Chapter 15: Sugar, We're Going Down
If you asked Arthur Kirkland how he ended up in the pouring rain, making out with some boy named Flighter. He wouldn't be quite sure how to tell you. After all, a lot of crazy things happened that day. It was a whirlwind of action.
But, I suppose, he would start by informing you about the riot.
~S.S.C.O.T.Y~
2:00. 10 minutes until that bell would ring and they would all go home, get changed and go out party. Arthur (the little nerd) was actively participating in his English class.
So we'll have to take a new perspective. The perspective of the teenager at the heart of what will occur next.
Norge Paolini
The Norwegian Braniac
And, in this case, a senior at Hetlia High. An 18 year old who endured four years of abuse at the hands of the social hierarchy.
So, he decided it was time to get a little payback.
Early senior pranks were the unexpected ones.
It was relatively simple. Stir up some trouble surrounding The Monarchy and watch as chaos ensued.
He didn't expect it to escalate so quickly.
What started out as a loud gasp and a shout of "Alfred broke up with Tino for Arthur Kirkland? But isn't Arthur dating Romano Vargas?"
Quickly grew into "Heck yes! There's a fight in the courtyard! Bad Touch Trio against Patriarchs!"
And the entire student body population gathered in the courtyard watching what was proclaimed to be 'the brawl of the year'.
Norge watched from the sidelines, next to a fellow Senior who was already placing his bets. It was getting warm out, so he made sure he remained under the shade, looking inconspicuous.
Security guards battled to find their way to the actual fight, but the crowd was too large. From his elevated spot on the front steps, however, he could witness everything.
It was the Bad Touch Trio. Antonio, Francis and Gilbert were already covered in scratches from their opponents.
The almighty Patriarchs.
Top three males in the school.
Sadiq Adnan.
Ivan Braiginski.
Alfred F. Jones.
He stood there, watching these young boys beating each other up with an odd sense of satisfaction.
The Bad Touch Trio was winning.
They were beating The Monarchy's boys.
And, in some twisted way, it was because of him that they got such a chance.
He would've stood there, grinning to himself, if he were the smiling type of person.
But, alas, he was not. So Norge Paolini simply stood, watched, and waited for it all to end with a glowing sense of pride deep in his gut.
"I swear to God almighty Michelle Seya. If you do not get out of my way, I will rip that weave out from your head and stuff it down your throat."
He heard her before he actually witnessed her bursting into the fray.
But Elizaveta Hedervary was burning with rage when he caught sight.
The long brown spider strings of hair were frazzled, on-end, gathered around her head like snakes. Green eyes narrowed into a glare; her entire facial features were scrunched into that of a demonic cat.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
He couldn't help but think of this phrase as she ran into the middle of the battle, whacking people with frying pans (Was she in Home Economics?) on their buttocks simply as a warning.
Gilbert Beilschmidt, it seemed, knew the threat of the pan all too well. Crimson eyes wide and a high-pitched scream escaping his lips, he just got up, turned and ran, leaping over obstacles as he did so.
This caused Francis to pause, and Antonio as a result.
When the two looked up to find Elizaveta looming above them, they too made their getaway, leaving the girl to fend for herself with the Monarchy boys.
Which, if you asked anyone brave enough to tell the truth later, she did quite well.
The Bad Touch Trio and The Patriachs were two fearsome groups. But neither was as frightening as an angry Elizaveta Hedervary when she was prepared for a fight.
What Norge Paolini did not expect was for his actions to affect Arthur Kirkland.
~S.S.C.O.T.Y~
"How did you manage to get into another fight?"
A chorus of 'I don't know!'s traveled around the bus.
"Maybe we shouldn't go to Sector 3." Matthew said worriedly.
"No! We need to go now more than anytime else. So we can…relieve the stress." said Arthur. He'd been looking forward to the trip. A riot wasn't about to stop him now. . Green eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every displeased face. Finally, they came to rest on a pale, finely chiseled features.
"Gilbert, I heard that you were the first one there. What happened?"
His friend glared out the window. His red eyes made a frightening expression, but Arthur didn't falter. Steadily, he stared him down until the albino met his eyes. Rage gradually grew weaker and fell to reservation.
"Someone said something rude about you."
"Still don't see how this can cause a huge fight."
With the memory, Gilbert's eyes once again lit up and his mouth formed a line. He turned back to the window, and drew out of the conversation for the rest of the bus ride.
"Well, I don't blame him. Gilbert's never liked Ivan, and seeing as how he called you a whore-?"
"Ivan Braiginski used the term whore?"
Sheepishly, Francis grinned. "Well, he may not have used that specific word."
"But that's what he was implying!" Romano exclaimed, jumping up.
"Watch it. All of you crazy kids. This bus is not a playground."
At this statement from the front, the entire group fell silent.
At least they were on their way to a party. Tension was pretty high now, but by the time they loosened up at Sector 3, they would be alright.
Plus, there was supposed to be live performances from some local bands. At the thought going to his first (sort of) concert, Arthur couldn't help but burn with excitement.
He had this feeling in his gut. That twinge you get whenever you know that something will occur, but you're unsure whether or not it'll be good. He was leaning towards the brighter side.
Looking around at his somber friends, he could only hope that they would feel the way he did by the time the night was over.
~S.S.C.O.T.Y~
It was already lively by the time they arrived. The room was hot due to the amount of people it contained, and the energetic dances they were performing to match the heavy beat of the drums.
'It's not easy making a name for yourself!
Where do you draw the line?'
A Day To Remember. The band was covering A Day To Remember, and they weren't bad at all. The vocalist was trying a bit too hard with the screaming, but when he actually sang it came out smoothly.
Taking a seat in a torn up couch, he crossed his legs and pointedly looked away from the couple making out next to him, critically analyzing the band on stage. Quickly, he got so wrapped up in his task that he didn't notice his friends scatter.
When the set was finished, he looked about bewilderedly. They promised to stay within eyesight. The warehouse they were in was too huge and packed. If they got separated than that was it.
Swearing, he jumped up, knocking the legs of the girl he sat by. Ignoring the couple's rants, he frantically ran into the crowd.
And managed to run right into a bare shoulder.
Blood dripped from his nose onto his hand as he apologized profusely to the man he hit.
"Christ! I'm so sorry! I didn't see where I was going! I…Oh, it's you."
He looked straight up into lovely blue eyes, framed by a large pair of hipster glasses.
Flighter. That's the name that Elizaveta later gave him right? He looked…casual. A loose fitting dark tank top hung off his torso, showing off his arms.
Arms that Arthur would never have. Even if he spent years in the gym with Antonio.
His jeans were accompanied by a beaten up pair of Chuck Taylors. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He was attractive without even trying. (Arthur couldn't help but feel a bit envious.)
A gloved hand slicked his black hair back as he tilted his head to carefully examine the Brit.
His mouth moved, but Arthur couldn't quite hear what he said. He pointed to his ear to indicate this. Fighter rolled his eyes, grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him through the crowd.
An electric sense of warmth streamed through his arm, making blood rush through his head.
'It's way too hot in here.' He thought, pulling up his shirt to hold to his nose.
Eventually, they escaped the warehouse completely, escaping into the lit up city streets.
Panting, the taller turned to face him.
"Sorry about that Arthur. I didn't mean to hit your nose."
"It's alright…How do you know my name?"
The teen smirked.
"You're friend shouted it out at Winter Formal."
Ah yes. That's right. Feliks had screamed for him to get Elizaveta. How could he forget such a detail? Scowling, he reddened.
Why was he so flustered? That was unusual. Was he sick or something?
"-re. Here. Arthur!"
His head darted up to find a handkerchief being held out to him.
"F.J." He stated, reading the initials on the object.
"My initials."
"What's your last name?"
"Oh? Stalker much?"
"You're the one that I find everywhere I go."
He smirked. "Well, my first name is Flighter."
"I know."
"Heh. Not a stalker huh?"
Arthur glared, earning a small laugh from his company.
"The stars aren't out today."
Green eyes looked up and Arthur acknowledged this fact. The city lights blocked them all out. Sighing, Flighter leaned back, against the wall. They could still hear the shrill guitars from the inside, but it wasn't so loud that they had to scream to speak.
"Tell me about yourself Arthur. What's been going on with you lately?"
The punk hesitated, debating the pros and cons of such an act.
Then he tried something new. Something that the Slumps taught him. He let go of control for a moment, and let it all loose.
"Bloody hell. I don't even know where to start."
"Start from the beginning."
And he did. He brought up his whole story. Every little insecurity. Every single emotion. Every little triumph and failure.
A half hour later, when it was done, and he had finished. It was raining like crazy and they were soaked. But he felt light, as if he were walking on air.
Blue eyes stared at him as if he were the most precious thing on earth.
"You're so damn cute."
Then he was pulled in.
~S.S.C.O.T.Y~
What Romano Vargas did not expect to find, when he went out into the pouring rain to search for his best friend was to find him in the middle of a rather intimate pose with some stranger.
Exploring hands.
Closed eyes.
Red cheeks.
Mussed hair.
Locked lips.
To be quite honest, it made him want to throw up.
"Get a fucking room! Bastards!"
They jumped apart, and he darted back into the Sector 3 warehouse before he could be seen.
~S.S.C.O.T.Y~
They broke apart.
Breathing heavily, they held a hand to their lips.
What had he done? What the hell did he just do?
A deep scarlet, Arthur looked up to the one that initiated the act.
Was that…black rain dripping down his face?
Cautiously, Arthur reached up, fingers running through his hair.
"You're…blonde?"
Flighter's eyes went wide. Mumbling something under his breath, he flipped Arthur's hand away, turned and ran.
Leaving Arthur to stand in the rain, confused and cold.
Then the Brit sat on the cement, thinking the situation over.
For a total of 15 minutes he sat there contemplating. By the end, he stood up.
He was pissed off.
There was only one person who would know exactly what was going on with Flighter. Only one person who would know everywhere Arthur would be going. One person who could get deals on fake hair dye.
"Elizaveta Herdervary. I'm gonna kill you."