The World's Stage
Pills and Pity
Chapter Six
I'm so relieved that you guys (my wonderful readers) have actually responded with such amazing feedback. Of course, I'm trying to please you guys but also myself. And I will be, I'm sure of it. Reading your reviews it suddenly stumbled upon me, how I will have to compromise with your wishes and my own plans for this story to continue. As you guys are aware there IS a one-sided relationship between Ivan and Yao, and I have to admit, I love some good Ivan x Yao (making that clear). Thankfully, no one commented that they were strongly against it (phew..). However, the conflict between the pairing containing Alfred and Arthur (Ahh god..) and the Axis (a mess right now), is just a handful of problems. I WILL give you guys a well build up relationship no matter how strange the pairing. I have pairings in my head (Can't spoil of course) but with that, I would be only satisfying a certain amount of people, remember I am considering the biggest ships in the hetalia fandom as a WHOLE to (and those pairings...well are obvious).
What I'm trying to get as is there will be compromise. However, who says I'm writing a fanfiction purely based on romance? (I don't write smut). As for the friendships pairings, I completely agree with you guys. I'm bringing WAY more groups into this so just you wait! Nordics, Baltics, everyone. However, remember if I am pairing someone it will be through time, and conflict. Not, just "I love you" "same.". Just because they are a pairing does not mean they will openly show very intimate affection.
This story is also one of friendship. All of the characters have flaws very human flaws and I honestly hate it when fictional characters are to 'perfect'.
For an amazing reviewer, I will give many subtle hints of pairings I may or may not add. I have a pairing/friendship planner and believe me, some funky stuff is going to come down.
(BTW, just because one person goes to another person does not mean that, that person has felt nothing for others)
It was not the sound of birds or the smell of a burnt breakfast that made Yao wake up from his pill induced slumber, but the pill itself. The massive throbbing of his crane and his chest as blood rushed to places it shouldn't be. It blurred his vision as he let the pain bring him to the verge of another unconsciousness. And he almost let it- almost succumbed to the desire of another forced sleep. At least that way he would be able to rest. To sleep off the permanent pain in his legs and spine, to avoid the stress of something and somebody on his mind. To remain duty less for a mere couple hours. To remain free and honest as the seconds of unconsciousness slowly left him. Maybe that was why he loved sleep, because it was a mean of time travel. To live in a time where everything was better, more simple as you lived in a fleeting dream that would also die at one point. Because everything died, even the good things.
He carefully props himself up, and only then does the smell of burnt coals and ashes reach his nose. It smells of strong smoke, as if it's been fermented and accumulated slowly, and it probably has. It burns his eyes which doesn't help at all with his aching head, he finds it hard to breath as he suffocates against his own chest. The bones and muscles constricting against his lungs and heart, much like what a snake does to it's prey. Suffocating a tiny dormouse until death. He narrows his eyes at his open door before sighing loudly. Stumbling against a fallen plastic bottle, Yao grabs a large folded paper, neat lines of words adorning the printed lines. He slowly slumps to the kitchen. Half lidded eyes and a great sense of smell leading his way.
"You dimwit, quickly choose!" He hears someone shout and he winces, holding his throbbing head in his hands. His fingers run soothing gestures on his scalp, the tendrils of his hair creating thick knots that pull at his fingers. It was exactly like a spiders web. His hair simply a sticky web that hid the pain of a pulsing inferno of hurt. His head hurt to the degree of bursting, he doesn't recall the amount of pills he ate. In the heat of the moment he simply downed anything that would let him forget. To forget the pain and the horrible and forlorn secret promise he's made. A vow that if broken would lead to nothing but blood. Then again, if not broken it would also lead to nothing but the colour red. It was simply a matter of who. There was no way out on this, no way to change the undeniable fate that destiny had put him on. He smiles grimly, what a cruel fate.
"I'm trying as you can see! Which one do you think he will like more? Red tea, green tea, black tea, all these other teas with names I can't pronounce…oo!~ flower tea's!,"
An anguished sigh is followed by a small shallow laugh. Arthur and Alfred.
"I can't believe I don't know what tea Yao Yao likes…," he could hear a faint whimper of regret before a heavy growl. Ivan.
"Well, believe it.
We're all cock ups* right now. And if anything, I can't believe it. He's my tea buddy, our afternoon tea parties hold very extensive and detailed talks, such an interesting fellow he is...However, we do drink a little bit of everything...Alfred don't be a sod off* and pick the Darjeeling tea please."
The Asian man could hear an annoyed sigh and a string of curses before the crumbling of carefully plucked tea leaves being tossed into boiling water. He finally slumps to the curb of the hallway before lazily leaning against the farest counter. His hair was not tied leaving gentle tresses saunter past his shoulders. He was too tired to care that he looked like a mess. Too tired to care that Darjeeling was definitely one of his most least favorite teas. He was so tired that he may as well fall unconscious at any given moment, and he waited and hoped that it would happen. It was an incredible way of escape.
"Well someone's clearly woken on the wrong side of the bed, da? Or maybe it was a dream? What were you, a princess? Because I don't remember you ruling over this castle." Ivan responds bitterly, before biting his lower lip in annoyance.
"If your trying to say that I'm bossy, I'm not. I just know what you peasants should be do-"
The British man turns around at an attempt to check the tea before spotting Yao. He quickly straightens his back, shifting his composure to make him look a little taller, a little colder, a little more severe. It was strange to see the full transformation of a handsome man into a hauntingly eerie prince. And it worked, because all of a sudden Arthur looked older, and with age came wiseness and refinement. The kind of seriousness that scared and intimidated Yao. The eyes of a judge beneath the stage, judging and solving the entertainer. The Asian man narrows his eyes in suspicion. You should never trust the judge.
"Yao! Good morning," The British waves slightly before frowning at the scent of smoke coming from the boiling water. How could water burn?
"Good Morning Arthur,"
"Yao Yao! Sit down, sit down!" Ivan jumps up from the sofa he was sitting on, the decorative pillows fall and land gently on the ground. His feet are bare as they quickly walk towards the Chinese man who stares in mild confusion. The Russian's scarf falls gently on his shoulders, his neck exposed to the sun's tantalizing rays.
"No, no, I'm fine standing actually, thank you but I'm fi-,"
"I insist, da?"
Violet irises pierce gold and for a moment his cheeks flush in embarrassment. Heat spreading to his cheeks and ears overflowing them with colour. He was intimidated. Intimidated by a person he's worked with for years, intimidated by those amethyst orbs that focused on him with such intent. Like the Russian could see only him at the moment, like he was the world and that everything else was simply a backdrop to a beautiful illusion. An inception- an enigma that was unsolvable and impossible, and it was meant to be that way. The way Ivan looked at him was a mystery, and he enjoyed it, drowned in the complexity of the beauty. Of the puzzle.
"No, I'm fi-," Yao only has enough time to see Ivan's subtle frown before a small annoyed sigh. The kind of sigh you would receive from an impatient mother, and the Asian frowns at finding himself in the child's role. He was not good at acting like things he was not. Suddenly, his feet hang in the air, his head so high up that he almost hits the headlights that flicker and buzz occasionally. His thighs are constricted in Ivan's arms as he swings through the air, the look of mild shock still strewn across his face. It was such a strong grip, the blood in his legs vanishing and his face pales immensely.
"Ivan! Ivan! Are you insane?! Let me down!" He kicks and thrashes his fists into the shoulders of the Russian, not noticing the dark and agitated frown that masks his face. He stares at the bystanders and notices how all of them look down. Look wrong, and off. As if there faces wore temporarily masks of indifference. Of hesitation of something bigger to come. Their faces held no emotion, the strain of a frown and a smile both not seen. They were wiped clean of expression, the stoic kind of glare you would receive from a statue, meeting your eyes except not. Distant while staring right through you.
"I said let me d-,"
"Yao Yao what you need to do is sit and listen." Ivan gently drops him on the first chair he sees. Black leather and metal contrasts the cream loose pants Yao's wearing. The fringes of the trousers barely cover the dangerously pale skin underneath his shirt. Once sitting Yao snaps his head to Ivan huffing in the process, what was the matter with all of them? His nails dig into the seat creating deep permanent marks of jagged lines. Did they know? Flashes of green paper and smiling faces make his face palen. The past was a dangerous thing. It was something that did not just haunt him, but lived in the present with him, and with every ticking moment, the future to. Time had a new meaning for Yao. It was simply a constraint, a weakness.
"What's this?" Alfred's sudden voice makes Yao yelp in surprise. Ivan casts him a glance and deepens his frown. It was not normal for him to be this agitated. Yao was a beautiful man. Calm and serious, it was what he loved about him. The way his eyes always had some sort of hidden mischief. A heated gaze that made him await the next step of a long journey. He was already enraptured, already captured in those silk strands of delicate hair. Much like a fly to a spider, except he was a smart fly, and he knew a way to get around that horrible sticky web.
A small piece of paper gets distributed to the Asian. It was the next shopping list.
"Alfred, you don't usually do the chores in this house, but you should at least know that this is a shopping li-"
"Yao, we know what it is," Arthur interrupts him, and Yao glares at him, causing the Britain's mask to fall momentarily, all that the Eastern man see's is a heart wrenching expression before the cold features set back to place. A heated gaze becoming a cold, emotionless facade. Since when did they know how to put up such fronts? They appeared so real, so beautifully perfect in the moment, and he wonders how many times he's been tricked with this mask. This fake mask of indifference. How many times have they used this on him? Then again, how many times has he used his own on them?
"Do you see what's on the list?"
Yao opens his mouth before getting beat to it. His lips press into a stern line. He hated being interrupted. More so, he hated losing control.
"Pills Yao. Dude, pills. Pills." Alfred answers, his fingers twitching wildly at bold letters. He recognizes the lettering, it's his own. That personalized swirl and curve he's spent years working on. That distinction that he worked on for his entire life so he could shine- so he could survive. The Asian narrows his eyes, gold becoming a hotter colour, a maddening inferno of red and yellow dancing together. A waltz, slow and excruciatingly precise in timing. But it took two to dance the waltz, and one mistake of both partners could lead to broken feet.
"And your point?"
"This has been what? Your tenth bottle these last couple months? Each bottle contains more than 30 little pellets! 30 Yao."
"I still don't get what your point is?"
Alfred growls in frustration breaking his facade into an angered and upset expression. His blue eyes crease as his eyebrows furrow for the first time in a long while. He suddenly seemed older. Much too old for his straw blond hair, and much too old for those eyes that rivaled the sky. Everything was off once again. Everything has gone bad. A direction that Yao could no longer change, but maybe it was supposed to be like this. Maybe.
"The point is…" Alfred trails off, a look of concern suddenly gracing his features.
"What...what are you doing to yourself?"
For a while everyone is speechless. Simply staring at the reflective marble as if the answer will slowly print itself. But it doesn't. Just like how life never follows one's wishes. It remains blank, reflections of bleak eyes the only message that it wants to condemn.
"I...Do you even hear what your saying Alfred?" An incredulous gaze gets thrown his way. And only then does Alfred see the hurt. That deep kind of wound that will never cease to lessen. The kind that will be there forever, and hurt forever. The kind that does not die but simply lessen in pain. And it hurt him to. It hurt to see that mysterious wound unveil and open.
"You're going to kill yourself at this rate Yao! Kill. Do you know what I see when I first open the door? A drinking Arthur, telling me you've intoxicated yourself to the point of taking an entire bottle! An entire bottle! What's more is that you don't wake up Yao. You didn't wake up. Right now it's half past 2:00, half.past.2:00. How could you do that to yourself? Getting yourself drugged to the degree you wake up past noon."
Everyone swallows hard, the sound of a whistling kettle becoming the soul sound that everyone wants to hear. Arthur places a calming hand on Alfred's shoulder who casts a somber stare at the floor. He's never seen him like this, and it upset him. There eyes couldn't meet, a wall of anger guarding his real emotions. Everyone in the room did that. All of their emotions were guarded, hidden so that Yao couldn't see. And Yao did the same. He hid his own emotions under that layer of misunderstanding and anger.
"How...how could you say that? How could you even say that, Alfred?"
And that's when everything was let loose. That was when all of those facades broke, everyone's eyes strained with worry and accusation. It sickened him. Made him want to cry and scream. Why were they looking at him like that?
"What do you mean Yao! I'm your friend, but you're bloody going overboard! Your over exaggerating!"
"Arthur's right. Dude, what happened to you?"
Ivan remains silent. Deadly serious as he watches everything unfold. Those delicate shoulders shaking. Those red eyes now becoming a furious crimson. It seemed that even the most guarded people lost it. Lost to that anger that sat in every person's heart. He knew that the anger and hurt in the Asian's heart was a lot bigger than most. It dug too deep for a person to save. To deep of a wound for a person to even approach it. A depth and complexity that you could drown in, and Yao was already drowning. And that was why everyone was careful. Careful in handling the reason behind the wound, because to this day, it was still a horrible mystery.
"What do you mean what happened to me? What's wrong with you two!"
"What's wrong with us? What's going on with you!" Alfred hollers, eyes darkening.
"Out of all people I thought you would know where the line ends." Arthur retorts bitterly, the concern no longer there in the heat of the moment. The rage and calmness within him battled and clashed. Rational thoughts and behaviour slowly tipping to an unfathomably bottom. The losers of a long tiring war.
By now, Yao's body was pressed against the counters in front of him. His hair looking wildly exotic. How could they say that to him? How could they blame it on him? How could they even think it was his fault? A small part of Yao say's it is. That it is his fault for being weak, that it was his fault for finally cracking, that it was his fault that he indulged in sleep and pills. But nobody was perfect, and he was so so tired. Tired of being the person who drew the line. Who made the rules and expected people to follow them when his own mind and heart lay somewhere else. He was to tired to be that star. Too tired to keep up shining so brilliantly, so brightly when his own heart dimmed in comparison. And he thought that it was okay. Okay to feel this way, and okay to show it. But clearly it was not, and he hated that. He hated how as soon as he woke up late, the spotlight was once again on him. But this time it was not by the horrible judges and audiences but his friends. His coworkers, his family, his allies.
"How...how could you even say that? I'm sick and tired of dealing with all of you people who do nothing, nothing for others because you guys are all selfish people who know nothing but to criticize and critique. You guys are no better than the paparazzis and those spoiled rotten stars. You know, last night I get a call saying I need to redo my entire lyrics, mind you I've made a rough copy already for the sake of your dance Alfred. Yours. I was wrong. Wrong that I could let you guys accept me as me. Accept me as this, yes I use sleeping pills, and Arthur drinks. What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?"
The fire of rage let loose slowly fades. Fading into the numbing sensation of a diluted pain. Everyone is staring at him now, dying words and thoughts make the silence all the worse. Those insults, those retorts that die at everyone's throat. Those secrets.
The kettle suddenly shrieks, and Alfred quickly turns it off, everyone briefly losing their focus, and Yao takes that time to leave. To leave and hide in his room, to hide his problems, that crumbling mask that now leaves everyone breathless. That wound that was opening to no one's conscious.
"Hey, I'm sorry-" both Alfred and Arthur try and say. A mix of strained emotions fleeting there faces.
Yao simply shakes his head, anger already at it's boiling point. He throws a piece of paper at Alfred, the neat folded creases increasing in number.
"Take it."
Alfred simply grips it in his own clenched fist, his anger ruining the nice folds it originally had.
Ivan's face has a sudden dark shadow, like he's not to sure who's team he's on. He was at the beginning on the blond's side. When they still had clear and kind desires and intentions, but now it's ended in a terrible blood bath and he didn't need anyone to tell him who's side he should be on now. He simply hated seeing Yao like this. Hated seeing him to deep in his pain. He hated not being able to help him and he was sure that now it would be even harder.
"Yao! Come o-" and that's when they all see the tears. Those tears that make every one of them quiet down, knowing that they really have gone to far. They were small. Small tears that slid down slowly as he passed the bend. It was the first time they have personally made him cry, and Arthur makes it a personal reminder that it's his second time seeing this. But just because it's the second time does not make the surprise any less.
The door slams and everyone flinches, each one of them left standing stupidly with Darjeeling tea in there hands.
Yao is once again in bed. It was his safe haven, the place he could call home in this huge vast city. He remembers the way they looked at him. With those eyes of disbelief but apologies hanging on the tip of their tongues. They were like those reporters that interrogated a person until it hurt. The people who judged as they worked on adding salt to a person's wound. Images of them creasing their eyebrows made the Asian man's head hurt. It was as if they could of helped. Helped with Yao's pain by sharing it rather than stepping over it, helped the situation he's got himself into. That after noon he doesn't need the pills to sleep. He instead dreams of a mysterious email and broken flowerpots. He dreams of a flickering screen and white faces. There faces. There faces wretched into those concerned hollow expressions. Maybe it was another facade. Maybe it was another mask.
But one thing was sure,
If it was pity, then he did not need it.
(I WOULD LOVE TO REQUEST THAT YOU, MY FELLOW READERS, ALWAYS READ MY LITTLE AUTHOR NOTES AT THE BEGINNING AND END)
Alrighty! Back with an update! What's happening with Yao?! I foreshadowed a lot. TIME TO COMMENCE THE PLOT!
Thank you for those wonderful reviews! I just want to say again how much they matter to me. This being my very first fanfiction, I write this with love and I'm so happy when you guys appreciate what I'm doing. I really mean it, it's not just bluffing. Thank you so much for your support. It means the absolute world to me. I would always love to hear what you think of the story so far! How's this chapter? I tried to dwell in the conflicts between the personas everyone has, and how they're all different (which results in horrible things). A little more of angry Alfred which is something we don't usually see. I hope I did well to capture this beautiful angst and suspense moment!
Your feedback would mean so much! Have I gone to far? Or is it perfect? Do you guys await the next chapter? What do you think is happening with Yao?