Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Dying and the Dead

The first thing that Lovino did was run. He hadn't even realized that he needed to call the others until he reached the hospital, but they seemed to have gotten the message as well. Lovino stared at three familiar faces and three unknown faces waiting outside the emergency room, panting heavily, as they stared back, looking as though they had seen a ghost. Gilbert was noticeably pale, paler than usual, and almost hollow like a phantom. Antonio wasn't smiling anymore, and he seemed to have lost any trace of emotion and the entirety of his carefree demeanor. On the other hand, Francis was a hurricane of emotions, ranging from panic to anger to sorrow to misery. There were also two girls wearing matching outfits (save for the hair accessories) in different colors holding hands to comfort each other. They sat at the side of a dark skinned man, who wrapped his arms around them in a reassuring manner, resting their hands on his lap. The brunette was sniffling and wiping away her tears with the back of her free hand.

"Lovi," Antonio called to the Italian gently, stretching out a hand. Although Lovino didn't accept the offered hand, he sat down next to Antonio. Francis sat between the Spaniard and their German friend. The taller brunet informed his ex-boyfriend softly, "It's been almost an hour since he was admitted," trying not to upset the younger boy.

That was when the brunette jumped onto her feet then, narrowing her blue eyes at Lovino, and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're 'Lovino'?" she snapped bitterly. "You're the one King calls every day at ten, four, and ten again? If you are, then you're the reason why King's - "

"Victoria!" the blonde snapped, pulling her friend back down with a displeased and impatient glare. If the situation hadn't been so grave, Lovino would have commented on how much she resembled a female version of Arthur. "Enough! It's nobody's fault! It was an accident!"

"But King is - King wanted - King's... King..." The brunette burst into tears, and her friend wrapped her arms around her in a warm embrace. Her jade green eyes were clouded with condensed tears threatening to fall as well. Lovino was frozen stiff even though Antonio tried to assure him otherwise. The Italian knew it was his fault; he had told Arthur to come back. Arthur wouldn't have been involved in an accident if he hadn't done so.

The dark haired man stood up at that time, leaving the two girls to themselves, and introduced himself as Cameron, the owner of the English pub on the west side of town, Alice's, and Arthur's employer. "You must be Arthur's friends," he deduced correctly. "I gave him employment; that way, he had something to do while he was in town. The girls, Lisa and Victoria, gave him shelter. He couldn't afford to go to a hotel, but I'm assuming he had the money to do so."

Gilbert nodded to show that he understood - as the German was far from approving Arthur's actions - and to thank the older man for sharing information. He then replied, answering the questions that he knew the others would have since Arthur, as always, told his new friends little about himself, "He didn't want to use his credit card. His banking account would be monitored, and they would have used that to track him down."

"They?" Cameron repeated dubiously.

"His family," the albino answered darkly, "and even his friends... He didn't say anything to us - just got up and disappeared. He does that a lot on the two weeks we have off school for winter holidays, but usually only a little bit each day. He's never been gone for three consecutive days before."

Victoria sniffed once and remarked haughtily, "Some friends you are! You didn't even look for him until three days later!"

"We have," Francis snapped bitterly, "always been looking out for him, and since the start of our vacation, we have always been looking for him to make sure that he didn't get into trouble. Please pardon our negligence, Mademoiselle."

"Stop arguing, amigos," Antonio spoke up quickly before events could spiral out of control. "We are in a hospital, ?"

Lovino could feel his phone vibrate in his hand and quickly excused himself. As soon as he left his seat, his eyes fell upon the Parisian woman, noting how her visage was distorted with worry and heartbreak, and a conflicted redhead man no older than his late twenties behind her. His shoulders were broad, and his muscles were more than well-built though they were not large like a bodybuilder's. He was marked as a man who did manual labor with multiple scars on the surface of his skin that peeked out of his clothing - his hands, even his face and neck - but his most noticeable traits were the thick eyebrows and the shocking green eyes.

Arthur's brother.

Lovino scrambled out of the room when he felt his phone vibrate again. He answered the call sullenly, "Pronto, sono Lovino - "

"Fratello? You haven't been back all day! Where are you?!" His brother went off on an Italian tangent, rambling on and on about how worried he and Nonno have been and about how he hadn't ate dinner at home and asking if he had even ate dinner at all and that it was already eleven o'clock at night.

He heard Nonno pry the phone out of Feliciano's hand, taking over and asking Lovino as calmly as he could without sounding nervous or furious or a mixture of both, "Where are you, Lovino Romano Vargas? It is eleven ten, and you're not home. You didn't call to let us know where you were. Did something happen?"

In a trembling, shaky breath, Lovino answered, "Art-Arthu-Artù is in the hospital, Nonno, and i-it's m-my fault..." He swallowed a sob back down his throat, refusing to cry in public, and covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the whimpers that dared to slip past his lips, blinking back tears and willing himself to remain calm. "Nonno, h-he's in the emergency room. I-I don't know what to do..."

He heard his grandfather inhale sharply on the other end before sighing and informing his oldest grandson that he would meet him there in the hospital and wait until Lovino was ready to leave. Lovino choked out the address, the syllables a strangled cry, and hung up his phone just as soon as he heard the phone click, ending the call.

He stood outside for a moment longer until the trembling ceased before somberly strolling into the waiting room. The French woman took a seat next to the British girls, and the older Kirkland leaned against the wall in front of her. The three Bad Friends were glaring at the redhead as discreetly as possible, and Cameron was constantly checking the time on his phone. Lovino settled in the seat next to Antonio. Everyone was silent, and everything was still. It would stay that way until the operation finished. When Lovino's grandfather arrived, he quietly occupied the spot next to Lovino and whispered into his grandson's ear, "How long has it been?"

Lovino glanced at the time on his cell phone and replied, "Almost two hours since I got here." His hand was shaking, and no matter how much he willed it to stop, it wouldn't cease and desist. His grandfather noticed and took it within his own hand. He was noticeably calmer than the others in the room. From over fifty years of experience, Romulus Vargas knew that there was nothing they could do but wait in these types of situations. Everyone froze in place yet again.

Another half hour later, the green light above the doors leading into the operation room dimmed, signaling the end of surgery. The automatic doors slid open, and a doctor wearing blood stained scrubs stepped into the waiting area. He pulled down his procedure mask with gloveless hands, having taken them off his hands earlier after finishing the stitches, and gave everyone a gentle, comforting smile.

"How is he?" the French woman blurted out immediately, shooting onto her feet. "Will he be okay? Oh, what happened?"

"According to witness reports, a sedan hit him from behind when it was braking," the doctor informed her politely, "and he flew all across the intersection, rolling to a stop, which caused a few of his limbs, mostly his legs, to obtain an almost severe case of 'road rash.' People said that he crawled off the road to safety, which would explain the additional cuts and scrapes all over his body. That, together with the two broken ribs, resulted in great blood loss. He narrowly avoided having his leg entirely crushed by traffic, but it is still fractured - though to a lesser extent than what could have happened. Additionally, his right wrist is sprained from absorbing most of the force. His skull was cracked, but he managed to protect it from complete obliteration. He got off lightly compared to others who were also victims of traffic accidents."

Everyone was wide-eyed with either mortification or astonishment.

"He'll be fine," the doctor continued, "after some rest. We've put his leg into a brace. Depending on his recovery speed, he could get it removed in as little as two weeks, but he really ought to take it easy and rest. The same goes for his ribs; however, it would take even longer for them to heal - maybe for a month or two. Again, it really depends on his recovery speed. Some patients take six weeks; others take eight." He gave a short glance around the room and added, "Since visiting hours are over, I would like to ask for anyone who is not his family to leave the hospital."

"You're kidding!" Gilbert snapped.

"I'm afraid I'm not. I don't make the rules here," the doctor replied glumly, keeping eye contact with the albino and studying him with mild interest. After all, humans with albinism were extremely rare. "It's the hospital's policy, but his family can stay here overnight."

"His family!" Francis spat under his breath. The redhead's eyebrow twitched at the comment, but he said nothing. "We are closer to him than his family!" Nevertheless, he stood up and faced the doctor with resilient blue eyes. "At least let us say goodnight to him."

The doctor seemed to consider this before nodding in agreement. "He'll be out shortly," the doctor informed shortly and then stepped back into the operation room. True to his word, in five minutes, Arthur's body was wheeled out of the emergency room on a stretcher. Lovino shot to his feet and reached for Arthur, but the French woman had managed to grasp his hand before him and stroke it tenderly. She pressed a gentle kiss to his hand and cried tears of relief. Lovino stood back, watching forlornly, before his grandfather pulled him away from the scene. He placed his hands comfortingly on Lovino's shoulders, squeezing lightly, and smiled.

"Isn't that great? He survived."

Lovino nodded.

"I'll ready the car out front. Go ahead and say your goodbyes."

With that, his grandfather left the hospital, but Lovino lingered in the background. He watched as Lisa held Victoria from throwing herself on top of Arthur, her "King," with Cameron's help and as Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis whispered goodbye, flicking him in the cheek or on the forehead lightly. The Bad Friends then shuffled out of the waiting area while the nurses and doctors wheeled Arthur to his room. Lovino joined them.

"His fiancée," the Italian heard her ask the doctor, "will be able to stay?"

"Whit fiancée?" seethed the older Kirkland in an accent Lovino couldn't identify.

"He tells you nothing!" She harrumphed almost triumphantly and victoriously, condescending the much taller and much bigger man, "I'm not surprised."

"Yes," interjected the doctor, "she will be able to stay."

Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio walked out of the hospital behind him and his grandfather. "'Fiancée,' she says," Francis grumbled, "what a load of bullshit."

"Y-You know her?" Lovino blurted out before he had a chance to control his outburst. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from speaking any more than that and from potentially embarrassing himself.

Francis huffed. "I wish I didn't," he replied. "Insufferable woman. I had the displeasure of meeting her two years ago Christmas day..." He faltered, pain obvious in his features, before finishing his thought "...when she came to retrieve Arthur from my home." Nobody said anything more on the subject. It seemed that she was a taboo topic, and in a way Lovino understood why. He just didn't know why.

Later, when it was well past midnight, Lovino was still awake, unable to rest and put his mind at ease. His thoughts roamed about aimlessly, and he envied his younger brother for having slept so easily. He tried piecing together what he knew. The French woman - Marianne, if he recalled correctly - was at Arthur's apartment that one summer day. He didn't know how often she visited or her relation to Arthur. He knew that Arthur lived in that apartment because he was disowned by his brother, the redhead from earlier that night, but he didn't know why. He knew that Arthur had a benefactor to pay for his living expenses, but he didn't know who was the benefactor exactly. He knew that Arthur lived on the streets for a while before Francis took him into his home, and he learned that Marianne had come to retrieve Arthur.

Who was Marianne? Why did she refer to herself as Arthur's fi-fi - Lovino gulped, struggling with the word and its connotation - fidanzata? What happened after that? Who were those two girls - Victoria and Elisabeth - and what was their connection to Arthur? What were they to him? What was he to them? What was Arthur not telling him? What did everyone else know that - apparently - he doesn't? Lovino exhaled shakily, his body trembling lightly, as he realized that what he knew didn't amount to the number of questions he was asking himself.

Lovino turned on his side, rustling the sheets once again. Feliciano moaned in despair as he felt the blanket pull away from his body and tried to curl into the warm fabrics once more. "Ve," he groaned, mumbling tiredly, "Fratello, andare a dormire già..."

"Scusi," the older Vargas twin grumbled.

There was a momentary silence that Lovino spent glaring at the wall across from him, trying to burn holes into the surface, in sheer frustration. Seeming to sense his brother's agitation, one of the few times Feliciano could read the atmosphere, he asked tentatively, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what? There's nothing to talk about, Feli."

Feliciano seemed hesitant in replying but, nevertheless, brought himself to answer shortly, "About Arthur Kirkland."

"Chigi! It's nothing, Feli."

"If it's nothing, then go to bed already, Fratello."

Lovino pursed his lips together and responded, "Do... Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Ve, you know him best, Fratello. Is he going to be okay?"

Lovino clicked his tongue. "Chigi! Like hell I know him best! I don't know shit about him, the bastard!"

Feliciano was quiet. "I don't think what you have is a healthy relationship, ve," the younger brother remarked honestly, shying under the covers as though to hide from his brother's potential rage, "if you really don't know anything about him."

The older twin grimaced. "What? Are you going to tell me to break up with him or something?" he snapped impatiently.

"," Feliciano muttered, "I was, but it would have made you upset."

Lovino huffed. "Don't worry about it, idiota. We... We weren't together anyway." Before Feliciano could touch on that subject, Lovino added hastily, "What made you think that I knew him the best anyway?"

"Ve... From that day you yelled at me and Ludwig."

Rolling his eyes, the older brother remarked, "I always yell at you two."

"But it was different that day!" Feliciano argued. "You were yelling about Artù!" The name rolled off his tongue and slipped past his lips without a second thought. "After he was arrested by the policemen! When we were at school! I could tell from your eyes that you two were close, ve! Fratello, you've never stood up for anyone before, including yourself, yet you were sticking up for Artù! You've never ever done that before!"

Lovino could feel the heat crawl up his neck and was thankful to the darkness of the room and the fact that his back was turned to his younger brother. "Chi-chigi! S-Sh-Shut up, Feli! Go back to bed!"

"Ve, Fratello, you should go visit him tomorrow..."

"I don't need you telling me that, stupido!"


Glossy green eyes fluttered open to meet with a blank white ceiling. It didn't look like the ceiling of the flat or the ceiling of Lisa and Victoria's flat. It didn't even look like the ceiling of Alice's or Gilbert's home or Francis' home. He inhaled deeply, taking to drag in a breath, before wincing in pain as a shock bolted through his chest. His eyes fell to his surroundings, finding white walls, white furniture, and - his heart stopped in panic - Marianne sitting at his side, resting on her crossed arms atop the hospital bed, one of her hands clutching his own. At the closed door, he found Alistair leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

Marianne and Alistair? Something bad must have happened, but, still, he had to get back to Lovino. He kept him waiting, after all, and that wasn't a very gentlemanly thing to do.

Easing his hand out of Marianne's grasp, Arthur caught sight of the attachments to his body. He thereby yanked the IV drip from his arm and ripped the respiratory mask from his face. He swung one leg over the side of the bed before noticing that his other leg was wrapped in a dark brace. Well, shit. Arthur grimaced as he pulled his injured left leg carefully off the bed and focused his weight entirely on his right leg, dragging the limp limb behind him as he hobbled to the door.

"Whaur th' fuck dae ye think yoo're gonnae?"

"Fuck off, I 'ave a date," Arthur snapped.

"Dressed loch 'at?" the redhead retorted curtly, arching a thick eyebrow above his deep green eyes. The blond glanced at his attire for a moment and found that he was dressed in a plain medical gown that was a shade of sickly pale green. His arms were still crossed as he shifted in front of the door, blocking Arthur's exit. "Yoo're nae gonnae anywhaur, lad. Sit yerself doon an' rest. There's naethin' ye can dae abit tois broken ribs an' a dud leg," the older Kirkland remarked in a chastising tone. "Yoo're gonnae be in th' hospital fur a while. They want tae rin tests an' check ups ur whatever. Be patient."

"Try an' stop me," the blond spat bitterly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he scrutinised his own brother. He began to breathe heavily from the incoming anger. He tried to ignore the sharp pains stabbing at his chest, flinching only once and hoping that Alistair hadn't noticed, and blinked back searing tears of agony. "You've never acted loike a brother before. Why start na? Get lost, why daan't ya?"

"Loch hell Aam gonnae raise a hain against th' sickly an' injured," Alistair seethed. Unfortunately, his older brother had noticed the faint contortions on his visage and knew that Arthur was, no matter what, bluffing from that point onwards. Thus, the redhead took one step forward, and when Arthur didn't back away - standing his ground - he took another and another. Before Arthur could react, however, Alistair swept his brother off the floor, making sure not to bend the injured leg at an awkward angle and not to place too much pressure on Arthur's chest, and carried him like a bride (since he couldn't carry him like a child. The lad was too big for that now, and he was injured. Alistair didn't want to risk breaking another rib or dislocating them entirely). The English boy growled under his breath, trying to shove his brother away, but only earned himself a warning, "Ye best stop 'at. Aam gonnae drop ya."

Marianne roused from her sleep, stretching like a cat, as she mumbled, "Qu'est-ce que se passe, Arthur?" When she found that her darling was no longer on the bed, she shrilled in fright, whipping to face Alistair, and began to shriek in blind fury at the sight of the two brothers, "Qu'est-ce que tu fais, tu Brute?! Lâche lui! Lâche lui, je dis, maintenant! Arthur est blessé!"

"Calm yerself, Mary Ann!" Alistair snapped as he - gently, or so he tried - dropped Arthur onto his ass on top of the hospital mattress. "Th' idiot tried tae escape is all! Aam puttin' heem back tae bed, all right?"

She huffed indignantly, glaring at Alistair, before calling for the nurse. They couldn't do anything about the IV drip now that it was contaminated, but they could keep an eye on Arthur now that he was up and moving. In the meanwhile, the doctor could come by and deliver his orders himself because it was obvious Arthur wouldn't listen to them. Seating herself at his bedside, Marianne grasped Arthur's pale hands and rubbed them comfortingly though she knew that the notion meant relatively little to Arthur now. He was practically immune to her ministrations now that he had gotten himself a lovely little Italian lover. She wondered just when had her spell broken, her charm lost, her enchantment vanquished. Was it too late to cast another one?

She admonished herself for the silly thought.

Arthur would never love her like a lover. He cared for her. He loved her, but he didn't love her at the same time. They could no longer lick each other's wounds, for Arthur had somehow become so strong.

"Yew ought ter get back ter work na," Arthur mentioned softly, returning her hold gently, with a warm smile. It wasn't the smile of a lover. It was the boyish smile of a little brother. "I wouldn't wan' your business ter suffer 'cause ov me."

"Conceited little boy," she muttered playfully. "Do you think you're that important?" The question was rhetorical. She knew that he was important to her. They probably both did. If he hadn't, then how would he explain the luxurious flat she offered him? How would he explain all that she's done? She stood up and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. "D'accord, mon cher," she chirped in a teasing lilt. "Je vais retourner à Paris! Au revoir!" Stand up for me. Chase after me. Beg me to stay. Tell me that you want me here.

But nothing. Arthur remained in the hospital bed, smiling that boyish grin of his. "Bon voyage, Marianne," he returned. She smiled. Ah, the French woman mused, so this is how it ends. Well, it wasn't like she needed a man anyway - just someone to keep her on her toes. Arthur was perfect. He was lovely, gorgeous, sexy, playful, and a gentleman. He was just like her. He was perfect in every which way, but it seemed that he will never be hers - not fully, not completely, not entirely. She gave him a finger wave before disappearing out the door, planning to make a reappearance perhaps in January or March. He would be graduating soon anyway.

Alistair, on the other hand, was rooted to the floor. Glowering at his brother, he snapped in perfect, clear, and unaccented English, "Are you still seeing that woman?"

"No," Arthur answered shortly. "I never saw 'er in da first place."

"Come back home with us then."

"Not bloody likely," Arthur snapped. "If I come back, then wot? We're just goin' ter argue again an' again, an' someone will get 'urt! I don't wan' that someone ter be Peter! Haven't yew noticed, Al? There's a pattern! A vicious cycle! Someone always gets 'urt!" He was running short on breath, and it was getting harder to breathe.

"So then we'll help each other stand back up, Artie!" the Scotsman snapped. "It's time to grow up and move on!"

"You're mad," Arthur mumbled, panting heavily and wincing at the pain, "if you think it'll work out."

"We're all a little mad - including you. It's a Kirkland trait, after all."

Arthur cracked a smile.

Once the nurses moved into the room, followed by Arthur's assigned doctor, a certain Dr Patel who was related to Arthur's classmate, Neeraja Patel, Alistair left with promises of returning for Arthur. After hearing the doctor's orders, they left the blond to rest before his scheduled x-ray, and with nothing to do, surely enough, Arthur lapsed back into sleep. Of course, this didn't last long.

In a matter of a few - maybe one or even two - hours, Victoria leapt onto his body, throwing herself onto his middle and narrowly avoiding his chest, and embraced him whole-heartedly. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay!" she chirped merrily, peeling herself off the boy and nuzzling him affectionately, pressing his face into her bosom. Considering how the brunette was dressed in a frilled white miniskirt, a dusty pink woven blouse that was nearly transparent (Arthur could make out the faint outline of a singlet), and heeled suede boots with her typical black ribbons in her hair, the scene was almost scandalous.

The blond flushed at her actions, and he could faintly see Lisa shaking her head in disapproval - or disappointment, it was difficult to differentiate - at the pair. Lisa, as always, was dressed in a more conserved manner. She wore a large white t-shirt - custom cut so that the neckline was lower, resulting in an off-shoulder appearance - with a Union Jack design. The t-shirt fell to the middle of her thighs, nearly covering her frayed black shorts, meeting with the black and white striped stockings. Her feet were covered with black booties and her wrists with fashionable bracelets. Her usual wire glasses were pushed up the bridge of her nose, and on top of her head was a black fedora with a pinstriped band. His fellow musicians dropped off his bass guitar and his sports bag, assuming that he would be returning to his home soon after recovering, before making him promise and swear to come visit them and play again - at least for tea and biscuits.

Cameron soon joined the girls in their visit, remarking about how Arthur's bike was almost entirely demolished. With a smile, however, he mentioned that he was glad to see that Arthur was well and that he would look forward to the day Arthur would seek employment with him again. He was a joy to have around the pub.

The group of three left when Lisa and Victoria had classes to attend, and Cameron had to run some errands for the pub. At the nurse's insistence, Arthur replaced the respiratory mask over his nose and mouth, slowly falling asleep yet again. He thought it was ridiculous that he needed help breathing, but when his body defied him with yet another lacerating jab in his chest, he relented to using the ventilator.

What time would he need to be at the x-ray again? Then again, did it even matter? The nurses would come fetch him anyway. Let's see... He had woken up at ten to Marianne and Alistair, then napped until two when Lisa and Victoria and Cameron had visited, and it was... It was almost four now. Bloody hell, time flew by fast, and he was still exhausted? Arthur yawned. Lovino would be getting off work soon. He hoped the little ankle-biter wouldn't be too infuriated with him though - in Arthur's opinion - he had a legitimate excuse.

He wondered if Lovino would even want to see him after that fall-out they had during the Winter Festival. Arthur supposed it was his fault for the misunderstanding. After all, Lovino knew nothing about Marianne, and Arthur should have pushed her away. It was pathetic, but the Briton had a soft spot for the French woman. Despite his lack of faith in spirituality and religion and all, Marianne had easily persuaded him long ago that they were kindred spirits, but that was all they ever were and ever would be. They both craved touch and warmth and comfort, but they never did anything more than licking festering wounds.

Lovino, on the other hand, was earthly. There was so much about the Italian that set Arthur on edge because, at any given moment, he would burst with colours. It was beautiful. He was always simmering with heat and passion, always shining brightly, and always so radiant, yet he was modest in a strange sense. He shied away from the attention once someone had noticed him, flushing crimson scarlet, positively glowing. The git was bloody adorable.

He was so unlike Marianne that Arthur hadn't even noticed that he had already fallen for the boy. Honestly, Marianne was his type: strong, independent, sexy and beautiful. He could admit that before and even now. Lovino was far from her stature, insecure as he was and is, but there was something about the Italian that appealed to Arthur, compelling the Briton to him. And, God, that smile! It was bloody gorgeous! Lovino was actually quite sexy himself and, not to mention, exotic... Yes, it was rather erotic, frankly.

The door squeaked open, and Arthur glanced towards his latest guest with half-lidded eyes. His entire body froze when he saw his little ankle-biter peer into the room cautiously before stepping inside. Lovino today was dressed in a loose v-neck underneath a casual button shirt, undone with a ruby coloured cotton tie, blue denim jeans, and his usual Armani boots. The Italian shuffled nervously towards him, pursing his lips and fiddling with his fingers. His hazel eyes meekly drifted over Arthur's form and stiffened, the eyes crystallising with tears. "Mi dispiace tanto..." he whispered breathlessly. His tanned hands reached for Arthur's, but they stopped halfway in their journey. The Italian visibly gulped, anxious, wondering if he even had the right to touch him.

Arthur, on the other hand, decided to take matters into his own hands. Sighing, and thereby fogging the surface of his face mask with the moisture, the blond lifted a single hand and gestured with his forefinger for the brunet to approach him while watching the younger boy through half-lidded eyes. Lovino froze in place yet again but obligingly took tiny baby steps to the side of the bed. Arthur shuffled aside, wincing slightly as he felt his chest ache from the movement and making a mental note to remind the nurse to provide him with some painkillers (stupid ribs), and patted the spot beside him. Lovino bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying something stupid. The Italian sat on top of the bed, and Arthur opened his eyes fully - only to roll them in slight irritation - before pulling Lovino down by the hand. The boy yelped in surprise as Arthur pressed him to his shoulder, wrapping a single arm around him, and began stroking his hair.

Lovino blinked in mild confusion as he observed Arthur's features. The blond stared at him adoringly, only wanting his company, the corners of his lips turned upwards in a smile. He mouthed something that fogged up the mask, and while Lovino wasn't good at lip-reading, he could faintly make out the words.

"You git."

Resting his head shyly against Arthur's shoulder, Lovino heard the blond mutter something that was further muffled by his face mask. Straining his ears, he discerned the words, "It's not your fault," and began to tear up. He wildly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands before Arthur took them in his own bandaged hand, hiding the faint bruises, and set them aside. Cupping Lovino's face with his free hand, the other still lingering around the small of his back, he wiped away the tears with his thumb. "It's not your fault," he repeated, removing the face mask. Lovino's eyes widened at the action, and he nearly protested if it weren't for Arthur speaking yet again, "I'm sorry for not being able to have met you as arranged."

"B-Bastard!" Lovino cried, the tears rolling down his cheeks like crystal marbles, dripping off his chin like glass fragments, and dissipating onto the white sheets. "I-It's not your fault, dammit!"

Arthur smiled. "Then we're even," he chirped, pressing a kiss on top of Lovino's head.

"Chigi! Put... Put that thing back on, bastard. You're going to get sick or something!" He blushed when Arthur raised an inquiring eyebrow and gave him a humoured smirk. "I-I don't know what will happen, okay?!"

Arthur chuckled. "It's just breathing support," he assured Lovino. "I broke my ribs - " Upon seeing Lovino's face pale, he rephrased his words, " - well, my ribs are broken because of the accident, not me or you, all right? Anyway, it hurts to breathe, but it should be fine if I take it easy and swallow some painkillers. Doctor says it'll take six to eight weeks to recover. I've got to get an x-ray done this evening just to be sure the damage doesn't cause any other complications - like kidney failure or liver damage or whatever." Lovino was noticeably pale now, and Arthur laughed even harder than earlier before immediately stopping. Ouch. "Look, Lovino, I'm fine, really. Does it look like I'll have failed kidneys or damaged liver?"

Lovino flushed. "Just listen to the doctor and keep that thing on."

"No," Arthur replied defiantly, frowning, "because I want to talk to you."

"C-Chigi!" he squeaked, flush deepening to a darker red.

"We need to talk, Lovino," Arthur stated firmly. When the Italian began shrinking under his stare, he softened his gaze. "I... I need to tell you a bit - well, a lot, actually - about me. It's... It's about what you saw at the Winter Festival - about me and Marianne and my family. I-It's a rather twisted story."

Lovino's heart stopped for a moment, skipping a single beat, before he nodded his head, giving Arthur permission to continue.

"You know about me being illegitimate, right? And you know that I was disowned... But you... You don't know how, so I guess... I'll start a few months back from when that happened. In spring. That's... That's when everything began, if I remember correctly."

Arthur took a deep breath before he began his story,

"I was fifteen, and she was almost eighteen. We met on the rooftop of the school. I didn't have a key back then, so I had to pick the lock. On the other hand, Marianne had the key in her possession. It was her last day, and the two of us had similar ideas. She wanted to see the Academy for the last time before attending university, and I wanted to see the Academy for the first time before my first day. She was an exceptional student, bright and intelligent, not to mention beautiful, so she was idolised by the majority of the student population. If she had a single flaw, it would be the fact that she was - err - argumentative, to say the least, and quite narcissistic. Because of those traits, she was known as the Lionne Rampante de France, the Rampant Lioness of France, and I ended up inheriting her title after she graduated. Nobody but me knows about that now - not that it even bloody matters. I've practically butchered the title of 'Lion' by now.

"Marianne was acquainted with my brother, who used to attend the same school as her. The two of them got along fairly well when they weren't arguing; they used to get along, I mean to say. She was surprised when he suddenly quit school, but she understood. I used to see her only once or twice around the neighbourhood when she and Alistair ran into each other, so we were on fairly good terms. We didn't hate each other, but we didn't even know if we liked each other back then.

"In a way, we clicked on that rooftop - at that very moment. I don't believe much in reincarnation or damnation or red strings or whatever, but I knew and she knew that we... We just clicked. There's no other way to explain it. We got along - well, no, probably more than that - bloody hell, we understood each other. Maybe it was because Marianne lost her mum as well; I don't know. I just knew that I've never had that before - understanding, that is. Alistair used to push me around because I was a 'love child,' and Seamus joined in the action so that he wouldn't be left out. Owain just never fought or protected me, and Peter was too young to understand anything. I didn't have that kind of understanding from another person. She was the first one."

Arthur noticed that Lovino was avoiding eye contact now. He grasped the younger boy's hand and kissed it gently, holding it tightly and trying to lift the brunet's spirits.

"That of all went to bloody Hell though."