Psycho

by Urchin of the Riding Stars

"I'll make them all disappear. One by one. I'll kill them all, for hurting my precious. Don't cry, love. I'm happy, too..." Mysterious disappearances. Gifts from no one. An obsessive shadow. Will Alfred be the next one to be taken away? Crazy!IvanxAlfred Rusame

5. Pipes n Sunflowers

Pipes n Sunflowers

~*oOo*~

Name what this chapter title is parodying and you win at life.

I hope everyone is doing well and still enjoying this strange, sordid little story. The fountains in this story are real. What I mean by "joke fountains" is that if you step on a certain panel of stone near them, they squirt you!

By the way, Ivan's poem is my own creation. I'm a suckish poet, so forgive me!

Note: Feline mating is actually pretty painful for cats, because males have ridges on their….yeah. But this is a work of fiction.

Speaking of cats, I would like to give Miss Fynniona Ukraine kitty! ^_^ Her name's Kalyna (Tiny Rose). Be sure to look after her! All my love to you and HyperK for the beautiful fanart. *Huggle glomp omega attacks*

Long note is long. Let's move on, shall we? See you at the bottom!

~*oOo*~

---

Ivan wasn't sure what made him do it. It wasn't as if he weren't aware of the consequences should the unthinkable happen and he be caught red-handed—oh, far, far from it. If he escaped with but a lashing from the man who called himself Papa and demanded to be called Papa but would never, ever be Papa, Ivan knew he would probably stumble around in a daze, drunk on his good fortune.

But considering his miserable luck, it seemed most unlikely that he'd get away with it. There was always the old well out back, and the thought of it normally quelled any hunger pang the little boy felt, replacing emptiness with a sickening wave of nausea. He normally wasn't brave enough to brave his stepfather's wrath for anything, but the emptiness in his stomach was terrible that day, clattering around like a groping hand in an empty wooden bowl.

Dinner would come, and with it Ivan's one meal for the day, but it couldn't possibly come soon enough. All the pictures Ivan doodled on the floor of his room were full of food: bowls of fruit, bowls of soups, baskets of bread, enough sweets to satisfy even the most demanding sweet tooth. The little boy of five finally stopped drawing and hugged his knees to his chest, large, sad eyes full of tears.

He wanted to eat. And he wanted to eat right now.

Ivan left the room and began to pad down the stairs, knowing that if he waited any longer courage would fail him and a positively wretched afternoon awaited him. Waiting for dinner wasn't an option. He had gnawed all his nails to pink, swollen stubs.

Besides, there wasn't even a guarantee that he would be able to eat tonight. If HE had another one of his fits and overturned the table, there wasn't the slightest thing he or his sisters could do about it. HE would know if Katyusha tried to fix food, would drag her out by the hair and—

Hunger made him brave. Made him stupid. Made him forgetful. Katyusha was still weeping, giggling in the barn, lost in her own world of happy dreams and delusions after what that man did to her yesterday. A scorching hatred pumped through Ivan's veins, racing through them like poison. Every Sunday he prayed for the same thing; for the wolves to come and rip his stepfather to bloody pieces before gobbling him up. They never did.

Ivan reached the bottom of the stairs and cautiously peeked his head into the living room. All was still; the television not on, not a soul to be seen. Even little Natalya, who normally spent so much time dogging her older brother's shadow, was nowhere to be found as Ivan quietly crept into the kitchen. Her punishments tended to be a little less macabre, but considering she had to stand on a chair for nine hours because she did not immediately come when called for supper last night, she was likely still in bed. Or hiding under it. Ivan would do the same if in her position.

When he crept to the kitchen, he hastily grabbed his chair from the table and scooted it across the floor, wincing as he listened to the legs scrape against the wooden floor, tiny screeching fingers trying to give him away. Hoisting the chair up with a grunt, Ivan staggered with it to the cupboard, the heavy chair slipping from his fingers with a loud THUD.

Ivan froze. But not a sound. Perhaps his stepfather was away. But Ivan would believe his good fortune only when he had run outside to his Secret, Safe place in the woods where no one, including his stepfather, could touch him. Deep in the woods he knew so well, with so many twisted and gnarled old trees protecting him like a surge of kindly old grandfathers, he could enjoy his prize and spend the day in rapture, a triumphant thief.

The little boy scurried up the chair, stood on tiptoe, and with the tips of his fingers swung open the cupboard, willing it not to creak. And then, there in sight was his treasure; a bag of apples.

He practically salivated at the beautiful sight, and he managed to pry one free of its fellows, rolling it towards him and catching it as it fell out. A beautiful, delicious treat. And no one was around. There was yet time for more.

Ivan knew he ought to close the cupboard now and just rush outside, but success whet his appetite; made his eyes gleam with greed. Besides, if he got a few of them, he could share them with Natalya and Katyusha later. Imagining the overjoyed and impressed looks on their faces, Ivan hastily rolled out one, two, until he lost his head completely and used his shirt as a basket for seven apples. All beautiful, even if some were bearing spots; Ivan was already imagining the clean, crisp bite of the fruit, tangy juice dribbling down his chin.

Slowly, carefully, he closed the cupboard shut and awkwardly stepped down with his treasure horde. Smiling, Ivan made to push his chair back to its rightful place only to freeze in his tracks, mind going blank with horror.

Oh, no. Please, no.

Stepfather stood in the doorway, a tall, hulking figure that starred in all of Ivan's nightmares ever since the terrible figure had walked through the door with his awful scary eyes and his faux big smile. He was lazily running a finger through his mustache, affectionately staring down at Ivan as if he were a small puppy at the pet shop he wanted to take home, or a killed goose at the butcher's he wanted to take home and stuff.

The man exhaled through his prominent nostrils; they flared. The air tickled the mustache beneath it, making it ruffle even as he bent down, hands on his knees whilst giving the absolutely terrified boy a broad grin, dark eyes twinkling like Ded Moroz's. Ivan's ears burnt with embarrassment as he felt a warmth growing in his pants; he'd wet himself from the fright clawing at him, rooting him to the ground even as he wanted to race out, run, run, run, RUN, and never look back.

"Privyet, little piggy. What is it you have there? Some apples to stuff your mouth with, I suppose?"

They all clattered out of Ivan's hold, onto the floor.

~*oOo*~

The phone was ringing shrilly on the floor, but neither Kiku nor Alfred answered it, even when it fell silent for a moment and started to ring again, insistent. The shorter boy stared at it, large brown eyes mortified. He dared a glance at his best friend, and wished he had not. Kiku swallowed.

"Alfred…"

"Dude, the hell is wrong with you?!" Alfred stammered, scrubbing at his mouth with both his hands, his face glowing red.

"Alfred…I am sorry…I do not know what came over me…." The Asian anxiously crept forward a step or two, hands held out beseechingly. He had the air of a man surrounded by a firing squad.

"Get the fuck away from me, Kiku," the blond snapped, staggering back and knocking over a lamp in his haste. Disturbed from his pillow, Kiku's cat Tama scattered away with a startled hiss.

"Alfred. Just listen to me. I am…I can explain…I do not know wh—"

"No. No. I know what you're doing now." Alfred shot back, hurt and rage swelling up inside him like hot air in a balloon. "You lied to me. You told me you had no idea who the hell was stashing those love notes inside my locker, and it was you all the time!" He accusingly jabbed his shaking index finger in Kiku's direction. "Did you think you were doing me a favor, making me feel special and then just royally creeping me out? Was telling me you were worried about the whole thing just a nice way to cover your tracks?" Overwhelmed, Alfred just shook his head, tried to speak, and growled, hands tangling in his hair and ripping through the strands. "I can't even look at you right now!"

Kiku just stared at him, wide-eyed, expression blank. "What?" he croaked, advancing another step in his best friend's direction before Alfred staggered back with a snarl. "Alfred, that was not my doing, I just…I don't know what came over me just now—"

"The hell you don't!" The blond exploded, burying his red face in his hand, wanting to smash something. Humiliation and rage competed for domination through him; it was impossible to say which one won. "I go to bed every night, and it takes me hours to freaking fall asleep now because I'm dreaming of some sick bastard throwing me in a locked trunk!" Alfred seized his backpack, throwing a strap over his shoulder. "And it was you. You…you didn't even tell me you were gay!"

"Would it have made any difference?" the Asian asked despairingly. Alfred colored and swore under his breath, shaking.

"Well, no…but you're my best fucking friend, Kiku, or at least you're supposed to be!" Alfred shouted, voice thick with tears. "I was getting scared, I didn't know what to do, and—and I've never kept anything from you! Not once! Ever! And you totally lied to me about stuffing stuff into my locker, as well as you…." He trailed off, shaking hands touching his lips before he spat out bitterly: "That's a serious breach of the bro code, man. I was wondering how this weirdo knew where I live and my locker combination. Now it all makes sense."

Kiku frantically shook his head back and forth in a blur of dark hair. If Alfred didn't feel like throttling someone right now, he would have laughed; it was so rare to see Kiku remotely worked up about anything. "Alfred, I might have…been inappropriate just now, and I'm very sorry, but I haven't been one putting anything in your locker! And I never lied to you, because I never said anything at all!"

Disgusted, Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, threw his head back, and counted back from ten before he threw something. "No man. I'm…" He sighed, a deep, shuddering sigh. "Kiku, I'm really flattered, but to be honest, I'm a little freaked out right now. And disappointed. Dude, I'm sorry, but you know I like girls. I like Elizabeta. Have since second grade. You know that."

Alfred threw him a cautious, unnerved look. Kiku didn't speak. He didn't have to. His eyes were full of tears.

"Alfred-chan, please believe me-"

The phone started ringing once again, and Alfred was glad of the excuse to scoop it up, to turn his back on Kiku. "Hey, Iv, sorry about that, I-"

Face scrunching up, he held the phone away from his ear, brow wrinkling with confusion. "Dude, I can't understand you right now! Slow down, it sounds like you're speakin' some whole other—oh. Iv, I'm sorry, just wait for me, okay? I'll be there soon. Promise. Just calm down, buddy, I still can't—be there in a sec."

Kiku's eyes narrowed as Alfred lowered the cell and tucked it away in his pocket. "He wasn't speaking English? I wonder why that might be." His quiet voice was unusually ragged, ripped with cynicism and something Alfred couldn't name, but didn't like.

"Piss off, man. You've slipped into Japanese before, and no one yelled at you for it," Alfred muttered, wandering away towards the door for his shoes. "The guy could have broken his fucking ankle for all we know-hell, I'd cuss too. I have to go."

"The moment you finally have an afternoon free to spend time with me, HE gets hurt. That seems to me a remarkable coincidence, Alfred."

Toeing his boot back on, Alfred cast the young man behind him a dirty look. "Kiku, we've been over this. He's a perfectly nice guy, got a solid alibi, no effing reason to be a freaking kidnapper." He snorted. "You, on the other hand, I'm probably gonna wanna give a wide berth now, right?"

Pain flashed through Kiku's eyes; Alfred hastily opened the door, pulling on his coat with some difficulty because he kept trying to put it on upside down. He needed to leave now. If Kiku started crying and Alfred saw it then he would instinctively want to—no. Kiku had shattered his trust. Broke it so badly, Alfred didn't think he could look at his companion of a decade the same way ever again. He wasn't going to stay and comfort him.

"Alfred-kun, he's creepy! The way he follows you now—everyone notices it! It is like he is magnet, following you everywhere you go! Remember when we all went to scary movie, Ivan insisted you take the aisle seat so that he was only one for you to grab when you were frightened? Ivan is obsessed with you, Alfred F. Jones, and as for how I feel about you—"

Alfred threw his hands over his ears. "I'm going."

"Alfred-kun, please don't leave!"

But the young man was already dashing down the walk, ignoring the faint sounds of Kiku frantically calling out after him, perhaps trying to catch up with him. He had to know that it wasn't any good; Alfred had always, always been able to outrun Kiku.

Breath a puffy vapor, Alfred ran down the street, the sound of his feet pounding on the ground a soothing distraction from the pained sobs he heard ripping in the air.

~*oOo*~

It had started to snow again, and while the days were slowly growing longer, early evening meant that darkness had already fallen. The sky was mottled with dark blue-gray clouds, sun eclipsed. The streetlamps had already been lit in the parking lot, shining a dull gold on his red vehicle looming in the distance.

Ivan's ankle burned underneath him, throbbing and quivering in protest, but he walked on to his car as if he felt nothing at all, face betraying nothing, though the screen of the phone clenched in his hand had been shattered, and one of his hands ached, covered with a crusty patch of dried blood.

His hands were cold. He would make them warm again. By thrusting them through Kiku Honda's veins and ripping so that the hot blood spilled from every pore, soaking him with the life that would never, ever flow again.

"Alfred-chan, I love you."

"Mmmph!" He'd heard Alfred exclaim. Then nothing. After Ivan called him back three times, he finally answered back, sounding exhausted, promised to fetch Ivan.

But Ivan no longer wanted rescue. He wanted Kiku impaled on a weathervine.

Stars exploding before his eyes as his ankle squealed in protest, he pulled out his keys from his pocket, tracing over the sharp edges with a gloved fingertip before he reached his car and all but ripped the door off before climbing inside, thankful that it was his left ankle he chose to sprain rather than the one for the gas pedal and brake. The car roared to life, headlights illuminating the snowflakes dancing around the grill of the car as he hastily reversed and sped out, the speedometer meter 15 miles above speed limit. Then 20. 25.

This was all his fault and he blamed himself bitterly for it. If only he'd found some excuse to drown the little mouse a long time ago, then this never would have happened. Ivan could only pray that he'd somehow misconstrued what he heard and that Kiku hadn't touched Alfred. If he had...

How glad was he that his pipe was still conveniently inside the trunk of his car, covered with a tarp! Not that he wouldn't have gladly crawled up all those stairs to fetch it, lame or otherwise, though he supposed the idea of dragging a violently struggling Kiku by the hair into the road had its merits. Ivan wondered how fast the boy could run when a car's headlights were beaming up like the devil's eyes behind him, the human engine intent on running him down, reversing, and running him over and over again until he was but a splattered mess on the windshield.

His car raced past several lit streetlamps, temporarily shining a soft glow on his pale mask of a face, jaw set, eyes wild, brow glistening with sweat.

This couldn't wait. And neither could he. The Russian raced past a stop sign, narrowly avoided hitting a stray dog (Ivan made no attempt to slow down; the canine simply ran for its life)—and a flash of yellow zipped past the window and Ivan almost drove his face straight through the windshield when he abruptly hit the brakes. Thankfully there was no one behind him, though there was a young man jogging down the street in Ivan's wake. Breathless, Ivan immediately slammed his hand on the horn, hastily cranking down the window and crying out:

"Alfred!"

The beloved figure swung his head around, his face pink from exertion and cold, eyes overbright. Surprise and alarm turned to relief and recognition, and he turned back as Ivan hurriedly backed the car in his direction. Alfred clamored in the passenger seat, smiling, but looking extremely confused.

"Iv! Dude, you okay? I thought you couldn't move! Man, I was even running to your place cause I thought ya were MIA!" Alfred's eyes narrowed. "Were you screwing with me?"

Ivan didn't register what Alfred was saying, lifting a hand to touch his boy's face, not noticing Alfred's eyes widening behind his glasses. This was relief. His sunflower, a soothing balm on a burn. Soft, precious skin. A shudder.

But by no means did he forget his fury.

Alfred jerked back from the touch, and Ivan lowered his hand and his eyes before turning his attention back to the wheel. Kiku could wait. Alfred could not. "You look so red. What happened?" he tried to ask in a normal voice. It sounded strange, even to him. He chuckled. "I thought I heard something ridiculous—"

"Ivan, were you lying?" Alfred asked bluntly.

In response, the Russian pulled into a driveway, and with a small hiss of pain, slowly lifted his left ankle. Alfred took one look and cringed with sympathy. "Yikes, Iv, you're driving with that thing? I thought you said you couldn't mo—"

"What did Kiku say to you?"

Alfred just shook his head, staring at the bruised bulge at Ivan's ankle, puffy and swollen. It certainly looked painful. "Why in the world did you come out here like this? You could have gotten in a wreck or something!"

"Don't use that foot as is whilst driving. No trouble. Now, tell me—"

"Come on, Ivan, let's switch. I don't want you to hurt yourse—"

"I heard him say, heard him say—" Ivan ranted, seizing hold of Alfred's jacket before he could stop himself. "What did he do? Why are you so red? Tell me where he is. Tell me where he is right now."

His angel just gawked at him, his already cheekbones darkening in color. He let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping. Ivan's hands fell back to his lap.

"Just…never mind Kiku, dude, never mind." He sucked in his breath and turned to look out at the gray sky, his eyes grim and weary. "Let's just get you to my place, okay big guy? You shouldn't be driving like this. I can drive us back to my place—Mom can probably help patch you up."

"Did Kiku—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But—"

"I said, I don't wanna talk about it."

Ivan said no more. Alfred got out, crossing over to the driver's side, staring at the Russian through the window expectantly. After a moment or so, Ivan reluctantly got out, gratefully taking the extended arm and leaning on it as Alfred carefully guided him to the passenger seat. Pain or no pain, he could have walked on his own power, but he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to lean his body up against Alfred's. Once he saw that his friend was buckled in, Alfred wandered over to the driver's seat and took the wheel. "Do ya have any ace bandages we can use to tie that up? I'm not sure if we still have any in the medicine cabinet."

The Russian shrugged, not knowing where to look. Alfred just looked at him, his blue eyes softening as he grabbed Ivan's shoulder and shook it affectionately. Like a shy schoolboy, Ivan smiled, enjoying the sensation of Alfred touching him. "Why don't we drop by your place first and pick up Vodka? Franklin's been the whiniest pain in the ass lately." When Ivan happily bobbed his head in agreement, his sunflower cast him one of his trademark, melt the hearts of the masses grins. "He's really been chowing down lately, too…Dad says we'll have to put him on a diet before long. Speaking of which, wanna get ice cream?"

~*oOo*~

Once Mrs. Jones was done fussing over Ivan and his bandaged ankle was propped up on a pile of pillows, Alfred plugged in the video game system and handed Ivan a controller, hoping that the two would engross themselves in a good old-fashioned racing or fighting marathon. He really didn't want to have to think or feel anymore.

He glanced at the video game disc he was about to put in and scowled; the Mario racing game had been a gift from Kiku. So racing was out. He popped the disc out and instead inserted the Tetris card that Ivan had gotten him for Christmas. Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw Ivan smiling broadly when he chose the Russian's game over his once best friend's.

Ivan was horrible at the game whilst playing against Alfred, but usually left Matthew a sobbing wreck whenever he played against him, which was weird because Alfred had yet to break Mattie's high score, much to his chagrin.

"C'mon, man, I know you're just lettin' me win," Alfred complained as the colored blocks started to fill up Ivan's half of the screen. "Gimme a real challenge!"

Ivan smiled and Alfred sorely regretted his request; soon the blocks were all but hurtling down the screen, and it was all he could do to keep up whilst Ivan leaned lazily against the couch, his hand masterful on the joystick.

"Cheater!" The blond exclaimed with no real ire when Ivan easily won. Something warm wandered into Alfred's lap, and the teen looked down to see a long-haired kitty blinking up sleepily at him. "Hey, Vodka."

The large, loaf-like creature affectionately nudged Alfred's forearm as he scratched it behind its large ears, but while the cat purred in appreciation, its purple eyes kept scanning the living room, tail flicking back and forth despondently, drooping. "Aww, you look disappointed. Couldn't find your buddy Captain Lazybones?"

A furry white head poked in at the archway, and Vodka gleefully leapt off of Alfred's lap, streaked across the living room, his purr comparable to the rumble of a waterfall as he pounced on Franklin, nuzzling and nipping at the ring of fur around his neck. Ivan saw that the white cat's stomach was distended, almost dragging on the floor. He'd certainly grown since Vodka had seen him last, but the dark cat didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed happier than when Alfred gave him that sock stuffed full of catnip.

Franklin mewed and turned the two over, tail wagging like a dog's while the great cat started lapping at his ears, which had snow on them. The white cat squirmed and wriggled, purring loudly when Vodka rolled them over again, hastily mounting the smaller cat and lovingly headbutting him as Franklin buried his face in Vodka's neck.

Ivan beamed, but Alfred coughed, looking embarrassed. "Guess they didn't have any trouble in figuring it out. I feel like I'm watchin' something indecent."

"Aren't you going to try and stop them?"

"What's the use? The minute we pull your horny cat off of him, my horny cat just meows like a big baby until we let horny cat 1# have his fun." Alfred put his controller to the side and hugged his knees. His phone rang inside his pocket, and the teen wearily reached for the device and turned it off before carelessly hurling it behind him. "Franklin's been really weird, all yowling and twitching and licking himself all the time. Lot cuddlier than usual, though."

Ivan stared at him thoughtfully. Alfred rocked back and forth, nibbling at his lower lip."Iv? Do you really think animals can really be, uh, homos?"

"Many species technically procreate that way, though depends on what you mean by word. Why do you ask?"

Alfred said nothing. Ivan sidled over to the young man staring at his feet.

"I remember my first kiss...it was with Elizabeta," he said quietly, blushing when Franklin's mewing noises started picking up. "When we were eight years old. Lizzie usually ran around with us guys instead of playing with dolls like the other girls…" He snorted. "Everyone made fun of her, but she never paid any mind. Most days she came in with her overalls, though sometimes Lizzie would come in wearing a pretty dress, a flower in her hair. Either way, I remember thinking that was the most beautiful thing in the world. Uh, Iv, are you okay, buddy?"

Ivan dropped his controller before he broke it. "Just fine, da?"

"You sure? You, uh, kinda look like you're about to blow a gasket."

"Ankle hurts. Please go on with story."

"One recess, I brought her flowers. Well, to be exact, I brought her a bouquet of dandelions. She laughed a good long while, and then I guess took pity on me, because she leaned forward and we kissed." A shaky laugh and a blush. "Nothing gross or long like the Hollywood kisses, but it was nice. Her lips were soft but firm and I just felt…all these butterflies soaring around in me." Alfred closed his eyes and leaned his head on his shoulder, and Ivan desperately wished it were his. "She tasted like peanut butter and banana sandwich. Walked around babbling like an idiot for the rest of the day….I let everyone believe that my brain was broke for awhile—better that than to have contracted cooties." He sighed.

"I've had a few little kisses besides Elizabeta, but they were just—" He vaguely waved his hand. "Just not the same. The kisses just felt too wrong, too soft, too wet, too icky, nothing like I felt when I kissed Lizzy. I dunno how you explain it. Maybe I remember my smooch with Lizzy to be better than it actually was, or maybe I was just excited because it was my first kiss, or maybe I'm just way too picky about people. But that memory always stood out in my brain as something real special. I've always loved Lizzy, always admired her, but heck, so does everyone else. Lord knows how many people have tried asking her out and got rejected. Gilbert and Roderich were lucky as all hell. And now, Kiku…"

"Alfredka?" Ivan asked gently, when Alfred trailed off and gave no signs of continuing. "I think there is reason you came so quickly after I called. You had fight with Kiku, da?"

"I was worried about you. You out sitting all alone in the cold with a bum ankle? The only thing missing would be a guy playin' a sad song on his violin."

"But Kiku could have given you ride to my place. Instead, you try to run there. What happened?" Ivan lightly squeezed Alfred's shoulder and stole a quick sniff, because Alfred was gazing at his and Ivan's cats making love in the middle of the living room, deadpanned.

Alfred opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head like a dog trying to rid itself of water. Ivan crawled over to Alfred's opposite side, prompting him when no answer was forthcoming. "Come now, Солнышко.You and I are friends, da? And you seem sad."

His best friend gave him a wan look that was hardly a passable attempt at smiling.

"Kiku…all of a sudden, hell, it's so unlike him that I wonder if he's sick," he joked humorlessly. "He…kinda kissed me. Just up and kissed me right when you called, while we were studying. Told me that he loved me." The words were bizarre in his head, but even more so coming out of his mouth, and Alfred felt his face burn hotly as he turned to look at the game screen, dazed. "And he was denying it, but I'm pretty sure he's been my little "visitor" for the past few months. It's been freaking me out so much lately I almost feel like someone's freaking watching me in my sleep…" He wrapped his arms around himself, smile melting off his face.

"I know it's probably all bullcrap, but I've been havin' real messed up dreams lately. Like someone tying me up and pointing a gun to my head, or something."

Ivan kept his face devoid of any emotion, even when he felt his heart silently crack.

I would never hurt you.

Kiku, on the other hand, was about to get his face ripped off.

"Iv, who else could it be? I haven't wanted to say anything to Mom or Dad because I don't wanna freak them out. I don't want to go to the police because they'd probably just laugh in my face, and I'm not sure whether or not I wanna get this person in trouble. They've…been real nice. I like the way they write." He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed softly under his breath, pressing his splayed hands against his forehead. "Kept the letters. And that person's gotta be Kiku, because the culprit knew when I switched lockers for the new year—sent me that card and stuff. They know where I live, for fuck's sake. And if Kiku's gonna go so far as to kiss me and then tell me it's not a joke…."

Ivan had become a living statue next to him. Alfred glanced over Ivan's shoulder at Vodka and Franklin, where the white cat was playfully nosing at Vodka while the Russian blue curled up around him, the two purring like machine gears. "That was just…..I never saw it coming. Am I a complete idiot, Iv?"

It took a moment for Ivan to respond. "Nyet," he said at last. "Kiku was…inappropriate." Kiku was going to join Mr. Yao and Arthur into a watery grave. "Normally he is so…polite—" Stinging, stinging, bile burning the back of his throat! "—and withdrawn, I imagined he would have to burst at some point. He must….feel very strongly about this."

"I never thought about kissing a boy before," Alfred admitted. "Never wanted to date one. So I'm pretty sure I'm not gay." He hugged his knees to his chest and sighed forlornly; Ivan resisted the urge to tug him into a hug with some difficulty. "Ivan, what was your first kiss like?"

Ivan blinked, momentarily distracted from images of execution."My first kiss," he began slowly, "Was when I was very small. My sisters would kiss me often, but that does not count, I suppose. One of my classmates told me I had big nose and was ugly." Ivan's expression soured, but he chuckled all the same, though the warmth did not spread to his cold eyes. "I threw a snowball with bits of gravel and bark in it at her when I was walking home…she chased me, knocked me to ground, and started kicking me. I pulled on her hair. Then, she kissed me and I her."

Momentarily distracted from his depression, Alfred just gaped at Ivan for a few seconds before a reluctant giggle spilled out, much to Ivan's pleasure. "Dude, seriously? I get that we kinda do different things in Russia and America, but that's kinda messed up. Maybe not though," he added thoughtfully, rubbing his eyes. "It could be some kinda twisted courtship thing. Boy sees girl, girl kicks boy in shins, boy throws worm in girl's hair, they live happily ever after." The corners of Alfred's mouth lifted up wistfully. "It'd be kinda nice if it usually worked out like that, like in the movies."

Who needed some farce when you had a fairy tale, one of the nice, beautiful ones?

"You must be very angry at Kiku, da?"

Ivan squeezed Alfred's arm. draped an arm around Alfred's shoulder, hoping he seemed nonchalant rather than adoring. One word. That's all he needed to do what should have been done ages ago without letting IT and THEM go.

Alfred laughed, a hollow sound that made Ivan ache. "Sure as hell am," he said dispiritedly, picking up his controller again and starting the level over, no real heart in his playing. "The guy freaking lied to me for weeks on end, then all of a sudden decides to try sucking face. I'm more mad about the lying part, though. He wrote…in those letters…."

The blond watched a block column fall on screen, making no effort to sort it. "That's why I haven't wanted to turn this person in. Never knew Kiku could…that he was capable of….and he lied about it all. But," he said, with no small amount of resignation, "All the same, I love Kiku. He's been my best friend for years. And I don't wanna forgive him, probably won't for a crap load of time because it hurts so freaking much, but I'm too lazy to hold a grudge forever. I'm hopin' we can work this out one day."

I love Kiku.

Ivan smiled. Or tried to. Alfred glanced over at him and blinked, looking a little unnerved. "Uh, you're my bestie too, Ivan. Don't forget that. Say, can I ask you another question?"

He slowly nodded. Alfred uneasily turned his face back to the screen and slowly scooted away from Ivan's touch, making it seem as if he were doing so only for the more comfortable position. Ivan not so subtly inched over, awkwardly dragging his sore foot with him.

"Do you ever miss Russia?"

After thinking carefully, the Russian hesitantly responded. "Sometimes, there are things and places I miss," Ivan confessed, watching Vodka, his large furry body all but blanketing the smaller cat's. "But not very much, I think." He smiled at Alfred, a kind, loving look that made Alfred squirm.

"Things and places," Alfred said, "But not people? You didn't leave behind a lot of friends or family?"

"Not really, Alfredka. My parents….never mind. My sisters are good people. I love them both. I am happy with them and I love my new country. If I never came here, I never would have seen you again."

Alfred gave Ivan a long, funny look. "'Seen you again?' What do you mean by that?"

Mouth drying, childish violet eyes wide, Ivan started and then laughed. "O-oh. I am sorry; I think I mean 'meet you.'" He smiled a boyish, shamefaced smile, fingers fidgeting around his soda can as he took a long draft. "My English…it is gotten so much better, though I still slip up…."

"Nah, yer good," Alfred said breezily, turning his attention back to the game. "Hell, considering how often Arthur got after me for butchering the English language…" His brow furrowed. "Huh. Haven't thought of the jerk in weeks. Hope he's okay."

If by 'okay' Alfred meant chained to a boulder and rotting underwater, Ivan was inclined to think Arthur was just fine.

~*oOo*~

Ivan howled.

He howled and kicked and fought, but the old man held him fast, even as his arm shook with agony, blistering under the bubbling water. He screamed for Natalya, screamed for Katyusha, screamed if only for the sake of screaming. But no one came, not Mama, who'd shot herself, not Papa, who was gone forever, and not his sisters, who either didn't hear him or were too afraid to come out. None of Ivan's shrieks reached the heart of the maniac who held him there, forced him to watch as his hand and forearm swelled with pain, angry red blisters breaking out underneath the hot water.

After a moment, Stepfather wrenched Ivan out, only to slam him against the wall, eye to eye with his stepson, who was too petrified to cry. Those terrible dark eyes were no longer twinkling, but instead glowing with a rage so terrible it seemed as his stepfather was about to catch fire, or was willing his only stepson to. Ivan wet himself again, biting his lip to keep himself from calling out. If the man were looking at him like this, he was now in for one of the "discussion" parts of their father-son moments, and if he didn't let the man speak, Ivan didn't put it past him to strike him again, or worse, head back towards the stove.

"I treat you well, don't I?" He shook Ivan.

"D-Da, of course, of course-"

"Then why do you sneak food behind my back? Ivan, that makes you seem very ungrateful. Makes me feel as if you don't appreciate the work I put in to keep you and your sisters alive." Stepfather drew a yellow nail against Ivan's throat, where his pulse was practically ricocheting off his neck. "Makes me feel as if bad little boys like yourself ought to go in the oven. Do you suppose your little bitch Katyusha could make something tasty out of you?" As if serious, he looked towards the stove, where the oven was waiting, dark and gaping and hungry. "Why, I have half a mind to find out..."

"Nyet!" Ivan screeched. "Nyet! I will be good boy! I will not steal food! Please don't throw me in there!"

His stepfather leered at him, and then threw him bodily to the ground. Ivan barely had enough time to roll onto his back so that the weight didn't fall on his swelling arm. "Oh, I don't know about that, Ivan. You wet sheets, soil nice clothes I get for ungrateful boy's back, I am thinking you are more pig than little boy. Pigs go into the oven, to tree stump where ax is. Would you like that?"

Tears were falling thick and fast down Ivan's face. "Nyet. Nyet. I will be good. I will be good."

"A good pig? Then keep squealing and crawl into the oven, hideous little beast you are."

"Nyet! I will be good boy!"

His stepfather scooped him up by the hair, while the tiny boy fought and shrieked. "If I see you in here ever again when I have not called you, I will butcher you myself. Go out into woods and look for food, pig you are. No supper tonight."

Ivan fell to the ground, and this time he fell against his swollen arm. His vision turned white, and his arm became one stinging star of pain.

"Get out!"

He didn't have to be told twice; he picked himself and ran, ran out the door, too frightened to think about grabbing his coat. The cold air broke over him, but Ivan ran down the steps and buried his arm into a white snowmound he had created just that morning when he shoveled the walk. Oh, the pain, pain, pain that broke out when he started scooping white snow onto the poor burned limb, horrified that the burning only got worse...

After a few minutes though, instead of burning, his arm began to numb slightly, though it still quivered with pain, still angry, still puffy and swollen. Soaked through the skin with snow, Ivan wandered off to the dusty old shed, in which he kept a change of clothes, a scarf, and an old hood of Katyusha's behind a pile of old farming equipment.

He could see his breath in the shed. And while his body shook with cold as he peeled his dirty clothes off him, his arm still burned.

Wiping the tears from his face, Ivan wondered if he ought to see Katyusha. The only thing she could use to treat him with was more handfuls of snow, and she was probably still senseless in the hayloft after what stepfather did to her. Natalya couldn't do much else other than commiserate with him, probably insist on clutching him like a ragdoll.

Besides, if he were caught entering the house again right now...

He'd dreamed of stealing off to the great black and silver forest behind the house with a treat in hand, and he didn't wank to trek through it defeated once again. Even if the large trees could protect him from stepfather's eyes-

No.

Ivan at last understood that no one and nothing could protect him from that. He had to get out. He would keep walking and not stop, at least until something better came along or until his arm stopped hurting or he fell down dead.

Shoes now wet with snow (he had not thought to bring his too-small boots out into the shed), Ivan waddled out, keeping his wounded arm exposed to the chilly air. Without another thought, he headed down the drive, and thought just to keep walking straight ahead. It wasn't as if it especially mattered which direction he went in, so long as it was AWAY.

Katyusha had given Ivan a few old bus tokens of hers for his birthday a few months ago, so Ivan thought to ride the buses to St. Petersburg. After walking for some time, he waited for half an hour at a bus stop until one finally came lumbering up the road. Feeling like an adult, he'd handed the driver his token and sat down to look at the flat, wintry world outside, trying to ignore the prickling coming from his blistered arm.

After awhile, the hunger pains returned, but the child endured them stoically as strangers wandered in and out of the buses, and he wandered from one bus station to the next, following the mass hordes of people rather than trying to make out the signs.

After two or three hours, he arrived in the bustling city of St. Petersburg as a tiny, misanthropic little creature, alone amongst a horde of tourists running around with cameras and bright smiles on their faces. It had started to snow softly overhead, and Ivan explored the historical metropolis aimlessly, remembering the times Mama had brought him here after work, back when HE hadn't been so sick and so dangerous and so suspicious.

How long he walked, he didn't know. His arm hurt. His legs hurt. His feet hurt. He imagined that even his hair hurt after being tugged at so hard. Ivan was grateful that he didn't have long hair like Natalya, who occasionally got it tied to things when Stepfather refused to take his medication and had a wild spell.

After circling the statues and sights open to the public, he decided to make his way over to one of his favorite sites: the Fountains of St. Peterhof. There time-worn, still stoic, golden princes wrestled open the mouths of lions, with jets of water rocketing into the air. It was probably too cold to try and set off the Joke Fountains or to see bubbling water catch sunlight, but sometimes tourists threw coins in and made a wish. Maybe Ivan could supplement a meal on wishes, or at least a small snack from the vendors. He was getting lightheaded now, and the thrill of independence was wearing thin in light of the emptiness gnawing at his tummy once again.

When he reached the magnificent fountains, his arm by now was starting to burn again so badly that he hastily undid his coat and thrust his arm into a freezing, marble pool of water, his fingertips almost immediately numbing. Suppressing a whine, Ivan looked at the great golden figures and wondered what it might be like to be one of them, not having to eat, being surrounded by a sea of people who oohed and ahhed over you every day and took photos of you and their loved ones together, of having coins tossed at your feet simply by existing.

Lost in his thoughts, Ivan almost didn't notice the tugging at his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw a young boy, perhaps his age, though a little smaller than he was, smiling up at him. His clean, jonquil-colored hair reminded Ivan of the fountain figures, and his eyes were bluer than anything he'd seen before.

The boy babbled some complete nonsense to him. curious eyes wandered to the limb soaking in the icy water, and his eyes widened. Letting out a startled squeak and an exclamation, he grabbed hold of Ivan's free arm and said something he could not understand. Some two-bit tourist.

"Get away from me!" Ivan snarled in Russian. The tiny boy staggered back, looking shocked, a little hurt. Then, he abruptly ran away. A little satisfied, Ivan watched him go before diving his arm back into the cold, cold water. The kid looked well-cared for, glowed good health. Let him go back to the Daddy and Mommy who didn't string him up by the ankles when he didn't bring enough firewood into the house, or hit him with extension cords.

For awhile, he thought those children only existed on TV. But walking around St. Petersburg was an unhappy reminder that they did indeed exist, hateful creatures they were. Ivan envied them so badly he thought his heart would stop.

He turned his attention back to the burns, but just then a large hand clasped his shoulder. Alarmed, thinking of the police and wondering if he'd broken some kind of law, Ivan immediately dropped the cold coins he had clenched in his hand, purple eyes full of fear.

For a moment, he had the foolish notion that the English-speaking tourist had suddenly grown up; there were the glasses, the blond hair, the blue eyes, full of gentle concern, but he was taller, much taller, more muscular, and in military uniform. The tiny boy who'd approached Ivan was clinging his hand, staring at the little Russian boy cautiously, as if Ivan were a zoo animal he thought might bite.

He bent to Ivan's level, and the boy was astonished to hear him speak in accented and halting Russian: "Hello there, young man."

The man's eyes fell on Ivan's scalded arm, and confusion and sympathy lit up his features. Ivan just stared at him.

"My son Alfred here says that you could use some help."

~*oOo*~

"It's funny…did I ever tell you that I've actually been to Russia once?" Alfred asked lightly, his attention back on the Tetris game. "Just once. A long time ago, when Dad was still stationed overseas. We missed him like crazy, so Mom took Mattie and I over to visit the last two weeks of his term. Don't remember much of it, but it was pretty fun. Pretty damn cold, though, and Mattie pukes whenever he so much as hears the word 'borscht.'" He snickered. "Damn, this sounds horrible, but I'm glad I wasn't the one with food poisoning….St. Petersburg was real pretty."

Ivan said nothing. Alfred continued, frowning a little. "Met this kid there…I forget his name, but he was real nice. Never knew what happened to him."

Little one, he came to find you.

~*oOo*~

He should have run away. Ivan knew this, knew that he should have raced back to the safety of the woods where he could nurse and lick his wounds in private, at least until Katyusha came to her senses and could help clean them. And he would have. If Mr. Jones—as the man introduced himself as—hadn't had such nice, concerned eyes that were almost completely alien to Ivan, strange and fascinating and a little scary. If the small boy hadn't tugged on his sleeve and asked him something Ivan couldn't understand, but sounded kind. If he hadn't been quite so hungry. Or so desperate. Or willing to accept kindness from strangers.

Mr. Jones took Ivan to a nearby clinic, where they covered the red, raw flesh with disinfectants and ointments that stung so badly Ivan cried. The little boy called Alfred clung onto his other hand, and Ivan felt himself squeezing at it for dear life.

The man called Mr. Jones had been gently asking Ivan a few questions to help distract him from the discomfort; his favorite food, his favorite color. But now, as Ivan hastily swallowed the painkillers the doctor gave him in a little cup, he wanted to know the unthinkable: "You don't have to tell me how you got those burns if you don't want to, but can you at least tell us your name?"

Ivan glowered suspiciously at the man, painfully fidgeting from one foot to the other as the doctor carefully wrapped up the poor arm.

"Alexei." He certainly didn't want to use his real name just in case Mr. Jones decided to call social services. Ivan liked the name Alexei, which was the name of the last tsarevitch in all of Russia. It also made him think of the name 'Alfred,' and it would be nice to have something in common with his new friend.

Friend.

He squeezed Alfred's hand harder, grateful when the small boy squeezed back.

When they came out of the hospital, Ivan bearing a sterilized bandage and a lozenge which he sucked on like a starving kitten will a teat, Mr. Jones started speaking in Russian again. "It's a shame you can't meet the Missus, but she's back at the hotel with Alfred's brother Matthew. He doubled up with a bellyache sometime after dinner last night…don't think Russian food agrees with him." He glanced over at his son and babbled something in English, and the little American boy grinned a grin with two missing teeth. Mr. Jones laughed. "Alfred says he has a stomach of steel, and indeed he does. I'm thinking he could swallow all of Russia and ask for dessert." Again, he repeated his words in the funny foreign tongue, and Ivan watched Alfred pout and playfully kick at dirt before sassily responding, crossing his arms. Mr. Jones rolled his eyes.

"And because my son has to one-up me, he would like me to let you know that he could easily swallow the world if he tried real hard for breakfast, and eat Mars for lunch. Speaking of food, are you hungry, Ivan?"

"Da!"

"Yes!" Alfred exclaimed, without waiting for a translation. Perhaps the words were simply universal.

"Will your mother mind if you come along with us?" He gave Ivan a long, queer look. Ivan shook his head, suddenly eager but still shy.

"N-nyet. I walk around all the time by myself."

Mr. Jones gave Ivan a sad, troubled glance but didn't comment.

~*oOo*~

Later that evening, the Jones went out for dinner and some errand, and Ivan waited until their car had been swallowed up by the distance before he returned to their house, unlocking the door with a spare key he'd stolen weeks ago. He'd hurried up the stairs to Alfred's room, sinking onto the bed and burying his face in the blankets.

What did he do, what did he do, what did he do?

You were the angel promised to me. Then and now. You gave me hope.

He curled up in a tiny ball, clutching one of Alfred's pillows to his chest. He wished he'd had enough foresight to bring a new pillowcase to swap for one that smelled like Alfred; he inhaled the scent and his hand snaked down into his pants, and Ivan groaned, grinding his hips into the touch, imagining Alfred's body bucking against him, clutching him closer.

But the pleasure abruptly cooled when an unsavory memory struck him with all the energy of a runaway train.

"It's been freaking me out so much lately I almost feel like someone's freaking watching me in my sleep…I know it's probably all bullcrap, but I've been havin' real messed up dreams lately. Like someone tying me up and pointing a gun to my head, or something."

He had been distressing his love with his affection. Frightening him. Ivan let out a moan, clawing at his palms, his face. His hand snaked under the scarf he always wore, where the old scar and the still-healing wounds he inflicted on himself for attempting to defile his darling rested.

No. No. Not him. He was the angel's protector. The sunflower wasn't allowed to be frightened of its caretaker; it simply didn't work that way. Kiku. Yes, Kiku was at fault now. Alfred believed Kiku had been his admirer; let him think so. Let Kiku be the friend who betrayed his trust.

And like anyone else who crossed his sweet, he would die because of it.

Ivan slowly crawled out of bed, wandering across the room to a small drawer where Alfred kept old memories, old wooden soldiers and fingerpaintings and graduation tassels and certificates. Breathing heavily, he silently slid the drawer open and pulled out a small scrapbook that Mrs. Jones had made. He flicked open to a few of Alfred's kindergarten pages, where the boy grinned cockily next to a more timid-looking double of himself.

Such a precious little face! Such a sweet and lovely and precious little face that had taken pity on him all those years ago, turned an absolutely miserable day into one of the most beautiful of his life.

A hot tear splashed on Alfred's face, and then another tear joined the first.

After he had gotten home that evening, his stepfather had ignored him up until midnight, when he'd dragged Ivan out of bed to the old well out back and lowered him down, raving about something the little boy couldn't understand. Ivan stared blankly at the floor, fainting listening to the sound of a car moving past the house and a dog barking somewhere, but hearing the sound of water splish, splash, sloshing against stone, his own shaking hands….

So cold. And such a tiny, tiny space. So very deep down, so full of water, so cold and dark. He wasn't sure he preferred the bone-biting chill of deep underground over the awful burning that had made him scream and cry.

Disgusted with himself, Ivan slowly shook his head and carefully slid the photo outside the plastic covering. Such thoughts. There were from a time when it was possible to care about anything but Alfred, when he'd had the delusion that there had been anything other than Alfred that ultimately mattered. They needed to be left behind in the dark, now that he'd been granted a candle. A luminous candle.

He tucked the photo inside his coat pocket; with any luck, Alfred would never know it was missing. He flipped through the small album, the pleasant warmth fluttering in his chest giving way to a decidedly unpleasant chill when he came across a picture of Alfred and Elizabeta at one of little Alfred's birthday parties. The little boy's arms were thrown around a grinning, miniature Elizabeta, who was holding a bowling ball.

Elizabeta. Ivan resisted the urge to reach for a match in his pocket and burn the photo, watching the little girl's smile slowly smolder away. Her face would be so much more attracted if splashed with acid, her eyelids tapered shut, her little mouth and nose glued together in an incomprehensible blur of scarred flesh. Ivan's breathing picked up, and he crumpled the photo in a ball before throwing it to the back of the drawer, slamming it shut.

Keep calm. Keep calm. Ivan hadn't gotten this far doing what he did so well by losing his composure. The stillness of death made him tranquil, but that wasn't an option right now. He forced himself to keep staring at Alfred's shy smile, tracing the boy's face with a fingertip, caressing it. A second later, he leaned forward and began to lick at it.

He counted back from ten in his head, breathing heavily. Seeing his sunshine made him at peace. Made him feel cleaner, kept IT and THEM away. When he was around Alfred, Ivan could be any other person. Be happy. Be a regular young man on a sport's team or someone hanging out with friends. The very thing he had wished for for so many terrible years under his stepfather's thumb, when he had first tasted murder.

But he still had a mission. The angel had to be sheltered, from IT and THEM festering, leering. The angel was Ivan's safety, his sanity. If Kiku or anyone else touched it, they would take it, greedy, vile, shit-filled bastards they were. They would take Ivan's treasure for themselves and Ivan would roast them over a barbeque, stab them in the eyes.

Ivan let out a strange, keening sound, something between a snicker and a croak of anguish, tearing at his hair. How had this happened? Alfred had once only been a small oasis of light in a darker life. He'd known that in all likelihood, he would never see the American again. While he was fairly certain that this was the right town and right state to head to, for all he knew Alfred's father had been stationed again, and the family was living overseas. Alfred might've been in sunny California, or in Texas, or in China.

But when Ivan was done swallowing the shit the allegedly higher mind kept spoonfeeding him and finished vomiting it in their faces, the question hadn't been whether or not to leave as it had been when and where. A small town in Minnesota had been a good a place as any to go. If Alfred was here, he would be here, and if he had already left, well, at least Ivan had come to a place that had given birth to such a beautiful flower.

It was destiny. The bloom had been found again, despite all odds, and Ivan had to nourish it as his thanks. In brightest day or deepest night, Ivan would be standing vigil to make sure that the angel was happy, its eyes bright and warm, and if he had to cut its wings so that it would stay, well….he would make the angel see and understand. He would carry it like a porcelain doll wherever it wanted to go, never letting its feet touch the floor. Because somewhere along the way, Alfred became everything. The bright star of his past, the hope for the future, a painfully beautiful angel Ivan wanted to ravish until his body gave out, and a little child Ivan wanted to cradle, worship, and hold to his heart, become his heart.

Alfred was his. His. He was a blessing meant for Ivan, and once the Russian convinced Alfred that his life would be much better without the little Japanese vermin, Ivan would swoop down like a hawk and swiftly behead the mouse. Or give him an acid bath. Or bury him alive. Yes, burying Kiku alive sounded quite lovely, but then Ivan wouldn't be able to watch Kiku bleed, watch the blood of the grimy, louse-ridden, snarling abomination slowly ooze across the pavement, pooling and glistening like a flow of rubies as the light faded from Kiku's ugly, muddy eyes. He would have to gouge them out, so that the worms wouldn't have to be bothered with eating something so repulsive.

An appropriate atonement. Death, death, death, death. He needed to kill. If he did not find a replacement soon, either Kiku or Elizabeta would receive their death warrant. He wasn't especially picky which one it was.

All the same, I love Kiku. He's been my best friend for years.

He loved Alfred. Ivan's eyes burned, and he crawled back over to the bed, shaking like a frightened child during a thunderstorm.

Ivan couldn't touch Kiku if the angel truly cared about him. Couldn't dispose of Elizabeta, either. Oh, he wanted to, and desperately, but the idea of seeing Alfred with tears streaming down his face, blue eyes full of anguish, of knowing that HE caused it….

Hurting the angel. An unthinkable crime, worse than what had happened to him and his sisters at the hands of a beast.

Ivan would be powerless to stop IT and THEM.

And Alfred would be in danger. Unacceptable.

But Kiku had kissed Alfred. Told him he loved him. Made light of his feelings. Unforgivable. He'd attempted to steal the little light that Ivan had found in his life, and one way or another, Ivan would slaughter him for it.

He crooned sweet nothings to the pillow in his arms and soothed himself with a cacophony of Kiku shrieking, squealing as Ivan tore into him, his nails scraping against bone as he gouged out the boy's lower intestine and used it to strangle the dying, thrashing man.

Ivan couldn't kill Elizabeta, even if she had taken the wonderful first kiss. She was but an idiot, an idiot who didn't know what her lips had touched, that the sweet lamb belonged to Ivan. Once she learned a little sense and kept her distance, Ivan could allow her to live. It was his sunshine's wish, and if Alfred were happy, so was Ivan.

Happy, happy, happy. He and Alfred, happy together, as one entity. Ivan closed his eyes, He wanted to submerge himself into that body, or have the body sink into him, completely consumed until it was impossible to tell where Ivan or Alfred began or ended.

He felt a stab of pity for his little sister, forever sentenced to the straitjacket. Become one. Become one. That had been her sole wish for so many years. If she loved Ivan even a fraction of what he felt for Alfred, the desire had to be unbearable, all-consuming.

But if this was madness, it was beautiful, and he would swan-dive into it.

The Russian tugged out a string of rosary beads from his pocket, and then abruptly pulled it to pieces. The beads clattered to the floor.

Hail Mary, full of Grace. Another sinner falls.

---

~*oOo*~

The next morning, Alfred awoke, ignored the five messages that were on his phone, and, as per usual, rode with Ivan to school (Matthew had already arrived there early for a student council meeting). Chatting happily about a scary movie the two had seen two weeks ago, Alfred almost didn't see Kiku waiting at the front doors, wringing his gloved hands. The blond withered and looked away.

Kiku stepped forward to speak, but Ivan draped an arm around Alfred's shoulder and casually guiding him away, blithely ignoring Kiku, excepting for a smug glance back in the abandoned boy's direction, triumphant purple eyes narrowing. Kiku seethed, and ran forwards just as Ivan and Alfred started walking down the hall.

Heads turned as the two started walking, and voices hushed to whispers immediately. Alfred curiously glanced around, wondering what all the fuss was about. Everyone knew he wasn't gay, was used to seeing Ivan drift behind him like a second shadow, so what was going on? He felt dozens of eyes on him, but instead of reveling in his normal spotlight, Alfred began to feel uneasy. Something was up.

With great difficulty, Kiku squeezed his way free through the throngs of people in the halls, practically running to keep up with their long strides. "Alfred-kun, Alfred-kun, please, I want to talk to you!"

Alfred kept his face on the floor, scowling miserably. Despite his words last night, all the confusion and hurt and resentment had collapsed on him like a tidal wave when he'd seen Kiku again.

Ivan, bless his heart, continued babbling-a role Alfred normally had, but he seemed to be doing his best to drown out the traitor. But judging by the hurried footsteps behind them, Kiku wasn't giving in this time.

"Please, Alfred-kun, I know you're upset, but we have to talk-it wasn't me, you have to believe me-I wouldn't have done that to you or to her-"

What the hell was Kiku talking about? Guy was probably just trying to catch his interest, his attention. Alfred approached his locker and started fighting with the lock and handle, the way he did every morning. Ivan stood close beside him; a guard.

Kiku rushed up to the two of them, giving Ivan an ugly look that the Russian reciprocated with a toothy smile. He made to stride up to Alfred, but Ivan pushed him away as the blond quietly picked up the books for the day. "Alfred, please, this isn't just about the kiss, it's about the heart-"

Alfred irritably slammed his locker door shut with more force than need be. "Kiku, you got me. You had your laugh. Now get bent, and leave me alone."

"I concur," Ivan piped up. Kiku muttered something in Japanese that probably constituted as a horrific swearword. "Al-chan," he begged, blushing as he seized his best friend's sleeve. "What I did last night wasn't fair to you, and I'm so, so sorry for it. You are my favorite person in world, and I don't want to screw up our friendship for anything."

Alfred forced himself to keep looking away from Kiku's direction. He wanted to make up, wanted to make up, wanted to punch Kiku in the face and break his nose. "Seems pretty screwed up as it is."

"So leave him alone," Ivan suggested, taking Alfred's arm and pulling him away. But Kiku seized Alfred's other arm, the one holding his books so that they all went tumbling to the floor. Bewildered, Alfred silently gaped as he found himself in a very strange tug of war between two individuals who were glaring at each other so fiercely you'd think they were mentally dueling.

"Alfred, our friendship is stronger than that! But even if you do not want to be friends anymore, you must be very careful, because your so-called 'admirer' is getting dangerous!"

"Are you trying to threaten him, Kiku?" Ivan asked sweetly, face set in an awful smile. Kiku's eyes narrowed.

"Hey, can you two please leggo of me?" Alfred pleaded. He was ignored.

"I am not a stalker, not a liar, and I would never hurt Alfred-kun, unlike you, who threatens the lives of the people who care about Alfred-kun! You're the liar, and you're the sick man who nearly gave poor Elizabeta a heart attack last night with your awful prank!"

The hallway had grown very quiet. People were stopping to stare. Bewildered, Alfred wrenched himself free of Kiku's arm and tried to pull back from Ivan, whose grip had now tightened almost painfully. "Iv, what the hell's he talking about? What awful prank?" he asked, turning to look at Kiku, who was staring at him imploringly. "What d'you guys-HEY! Lizzy!"

His longtime crush came down the opposite hall, dark circles under her eyes, clutching her books to her chest. Ivan's hold turned as weak as a kitten's, and Alfred ran over to her, face flushed. "Hey, Elizabeta! So, uh, I was wondering what flowers ya like, and I—"

The brunette walked on as if she didn't hear anything. Alfred gaped at her uncertainly for a moment, wondering what he had done. Didn't girls like flowers? He hurried to catch up with her, noting that she seemed a lot paler than usual.

"Lizzy, what's wrong?"

Elizabeta didn't seem to notice him. She smiled uneasily and inched away, hastily turning around, ignoring Alfred's attempts to call her back. Roderich approached her from out of the crowd, putting a hand on her shoulder and casting poor Alfred a dark look before he guided her away.

Nonplussed and more than a little hurt, Alfred just stood there in the middle of the hallway like a lost puppy. A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see his twin standing beside him, violet eyes both disturbed and sympathetic. "Al, she's just a little freaked out right now. Something really weird happened to her yesterday after she came home from school."

Alfred just stared at his sibling, waiting. It sounded like Mattie were setting him up for some kind of joke. "Alright. Well, what's the punch line? What happened?"

"It's not a joke, bro," Matthew said wearily. "Brace yourself, because this next part's gonna freak you out."

"Why? Did…did someone hurt her?" If some mugger or creeper tried to gang up on her, Alfred had to admit that he felt more worried about their safety, rather than Lizzy's.

Matthew hesitated, "A heart was nailed….to her door."

Alfred stared at his brother uncomprehendingly. "Uh…a valentine?"

"No, Al. A real heart. The organ heart. A pig's heart!" Matthew exclaimed hastily, because his brother showed signs of throwing up or fainting. "The police came and forensics revealed that it was a pig's heart…but someone left a message with it. In blood."

The world was swaying dangerously before his eyes, though that might have been Alfred himself, considering Matthew was gently asking him if he wanted to sit down. Alfred staggered back against the lockers, making a loud clanging noise. "W-what did it say?"

Matthew just gazed at him, his normal human waylaid with concern, a concern Alfred desperately wanted to see evaporate. "Damn it, Mattie, what did it say?"

He sighed.

"'He's mine,'" he said dully, taking off his glasses and polished them with the end of his sweater. "Nothing else. The neighbors were asked and no one saw anything, but the authorities are guessing that the heart was nailed in yesterday at about 3 or 4ish. The police…they kinda want to talk with you, Al. Chances are, you're connected with this."

Alfred threw his brother an alarmed look, sputtering.

"I never would have—why would I—how could I—"

"I know, Alfred," Matthew soothed, pulling his stunned brother into a hug. "An officer came by to talk with me…he thought I was you. But you've got a solid alibi here: You were at Kiku's until 5:00, right?"

Alfred felt a brief sense of elation that quickly died out, like a butterfly before a cold gale. Kiku hadn't been the culprit this time. Upset or hurt he might have been, he hadn't gone out and done anything truly terrible. Kiku just wasn't that sort of guy. He felt ashamed of himself.

That only left…

But once again, it couldn't have been Ivan. He'd had a sprained ankle, wasn't in any condition to hobble to someone's door, let alone try to hammer in an organ on one foot. Someone would have noticed.

He shook his head.

"But what if it wasn't over me at all?" he asked hopefully. "Maybe it was some angry chick with the hots for Roderich or Gilbert. Or maybe it was just some messed-up kid's random ass prank."

"Neither of them are seeing anyone else right now, Alfred," Matthew said hesitantly. "I don't want to believe it, but…I don't think we have any other choice but to believe that the same person who's been leaving valentines in your locker and at our place might be responsible for this."

Kiku could never go that far.

Would he?

Could he?

No. Never. With all his heart, Alfred knew Kiku was innocent. The handwriting in the notes was wrong, and even if he'd asked someone else to write it down for him, ten years of knowing Kiku taught him that the guy simply wasn't that devious. Didn't have it in him to be. Hell, Kiku had apologized half a dozen times for that kiss last night, looked so horrified with himself that it had been almost comical.

As if from a great distance, he heard his brother speak again: "There IS the chance that this was something random, but who would go through the trouble of finding a pig to kill or a heart to collect unless there was some deeper reason? Al, I'm guessing someone knew about your plans to ask Lizzy out, and they got angry, maybe even scared. Regardless, this has been going on for months now, and this person seems to know everything about you." Matthew leaned up against the lockers and thrust his hands in his pockets, thinking carefully.

"Your favorite candy, how to deliver without being caught, your first locker combination, your second locker combination, hell, even your favorite restaurant, judging by that gift card…o-our address…."

"How to open my window," Alfred murmured as he slowly slid to the ground. From across the hall, Kiku and Ivan ran to him, Ivan "accidentally" tripping Kiku along the way, whilst the Japanese boy seized his scarf and attempted to tug him back. When the Russian gave him a look so full of petrifying fury however, Kiku immediately let go as if he burned. The two raced on opposite sides of the teen, each trying to make him look at them.

"Alfredka! Почему подсолнечник страшно?"

"Alfred-chan, are you alright?!"

Matthew was gawking at Alfred, a look of absolute horror dawning on him. "…what?" he croaked feebly, as Kiku anxiously shook his best friend. "You're….oh, god, tell me you're joking."

Very hesitantly, Alfred shook his head. "One night, I had a weird dream….someone was t-touching me everywhere." His breathing hitched, a bead of sweat running down the nape of his neck. "It felt seriously real…and when I woke up, I thought it was just a dream, but my window was…wide open. And on my neck…." Alfred's hand wandered to his pulse. "I wore a turtleneck that day to cover the mark. And someone left a flower near my pillow, too."

Matthew swore. "Holy shit, Alfred, someone breaks into the house and you don't tell anyone?!"

"I didn't know what to do!" his twin shot back angrily, helplessly. "I…I got scared, and confused, and I was so freaked out I just…"

He trailed off. Ivan was soothingly rubbing his back, his eyes full of emotion. Alfred pulled away, buried his face into the shoulder of his brother, the one person in the world he felt he could trust anymore.

"Mattie," he said weakly as he pulled away, Matthew staring anxiously into his eyes. "I've got a stalker. And they really are fucking playing for keeps."

~*oOo*~

The police really weren't much help. They were polite and asked a lot of questions, but Alfred felt nothing resolved at the end of their little Q&A session. He reluctantly handed over some of the notes he'd received from his visitor, told the cops no, he did not make it a habit to hand out his personal information, and no, never had a relationship or ever broke up with anyone particularly possessive or obsessive.

It didn't get much better when the office insisted on calling his parents. Mr. Jones was angry with his son for not coming forward sooner, and Mrs. Jones promised to have a good, long talk with him when he came home. Like he asked for this person to start dumping all this stuff on him! Like he asked for the long love letters or the poems or the dreams at night where he got carried off in the arms of some shapeless monster with glowing white eyes!

By the time they let him go, it was already lunchtime. Alfred joined his friends at their usual table, but didn't touch his food, blue eyes exhausted and bereft of their normal joy. No one else seemed very hungry either, excepting for Ismael, who munched on his food as if nothing were wrong, though his eyes were much colder than usual, fixed on Alfred.

When the bell rang and everyone left, he and Ivan went to Music class, though Alfred asked permission to leave after a few minutes for the bathroom. He splashed himself with cold water, staring at his wet, pale face.

Not Kiku. He was happy, because he didn't want it to be Kiku, was unhappy, because hell, he wanted answers, a face he could pin these visits to! He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, smoothing it out under the dingy lighting. This was the one he hadn't wanted to give to the policemen-he doubted it would tell them anything new-though he had the love note near memorized:

Childish dreams were lost in the sea,

A raging storm by the raging man's ire,

Or otherwise consumed in ennui,

A hearth with only ashes-and no fire.

After again tasting the bitter medicine

Offered by a master's warm and tender knife

I rushed out the door, and determined then

That I would find, or at least steal a better life.

I wandered until I came upon a garden of steel

Of honored heroes, timeless yet old

When a darling did come and offered to heal

My wound. A living statue of gold!

This sounded familiar to Alfred. But why? Hell, he wasn't a living statue of gold, by any means, but...

Statues. Cold air. Where had he seen statues before?

This hallmark of goodness was lost to me

A fact I merited with many tears

And so I surrendered myself to my misery

As lonely nights turned to lonely years.

The angel! My angel! It had taken pity

So many times, love haunted my dreams

Rooting the evil thoughts deep within me

Heralding my eyes with its smiling beams.

My precious, my immortal beloved, I dare to write

But with all the world's ink, I do not believe

I can ever grasp your magnificence; your light

My sweet little one, my sacred Apple of Eve.

There was more, mostly rambling on how Alfred was probably the best thing than sliced bread. Alfred glanced again into the mirror and saw that he was blushing again. He'd thought for sure the poem had been copied down from some big dead hotshot's work, but he'd looked up the lines online and hadn't been able to find anything. No one had written poetry for him before.

Was this some seriously besotted girl? Or a guy? What was he supposed to do if it were a guy? Alfred remembered the way Kiku had grabbed both sides of his face and kissed passionately, shook his head. He knew it in all likelihood wasn't Elizabeta, a fact that left him bitterly disappointed.

Once again, it could not be Ivan. His grasp on the English language still wasn't so hot; how many times had he pleaded for Alfred to come over to his place to help him with his Language Arts homework?

Alfred turned his attention back to the dog-eared love poem, going over the first few stanzas.

Statues. Healing. A dim outline of something he sort of recollected, all the more infuriating because it was still obscure. Almost as if the thought itself were taunting him. Alfred grimaced and racked his memories.

Cold. Gold. He could vaguely make out the silhouette of a boy; he remembered that much. A wall of light and color, a bell ringing, he was babbling something about Superman...then tears rolling down his face...

"Dios mio, is jerkhead actually usin' his noggin to think fer a change? Don't tell yer Mama that, else she's gonna faint."

Irritated, Alfred looked up at the mirror to see a smirking Ismael standing behind him, arms crossed. "Get bent, you bastard," he snapped, carefully folding up the paper so that Ismael could not read it. He had never, ever shared this one, even to his friends. "Just because I don't flip you off when Mattie's around doesn't mean I'm not gonna if you're going to be a prick."

"I'm so scared," the dark-skinned boy drawled, leaned up against one of the stalls. "So sorry for interrupting. You can go ahead and start composing another love letter to yourself."

Alfred gawked at Ismael in disbelief. "I didn't write this! You think I want this to be happening?!"

"Oh, I think you do, ya just don't have anyone screwed up in the head enough to do it," Ismael replied in an even tone, but with a body stance that looked as if he were tensing up for a fight. "And because you've never been able to go without attention fer eight seconds, you're making a total ass out of yourself by pretending as if you've got this great admirer who doesn't see you for the bossy, annoying, loud-mouthed moron you actually are."

"Fuck you, Ismael."

"No, fuck you," the stocky man snapped. "I don't know how Matt puts up with half of your shit, don't know why ya gotta shove your stupid ass letters under people's noses when no one writes like that anymore, when ya probably copied that corny crap to make you seem more appealing to girls. Or," he added lightly, "The football team..."

Alfred shoved the letter back inside his pocket, trembling with anger. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're just jealous."

"Jealous? Jealous of the fact that you've got the biggest inferiority complex in the world and have to prance around playing pranks on people just so that you can feel good about yer fuckhead self? Alfred, you were the one who hammered in that heart, weren't you?"

"I didn't do anything!" Alfred shouted. "Now shut it or I'm going to make you!"

Ismael smirked.

"Why, gonna tell the principal the big, bad meanie got after you for being a freaking drama queen? Your feelings matter more than Lizzy's?"

Alfred glared at him, forcing himself not to fly at him and start strangling him then and there. "The hell you want from me?"

"I want you to apologize to Elizabeta for your sick stunt. And to your brother. It's a miracle he's able to put up with the little retard that you are. I personally would have whipped your sorry ass a long time ago. You think just because a few girls that just had a lobotomy think yer cute means that you can scare someone half to death for your lousy reputation?"

"You? Would have whipped me?" Alfred demanded, at the end of his rope. "Why don't you try me, jerkass?"

"Bring it on, fats." Ismael snorted, flying at him with a raised fist. Alfred ducked and slammed his own fist straight at Ismael's cheekbone, but the Cuban sidestepped and swung at his nose. He missed, but still managed to accidentally knock Alfred's glasses to the ground, and in the blond's haste to get away, he accidentally trod on them. Ismael took a step forward, heard the sound of crunching glass and breaking frame underneath his boot. He glanced down, surprised.

"Whoops….well, serves you right, jerkwad!"

This was the last straw. Distraught, Alfred stared at the blur before his eyes before lunging forward again. "That's it, you are dead, you are fucking dead!"

WHAM.

Alfred was slammed against the wall so fast he saw stars explode in front of his messed-up vision. A fist had swung itself into his stomach, winding him and sending the dazed teen crumpling to his knees.

He expected Ismael to come after him again. But he saw a foggy outline of a large beige and white body rush in front of him, hurtling at the darker form. Alfred watched with wide eyes as Ivan easily send Ismael flying to the ground with a well-aimed kick. When he struggled to clamor up, Ivan abruptly body-slammed him, punching every possible inch of Ismael he could reach at.

Befuddled, Alfred uneasily rose to his feet, coughing. The smile on his face soon became fixed, however, when Ivan didn't stop at beating Ismael. The Russian was laughing as if enjoying a particularly good joke, and blood was flowing from Ismael's nose as he struggled like a wildcat, soon giving up at hurting Ivan in return and instead curling up in a ball, trying to shield himself from the swing of Ivan's brutal fists.

Alfred seized the Russian by the shoulders. "Ivan! Ivan, what are you doing?"

"Gerroff! Get the hell off!" Ismael shrieked, now sporting a swollen eye as Ivan kept hurling him against the floor. "Caramba, what do you eat every day, cement? Get off! Get off! Get off get off get off get off get off—aaaaaahhhhh! Oh God! Dios mio, STOPPIT! Help! HELP ME!"

Alfred knew enough was enough. If the ever-proud Ismael was begging for help, things had already gone too far. With a grunt, he wrapped his arms around Ivan's waist and tugged with all his might. After a moment, Ivan allowed himself to be pulled away, still staring down at the tattered lump on the floor, violet eyes wildly.

"You are alright?" he asked after a moment, turning to look at a thunderstruck Alfred. "Forgive me, I just came in...and he had hit you...I panicked and-"

"S'kay, Ivan. Uh, thanks for the help, though you can let me handle him now...kinda looks like you already handled him…" He tentatively prodded the crumpled figure on the bathroom floor with his foot, perhaps with more force than strictly necessary. "Ismael? Um, are you okay?"

The Cuban kid let out a groan. Alfred inhaled through clenched teeth and turned to look at the ceiling. "That might have been a little far, but he was so asking for it."

"Da."

"Shit. We're so screwed for this. If Ismael blabs."

"It was self-defense," Ivan said. "I would not mind self-defending a bit more, if you would not mind."

Alfred laughed nervously, something dropping in his stomach as Ivan cracked his knuckles.

"Whoa, take it easy there, cowboy." He bent over and carefully scooped up his glasses. "Well, these are ruined. Dad's gonna go berserk, but I have a little dough left over from Christmas, so I should be able to….crap," he huffed, remembering."Spent it on that new video game…well, I can just use my spare pair. They're a little cracked in the right lens, but they should be just fine and dandy." Grimacing, he took a look at Ismael's battered and bleeding body on the ground.

"We oughta get him to the nurse's office. Yeech, his nose is bleeding like heck. Mind helping me lift him?"

The Russian said nothing, but he reluctantly bent down, grabbed Ismael by the arm, and bodily dragged him out, Alfred rushing to scoop up his feet.

---

A sullen Ismael was being tended to by a harried-looking physician through the window of the nurse's office. Alfred had to squint in order to see.

"That was a little much buddy, but thanks a lot for the rescue," the shorter boy said appreciatively, watching as the nurse pressed several tissues to the Cuban's swollen nose. "I totally could have taken him, just so you know."

"Da, of course." Ivan agreed inattentively, watching Ismael clutch an ice pack to his face, an inscrutable look in his eyes. Alfred shifted from one foot to another, suddenly looking embarrassed.

"Uh…" he said awkwardly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, hearing the letter crinkle against his hand. "Look, this'll sound cheesy as all hell, and you can totally laugh at me later for it, but I'm glad of you." He inhaled, exhaled through clenched teeth and stared up at the ceiling. "It's a line from Peter Pan. Totally stupid, I get it, but it's true."

Ivan's eyes sparkled. "I am glad of you too, Alfred. If you are ever needing the help, I will be more than happy to step in."

Alfred smiled as Ivan drew him into a one-armed hug, and he uncertainly patted him on the back. "Yeah, I kinda have that impression..." He sighed when they pulled apart. "Mattie's gonna be pissed. That galoot in there is his best friend. Besides me, of course."

"Was not your fault." Ivan chided gently, giving Alfred's hip an affectionate bump with his own. "He provoked you, and he provoked me by provoking you. In Russia, we do not stand for friends being hit, especially hit in back. He is….ah, I cannot think of right word…what do you call someone who will only hit you in back?"

"I think you mean 'backstabber.' And yeah, I guess he is, punching a guy without glasses and crap. Or something like that. Whatever; he's a huge jerk. Wanna head to Mickey D's and feel sorry for ourselves for awhile?" He noticed a blur of red on Ivan's hand, and his eyes widened. "Dude! He totally got you."

Ivan blankly looked down at the gash on the back of his hand. "Oh, that is nothing. I have been in many scrapes before, da? Will be fine."

"Nah, lemme clean it," Alfred said good-naturedly, leading Ivan over to a nearby fountain (bumping into the wall along the way once or twice) and splashing cool water over the angry-looking sore. "I usually have one or two band-aids on me, ever since I tried that insane bicycle stunt over those two parked cars once upon a time….least I got a really cool scar outta that one."

Ivan smiled with his eyes, his gaze wandering over to the nurse's door.

~*oOo*~

"Ivan! Allo, Ivan!"

The last bell of the day had rung, and now students were flooding outside the doors. Ivan had been about to join them when Francis hurried up to him with a kind smile. "We were just going to head to Cafe Blue before we got started on Mr. Vargas' homework...care to join us?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Ivan said sincerely. "Have some cleaning up to do first."

After most of the school had cleared up, Ivan wandered back in, as an afterthought. Humming, he wandered the empty halls, passing Alfred's locker and his own.

Then, he came to a stop beside locker 624, the locker belonging to Kiku Honda, and started to fiddle with the lock, pulling out a screwdriver from his pocket. When the lock fell free from the locker, Ivan merrily opened it, and tugged out-

(A belonging.)

~*oOo*~

The cold compress on his head was doing little to soothe the splitting pain from the lump on his head. Or his pride, for that matter.

Ismael glanced at himself in the rearview window and mentally cussed, would have slammed his face against the steering wheel if he hadn't already been a bruised, bleeding wreck. God freaking damn it. Every inch of him ached like hell, and he was gonna have to come up with a good excuse for his parents as to why he resembled a pound of hamburger meat right now. Damn foreign freak had beaten him raw, and one day, he was going to get even for it.

He would never go running to the principal-his pride would never allow him to be some weak little tattletale girl. Besides, he acknowledged bitterly. It isn't as though Jones wouldn't weasel his way out of it with his charm and obnoxious grin. Little brat, little brat and his big, scary friends that beat the tar out of you. How could he ever have expected Alfred to fight fair, like a real man?

He drummed his fingers on the wheel. Damn it, one day soon, if Alfred kept up this ridiculous little 'stalker' facade, Ismael was going to shove a diamond-plated saw so far up Alfred's ass, the guy would be coughing up diamonds. Braginski had been a freaking huge monster, but hell, a little weight-lifting and he could take them both out.

Though Ivan was built like a machine...Ismael rolled his eyes as he pulled up the drive, pushing open the door with some difficulty, clutching his heavily bruised right side, grunting with pain. He staggered to the door, let himself in.

"Hola, Mama," he called out wearily, slowly taking off his coat with some difficulty. God, but he hated the cold! "I'm home."

Meanwhile, outside his house, a stranger stared up at the residence with a thoughtful look on his face, a pipe in one hand, a container of gasoline in the other.

---

Aaaannd we can add Ismael's name to the victim list. Did I happen to mention Ivan's activities include arson?

Sorry for the lack of updates lately-life and stuff been crappening, lately. Trying to figure out what the hell I want to do with my life, as well as doing play productions.

You guys by now have probably noticed a pattern with my work: I tend to write a lot about obsessive love a lot. There is a valid reason, gentle readers, besides the fact of 'OMG ITS so KUTE.' If any of you feel I am sharing too much (as well as ranting too much), please let me know.

I grew up in a dysfunctional family. Not family sitcom messed up, more along the lines of messed-up messed-up. As a result, the state granted my sister custody of me while I was still in high school. My former guardian meant well, but she was a very unstable and needy human being who sometimes did terrible things in order to meet her imagined needs. As a result, I became interested in psychology, and exploring stories about obsessive, manic devotion.

Writing Psycho and BKB has been a great experience for me, partially because it's wonderful to get everyone's feedback and partially because it helps me get a better understanding of what people are really willing to do under the name of "love." There are many reasons why Arthur from BKB is such a clingy creeper, but one of them is mental illness. There's a sort of barrier in his mind that prevents him from feeling the love we feel for the people in our lives—and yet Alfred sort of just slipped under it. How and why this is so, I can give you no explanation, but Alfred went under a wall to be met with a sort of firing squad, if that makes any sense. He was and is literally the only person Arthur is capable of actually loving, which is why he's a possessive maniac despite the fact that Alfred is his sibling, which he's happy about because he gets to live with him.

Natalya has essentially the same illness: OLD. Obsessive Love Syndrome.

Psycho! Ivan is very different; he was fully capable of developing relationships with other people, but this ability was impaired because of the unbelievably inhumane treatment he got from his mentally ill guardian. Considering just what happened to him (not that it makes what he does okay by any means), it sort of makes sense that he believes that some truly awful things are unacceptable only if you get caught doing them. And he's superb at what he does; for each killing he creates an alibi, provides physical proof of innocence, knows where to dump the victims' bodies. His craving for Alfred is very complicated; betwixt gratitude, romance, the urge for murder, and worship.

Why do I always use Alfred as the poor little victim of mad affection? Well, numero uno: I think it works because Alfred's clueless. Dos, because I was very much like BKB Ivan (No, not crazy killer Ivan) growing up, very awkward. I think I tended to admire people like Alfred from a distance—cheerful, poised, happy, charismatic, funny—but I was almost afraid of them. Tres: Goddamn it, I do love to see America as an Uke. I'm a patriotic American citizen, by the anyhoo.

Long note is long. Love you all. Take care!

Next chapter: Scream And I Will Only Love You More.