Chapter 22
Yao waited until everyone was sleeping until he crept silently out of his bedroom and down the hallway. Ivan's door was closed, and he opened it as gently as he could manage. The curtain was drawn over the window, blotting out the light from the full moon.
"Ivan?" he asked softly. No response came. He slipped further into the room, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. Ivan lay in the center of the bed, his whitish-blond hair mused and sweaty. His head jerked slightly as he slept, as if he were having a terrible dream. Frowning, Yao crossed the room and didn't hesitate to crawl onto the other boy's bed. Tears began to flow down his cheeks at the sight of Ivan alive and well, though clearly pained. Yao felt like time had frozen since the attack. He knew days were slipping by—that Christmas had come and gone—but he felt like he hadn't spoken or moved since he'd caught Ivan's heavy body as it tumbled into bloody snow.
Ivan was the only person that could tell him it was over, that he was safe and everything would be alright. Many people had said the words to him since the attack, but Yao needed to hear them from Ivan to truly believe they had survived. For a long time, he sat staring down at the boy who had saved his life by taking another's. Now he saw Ivan for what he was—a boy bred into thievery and extortion, with murder in his veins and crime in his blood. He was dangerous, dangerous in a way that Yao hadn't really understood before until he'd seen him lift his gun and fire, as casually as if he were blowing out a candle. Yao didn't even know how to hold a gun, let alone shoot one.
He'd seen guns in movies and on television. He heard about crimes and murders every day in the papers and in the news, but now it was different. Now it was real, and so many of his illusions of safety were shattered. As easily as pulling a trigger, a boy no older than himself was now hacked up and dead in a dumpster…and for what? He'd felt so important recruiting the aid of the Russians. He'd felt invincible as they swarmed around in the airport. There wasn't really any danger. He'd been nervous to approach Ivan, but the thrill of it had excited him. He'd cared less about a gang that was threatening people he didn't even know, and more about the way Ivan would stare at him from across the room, like a predator.
It was just a game.
His hand hesitantly touched Ivan's cheek. It was ironic, because despite seeing just what Ivan was capable of—seeing how he'd been raised to think and survive—he had a remarkably angelic face. His cheeks were a little chubby, as if he'd never shed all his baby fat, and his blue eyes were so brilliantly pale that they seemed, at times, to be the color of lilac. He was painted in winter—all icy blue and frosty white.
"Yao?" Ivan asked roughly, his snowstorm eyes opening—thin, reluctant slits.
"Ivan," Yao replied softly, stroking his soft cheek. His mind filled with images of snarled metal.
"Are you…okay?" Ivan asked, groggy. Yao nodded. He closed his eyes to try and force out the memory, but it seemed to be linked to Ivan's voice, and the smell of his skin, and the feel of his body. Despite that, Yao curled up against Ivan's good side, burrowing his face into the other boy's chest. Ivan's arm settled around him and he placed a gruff kiss against Yao's forehead.
"Sleep. I will protect you," Ivan promised. Even though Ivan stirred up a hornet's nest of confused emotions inside Yao's heart, he was at least safe with him. But how safe could one truly be sleeping in the den of a wolf?
Because as terrifying as the crash had been, it was nowhere near as frightening as looking up at the boy he'd given his body to night after night, seeing him smile in a moment of blissful serenity as he killed another man. The blood from Ivan's leg wound had sprayed across Yao's face. He'd seen the other boy drop without any sound, and still Ivan smiled the smile he had given to Yao, as he pushed into his most intimate of places. Ivan smiled until his knees hit the snow and he passed out into oblivion, and Yao was left in the alley, with nothing but memories of that tainted smile for company.
He cried softly against Ivan's nightshirt, feeling like he would never see the world or Ivan in the same way ever again.
USUK
It was not Patrick who came to retrieve the boys from the school, but rather Arthur's father. Prince George was a stoic man of few words. He preferred a good book to human company most days, and had always shied away from the spotlight. He was not a favorite with the press due to his average looks and his introverted personality, but he was passionate about politics and served well as the Special Representative for international trade and investment—a job title Arthur wished to own himself one day.
While George got along best with his eldest boy Colin, he had a special place in his heart for Arthur, and worried about him far more than he let on. Due to his rather quiet nature, it was a surprise to everyone (except his wife) when he declared that he would go pick up Arthur and this boy he was so besotted with, in order to have some time to speak to them both about various subjects, the primary one on his mind being the topic of sex.
Of course, Arthur had no idea this was his father's intention, otherwise he and Alfred likely would have taken a bus home. But Arthur did not know, and so he thought nothing of helping his best friend into the back of his father's expensive vehicle, while he slid into the front seat.
"How's Francis?" Arthur asked, after introductions had been made. Alfred was propped against his pillow, leaning against the tinted window and half-sleeping already.
"He calmed down considerably once his friend arrived. He even spoke a bit with Madeline this morning, though it's certainly still tense," George informed. Arthur frowned at the update, and glanced into the rearview mirror at his sickly crush.
"Alright back there, Alfred?" he asked. His roommate groaned weakly in response. They took off, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence in the car. Then George cleared his throat.
"So the two of you are dating?" he asked, as if it was a fact and he didn't really need to ask. Arthur spluttered, his cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment. Alfred shot a confused glance at Arthur and then sneezed.
"Daaad! We're not dating!" Arthur replied in a whine. His father shot him a look that said, 'I wasn't born yesterday.'
"Right, well, regardless of how you define your relationship, I want to be very clear with you, Alfred, that Arthur is my youngest child, and as such, I worry about him more than I worried about his brothers. He's sensitive, like his mother—"
"Dad! Shut the bloody hell up!" Arthur pleaded. His father shot him a sharp look and gave him the reproach he'd been hearing all break.
"Arthur, watch your language."
"But dad, we aren't dating, and you're embarrassing me! For god's sake, I'm nearly sixteen!" Arthur hissed in displeasure. In the backseat, despite being so under the weather, Alfred had an amused grin on his face. Completely ignoring Arthur, George continued.
"I've heard you're an athletic boy—on the rugby team and what-not, and I know that a social circle like that can put a lot of pressure on a young man to…what do you kids call it these days? Bugger, or is it bang? Regardless, I want to take this opportunity to establish a few things," Prince George said calmly and levelly.
"Please let me out of the car," Arthur requested. Alfred was biting on his lip to prevent himself from smiling.
"While you seem like a nice enough boy, Alfred, I want to be very clear that my son is not a trophy. You will treat him with respect and—"
"Why are you doing this to me?" Arthur whined, his face a lovely shade of dark red. He was glaring impressively at his father, who seemed completely immune and totally unruffled.
"—you will not put any pressure on him to do anything he isn't comfortable with. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir," Alfred replied respectfully. Arthur had sunk down into his seat, his face turned away and hidden behind his hand.
"If you do engage in any kind of sexual activity, I expect you to take the necessary safety precautions. While you don't have to worry about pregnancy, there are all sorts of transmittable diseases that I do not want my son to contract. Any questions so far?" George asked, pausing as if he were conducting a business meeting, cool as a cucumber. Alfred coughed a few times and thought about it.
"What sorts of diseases?" he asked, perfectly innocent. Arthur turned around and scowled at him, clearly threatening to remove his balls with his bare hands once there was no longer a seatbelt to restrain him.
"Do not encourage him," Arthur growled. Slightly cowed, Alfred blinked widely a few times and shrunk against his pillow.
"Arthur, be quiet unless you have a question," George said dismissively. Arthur shifted his glare to his father, and Alfred cracked a smile at how pouty Arthur looked. There was no other description for it: his roommate was absolutely adorable when he was pissy. It was great entertainment, and so Alfred decided to keep it going as long as possible. He sniffled a bit, and watched Arthur imitate a tomato.
"HIV, syphilis, gonorrhea…all sorts. Just be mindful and don't do anything that doesn't seem safe. I am perfectly aware that you are a young man, and that young men do not think much about long term commitments, but I expect you to start thinking about it if you intend to date my son. Arthur has been raised in a traditional home where sex is only shared between people who love each other and plan to spend the rest of their lives together. What do you plan to do with yourself after graduating, Alfred?" George asked.
"You don't have to answer that," Arthur bit out. Alfred grinned at Arthur a moment before scratching his head idly.
"I've never really thought about it, sir. I plan to go to college, though," Alfred said. George nodded approvingly.
"That's a good choice. What subjects interest you?"
"Well, I used to hate math, but Arthur's been helping me out a lot this year and I'm getting pretty good at it," Alfred said. Relaxing somewhat, Arthur spoke up.
"He's a fantastic artist—not that it's any of your business," Arthur said. His father nodded in consideration.
"I'm glad you have goals in life, Alfred. Arthur's mother and I expect whoever dates our son to be an intelligent, sensible young man who makes the right decisions and takes care of Arthur," George said. Alfred smiled sincerely, deciding he rather liked George. Sure, he was a bit clueless about teenagers, but he certainly seemed to have Arthur's best interests at heart.
"Just to be clear, sir, we really aren't dating. Arthur's probably been nice and hasn't said anything about it, but I'm kind of a screw-up. I'm not good enough for a guy like your son. I'll make sure that whoever does date him, though, treats him with the utmost respect. You can count on me to make sure he's okay. That's a Hero Club president guarantee!" Despite being so sick, this declaration hinted at Alfred's usual level of energy and cheerfulness.
George's lips twitched into a smile, and Arthur's mind was busy reeling over the casual, completely false statement Alfred had made about his self-worth.
"That's quite the impressive title for a supposed screw-up. What's this talk of a Hero Club?" George asked.
In between coughing and sneezing, Alfred proudly told Prince George all about the club he had started in order to help out his classmates and meet new friends. Even though Arthur had always thought the club sounded ridiculous, his father (who was quite eloquent when he chose to be) seemed to think it had real merit.
"It shows strong character that you have a desire to improve your community, Alfred. I'm very dedicated to that idea as well. It's a good sign when a young person thinks of others and not just of themselves. Even if your club has only handled romantic matters so far, it has plenty of potential to expand into new avenues of service," George said, taking Alfred's silly notions very seriously. Arthur was starting to feel a little bad about knocking Alfred's idea all term.
"Yeah! That's what I was thinking, too! By the end of the year, I hope we've gotten to do some stuff that really makes our school a better place. Not many people seem interested in it, though," Alfred said, sounding genuinely disappointed. George nodded and thought on the problem for a few moments before replying.
"Arthur claims you're talented with art—it sounds like your club simply needs a new design. How you package an idea is almost as important as the idea itself. Some new marketing could help lend credibility to your organization."
"That sounds like a pretty good idea," Alfred mused in the backseat. He yawned hugely. "It's been really cool talking to you, Mr. Kirkland, but I don't think I can stay awake much longer."
"That's fine, Alfred. Feel free to stretch out on the seat and get some rest before we arrive," George said. Alfred nodded, yawned once more, and repositioned his pillow on the seat. He was asleep practically before he stretched out. In a low whisper, so as not to disturb him, Arthur reproached his father.
"That was completely unnecessary," Arthur said. George flashed the briefest of smiles.
"I know. I'm a fairly good judge of character. You're in good hands with this boy. I can go about my business now knowing you're safe and being treated well."
Not quite as asleep as Arthur and George had thought, Alfred smiled a bit against the pillow. No adult had ever seemed impressed with him before, or talked to him as if his ideas were actually valuable. It made Alfred want to prove that he was deserving of George's good faith in him. He vowed to watch out for Arthur even more in the coming terms, to make sure that he stayed perfectly safe and happy.
It also made him wonder a rather dangerous thought: 'If Arthur's dad likes me…then maybe, if I work hard in school and get in shape, I could be good enough for Arthur…'
Such were Alfred's thoughts as he drifted off to sleep, completely unaware of just how much Arthur believed Alfred was perfect just the way he was.
USUK
When Arthur, Alfred, and George arrived, the unofficial Christmas party was just beginning. Alfred was given George's usual armchair so that he wouldn't be coughing and sneezing on everyone. Matthew and Francis sat by the cheery fireplace, subdued and mostly just talking to each other. Occasionally, from across the room where she chatted with Mary, Madeline would shoot her son painful looks. Arthur pulled a footstool over towards Alfred so he could sit by him, unafraid of his germs.
Mary had seemed just as taken with Alfred as Arthur's father had, and fussed over him in a way that made Alfred blush and assure her repeatedly that he was feeling just fine. All the same, she brought him a thick, comfy blanket and a mug of hot tea, and Arthur saw to it that Alfred took his next dose of medicine as Patrick passed out presents. Arthur's pile was fairly large, but he didn't seem very interested in them. Instead, he was absorbed in conversation with Alfred, whom he hadn't seen in a week.
"Did you finish the book I left?" Arthur asked. Alfred coughed and nodded. He was wearing the hat Arthur had made for him, and it made Arthur's stomach flutter rather pleasantly to see him in it.
"It was pretty good. Mattie gave me a story, too, for Christmas. Why are you both always making me read?" Arthur ignored this question and turned his eyes curiously towards Matthew and Francis.
"I wonder if he and Francis…" Arthur trailed off suggestively. He'd whispered the question, leaning in towards Alfred conspiratorially as he did so. Alfred glanced (very obviously) at the two boys and considered how close they sat, and how Francis seemed to be drawing heavily on Matthew's strength.
"I'm guessing they're together again…so how did you dump him?" Alfred asked. Arthur had told him via text that he and Francis were split up earlier in the week, but they hadn't talked about it anymore, what with Alfred being distracted by his confrontation with his mother and then falling sick.
"He dumped me," Arthur replied, clearly annoyed. Alfred gave him a disbelieving look.
"Wow…didn't expect that. I figured you'd dumped him so he was crawling back to Matthew," Alfred said, revealing his rather low opinion of the French boy (which had started around the time that Francis started putting the moves on Arthur, coincidentally enough). Arthur frowned.
"Do you just want to hear me admit that you were right and I didn't mean anything to him?" Arthur asked, a little peevishly. Despite his annoyance, upon realizing that Alfred was about to sneeze, Arthur pulled a tissue from his pocket and offered it to him.
"I…I…achoo! That's not it, Arthur. I'm just surprised since I thought…well…I thought you could do better than Francis."
"Better than…?" Arthur echoed, his confusion obvious. This was the second time his friend had mentioned him in such a way—first claiming he was not good enough for Arthur, and now saying Arthur was too good for someone else. Arthur wanted to talk to him about it more, but his family was present and Colin's wife seemed very interested in whatever they were discussing. He decided to let it go for the moment.
"So aren't you going to open your presents?" Alfred asked. A little preoccupied now, Arthur nodded absently. Patrick came over with a glass of eggnog and plopped down beside him, rummaging through Arthur's presents to find the one he'd gotten for him.
"I know it's hard, Artie, but ignore your boyfriend long enough to open my amazing gift," Patrick said with a teasing grin. Arthur scowled primly and snatched the present. Alfred just smiled at Arthur's flustered expression.
Arthur opened the present delicately, not ripping into the paper as Alfred would have done, to reveal a stack of several CDs.
"It was awesome that you liked that song in the car the other day, because I wasn't sure if these bands would be your kind of music," Patrick said. Arthur smiled as he flipped through the covers, some of which were quite hardcore looking. Alfred looked a little surprised by Arthur's interest in them.
"Thank you, Patrick. Did you open mine?" Arthur asked. Patrick beamed.
"Yeah! It's great!" Patrick replied. "Thanks, little bro," he said, before walking off to go converse with Dylan about the present he'd gotten for him.
"What did you get him?" Alfred asked.
"Oh, just some stuff for his favorite football team. I'm afraid my gifts were rather predictable this year."
"I got Mattie a gallon of maple syrup," Alfred said. Arthur chuckled.
"You're rather…creative…with your gifts, aren't you?" Arthur said, in a fond sort of way. His thoughts trailed to Pinky. "I'm afraid…because of everything going on that night…I didn't properly thank you for my present," Arthur said, a light blush darkening his cheeks. Alfred smiled softly at him, and weakly reached over to ruffle his hair.
"I'm glad you liked it," Alfred said. Arthur was about to reply, but his mother came over to thank him for the scarf he'd made for her. Since she was there, Arthur opened several presents from his parents (books, clothing, and a new cell phone). As he opened his presents, Mary talked more with Alfred.
"Feeling any better, dear?" she asked. Alfred gave a weak nod.
"Yes ma'm. Thank you for letting me stay," he said. Mary smiled at him and fussed with the blanket that was covering him.
"I suggest you feel better soon, Alfred, or mum will tuck you in so thoroughly you won't be able to ever extract yourself," Colin joked, coming over to see Arthur open his gift. Alfred grinned at the fact that he was rather tightly wrapped now. He wiggled a bit until he could get his arm free and took another sip of tea. It didn't taste particularly good (he was not a fan of tea like Arthur was) but it was hot and soothing on his throat.
Arthur's gift from Colin turned out to be a rather nice chess set. Arthur seemed surprised by it and instantly fond of the smooth wooden contours and the delicately carved pieces.
"Now you can practice with Alfred, and maybe one of you will be a challenge to me next time I see you," Colin said. Arthur smiled and gave his brother a half-hug.
"Thank you, Colin. This almost makes up for you outing me," Arthur joked. His eldest brother grinned knowingly at his mother.
"See? I told you he'd hold a grudge all week," he said. Mary rolled her eyes at her boys and smoothed Alfred's hair with a motherly pat before moving on to watch Dylan open his presents. Dylan had gotten Arthur a gift card to a men's clothing store, which Arthur discreetly rolled his eyes at.
"He knows I hate that shop," he whispered to Alfred. "All of their pants are too long on me, and he delights in teasing me about being too short for their clothing when mum takes us shopping there."
"Ass," Alfred whispered back conspiratorially. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, "Want me to go cough up something nasty on him?"
Arthur chuckled and then caught Dylan's eyes across the room. He held up the gift card and nodded in thanks. It was obvious the whole exchange was a little awkward and tense between them. His presents dispensed with, Arthur separated from Alfred long enough to go check on Francis.
"Are you feeling any better?" Arthur asked. Francis casually took Matthew's hand, giving it a slight squeeze.
"Thank you for getting Matthew. I feel like shit…but not as bad as before. I talked to my father on the phone a little earlier, and at least that went better than my conversation with my mother," he said. Matthew leaned against Francis's shoulder, resting his head on the other boy casually and tilting his head back to sweetly peck Francis's cheek. Arthur blushed a bit at the obvious gesture of affection. It felt a little awkward, considering just a few days ago, he and Francis had been dating essentially to make Matthew jealous.
"Err…so I suppose you two are back together?" Arthur asked. Matthew glanced at him and gave him a soft smile. Francis nodded, and looped his arm around the other boy's shoulders.
"I'm sorry for my behavior towards you, Arthur. It was not what it should have been," Francis said. Arthur blinked in surprise. He knew Francis must really be feeling down if he was being so formal and sincerely apologetic. Arthur didn't like it.
"Why are you apologizing? I'm the one who used you. You think I really wanted to date you and deal with your hair clogging up my shower for the rest of my life? Not to mention tasting secondhand all your nasty French food," Arthur groused. A familiar spark lit in Francis's eyes and he scowled at him.
"My hair does not do something as crude as clog. You confuse me with yourself, you short little balding—"
At the same time, both of their mothers chimed in with a reproach of, "Boys!"
Not at all chastened, they grinned playfully at each other.
"Get your boy to bed, Arthur. Your father will be displeased if he dies in his favorite armchair," Francis joked, nodding his head towards Alfred. As soon as Arthur had left him, Alfred's head had dropped against the chair and he was either very close to sleep or had already passed out. Arthur sighed affectionately and said his goodnights to his visiting friends.
"I think Alfred's at his limit on Christmas cheer. I'm going to help him get to bed," Arthur said, addressing his family. "Thank you all again for my gifts," he added. His father set aside the mystery novel he'd just been given and offered to help, but Arthur waved him off. He fully intended to take Alfred to his own room, and he didn't want his father (in a reoccurrence of his strange, protective mood) to try and drag Alfred into a guest room.
"Come on, Alfie, wake up. You need a proper bed for the night," Arthur said. Alfred blinked awake, seemingly surprised that he'd fallen asleep.
"Oh! Sorry, Arthur," he said with a sniffle. Arthur helped him out of the blanket and pulled him up, ducking under the other boy's arm. Slowly, they made their way up the stairs and down a few hallways, till they reached Arthur's bedroom.
"You should get some go-karts here, to get to all the different rooms. This house is freakin' huge," Alfred said. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"I am a prince. We tend to live in castles," he replied. Alfred grinned.
"Does that make me the damsel in distress right now?" he asked. Arthur was practically carrying him by this point, as Alfred had used most of his strength on the stairs.
"I'd say you're more of a dragon, considering the nasty stuff you're spewing into the air," Arthur replied.
"Awesome. Dragons are super-super awesome," Alfred replied, beginning to sound a little loopy. Arthur grinned and finally got them into his bedroom, where he'd already put Alfred's things. He settled his roommate on the bed and took off his sneakers for him. He was already essentially wearing pajamas, so aside from helping him unzip and remove his overcoat, Arthur had little to do except tuck him in again.
"I should put on my headgear," Alfred said in the saddest tone of voice Arthur had ever heard. He rolled his eyes.
"Nonsense. You're sick. You can start wearing it once you're feeling better," he ordered, as he went about changing into his own pajamas. Alfred had happily curled up on his favorite pillow, his eyes already drifting shut. Arthur slipped into bed beside him. For a moment, he maintained a gap between them, but then (with darkening cheeks) he remembered his plot to seduce the other boy. Blushing rather hotly, Arthur pretended to be rolling over in his sleep, scooting closer to Alfred as he did so.
In the darkness, Alfred flashed a little half-smile, not even bothering to open his eyes.
"I know you like to cuddle, you big softie. If you don't mind that I'm sick, I don't mind being your personal heater," Alfred said, lifting his arm invitingly. With a happy smile (and feeling rather glad that he didn't have to pretend it was an accident) Arthur wiggled backwards until he was snugly against his roommate's chest, the other boy's arm draped over his middle. Both of them comforted by the closeness, they fell asleep quickly.
A/N: Okay, so lots of pretty awesome news! You might have noticed the update during the middle of the week. That was due to the fact that I no longer have my second job, and so I have free time again, like a normal person! Look forward to more frequent updates, though I do have quite a bit to do today so I wouldn't expect another chapter until tomorrow.
But the BEST news is that a reviewer, the awesome Cat'akai, made fanart for this fic! It's got Pinky! (which made me squee) You can check out the awesome-ness here: cat-milk-akai(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/usxuk-195001497 / (replace (dot) with . and remove spaces.) A huge thanks for all the encouragement and constructive criticism from you guys—I'm totally in love with sharing this story with you all, and it makes me super happy that you like it.
**Oh! A note about the beginning of this chapter, before I forget! I doubt anyone will be upset with Yao's reaction to the shooting, but I just wanted to say that (in going for a more realistic tone) I wanted to show how shaken up Yao was about the gun. I've been a victim of an armed robbery before, and it really does rattle you to actually see a gun so close and realize how easily it could end your life. I know in movie-land Yao should be all 'Oh, yay, you saved my life! I love you forever!' but, from personal experience, shootings are scary scary shit and it kind of messes you up. So, please keep that in mind as I progress with Yao and Ivan's story! I know not everyone has had that experience, so I didn't want Yao to be judged too harshly for what's coming in the next parts.