Rewinding to Valentine's Day. I really hate these two sometimes. They become stupid to deal with, especially because their damn mindsets are so different from my own. (Especially Lovinos.)

So here we go, these two idiot's first Valentine's Day... Which is a couple weeks after the hospital.

Enjoy~

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The television droned on in the living room, mostly white noise by now. With his head practically submerged between the armrest and cushion of his parent's sofa, Arthur sighed. The throw pillows were cool against his skin, forever scabbed with his mother's embroidery. Speaking of whom, he could hear Alice bustling around the house. Because of her constant maintenance, the house was always kept spotlessly clean. Elegant and fluid, her movements were a comforting and familiar sound to the immobile Briton. They were the same sounds from his childhood, when he still lived with his parents, and he was constantly fighting fits of nostalgia.

Valiantly he argued, but he was no match for the combined efforts of his parents. So after he was released from the hospital, he was forced to go home with them. Truthfully, Alice was the one doing most of the fighting. She was just as stubborn as Arthur, and knew how to use her words much more efficiently than he did. The fact that she birthed him only added to her victory. There was no way he could keep his ground when going up against the woman who raised him, stood by him, and never gave up on him no matter how dark and foggy his days became. Arthur would do anything for her.

Now here he was, loafing at his old house, and bored stiff. Lukas gave him time off, telling him to call whenever he felt well enough to work again. It was a kind gesture, not giving him a specific date to return, and he thanked his friend/boss. It was not so bad, he guessed. Patrick and Peter, the only brothers left who were still dependant on their parents, were at school until half past two on weekdays. They weren't the worst company, either. He and Peter may tease one another whenever they were in the same room, but it was nothing compared to all of the fist fights he, Alastair, and Brian used to get into. Patrick reveled in spending time together. They were the two siblings that got along the best, never fighting or getting on each other's nerves. It was nice. If they were all in an amiable mood, they would even have fun together, or Arthur would help the younger two with their homework.

The worst part of all of this was having to give up his cigs cold turkey. Dr. Aboya helpfully informed Alice that smoking would hinder his recovery rate. The bastard. Arthur was not even allowed one more smoke before his almost-empty carton had been fished from his pocket, and thrown away. An accurate word for the first week was Hell. There was an itch in his stomach, and eating only dulled the sensation for a short while. The man was always irritated, and got smacked more than once for his mouth. It was a tiny bit more bearable now, but that itch was still there with no way to scratch it. Also, he still had the occasional outburst, which sucked because he really did not mean to lash out over nothing at the people he cared for.

Then there was Lovino. Since then he has only seen the brunette a couple of times. Mostly, though, their communication was made by text or the rare phone call. It never lasted long, though, since the Italian would become tired around ten and go to bed. Their distance was not coincidental. Arthur had actually told Lovino to stay away for a while. Knowing all too well what withdraw was like, he told his boyfriend that it would be best to wait until he got over it. The last thing Arthur wanted was to scare him away with his loose temper.

Grasping the remote, he turned the television off. Nothing was on, and a headache was beginning to form right behind his eye. After a few moments of debating whether it was worth it to go all the way to the medicine cabinet for some pills, the pounding in his skull chose for him. Sighing, he reached for his crutches propped up against the side of the couch, and got to his feet. Some time passed before he got used to them, but now they were only a minor inconvenience. Luckily he was pretty good at adapting to things.

Hobbling to the bathroom, he rummaged through the cabinet until he found the Aspirin. Popping a couple capsules into his mouth, he turned on the faucet and cupped his hands under the spray to help wash them down. Turning, he saw Alice leaning against the doorframe. Startled, he did not like how she was staring at him. It was a strange look, where you could almost see the cogs in her head turning.

Before he could ask what it was she needed, she spoke, "Do you have any plans today?"

Owlishly, the Englishman blinked. "Um, no?" The question confused him. Two weeks had passed without him doing anything because of his leg. Not to mention that he was in some sort of trouble from having to come clean about his graffiti. Since he was a grown-ass man, he was not grounded or anything, but he was disabled, and living with his parents for the time being... and they were not exactly helping him get out often...

Son of a bitch, he was grounded, wasn't he?

No matter, really. Though they frowned upon it, neither his mother nor father could stop him from painting. Brian was the only other one who showed negativity about this, but he maturely explained that there was no way in hell that he would stop. Grudgingly, they all accepted this. That did not stop them from sneaking in sly comments here and there. "You're too talented for grimy walls," or, "Your art would look much nicer in a museum." And maybe one day he would like to paint on a more professional level, but not now.

Alice tsked, and rolled her eyes. They were identical to his, and all of his brothers except for Peter, who inherited cool blue eyes from their grandfather. Arthur could tell that she knew something he did not, and a pout unknowingly formed on his lips. "Why?" he asked, trying to keep calm as his mother's calculating gaze bore into him. Standing silent for a minute, the Briton cursed her for knowing exactly how to make him squirm, and enjoying it.

"You haven't seen Lovino for a while. Why not invite him over?"

Befuddled, Arthur let his shoulders slump. What? It felt like the woman was toying with him. "I don't know," he drawled, focusing on the shower curtain. "I haven't been feeling well, and didn't want to bother him."

"Has it ever crossed your mind that you might feel better if you did spend time with him? Or maybe he would like to see you anyway?"

"No," answered the blonde bluntly.

"Just invite him over," Alice sighed, and left just as quickly as she came. Her kneehigh shirt billowing a goodbye.

Arthur stayed in the bathroom for a moment longer, brow crinkled at the peach tile. Why? Why couldn't his mother simply say what she had to say? There always had to be an air of mystery surrounding her words, and it got exasperating. Sometimes he thought that she did that just to piss everyone off, and laugh maniacally to herself at their misfortune.

With an unsteady gait, he made his way to his room. When he had first came back, he was surprised to see that it was exactly the same as he had left it, only more empty. A natural green adorned his walls, tack holes and strips of tape marring it's surface. The carpet was still beige; it was also cleaner than when he had moved out, suggesting that Alice had scrubbed the carpet herself. From his ceiling hung multiple glow-in-the-dark stars from fishing wire and pushpins. His closet was mostly empty except for an old pair of cherry-red Doc Martens, and a couple of tattered shirts he had forgotten, but was now in use with all of the wardrobe he had packed from his apartment since the dresser had been taken to his current residence. Atop his nightstand sat his phone, wallet, deodorant, and other miscellaneous items. What amused the Brit the most was that all of his porn mags were still safely under his mattress, untouched and in good condition. It surprised him that the glossy covers of Playboy and Cheri were never discovered while his mother was cleaning. It's not like this adolescent self had hidden them in the most original place.

Sitting on the bed, he picked up his phone. Lovino would still be in class, but he would text him anyway. Arthur would not always disturb the Italian's studies, because he knew that they were important, but sometimes he could not bring himself to give a shit. The other did not mind, and even encouraged him to give him something else to focus on instead of "those fucking boring lessons about shit I'll never need to know."

To:

Romano

Want to come over later?

1:30P Tues-14

From:

Romano

Uh... yeah. Sure, I'll be over around 4

1:35P Tues-14

Smiling a little, the green-eyed blonde responded that he would be waiting, and placed his cell back on the nightstand. Maybe it would not be so bad seeing Lovino. Already his mood was brightening from the thought alone. Laying down, he decided to take a short nap. Anything to make sure that he was the least grumpy he could be by tonight.

.:.:.:.:.

Knocking sounded a little past five that afternoon. Patrick and Peter were both gone with their "girlfriends" (Arthur believed that they were both too young to understand such commitments, but his opinion didn't matter in the least), and his parents left not long ago. Both were dressed in formal wear, looking impeccable. When he expressed his curiosity, his father stated that he was taking his mother out for a "beautiful, romantic evening."

To which Arthur snarkily replied that if he weren't being held captive here, they would not have to waste money on a hotel just to have sex.

To which Alice grabbed a nearby umbrella, and threw it at him like a javelin.

Pushing himself up, the man hobbled over to the door to welcome his guest. A warm smile overtook his face as he laid eyes on his captivating boyfriend. Especially after so long. Now that he had somebody who was important to him in this kind of way, weeks felt like months when they were apart. He did not like how he felt this longing for the other, but it was impossible to fight off. "Hey," he greeted elegantly.

Lovino had a tiny smile as well, and it was mesmerizing. "Hi."

For a few moments they stood in the doorway, and it took the blonde more time than necessary to realize that they probably looked pretty stupid. Stepping aside, he waved his arm in a motion for the other to come in. Once he closed the door, he turned to be struck by what the Italian was wearing. While he hung his coat, Arthur tilted his head at the deep red buttondown and black slacks. He guessed it was not too strange of an outfit, and he did not know how Lovino normally dressed, but it seemed a little too extravagant for only hanging around the house. "Were you out somewhere before you came over?"

Amber blinked, and eyebrows furrowed. "Uh, no?"

"Oh..." well, this was awkward. "It's just.. you're dressed awfully formally..." Urg, he really needed to stop talking. Lovino was looking at him with an unreadable expression, and he hated it. "Ah, but you look nice! I guess I'm just not used to being with... classy people." It was true, because most of his friends were very casual when it came to clothing options. Except for Francis, but even he still wore jeans when he was not doing anything important. The brunette was still staring at him, a small frown tugging at his lips. Arthur inwardly groaned. He really was not good at this whole relationship thing. "Hey, sorry. I know it's hard to tell, but I really am happy to see you. I just have not been feeling well recently."

Deepening, that frown was now one of worry instead of irritation. Lovino's eyes softened, and it was a relief to the Englishman. "It's okay," he finally said, "I forgot that you weren't feeling too chipper. You never talk about it on the phone, so I guess I kind of forgot."

With the less than satisfying greeting done with, the Briton took a second to collect himself. Smirking a bit, he hobbled over so he was directly in front of his boyfriend. Leaning down, he placed a sweet kiss on Lovino's cheek. As tanned skin pinkened, Arthur brooded over the fact that they had never actually kissed on the lips. Since they never saw each other, especially in private, the option never came up. Even right now was wrong. Bringing something like that up out of the blue would be tactless.

"Wanna sit down?" suggested the teen, eyes locked on the coat rack.

Since Arthur's leg was bothering him, he nodded. This time when he sat, Lovino was right there next to him. Their thighs were unabashedly touching, and for some odd reason it made the man happy. Lovino was still a little cold from the February weather, but quickly warming up. He tentatively brushed their knuckles together, and Arthur got the hint. Threading their fingers together, he brought the slender hand up to kiss, doing his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of the other's small, crooked grin.

He must have been craving nicotine.

Idle chatter slowly filled the space as time ticked by. The lights were dimmed, and a couple of candles were lit on the coffee table; Arthur liked candles, so sue him. A lot of information was exchanged, and they did not stay on one topic for long. More and more was learnt about Lovino, and the older man stored it all away in his memory, hoping he would not forget.

Lovino went to church every Sunday morning. He always tried to go to the earliest Mass, because there were the least amount of people attending at that time. Loving the culinary arts, the Italian dearly enjoyed cooking, and experimenting with new recipes. They were mostly based around tomatoes, and he punched Arthur in the arm when he snickered. He liked art, but was not as good or as passionate about it as Feliciano. Back in Italy he played football, and was quite good at it, but has not been on a field since he moved to the States.

He also talked about the more somber subject of his parents. About how his mother was beautiful, but strict. How his father was airheaded, and usually had a chin full of stubble that his mother always complained about because he was usually too lazy to frequently shave. Then he spoke of his grandfather, who often slept around, but it was clear that he cared for Feliciano and himself more than anything else. Though he did not cry, his voice was becoming choked up. Arthur held him against his side, resting his head against soft locks and rubbing the shoulder his arm was draped over.

Gradually, the conversation became lighter once more. The blonde stayed away from the topic of his near past, for he did not want Lovino to know how much worse he used to be. Instead he told stories of how he was a terrible cook, resulting in him mostly living off of food he could microwave, or take out. The best thing about living at home was that he got to eat home cooked meals once again. Though Alice was only a little better in the kitchen as he, so his father usually cooked for them. Lovino stared at him, wide-eyed horror etched on his features, gagging at the thought of someone living off of disgusting instant meals. Arthur shrugged, saying that he was used to it.

After a few hours, they came to a lull. Both were getting bored of talking so much, so they relaxed into each other. Feeling more content and warm in this evening than he had in months, the Englishman held his boyfriend close. Learning so many new things about Lovino made him feel oddly special. Maybe now was a good time to kiss?

"Do you know what day it is?" Lovino asked abruptly, making the blonde's thoughts screech to a stop.

Usually when someone asks that, they mean something more than the date. Staying silent, his mind worked to figure out what was special about that day. The only thing that came to mind was the Italian's birthday, but that was not until March. He was sure that Lovino didn't celebrate any of that "one week/two week/one month anniversary" shit. "What do you mean?"

"The date." His eyes were boring into him, but the only thing Arthur could think of was how there was a beautiful golden ring outlining his iris.

"It's the fourteenth?"

"Of...?"

"February?"

"Yeah?" Apparently the Briton was supposed to know what that meant, but he honestly was at a loss. "So...?" he queried, flustered because he could not remember the significance of the date. Lovino looking at him like an idiot was not helping, and he could feel his mood swiftly darkening.

"You really don't know." Condescending was his tone, and that was one thing that could highly offend the man.

"It's obvious that I don't" he grit through his teeth, trying to keep his cool.

Amber eyes rolled. "It's Valentine's Day!"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't you care?"

"Not really."

Scooting away so they were no longer touching, the brunette faced him with thin lips. "Gee, thanks you fucking bastard."

Resting his head in his palm, elbow propped on the armrest, Arthur rolled his eyes skyward. He ignored the cooling of his side. "Look, I've never celebrated Valentine's Day. For one, I've never considered it a real holiday. Two, I've never had a reason to take notice of it anyway."

"So I'm not a reason to take notice of it?"

"No! It's not a real holiday!" he huffed in exasperation. "Really, humanity should be insulted that it even exists! It was made so the card, candy, and floral companies could make profit!"

"Or maybe you're just a cold bastard," grumbled the Italian.

Arthur could not argue with that though. "Maybe."

Growling, Lovino suddenly stood. "Fine, whatever. Antonio was right." Striding to the door, the teen jerked his coat on, and sneered, "I'm leaving." Before Arthur could do anything, the door slammed shut.

It was a good thing when he thought about it. If Lovino had lingered, Arthur knew his mouth would have made things much worse. Spite would have been his fuel, and it would have destroyed them.

Crossing his arms, the Briton leaned back into the cushions with a scowl. Now everything was making sense. Alice's instruction to invite Lovino over, why they were all going out with their significant others, why his boyfriend was dressed so nicely. Here he was, in Brian's old sweatpants and a sweater that engulfed him. Alone.

He sighed.

Being alone was not so bad. It was something he was used to. Forever the black sheep of his family. Disconnecting from his emotions had only pushed them away even further. Truly seeing how the world could be had him withdrawing into a remote, invisible shell. Nobody was allowed in. Allowed to know him. If they were it would be that much easier to hurt him. Physical pain was nothing. Scratches and bruises, bite marks, and broken bones, and needles; they would all heal. Mental wounds never went away, and always left a scar.

But... right now he was hurt. Arthur could not help that he was so detached from all things romantic. It wasn't that he could not feel, because he most certainly could. He simply did not like to. Emotions only got in the way of logic, and control. But he could feel... It was a little difficult to breathe as his heart rested heavily in his the man's stomach. All of this thinking while feeling was stressing him out, and he wanted it to stop.

Because he was freaking out, Arthur rose and went to the bathroom. Taking his prescription of pain medication, he read the suggested dosage without fully registering it. Fumbling with the lid, he shook out twice as many as usual and swallowed them dry. Then he hopped to his room, locking the door and collapsing onto his bed. Sleep would come easily once the drugs start to run through his system, and he begged for it to take him away for a while.

Even once he woke, Arthur was sure that the pain in his heart would not be gone.

.:.:.:.:.

A heated argument had occurred not long after that night. Arthur wanted to go home, and nothing would prevent him from doing so. Back and forth they went, and it had been long and tiring. Staying in this house, with all of these people, began to weigh on him. The man wanted his solitude back. Needed it. Yes he loved his family, but he could not take staying around them for weeks on end.

Eventually he had won. Both he and his mother were red in the face, but it was worth it. Arthur felt bad for fighting with his family, but it was necessary. They would all make up soon. Though nobody made a peep when he packed, or when Alfred came to help take him home. When he was back in his apartment, he wearily thanked his cousin and exchanged farewells.

Moping, the blonde did not want to do anything at all. Since the fight, neither he nor Lovino had tried contacting each other. Arthur would be lying if he said that it didn't worry him, but this small break was probably what they needed. They were both hot headed, so it was to be expected that clashings would happen every now and then. All of the guilt, though, was weighing on him, making him anxious and jittery. Which was not good.

Listless emerald eyes scanned around the room. Paint stained everywhere. Mostly on his tables and chairs, but there was some caked into the carpet, and splattered on the walls. It has been so long since he'd worked on his art. He had been without his bright colors, his lines, his shapes. How he could make black and white stand out so much more than anyone else. Most of all he missed the trance he would fall into whenever he got caught up in his work. Hours would pass like minutes, and the writer would not even notice.

All of a sudden, Arthur was standing. Scuttering as fast as he could to his bedroom, he dug out his paints, brushes, and a canvas. Back in the living room, he cleared everything off of his coffee table, and arranged all of his tools in an organized chaos. When he sat back on his couch, he leaned forward to pull the table closer. Squirting paint onto his palette, the Briton sat there, staring at the untainted whiteness of his canvas. Then his brush dipped in red, and he let his arm move without thinking.

Like drowning in blood, it seemed to be the only color the Englishman could see. Swimming through wine, velvet, apples, and brick. Sometimes he would hit a spot of blue, but nothing else. His red became more defined. A shape that was recognizable. While layers and shadows were added, an idea formed in the back of his mind. Arthur didn't think on it, but it was there, and stored away for later. More highlights and lowlights and popping red red red.

High in the indigo sky sat the moon by the time he was finished. Out of his trance, Arthur scanned over the painting. Was it good enough to be considered an apology? He hoped so. There was a meaning behind it, but... it was a meaning that he truly did not believe in. Though he felt bad about it, Lovino would not know that his whole heart was not in the message.

Heh, irony.

Since their fight, Arthur had done a lot of thinking. As he replayed the scene over and over in his head, he realized that he could have been more suave with his words. At least more clear in their meaning. Because of his bluntness, the man came off as an insensitive dick, and he did not blame his boyfriend for storming out on him. Hoping that Lovino would accept his gift was all he could do, because he really missed him, and wanted to sort this whole situation out so badly.

.:.:.:.:.

A few days had passed since he delivered his apology. Alfred, his ever helpful right hand man, assisted with pleasure. Helping people was one of his favorite things to do after all. That, and the science club he was in. Something Arthur could never wrap his head around, but decided that it was too much trouble to even attempt to understand.

Early evening creeped through clear windows in the form of sunset. The blonde was half lying on his sofa with his sketchbook propped against his abdomen. An urge to draw with pencil had hit, and it had been quite some time before he had used that media. The workings of a cat were etched onto the paper; a cute white and orange Scottish Fold with bottle green eyes. Though you could not see orange or green with graphite, so that was part of the challenge. Arthur's goal was to make it look as real as he possibly could, which was strange since he was used to creating in a more animated style. From the tip of his pinky to the base of his wrist ran a solid blob of shiny grey, something that always happened when he used pencil.

There was a knock on his door, loud and swift. Startled, it took the artist a moment to remember what that sound ment. "Coming!" he called, closing his book and setting it aside. After some maneuvering, he lifted himself from his indent and opened the door.

Behind the solid wood stood Lovino. Lovino. He was here. Puffed cheeks and a stiff stature greeted him, but he could care less. If there was not that slight tremble, Arthur would have thought that he was furious. With no idea what to do, the Brit leaned on his crutches dumbly. "Well, are you going to invite me in?" he grumbled, his usual fire dimmed to an ember.

"Ah," he gasped, "Sure."

This was so uncomfortable. Sure, he's been thinking of wanting to see the Italian constantly. Wanting to talk to him. To make sure everything was okay. But this was so sudden, and he was unprepared. Again.

Out of nowhere, a strong scent hit his nostrils. Turning to Lovino questioningly, he noticed that the other had a picnic basket clasped inside of taunt knuckles. It smelled mouthwatering, but the brunette would not meet his gaze. Eventually, Arthur asked, "What's that?" He hated how small he sounded.

Lovino shifted slightly. "Well I was so fucking disgusted with your diet, I decided to... to cook you something without heart stopping amount of preservatives and salt."

There was a pang in the Brit's chest, and he wanted to rush over and hug his partner as tightly as he could. Instead he offered a tiny smile. "Thank you."

Finally Lovino met his eyes, but it looked like he was holding something back. "Yeah.. whatever..." Heading to the kitchen area, he set the basket down. "That was a weird-ass painting..."

Chuckling, Arthur followed him. "I'm a weird-ass guy."

"I know."

Hopping over to the teenager, he placed a hand on his shoulder to halt his unpacking. "I want to talk to you."

Hanging his head, Lovino nodded. "I know."

Tugging his hand, the blonde lead them to the table to sit. "Listen, Lovino," he started, palms clammy, "I'm sorry for that fight. All of those things I said, well, they didn't exactly come out right. I'm not very good at... expressing myself... and... a lot of times... er, I'm usually too vague or too too blunt, and I accidentally offend or hurt people..

"You see, what I meant, about Valentine's Day that is, is that I don't agree with the thought of having a specific day dedicated to lo- for caring for someone. Because you should show that every day, right? To make one day special just because someone said so is ridiculous! I personally don't see how more people aren't insulted. Like, it's saying, 'Today is the day to show how much you care by buying shit and going on a date!' But you should not need a day to tell you that! And, well, that's what I said you wouldn't change how I feel about it. I... like you too much to insult you so harshly."

Throughout his speech the Englishman had been playing connect the dots with the blemishes on his table. This whole opening up and explaining things was hard for him, and even though he knew it would be better to have been looking Lovino in the eye, he couldn't. Choking up at such a time would have made him look like an even bigger fool. "That painting..." he continued, swallowing the ugly lump in his throat, "was my heart. And I gave it to you, so.." It was no more than a mumble, but it sounded much too loud.

A warm hand gripped his own, and green stared at the appendage. Traveling up the cotton clad arm, round shoulder, smooth neck, and soft lips, they located amber. Lovino was staring at him with eyes that spoke volumes. More than any words could, and he believed that is what the Italian was going for since he did not open his mouth.

Arthur stood, cursing his leg for breaking, and blundered through the pain to shuffle over to his boyfriend. Bending over, he took the lips of a shocked Lovino. One hand was steady, supporting his weight on the table, while the other ascended through the fine brown hairs at the base of his neck. Once the other recovered from his paralyzation, he pressed back with vigor. Amazing. Better than any kiss Artur had ever had. Their mouths moved rhythmically, small twitches and calm sighs.

Pulling apart, there was a type of contentedness that overtook the mood. They smiled like a couple of idiots. Like they had never kissed another before. And maybe they had not, at least in Arthur's case. If that is what a genuine kiss was like, then whatever spit swapping techniques he had been previously doing were not fit to be in the same category.

"Uh... the pasta will get cold," stated a dreamy Italian. Arthur laughed, kissed him chastly once more, and backed away. As long as he was with Lovino, he would make sure to get as many of those delectable kisses as he could.

He watched the other giddily waltz around his small kitchen, occasionally asking where he kept his plates, or silverware, or glasses. Arthur felt at ease. More bumps in the road were definitely in their future, due to both his inability to express himself, and Lovino's oversensitivity. They will come, but this experience has helped him believe that they will be able to hurdle over those humps. The more time they spend together, the stronger their relationship will grow to be.

Maybe it was not so bad giving Lovino his heart.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

These two are jerkfaces. That's all I have to say. -3-