Chapter Twenty-One: Facing Reality
"When does your plane leave?" Lovino inquired curiously, emptying his can of coffee before crushing it in his hands. The brunet leaned against his lover's back and crinkled his nose in slight agitation at the temperature. Although the weather hadn't reached its minimum low, it was still chilly, especially with winter fast approaching, and he had considered dragging Arthur to the cafeteria with him for lunch. However, sentiment won over comfort. In the end, the rooftop was still their one and only sanctuary away from prying eyes.
"Around seven," Arthur answered shortly. "I have to be there by five or six. I don't think there will be many people at the airport though - maybe a few business people or just some travellers or explorers - considering that it's not winter holiday yet. Most likely, I'll probably be there at six."
"Damn, I get off work at six," Lovino grumbled indignantly. He smiled when he felt Arthur's fingers thread with his. "I'll try to be there."
"Don't worry about it," the blond returned amiably. "Nobody else is coming to see me off anyway. There's the football game today, isn't there? Go to that instead. You've always gone to a football game, right, since you were seeing Carriedo? I had to go all the time to make sure that nobody acts out of hand; I think I've seen you around once or twice. Anyway, it'll certainly be more fun than seeing me to the security checkpoint, yeah?"
Lovino pursed his lips together, preventing himself from saying something he might regret, before squeezing Arthur's fingers desperately. "Y-You sure, b - " he bit his tongue, recalling that Arthur really was a bastard by definition, and hastily substituted " - dammit?"
"It's only an interview," Arthur responded quietly. "There's no guarantee that I'll be accepted on the spot, and it's not like I'll be gone forever. I'm still coming back as soon as everything's over."
For now, Lovino remarked dryly, but he didn't dare to say it out loud. It was a topic he didn't want to confront, not yet at least. If he did, then it meant that he would be proving his grandfather's words from last night correct, and Lovino was too proud and stubborn to admit that the elder man had a point. "You have a good chance," the brunet said instead, "since you're smart."
"That's not all they're looking for, Lovino," Arthur mentioned.
"Well, whatever they're looking for," Lovino countered, "you have it. All of it. You're... You're perfect, dammit." On the other side, Arthur smiled, but the Italian couldn't still it. Instead, he munched idly on a piece of bread. "Don't put yourself down. Have more confidence in yourself, a-and I-I'll try, too, dammit. I'll try... being more confident." Lovino smirked and huffed somewhat haughtily, superficial the tone may be, remarking, "Can't let my little brother show me up."
He felt Arthur rest all of his weight against his back and drop the back of his head against his own, entangling their contrasting locks. "There you go, little ankle-biter," the blond mused aloud. "Good for you." Arthur tightened his hold on Lovino's hand ever so slightly, but the Italian was quick to return the action.
"Ve! Fratello!" Feliciano chirped as he bounced his way towards Lovino as soon as he spotted his older brother walking to the bleachers. "You're here!"
Behind Feliciano was the potato eater, and Lovino couldn't help but click his tongue contemptuously at the taller blond. He turned his gaze away from the German boy and instead replied to his brother, "Chigi! Why wouldn't I be here?" Lovino was positive that he hadn't told his brother about Arthur's flight. If he had told Feliciano, then the older Vargas was certain that the younger would try to prevent him with all of his might from seeing the blond off anyway, but since Arthur had told him to watch Antonio's game instead, Lovino decided to humor him. After all, if Arthur didn't want to make a big deal out of it, then Lovino wouldn't make a big deal out of it.
"Vee, because you broke up with Antonio..." Feliciano trailed off from his statement. Lovino didn't know if he didn't want to finish it or if he didn't know how to finish it. Still, it mattered little. He knew fairly well that his younger brother was disappointed with how their relationship gone and especially disappointed to learn that he spent most of his time with Arthur during and after his relationship with Antonio.
Nevertheless, although, frankly speaking, Lovino was pretty pissed at his brother, he couldn't hate him. However, the older Vargas twin could ridicule his brother's reasoning. Giving Feliciano an incredulous look, Lovino remarked, "Just because we're over doesn't mean that I can't come to public football games." As though to prove his point, Lovino gestured about him to the growing audience. Lovino also added, "It also doesn't mean that we aren't friends anymore, idiota. Just because it didn't work out that way doesn't mean that we can't be friends."
"Ve..." Feliciano sighed as though disappointed with Lovino's answer. In all actuality, he probably was disappointed with Lovino's answer. This didn't invite any further comment from the older Vargas twin. Instead, Lovino scowled when he saw that Ludwig had already approached them.
"Good evening," he greeted Lovino stiffly.
Lovino clicked his tongue in pure and utter disdain.
"Fratello, come sit with us!" Feliciano chirruped, hooking his arms with Lovino's and Ludwig's. This action earned the younger Vargas twin a protesting cry from his older brother and a surprised, "Feliciano!" from Ludwig. "Because we're in the news club, we get the best seats! That way, Kiku can get all of the good shots!"
"I thought you guys did a fucking random as hell column, dammit!" Lovino snapped. "Since when did you do sports articles?!"
"The usual sports editor had contracted a cold and was unable to cover the event today," Ludwig explained modestly. Still, his response was not greatly appreciated by Lovino, who scoffed and muttered something along the lines that they were not experienced in writing sports articles and that their story would probably be garbage. Ludwig didn't respond. Even though Feliciano tried to hide it sometimes, the German knew, as his best friend, that the younger Vargas was doodling in his notepad more than half of the time when they were collecting information. If it wasn't for the fact that Ludwig did most of the work on their "random as hell" columns, then it would be, as Lovino had commented, complete garbage.
Allowing Feliciano to lead them to their spot in the bleachers, they found that Kiku was already setting up his tripod and camera. Once the Japanese boy had finished, he began snapping experimental shots. Kiku only stopped when Feliciano waved wildly at him, and in response, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. Pulling along his brother and his best friend, he hurried to the side of his older friend and asked how the pictures were coming along.
"The game hasn't even started yet, Feliciano-kun," Kiku pointed out politely. "I haven't taken pictures of anything except an empty field."
"Hey! The awesome me has arrived!" crowed an overly obnoxious voice. Heads turned to land their eyes on Gilbert and Francis. Trailing behind them was Alfred's brother. Alfred, in particular, was patrolling the bleachers to make sure that nothing was going awry since spectators could get especially rowdy. Performing the same exact task, but less eagerly, was Jia Long on the opposite side. From their place in the stands, they could see the Chinese boy sitting on the bleachers while sharing a bag of popcorn with his sister.
Soon, more and more students and spectators began filling the seats. Joining their party in particular were all of Antonio's friends and acquaintances, namely the entire third year class. They all roared with exuberance when their school football team entered the arena. Kiku immediately began snapping pictures. After a show of good sportsmanship, the game commenced. Ludwig was diligently scribbling notes onto his notepad unlike Feliciano, who had joined the crowd in cheering for the home team.
They hollered with glory and pride when Antonio scored the first goal, a good number of spectators rocketing onto their feet, but Lovino couldn't help but remain seated. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the time. It was twelve minutes past six. Arthur was probably already at the airport around now. Forcibly pulling his eyes away from the time, Lovino stared into the arena. The crowd sat back down and watched as the team chased after the black and white ball rolling around the field, dribbled and passed from one player to another, intercepted numerous times, before being blocked by their Brazilian player. Lovino couldn't recall his name. The ball was passed to Antonio, who again scored yet another goal. The tomato bastard was on another league when it came to football. Too bad he wasn't good at much anything else and was almost kicked off the team innumerable times when his test scores failed to improve.
Lovino glanced at his phone. Fifteen minutes had passed.
"I wonder why Artie isn't here," Gilbert mentioned aloud. Nobody saw how Feliciano frowned at the mention of the Lion. "He's always here to monitor the games. Plus, he fucking loves football! It's so not awesome if he decided to take a sick day. The guy is never sick."
Lovino froze. "You don't know?" the brunet asked.
"Know what?" the albino inquired casually before he whooped wildly when one of their players scored another goal.
"You don't know why he's not here?"
"How can I?" Gilbert responded dryly. "He never answers his phone when I call or text him. So not awesome."
Francis snickered. "I think there is a reason why, mon ami," the young Frenchman mused.
"What about you, perverted bastard?" Lovino directed his query to Francis. "Do you know?"
"Malheureusement, non, je ne sais pas," Francis responded with a halfhearted sigh and a shake of his head. "There are days when he disappears off the surface of the earth, and nobody knows why. He deals with whatever is bothering him alone; he doesn't let anyone help. It is foolish, I know, but he says that he doesn't want anyone to fuss over him."
"Nobody knows?"
Nobody replied.
That fucking bastard.
Lovino leapt onto his feet and ran for the exit, ignoring how his brother had cried out his name in surprise and confusion, as he dashed off campus and onto Main Street, trying to flag a taxi. If Arthur's plane left at seven, then Lovino had time before the lion bastard boarded his flight, right? He sure fucking hoped so, grounding his teeth and tightening his jaw, as he managed to call a plain black and white Toyota. Stepping into the cab, without giving the driver a chance to inquire of his destination, Lovino cried, "To Hetalia International Airport as quickly as possible - please!"
Although he didn't quite understand the urgency, the driver gave a curt nod and stepped on the gas pedal as soon as his client buckled his seatbelt in the backseat. Trying his best to heed the speed limits despite his customer's insistence on going just five or ten more kilometers faster please, the driver asked as nonchalantly as possible, "So what's the big rush, kid?"
"I'm going to beat up an idiot for being so dumb," Lovino spat bitterly. He crinkled his nose slightly and rubbed it in mild discomfort, staring out the window from the backseat.
The cabbie didn't question anything further. Instead, he just hummed in thought before commenting, "You got a girl flying somewhere?"
Lovino's cheeks flushed at the inquiry. However, rather than being shy and embarrassed about the fact that, yes, he did have a lover flying overseas, he was somewhat flustered at the implication that his lover was female. A part of him was somewhat offended that the driver had even asked that prying question. What if he didn't want to make conversation? Instead of retorting with that, however, Lovino spluttered nonsensical syllables that made his driver guffaw. For a moment, Lovino was worried that they would crash because he wasn't sure the driver could see with tears in his eyes.
Nevertheless, the old man rephrased his earlier query with great amusement evident in his voice, "So you have a lover flying overseas then? It's alright; I don't judge. I've seen this episode for... about three, four times? Anyway, you aren't the first one; I've seen it happen with both straight and gay couples. It makes me wonder if people are trying to recreate TV soaps in real life, no offense, kid."
Lovino clicked his tongue in irritation before dread and panic flooded his body. "W-Why are we stopping?"
"Traffic," the driver responded. "It doesn't look like we're going to get anywhere far right now. There must be an accident up ahead. The way things are going, I would say it'll take about twenty minutes to get through."
"I don't have twenty minutes!" Lovino exclaimed in sheer exasperation. "His flight starts boarding at seven!" The Italian pulled out his cell phone and checked the time. Fifteen minutes had passed. It was six forty-five. "How far until we get there?" he asked of the driver.
"About two kilometers straight ahead," the driver responded shortly. "You thinking about running?"
Cursing himself, he pulled out a wad of cash and tried handing it civilly to the driver without throwing it at his face. "Keep the change!" Lovino added hastily as he scrambled out of the cab, fiddling with the door. He slammed it shut and began sprinting down the sidewalk, hoping that his time in track in primary school hadn't diminished over time, quickening his pace until everything became a blur to him.
Arthur is such a fucking bastard, a fucking dumbass, a fucking moron. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Lovino cried vehemently. I'm even more of a fucking idiot for listening to him!
His legs caved, and his muscles failed him. In a final endeavor, Lovino burst through the doors of the airport, stumbling inside. Collapsing to his knees, unable to stand upright anymore, and panting heavily, trying to catch his breath, Lovino pulled out his cellphone to check the time.
Seven o'clock.
Lovino punched the floor, fighting angry tears, as he cursed his luck. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! He hadn't even realized that he had shouted aloud or that tears were burning the back of his eyes, trying to slip out of the corners and scald his flesh as they rolled down his cheeks. He didn't even care if people were staring at him because - fuck! - let them stare!
He never wants anyone to worry about him, Lovino thought bitterly, wiping at the tears angrily with the back of his hands, but it's not fair! It's not right! Dammit! Dammit! God-fucking-dammit!
"You're making a scene, git."
Lovino whirled around and found Arthur standing behind him, leisurely sipping an oddly colored drink from a clear plastic cup with a green straw. The Briton raised a thick eyebrow before helping Lovino onto his feet. Contrary to his appearance, however, his green eyes were soft like subdued jade yet to be polished and shined, cloudy and muddled. Pulling Lovino onto his feet and into a hug, he whispered softly into Lovino's ear, "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go to the game. Why were you on the floor?"
In normal circumstances, Lovino would have pushed Arthur away for being too affectionate in public, but he didn't even care anymore. The brunet clung onto the front of Arthur's t-shirt and buried his face into his lover's chest. "Dammit, I went to the game, but I wasn't having any fun at all, bastard! I left after like ten minutes because nobody knew that you were leaving! You didn't tell anyone at all, dammit, you fucking bastard! How could you do that to me?!"
Arthur laughed in sincere, genuine amusement, wrapping his arms tighter around Lovino's middle and pressing a kiss to his temple. "That's not entirely true," Arthur retorted, "I told you, didn't I?" When Lovino punched him in the chest weakly, he chortled under his breath and brought himself to explain properly, "I'm sorry, but I didn't want anyone coming. Today is the last game, and I wanted everyone to support Carriedo, brainless wanker he might be."
"Shit, you're too nice for your own good, bastard."
Arthur smiled. "You're calling me 'bastard' again," he mused aloud. "That's good. I was worried."
"About what?!" Lovino snapped. "Just because I stopped - "
"It meant that you were too bloody self-conscious around me, you idiot," Arthur remarked. "I didn't want that. I just wanted you to be you, you as yourself, you, Lovino Romano Vargas."
Lovino huffed indignantly. "So why are you still here, bastard? What about your fucking flight? I thought boarding started at seven," the brunet countered. "Did you lie about that, too?"
"It got delayed. They say that it'll be here in about thirty minutes to maybe an entire hour or two," Arthur mumbled impatiently. "At least I got to see you though, before I left, little ankle-biter."
Lovino clicked his tongue. "Don't lie to me, bastard. I don't like it. I thought... I thought we were honest with each other."
"I never lied to you," Arthur pointed out. "I told you everything. My flight was supposed to board at seven, and I was leaving around five or six. I was stuck here for two hours already." He spat out the last sentence as though it was poison. In a softer voice, he added shyly, "I would never lie to you. You've never lied to me. I-I like that kind of honest relationship - however brutally honest it or we may be."
Lovino clicked his tongue. "You... You don't think anybody would miss you?" the brunet inquired hesitantly.
The Lion, in response, only laughed at this proposal. "It's the weekend," Arthur remarked off-handedly. "I usually use that time to avoid the gits unless they have plans that sound half-way decent. If I were to miss anyone during three days' time, I would only miss you." The blond smiled. "We'll have to see about that to confirm that it's true, wouldn't we?"
The Italian snorted and pulled away from his lover, shuffling on his feet nervously and dropping his gaze to the tile floor. "C-Call me," he stuttered as embarrassment found cause, once more, to smear his tanned cheeks, "when you get to England o-or when you get to your hotel."
"I'll call you every day if you want, Lovino," Arthur offered as his smile grew more and more tender. His subdued eyes had brightened to a clear jade polish by now, staring at Lovino amorously. Noticing that the red had brightened Lovino's cheeks deliciously, the blond felt the need to tease him and thus asked, "Would you answer my calls?"
"O-Of course I would!" Lovino responded snappishly, strung from all of his nerves. Jumping at the sound of his own voice, he lowered it and repeated, "Yeah, I would."
"That's good," Arthur mused before grasping Lovino's hand with his free own and curling Lovino's fingers around his plastic cup. "It's passion fruit tea; I got it from the Starbucks around the corner just a few moments ago," he stated. "It's not water or a sports drink, but it'll keep you hydrated after all that running." Smiling, he pressed a discreet kiss to Lovino's fingers and ruffled the rich brown hair. "Ta, little ankle-biter." He really was thankful that Lovino came to see him off even if it meant getting shit from the younger boy.
"W-Wha - ?"
"I have to go," the blond explained, glancing at the time on his phone. "It's nearly half seven by now. The security check always takes some time, but I should be at my gate on time." He gave Lovino one last smile and added, "Cheerio, little ankle-biter."
"C-Ciao," Lovino replied, blushing, "bastardo leone." The brunet watched miserably as Arthur picked up his carry-on, a moderately sized sports bag that was probably all he needed to bring, and shuffled to the escalators. He tried to mask the fact that, yes, he was depressed that the blond would be leaving but also the fact that he was disappointed the blond chose to leave.
Lovino would have thought that he was a good reason to stay here on this damn island, but maybe he had to do as his grandfather suggested and face reality. Everyone was walking into the future, and that included Arthur.
What present? There's no gift.
Lovino glanced at the iced tea in his hand, a red violet colored liquid, and sipped it tentatively, blushing as he realized he was sharing Arthur's drink. It was an indirect kiss, wasn't it? How fucking cheesy, the Italian admonished himself, are you a stupid little schoolgirl? But... The tea wasn't that bad, like Arthur had said. It was sweeter than he had anticipated, and there was a fruity tang that accompanied the taste. Lovino would have rather had such a drink in summer, but, then again, he didn't really expect much from Arthur when it came to food and drinks.
Maybe... His grandfather was wrong. Maybe there was another side of reality that Lovino hadn't understood. Maybe Arthur would tell him what he was thinking, one day, and maybe that one day would be soon. Maybe. For now, all he could do was wait for Arthur to call him.
At one o'clock in the morning, when the sun wasn't even shining, Lovino's phone went off. Feliciano whined and nearly kicked his brother off the bed trying to make himself comfortable as his unconscious state sensed the disturbance. At the sudden alarm snapping Lovino from his dreams of a family dinner gone to Hell after he had burned the main course as a consequence of his grandfather and brother ganging up on Arthur, he answered the call mustering as much venom as he could, spitting out a violent in a mild volume level so not to wake up his brother, "Chi cazzo parla?"
Honestly, he was happy not experiencing that nightmare, but he still wanted his sleep, dammit!
"Well," Lovino's heart skipped a beat as he heard the familiar voice muse on the other end of the call, "good morning to you, too, little ankle-biter."
Lovino had forgotten that the flight from Hetalia to the United Kingdom was about four to five hours long. Sighing, the brunet collapsed back into his bed. What the hell? It was a Saturday tomorrow (today?), and he didn't have to work until noon anyway. Pursing his lips, the Italian responded in a much more mild-mannered fashion, "How was your flight?"
"Relatively quiet," Arthur replied softly, almost in a whisper, "since everyone on the flight was snoozing. That includes me as well, I suppose, since I can't even recall most of it. Are - sorry, I meant, were - were you sleeping?"
"It's a little too late to worry about that, bastard," Lovino replied in a quiet snarl. It was all but inaudible, however, but rather than feeling affronted, Arthur laughed at the sound.
"Sorry about that, Lovino," the blond apologized gingerly. "I ought to let you back to sleep now."
"Like hell I can go back to sleep now!" Lovino barked indignantly. He tried to control his voice to refrain from disturbing his twin brother sleeping beside him. God, Feliciano was such a kid sometimes. "Maybe we can just talk. I start working in the noon anyway, remember? I can afford to sleep in late," the brunet mentioned almost meekly. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment for having said such cheesy words.
"I don't mind," Arthur replied amiably, "but you sound bloody tired. If you want, I'll sing you a lullaby." His words were playful, teasing, but his intent was serious. Laughing at the thought, he pondered aloud, fantasizing the idea, "Serenade you to sleep, yeah? Now there's a romantic idea!"
"Don't cause a scene, idiota!" Lovino chastised as his cheeks flared red, bashful and awkward. His outburst, of course, caused him to realize, "Where are you anyway?"
"I'm in a hotel room," Arthur answered shortly, taking a moment's pause. The blond added wistfully, "It's small and cosy here. I like it." This was followed by a somewhat distracted comment, voice distant and faraway from reality, "A lot better than that desolate, damned flat, I'll say, if only you - and Elizabeth and Winston - were here."
Lovino's heart hammered in his chest, and he wondered if Arthur was even aware of what he was saying. The blond may have been blunt a vast majority of the time, but he was less often affectionate unless they were isolated. "I wish..." The Italian caught himself before he let the words "you were here" slip off his tongue. Instead, he finished with, "You'd hurry up and get back here so you can eat a proper meal. Knowing you, bastard, you'd probably eat a shit ton of fast food while you're away."
Arthur laughed at this and responded, "I'd love that." Lovino could just see that silly, goofy smile on his lips as he spoke. "It's getting late, Lovino. You should go to bed. I'll call you later, all right?"
"W-Wait!" Lovino cried in his panic. He felt Feliciano stir beside him and prayed that his younger twin wouldn't wake up any time soon. Chancing himself, he nervously and timidly asked Arthur, "W-What about the s-s-song? L-Lullaby?"
There was a soft, short deep chuckling on the other end. "Yes, of course," Arthur assured. There was a deep intake of air before the first note was sung, albeit somewhat nervously, "Now it's time to say good night... Good night, sleep tight..." Growing comfortable with himself, Arthur continued the lullaby more calmly and collectedly, singing in a velvety tenor, "Close your eyes..." Basking in the silky caresses of his voice, Lovino felt his eyes flutter, heavy with sleep, as the lullaby rolled into its last verse and faded into the soft click, ending the call. Lovino hadn't heard Arthur's last lyrics, a barely audible, silent whisper, "Sweet dreams for you, my love."
A/N: The lyrics that Arthur sings at the end are portions of what Lovino heard from "Good Night" by the Beatles. It was originally written by John Lennon as a lullaby to his five year old son, Julian.