"I, like, can't believe Arthur has pink unicorn pajamas."
Felicija was going through the Brit's dresser, pulling out various articles of clothing and inspecting them with a critical eye.
"Felicija, I think you should stop," her brunette friend suggested meekly, "It's very rude."
"He told us to, like, help ourselves," the Pole reminded, "It'd be rude not to look at everything."
The Lithuanian set her mouth in a thin line and pulled on what she had chosen from the dresser: yellow pastel cotton pajama bottoms and a grey rugby T-shirt. She was surprised that she didn't have to adjust the waistband draw strings that much. She hadn't expected the man to be that thin.
Shortly after both women were changed into Arthur's sleepwear (Felicija selecting the pink pajama bottoms and a solid white undershirt), there was a knock at the door. Since the blonde had already stretched out across the bed and was currently going through the bedside table, Viktorija got up to answer.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Arthur said when she opened the door.
"No, not at all."
"Ah, yes well…" He was blushing. The Lithuanian realized it was because she was wearing his clothes. This in turn made her blush as well.
"Did-did you need something?" she asked politely in a quiet voice.
"Uh, yeah," he cleared his throat and rocked on the balls of his feet, "I wanted to check out that cut of yours. It'd get right nasty if it doesn't get cleaned out."
"Okay, I'll um," she laughed, a bit nervous, "Alright."
They both shared a tense laugh. The two stood there for a moment, looking down and not saying anything.
"Ohmigawd, will you two just kiss or something?" Felicija yelled from the bed, "You're totally like a couple of teenagers!"
"Um," Arthur stammered, "C-come on, I'll clean that for you."
Viktorija followed him out into the hallway, giving her friend an annoyed look before she closed the door behind her. The man led her to the bathroom.
"Just take a seat somewhere and I'll just…hmm…" the Englishman trailed off as he began to rummage through the small cupboard under the sink. He soon stood up with a triumphant "aha," holding a clean cloth, iodine, and a pair of latex gloves. Viktorija perched on the lip of the bathtub, watching as he pulled on the gloves and muttered things to himself under his breath. When he noticed her looking, he gave her an embarrassed smile.
"No offense by the gloves," he said apologetically, "It's for sanitary precautions."
"I don't mind."
"Right," Arthur mumbled, crouching down in front of her and simultaneously pouring the antiseptic onto the cloth, "Now, this may hurt."
He gently dabbed the wound, pausing when the woman winced. He smiled soothingly, waiting for her to nod before he continued.
"I'm almost finished," he commented, "Head wounds do tend to bleed a lot, so they look more serious than they actually are."
Viktorija already knew that, having cleaned up a few past injuries herself, but she remained silent, watching his expression. She was fascinated that he had become so calm while he worked, his tranquility calming her own nerves.
"That should do it," he said, screwing the cap back onto the bottle.
"Um, what about a bandage?" the brunette questioned.
"Oh, bugger you're right!" he chastised himself before going back to the cupboard, "It's a good thing the clinic hasn't called with the transfer paperwork. It'd be a mess if I mucked something up there."
She smiled as he rummaged through it once again, whispering to himself, "…band-aids won't do, gauze…"
When he found what he was looking for, he turned to her with a winning smile. Viktorija downcast her eyes as he gingerly secured a small square of gauze to her forehead with a few strips of medical tape. She relished the fact that someone was being so gentle with her, and she smiled subconsciously.
"There we are…" Arthur uttered, smoothing over his work with a careful motion of his thumb.
The woman looked up, catching his gaze. She leaned in hesitantly, but continuing when he didn't protest and even mirrored her movement. She let her eyes slip shut just before their lips touched…
"Hurry up! I gotta use it!"
Viktorija's eyes snapped open and Arthur jumped away, both of them glowing redder than a stop light. The brunette got up and opened the door while Arthur snapped off his gloves and tossed them in the waste bin.
"It's all yours, Miss Lukasiewicz," he said, walking past her and the Lithuanian, "Good night to you both."
"Good night," Viktorija said to the quickly retreating figure down the hall.
"Yeah, night!" the Pole called, shutting herself in the bathroom.
The brunette stood in the hallway, lamenting her friend's sense of timing.
Ivan sat on the edge of his bed, a looming shadow in the dimness. A bottle of vodka hung loosely in his hand. He stared into the darkness, clinging onto a pillow much like a frightened child. He closed his eyes and buried his face into the pillow. It smelled like her. His little Viktorija.
He missed her terribly. She was the only one who showed him any form of kindness. She was the only one who loved him. He needed her desperately. But they had taken her away from him. Especially that…that Englishman.
He took a long drink from the already half empty bottle in his grasp. He raised his other hand limply to his face, wiping away the dampness from his tear stained face. He didn't want to hurt his doll, but sometimes she needed to be punished. It was for her own good. He was trying to stop her from doing bad things. He was trying to make her perfect.
Ivan needed his Viktorija. As the slightest glow of day morning began to replace the artificial radiance of the street lamps, the Russian stood, his mind set.
He would have to pay Arthur a visit.
DUN DUN DUN! Yeah, Ivan's a little crazy, but he's heat-broken and stuffs. He just doesn't know a healthy way to express his emotions… Anyway, I'm giving this thing three more chapters at the most, so I'm afraid our time, dear reader, is coming to a close. But you'll all have a special place in my heart forever, because what would I be without all of you to write for? A very sad person, that's what.