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 22: A Little Help
"Alin was it? What on Earth are you doing here?"
"I need your help." The Romanian blurts out, before he chickens out of this and leaves.
Except he can't leave, not when Nikolai needs his help.
Arthur's face morphs from surprise to shock and Alin takes a bit of skewed pleasure seeing the other so lost.
"About what?" he asks suspiciously, as soon as the wave of shock washes away.
The shorter teen takes a deep breath, now or never,
"I need you to take me to Alfred,"
The expression of utter shock returns to the Brit's face.
"Is this some sort of joke, you bloody git?" he demands harshly, leaning in closer, as though he might hit him, "You think just cause Alfred and I broke up you can-"
"It's not about you two!" Alin cuts him off, before he can venture into that, "I know all about what happened with you and Francis and Alfred…"
"You do?" Arthur asks and there's something off to his voice,
"Yeah. And even though you were an absolute arsehole," he mocks, "I'm not here because of this."
The Brit crosses his arms over his chest, his usual arrogance returning as though it never left,
"Then why?"
"Because I need his help. Nikolai is in a lot of trouble."
Arthur scoffs and though Alin is a pacifist he has the sudden urge to scream and punch. Sure, the other doesn't like the Bulgarian but shouldn't it be common courtesy to help out a lad in need?
"Why would I ever take you to Alfred?" he demands harshly, "Why should I help that degenerate,"
The Romanian grits his teeth, his patience wearing thin,
"I don't know, maybe cause you're in need of some good karma?"
Before, back in Romania, he wouldn't dream of talking to one of the cool kids, let alone insulting him right at his face, when asking for a favour. Perhaps Nikolai is rubbing off on him.
Arthur doesn't seem impressed, pale fingers already curling around the door frame, as if ready slam it in his face,
"Wait!" Alin is a little embarrassed by the urgency in his voice,
"Alfred always likes playing the hero…right? Maybe if you show him there's still some good in you – maybe then he might take you back."
He's a little disgusted at himself for saying it, it's a reach by a few miles and yet…he needs the American's help. It seems like the only way of helping out Niko. For him Alin is ready to do anything, including destroying whatever pride he has.
Arthur hesitates, the gears in his head turning, before he sighs in indignation – the way a king would sigh at the pleas of his maids probably,
"Fine," he grunts in the end and Alin releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"But if I were you I wouldn't keep my hopes up," the Brit adds, as he turns around to grab his coat and keys, "Alfred might seem like a saint but when he's not in the mood… he turns into a bloody nightmare for everyone around."
xxx
The walk towards Alfred's house – it's not too far away as Arthur keeps saying – is an awkward one.
Normally Alin would be on edge because of the tense silence between them but now his mind is occupied by everything that has happened in the last few days.
"What did Nikolai do anyway? This time I mean."
Arthur's sudden question tears him away from the little introspection. He turns around, raising an eyebrow, as if to ask – what do you care.
The blonde seems to get the implication so he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Alin notes to remember the odd detail, how often he does it, as though to protect himself from some invisible harm by putting the world at an arm's distance.
"Not that I care," he's quick to assure, "It's just that…Alfred is going to ask. So, you'd better work on your story, that's all."
Alin bites his lip as doubt sprouts in his chest like a weed. He made the decision to ask the American for help on a whim. He didn't think it through, let alone make a plan.
Popescu knows Alfred's dad is a cop – hell, probably the entire school knows about it since the American boasts nonstop. Perhaps his father could weigh in on the case, perhaps he could protect Nikolai if he knew the whole story…
Now that Alin thinks about it, it sounds stupid. The old insecurities ring through his ears and suddenly the picture of his boyfriend dressed up in orange flashes before his eyes.
"Well?" Arthur asks impatiently, tapping one foot.
"Radko's dead." he says, deciding he has to start from somewhere.
"Oh," the Brit utters, looking away, "Well, can't say I'm too sad about that. Guy was a bloody jerk."
Alin opens his mouth to protest but realizes half way through he doesn't have anything to point in the Serbian's defense.
"He was still our age. He didn't deserve to die," he argues, echoing Nikolai's words.
It sounds cliché, as this stands for the politically correct version of "I hated the guy but gloating is wrong."
Arthur raises a bushy eyebrow, as if to challenge him,
"Radko tried to rape a girl, Alin. If you ask me – I don't see any reason to be sad."
The Romanian stares at him, unsure what to make of his words. One thing he can give to the Brit is – he isn't scared to speak his mind, even if the whole world disagrees.
"After his death the police found out about the bar where-"
"Where your lovebird Niko helped that Russian psycho and Radko sell drugs among other lovely stuff?" Arthur demands, green eyes squinted into two cold green slits.
Alin's mouth drops as he takes in what the other said. The Englishman merely rolls his eyes,
"What, you thought I didn't know about that?" he snickers, "Mate, only an idiot wouldn't put two and two together."
The Romanian nods on autopilot, unsure what to say.
"Only and idiot…or someone in love."
There's an awkward pose before he sighs,
"Yeah, I suppose I was too blinded to see everything clearly," Alin whispers, surprised at how low his voice has gone.
Arthur shoots him a strange look, one he can't quite place,
"I'm guessing you want to talk to Alfred's dad about letting Nikolai free?"
"To put it simply, yes," he replies, words carefully measured.
The Brit scoffs at him in indignation,
"Is there even a complicated version?" he demands, finding some dose of twisted amusement in the whole ordeal, "Nikolai is a bloody criminal. Sure maybe not as bad as that Serbian piece of shit was or Ivan…"
Popescu opens his mouth to protest, only to be silenced.
"Regardless of your feelings, he should be punished. Nothing complicated about it."
Alin glares at him, suddenly enraged.
He realizes Nikolai doesn't have the moral high ground but this – how can the blonde be so cruel and unsympathetic? Does he even realize the position others who don't have his wealth or origin are put in?
"You don't even know him!" he snaps, "Do you have any idea what he's been through?"
Arthur isn't impressed by his sudden outburst as he leisurely walks on,
"Let me guess - some sad backstory about how tough life is in Slavic countries?" he mocks, "And then after they ruin their countries they flood here? To ruin Western societies as well?"
"You're not American either," Alin counters back, his glare intensifying,
"True, but I'm not causing trouble, am I?"
The Romanian sighs, realizing arguing is pointless. Arthur has built a version of the world inside his head and he's not willing to move an inch away from it, even if doesn't reflect reality.
An idea sparks in his head, it's a wild one but something in him makes him wants the other to understand,
"What about you and Francis, huh?" he challenges, "Some might say there isn't anything complicated about that either. Just a cheating bastard who-"
"Hey!" Arthur all but screams at him turning around so fast Alin nearly bumps into him, "Don't…don't you dare go there!"
Alin meets his eyes, noting they are a light, cold shade of green. Anger flickers through them but there is something else, something he has a hard time pin pointing – shame? Remorse?
"Why not?" he presses on, brave all of a sudden, "You did break your boyfriend's heart, didn't you? Not to even mention how you treated Francis who-"
"I made a mistake, okay?" Arthur all but shouts in his face, his usual coolness gone, "You really think I don't bloody regret it?"
Alin opens his mouth to reply but closes it, unsure what there is to say. He bites his lip, feeling guilt cloud his mind. He hates the Brit for what he has done but who is he to judge when he's about to beg for his criminal of a boyfriend to be saved?
"It's none of my business really," he manages to say weakly, looking away from the blonde.
"No, it isn't," the English teen grumbles, arrogance returning to his voice, "And this is Alfred's house anyway."
xxx
Alin looks up to see a large, picturesque house. It's the epitome of the American dream, similar to a set from a late nineties movie that someone forgot to tear apart once the shooting was done. There's a gorgeous garden in front – with flowers and apple trees and a golden retriever lazily napping inside the dog house.
The dog wakes up once their enter and it seems to know Arthur well enough.
"Down, boy,"
Popescu turns to see a stunning woman in her late thirties. She's tall and slim, with curves in all the right places. Her hair is the same lovely golden shade of blonde as Alfred's and her eyes are a sparkly blue. Now he understands where the teen got his looks from.
"Mr, Jones," Arthur says, lips curved into a polite, trained smile. Alin has to bite his tongue not to point out how hypocritical he is.
"Arthie!" the woman cries out, "How many times do you I have to tell you to call me Martha?"
Martha sounds like the pitch perfect mum from the suburbs, her voice soft and gentle, with the faintest hint of a Southern accent. The Romanian stands next to his classmate awkwardly, unsure what to say.
"And who is this? A new friend?" she finally turns to him and he does his best to make a good impression.
xxx
After a round of pleasantries and Martha assuring them they will be having some apple pie for late breakfast they head for the house, in search of Alfred.
Alin feels guilty about intruding the place, about the way his dark brown eyes trail over the various objects in every room. Framed pictures of four blonde heads, DIY mugs, baseball bats laying left and right and an unfinished plate of lasagna.
It all screams of home.
Suddenly he's lightheaded, the realization of how much Nikolai doesn't have and how much others do downing on him. In his head there's no doubt that Alfred is a wonderful person but if he were to be placed in a bad situation…would there be a guarantee he wouldn't head the same road?
"What are you doing here?"
Alin's eyebrows shoot up to his forehead as he looks up towards the stairs (of course Alfred lives in one of those stereotypical two story houses). The teen is leaning in on the rail, dressed up in light-washed old jeans and a worn out baseball tee. The Romanian figures it probably belonged to his dad once.
He feels a jab at his heart – the only thing his dad gave him was heartbreak.
"I don't mean to-" Arthur begins saying, voice surprisingly uncertain, "…Alin needs your help."
The taller teen seems surprised at the words, gesturing them to go to his room without saying anything else. Popescu finds it strange – he's never seen him silent for a period longer than a few seconds.
xxx
Alfred's room is exactly what he expected it to be – your average quarterback's room with the stereotypical posters of famous players and various medals hanging from the walls. There is something more though – a few touches that make it specifically Alfred's.
Like the framed picture of him and what appears to be his sister, the two of them holding a basket full of apples. Their front teeth are missing in the photo and Alin muses they couldn't have been older than six and four respectively at the time it was taken.
Or the collage of photos – ones of him and Arthur. Silly, intimate moments all put together into a heartwarming piece of art. Alfred stares awkwardly at it before turning to his ex-boyfriend,
"I couldn't bring myself to take it down," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, "Not yet anyway."
The Romanian flinches at the words, he's intruding again. There's an awkward pause, Arthur opens his mouth to reply but the American interrupts him before he gets the chance,
"So, Alin, how can I help?"
Bright blue eyes land over him and when he looks up he notices the same, enthusiastic smile is back at Alfred's face, even if it looks a little crooked.
He takes a deep breath, realizing this is one thing he can't back out of.
"It's about Niko."
The American appears surprised but only gives him a sign of continue. Alin retells everything, clinging onto the hope the other might be able to help.
xxx
When he finishes there is a long, awkward silence and dread sips into his mind. He shouldn't have told Alfred, he knows Nikolai will be angry about it, even if does work out. And if it doesn't – well, then he might have gone behind his boyfriend's back for nothing.
"That's just so…" the American begins saying in the end, getting up from his bed and pacing around the room, "So sad. And messed up."
Alin bites his lip, uncertain how to reply. He fidgets, ready for the blonde to tell him how fucked up his lover is, insult him and kick him out of his warm, put together home.
"I can't believe Nikolai had to go through all that," Alfred goes on after a pause and there isn't anything condemning in his voice, "And everyone else too. Katya and Natalya. Hell, even Radko and Ivan."
The Romanian nods, realizing he hasn't even given him the entire picture, opting to spare some gritty details. Speaking of details – where is Mrs. Braginski?
"It's so strange to think…" Alfred's voice trails away and his blond eyebrows lock together, "Ivan and I had so many fights before he dropped out. And all this time, it never occurred to me he was going through something like this."
The words resonate with Alin and he has to wonder how many people he's looked at without seeing them. And conversely – how many never bothered to know him?
A knock on the door tears him away from his thoughts and Martha is back, a tray full of apple pie and orange juice in her hands. What is more surprising though is the look on her face. Popescu can't quite place it – sadness? Pity? Anger or perhaps a peculiar mix of the three?
Alfred appears annoyed for one long moment before he speaks up, "Mum how long have you been standing at the door?"
There's a sigh to his voice, as though this has happened before.
"Long enough," the older American replies, placing the tray neatly at the bed before sitting next to Arthur, "And I've made my mind – we're helping this poor boy. And his family too."
Alin isn't sure what to say, a wave of shock washing over him. It slowly dissipates, replaced by gratitude.
"Thank you so, so much," he mutters quickly, ready to hug the woman he met twenty minutes ago.
Martha smiles at him, it's the same warm smile he's learnt to associate Alfred with.
"Don't worry about it," she assures, "I'll talk to my husband and see what we can do."
Alin nods hurriedly, hope sprouting in his chest like a flower after a long winter. He wants to believe her and drown in the optimism in her eyes, let himself be assured Nikolai will be saved and out of harm's way.
A part of him realizes it won't be easy or simple and the Bulgarian sure as hell won't be as welcoming to the idea of being saved in the first place but…what is his pride when his very life is on the line?
(He keeps reminding himself that once the fight breaks out).
xxx
"You did what?"
Nikolai screams, his voice raising by an octave with each following word and his face red in anger.
Alin flinches, he's always hated scandals. This one though was one he all but prayed to avoid.
"I just want to help you. And so does Alfred's family."
The Bulgarian hisses, a sound between laughter and anger.
"Yeah, sure. I can almost picture it, the fucking Facebook status dear Mrs. Martha might write," he goes on, words dripping with cynicism, "Rich, perfect Americans save wretched boy from Eastern Europe!"
Popescu sighs, pitching the bridge of his nose.
"I bet they'll fucking love to have me as their damn charity case!"
"It's not like that, they seem to genuine care and-"
Niko snorts, shaking his head,
"Oh, please the only thing those fake ass bastards give a fuck about is their money and appearance!"
Alin's own temper rises as he crosses his hands over his chest. Why can't the damn idiot put his pride aside and realize the position he's in?
"You might go to jail and this is what you're worried about!?" he snaps at him, his own voice going louder.
Nikolai rolls his eyes,
"I'd rather do time with Ivan than be someone's fucking charity project!"
All Alin can do is stare at him, unable to process the words. He expected some shouting and denial but this? He never thought the Bulgarian was capable of throwing away his life, so easily, so carelessly. Not after everything they've been through, after how much he's changed. How much they both have, together.
"I can't believe you care so little about your future…" Popescu whispers, his voice breaking.
Niko doesn't seem to notice, still blinded by his own anger.
"Да, well I've never been one to care much," he grumbles, plopping himself onto the bed, the one he used to share with Radko.
That thought stings and Alin has a sudden idea,
"And what about everyone else, huh?"
The Bulgarian looks up to face him, a perplexed expression over his pale face.
"What about Natalya and Katya?" he demands hastily, adrenaline rushing into his veins, "What about Ivan who's ready to take all the blame for you? He lost Radko, now you want him to lose you too?"
Niko flinches at the words, as though having taken a punch. Guilt washes over Alin as he watches his boyfriend's look morphs from anger to remorse.
"And…what about me?" it's barely a whisper, the words broken, "Doesn't what happens to me matter to you?"
He's met by nothing but silence and it makes his own insecurities ring higher,
"Don't I matter to you?"
Nikolai lets a sigh escape his lips and it sounds too heavy in the small room.
"Of course you matter," he mumbles after a pause, rubbing the back of his head, "But Allie…I'm sure you can move on."
The Romanian shakes his head, wiping off a few stray tears as he sits down on the bed.
"And what if I don't want to move on from you?"
Ivanov sighs, taking his head in his hands,
"Look you may not be able to see the worth in yourself, but I do!" Alin goes on, ignoring the way his voice wavers with emotions, "And others do too! So, so please, Niko, don't give up on yourself so easily."
A few moments pass and there's no answer from the other.
"What if…what if I don't go to jail but it still doesn't work out between us?" Niko asks in the end, finally looking up to meet his eyes.
The possibility cuts through Alin's heart but he still manages a weak smile,
"Then I get my heart broken and it sucks," he scoffs, "But, but we still move on and we both know it was worth the risk."
There's a pause and they just look at each other, the entire world reduced to this small moment between them.
In the end Niko breaks the stare and shakes his head, a heartfelt laugh escaping his lips. All of the tense atmosphere is gone from the room,
"When did you get so wise?"
Alin shrugs, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as relief washes over him.
"Mmm, guess I can teach something other than English too, huh?"
Nikolai's eyes widen with mirth at the quip and he shortens the distance between them with a kiss,
"Then how about I teach you some things as well?"
There's an undertone to his voice that makes something in Alin shiver, an unexplored part of him come to live and wait in anticipation.
He wants nothing more than for them to cross that line, explore their relationship in every way possible.
But…there are still more pressing matters at hand.
"So, you will let Alfred help you?"
Nikolai sighs in acceptance and it sounds like music to Alin's ears,
"Fine. Let's hope this works out."
Author's Note: The story goes on! As I promised, it will be completed!
What did you think of Alin and Arthur's interactions? Alfred's family? Gender-swapping Canada xD? (Been meaning to do that in a story for some time now!)
Last but not least – thoughts on the little fight the boys had and their making up? Do you think the plan will work out!
If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at my Koffee account: www. ko-fi K3K7J8P8 (without spaces)
Or at my pay pal : fanfictioniwrite gmail. com (without spaces)
Please, share your opinions, I'd really like to know someone still reads this! ^^