his late shift at his Nonno's restaurant, he had received a call. Checking the caller ID he was surprised to see the words 'Depressed Eyebrow Bastard' alight at the top of the screen. He had a momentary debate over whether or not to answer him, before deciding even he couldn't be drunk at three in the afternoon. He pressed 'Accept call' on the screen. What he was greeted with was not a depressed eyebrow bastard but a surprisingly serious sounding Gilbert. "Is that you, Romano?" (Lovino hated his "girly" first name as much as he hated being called 'Lovi~', so naturally Gilbert took any opportunity greet him with it, drawing the syllables out so it became 'Loh-veeeeeee-noooooo~~'. The fact that Gilbert was calling him by his much preferred middle name was a worry in himself.)
Naturally Romano (as he shall now be called) was surprised at hearing potato bastard number 2 on the phone. "Albino potato bastard?" A heavy sigh on the other end of the line.
"Ja, that's me." Romano was almost panicking. He hadn't even argued back…
"Why are you on eyebrow bastard's phone? What do you want, bastard?" He was yelling, unbelievably confused. "Has something happened? Why the fuck are you calling me?" He could almost hear Gilbert rubbing the bridge of his nose over the phone. So the bastard Potato Brothers do have something in common. "I don't know if you'll want to hear this…"
"So why the fuck are you telling me?!" Romano yelled over him.
"Would you just shut the hell up for once? Mein Gott, are you trying to break the verdammt windows?" Romano shut the hell up. Gilbert was known for many things, but yelling was not one of them. He was generally a very laid back guy. Che, his even more idiotic brother makes up for the lack of yelling. Feli has no taste in men. He must use all of it on pasta. "So what is it?" He asked in a small voice. He had the strong and unexplained urge to wave a white flag around. Fucking Italian heritage. Again he heard an intake of breath on the other end.
"Antonio cheating on you with Francis wasn't just a one-time thing. He's been doing it with Francis for, oh, five years?" Romano felt his world shatter around him. Twenty words to a broken heart.
"But that's…" He trailed off and Gilbert finished the sentence for him.
"Longer than you've been dating, I believe. Sorry, man." He felt a sob build up and chokes it out brokenly through his throat. "So.. what? I'm the other woman!" His voice came out as a screech and more than a little hoarse. A new voice emits from the phone's speaker. One with a decidedly more British accent.
"No, it's not that bad. Francis was the other woman before you even came on the scene, Romano." The use of this name by Arthur was not surprising. He knew Arthur sympathised with the whole stupid nickname thing. The sympathetic tone, however, was. Arthur was not known to be the most tactful or caring character, but he sounded like he was involved in some kind of attempt to foil a suicide.
"Why did you have to tell me?" A whisper, but the microphone picked it up. He felt Arthur's guilt, second thoughts practically visible in the air. He came to the conclusion it was not the eyebrow bastard's idea.
"Would you rather he kept doing it? I left Francis when I found them in our bed, fucking like homosexual rabbits, for the twentieth time. And that was just those two!" He knew Arthur is letting out frustration at Francis but the anger in his voice riled Romano up.
"Well fuck you! I didn't need or want to know! This is just your fucked up revenge on Antonio!" He didn't know whether to hang up and throw the phone at the wall or giggle hysterically when Arthur said, "You're a poet and you didn't know it." But Arthur continues with, "Sorry. I have a tendency to insert inappropriate humour in awkward situations." He chuckled a bit uncomfortably. "But you are genuinely too good for him, even if you are an angry tomato obsessed wanker." Romano knew an affectionate insult, and indeed an affectionate-insulter when he saw one. Takes one to know one after all. He smiles a little.
"Thanks, eyebrow bastard." A though occurs to him. "Wait, you left Francis? And you haven't slit your wrists?" He remembered Arthur being depressed enough when he was still in a relationship with Francis. He seemed actually more chirpy than then, on the phone. He thinks he can hear Gilbert laughing his weird laugh slightly dampened by the obvious distance from the phone.
"Anytime, tomato wanker. And I'm with Gilbert now. So, yeah. Quite a lot happier, actually." Romano's sadness came back tenfold. Fine for some, isn't it, bastard? Is what he thinks. What he says is, "Dios mio, and I thought you had standards, eyebrow bastard! At least the gropey bastard was good looking." He hears a distinct 'Oi!' in the background. Gilbert must have heard that. Romano couldn't help but wonder why he was never properly friends with these people before. Arthur and Gilbert with their daft double act made him smile more in thirty seconds than the grinning tomato idiot managed in a year. But then he's always enjoyed trading insults. And Antonio always was too nice for that. Maybe he was compensating. Another sob choked out, the depression nearly crushing him. He could barely breathe.
Arthur on the other end started to panic. "Hey, hey, calm down, love. Look, come out drinking with us tonight. Don't worry, you won't have to play gooseberry, we've got another friend coming along too. It'll be fun!" It was fair to say he wasn't used to dealing with sobbing Italians having a breakdown over the phone. "Meet us at the Swan at seven?"
Romano sniffled a bit. "Y-yeah, idiot. I guess. See you there. Bastard." He hung up and slumped against the wall before shuffling to the kitchen. He made a quick call to his nonno informing him that he couldn't work tonight as his heart was rotting in his chest.
The tears burned his eyes as he ran around the house in a blind rage, gathering all of Antonio's stuff and piling it in the hallway. In a brief fit of childish pique, he stomped up and down on the pile until he heard something snap.
He grabbed the vodka and tomato water and slumped at the table waiting for Antonio to come home, hand over one eye.
A few miles away in a basement, two men stared at the phone. The blonde-haired man looked worried, nervously chewing his lip. The other one had a confident air although was without his trademark smirk.
"Do you think we did the right thing?" Arthur was sat on a bean bag, staring at the phone, still. The tears had freaked him out a little. Despite his large amount of experience with them he still didn't know quite how to deal with them in others. "I mean, will he be OK? He's not going to slit his wrists or give himself alcohol poisoning, is he?" Gilbert grinned lazily from his position reading a car magazine on the sofa, sitting across it with his shoes defiantly on. Ludwig might not have been around to yell at him anymore but old habits die hard.
"No, that's what you do." Arthur turned a bit red and scowled at him.
"Bugger off, you insufferable twat! I have never slashed my wrists or given myself alcohol poisoning! Your levels of arsehollery increase daily!" Gilbert's grin increased to Cheshire cat levels.
"I don't see you leaving, hase." The shorter man went even redder.
"Why can't you take anything seriously? And no. Bloody. Animal. Nicknames!" Gilbert rolled his eyes but softened his smile.
"Hey, calm down. He'll be fine. The Awesome me is there to support him, and you too, of course!" Arthur's deadpan look said it all. "You love me really, eyebrows."
"Whatever you say, goat face." But of course, he walked over and kissed the Prussian anyway. "You may be a red-eyed idiot, but at least you're my red-eyed idiot." This was followed by a rather undignified squawk as the red-eyed idiot pulled Arthur onto his lap. "Love you too, hase."
"Fuck you." Or rather "'uhk 'oo." Arthur's face was squashed on the arm of the sofa after all.
In a different pub to his usual, a man with spikey hair sat alone with a Carlsberg beer and a wedding invitation. Berwald Øxtenstierna and Tino Väinämöinen invite you to their wedding reception at the Ritz hotel. He rested his head on the bar in despair,his usual cheerful smile completely gone.
The fifteen little words on the invitation, no, summons, burned in his mind. Fifteen words for a broken heart.