Author's Notes: There's a surprise at the end—!
But y'all have to wait and read before finding out what it is. ;p
C'mon kids, no cheating, 'kay~~? 8D
With that said, HAPPY READING—! –glomps– …Oh…sorry…I'll un-latch myself from your and let you read now. XD
~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~
Arriving in Tokyo, everyone's mood improved tremendously.
It must've been the thrill of going to a completely different place. Despite of trying to remain professional, Matthew wore a big, happy grin on his face, and his steps had a small bounce to them as he followed his team heading out of the airport building.
As soon as they'd come out through customs and gotten their luggage, they were greeted by a young man dressed in a set of white suit and pants, followed by a group of men in black ones.
The young man's name was Kiku. He wore a blank, but respectable expression that was only broken when he spoke to Yao, whom he spared a small, warm smile to. Later on the Chinese man explained to his team mates that they had met numerous times growing up while Yao had been in Asia.
Kiku was slim, proper, and had an air of refinement about him that made Matthew feel as though he should be treated delicately. However, there was a firm glint in his almost dull eyes that spoke of determination, quiet strength, and a strong will. His hair was straight, and cut neatly to frame his face. His posture was that of formality.
After brief introductions, Matthew learnt that Kiku was, in fact, Mr. Honda the politician and wealthy-landowner's son, and had been sent by the older man of the house to take the team on a brief tour of the city before a long drive to the countryside, where the estate was. A few cordial words were exchanged, in the midst of which an awkward episode of an excited Alfred attempting to pull the Japanese man into a hug happened (Kiku looked horrified and managed to evade it). Not a moment after, the team set out to a new adventure with the men in black insisting to take their luggage and bags.
As soon as they stepped out of the door of the main building, a horde of camera men and reporters with microphones surrounded them, chattering loudly and asking questions.
Several crowded around Matthew, who let out a few flustered "eh?"s and scooted closer to Francis, who actually didn't look all that bothered by the attention.
Alfred, another one who enjoyed being put under the spotlight, was exclaiming in a loud voice with hands on his hips and chest huffed up of his proud American heroism with bright, shiny eyes when Yao yanked him away and sent him a glare, which was quite threatening and shut the blonde up for good.
The men in black began to push the media aside, while Kiku, with a polite but cool smile, addressed the cameras and microphones shoved in his face with small bows and a clear voice.
Of course none of the team really knew what was being said, but it was clear that the situation was nothing new to the young Japanese man.
Eventually they made it to the opened door of a black, sleek limousine. Filing into it, Matthew sighed in relief, glad to be hidden away from the cameras. As everyone made it inside the very spacious car and settled down, Kiku turned to the foreigners and gave a slight bow of head.
"I apologize for the trouble," He spoke softly, but distinctly, "I am afraid that as long as we are in Tokyo, or any city, they will be everywhere we go."
"It's okay, aru; we understand." Yao nodded, giving a warm smile.
"I also apologize in place for my father, who could not personally welcome you to Japan. He is more closely watched by the media, as well as the other candidates, since the election is very near, so it would not be wise to meet him."
"…It must be hard being a politician, eh?" Matthew rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.
Kiku turned his dark eyes and met his gaze; "Yes, it is, but it must be done. My father wishes to do good things for the world, starting with his homeland, and as do I." A small, kind smile softened his features a little; "So it is a willing sacrifice." He added on.
Matthew felt a little immature at asking such a question. He gave an awkward laugh and nodded.
The Japanese man actually looked amused for a split second before his expression changed back to his previous blankness.
"I have a story prepared for you should you be confronted by a personnel of the media while I am not present," Double-checking that everyone was listening attentively (Alfred, looking out the window absentmindedly, was swatted on the arm by Yao), Kiku continued: "You are here strictly to attend the engagement celebration banquet held for my fiancée Wang Mei and I. Yao, being a direct family member and one of the guests of honour, had arrived early for a lengthier visit—"
"-Wait! Hold on!" Alfred interrupted, looking quite serious.
All eyes turned to the American, who turned to Yao, eyes round and mouth agape; "You have a sister?"
Yao sighed, and Matthew groaned, knowing a tirade before he heard one. Francis kept quiet, but rolled his eyes.
"Man, if she looks like you but just with boobs then she must be pretty hot! I mean, Arthur's great and all, but I don't like to limit myself to only 'one side of the fence', if you know what I mean." The American gave a suggestive wiggle of the eyebrows that was quite vulgar by nature and leaned towards the Chinese man, who was looking more uncomfortable by the second sitting beside him; "And I'm totally up for settlin' down too, ya know! Marriage is the shit!" Yao squirmed and tried to scoot away. "The hero is always in high demand of course, but you're like my bro! I'd give you priority in a heartbeat!" The energetic blonde leaned in even closer, and flashed a toothy grin. "So uh…you got any other sisters?"
"No, aru! Stop pushing against me!" Yao really wished that Ivan or Arthur were there to save him.
"Damn…you got any brothers then?"
"No! …Well, yes but…No! You are embarrassing our agency, aru!" Giving Alfred a hard stare, the dark-haired man pursed his lips; "…I'm not Arthur, aru."
Alfred's cheeky expression slowly dropped.
Matthew felt bad for the American, who had been quite restless and agitated as of late.
Alfred blinked a few times, and leaned away, line of vision lowering. He watched his hands fiddle with each other, and did not reply.
Kiku, not knowing exactly what was going on, took that as a sign to continue on what he was saying before he was interrupted:
"Back to the story prepared – you are to say that you are also invited to the banquet, and, being close friends with Yao and I, have arrived early as well. If you are asked about how you know of my family, simply say Yao had introduced you to me when we were young." Seeing nods from the team, the Japanese man added on: "It would still be best to politely refuse their questions or keep your answers short and try to evade them. Your efforts will be appreciated. Thank you." He bowed a little.
Francis nodded in understanding; Alfred mumbled an "Ok". Yao smiled and spoke a "No problem". Matthew, mimicking Kiku the best he could, bowed back, and muttered an "I understand".
Kiku seemed to appreciate the efforts, and gave the Canadian a small smile.
The drive heading downtown was relatively silent. Matthew dozed off for a while, leaning against Francis, who looked quite comfy and pleased, happily wrapping his arms firmer around the smaller man. Yao conversed with Kiku every once in a while, asking about his family and other friendly questions. Alfred eventually decided to lie down on the long seats, pretending to have fallen asleep, but the lack of light snores made it clear to the others that he was quite awake, though he probably wished he wasn't.
Looking at Matthew and Francis made his heart clench with sadness and jealousy, which were emotions he liked to avoid. The Canadian and the Frenchman were like a mirror, or rather, an idea of what he and Arthur could've been, but somehow just never managed to achieve.
His phone suddenly felt heavy in his pocket, and his fingers itched to grab it and call the British man. However, it was not good timing; he decided that waiting a few more hours once they reached the Honda estates and settled down wouldn't hurt.
Once they arrived at city center, the semi-silence was broken and an excited chatter settled over the team.
The streets were bustling with life. Windows of tall buildings reflected the light of a sunny day, dazzling and beautiful. Bright, colourful banners and signs lined the sides of the streets. Restaurants, cafés, big department stores, and many other countless types of business shops thrived with life as people in sophisticated work clothes, casual wear, school uniforms, and sometimes downright peculiar street fashion walking in and out of their doors.
Matthew didn't dare to blink, staring and feeling almost overwhelmed by the scenery.
Francis, however, seemed to enjoy watching the beaming happiness sparkling in the Canadian's round, clear eyes more, wearing a warm smile of his own.
Alfred was heard saying "Wow!", "Whoa…!", "Look at that!", and many other variants of exclaims.
"This is like New York, but Japanese!" He said excitedly.
His statement did not rouse a reply, but he was too busy looking around to care.
They were taken to a high-class Japanese restaurant recommended by Kiku for an in-between meal. Dodging another horde of media folks, they managed to make it into the restaurant without much hassle, and marveled at the stunning interior design.
Matthew felt horribly underdressed, and suddenly understood to some extent why Francis was dressed up all the time.
You just never know what situation you might find yourself in.
However, as soon as the food arrived, all self-conscious thoughts were thrown out the window as his stomach growled in protest of being empty for a lengthy while.
~o0o0o0o0o~
Rain drizzled in Cottborough, England.
It was this weather that annoyed Arthur the most. He'd much rather have a thundering rainstorm than some heavily overcast day irritatingly rainy but was not rainy enough to deserve an umbrella.
Make up your damned mind already! He wanted to yell at the sky, which was dark and gloomy. It did nothing for his mood, which made his stomach churn uncomfortably and his head throb.
The stab wound from the Natalia case stung a little; it tended to do that whenever it rained.
It reminded him of Alfred, which didn't help the angry scowl on his face to fade.
Stupid bugger…he took a goddamn knife in the back for him! And all he had to say on the phone was—
Arthur shook his head, wet tips of his hair sticking to his cheeks.
He promised himself to never think about it again, or, at the very least, not until the conference is over.
Walking briskly down a cobblestone sidewalk and wearing only a long, black coat to shield him from the elements, he put his hands into his pockets, and tried to snuggle his ears against the fuzzy scarf he had around his neck.
Maybe he should've brought an umbrella after all, since the rain began to drizzle harder.
Stupid rain…
As much as he wanted to turn on his heels and seek shelter back at the hotel reserved for the tri-yearly event, his wounded pride would not let him. He knew that, as soon as he returned, he'd see Andreas Thorne's insufferable face split into an insufferable grin.
Whoever arranged and assigned the rooms, he was going to kill him.
The first familiar face he saw upon arriving at the hotel was the slimy little man's face, and the first "hello" he got was "your eyebrows grew bushier, Arthur; they are still much livelier than you, I see".
A second after that greeting statement was made Andreas Thorne got a punch in the face.
His bad start only got worse when he checked into his room.
Walking down the hall, his stomach hurled in disgust as he saw the same slimy little man leaning against the door frame of the room next to the one he was to stay in. The slimy little man was talking to someone they both knew well, whom Arthur had a crush on many years ago.
A few banters later, Andreas Thorne received another punch in the face before the fuming Kirkland threw the door to his room closed behind him.
Then there was the horrible dinner where all the attendees of the conference sat around a big, round table, chatting in pleasant murmurs and sharing interesting stories of the past three years where many of them didn't see each other at all.
Arthur sat alone, twirling a glass of wine and feeling more frustrated by the second as the gesture reminded him of a certain Frenchman, who reminded him of a certain agency, which reminded him of a certain American who was the biggest bloody idiot in the history of idiots.
He wasn't very hungry because he'd had a big lunch; or it could be that his stomach was doing flip-flops out of nervousness for the upcoming complicated ritual he had to do where he could very easily humiliate himself and his family by boldly attempting to do it all by himself.
Damnit…He needed something stronger than this measly wine.
But he chucked it down anyways, and curtly waved a waiter close to get another glassful.
Actually… "Leave the bottle." He didn't bother being polite, and the waiter frowned, but did as he was told.
Maybe if he drank enough, he'd feel the need to go to the bathroom and leave the almost suffocating room (as spacious as it was).
It was never like this; he'd always enjoyed attending the conference as its contents greatly interested him, despite of slimy little Andreas, but he'd always been accompanying his father, whose company he dutifully kept. Unfortunately the old man was not here this time; it was then he started to realize how he really didn't even have anyone to chat up and pretend to give a damn about.
They were colleagues, but many were jealous of the vast resources and collections of old books his family kept hidden deep in their underground library.
He was alone, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was a little intimidated.
He was just starting to feel a slight need to pee when slimy little Andreas sauntered over with his usual smile which was always insufferable.
Andreas Thorne had changed a lot since the last time they'd seen each other. In fact, he was almost a completely different person every time they happened to see each other. The man had an androgynous and versatile enough face to easily change his appearance to alarming degrees with makeup, hair dyes, and God-awful, flamboyant clothes. This year, he had style similar to what many referred to as "the peacock age", and had his hair dyed red and in tight curls.
What the hell was going on in that head of his when he got that hair…Arthur thought sourly, grimacing.
Despite of how Thorne had grown out of his slimy, little self, to Arthur, he was always going to be that slimy, little self.
Downing another glassful of wine, the green-eyed blonde turned his eyes to the opposite wall as soon as the redhead stopped to stand beside him.
"Ahem," Even Thorne's voice was slimy, "I believe you owe me an apology, Kirkland."
"Bugger off, Thorne. Or better yet, go bugger yourself."
He grabbed the wine bottle and took a swig.
Screw the glass.
"So uncivilized for the sole inheritor of such an old, respectable family," Thorne gave a dry, haughty sniff.
"So downright repulsive for the son of a close friend of that old, respectable family." Arthur tilted his face a little just to send a dark glare to the redhead.
"I was merely kidding around with you and you punched me twice in the face, even for you, those were much uncalled for."
Thorne was right to some extent; they were a little uncalled for, though he did feel a lot better about the whole situation with Alfred after he gave those punches.
When the slimy, little man didn't go away like he had expected, he realized that he was waiting for a reply.
Damn…was he getting drunk already…?
He hadn't noticed.
The bottle was too empty, so he waved over another waiter.
"Well?"
Ignoring the slimy, little man, he took another swig.
Why isn't he going away?
"Why aren't you going away?" He decided to speak out his thoughts.
"I don't understand why you are so hostile towards me, Arthur. We used to be good friends when we were young."
There was a tense pause as the one sitting down stiffened.
"…You know why."
Arthur's voice was bitter, and coldly biting.
"We were never friends, you bloody wanker." A scoffing chortle of sarcastic laughter followed his statement. "Don't make me laugh. You're faker than your face."
It wasn't until he was bent over on the floor, retching out his newly consumed wine onto the carpet did he notice that the slimy, little bastard had actually pulled him up by the collars of his shirt and punched him in the stomach.
He then fled the dining room in stomping steps, trying to pretend he didn't feel the many pairs of eyes staring into his back. He didn't know if it was because he was a little tipsy, but he felt an overwhelming urge to cry.
Embarrassment, mixed with shame and self-condescending disgust, made him suddenly miss Alfred of all people.
Why didn't Alfred fly in through the window like those heroes in American comic books wearing something hideously ridiculous yet sinfully tight, beat the crap out of slimy, little Andreas Thorne, and carry him away to his hotel room where they will make passionate love all the way till the next morning?
Water splashed as he stepped into a puddle.
Deciding he was feeling hungry and that his hair was becoming too drenched from walking around outside, he turned and walked into the first diner-and-bar he saw.
As soon as he entered the little place, warmth, mixed with a hint of sweat and cologne, enveloped him. The smell of alcohol was strong, but the place felt friendly.
Men and women, some still in work clothes and some dressed in casual evening wear sat around the small, but comfy place, having drinks, munching on finger food, and conversing happily.
Arthur felt a genuine smile tug on his lips; this was what he needed.
Finding a place in front of the bar, he waited patiently for the bartender to finish mixing a drink for a rather gruff-looking gentleman.
She was pretty, with straight, shoulder-length blond hair cascading neatly like a waterfall around her heart-shaped face, and sparkly, light green eyes shinning in the dimly-lit diner. She wore a pink hairclip in her hair, with matching lip-gloss on her coyly smiling lips. Her makeup was in fresh colours that reminded Arthur of spring with pinked cheeks. Her little shirt with ruffled sleeves clung to her figure snuggly, but was not overly tight. She was quite flat in the chest, but had a perky little bottom that was barely concealed under a short, fluffed up skirt, which was also pink.
Handing the gruff-looking gentleman his drink, she turned, and caught his eyes.
She gave him a wink, and he wondered why his cheeks felt so hot.
Walking over with a slight sway of her hips, she stopped in front of Arthur, leaning over the bar counter and giving him a flirtatious smile.
"You're like, totally cute!" A smooth, but very much male voice left her glossy lips.
The shock Arthur felt must've shown on his face, for she – err, he giggled and gave the stunned British man an affectionate smack on the cheek.
"I bet you like, totally didn't expect that I'm a guy!" Placing slender hands with perfectly manicured fingernails on top of his chest, the very much male bartender gave another giggle, flashing pearly white teeth with a mischievous grin.
"…Erm…N-No…I…You took me by complete surprise." Arthur, a little embarrassed but feeling quite amused himself, laughed.
His cheeks felt a little tense, as if unused to making pleasant expressions, and he almost felt sad, but the bartender spoke again.
"I'm Feliks, spelled F-E-L-I-K-S; isn't it, like, such a totally awesomely cute name? I'm, like, totally over the 'X'es 'cause it's like 'ew' and not Polish, and in with the L-I-K-S!" Looking completely full and proud of himself, Feliks flipped his hair with a hand, hips jutting out to one direction. His fluffy skirt flung in the air, and Arthur wondered if the cross-dressing man was wearing pink for underwear as well.
"That's wonderful, Feliks." Arthur suddenly felt much lighter in spirits for some reasons, and smiled.
Feliks blinked, and quirked his head to one side; "You're seriously really cute! What's your name?"
"I'm Arthur."
"Arthur? That's so boring and old-ish! You need like, more sparkle in your name."
Arthur felt a little offended, but, at the same time, curious of what Feliks was going to come up with.
"Something like…" Feliks puckered his pink lips, and hummed. He suddenly gasped, startling the British man a little, and clapped his hands together in excitement: "O! M! G! I have like totally the perfect name for you! Ready?"
Arthur nodded.
"How about—Little Artie the Pixie Sprinkle!"
Arthur was speechless and still; he only stared.
Feliks mistook his disbelief and astonishment for confusion:
"Well, 'cause 'Little Artie' is like, cute, and 'Pixie Sprinkle' is like, sparkly!" The giddy male flipped his hair once more; "Ugh I'm so smart sometimes it's almost like, omigaud Feliks, why do you work at a bar? But, you know, you need to be like totally smart to work at a bar. I bet, like, dumb people can't do it."
Arthur was not sure how he felt towards being called "Little Artie the Pixie Sprinkle", but, seeing the animated expressions flicker across Feliks' face, suddenly found the entire situation hilarious.
Spluttering, he laughed.
The cross-dresser looked confused, but did not seem to mind, and joined in a moment after.
When the laughing spell subsided, Feliks leaned on the bar counter and asked, "So, Artie, what'd you wanna drink?"
Stomach churning a little at the thought of more alcohol, Arthur bit back a wince, "Just…water, please; I am in more of a mood for food."
"As if I'm gonna give you water; that's like, ew to the max!" The effeminate blonde rolled his eyes; "Here's the menu." It was flopped down onto the countertop from seemingly out of nowhere. "I'll like…make you something pretty, how's that? Can't go wrong with the 'pretty'." With that, a tall, triangular glass was pulled out from under the counter. "I can totally make, like, anything and it'd be the most awesomest thing you have ever had, like, ever, but I'll just make you something simple on the house today, 'kay?"
Arthur, surprised by the enthusiastic friendliness, gave a smile of warm gratitude. "Thank you, Feliks; that'd be wonderful." He gave a contented sigh, and looked down at the menu.
Without much thought, he ordered the first thing he saw, which happened to be chicken wings and fries.
As the menu was taken away, the triangular glass on a thin stem Arthur previously saw Feliks take out from under the counter took its space.
It was a margarita, pink, rimmed with particles of salt, with a piece of lime on the edge of the glass.
"Nothing special, but simple and totally cute," Feliks gave him another wink; "You look like you could use something pink to cheer you up. Everyone could use more pink in their lives, you know." With a shrug, the bartender waved Arthur goodbye for a second to tend to more requests for drinks, hips swaying to the beat of the music playing in the diner.
Shaking his head slightly at how strange of a friend he just made, he took a sip of his margarita.
Feliks was right; it did cheer him up, and he could almost forget about having to perform the much too overly anticipated ritual in the near future.
Through all the music, talking, and general noise of the diner, Arthur did not hear the soft ring of his phone.
~o0o0o0o0o~
Alfred glared at the phone as if the fact that Arthur wasn't answering his calls was its fault. But the phone had no reaction to his glares, and, after a few seconds, he got tired of doing it and threw the electronic devise down onto his bed.
Scratch that; it wasn't really a bed, more of a comforter spread out on wooden floor.
Groaning, he plopped down out of habit, expecting feathery softness and a slight rebound of the mattress. He immediately regretted it as his head hit hard surface with a "bang".
No matter how thick or soft the comforter was, it was still placed on wood flooring.
"…OWWWW!" He cried out, clutching his head and making whiny noises, feeling downright miserable.
Not only did he majorly screwed up with Arthur on the plane before taking off to Japan, got a slap in the face because of that from Francis who was wearing leather gloves at the time, and had all of his calls rejected since he started calling Arthur to apologize for the past fifteen minutes, he now had a swelling bump on the back of his head.
Lazily reaching out to the pillow, he grabbed it and hugged it tight against his chest, pressing his face into its softness, and wished that it could yelp in surprise and protest in embarrassment like a certain British man would.
The pillow was soft, but also a little cold.
Arthur would be warm.
Alfred could've sworn he was going crazy with all these sappy emotions dampening his heroic side.
The door to his room slid open, but he remained still, sprawled out half on the floor and half on the comforter, choking a pillow to death if it were alive.
"…Alfred?"
Oh, so it was Matthew.
"Alfred, what's wrong, eh? I heard you yell." The door slid shut, and soft footsteps grew closer.
Alfred could vaguely see a pair of bare feet in slippers if he lifted his head a little and peered through the crevice between his arms and the pillow. They were currently standing close to where his legs were.
Matthew stood beside the unresponsive American, not knowing what to do. Taking one look at the discarded phone beside the figure that was lying down was enough to give the Canadian an idea of what the other blonde was doing.
Sighing a little, he sat down beside Alfred and patted his head.
"Have you been calling him?" He asked, tone soft and comforting. His fingers brushed through short strands of messy blond hair, and were suddenly met with a jolt and hiss of pain.
"…Alfred?"
"You rubbed my bump, Mattie." Alfred stuck his head out from nuzzling into the pillow, and gave him a pouty look.
"Bump?" Matthew blinked, "When did you get a bump on your head?"
"Just now…" The American buried his face against his pillow once more, "I hit my head on the floor."
"Oh…I'm sorry…" The strawberry blonde blinked.
"Nah, why are you apologizing? You should make the floor apologize…" It could've been a joke, but Alfred sounded too disheartened for trying to be humorous.
A comfortable silence settled between the two as the younger male continued to gently pat the prone figure on the head, carefully avoiding where he knew the bump was.
"…Mattie…" Alfred broke the silence, voice muffled, "Do you think…Do you think Arthur hates me for what I said?"
Matthew's patting halted. After a brief moment of thinking, it resumed.
"No, I think he's probably just hurt and angry. He's probably just mad at you; he's awfully stubborn, eh? He'd probably make you suffer in guilt for a few days before pretending that he'd just forgiven you, though he already did the day after or something." The Canadian laughed a little, thinking back to that one time when he was in early teens and had a huge fight with the British man over the phone, which resulted him calling his cousin at least a hundred times over the span of three days before his call was finally answered.
Alfred gave a loud, frustrated groan; "But I don't like suffering!" He whined, an arm reaching out and wrapping around Matthew's waist.
The Canadian jumped a little in surprise as the American self-invited himself onto his lap.
Adjusting the pillow so that he could hug it at the same time as lean against it, the taller blonde put his head down onto the younger male's thighs, snuggling close.
"…A-Alfred…?" Matthew was still a little surprised.
"…I'm sorry, Mattie; it's just that…you remind me of Arthur…a little bit…" Alfred's voice was a sad whisper; he sniffed, and hid his face; "I donno what the hell's wrong with me. It's only been…what, three days since I last saw him? …stupid time difference…" He grumbled.
"…There's nothing wrong with you." Was the whispered reply, though it sounded more pensive than a statement.
"It's just that…I donno why he just ran away after I told him I love him…I just don't understand, that's all." The American's form stiffened a little, and Matthew wondered if he was biting back tears.
"…It's okay, Alfred; it'll get better, eh?" The Canadian cooed, patting the blonde head on his lap with feathery, gentle touches, a sad smile on his lips.
"It's not fair…" Alfred lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, voice sounding a little croaky, "…I'm supposed to be the hero and make everything better, but I can't even stop my own life from fucking up. And now I have a stupid bump on my head too…"
"Shhhh…" Matthew sighed softly, head tilting down, "We'll get Yao to take a look at it later, 'kay? It'll be better in the morning." And he didn't mean just the bump.
"…Yeah…" Alfred nodded.
"Thanks, Mattie." He added on after a brief while of silence.
~o0o0o0o0o~
Yao, settling down onto his comforter, speed dialed a number he'd wanted to call since getting off the flight arriving into Japan. Though it was an odd hour where he was, in Russia it was still yet midnight.
The first dialing tone hadn't even trailed off yet before the phone was picked up on the other end.
"YAOO~~!" Ivan's happy voice came through, and a bright smile bloomed on Yao's face.
"Hello, Ivan."
"Привет~~!" Yao could just imagine the tall man huddling around the phone with his trademark child-like, innocent grin of beaming happiness, and it made him laugh a little.
"How did you know it was me, aru?"
"I answered all of my calls with 'Yao', da~~ Because I knew Yao would call me!"
Yao wondered how many unsuspecting Russians called Ivan and got a "YAOO~~!" as a "hello".
"Yao is in Japan now, da? How is Japan?"
"Yes, aru, we have reached the Honda estates and moved into the side house. And Japan is great, aru! Kiku took us around Tokyo earlier during the daytime after we arrived."
"How is the mansion? Is it scary?"
"We haven't gotten a chance to look around; we are waiting for our equipments to arrive." Yao paused a little in thought; "I think they will arrive by tomorrow, early in the afternoon Tokyo time, and as soon as we have them we will start setting them up inside the mansion, and look around, aru."
"Ohhh~" Yao could practically see Ivan blinking his large, round eyes.
"How are you, aru? How is your sister?"
"Yekaterina and I are getting better now. We found a nice apartment, da! We can see a garden from our balcony, and there are small sunflowers in flower pots! I visit them a lot and became friends with the flower lady. She let me pat the sunflowers! I can't see the sunflowers from our balcony though, because the sunflowers have to be inside because it is cold in Russia, da~? The flower lady gives me cookies for Yekaterina and I, too. She is an old lady, and her family can't visit her often because they live far away, so Yekaterina and I visit her on Sundays when both of us don't have work."
The Russian then proceeded to chatter on in details about the sunflowers, cookies, and true Russian vodka. Yao listened intently, laughing and giving small remarks here and there.
It didn't matter that they stayed on the phone talking about nothing of importance for a long time; it didn't matter that it was the darkest hour of the night in Japan and all was asleep.
What mattered was that Ivan sounded a lot better in spirits and was back to his old self.
What was important was that he and what was left of his family were healing.
"How is work going, aru?" Yao remembered Ivan telling him the day before the team left New York for Japan about getting a job at a candy store.
"Work is great! I make cotton candy everyday! I am getting good at making cotton candy now, so if Yao comes to visit, I will make Yao very good cotton candy! Da~!"
Yao was sure if Ivan weren't holding the phone, he would've clapped.
The Chinese man smiled; "Definitely, aru!" He spoke with certainty.
Yes, he will definitely visit Ivan.
There was a slight pause on the other side.
"…Da!" There was warmth and hope in the Russian's voice; it made Yao's heart blossom in happiness. "I will be waiting for Yao with cotton candy!"
Yao's eyes sparkled in the dark of his room; "It is a promise then, aru!"
There was a brief moment of silence while both men sat with their phones, feeling strangely flushed but with bright smiles on their faces.
"Oh, I almost forgot to say, aru," Yao broke the silence as a thought came into his head, "Matthew called his employers at the café to tell them he got to Japan safely. They said the fish are doing great, aru, and the customers love them as well because they are very friendly. Matthew said to tell you not to worry; Roderich and Elizabeta are taking care of the fish very carefully, aru."
Yao remembered that, when he went with Matthew to drop the fish off at the café, Roderich had a notepad ready and everything, scribbling down in neat italic writing of every little detail regarding how to care for the fish, so it was clear that they were in good hands.
"Are they going to give the fish lots of love?" Ivan asked.
Yao frowned a little. In truth, the Austrian looked a little apprehensive of the fish. However, his wife, Elizabeta, seemed enamoured by them.
"I think they will, aru."
"That's great!"
The two continued to talk about interesting things that happened, with Yao purposely choosing not to tell Ivan of the conflict on the plane before it took of, not wanting to worry the Russian.
At one point during their conversation, Yao thought he heard a loud exclaim of pain from down the hall. It sounded like Alfred, and he briefly wondered what the American had done this time.
Probably something stupid, aru…
It appeared that he was not the only one having troubles sleeping, jet-lagged and all.
~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~
Ending Notes: TOKYO YEEEEUUUHH—! I've never been to Tokyo, so all descriptions were based on pictures I found on google. –thumbs up–
Cottborough does not exist (at least I don't think so); it is a city/town I made up. I'd want to live there though, if Feliks were there. :D
Andreas Thorne is an OC made up completely for the purpose of the plot; I see him as some kind of a catalyst or something to kinda…nudge things along? …Nah…Well…You'll know what I mean once we get there.
How many wished the same thing that Arthur was wishing for with the whole Alfred in spandex hero outfit thing? –raises hand– And how many wants to see Arthur's reaction if Alfred were to call him "Little Artie the Pixie Sprinkle" while wearing the said spandex hero outfit? –raises hand higher–
I have too much fun with these people…AHAHAHA ;p
I enjoyed writing the little moment between Alfred and Matthew; everyone could use more sweet moments, eh? I have no idea why Ivan's making cotton candy in Russia, but…uhhh…I like cotton candy…? XD
Hey, by the way, just wondering…Roderich doesn't like marine animals much or something right? Like starfish and stuff like that? I have a friend who's actually really afraid of fish; it's funny to drag him into pet shops to look at AALLL the pretty fish there. 8D Anywaaaays, please lemme know! Thanks! –many hearts–
Oh yeah, btw…
…
There's no surprise…
…
…
–dodges tomatoes–
JUST KIDDING! JUST KIDDING! WAAAHH! D:
I-I promise I'll make it up to you!
By presenting you…AN OMAKE—! 8DDDDDDDDD
YAAAAAAYY—!
…C'mon cheer with me.
YAAAAAAAAAAAYY—!
SO! I imagine the following segment to take place some time not long after the founding of Alfred's agency, before Yao even joined, soooo this is just a nice, friendly thing I guess.
Please enjoy, darlings! :D
~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~
Horror Movies and the JPIA
Alfred, Francis, and Ivan sat on the sofa, huddled together.
Scratch that, Francis and Ivan sat on the sofa with Alfred cowering between them, insistently grabbing onto their arms and tugging them so close to himself until they were all pretty much squished together on the otherwise spacious couch.
Not only did the shivering, terrified blonde had their arms in vice-grips, he also had a thick comforter wrapped around his curled up form, as well as a pillow that he placed between his tucked-up legs and his torso.
Long story short, the three were watching a horror movie, an apparently extremely scary one.
The movie hadn't even fully begun yet before Alfred already started getting jumpy, and it wasn't long before he started to outright let out shrieks and hide his face whenever the supposedly scary parts came on.
"For the leader of a paranormal investigation agency, you have a strangely low tolerance of these horrible movies, mon ami," Francis spoke in a slightly drawling tone, looking rather bored as he somehow still managed to appear fabulous despite of his awkward position being tugged by the American.
"How can you say that man?" Alfred cried out, voice high-pitched and wavering, eyes never leaving the screen. His arms tightened around the ones he was holding as the protagonists entered the haunted science lab and began snooping around. "This is one of the most scariest shit I've ever seen! You don't encounter these things in real life you know!"
"…Uhhhm…" The Frenchman blinked, and opened his mouth to reply. But in the end, he merely sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose; he knew better than to argue with his currently terrified friend. The American was right to some extent; they wouldn't encounter these situations in real life, not because they weren't possible, but simply because, as professionals dealing with the supernatural, they would never do something as stupid as most of what he'd seen the protagonists do in the movie.
The three of them were supposed to be having a nice, relaxing dinner at Francis' new place, and then perhaps head out to the theater for a nice, relaxing show, but nooooo…Instead of a nice, relaxing evening of elegance and general enjoyment of life, Alfred, out of nowhere, decided to bring over a newly released DVD with sparkling eyes and enough giddiness that could rival a hyperactive puppy, and pretty much demanded that they all watched it together.
So here they were, imprisoned by Alfred's arms, sitting on Francis' new, expensive, fashionable sofa, trying and failing (except perhaps the supposed leader of their agency) to enjoy crappy entertainment with good visual effects, which were perhaps the only things worth seeing.
And of course it was a remake of an Asian film that was rumoured to have scared millions shitless and a few dead, but Francis assumed that, as with all remakes, it hardly lived up to its original's name.
But that didn't stop a certain "heroic" blonde from getting freaked out from head to toe.
The protagonists were romancing…romancing! In the middle of a dark, dirty, completely rundown science lab with gross body parts floating around in glass jars while a ghost was on the loose after their lives! What was everyone involved in this production thinking?
The Frenchman rolled his eyes; this gives l'amour a bad name.
However, as he thought more of it, absentmindedly brushing a silk-gloved hand through silky smooth hair, if it here him, he could be anywhere and make spectacular romance happen.
A small whimper caught his attention, and he turned in surprise that it had actually come from the tall man sitting on the other side of the American.
Ivan, the man who could trot through a notoriously haunted 19th century prison with skipping steps and beat the crap out of all the ghosts of dangerous convicts with a shiny water-pipe all the while swinging a bottle of vodka and happily singing a Russian folksong (that he probably made up on the spot) about sunflowers, was whimpering softly and pitifully, curling into himself and shoulders bunching up. The lower half of his face was hidden behind the folds of a long scarf he wore everywhere with him as he snuggled against it, pale eyebrows furrowed deeply together and large, violet eyes bright and teary.
Francis was flabbergasted.
Ivan couldn't possibly be scared, could he?
His confusion and shock quickly dissipated as the Russian suddenly turned towards Alfred, cheeks flushed and lips quivering, and spoke in a hysterical whine:
"Al-Alfred! I-I can't hold it anymore, da—!"
"You promised you'd stay till the scary part's over!" Alfred whined back, arms tightening even more around the ones he was clutching, eyes never leaving the screen.
"But-But it's been fifteen minutes since the scary part started!" Ivan began to fidget and shuffle, squeezing his legs together; "I-I can't hold it anymore! I-I have to-I have to—I have to pee—!" He let out a miserable cry, and started trying to yank his arm out of Alfred's clutch.
"Just a bit longer, man! The scariest part's comin' up! You can't just leave me!" The American was persistent and did not give in.
"You said the same thing fifteen minutes ago!"
"Yeah but the ghost's gonna appear any second now!"
"I don't care! Let go!" The Russian, struggling in earnest by then, looked like he was on the brink of breaking into violent, angry sobs, his free hand trying to push Alfred off from his arm. Large droplets of tears were balancing delicately on his long, pale eyelashes, and it was then Francis realized that Ivan really, REALLY had to go.
"Just five more minutes!" The intently watching blonde was not willing to relent.
"I—I can't hold it in for any minutes!" Shaking his head side to side forcefully and short strands of hair flapping around his face, the tall man started to smack the arm holding him prisoner to the couch.
"Half a minute then!" The American only looked somewhat annoyed by the smacks, eyes still glued to the screen.
"Нет! Нет—!" Distress clear on every part of his face, the Russian cried out, cheeks reddening even further as he started to flop about on the sofa with the little room he could move in. "НЕТ—!"
"Oh for the love of God…" Francis rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath before cutting in:
"Arrêtez! Vous deux!" Turning to Alfred, he spoke in a berating and slightly threatening tone; "Now, Alfred, if you don't let Ivan go this instance and he has an accident, you will have to buy me a new couch, and with your current financial situation, I am quite certain that you will not be able to eat burgers for weeks in order to pay for something as fine as this work of art that is my furniture."
Alfred instantly let go of Ivan, and the tall man immediately shot up from his seat and ran to the bathroom.
Sighing in relief that his precious sofa narrowly escaped the fate of getting strange stains, Francis brushed through his hair with his available hand once more, and was just going to turn back to the movie when a small tug on his imprisoned arm roused his attention.
Turning to the side, he was momentarily surprised to find pleading, vibrant blue eyes.
"…You wouldn't leave me to watch alone, would you…?" Alfred looked like a kicked puppy over Ivan's absence, scooting even closer to who was now his only companion, at least until Ivan comes back.
"…Non; non…Bien sûr que non," The Frenchman could only shake his head – long, waved hair shimmering under the little light in the large living room – and give a few huffed chuckles of exasperation and mild amusement.
"Good," The younger man nodded quickly, and turned his eyes back to the screen, "'Cause the scariest part's comin' up…"
It turned out that the entire movie was made up of "scariest part"s, and, after the whole thing was over, Francis was left wondering just how many interesting and fulfilling things he could've done in those two hours that he spent watching the silly movie.
Ivan was just glad he was allowed to go to the bathroom before he embarrassed himself.
As the ending credits scrolled along, Alfred gave a deep, relieved sigh, and finally relaxed into a normal lounging position.
"Man…Was that intense or what?" He exclaimed loudly, throwing his arms up and freeing the ones he'd clenched around.
Rubbing his arm, Francis winced; it had gone numb since the last quarter of the movie.
"…Da…" Ivan nodded and agreed in a low murmur, though the Frenchman had suspicions that he wasn't referring to the same thing as Alfred was, and that the thing he was referring to probably had something to do with his bladder.
"Great! Now that that's over and done with…Can someone turn on the light?" The American tried to brush it off as a casual request with a laugh, but it came out shaky and only emphasized how jumpy he still was.
Francis got up from the couch with an amused smile, and flicked on the lights in the room.
Immediately, all dark shadows disappeared.
"Phew!" Alfred gave a sloppy wipe of imaginary sweat on his forehead, and reached for the remote; "Y'all don't mind if I turn this off, do ya? This music is creeping me out a bit." Without waiting for a response (not that anyone would protest against it), he turned off the DVD player. "I wonder what's on TV…" He changed the setting to TV mode, and, right away, bright colours burst forth on the screen.
Ivan took one glance at the television, and instantly let out a sharp holler of fear, large hands shooting up to cover over his eyes.
It was Teletubbies.
"Нет! Нет! Выключите это! Выключите это!" The Russian cried out, curling up into a ball, face hiding behind his knees as the large hands previously placed over eyes went to his ears instead.
Needless to say, the other two in the room merely stared unblinkingly, quite stunned.
"Нет! Это является злым и страшным! НЕТ—!" More cries followed, and, to the greater shock of Alfred and Francis, the tall man was actually genuinely overwhelmed by terror, shaking and making small, frightened noises.
The other two blinked, and, as Francis slowly lifted an eyebrow with an expression of incredulousness, a mischievous grin leered across Alfred's face.
The American muted the TV, and gave the shivering ball that was his tall friend a nudge.
"Hey! Ivan! I got rid of it for you."
"…R-Really…?" A small voice asked, coming out muffled.
"Yeah, 'course!" Alfred bit back a snicker, and watched the frightened man carefully.
Slowly, Ivan began to unravel himself, hands uncovering his ears and head rising up little by little from its tucked down position.
His chin gave a little tilt, and violet eyes gave a tiny peek at the TV.
The sound was immediately un-muted and came blaring back up.
"НЕЕЕЕТ—!" A shriek cut through the sugar-coated music, and the Russian went back into a quivering ball.
Alfred burst out into laughter, slapping his thigh and clenching his stomach before falling over onto the couch. Francis rolled his eyes, but couldn't help letting out several laughs of his own.
"Я ненавижу Вас, Альфред!" Shouting out and trying to glare (which was hard looking as un-menacing as a man could look), Ivan pursed his lips together.
The American continued to laugh, rubbing his stomach in circles to alleviate some of the pinching soreness he felt there.
"Alfred! You're the worst, da—!" Switching to English, the tall blonde shouted out angrily, and, with a few teary sniffles, curled even further into himself.
"Hey, I'm just playing with you, man; don't hafta get mad at me," Alfred gave a few more chortles, and nudged the other man on the couch with a foot.
The curled up ball swayed, but remained unmoving.
"Awwww, c'mon Ivan!" Pushing himself up into a proper sitting position, the American scooted closer to his taller friend and clapped him on the back. "Don't be like that!"
There was no response.
"Look, how about I make it up to you by turning it off for real this time?" He tried again, and flashed an award-winning grin though the other couldn't see it.
"…You promise…?" Ivan moved a little, giving him a fleeting, hopeful glance.
"Yeah, you can count on me!" The award-winning grin widened even further; "'Cause I'm the hero!"
As promised, Alfred turned over, grabbed the remote, and turned the television off.
"See?" Cheekily leaning closer to the Russian, he wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the taller form, and gave a pleased sigh; "Aren't I the best~~?" His vibrant, blue eyes beamed.
A strange answer was his reply.
"…Kol kol kol kol kol kol—"
The shoulders the American wrapped an arm around began to shake along the chant-like, dark chuckles, and a menacing aura suddenly stirred up in the air as the temperature almost seemed to drop around the still curled up figure.
Francis' eyes widened, and Alfred froze on the spot, looking aghast.
"-Oh shi—" The swearword had not even left the messy-haired blonde's mouth before large hands suddenly shot out and grabbed onto his shoulders, pushing forward with brute strength. Hollering in shock and fright, Alfred didn't even have time to wince as he was slammed down onto his back on the couch before his breath hitched in his throat.
The Russian's tall form loomed over him.
Ivan's face wore a childlike, innocent grin, but his eyes shined too brightly in the shadow for it to be a genuine expression.
"…Uhhh-Uhhhmm…I-Ivan…?" The American couldn't move, staring with saucer eyes and stiff as a board.
"…You lied to me Alfred…Naughty children must be punished, da~~?" Ivan's honey-dipped voice spoke softly as his grin and eyes widened a little.
"…-GAAAAAHHHH—! FRANCIS! FRANCIS—! H-HELP! HELP ME DAMNIT! AAAHHHH—!" Broke the quietness of the room, and Francis sighed, face-palming.
The two were wrestling on his expensive couch with the Russian winning as he pinned down the American and tickled his sides mercilessly.
The Frenchman, shaking his head and walking over before they somehow damaged his prized sofa, wondered if he perhaps should get new friends.
~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~
Translation:
Arrêtez! Vous deux! – Stop! You two! (Is this how you say "both of you" too? Well, it's supposed to say "both of you"…Help…? ;_; )
Нет! Нет! Выключите это! Выключите это! – No! No! Turn it off! Turn it off!
Нет! Это является злым и страшным! НЕТ—! – No! It's evil and terrible! NO—!
Я ненавижу Вас, Альфред! – I hate you, Alfred!
Actual Ending Notes: So ya…Alfred's scared of horror movies; Ivan's scared of Teletubbies. And Francis is as fabulous as ever.
I swear man…those Teletubbies are EVIL! D:
I have teletubby-phobia.
The end.
Ps: I love you (HAHAHAHA yeah I stole this from that movie whachu gon' do 'bout it? ;p)
But yeah, seriously, I love you guys! I know I said this like a million times already before but I just want to make sure y'all know! Aaaaand, I hope you liked the Omake, and that it lifted the mood a little.
Thanks so much once more! And MUAHS—!
Reviews make me sprout rainbows! –hearts–
(Imaginary rainbows)
Oh, btw, I need help!
For some reasons, every time I upload a new chapter, the entire thing become Italic-ized! :( I have to un-Italic-ize the whole thing and redo all the Italics and it's so friggin' ANNOYING!
Can someone tell me what the problem might be please? ;_;