A/N: WARNING/S: OOC.
Happy reading!
Chapter 3; Shared Predicament
Monday
September 22, 2014
02:20 am
Arthur James Kirkland is a respectable man, the very epitome of discipline, social class and higher standards of that a being should have. He carries himself regally, never letting a pebble of profound dirt wash over his dear name and image. His physique is spontaneous, graceful just by standing in front of you and absolutely tremendous, callous hands often covered by gloves with an earthly colour, clothes neat and fresh, free from any rumples. He is simply gorgeous, chiefly British - the very kingdom itself.
Emerald orbs take place as the highlight of his semblance, sparkling and undeniably stunning; it makes diamonds and oceans alike jealous. His hair is of a dirty blonde, entire frame now very announced underneath the warm light of the room as it naturally becomes a part of it.
Surrounded by wooden walls and brass flooring, Arthur leans back beside the room's huge Oak doors, crossing his arms in front of him. The scent of cigarette fills him up as he watch the brunette work, eyes flickering across the place once in a while. To his right are a multitude of glass panels overlooking the rest of Venice, grand curtains and red cloths tampering each of its sides. Beside it is another door with the same material as the entrance but not as grand, taking the place nearest to the cupboard which holds nothing but a picture stand. A photograph of a boy and a girl occupies it, he was too far to see who they actually were though. Guesses could largely suffice curiosity most of the time anyway.
The room is mostly dim, screaming the very hue of the dark brown walls and floor. The rest of it is just filled in with either unused canvases, sculptures, painting, acrylics, brushes and the like.
"You better lay off the smoke," Arthur spoke, his stature never changing, "it's being so terrible I could hardly smell the paint anymore."
"Hmm, funny." Feliciano Vargas hummed, his attention unfazed. "You came in here almost an hour ago and you're just pointing that out now." Hands occupied by a flat brush and a paint palette, he dabbed on the canvas in front of him, mixing red with violet once more. He was dabbing with too much effort, making the easel budge along with the stool he was sitting on.
"Because you only started smoking ten minutes ago." Arthur retorted, making the brunette grin, a drop of the acrylic being noticed on his pants. "You're messing up your suit, Feliciano."
"Don't worry, Arthur. I'm gonna change my outfit at six!" He beamed.
"What about sleep?"
"I don't plan to."
"Feliciano-"
"I've done this before, Arthur!" Feliiano answered abruptly, his head turning to his companion. "Even at my very first exhibit! You should've seen me," he laughed, "I was like a walking corpse with ten kilograms of eye bags!"
With eyes wide and fingers twitching, Arthur maintained his composure, scrunching down his massive brows as he looked at Feliciano. As their stares met, amber to green, obscurity overflowed as the air became denser as ever, the heftiness being more eminent.
Feliciano smiled as he turned back to his work, sighing loudly as he did. "Stop looking at me like that, England. You know it's awkward when you do."
Arthur straightened up, perking even more as his real name was called. Feliciano rarely does, after all, and when it happens, it's more personal. "So you were listening earlier."
"Haha! No, actually. Until you said 'Lovina' I. . .uhh. . ." He looked down, his whole body mimicking.
A constricted air followed, making Arthur wince as he was glued into place, never taking his eyes off the brunette in front of him. He was suddenly sweating, his hearing more sensitive as a deafening pang in the silence ensues, his breathing being shallower by the second. Being more aware of his surroundings, he sensed everything; from the beads of sweat on both of his legs, the ticking of the grand clock just outside of the room, the light of the moon being more prominent as it pours itself all over the carpet by the window, the specs of dirt floating everywhere, the sound of his own heart, the sound of his own breathing, the strands of hair on Feliciano's head, Feliciano's breathing, Feliciano's shaking hand, Feliciano's body, Feliciano's tears, Feliciano's gaping mouth. . .
Feliciano's tears, Feliciano's crying. . .
Feliciano is crying. . .
Feliciano is crying.
This is it. It is happening again. Feliciano Vargas is being conflicted, being overthrown by his very land, his very self, his very being. Italy is being lulled by his masses into a lullaby of deep depression, waves of anxiety filling him up again. Darkness was overflowing as the night deepened itself, the moon being the only source of light in the room. The very ground of his sanity is shaking - Feliciano's rigid form is shaking. Italy is remembering, Italy is cutting itself in half. Italy is a land meant to be ruled by two representatives, it was never meant to stand alone. Italy is breaking, Feliciano is breaking.
A panic attack.
And at once, then and there, Arthur realized; four years were never enough to forget, not from thousands. Who was he kidding?
With Feliciano stumbling down his stool, Arthur got out of his trance and rushed to his fellow country's side, a jolt of adrenaline pulling through his entire body. The trembling nation's knuckles were white and were hard as stone.
Four more hours until Ludwig arrives… until anyone of them arrives. Shit
Monday
September 22, 2014
06:50 am
Squinting as he was met by the ravenous light entering the window from his right, Gilbert abruptly turned his attention to his left, seeing a protruded being on top of the bed identical to his. Still a bit groggy from sleeping, he let out a sigh.
"Renata." He called out, his voice hoarse. He received no answer. "Did you even sleep?"
"I did." The brunette said timidly, exhaustion evident from her tone. "I did, Gil. . . I fucking did."
"Then why are you convincing yourself?" Gilbert studied Lovina carefully, now more awake than before, as he slip out of his comforter. "You were so excited last night."
She smirked, "You're making it sound like we had sex."
"I'm not," he grinned, "I swear, you're worse than me." The albino retorted, placing his hands under his head. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just. . .excited, I guess."
"And I am an absolute future president of the United States of America." Her companion chuckled slightly. "Renata, tell me what's wrong."
She turned her head towards him, emerald meeting ruby as she steadied her gaze on her friend. "I had that dream again." She whispered, seemingly afraid that the walls aren't enough to protect her voice from the outside. "You were more visible this time."
"What was I doing?"
"We were sitting together on a metal car. Everything was rocking back and forth and the bulb sticking from the top of the vehicle was barely making things clear. Your head was dangling from your body and you were not moving, you were also blindfolded, but I wasn't. But my head was aching so badly and everything was kind of blurry, I can actually hear my very breathing at that moment. And I was like in a trance, or something. I kept saying a name and I was crying for it. . ."
Gilbert took his place by the right side of her bed, the one sitting across from his own. He sat down, the comforter moving slowly as his legs made themselves comfortable by hers. Gently caressing the side of her face, he took it on his shoulders, hearing her sigh as he does, and held her hand, squeezing it lightly. Feeling the warm and yet flowing tears on his shoulder, he held Lovina protectively, an arm on her back.
"You're so unawesome when you cry. That's why I hate you when you do." He grinned.
"I can feel the support." She snorted, and silence took its place again.
"Did you sleep?" Gilbert asked again, the quiet mixing with his own voice.
"I woke up at five," she said, "I tried to watch you sleep. I tried to see if I could fall asleep just by watching your chest move. Just by watching you being filled up with air… watch you live unconsciously."
"Did it work?"
"No."
Gilbert grinned. "Why?"
"Your back was facing me." She answered, and his smile went even wider.
"You should've just waked me up."
"Yeah. Well. . .I was afraid that this was going to happen."
"You told me to do this whenever you have . . . dreams."
"You were my boyfriend back then."
Turning his head downwards, Gilbert looked at Lovina. The latter didn't budge. "What's wrong now? Me being your best friend, that is."
"Gil . . . we didn't really love each other back then, right?" she asked him, her tone unfazed. "I know that you knew that about me. You've felt me twitch more than once even if you just held my hand, even if you just stood near me. I mostly have these pathetic excuses when you set up a date for us to go out and whenever we do, you do everything; the talking, the first one to move. . . You've felt, more than once, that I never even tried, that I was never there . . . you felt that I was looking for someone else through you." Lovina paused as he felt Gilbert's body tensed up, albeit little. "And I'm just so thankful that you didn't bring that up even once. That's how I knew that we're just meant to be friends."
Sighing, the blonde's mouth was now slightly agape. "I often forget that 'each other' meant both people." Composing himself, he kissed Lovina's hair, her scent filling him up. "One of the perks of you having a bad dream is that you instantly become so honest about all of things." His grip on her tightened. "but you never answered my question."
"I didn't because there's nothing wrong now." Lovina told him, her voice louder and finer. "I'm just afraid that you'll eventually know the difference between lovers and friends the next time you love somebody. I don't want that, that's the best thing about you."
He smirked. "And what we're doing now is a thing done by friends?"
She shrugged, "We could make this an exception." And she shrunk back to his shoulder, Gilbert feeling the weight of exhaustion upon him as she pushed further. He shook her.
"Alright, alright. Renata, look at me." Cupping her face in his hands, Gilbert steadied his eyes on hers. "Today's the day!" he said ecstatically. "We're finally going to meet him. Before this gets any deeper, remember that you're going to meet Feliciano Vargas! And the probability of you being relatives is very high because, come on, the surnames. . ." he rolled his eyes, grinning widely, with Lovina giggling a bit. "This day is going to be epic. I know you're tired and scared because of this shitty reoccurring dream of yours, but, hey, maybe his face will fix that. We never know." He smiled. "We're going to meet the very person, the reason why we're even painting. This is going to be fun!"
Lovina equalled his stare as every word flowed down on her, tugging every inch of her being that needs to wake up. A jolt, a spark finished it all off, with her saying, "Fuck yeah." She then gave Gilbert one last squeeze, thanking him repetitively, and gradually wiped off her tears.
"Come on," she nudged him "it's already fucking seven. We have to be downstairs at nine for breakfast."
"You go first. I'm gonna sleep more."
"You lazy bum," Lovina smiled, her first genuine one for the day, "I'll wake you. And don't you dare drool on my bed." She got up and grabbed a towel from the wooden cabinet by the window, marching off towards the bathroom. The moment her door shut, Gilbert laid down, his back against Lovina's former space, and sighed audibly.
"Fuck you, lacrimal shits." He muttered and went back to sleep.
A/N: Lacrimal ducts - synonym for tear ducts
Chapter 4 is brewing. Wait for it. :)
Thanks for reading! Constructive criticisms are always welcome.
- Radically Distinguished