Of Books and Crime
Summary: Romania is an eccentric new student eager to make friends. Bulgaria is the school delinquent who hangs out with the wrong people. Against all odds they form a friendship which transforms into something more. Bulgaria x Romania
Chapter 19: Romanian Days
That night they lay in bed together, a little apart as not to jar Niko's injuries. The Romanian's dark brown eyes trail over the ceiling, restless.
Ivanov is about to fall asleep, always a good sleeper. But he knows Alin isn't and so with some effort he manages to turn around, give him a good, studying look.
"Shouldn't I be the one who's pouting?" he attempts to joke but it doesn't elicit the right reaction.
The shorter teen switches to his side, then curls long, skinny fingers around his.
"It's just that…how can you even handle all this?" he asks, voice small, "I can't- I can't believe there are people like Radko in this world."
The atmosphere between them shifts and a thick sigh flies past Nikolai's lips.
"So full of hatred, of prejudice. Wanting to paint the entire world black, so it fits with the one inside their heads."
The Bulgarian puts one hand over his shoulder, a reassurance,
"Look, yeah the world is full with some pretty fucked up people…But that doesn't take away from all the good ones, does it?"
Alin chuckles but it sounds a little forced, even to his own ears,
"Your skewed version of optimism is one of a kind,"
Niko's grins, as best as he can, having in mind his lips are still swollen,
"I am one of a kind,"
The Romanian snorts,
"Can't argue with that, can I?"
It's better like this when they joke around, injecting lightheartedness in their relationship, bright tones that contrast sharply against the black.
"Allie," the green eyed boy begins, voice so soft that Alin doesn't protest against the silly nickname,
There's a pause, an unspoken hesitation in his words and then,
"Could you tell me about your past? Like what you did back in your motherland and shit."
The Romanian stiffens as he hears the words and gulps hard… can he?
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Ivanov is quick to assure, taking his silence as a refusal, "It's just that…would be nice to know more about you. About what it was like in Romania…"
Nikolai's voice trails, Slavic accent as strong as ever now that he's sleepy and drowsy.
Alin meets his eyes, the green seems a little on the grey side in the dim lighting that stems from the street lamps. But he finds no trails of judgment in those eyes, only a silent plea to let him in.
And he does.
xxx
Alin realizes most people have a certain idea about Romania, much like any other country. The stereotypical portray, like in The Simpsons is of a poor place with unhappy people, like an old photo retouched with the grey filter.
But, as his heart is quick to object - that is not the case.
Romania is a beautiful place, one which you can easily fall in love with. And he does love his motherland, although he only realizes it once it's so far away from him it almost feels like a piece of memory from a past life.
Nostalgia is like a thick beige blanket, wrapped around him all the time, suffocating him in its warmth.
When Niko asks him about his past, he knows he should tell him. Out of the two, surprisingly enough he's the one who hasn't shared, who still hasn't dismantled the walls that surround him.
But he wants to and not just because he owes it to him. No, there is the need to tell him, to finally reveal himself before another person and not just the version he likes to present before the world.
xxx
It's not that his childhood is all that bad, there's certainly much, much worse. He's always had his mother on his side, who's one of the best people he's ever known – smart and kind and always there to offer a helping hand.
His grandparents are all the support he needs at times. Wise but still smiling all the time, dealing with the hardships while appreciating every moment of joy.
And then there is his father, the odd one out.
When Alin was a small kid, he never blamed his dad, rather always himself.
It wasn't his dad's fault that he was a weirdo.
He didn't like playing sports or getting into fights, you know the normal things. The boy things. The things that had the blue stamp of approval, the ones that were deemed okay by society.
Rather he would be drawing, collecting things and burying his nose in books about fairies and dragons and vampires. It's something Sorina has taken up as well but that is normal, that is acceptable for girls.
For Alin though…not so much. He's always liked things which fell slightly out of the sphere of what others saw as good, as right, as normal.
xxx
"Daddy, look, I drew you a picture!" Alin beams, proudly presenting a white sheet of paper, with what looked like a house with a pointy roof. Much later he would learn about architecture but for now all he knows is he likes going around town with his mum and sketching the buildings.
His father turns around, cold dark eyes falling over his own, completely skipping the picture.
"I told you to go play outside with the others," he grunts, "Like a normal kid,"
The child gulps but he waves away the accusations too young to realize words leave a mark,
"But dad, I don't like playing with the others," Alin whines, "I like drawing!"
His father glares at him, a bout of determination flickers through his dark eyes. He stretches out a large hand and snags the piece of paper out of his hands.
He lets out a cry and stomps his foot,
"I told you to go outside and play!" the older Romanian shouts, "Enough with the weird crap, Alin!"
The small boy gulps, salty tears already pricking in his eyes.
'But I-"
His father slaps him and he's so taken aback, he falls back flat on his ass, brown eyes wide in shock.
He doesn't even register the pain at first, it's only later that he feels the mark of his dad's fingers over his cheek.
"Get out!" the older man barks and he quickly pushes against the panic, scrambles to his feet and flies out of the house.
xxx
His mother and father fight a lot these days.
Alin tries to ignore the shouts and even the swears and replace them with something else. There's a version of the world inside his head, a more beautiful, peaceful version. He clings onto it so hard that sometimes it all but replaces reality.
But one day reality hits him in a train wreck as he learns the truth.
He's always wondered why his parents fought – it wasn't for money or out of jealousy or the other stuff grown-ups usually fought about.
It's about him.
The truth has probably always been there, just underneath the surface but Alin was too scared to pull away the curtain and see what was going on.
"I'm telling you there is something wrong with our son!"" his father shouts that day, thick voice tearing through the peaceful silence of the Romanian evening.
"Keep your voice down, Allie might here you!" his mother is quick to point out.
"He'd better! I'm not going to stand around and watch him as he turns into-into some freak!"
The word is so strong that Alin feels like it hurts worse than the slap.
Tears well up in his eyes and he clasps one hand over his mouth, desperate not to make a sound.
"Don't you dare say that!" his mum's voice is now determined, harsh, full of conviction, "There is nothing wrong with our son and he is perfectly fine the way he is!"
Alin doesn't even hear the last words, he runs back to his room, assured there's something wrong with him already.
xxx
Despite all the fights, his mother gets pregnant. Alin is happy not only because he'll get to have a sister but also because maybe this way his father would finally get a kid he likes.
xxx
And he does, his father is tender and sweet with Sorina in a way he never was with him. The baby's smile is enough to brighten the whole house and Alin can't pull out the weeds of jealousy as they sprung up somewhere deep in his chest.
Still, the love his dad has for Sorina does nothing to melt the hatred that is reserved for him.
As the years pass the relationship between his parents deteriorates and Alin can't help but blame himself. Still, in the end he can do nothing to fix them and changing himself feels like a last resort he'll run up to some day.
xxx
It's one snowy December night that things finally fall apart for the Popescu family. His father never drinks, except that night he does. Sparks ignite and the two adults are quickly locked into a fight.
But it's different this time, this time his father is truly angry, looking like nothing short of a madman.
Alin is usually a quiet kid, he prefers to stay away from danger. At that time however, when he sees his father shout profanities at his mother something in him snaps.
He moves on autopilot, not even realizing what he's doing. He jumps in between them, desperate to protect her from his words. He lashes out at him, bears his teeth like a dog,
"Get away from mummy!"
The words echo through the cozy apartment, straight into the neighbour's ears. Not that they would ever intervene – no one ever does. Domestic abuse is nothing short of an unpleasant topic everyone pretends not to notice, turns their head away.
The older Romanian is so shocked at first, at him acting temperamental. Alin vaguely wonders if perhaps he likes it. But then he gets his answer as a strong hand hits his cheek, slapping him so hard he falls back. He hits his head at the table but the adrenaline is so strong in his system, he doesn't even register the dull pain at first, nor the taste of metal in his mouth.
His father has slapped him before, a handful of times. But never like this. The small boy can feel blood at the tip of his tongue and raises one skinny hand to feel up his burning cheek.
For a second his father steps back, dark eyes wide in shock as his brain processes the actions. Regret flashes through his irises or so it seems, Alin never gets to learn if he saw that or imagined it.
Before he knows what's going on, he hears the door slam hard and with that he vaguely registers he's not getting an answer.
All he knows is he is not good enough to make him stay or perhaps he's the entire reason his father is leaving.
xxx
The next morning his father is gone.
Alin doesn't grasp why but something in him tells him he's gone forever.
On the table in the living room he finds a stack of pristine white papers, DIVORCE written in bold black letters.
He's a smart kid, he knows the word but it still takes him a few long moments to realize what it means.
Not in general, like in the dictionary, but for them, their own family. Himself.
"Oh, Allie," his mother says softly from somewhere behind him.
The small boy quickly turns around and meets her large, dark brown eyes, a mirror of his own.
"I'm so, so sorry," he utters over and over again until his words become lump together, one incoherent noise of regret.
His mum seems surprised at his words, as if he's not making any sense.
"What for honey?" she asks but he can't answer, tears trickling down his face already.
She pulls him into a warm hug, running delicate fingers down his shoulder length hair.
"Mummy and daddy just couldn't get along anymore," she explains, voice leveled, calm and secure. An anchor to his world.
She sounds the way she did when he was a little kid, when she sang him songs to bed and always made sure to come up with a different fairytale each night. Alin knows he's too old for this type of things but oddly enough he finds comfort in them, a sense of security filling up his heart as he realizes a part of it is already missing.
His mother's love is like an anchor that holds them grounded, assures the now broken family they'll get through the storm.
"Because of me," Alin finishes her sentence and he can almost taste the bitterness of the thought, "He left because of me."
He attempts to say it out loud but the words die on his lips. He can't tell her as some small part of him still clings onto the hope that maybe she won't realize it.
That she won't understand that it is his fault their marriage fell apart. Because if she does, he knows she'll hate him. Maybe even leave too.
xxx
They move in with his grandparents after that.
Alin enjoys the quietness of the countryside, the crisp, fresh air he inhales every morning.
Sorina loves it from the day they set foot there. She feeds the chickens, pets the stray cats and cuddles the bunnies all day long. She spends the time picking flowers and braiding them into little crowns, with the help of their grandmother. She dries up the petals and adds them to her drawings, a true artist even in kindergarten.
His mother seems to like it well enough as well, although Alin has the sneaking suspicion she pretends from time to time. He catches a glimpse of her melancholy when she thinks no one is looking. One night he finds her running through old, worn out photos with happy faces.
Of her, of his father.
Guilt follows Alin's every step, it's like a fog that clouds his mind and makes everything around dull, almost like part of a dream.
xxx
"Why don't you have a dad?" it's one of the village boys that asks, voice gruff, eyes demanding answers. He's surrounded by a whole bunch of kids and feels as though he's today's village attraction – the weirdo who came from town and has no friends.
He doesn't fit in, like a weed in a carefully put together garden where all the flowers look the same.
Alin stares at his feet for a while but the others' gazes never leave him.
"You deaf or some shit?" another one demands, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to look up.
"Mum and dad are divorced," he mumbles in the end, knowing he has to satisfy their curiosity before they run out of patience.
"Why?" a girl asks, mean blue eyes squinted into two inquisitive slits.
"I bet your mother cheated on him like a dirty whore!" one of the boys cackles and the entire groups erupts into laughter.
Something in Alin snaps and without thinking he barks back,
"Don't you dare say that about her, you idiot!" he screams, surprised by the intensity of his own voice.
From then on it's the usual cliché scenario, the other children getting mad and beating him up.
Alin lies on the ground, curled into a ball. A small puddle of blood around him, clothes torn apart. He can feel his nose throb, his lip split.
Worst part of it is he can hear his father's voice, the "I told you so," which never comes because he's not even around to say it. He's left a long time ago.
Somewhere, deep in his chest or at the back of his mind there's a part of him that genuinely believes he deserves this.
And he must do something to change himself.
xxx
It's the beginning of spring that Alin choses to cut his hair.
He read in one of his mother's magazines that women like men with short hair while men respect other men more if it's cut short. It sounds silly, maybe even stupid but his childish brain clings on to the hope that maybe it could stop the bullying.
He wants others to like him, he craves attention, the validation he has never received.
So… maybe if he cuts it short then, well, maybe then he would find friends. It doesn't hurt to try, does it?
He stares at his own reflection, no bruises thankfully. It's only after his mother marches to the school and demands for better treatment that the others stop with the abrupt beatings.
Now they're more skilled, hitting him where they know it won't show as much. Or where Alin can hide it, in some vain attempt to save his family (what is left of it) the trouble. And himself – the crumbles of dignity.
He runs a hand through his hair, one last time.
He loves it - straight and smooth, going past his shoulders at this point. The only thing he likes about himself, even if it's a dull brown colour, nothing like his sister's soft blonde.
But it has to go. He'll look better without it, or if not better than at least normal, like all the other boys in the village. The normal boys whose dads are there with them, who don't get called freaks.
He cuts his hair with the scissors his grandfather uses to cut the vines since he couldn't find any others, nearly cutting his hand in the process.
Brown locks fall to the ground, creating a mess but Alin tries not to look at them he just keeps going.
"Alin what on Earth are you doing?!" it's his grandfather's strong voice that breaks him away from the task.
He drops the scissors on the ground and the small clink resonates through the room.
A few seconds pass and he meets his grandpa's eyes, reading the confusion in them.
"Uh…cutting my hair?" he tries, putting on the fake smile, one which he knows reassures most and makes people forget any questions they have.
Not his grandpa though as he cocks and eyebrow, face locked in doubt,
"But you love your hair, Allie,"
Alin looks away, that much it true. It's soft and shiny and he likes to run his fingers through it, makes him feel good about at least one tiny fraction of himself. But it needs to go if it's going to make others hate him a little less.
"Nah, I don't. It looks…girlish."
"And what's wrong with that?" the older Romanian counters, sitting on the bed and patting the empty space next to himself for him to come over and sit.
Alin sighs, "Others don't like it." He pauses for a second, "Dad didn't like it."
The older man's eyes fill with rage for a split second, that's the effect his son in law has on him. But the storm passes as quickly as it came and his lips stretch into a small, comforting smile,
"Allie, if you're gonna spend your life doing what others like, you may as well do nothing at all."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you can never be who others want you to be. You being…well, different, that's not a bad thing, it's just who you are. And you'll have to learn to live with it."
The child tries to accept the advice, somewhere deep in his heart he can feel this is the truth. But his mind refuses to admit it, wants a better answer, an easier solution.
"But will there be anyone willing to live with me the way I am?" he says, voice small, "Even my own father left me."
He feels his grandpa's strong hand on his shoulder and when he looks up he sees nothing but determination in the old man's eyes.
"Your father left because he's a piece of shit."
Alin is taken aback at the swearing, usually the elder never swears, always makes sure to be eloquent and polite. And yet the sheer strength behind the words is what shocks him the most.
"He left because he wasn't strong enough to have a family or because he was too stubborn in his own beliefs to accept you as you are,' the older Romanian continues, "But don't you ever think it was your fault, Alin. You are perfectly fine the way you are."
Alin holds his gaze, takes in his word and nods in the end. Nothing has really changed, the bullies are still there, waiting for him. And he still has no friends…and yet, somehow he feels a little different, a little better.
"Now that we're done with the sentimental part," his grandfather says, "Let me finish the haircut or you risk looking like someone the hairdresser has a grunge against.'
Alin chuckles at the words, his heart feeling light and free.
"Thanks, grandpa," he tells him and the other merely grins at him, pulling him onto his feet and taking the scissors back.
xxx
Popescu's hair grows back in a few weeks and he never thinks about cutting it again.
It's moments like this he misses the most about Romania, little spaces of sunshine he feels like putting into a memory jar, just so he can remind himself they are real. It's warm memories that help him remember the world can be a pretty great place.
xxx
The words die on Alin's lips as he finishes telling the other about this segment of his past. He isn't sure if Niko is asleep or not by the time he's done. Sure enough though he gets an answer,
"Your father was a fucking piece of shit," the Bulgarian grunts, apparently still awake.
"That sounds like something grandpa would say when he's not in the mood," Alin chuckles, mind flying back to his older relative he misses more than words can express.
"Mmm, grandpa Popescu must be a wise man," Nikolai points out, "Just like me,"
The Romanian rolls his eyes, leave it to the other to give himself some praise. Not that he doesn't love it.
"So…you see I'm not all sunshine and puppies, either," he mumbles, "And you haven't even heard all of it."
Nikolai meets his eyes, green falling over brown, offering sympathy,
"Allie, I'm starting to think none of us is," he begins, a lazy sigh flying past his lips, "Guess we all are fucked up in the head, one way or another."
Popescu chuckles, "Yeah, you might be onto something. But hey…at least we're can be fucked up together?"
The Bulgarian grins at him,
"Look at you all swearing and shit, I'm starting to rub off on you, aren't I?"
Alin glares at him,
"I was trying to be nice, you asshole,"
"The most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me," Ivanov proclaims, but then he moves closer to him, wraps his hands around him and pulls him close, forgetting about the injuries for a second.
Popescu struggles with something witty or nice to say but his mind stays blank. He doesn't think there is anything to say, the whole situation sucks. But for the first time in his life he isn't too concerned with it, perhaps because this time he isn't alone, for once.
When he looks up Nikolai is fast asleep and so he closes his eyes falls asleep too, snuggled up against the other.
xxx
Going back to school after the break feels weird, almost as if the events during winter break were some sort of surreal dream. But Alin knows for sure they happened as Nikolai is still sleeping in his bed every night and even his mum seems to be okay with that.
What she isn't okay with is the whole situation surrounding him, everything the Bulgarian is part of. She has begged them to call the cops a million times already but Nikolai's stubbornness knows no end.
And so, they're left somewhere in the middle, having to satisfy with the fact that at the very least he isn't going back to Ivan.
Alin sits at his deck, taking in the well-lit classroom. It feels normal and mundane, going to school, meeting the others. Usually he would call it boring but these days he's discovered new found beauty in boring. Niko isn't with him, he's skipping school for a few days, until the bruises fade a little so the others don't ask too many questions. He isn't too worried, he's staying with his mum and she isn't one to let him out of sight.
"Hey," he hears a familiar soft voice and turns around only to face Francis.
Normally he would have been happy to see the charismatic blonde but now all he feels is anger ignite in his chest. A million questions, demanding for answers flood his mind as he squints his eyes at the other.
"Hey," he seethes, not bothering to say anything further.
Francis stands next to him awkwardly, apparently wondering what to say next,
"Uh, may I sit next to you?" he tries, a guilty look over his face.
Alin pauses to take a good look of him and it's only now he notices the other looks like shit. He's pale, his normally nice light tan gone. His dyed hair is a mess, long stands sticking in all directions, while brown roots pop up at the top of his head. And for the first time in well…ever he's wearing some crumpled tee and a pair of simple jeans, coupled with black vans of all things. It's not the French's usual pompous style, and even the intriguing smile is gone from his face.
The Romanian can feel himself soften, he's always had a kind heart, he can't stand to see others in a bad place. Still he can't forgive him, not after outing Nikolai.
"Fine, sit," he says in the end and the other is all too quick to obey, offering him a genuine thanks.
Francis fidgets with his fingers, showing an uncharacteristic nervousness which doesn't suit him in the slightest.
"So…you're probably wondering what happened," he begins, unable to wait any longer, "I mean I owe you an apology,"
"You owe Nikolai an apology even more so," Alin counters, surprised by the intensity of his own voice.
"Oui, oui," the blonde is quick to agree, looking away, "What I did…Alin, you have to believe me…it, it wasn't on purpose. I never wanted Nikolai to get hurt."
"Well, he did…the moment Radko heard about it, he and Niko had one hell of a fight."
Francis pales, the guilt in his eyes intensifying. He holds his head in shame,
"I'm so, so sorry." He says, voice genuine, "I-I swear I didn't think this would happen. I didn't mean for Nikolai to get hurt…or Alfred.'
The other's words take Alin by surprise,
"Wait…Alfred? What do you mean Alfred got hurt too? What on Earth did you do?"
Francis opens his mouth to tell him but it's just then that the teacher walks in and leaves them hanging.
Author's Note: maryranstadler1, Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary, GarGoyl, EmmieCG ,
Huge thanks for all of your kind reviews and the support you have offered me throughout the story! It really means so much to me!
Canada Cowboy - welcome to the story! Thank you so much for your in-depth reviews and the analysis you did on the plot and the characters! It's much appreciated and I loved seeing the story through your point of view! This is my absolutely favourite thing about sharing my writing with the Internet - seeing the way different people interpretate everything that goes on in a story. Glad you enjoyed the different approach to Romania and Bulgaria, I always strive to offer something a bit outside the frame we sometimes tend to put characters in. In the remaining chapters there will definitely be more elaborating on Alin and it will offer even more reasoning behind his actions. The thing about having him as the p.o.v. character is that throughout the story he largely reacted to what others did and why but there will be more revelations about him as well that will hopefully add to his overall personality, traits, the way he looks and behaves and why.
So, of course I had to end this on a cliffhanger, haha! What did you think of the chapter? Thoughts on Alin's past and how it formed him to be the person he is these days? And also, yeah, there will be more to it!
Last but not least - any guesses on what Francis did?