These Boots Are Made For Walkin' 3/?
Here's chapter 3.
Title: These Boots Are Made For Walkin'
Series: Hetalia Axis Powers
Rating: 17
Warning: Nightmares and American terms, school and Arthur's pyjamas.
Pairings: US/UK, PolLiet, possible Rus/US (though its fleeting and creepy) and a few more...hanging around.
Summary: Alfred, a student in a London University, has a strong mindset that Love exists as more than a hormone, and that everyone is entitled to love and be loved. So when he meets a male prostitute after a freak escape, will his mindset be shaken?
Alfred gasped and sat up with a start.
His eyes darted about his shadow encased room, searching the darkness that pooled in the corners and hung like bats from the ceiling. All he could hear was his heartbeat, pounding in his ears and through his body. The rain, pattering against car windows. Somewhere in the room, he could feel him, he knew it, he was certain. Watching. The fingers. The breath. The mouth sucking on his neck. He cried out and flung his hands to his face, swatting at the air and rubbing his jaw, convinced that a Russian spectre was embracing him from behind.
“Ow.” A twinge of pain sparked in his hand, zinging along his arm, and tweaking his back, he stilled to inspect it. His right hand was wrapped in layers of clean, coarse bandages, and bound by stiff straps and Velcro. Alfred frowned for a moment, before the memories fell into place.
He dropped his hands into his lap and let his head fall back to look at the ceiling of his room, which moments before had been a machine-built roof to a car. And suddenly the shadows softened and the malicious-eyed ghost of Ivan melted away.
Alfred rubbed the nape of his neck, then threw the covers back and got up, grabbing the pillow and leaving his room. He padded, in nothing but a crumpled shirt and boxers, across the small corridor, then let himself into the room across from his, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Squeezing the downy pillow to his chest, Alfred made his way across the soft carpet, meandering around stuffed toys and makeup, and stopped by his friends soft, safe bed.
He stood in silence for a while, judging whether the smaller man was in the midst of a REM cycle or not. “Hay...Hay, Feliks.” He whispered. “You awake?”
For a moment Feliks didn't move, remaining still with his eyes closed and the covers tucked right up under his nose, then he shifted and cracked an eye open. He looked at Alfred for a moment, then groaned and scooted over, the sheets rustling. He held the duvet up and Alfred dumped his pillow by Feliks' and crawled into the warm pile of comforting duvets and cotton sheets.
They shifted for a while, getting comfortable again, then they lay on their sides, facing each other, the duvet drawn up to their chins.
“I had a night-terror.” Alfred said softly.
“Hmmhmm.” Feliks mumbled, eyes closed, ignoring the American term. “So totally understandable. You've been through a lot.”
Alfred had told Feliks everything as soon as he and Arthur had got back from the medical unit of the University. Feliks had tried to put on his psychologist face, but the truth was, he didn't have one. Like everything he did, he was himself and put himself into his school work wholeheartedly. So when the mention of Toris had come up, his face had crumpled, and his big, green eyes had brimmed with tears.
Alfred had considered not telling him all the gory details, that maybe leaving out some parts that may have indicated that Toris was not in a place where he was safe, Alfred didn't want to see his friend miserable. But that would never have settled well with Alfred. He believed that knowledge, whatever that knowledge may be, was better than being in the dark. And Feliks deserved to know. He was sure Feliks had wanted to know.
Alfred wished that he could be some form of support for his friend. That he could make it better for Feliks somehow. But he knew that there was a hole in Feliks' heart that could only be filled by a man that was probably far, far away.
Alfred sighed and closed his eyes. Then he wrapped his arms around the smaller man beside him. Feliks shifted again, returning the gesture. Alfred tried to breath steadily, repeating over and over the fact that there was no possible way Ivan could know where he lived, much less be in the room that instant, to himself in his head.
Resisting the temptation to open his eyes and check that the shadows did not contain any glittering, violet orbs, he listened to Feliks' steady breathing, and drifted back into sleep.
Alfred woke with the distinct lead-weighted feeling that he had overslept. Sunlight burned on the fronts of his eyelids and a lazy warmth was flowing softly through his veins. Alfred yawned so deeply that moisture dabbed at the corners of his eyes and his jaw cracked. Finally he rolled onto his back, suddenly alert, and staring at the ceiling. Bringing his hands to his face to wipe away some of the sleep from his eyes, he then tossed back the covers and threw his legs over the side of the bed, standing and stretching, he made his way out of Feliks' room.
The hallway was empty, the dorm quiet. Alfred wondered what day it was and whether Feliks had gone out.
He opened his mouth and called his name, “Feliks?”
“He's not here.”
Alfred whirled around to see Arthur standing behind the kitchen counter, watching him with apparent disapproval, and munching on a plate of heavily buttered crumpets.
“Oh.” Alfred said, and meandered towards the coffee machine, rubbing his bound arm absently.
Arthur, he noted, looked adorable even first thing in the morning. Especially first thing in the morning. Dressed in a shirt and boxers loaned from Feliks. His pale, soft legs almost painful for Alfred to tear his gaze from. And even though he did force himself to look away, his eyes just drifted right back. Arthur stood with his weight on one foot, while the other bounced and tapped against the cool tiled floor (causing other things to bounce). His feet where really the most adorable, perfect and elegant feet he had ever seen. Alfred imagined kissing those feet.
He blanched and flushed, turning back towards the counter and gripping the edge.
He did not just think that.
Flicking a switch on the machine that offered Alfred so much joy in the way of caffeine and sugar, Alfred didn't look up and asked “Where'd he go then?”
“School.” Arthur replied, his tone unimpressed with just-woken-up Alfred. “He is a student remember? Heaven knows, he's your roommate.”
Alfred looked up. “School?” The clock above the cooker counted the seconds for a while, then “Oh my god! School!!”
Arthur blinked at him, then made a despairing face.
“You can't have forgotten school?” He asked.
But Alfred was too busy panicking to pay any notice to Arthur's tone. “Oh my god, what time is it? I'm gonna be so late!! I have a thesis to hand in!”
Arthur put down his half munched crumpet and walked over to Alfred. He brushed the crumbs from his fingers, then grabbed Alfred roughly by the arms.
“Alfred, relax. You're not going to school today.”
Alfred had to take a few seconds to come down off the shock of the shorter man touching him before his blue eyes cleared and the words coming from Arthur's pink, butter-stained lips started making sense.
“Wha..?” He said. His square jaw slack.
“You are not going to school.” Arthur repeated himself, slowly this time.
Alfred frowned. “But I have to go to school.” He said.
“From what I've seen, no. You really don't.” Arthur looked over Alfred's broad shoulder at the table of papers and books. When his gaze flickered back to Alfred's there was something deep in his eyes, something akin to respect. “Looks like you could take a few weeks off and still be top-of-the class.”
A hot blush spread itself across Alfred's tanned cheekbones just as Arthur released his hold on his arms and turned back to his plate of crumpets.
Alfred too, turned back to his side of the kitchen. He rubbed his upper arm with his good hand, skin pinked by the pressure of Arthur's fingers.
“But I have to go to school.” Alfred said again, watching the coffee machine as it finished dribbling dark liquid into its glass body. The droplets of condensation rolling down the dome.
Arthur looked at him, not bothering to repeat himself yet again.
Sensing this, Alfred glanced up, then took a mug from the shelf above his head. “You don't understand. I haven't had an absent day since I was in high-school”.
“Evidently not that long ago then.” Arthur replied with scathing wit.
Lightening up slightly Alfred looked at Arthur again. “Hah.” He said. “Funny.”
“I know.” The shorter man replied.
Alfred actually giggled. Closing his eyes and shaking his head as he finished pouring steaming coffee into his mug. Arthur's eyebrows raised and he brought a crumpet to his lips, biting into it.
“Feliks told me not to let you go to the lecture. He wants you to rest.”
“Ah.” Alfred said. Then his gaze flicked back up to look at Arthur. “And you?” He asked, his voice soft. “How's your head?”
“It's..”Arthur half raised a hand, as if he where going to press it to the tiny butterfly stitches marking his porcelain forehead, but he stopped, and lowered it again. “I'm fine.”
“So...” Alfred began after the clock counted a few more seconds. “What do you wanna do?”
Arthur blinked at him. “It's your house, I don't know.”
Alfred rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, “Well we could, I dunno, watch movies until Feliks gets back. The lecture is only till one.”
“What an expert host you are, Alfred Jones.”
“Hay, I don't pretended to be a great host.” Alfred replied grumpily, secretly thrilling at how his name sounded coming from Arthur's rosey, witty mouth. “Ever heard of the Saw series?”
Feliks shifted the papers and folders in his arms and shrugged his shoulder to keep his pink sling bag from falling and upsetting his whole balancing act. Producing a key - adorned with fluffy and colourful keyrings - from his coat pocket, he fitted it into the lock to his and Alfred's dorm and opened the door.
“Heellooo!!” He grinned, lip gloss glinting, eyeshadow sparkling, as he threw his paper-laden arms into the air, announcing his presence.
“Thank god you're here.” Suddenly Arthur was in his face, staring deep into his eyes, unblinking.
Feliks' perfect, blond eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?” He quipped, taking in Arthur's dishevelled appearance. Then Feliks looked passed Arthur's shoulder into the room of their small dorm.
The television was on, casting a flickering glow into the darkened room. Every single curtain had been drawn, every door closed, for fear of the open spaces which harboured god only knew. And on the small sofa, facing the television amidst the rows of cola cans and scattered debris of popcorn which spilled from an overturned bowl, sat a huge lump of quivering duvets.
Feliks deflated where he stood, several papers slipping from his grasp and onto the floor. Then he fixed a stern expression on his pretty face, drew a deep breath and yelled, “Alfred!! I told you not to watch any more horror movies!!”
The mound of bed linen visibly started at the abrupt yelling. A muffled wail floated over to the two men, and tugged on their worn heartstrings.
Feliks hardened his willpower then stalked over to the kitchen counter, depositing his things at a safe distance, then made his way over to the shivering mountain of cotton sheets, his kitten-heels clicking ominously. Feliks grasped the downy covers with both well manicured hands, then ripped them off in one vicious movement.
Alfred - revealed and robbed of his safe, warm sheets - yelped and curled himself into a ball. Feliks sighed as he looked at Alfred. A nineteen year old boy, clothed in nothing but a shirt and boxers which where in dire need of ironing, shivering and whimpering, curled up on the sofa, in the middle of the day. This strong, muscular, teenager, reduced to this by the sheer power of cinematography.
“Seriously, Alfred.” Feliks drawled. “You're gonna do this?”
He was met with more whimpering.
Arthur joined Feliks, assessing Alfred like a difficult maths problem. “I tried to stop it before the situation got out of hand, but it seems that even muted, it's too much for him.”
Feliks bit back a groan and leaned forward, tugging on Alfred's shirt, shoving him out the way and stuffing a hand down the side of the sofa to grab the remote, and switched the TV off.
“C'mon Alfred, it's off.”
Alfred just shivered and drew himself in tighter. “No...I can't move. If I do, they'll jump out and get me.”
Feliks motioned to Arthur to hit the lights before kneeling down and picking up a few discarded DVDs.
“Oh god, Alfred!” He cried in despair. “The Hills Have Eyes. Friday the 13th. A Nightmare On Elm Street. Holy shit! The entire Saw series??! Alfred, what the hell where you trying to do to yourself? Do you, like, not want to sleep ever again?!?”
Alfred moaned and buried his head deeper into his arms. Feliks stood up again and placed his delicate hands on his hips, pursing his gloss-coated lips and blowing a lock of blond hair out his eyes. He then reached forward and grabbed Alfred by the shirt-front, dragging him up. Alfred gasped in shock and sat, blinking blearily at the sudden light, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, achieving genuine patheticness.
“Alfred.” Feliks said, ruffling his hair and slapping his cheeks. “Dude, wake up. C'mon. Their just movies.”
Alfred's eyes widened and locked onto Feliks', desperately trying to convey his point “No, Feliks. Their not just movies. Some are based on true stories.” He whispered the last words as if just saying them was signing his own death warrant.
“Alfred, look.” Feliks reasoned, pointing towards the window just as Arthur threw the blinds open, flooding the room with mid-morning sunlight. “It's not even dark yet. The sun is shinning, you're totally fine.”
If anything Alfred's expression just grew more cryptic, his eyes more fearful. “They'll get me when it's dark.”
“Do you have any idea just how insane you sound right now?” Feliks straightened up and walked back over to where he had left his fabulous pink sling bag and glossy folders sporting slogans and stickers.
“Anyway, come over here and check out these notes I took down. Everyone nearly had a heart attack when I told them you where skipping out on a lecture 'cos of an “accident”.”
“Notes?” Alfred perked up slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes, and slowly he extended a hand, silently asking Feliks to bring the papers to him, god forbid he should have to place a foot on the carpet, for fear of dead, grasping hands with splintered nails and waxy skin that may shoot out from under the sofa the moment he set a toe down from the safety of the couch.
“Well then.” Feliks said, looking at the books in his slim hands, “I guess you, like, don't want to see my notes on today's lecture? I mean, if you don't want to come over and get them...”
Alfred blinked. “Huh?”
“Hmm?” Feliks glanced back over to where Alfred was sitting up slightly straighter, as if he had forgotten the American boy was there. “Oh. Just these notes. I have here. In my hand. Like, on the other side of the room.”
Arthur stood, watching the scene, and folded his arms. An irritated, slightly bemused expression on his face.
Alfred looked like he had been confronted with The Ultimatum of his life. Like a spoiled child faced with a decision, he shifted uncomfortably, made a frustrated noise, and bit his lip. His gaze flickering to the side, the carpet, and the notes. Sitting. In Feliks' hand.
Finally something snapped inside him and he unfolded his legs and stumbled over to Feliks, whipping the folder from his hand. He walked back over to the sofa and sat down, flicking through the pages intently, monsters and zombies apparently forgotten.
Feliks gave a satisfied smile, then cleared away the popcorn and DVDs. Finally he brought over the rest of his university things and placed them carefully on the coffee table. “There's, like, a bit that needs explaining in that.” He said, spreading sheets of paper and laying the Fraud book down on the side of the table. “This could take a while.” He looked up at Arthur, “You're, like, cool with us going over this for a few hours?”
Arthur blinked, then nodded, silently dragging up a chair.
“Right” Feliks started, pointing with his pink, glitter gell-pen “Now, this here, are the opinions of the Roman Catholics...”
More than a few hours, and several cans of coke and mugs of coffee, later Alfred threw down his pen and ran his good hand through his mussed hair. The table was covered in paper and pens. Notes scribbled in margins and books with bent corners and thick, glossy covers scattered across its surface. Feliks had thrown his hair into a stubby ponytail, a biro between his teeth. And Arthur sat with his legs over the side of his chair, a blue, hardback book held in his hands.
“Ok.” Alfred said. “Last thing, then I think we're done.” He picked up his pen again and tapped it against a sheet of lined paper. “What example can we use for the oppression on open sexuality?”
Feliks rubbed his forehead, frowning. Several strands of blond hair falling from the ponytail. “We could use Oscar Wild.” He said.
Alfred sighed. “Everyone will be doing that. We need something different.”
“Shakespeare?” Alfred suggested, desperation dragging his words down, and his eyebrows together.
“We did that for the last one. And everyone knows about the homosexual undertones of his sonnets. Hello? 'Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And oft' is HIS gold complexion dimm'd;'?”
“You could use Peter Wildblood - from The Montagu Case.”
Alfred and Feliks glanced up at Arthur in surprise.
“The what?” Alfred asked.
Arthur popped his head round the side of the book. “The Montagu Case. Peter Wildblood, Lord Montagu of Beaulieu, Michael Pitt-Rivers, Edward McNally, and John Reynolds. Basically all of them persecuted and arrested unfairly and unjustly for being gay in a desperate bid of the police to bag Lord Montagu.”
Alfred and Feliks gaped at him.
“What?” He asked, bitterly amused, “You think that because I'm a prostitute I don't know how to read?”
Alfred closed his mouth and shook his head. “It's not that, it's just, It's perfect. How come I haven't heard of it?”
Arthur shrugged, turning a page of the book in his hands. “It's just not as famous as the Oscar Wild case. The scary thing is, it only happened around fifty years ago...”
“Well, where can we read it?” Feliks asked. “Is it a book? Do we, like, need to look up newspapers?”
“It's a book, though you could do both I guess. I read it while hiding out in a library. Against the Law it's called. By Peter Wildblood himself.”
Alfred's grip on the pen tightened, images of Arthur curled up in a darkened corner, surrounded by towering bookcases, and a small, hardback clutched in his shivering hands, playing in his mind.
“We could ask the teacher about it.” He said, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. “If he doesn't know then the library should have it.”
“Hmm.” Feliks muttered, head down, and scribbling the name and author down on a post-it note. “There!” He cried, slapping the post-it onto a sheet of paper covered in similar scribblings, and pulling the pink hairband from his hair. “Done! I am so totally boycotting pens for the next year.”
Alfred laughed and put his own biro down. Arthur marked his place in the book, set it down on the table with the other folders and soft-backs, then stretched. His arms high above his head.
Alfred made himself look away.
“Right.” He said, standing up and grabbing a coffee mug along the way. “I don't know 'bout 'yall, but I'm getting me another cuppa coffee.” His voice returning to his native American drawl, and a smile tugging at his lips.
“Oh! Oh! Me too!” Feliks snatched his mug from where it had been lying on it's side, empty and forgotten, and thrust it into Alfred's hand. “Be, like, super awesome and make me one too.” He grinned.
“Jesus, Feliks. You can't just get up and get you're own?”
“Says the guy who was so sure the monsters where gonna come and get him, what, how many hours ago?”
Alfred chuckled and glanced out the window. It felt like minuets ago when the sun had been shinning through the glass. Now it was pitch dark, the occasional ball of orange light cast by the street lamps showing through the night like fireflies, the only thing breaching the shadows. When had it gotten so dark?
At that moment the dorm phone rang. Breaking through the brief silence, shattering the quiet and making Alfred jump, almost dropping the mugs.
He set them down on the counter and laughed at himself with Feliks and Arthur. Still smiling he walked over and picked up the phone, forsaking the caller-ID displayed on the glowing screen.
“Hello?” He grinned.
“Добрый вечер, Alfred.”
Alfred's smile froze on his lips. The earth opened up and swallowed him whole along with all the happiness he had felt just seconds before. The blood drained from his face, and the cold unmercifully clutched at his shaking fingers, and dragged itself through his body, leeching away all his warmth and the light from his eyes.
He let out a small sound. Incapable of thought. Incapable of speech, for that one moment, it was him and Ivan Braginsky floating in a void. And the eyes boring themselves into his mind.
“Alfred?”
Alfred blinked at his name being called. He looked around and stared at Feliks for a few moments. Feliks' face was drawn with confusion and concern, Arthur frowned at him, worry glinting in the corners of his eyes.
Again he made a small sound.
“Ah” the cold voice spoke over the phone, into his ear. “You are not alone. You have friends round? That is good.”
He sounded happy.
“Is Feliks there?”
Alfred's jaw worked for a few moments.
He tried to breath, then said so, so quietly, “How did you find me?”
Ivan laughed, delighted, the sound of it fracturing Alfred's broken, cold body. “Alfred is so silly, so desperate to elude me. You left your coat behind in the rain.”
“It had your mobile in the pocket.”
Alfred's eyes widened.
How could he be so stupid?
He looked at the floor, feeling it spin beneath him. He dragged his fingers through his hair, flinching at how cold they felt against his skin. How they shook.
“Alfred?” Feliks said, the worry in his voice spiking Alfred's heart.
“Alfred.” Ivan said. “You have such a pretty house. So warm. So many people. I bet you feel very safe in your house.”
“S..s..stay away from them.” Alfred whispered, his brain was frozen, his lips numb.
Ivan laughed again, then his humour died and his tone dropped like a brick in a lake, his voice dripped with false joy, threat underlying his tones. “I have left something outside for you, Alfred. Be good, and go and get it.”
Alfred blinked in confusion, then the line went dead.
Alfred stood with the phone still against his ear. The dial tone whining from the receiver. What? What had just happened? What did he mean? He blinked and realised that Arthur was standing in front of him, tugging the phone from his dead hand, with an unreadable expression on his face.
Apparently Feliks was up too, because the Polish boy was taking Alfred's larger hand in his and leading him back towards the sofa.
Alfred sunk down slowly. He raised his broken, bound right hand to his face and rubbed it with his left, touching the straps and bandages, trying to encourage feeling and warmth back into his shaking fingers. He tried to breath.
He couldn't breath.
He couldn't see.
There was nothing. Just him. And the eyes.
“He's having a panic attack.”
“Shit.”
What was that? What where they saying?
“Quick, Arthur, grab a blanket.”
Arthur?
Arthur.
A tiny spark of heat flickered to life in the centre of the cold nothing. It glowed like a pinprick. Distant.
Something warm was placed over him. It had a comforting weight. Covering all the cold spaces. Alfred sighed.
“Lift his legs and put his feet on the armrest.”
“What?”
“It'll help blood circulation, I'm going to check his vitals.”
So warm, where moments before he had been so cold. Moments before...Something touched his wrist and drew it out of the soft folds. A pressure on his pulse, then his neck. His vitals? A pulse check?
The room flooded back to Alfred, as he lay on the sofa, covered in his squishy duvet. Feliks sighed with relief and ran a hand through Alfred's blond hair, sweeping it out of his face. Arthur stood slightly behind him. Watching. Arms crossed over his chest and his expression dark, his cheeks pale. Alfred blinked, his eyes scratchy. He closed them and breathed deeply for a while. Then he opened them again, looking at the ceiling.
“Ivan.” He said.
Arthur and Feliks didn't say anything. He didn't look at their faces. He couldn't.
Suddenly Alfred gasped and shoved the covers back, leaping to his feet. He threw on some jeans and stumbled into a pair of shoes.
“What? Where are you going?” Feliks cried.
“Just outside, he said something. He said he left me something outside, on the street.”
“That could be anything, Alfred!” Feliks said, grabbing his pink coat from where he had left it by his chair. “That man is fucking unhinged!”
Alfred threw open the door. “Well I have to see.”
“I'm coming”
The three of them looked at each other. Feliks and Arthur had spoken at the same time. Arthur buttoned a pair of jeans, then strode forwards and snatched a coat from the hanger by the door. It was one of Alfred's, and it swamped him.
Alfred glared at them both from behind his wire-framed glasses. “Fine, c'mon.” He said. They left the dorm, not bothering to lock the door behind them. Alfred broke into a jog, forsaking the elevator and heading towards the stairwell. He shoved open the door and grabbed the banister taking the steps four at a time, jumping the last few, then swinging round to face the next flight. Arthur and Feliks just kept up with him, the three of them racing down the stairs.
Finally they reached the ground floor, and Alfred threw open the door, and the three of them stumbled into the night. Panting, their breath misting before them in the chilled night air. He glanced around. The street was empty except for parked cars and glowing streetlamps. Maybe it was the wrong street? Maybe whatever it was had been left on a different street, somewhere around the dorms?
Suddenly the night was shattered and torn apart like rending metal by an earth shaking scream. Feliks lurched forward, sprinting into the middle of the road, pink coat flapping behind him, where Alfred realised, there was a body, lying facedown on the tarmac.
Feliks collapsed to the ground beside the body, blooding his knees in the stones and crying bitterly. He reached forward and rolled the body onto it's back, patting it's face and running his fingers through it's wavy chestnut hair.
Alfred's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat.
“Who..?” Arthur asked quietly.
“Toris.” Alfred whispered, then he too bolted towards the man left like trash on the cold ground.
Title: These Boots Are Made For Walkin'
Series: Hetalia Axis Powers
Rating: 17
Warning: Nightmares and American terms, school and Arthur's pyjamas.
Pairings: US/UK, PolLiet, possible Rus/US (though its fleeting and creepy) and a few more...hanging around.
Summary: Alfred, a student in a London University, has a strong mindset that Love exists as more than a hormone, and that everyone is entitled to love and be loved. So when he meets a male prostitute after a freak escape, will his mindset be shaken?
Alfred gasped and sat up with a start.
His eyes darted about his shadow encased room, searching the darkness that pooled in the corners and hung like bats from the ceiling. All he could hear was his heartbeat, pounding in his ears and through his body. The rain, pattering against car windows. Somewhere in the room, he could feel him, he knew it, he was certain. Watching. The fingers. The breath. The mouth sucking on his neck. He cried out and flung his hands to his face, swatting at the air and rubbing his jaw, convinced that a Russian spectre was embracing him from behind.
“Ow.” A twinge of pain sparked in his hand, zinging along his arm, and tweaking his back, he stilled to inspect it. His right hand was wrapped in layers of clean, coarse bandages, and bound by stiff straps and Velcro. Alfred frowned for a moment, before the memories fell into place.
He dropped his hands into his lap and let his head fall back to look at the ceiling of his room, which moments before had been a machine-built roof to a car. And suddenly the shadows softened and the malicious-eyed ghost of Ivan melted away.
Alfred rubbed the nape of his neck, then threw the covers back and got up, grabbing the pillow and leaving his room. He padded, in nothing but a crumpled shirt and boxers, across the small corridor, then let himself into the room across from his, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Squeezing the downy pillow to his chest, Alfred made his way across the soft carpet, meandering around stuffed toys and makeup, and stopped by his friends soft, safe bed.
He stood in silence for a while, judging whether the smaller man was in the midst of a REM cycle or not. “Hay...Hay, Feliks.” He whispered. “You awake?”
For a moment Feliks didn't move, remaining still with his eyes closed and the covers tucked right up under his nose, then he shifted and cracked an eye open. He looked at Alfred for a moment, then groaned and scooted over, the sheets rustling. He held the duvet up and Alfred dumped his pillow by Feliks' and crawled into the warm pile of comforting duvets and cotton sheets.
They shifted for a while, getting comfortable again, then they lay on their sides, facing each other, the duvet drawn up to their chins.
“I had a night-terror.” Alfred said softly.
“Hmmhmm.” Feliks mumbled, eyes closed, ignoring the American term. “So totally understandable. You've been through a lot.”
Alfred had told Feliks everything as soon as he and Arthur had got back from the medical unit of the University. Feliks had tried to put on his psychologist face, but the truth was, he didn't have one. Like everything he did, he was himself and put himself into his school work wholeheartedly. So when the mention of Toris had come up, his face had crumpled, and his big, green eyes had brimmed with tears.
Alfred had considered not telling him all the gory details, that maybe leaving out some parts that may have indicated that Toris was not in a place where he was safe, Alfred didn't want to see his friend miserable. But that would never have settled well with Alfred. He believed that knowledge, whatever that knowledge may be, was better than being in the dark. And Feliks deserved to know. He was sure Feliks had wanted to know.
Alfred wished that he could be some form of support for his friend. That he could make it better for Feliks somehow. But he knew that there was a hole in Feliks' heart that could only be filled by a man that was probably far, far away.
Alfred sighed and closed his eyes. Then he wrapped his arms around the smaller man beside him. Feliks shifted again, returning the gesture. Alfred tried to breath steadily, repeating over and over the fact that there was no possible way Ivan could know where he lived, much less be in the room that instant, to himself in his head.
Resisting the temptation to open his eyes and check that the shadows did not contain any glittering, violet orbs, he listened to Feliks' steady breathing, and drifted back into sleep.
Alfred woke with the distinct lead-weighted feeling that he had overslept. Sunlight burned on the fronts of his eyelids and a lazy warmth was flowing softly through his veins. Alfred yawned so deeply that moisture dabbed at the corners of his eyes and his jaw cracked. Finally he rolled onto his back, suddenly alert, and staring at the ceiling. Bringing his hands to his face to wipe away some of the sleep from his eyes, he then tossed back the covers and threw his legs over the side of the bed, standing and stretching, he made his way out of Feliks' room.
The hallway was empty, the dorm quiet. Alfred wondered what day it was and whether Feliks had gone out.
He opened his mouth and called his name, “Feliks?”
“He's not here.”
Alfred whirled around to see Arthur standing behind the kitchen counter, watching him with apparent disapproval, and munching on a plate of heavily buttered crumpets.
“Oh.” Alfred said, and meandered towards the coffee machine, rubbing his bound arm absently.
Arthur, he noted, looked adorable even first thing in the morning. Especially first thing in the morning. Dressed in a shirt and boxers loaned from Feliks. His pale, soft legs almost painful for Alfred to tear his gaze from. And even though he did force himself to look away, his eyes just drifted right back. Arthur stood with his weight on one foot, while the other bounced and tapped against the cool tiled floor (causing other things to bounce). His feet where really the most adorable, perfect and elegant feet he had ever seen. Alfred imagined kissing those feet.
He blanched and flushed, turning back towards the counter and gripping the edge.
He did not just think that.
Flicking a switch on the machine that offered Alfred so much joy in the way of caffeine and sugar, Alfred didn't look up and asked “Where'd he go then?”
“School.” Arthur replied, his tone unimpressed with just-woken-up Alfred. “He is a student remember? Heaven knows, he's your roommate.”
Alfred looked up. “School?” The clock above the cooker counted the seconds for a while, then “Oh my god! School!!”
Arthur blinked at him, then made a despairing face.
“You can't have forgotten school?” He asked.
But Alfred was too busy panicking to pay any notice to Arthur's tone. “Oh my god, what time is it? I'm gonna be so late!! I have a thesis to hand in!”
Arthur put down his half munched crumpet and walked over to Alfred. He brushed the crumbs from his fingers, then grabbed Alfred roughly by the arms.
“Alfred, relax. You're not going to school today.”
Alfred had to take a few seconds to come down off the shock of the shorter man touching him before his blue eyes cleared and the words coming from Arthur's pink, butter-stained lips started making sense.
“Wha..?” He said. His square jaw slack.
“You are not going to school.” Arthur repeated himself, slowly this time.
Alfred frowned. “But I have to go to school.” He said.
“From what I've seen, no. You really don't.” Arthur looked over Alfred's broad shoulder at the table of papers and books. When his gaze flickered back to Alfred's there was something deep in his eyes, something akin to respect. “Looks like you could take a few weeks off and still be top-of-the class.”
A hot blush spread itself across Alfred's tanned cheekbones just as Arthur released his hold on his arms and turned back to his plate of crumpets.
Alfred too, turned back to his side of the kitchen. He rubbed his upper arm with his good hand, skin pinked by the pressure of Arthur's fingers.
“But I have to go to school.” Alfred said again, watching the coffee machine as it finished dribbling dark liquid into its glass body. The droplets of condensation rolling down the dome.
Arthur looked at him, not bothering to repeat himself yet again.
Sensing this, Alfred glanced up, then took a mug from the shelf above his head. “You don't understand. I haven't had an absent day since I was in high-school”.
“Evidently not that long ago then.” Arthur replied with scathing wit.
Lightening up slightly Alfred looked at Arthur again. “Hah.” He said. “Funny.”
“I know.” The shorter man replied.
Alfred actually giggled. Closing his eyes and shaking his head as he finished pouring steaming coffee into his mug. Arthur's eyebrows raised and he brought a crumpet to his lips, biting into it.
“Feliks told me not to let you go to the lecture. He wants you to rest.”
“Ah.” Alfred said. Then his gaze flicked back up to look at Arthur. “And you?” He asked, his voice soft. “How's your head?”
“It's..”Arthur half raised a hand, as if he where going to press it to the tiny butterfly stitches marking his porcelain forehead, but he stopped, and lowered it again. “I'm fine.”
“So...” Alfred began after the clock counted a few more seconds. “What do you wanna do?”
Arthur blinked at him. “It's your house, I don't know.”
Alfred rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, “Well we could, I dunno, watch movies until Feliks gets back. The lecture is only till one.”
“What an expert host you are, Alfred Jones.”
“Hay, I don't pretended to be a great host.” Alfred replied grumpily, secretly thrilling at how his name sounded coming from Arthur's rosey, witty mouth. “Ever heard of the Saw series?”
Feliks shifted the papers and folders in his arms and shrugged his shoulder to keep his pink sling bag from falling and upsetting his whole balancing act. Producing a key - adorned with fluffy and colourful keyrings - from his coat pocket, he fitted it into the lock to his and Alfred's dorm and opened the door.
“Heellooo!!” He grinned, lip gloss glinting, eyeshadow sparkling, as he threw his paper-laden arms into the air, announcing his presence.
“Thank god you're here.” Suddenly Arthur was in his face, staring deep into his eyes, unblinking.
Feliks' perfect, blond eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?” He quipped, taking in Arthur's dishevelled appearance. Then Feliks looked passed Arthur's shoulder into the room of their small dorm.
The television was on, casting a flickering glow into the darkened room. Every single curtain had been drawn, every door closed, for fear of the open spaces which harboured god only knew. And on the small sofa, facing the television amidst the rows of cola cans and scattered debris of popcorn which spilled from an overturned bowl, sat a huge lump of quivering duvets.
Feliks deflated where he stood, several papers slipping from his grasp and onto the floor. Then he fixed a stern expression on his pretty face, drew a deep breath and yelled, “Alfred!! I told you not to watch any more horror movies!!”
The mound of bed linen visibly started at the abrupt yelling. A muffled wail floated over to the two men, and tugged on their worn heartstrings.
Feliks hardened his willpower then stalked over to the kitchen counter, depositing his things at a safe distance, then made his way over to the shivering mountain of cotton sheets, his kitten-heels clicking ominously. Feliks grasped the downy covers with both well manicured hands, then ripped them off in one vicious movement.
Alfred - revealed and robbed of his safe, warm sheets - yelped and curled himself into a ball. Feliks sighed as he looked at Alfred. A nineteen year old boy, clothed in nothing but a shirt and boxers which where in dire need of ironing, shivering and whimpering, curled up on the sofa, in the middle of the day. This strong, muscular, teenager, reduced to this by the sheer power of cinematography.
“Seriously, Alfred.” Feliks drawled. “You're gonna do this?”
He was met with more whimpering.
Arthur joined Feliks, assessing Alfred like a difficult maths problem. “I tried to stop it before the situation got out of hand, but it seems that even muted, it's too much for him.”
Feliks bit back a groan and leaned forward, tugging on Alfred's shirt, shoving him out the way and stuffing a hand down the side of the sofa to grab the remote, and switched the TV off.
“C'mon Alfred, it's off.”
Alfred just shivered and drew himself in tighter. “No...I can't move. If I do, they'll jump out and get me.”
Feliks motioned to Arthur to hit the lights before kneeling down and picking up a few discarded DVDs.
“Oh god, Alfred!” He cried in despair. “The Hills Have Eyes. Friday the 13th. A Nightmare On Elm Street. Holy shit! The entire Saw series??! Alfred, what the hell where you trying to do to yourself? Do you, like, not want to sleep ever again?!?”
Alfred moaned and buried his head deeper into his arms. Feliks stood up again and placed his delicate hands on his hips, pursing his gloss-coated lips and blowing a lock of blond hair out his eyes. He then reached forward and grabbed Alfred by the shirt-front, dragging him up. Alfred gasped in shock and sat, blinking blearily at the sudden light, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, achieving genuine patheticness.
“Alfred.” Feliks said, ruffling his hair and slapping his cheeks. “Dude, wake up. C'mon. Their just movies.”
Alfred's eyes widened and locked onto Feliks', desperately trying to convey his point “No, Feliks. Their not just movies. Some are based on true stories.” He whispered the last words as if just saying them was signing his own death warrant.
“Alfred, look.” Feliks reasoned, pointing towards the window just as Arthur threw the blinds open, flooding the room with mid-morning sunlight. “It's not even dark yet. The sun is shinning, you're totally fine.”
If anything Alfred's expression just grew more cryptic, his eyes more fearful. “They'll get me when it's dark.”
“Do you have any idea just how insane you sound right now?” Feliks straightened up and walked back over to where he had left his fabulous pink sling bag and glossy folders sporting slogans and stickers.
“Anyway, come over here and check out these notes I took down. Everyone nearly had a heart attack when I told them you where skipping out on a lecture 'cos of an “accident”.”
“Notes?” Alfred perked up slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes, and slowly he extended a hand, silently asking Feliks to bring the papers to him, god forbid he should have to place a foot on the carpet, for fear of dead, grasping hands with splintered nails and waxy skin that may shoot out from under the sofa the moment he set a toe down from the safety of the couch.
“Well then.” Feliks said, looking at the books in his slim hands, “I guess you, like, don't want to see my notes on today's lecture? I mean, if you don't want to come over and get them...”
Alfred blinked. “Huh?”
“Hmm?” Feliks glanced back over to where Alfred was sitting up slightly straighter, as if he had forgotten the American boy was there. “Oh. Just these notes. I have here. In my hand. Like, on the other side of the room.”
Arthur stood, watching the scene, and folded his arms. An irritated, slightly bemused expression on his face.
Alfred looked like he had been confronted with The Ultimatum of his life. Like a spoiled child faced with a decision, he shifted uncomfortably, made a frustrated noise, and bit his lip. His gaze flickering to the side, the carpet, and the notes. Sitting. In Feliks' hand.
Finally something snapped inside him and he unfolded his legs and stumbled over to Feliks, whipping the folder from his hand. He walked back over to the sofa and sat down, flicking through the pages intently, monsters and zombies apparently forgotten.
Feliks gave a satisfied smile, then cleared away the popcorn and DVDs. Finally he brought over the rest of his university things and placed them carefully on the coffee table. “There's, like, a bit that needs explaining in that.” He said, spreading sheets of paper and laying the Fraud book down on the side of the table. “This could take a while.” He looked up at Arthur, “You're, like, cool with us going over this for a few hours?”
Arthur blinked, then nodded, silently dragging up a chair.
“Right” Feliks started, pointing with his pink, glitter gell-pen “Now, this here, are the opinions of the Roman Catholics...”
More than a few hours, and several cans of coke and mugs of coffee, later Alfred threw down his pen and ran his good hand through his mussed hair. The table was covered in paper and pens. Notes scribbled in margins and books with bent corners and thick, glossy covers scattered across its surface. Feliks had thrown his hair into a stubby ponytail, a biro between his teeth. And Arthur sat with his legs over the side of his chair, a blue, hardback book held in his hands.
“Ok.” Alfred said. “Last thing, then I think we're done.” He picked up his pen again and tapped it against a sheet of lined paper. “What example can we use for the oppression on open sexuality?”
Feliks rubbed his forehead, frowning. Several strands of blond hair falling from the ponytail. “We could use Oscar Wild.” He said.
Alfred sighed. “Everyone will be doing that. We need something different.”
“Shakespeare?” Alfred suggested, desperation dragging his words down, and his eyebrows together.
“We did that for the last one. And everyone knows about the homosexual undertones of his sonnets. Hello? 'Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And oft' is HIS gold complexion dimm'd;'?”
“You could use Peter Wildblood - from The Montagu Case.”
Alfred and Feliks glanced up at Arthur in surprise.
“The what?” Alfred asked.
Arthur popped his head round the side of the book. “The Montagu Case. Peter Wildblood, Lord Montagu of Beaulieu, Michael Pitt-Rivers, Edward McNally, and John Reynolds. Basically all of them persecuted and arrested unfairly and unjustly for being gay in a desperate bid of the police to bag Lord Montagu.”
Alfred and Feliks gaped at him.
“What?” He asked, bitterly amused, “You think that because I'm a prostitute I don't know how to read?”
Alfred closed his mouth and shook his head. “It's not that, it's just, It's perfect. How come I haven't heard of it?”
Arthur shrugged, turning a page of the book in his hands. “It's just not as famous as the Oscar Wild case. The scary thing is, it only happened around fifty years ago...”
“Well, where can we read it?” Feliks asked. “Is it a book? Do we, like, need to look up newspapers?”
“It's a book, though you could do both I guess. I read it while hiding out in a library. Against the Law it's called. By Peter Wildblood himself.”
Alfred's grip on the pen tightened, images of Arthur curled up in a darkened corner, surrounded by towering bookcases, and a small, hardback clutched in his shivering hands, playing in his mind.
“We could ask the teacher about it.” He said, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. “If he doesn't know then the library should have it.”
“Hmm.” Feliks muttered, head down, and scribbling the name and author down on a post-it note. “There!” He cried, slapping the post-it onto a sheet of paper covered in similar scribblings, and pulling the pink hairband from his hair. “Done! I am so totally boycotting pens for the next year.”
Alfred laughed and put his own biro down. Arthur marked his place in the book, set it down on the table with the other folders and soft-backs, then stretched. His arms high above his head.
Alfred made himself look away.
“Right.” He said, standing up and grabbing a coffee mug along the way. “I don't know 'bout 'yall, but I'm getting me another cuppa coffee.” His voice returning to his native American drawl, and a smile tugging at his lips.
“Oh! Oh! Me too!” Feliks snatched his mug from where it had been lying on it's side, empty and forgotten, and thrust it into Alfred's hand. “Be, like, super awesome and make me one too.” He grinned.
“Jesus, Feliks. You can't just get up and get you're own?”
“Says the guy who was so sure the monsters where gonna come and get him, what, how many hours ago?”
Alfred chuckled and glanced out the window. It felt like minuets ago when the sun had been shinning through the glass. Now it was pitch dark, the occasional ball of orange light cast by the street lamps showing through the night like fireflies, the only thing breaching the shadows. When had it gotten so dark?
At that moment the dorm phone rang. Breaking through the brief silence, shattering the quiet and making Alfred jump, almost dropping the mugs.
He set them down on the counter and laughed at himself with Feliks and Arthur. Still smiling he walked over and picked up the phone, forsaking the caller-ID displayed on the glowing screen.
“Hello?” He grinned.
“Добрый вечер, Alfred.”
Alfred's smile froze on his lips. The earth opened up and swallowed him whole along with all the happiness he had felt just seconds before. The blood drained from his face, and the cold unmercifully clutched at his shaking fingers, and dragged itself through his body, leeching away all his warmth and the light from his eyes.
He let out a small sound. Incapable of thought. Incapable of speech, for that one moment, it was him and Ivan Braginsky floating in a void. And the eyes boring themselves into his mind.
“Alfred?”
Alfred blinked at his name being called. He looked around and stared at Feliks for a few moments. Feliks' face was drawn with confusion and concern, Arthur frowned at him, worry glinting in the corners of his eyes.
Again he made a small sound.
“Ah” the cold voice spoke over the phone, into his ear. “You are not alone. You have friends round? That is good.”
He sounded happy.
“Is Feliks there?”
Alfred's jaw worked for a few moments.
He tried to breath, then said so, so quietly, “How did you find me?”
Ivan laughed, delighted, the sound of it fracturing Alfred's broken, cold body. “Alfred is so silly, so desperate to elude me. You left your coat behind in the rain.”
“It had your mobile in the pocket.”
Alfred's eyes widened.
How could he be so stupid?
He looked at the floor, feeling it spin beneath him. He dragged his fingers through his hair, flinching at how cold they felt against his skin. How they shook.
“Alfred?” Feliks said, the worry in his voice spiking Alfred's heart.
“Alfred.” Ivan said. “You have such a pretty house. So warm. So many people. I bet you feel very safe in your house.”
“S..s..stay away from them.” Alfred whispered, his brain was frozen, his lips numb.
Ivan laughed again, then his humour died and his tone dropped like a brick in a lake, his voice dripped with false joy, threat underlying his tones. “I have left something outside for you, Alfred. Be good, and go and get it.”
Alfred blinked in confusion, then the line went dead.
Alfred stood with the phone still against his ear. The dial tone whining from the receiver. What? What had just happened? What did he mean? He blinked and realised that Arthur was standing in front of him, tugging the phone from his dead hand, with an unreadable expression on his face.
Apparently Feliks was up too, because the Polish boy was taking Alfred's larger hand in his and leading him back towards the sofa.
Alfred sunk down slowly. He raised his broken, bound right hand to his face and rubbed it with his left, touching the straps and bandages, trying to encourage feeling and warmth back into his shaking fingers. He tried to breath.
He couldn't breath.
He couldn't see.
There was nothing. Just him. And the eyes.
“He's having a panic attack.”
“Shit.”
What was that? What where they saying?
“Quick, Arthur, grab a blanket.”
Arthur?
Arthur.
A tiny spark of heat flickered to life in the centre of the cold nothing. It glowed like a pinprick. Distant.
Something warm was placed over him. It had a comforting weight. Covering all the cold spaces. Alfred sighed.
“Lift his legs and put his feet on the armrest.”
“What?”
“It'll help blood circulation, I'm going to check his vitals.”
So warm, where moments before he had been so cold. Moments before...Something touched his wrist and drew it out of the soft folds. A pressure on his pulse, then his neck. His vitals? A pulse check?
The room flooded back to Alfred, as he lay on the sofa, covered in his squishy duvet. Feliks sighed with relief and ran a hand through Alfred's blond hair, sweeping it out of his face. Arthur stood slightly behind him. Watching. Arms crossed over his chest and his expression dark, his cheeks pale. Alfred blinked, his eyes scratchy. He closed them and breathed deeply for a while. Then he opened them again, looking at the ceiling.
“Ivan.” He said.
Arthur and Feliks didn't say anything. He didn't look at their faces. He couldn't.
Suddenly Alfred gasped and shoved the covers back, leaping to his feet. He threw on some jeans and stumbled into a pair of shoes.
“What? Where are you going?” Feliks cried.
“Just outside, he said something. He said he left me something outside, on the street.”
“That could be anything, Alfred!” Feliks said, grabbing his pink coat from where he had left it by his chair. “That man is fucking unhinged!”
Alfred threw open the door. “Well I have to see.”
“I'm coming”
The three of them looked at each other. Feliks and Arthur had spoken at the same time. Arthur buttoned a pair of jeans, then strode forwards and snatched a coat from the hanger by the door. It was one of Alfred's, and it swamped him.
Alfred glared at them both from behind his wire-framed glasses. “Fine, c'mon.” He said. They left the dorm, not bothering to lock the door behind them. Alfred broke into a jog, forsaking the elevator and heading towards the stairwell. He shoved open the door and grabbed the banister taking the steps four at a time, jumping the last few, then swinging round to face the next flight. Arthur and Feliks just kept up with him, the three of them racing down the stairs.
Finally they reached the ground floor, and Alfred threw open the door, and the three of them stumbled into the night. Panting, their breath misting before them in the chilled night air. He glanced around. The street was empty except for parked cars and glowing streetlamps. Maybe it was the wrong street? Maybe whatever it was had been left on a different street, somewhere around the dorms?
Suddenly the night was shattered and torn apart like rending metal by an earth shaking scream. Feliks lurched forward, sprinting into the middle of the road, pink coat flapping behind him, where Alfred realised, there was a body, lying facedown on the tarmac.
Feliks collapsed to the ground beside the body, blooding his knees in the stones and crying bitterly. He reached forward and rolled the body onto it's back, patting it's face and running his fingers through it's wavy chestnut hair.
Alfred's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat.
“Who..?” Arthur asked quietly.
“Toris.” Alfred whispered, then he too bolted towards the man left like trash on the cold ground.