Chapter 20
Matthew was almost on the verge of calling Arthur. Whatever Alfred's mother had said to him in the kitchen had seriously affected the boy, and he'd refused to come out of his room all Christmas day. His mother had left around noon, after saying goodbye to the door, and a rather emotionless "I love you."
Now Alfred was going on skipping three meals, which indicated to Matthew that something was seriously wrong. Statistics about teen suicide kept popping up persistently in his brain and Matthew banged on the door a bit more urgently.
"Alfred, at least let me know if you're okay in there," Matthew said. He didn't get an answer. "If you don't answer me, I'm calling Arthur!" Matthew finally shouted.
Finally…finally…the door opened, and Alfred glared at him rather sullenly.
"I'm fine. I just want to be alone," he said moodily. Feeling as though he'd been silly for worrying so much, Matthew bit his lip.
"Do you…want to talk about it?" he asked. Alfred slumped against the door frame, still not opening the door all the way.
"No," he said shortly. Matthew frowned. Arthur wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd bully Alfred into talking to him and working out his issues, but Matthew was nowhere near as forceful as Arthur. He felt spectacularly useless.
"What about something to eat?" he asked. "I could go get you something if you're sick of the vending machine food." With the cafeteria shut down for the holidays, the boys had been left with vending machines and the small gas station located about a mile from the school as their only sources of groceries. Of course, it was also an option to catch a bus or get a cab to go further into town.
"My teeth hurt. I'm not hungry. Did you need something?" Alfred asked, a hint of rudeness in his tone. Now Matthew really wanted to call Arthur. He wouldn't put up with that tone at all.
"N-no…I was just worried, that's all. I'm sorry your visit with your mom didn't—"
"Look, I'll talk to ya later, Matthew. I'm busy right now," Alfred said, not bothering to wait for his reply before he shut his door. Matthew blinked at the barrier and frowned. He knew his friend was hurting, and even seemed a little sick, but Alfred was being awfully childish. He decided to give him till New Years to cool off, but if he was still behaving in such a way, Matthew would call in reinforcements. He knew Arthur would come in a heartbeat.
Finding himself alone again, Matthew went walking…or rather, he went searching for Gilbert. It wasn't that he wanted to try marijuana again, though it had been a very freeing experience for him, but he was more interested in Gilbert and what he was hiding under those baggy pants.
He found him near the back of the school with two other boys, one of whom he presumed to be Mogens. The tall boy was solidly built, and definitely an upperclassman. He had spiky brown hair and brown eyes, and he wore punk clothing similar to Gilbert's attire. Their friend was scrawny and looked totally wasted. He must have been an upperclassman as well, because Matthew didn't recognize him.
"Well, if it isn't teddy bear. Come to party with us?" Gilbert asked. He and the taller boy were skateboarding off the slippery steps and handrails, abusing the flimsy looking boards as they flipped and skidded on them. They were rather talented at it, and it was semi-interesting to watch.
"Is this the queer kid you were talking about—the one that gives such good head?" Mogens asked, smirking in amusement and interest. Matthew blushed, and realized that there was nothing to prevent Gilbert from blabbing to the whole school what he had done—unless the boy cared about his own reputation as being straight. Matthew was beginning to doubt that he did.
"My friend is sick, and nobody else stayed over break," he offered by way of explanation.
"You skate?" Gilbert asked, flipping his board up rather impressively into his hands. Matthew shyly shook his head.
"Well don't just stand there. It's not every day someone as awesome as me offers a free lesson," Gilbert said, extending his skate board. Mogens laughed, as if he found the whole scenario ridiculously amusing.
"You know he just wants another blowjob, right kid?" Mogens asked crudely. Feeling that adrenalin kick from doing something he knew he shouldn't, Matthew joined them anyway and uncertainly accepted the board, tossing a weak glare at Mogens as he did so. He stood with it for a long time before Gilbert gave him a look as if to say 'are you retarded?'
"Putting it on the ground is generally a good start," Gilbert suggested mildly. Blushing (he'd known that, of course) Matthew put the board on the ground. He stepped onto the board unsteadily, but Gilbert's hands landed bracingly on his hips. Nearby, Mogens lit up a cigarette, watching them all the while with knowing eyes. Matthew was blushing hotly, his body reminding him just how good he had felt the last time the school stoner touched him. Gilbert's breath plumed icily in the air against Matthew's cheek—he smelled like patchouli and weed, and Matthew was a little alarmed that he liked the smell.
Then Gilbert pushed him, hard, and he went rolling unsteadily on the board a few feet before he tumbled off, scraping his hands on the icy gravel. Gilbert laughed, hopped back on the board, and skated by him.
"Lesson number one. Get used to falling, 'cause you're not as awesome as me and you won't be able to pull off moves like these any time soon!" Gilbert crowed before popping the board up off the ground, grinding down the handrail, and landing the trick with expert smoothness. His hands stinging, Matthew sat on the dirty gravel shocked that the other boy had actually pushed him. Francis would have never…
'But he's not Francis, is he? Francis has no idea you're here at school, giving out blow jobs like free candy and smoking weed,' Matthew thought, suddenly angry with himself for his actions. He felt guilty, and rather used.
Gilbert circled back, sticking out a hand.
"Lemme see, sissy-boy," Gilbert demanded. Matthew bit his lip, feeling angry. Gilbert laughed at him and squatted down, grabbing his hands and inspecting the damage. "You're only bleeding a little bit, but the pout is cute—reminds me of other cute things you can do with your mouth."
"Shut up!" Matthew replied, standing suddenly and pushing Gilbert as hard as he could. The other boy slipped in his flat sneakers and landed with an 'oomph!' on his rear.
"You're just a loser! You'll never do anything important in life. All you care about is getting high and killing your immature little brain cells," Matthew accused. Perhaps it was the stress of dealing with Alfred, or the anxiety he felt about the situation with Francis, or any number of things that had stressed him out since the break began, but he was definitely venting his frustration on Gilbert. He expected a fight—wanted one even—but the other boy denied him. Instead, he laughed and pulled some neon green band-aids out of one of his numerous pockets.
"Look at you, being all badass. Must be the war wounds. Here," Gilbert said, easily capturing his hand and smoothing on an obnoxiously bright band-aid. He gave the other hand the same treatment. "Feel better now? You can shout at me some more if it'll help. Or we could go smoke some of that haze I gave you. That'll take the edge off."
"I…I…I have to go," Matthew blurted, tugging his hands back and running from the courtyard, slipping a bit on the ice as he did so. He heard Mogens' laughter ringing in his ears the entire way.
USUK
Arthur winced as he heard Francis and his mother shouting at each other in Francis's room. His French was less than perfect, but he knew enough to get the gist of the conversation. There was a gentle knock on his door, and Arthur went to open it. His own mother came in, a worried frown on her face.
"Poor Madeline and Francis. I wish there was something I could do, but I suppose all teenagers go through a phase where they hate their parents. Are you alright?" she asked. Arthur gave her a hug, and then sat on his bed, patting the space beside him.
"You know it's not just that. His parents are going to get divorced, aren't they?" Arthur asked. His mother winced but nodded.
"I told her not to tell him over the vacation, least of all today, but she thought it was what he wanted. She never imagined he'd take it like this," his mother said. They heard the sound of something glass breaking. Luckily, it was just them and Patrick in the house. Arthur's oldest brothers and their wives were busy with ceremonial functions, and his father was at Buckinham Palace, recording the Queen's Christmas Day speech to the people with her. They typically opened presents Christmas night, instead of in the morning, but now Arthur was wondering if anything would be normal after Francis received such upsetting news.
It was making him on edge, even if it wasn't his own parents fighting so fiercely, and Arthur leaned into his mother's side seeking comfort.
"You and dad…" Arthur trailed off questioningly, a lump in his throat. His mother pressed a kiss against his unruly hair.
"Never you fear, poppet. Your father and I are happy as can be. We love you boys so much. Madeline and Christophe love Francis, too, but sometimes even if you only want what's best for your children, love just doesn't work out how you think it will."
"I just feel so useless. I've never heard him sound so furious before. His parents have always fought, but—" They both winced as they heard more glass shatter.
"You said his best friend is still in town, right? Maybe it would help Francis if he were to come stay the night, so he'd have someone to talk to?" his mother suggested.
"How would he get here?" Arthur asked.
"You and Patrick can go pick him up in my car. I'll stay here and go in after a little bit to try to calm them both down."
"Okay…thanks, mum…for everything," Arthur said, hugging her once more tightly before leaving to go find Patrick. The red-head was more than happy to help, and they quietly prepared the car for driving on the icy roads and then took off for the school. Arthur had texted Matthew but hadn't received a response yet, nor was he able to get one from Alfred.
"I don't know why he's not answering. I hope he hasn't gone off somewhere with Alfred and his mum," Arthur said. Patrick cast him a quick sideways glance, but kept his gaze firmly on the road.
"You okay? That didn't sound pretty," Patrick commented. Arthur frowned and played with his phone.
"Francis has always wanted them to break up…but I guess he just never thought it would actually happen. All the lying and his mother's health problems haven't been easy on him. I hope Matthew can help him. God knows he won't want my company," Arthur said.
"So you two actually dated? I find that really hard to believe," Patrick said with a small grin. Arthur just shrugged glumly.
"He was just trying to make Matthew jealous. It's possible I was trying to make Alfred jealous, too…just a little bit."
"Did it work?" Patrick asked. Arthur sunk even further in his chair, his frown morphing into a full-fledged pout. Patrick huffed in amusement. "I'll take that as a no. Is this Alfred kid even gay?" he asked.
"Yeah, but he's really confused about it," Arthur said. "I don't get what's so hard to figure out per say, but his parents are also ridiculously hard on him, and he's in the papers so much more than we are back home."
"Sounds tough for both of you," Patrick said. Arthur just shrugged his shoulders. Patrick frowned. "He's not leading you on though, is he?"
"Well, sort of, but I don't think it's intentional. We're best mates, so it's kind of hard to know what's flirting and what's just being friendly," Arthur explained. "I know he cares about me a lot, and I…well, I think I might love him." Arthur glanced quickly at his brother, expecting laughter, but Patrick just nodded.
"Mum's always saying it, but it's true. You're pretty mature for your age, Arthur. I didn't give a crap about girls when I was a freshman. I hardly noticed them till the end of my sophomore year, much less think about something like love. Not everyone grows up as fast as you have, so try not to be too hurt if this kid hasn't gotten it all figured out yet. Some of us boys just take a little longer before we wise up. But you know…instead of trying to make him jealous, you could always try making him horny. I'm just sayin'—most immature guys are usually thinking with something other than their hearts, you know."
Arthur blinked in surprise at the unexpected, though very honest insight from his older brother, who was grinning boyishly over the steering wheel and speaking as though his wisdom came from experience. Arthur gave his brother a small smile, feeling a little better about everything. Maybe Alfred was just a late bloomer, like Patrick, and would eventually see how perfect they would be together. In the mean time, what would it hurt to do a bit of flirting?
For his part, Patrick was hoping he hadn't just made his little brother's love sickness worse, but it was hard to imagine a kid not liking his brother, if he was gay that is. Arthur was a little uptight at times, and he could definitely be bossy, but he was quirky and smart and pretty adorable when he wanted to be—he'd certainly wrapped their mum around his little finger, and even their stoic dad had a soft spot for him. Of course, Dylan was proof that some people could be immune to Arthur's special brand of charm.
Uneasy with the silence, Patrick turned on the radio and channel flipped until he found an awesome punk band from Ireland that he was currently obsessed with. Surprisingly, Arthur seemed to be into it as well.
"You like it?" Patrick asked. Arthur was smiling, nodding his head a bit to the hardcore beat.
"Cool. We should go to a concert sometime then," Patrick offered. His little brother smiled, and turned back to his window, still head bopping to the loud music.
The drove another hour and a half before they reached the front gates of World Academy, and pulled in. Patrick parked in the empty lot and they got out, heading towards Arthur's dorm.
"Man, this place still looks exactly the same," Patrick commented. He was five years older than Arthur, and so his freshman year had also been spent at the London campus. He'd graduated in Moscow, and now he was enjoying his gap year before university.
He and Arthur walked a familiar path until they reached the dorms and Arthur let them in with his key. It was growing late, nearly six in the evening, and Arthur was surprised to see Matthew standing outside his room with a bag of petrol station junk food and a worried expression on his face.
"Matthew? What's going on?" Arthur asked. Matthew glanced up in surprise, and Arthur's eyes were drawn to the strangely bright band-aids on his hands.
"Arthur? What are you doing here?" Matthew asked. Arthur frowned uncomfortably.
"This is my brother, Patrick. We came for you, actually. Things have gotten a bit…well…terrible at my house. Francis and his mother are in a huge row—she told him she was divorcing his dad—and I thought it might help him to have you there. My mum invited you to come stay for the night."
"Poor Francis—that's a terrible thing to find out about on Christmas. I want to go, but…" Matthew said, looking genuinely distressed by the news. He bit his lip, seemingly torn by something.
"Why are you hovering outside my door with chocolate and crisps?" Arthur asked.
"Things haven't gone so well here, either. Alfred came out to his mother…or I guess it's better to say she guessed? And I don't know what she said, but I think it was pretty terrible. He's been locked up in his room all yesterday afternoon and today, and he hasn't eaten anything. Around ten he told me to leave him alone, and seemed sick."
"Oh, for the love of—Matthew, you go with Patrick and sort out Francis. I'll stay here with Alfred. When you bring Matthew back tomorrow afternoon, you can pick me up. Okay?" Arthur said, directing his plan at Patrick. His brother just shrugged uncaringly and smiled at the kid that was supposedly Francis's real boyfriend. He was nice enough looking, though he seemed to be afraid of his own shadow.
"Alright. Come on, kid. I'll take you to Francis. You'll be alright here, Arthur? You sure you don't mind missing Christmas?" he verified. His younger brother nodded distractedly, already fishing out his keys to unlock his door.
"I'll be fine. Thanks for driving us around, Patrick," Arthur said, as he unlocked the door.
Francis and Patrick left, and Arthur entered the darkened bedroom he shared with Alfred. It was a total wreck, with dirty clothes strewn all about, empty food wrappers coating the floor, trash overflowing from the bin, and his lazy ass roommate snoring under the covers, a mound of used tissues by his bed. Arthur gently felt his forehead, unsurprised to discover he was hot to the touch, and got to work with a sigh.
Two hours later, when Arthur normally would have been opening Christmas presents, he strode quickly across the now immaculate room and coaxed Alfred onto his sweaty back.
"Come on, wake up. Rise and shine, Alfred. You need to take something, and then I'll let you go back to sleep," Arthur said. His roommate groaned, nuzzling against his hand rather pathetically, blurrily blinking open his eyes.
"Arthur?" he asked. The prince was startled to see whatever was inside his roommate's mouth glowing in the darkness.
"What the bloody hell is on your teeth?" Arthur asked, tugging at his roommate's lips to inspect the horrible mess of wires and brackets and rubber bands. "This is supposed to be an improvement?" Arthur asked. His depressed roommate groaned weakly and pushed ineffectually at his hands.
"Dun make fun of me…I'm sick and miserable," Alfred pouted. Arthur reached for the cup of hot tea he'd whipped up with the electric kettle they kept in their room and used the alluring smell of honey and lavender to coax Alfred into half-sitting. He sneezed, and Arthur only just managed to get him the tissue in time.
"How long have you been sick?" Arthur asked.
"I started feeling bad last night, but I thought it was just 'cause of my mom," Alfred replied stuffily. He took the pills Arthur offered him and swallowed them with a small sip of tea. He blinked owlishly when Arthur put his glasses on his face. "You cleaned," he commented. Arthur gave him the look. "Sorry it was so messy," Alfred added a bit sheepishly.
"I don't really expect anything different from you. Is the tea too hot?"
"No, it tastes good. Could use more honey, though."
"I put in nearly as much honey as tea. It's sugary enough. If you think you can keep it down, I can make you some soup. It's one of the few things in your stockpile of groceries that's actually edible. Have you been eating nothing but chocolate and crisps all week?"
"Naw…my mom made me eat healthy while she was in town," Alfred replied. At the mention of his mother, he seemed to shrink in on himself.
"So you came out, hmm? Copy cat," Arthur teased lightly. Alfred huffed as if amused, but there was no real humor in his voice when he replied.
"I didn't come out. She just knew, about you and Matthew and Ivan—"
"Ivan?" Arthur asked in surprise. Alfred blushed, though it was hard to tell with his fever.
"She knew I had a thing for him…a crush…whatever you want to call it. She told me I should stop being friends with him, because of his family. She also told me if I was going to be gay, then I should date someone acceptable, like you or Matthew, but preferably you since that would look better in the papers. My parents think if they spin it right, my dad can get more votes out of it."
Arthur's head was spinning, and it had been ever since his roommate so casually admitted he had a thing for Ivan. Since when had that happened? Arthur felt annoyance and jealousy start to bubble up inside him. Was Alfred just determined to have a crush on all of their gay friends with the exception of him? It certainly wasn't Ivan that had cleaned up his mess and made him tea and was tending to him when he could be celebrating Christmas with his family. It wasn't Matthew either, for that matter.
"Arthur? I guess that wasn't the best way to tell you about Ivan...but nothing's going to come of it. He's with Yao. At least, I think he is."
Arthur wanted to say a lot of things, but he settled on saying, "I'm sorry your mother was so horrid about it."
"I'm sorry I like him Arthur. I know I'm supposed to like you—I get it—but I can't help who I'm attracted to," Alfred said, pausing mid-speech to blow his nose. Arthur felt his brows hitch up in surprise at the weird comment.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Everyone wants us to hook up—most everyone in school thinks we already have. Matthew talks about it like we're some sort of fairy tale, and I'm just too stupid to realize what role I'm supposed to be playing. My own mother wants me to date you, and she's barely met you, even though I'm pretty sure the two of you would hate each other. My point is that I get what everyone expects—even you—but it's just…it's just not what I want right now. I can't explain it. I know how great you are, hell, I know I'm probably being really stupid to dick around like this, but I just don't feel ready. The whole idea just…freaks me out."
Arthur swallowed thickly. "I didn't realize you were being pressured. I can't help my feelings either, Alfred, but I've never expected that you return them. I admit that I rather hoped…"
"I like Ivan," Alfred said abruptly, cutting him off. "I know you don't deserve to hear that, but that's how I feel. I'm really attracted to him, and I've thought about him a lot lately."
Arthur narrowed his brows in sudden suspicion. "And this sudden attraction has nothing to do with the fact that your mother told you to stay away from him, I suppose?"
Alfred shifted a bit uncomfortably, hiding his face in the tea mug. Arthur knew he was onto something.
"Maybe…but it's not the whole reason," Alfred confessed.
"What about Yao? He's my friend, you know. While he hasn't explicitly stated he has feelings for Ivan, I think that bit is fairly obvious. Not to mention, it seems to go both ways." Arthur was rapidly developing another theory about why Alfred might like Ivan—what with him being unavailable, it meant Alfred was in no danger of finding himself in a relationship he wasn't ready for. Beginning to resign himself to the situation, Arthur kept that little bit of insight to himself.
For the millionth time, Arthur cursed Alfred's mother in his head. Even when she was being supportive, she still managed to mess everything up. And why now, of all times, was Alfred deciding to be rebellious?
"I won't encourage you to break them up, especially if they're happy, but if you do get the chance to date Ivan, I won't stand in your way. I'm trying not to let my feelings for you cause me to be a poor friend, and a friend would be supportive. So do what you feel like you have to do, but know that I'm not going to wait around forever."
"I know that. You're a better friend than I deserve," Alfred said, sneezing into another tissue. Arthur smiled a bit, but only because he knew Alfred wouldn't catch his expression. With his mouth full of glow-in-the-dark metal, his face covered in acne, and his glasses to round it all off, Arthur seriously doubted anything would happen between Alfred and Ivan. The irony of it all was that Alfred was claiming he didn't like Arthur because he wasn't his type, and Ivan was going to claim the same thing about Alfred. Arthur saw it for what it was—ill thought out rebellion and a crippling fear of the unknown. Alfred wasn't ready for a relationship with anyone yet, but when he was ready, it certainly wasn't going to be with Ivan. Arthur thought about his brother's words about boys who were late bloomers, and smiled a bit to himself. He tucked the covers up over Alfred's shoulders and then did something rather bold.
He gently brushed aside Alfred's messy fringe, and kissed his forehead in an innocent brush of lips against skin.
"Goodnight, Alfred. Sleep well," he said. Below him, Alfred was frozen like a block of ice. Arthur inwardly smirked.
If Alfred thought he was so immune to his charms, then he should be able to resist them without any problems, right? Arthur didn't glance backwards to see if Alfred was watching him, but he casually stripped off his button up shirt and opened Alfred's dresser drawer.
"Mind if I borrow one of your shirts? I packed all mine," he said. He could hear Alfred swallowing thickly, trying to get control of his voice before he spoke.
"Y-yeah, sure buddy, no…no problem," Alfred replied. His voice cracked nervously and Arthur grinned into the material of the T-shirt as he pulled it on. In the dim light of the room, he stepped out of his trousers and folded them neatly. He could practically feel Alfred watching him in his too-big shirt. He'd never undressed in front of the other boy so casually before—not when it was obvious Alfred had nothing to do but watch.
But Alfred wasn't attracted—oh no, never that. After all, Arthur totally wasn't his type. Careful to hide his smirk from his oh-so-naïve roommate, Arthur slipped into his bed and closed his eyes. He listened to Alfred toss and turn across the room for a good twenty minutes before he stood up.
"I feel gross. I'm gonna take a shower."
Arthur rolled onto his side, snickering into his pillow. Sure enough, Alfred didn't do any singing while he was under the spray of water, and Arthur knew exactly what that meant. Arthur fell asleep with a mischievous little smirk on his face.
USUK
Ivan decided he disliked Yao's family. They were loud and they talked too fast, and his mother doted on Yao as if he were a spoiled little prince, all the while shooting distrustful looks at Ivan. It made him want to bend Yao over the dining table and show his mother just what her precious boy was getting into at school.
And Yao was even bossier on his home turf. He ordered him about as if he were a lapdog, and insisted on going shopping in his father's markets even though Ivan protested that it was unnecessarily risky. But Ivan was quickly learning that what Yao wanted, Yao got, and he seemed to be included in that category as well. The annoying part of it all was that he still liked the infuriatingly bossy Asian, for some unfathomable reason. Yao was sarcastic and sharp as a tack, and he seemed to run circles around Ivan, but when he got completely unbearable, Ivan just hauled him off his feet and kissed him until he shut up for awhile. Once they were in his home, the need to use this method was increasingly disproportionate to how often he had the opportunity to use it, and so by the time the first week of vacation was over, Ivan was horny as hell, frustrated beyond belief, and ready to stuff one of Yao's knock-off electronics down the throat of his overbearing mother.
Instead, they were going shopping…again.
"This is dangerous. I do not think you understand that gang members, dangerous ones, are out there, hunting your blood. These types of men do not play games, Yao," Ivan said.
"I keep hearing all this talk about the big, bad Triads, but they haven't done a thing since I brought in you Russians. They won't touch me. I have you," Yao explained, as if he were a dull-witted child. Ivan grit his teeth. At the same time, he wouldn't stop Yao from doing just as he pleased, because the fact that he would, no matter what, was part of the reason Ivan liked him so much.
Though, Ivan was beginning to wonder if Yao was truly that brave, or just spectacularly naïve about gang violence. He was beginning to think it was the latter. Yao's mother realized they were about to go out and began to fuss at him in Chinese, as if it had been his idea. He fired back in angry Russian.
"Don't yell at me, you crazy bitch! He's the spoiled princess that wants to go play with the Triads!"
Another Russian bodyguard staying in the house snickered, and Ivan knew he was in for it—now the banshee woman knew he'd insulted her. Beginning to yell and fuss in a way that would have impressed even his sister Natalia (if the crazy girl had been there to witness it) the diminutive Asian woman was working herself up into a right temper, even daring to poke his chest a few times. Yao finally came out of his bedroom, annoyed by the commotion, and matched his mother's intensity with easy practice. She cowed to him almost instantly, and Yao huffed as if he were annoyed to be surrounded by such ridiculousness.
As they went out the door, Ivan wrapped on his scarf and checked to make sure he had his compact little MSP silent pistol (he had it with him always in China) ready for action inside his coat pocket. A car pulled up instantly for Yao, who slid into the back without a care in the world. Ivan darted his eyes around the fairly busy street, looking for potential followers, and seeing none, joined Yao reluctantly in the back.
Yao fired off directions in Chinese to his father's driver, who nodded and eased them into the flow of traffic.
"Can you believe my mother? She suspects what is going on between us, but she won't just say it. She'd still be in denial even if you fucked me in the living room," Yao said. He pitched his voice higher to imitate his mother's screeching, "When are you going to find some sweet girl to bring home instead of this hulking creepy-ass Russian boy? He smells like vodka and he took a piss on my garden!" Yao's voice returned to its normal register and he asked, "Did you piss on her flowers?"
"Da," Ivan said carelessly, turning to see if anyone had started trailing them.
"She's right, though. Have you stopped drinking at any point since you got here?" Yao asked prissily. Ivan turned back around, satisfied they weren't being followed, and thought longingly of the little flask in his other pocket. If he ran out of vodka on this vacation, he might just have to use the pistol to put himself out of his misery.
"I like my vodka. Never you mind how much I drink," he finally grunted. Yao sniffed delicately.
"My mother might like you more if you weren't so aggressive around her. She is just a harmless little woman."
"Ha! You didn't get whacked by that fucking wok she's always carrying around! Take a hit from that and tell me again she is harmless. I still have the fucking bruise," Ivan said, pulling back his hair to show Yao the nasty lump. The Chinese boy winced, and at least had the good graces to look slightly apologetic.
"You startled her, that's all. It is understandable that she is on edge these days, and it can be unsettling how quietly you move for being so fat," Yao said. Ivan flashed him a hurt look.
"I'm big-boned! You've seen my muscle! I'm very fit!"
Yao rolled his eyes dismissively. "Do not be so sensitive—all you westerns are fat. You should eat more rice."
Ivan switched to Russian and grumbled in reply, "I'm this close to sending you to the Triads with a bow wrapped around your pretty little neck."
"Being a little dramatic, aren't we? Will it make you feel better if I give you a nice massage when we get home?" Yao offered, glancing up at him through his dark lashes. Ivan felt his cock twitch in his trousers and smirked, impressed by Yao's impressive show of intelligence. He was already picking up on Russian with ease. Pretty soon, Ivan wouldn't be able to threaten him in it any longer, unless he got very creative with his vocabulary.
He leaned down close to Yao's ear, about to tell him in husky Russian just what part of him needed massaging, when all the sudden he glanced up to see a car collide into the front of their vehicle, sending them spinning wildly. The airbags exploded, but the driver was already dead, slumped forward and bleeding heavily from the head. The crash was not the end of the nightmare, though, because seconds later Ivan heard gunfire. He ducked protectively over Yao, hearing the bullets impact solidly with the metal of the car on the right side. A front window shattered. He counted the shots, waiting for a pause in the gunfire, knowing he only had two shots at his disposal. When the pause finally came, he moved quickly, ripping Yao out of his seatbelt and lunging to the left after smoothly opening the door, sending them both tumbling out onto the cement. Yao was in shock, latched onto him with an iron grip, terror filling his dark eyes.
Ivan lifted the smaller boy easily and sprinted for cover, dodging through the traffic colliding around the wreck, ducking into an alley and weaving through the crooked little streets full of trash and boxes. He nearly lost his footing in the snow, causing him to look down and realize one of them was bleeding. They were leaving a trail. He stopped, checked himself hastily and efficiently for wounds, and found none. Yao, however, had somehow cut his leg, and the large gash was bleeding rather profusely.
Ivan assessed the wound with a mind as sharp as a razor, determined it was non-lethal, and harshly tied off the wound with his scarf. Sofia would just have to knit him a new one…if he survived to ask for one, of course.
He doubled back a bit, Yao slung limply over his shoulder, and assessed his options. He had his phone, and if he could hole up somewhere, he could call his uncle, if he wasn't on the way already. But it would take time to find somewhere suitable, and meanwhile Yao was losing blood and the police would be sniffing around. Ivan hitched Yao up further on his shoulder and decided he'd go a bit further before hiding them in the nearest dumpster.
He made it down another two alleys, then a third, and spotted the perfect place for concealment, but a kid no older than himself appeared at the mouth of the narrow path. He was dressed in a sharp, black suit, with shades concealing his eyes, with a rather prominent dragon tattoo on the side of his face. Ivan dropped Yao behind him and reached for his pistol, firing off a shot smoothly at the same time the other teen did.
The Triad dropped to the snow, clutching his side, and Ivan shakily lowered his firing arm. Both weapons had been silent, and not a single sound was made except for the twin clicks of the hammers discharging.
Yao appeared in his line of sight, tears streaming down his face. His pretty hair was a mess, and there was a smear of blood on his cheek, which was otherwise almost as white as the snow falling around them. Ivan dropped heavily to his knees, like a mighty tree falling in a silent wood, his mind blank except for the realization that he had been shot.
A/N: Muahahaha. Is that a little piratical sauciness I see shining through in Arthur? I think it issss. Poor, stupid, innocent little Alfred. Oh, and poor Ivan, whom I just shot. XD Oh, and Gilbert's an ass…but he has cool, raver band-aids, so that makes up for it. :P Oh, and we're firmly in M rated territory now, so the rating has officially changed. Sorry for the reviewer that didn't like the pot references. There will be more of them. But this is a high school fic, and I've never heard of a high school that didn't have a few stoners running around corrupting innocents (but as one such corrupted innocent, I can tell you it's really not all that it's cracked up to be, and Mattie's pot scene was highly romanticized, so yeah…don't do pot. That was my public service announcement for the day.)