Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [1a/?]
anonymous
July 24 2011, 02:19:48 UTC
The beginning looks so much like the other fill, but I promise I'm not copying! Enjoy!
Sleep sounded so appealing right now... To close his eyes, forget his life and screw everything around him in favour of deep, magical sleep... His eyelids had already drooped at the mere thought. Darkness invaded his vision as blissful respite was given to his brain. Just as he started making himself comfortable, though, a heavy textbook suddenly smashed in front of him, jolting him awake with a loud cry of surprise.
The class burst into laughter, which he registered blearily as he noted the teacher.
Aw shit.
“Mister Kirkland, this is the second time this week that I have caught you sleeping in my class! One more time, and I might just have to give you detention.” She warned sternly.
“Ah, n-no, please don’t give me detention.” Arthur gulped down nervously. “I promise not to sleep in class anymore, Miss.”
“I’d hope not. You’re not setting the right example for other students, Mr student council president.” Arthur blushed as he tried to block the snickering and jeering from his fellow peers out. “Anyways, don’t let me catch you again. Now turn your attention back to the lesson, Arthur.”
Arthur clenched his fists and looked up, glaring daggers at the teacher’s back. She walked through the aisle a bit before tapping her ruler against someone’s shoulder, turning their attention to her.
“You, too, Alfred. It’s good of you to point things out, but please pay attention to the lesson instead of looking at what your classmates are doing.” She lightly berated.
Alfred’s sparkling blue eyes turned up to her, and he shot her his million-watt grin, saluting mockingly.
“Yes Ma’am!” as the teacher kept walking back to the blackboard, though, he turned in his seat, staring right at Arthur, and grinned, giving him a thumbs up.
The Brit’s blood boiled, and it took all his willpower not to flip Alfred the bird and vent his frustration out. Instead, he opened his notebook and grabbed a pencil, trying to concentrate on the teacher and not the hushed whispers around him.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [1b/?]
anonymous
July 24 2011, 02:22:52 UTC
Math was probably the subject Arthur despised most. Not just because the teacher seemed to be stuck on that boring tone of hers, but also because said boring tone was used to explain numbers, equations and graphs, things Arthur had never been fond of. So many symbols, and rules, and exceptions, and god, Arthur just wanted to be an author, not an astronaut!
That would be that kid Alfred’s dream. Not Arthur’s.
Speaking of Alfred.
Arthur turned towards the dirty blond and shot him a disdainful glare, still bitter about what happened that morning. As if he enjoyed missing important classes in favour of sleep. As if he enjoyed going out to the pharmacy to shop for cover-up to use to hide the heavy bags under his eyes. As if he enjoyed being... well, being himself.
Thankfully, Alfred was too focused on the teacher to notice the death glare being thrown at him. His thin brows (unlike Arthur’s) were furrowed in concentration as his sky blue eyes avidly gobbled up everything the teacher was going on about in that horridly monotone voice of hers, and he would occasionally glance down and scribble something on his notes.
And deep inside, Arthur envied him for being able to be so... normal.
Turning his mind away from Alfred (he hated him, right?), Arthur dug into his bag and pulled out some work he’d put off from last night, hiding it under the notes he was supposed to be taking. Might as well get some work done if he wasn’t sleeping.
As he looked at the first paper (something about the swimming club requesting new uniform bathing suits), a wave of disdain swept through him at the thought of the last student council president. It was partly because of him that Arthur had such trouble keeping up with life.
Dave, the last president, had thought that being president would get him all the girls. All it got him, though, was an unending stack of work. So he just quit, leaving his vice, Arthur, in charge.
With the winter dance coming up next month, as well as the regular work that had been put off by Dave, Arthur was starting to drown. So much work, so little time, along with the pressure being put on him at home and the steady flow of homework and exams coming in every single day...
Arthur couldn’t even recall the last time he had time for himself.
Thankfully, the lunch bell saved him, and he sluggishly packed everything before leaving the classroom alone. Maybe he could skip lunch and sneak in a nap in the student council lounge.
The idea of sleep sounded so appealing that he stumbled into the lounge, crashed into the nearest sofa and fell asleep immediately.
Short pointless chapter is short and pointless. I promise it'll get better afterwards. I've written about half the fanfic already, so I'll be updating with one chapter a day. Come back tomorrow for more~
Wow, a second fill!!! You have no idea how grateful I am for this. I really love the start of this, it flows really nicely and I love the little details like trying to finish council work in class and using concealer to cover bags under his eyes. I really like how you're using all these little things to wear him down, it makes it more realistic to me :)
I can't wait until the next chapter! Thank you so much for writing this!!!
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [2a/?]
anonymous
July 24 2011, 20:56:07 UTC
Dunno the school system in America, but at my school, we have 4 periods in the morning, lunch, then 2 in the afternoon. And the classes pretty much never change, so you're always stuck with the same people. So I used that system. Sorry for any inconveniences~
Thankfully for him, no bouts of sleepiness attacked him during the first class after lunch. His brain seemed to be holding out enough for him not to get drowsy, and even if he had to pinch himself a couple of times in history, he managed to end it without falling asleep on his desk.
As a bonus, he pretended he was giving the teachers his full attention whenever he felt Alfred’s gaze on him. Kid was probably just looking for another crack in Arthur’s facade to get into the teacher’s good graces. The satisfaction of knowing he was ruining that made a small smirk appear on Arthur’s lips.
Arthur: 1
Alfred: 23
... Well, it was a start, at least.
The shrill bell suddenly rang, wiping the smirk off of Arthur’s face as the class bustled to leave to their last course of the day. As the blond stood up to follow his peers, though, his right knee gave in, awkwardly making him stumble, then regain his composure, hoping no one saw. Without even bothering to check, he stretched and yawned before grabbing his bag to leave.
The lower half of his body felt numb, but he blamed it on being seated for so long. Hey, at least he only had one more course to go.
He quickly switched classrooms and headed for his desk at the very back, plopping down tiredly on his seat and laying his head down on his arms by reflex. He instantly knew that the last period would be a struggle, though, as his eyes burned, begging for respite under his closed lids.
Well, wasn’t that just peachy.
And indeed, it was, as Arthur spent half the course fighting imminent sleep off before finally considering it. He was at the back of the class, after all, and the subject of the day looked extremely interesting to anyone who wasn’t him... One quick nap wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Looking around furtively, he made sure no one was looking before pushing his chair back a little. He slowly crossed his arms on the desk, his eyelids drooping already at the simple thought of sleep. Slowly, slowly, he gave into his human impulses, dropping his head, and finally, finally setting it against his forearms.
He could have sighed in relief if the resulting yell didn’t make him want to cry in desperation.
“SIR, ARTHUR’S SLEEPING IN CLASS AGAIN!”
“I’M NOT!” he instinctively yelled back, shooting upright and looking around nervously, quickly spotting the mop of dirty blond hair that belonged to the biggest bastard in the whole wide world. In Arthur’s standards, he was, at least.
“Arthur...” the teacher sighed. “Come see me after class. Now all of you -yes, you included, Alfred-, please listen. This is gonna be important for tomorrow’s lab test.”
But all Arthur could think of right now was his extremely long list of a hundred and thirteen ways to painfully kill Alfred Fucking Jones, and how he could contribute to it.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [2b/?]
anonymous
July 24 2011, 21:04:23 UTC
After class, Arthur found himself wobbling over to the teacher’s desk, standing awkwardly in front of it as the teacher looked him over.
“Arthur...” he finally spoke up, catching the Brit’s attention. “May I know why you are so adamant in sleeping in every single class?”
Arthur was about to proudly object that he didn’t sleep in history that day, before he realized that that wouldn’t help his case at all. Instead, he just looked at his shoes.
“I’m just... tired.”
“Obviously. Now tell me why.” The teacher leaned over his desk and crossed his arms.
“Lots of homework, and college kids next door.” Arthur lied through his teeth, crossing his arms in embarrassment.
“I’m sure that’s not all. Is everything alright at home?”
“Yes, yes, everything’s just peachy.” Arthur muttered, wondering if Americans could read sarcasm between the lines easily. He was a master at subtle sarcasm and quite enjoyed it, frankly.
“You know, if something is wrong, we have many counsellors and social workers here, I’m sure you could-”
“Yeah, yeah, seek help and whatnot. Now am I getting detention or not?” the blond cut in, tired of hearing the same speech over and over again. Why did everyone imply that he needed help?
“Maybe because you do.”
He never listened to the voices in his head anyways.
“Well, I was informed during lunch that you slept during two of the four classes this morning, so I’m afraid I’ll have to give you detention with your third offense. Stay after classes for two hours today and copy the dictionary. I’m sure you’ll find yourself compelled to avoid future behaviour like yours afterwards.” The teacher grabbed a detention slip and started filling it out.
“Uhhh, today?” Arthur gulped down, blanching. “I can’t, today. We’re Wednesday, right? I have to be home right afterwards on Wednesdays.”
“Well then, maybe detention on a Wednesday will teach you not to fall asleep in class anymore.” The teacher shrugged and kept filling out his form.
“N-No! I mean, I really, really have to be home. I’m already running late.” Arthur bit his lip, knowing he’d regret the sudden idea that popped into his head. “How about I do double, but tomorrow? I can stay four hours after class, just give me detention tomorrow, not today.”
The teacher stopped and raised a disbelieving brow, staring at him. Arthur didn’t buckle under his gaze and gulped down nervously.
“Seriously. I have to go right now for today, but I’m free tomorrow. Please?” he asked, putting his best innocent-child-pleading-his-parents-for-that-expensive-candy-across-the-street look on his face.
The teacher inspected him a while longer, then sighed, grabbing a new slip to fill out.
“Fine. Four hours, tomorrow. Be there.”
“Yes sir.” Arthur nodded, allowing himself a small mental cheer for the small victory of the day.
“Stay put until I write your slip.” The teacher instructed before turning to look behind me. “Now. Yes, Alfred? You’ve been standing there for quite a while now. Is there something you needed?”
“Finally!” the cause of Arthur’s many troubles stepped forward, putting up a work document. “I had a question about tomorrow’s lab exam. Titration, and all that jazz.”
“Yes, just a moment.” The teacher finished his new slip and handed it to him with a nod. “There you go. Have a nice day, Arthur.” He wished before turning back to Alfred.
Wordlessly, Arthur spent no more time in heading towards his locker to pack and leave school. In an effort to keep his mind awake during his twenty-minute walk home, he started thinking back.
Okay, so there was this one formula he didn’t understand in math... There was a chemistry lab exam tomorrow... He had to mentally prepare himself for P.E on Friday... And Alfred.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [2c/?]
anonymous
July 24 2011, 21:06:25 UTC
Oh that annoying bratty snitching obnoxious handsome-
“Oh no no no no no. You take that back right now , Arthur Kirkland.” He muttered to himself, looking both ways before crossing the street. There was no way that that stupid American could be anything close to handsome.
Sure, his hair was always so perfectly golden, and his eyes sparkled in the light. Sure, his body moved gracefully during swimming class and squared when he went to American football practice after school. Sure, he looked like a god on Earth and-
Oh no. He did not just go there.
“It’s official, I’m delusional.” He groaned, shaking his head. “Maybe I should really consider getting at least some sleep tonight.”
His brain threw a party inside his skull at the prospect of it.
The long sentences in italics are thoughts. It doesn't say whose, but it's quite easy to tell. Oh, and Arthur talks to himself a lot. Poor thing's just lonely, I guess xD Oh well, I'll see you tomorrow~
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [3a/?]
anonymous
July 26 2011, 22:55:54 UTC
*sob* LJ wasn't working yesterday, so here, double chapter to make up for my absence~ Beware of heavy swearing in scenes featuring Arthur and his dad~
“I’m back.” Arthur called as he entered the small apartment, carefully avoiding the word ‘home’ in his greeting. This dump sure didn’t feel like home to him.
“You’re late.” Was the imminent greeting that was heard between the sounds of the TV and the bulldozer working outside on the field next to their apartment building.
“I had to stay a bit after school and the roads were closed for renovation so I took a detour.” Arthur muttered, hanging his scarf and putting his mittens in their place. The last week of November had been unusually cold this year. Arthur couldn’t wait until winter was over, and it hadn’t even started yet.
“Well goddamnit, I’m hungry! The hell was I supposed to do while you dragged your arse outside!?” the same voice came, tone going up and down with slightly slurred words.
“Well you sure didn’t have to bloat yourself with beer while you waited, that’s for sure.” Arthur groaned as he removed his jacket. Looks like he’d have to do some cleanup in the living room tonight, as well.
“That’s all there was in the fridge thanks to your lazy arse.”
“Me, lazy?” Arthur scoffed, heading for the living room and popping his head into it, immediately spotting his father sprawled on the couch, watching an American football game on the telly with a bottle of beer in his hands and many of them around him.
“That’s what I said, dumbass.” His father took a long swig of beer.
“Look who’s talking, you sack of potatoes. You could have moved your bloody arse and have picked out some crackers, at least. Those wouldn’t have gotten you drunk up your butt. Besides, there were crisps in the pantry if you actually bothered looking.”
“Here you go again, babbling with that useless mouth of yours.” His father took one more swig of beer, finishing off his bottle. Dread settled in Arthur’s stomach as he turned to hide behind the wall out of force of habit. Right on time as a bottle smashed against the wall where his head was just located. “Now get in that kitchen, little bitch, and make yourself useful!”
“Fuck you!” Arthur yelled back, grumbling swears under his breath as he opened the fridge to see what he was working with.
He was not the best cook, but he was not the worst, either. He used to burn everything he touched before his mom died and left him with his incompetent dad. That’s when he actually started learning how to cook simple things, if not to save himself and his sorry excuse for a paternal figure from dying out of hunger.
He lost himself in his own thoughts as he cooked and sighed in relief as he finished. Hopefully, he’d be given leave so he could go up and hit something in his room.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [3b/?]
anonymous
July 26 2011, 22:58:52 UTC
“Here.” He muttered, striding into the living room with a plate of spaghetti for his dad and one for him.
Wordlessly, his dad took it and took a bite, chewing loudly. Arthur didn’t wait for him and twirled a bit of pasta on his fork, leaning against a far wall as he ate.
“It’s disgusting.” The older man finally said, gulping down.
“It’s better than what you make.” Arthur replied without skipping a beat, ignoring the pangs in his heart.
“Why are you so bloody useless!?” his father yelled again, smashing the plate against the ground and spilling pasta everywhere. Arthur remained unfazed, if not annoyed that yet another plate had been broken.
“It’s all I can do!” he yelled back. “It’s all I can do, and-”
“And honestly, I’m doing my best, so please don’t push me away, I promise I’ll be better, dad, I promise I’ll get better, I promise I won’t make you mad, just please, please stop yelling at me, I don’t know how much I can take anymore and please, I just want you to accept me, I just want you to appreciate me, just please stop yelling and GOD, why don’t you love me, dad? Why?”
“-And I can’t believe you broke another plate!” Arthur faltered slightly, feeling tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He attributed them to exhaustion, though, and certainly not the way his heart was twisting at his father’s words.
“I can’t believe you can’t even cook right! The hell can you do, then?”
“I can do a lot of things, a lot of things you never notice because you’re never there for me!” Arthur replied, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. He put his half-finished plate on the counter and crossed his arms over his stomach, trying to will the unpleasant ache in it away.
There was a small silence before Arthur’s father sighed and grabbed another beer from the case of 24 next to him, popping the cap expertly and taking a swig.
“Just get me some Chinese.” He muttered, turning his attention to the telly.
“Fine, but you’re the one answering the door. I have homework to do.” Arthur replied snappily, grabbing the phone and searching in the small list of numbers on a post-it next to the phone for a number for Chinese takeout.
“Speaking of which, why were you late today?”
“I was bargaining the terms for detention with my teacher.” The teen muttered, dialling the number labelled “Yao’s Wok” on the yellow post-it.
“Detention again?” the soft, slurred voice asking him that sure didn’t sound the same as the one that was yelling at him just a minute ago. And yet, it was.
Arthur figured that his father’s unpredictable mood swings were what really made him fear his dad.
“What for?”
“You know what for. Sleeping in class, as usual.” Arthur sighed, putting the phone to his ear and listening to the dial tone.
“You should stop it, then.”
“I’ll stop sleeping in class when you stop verbally and emotionally abusing me to the point of utter exhaustion.”
“You know I can’t. I’m just so stressed, I can’t seem to get a good night’s sleep.” The blond sighed, eyes downcast, listening as someone answered on the other line. “Yes, hello. May I get General Tao chicken please?”
“I want fried rice and spring rolls.”
“Fine, I’m sorry, could you change that to fried rice and spring rolls?” Arthur sighed, answering briefly to the rest of the questions before thanking the guy and hanging up.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [3c/?]
anonymous
July 26 2011, 23:03:02 UTC
There was another relative silence where the TV announcer cheered on a touchdown before the older man took a swig of beer and burped.
“You know, you can’t become a lawyer if you keep getting detention.” He noted.
“I’m not becoming a lawyer, dad. We’ve had this conversation many times before. I’m becoming an author, and that’s final.”
“Author-smauthor, that’s a load of bullshit, and you know it. If you’re a lawyer, you have a steady, high-class job, you get paid well, and you don’t ruin the family name with your crap.”
“Oh, because you’re not ruining it already with yours.” Arthur gritted his teeth and grabbed his backpack from where he left it, in front of the kitchen entrance.
“Hey, remember who feeds you.” His father’s tone escalated a bit, making Arthur flinch. Mostly because of the words, though, and not the tone.
“You certainly don’t. You don’t do anything constructive with your life.”
“I go to work every single day for you, you ungrateful brat. That should be more than enough. You’d be out on the streets without me. Feel lucky I decided to keep you after your mother died.”
“Oh yeah, I’m extremely lucky!” Arthur cynically spat back, blood boiling in his veins. “My father works half the time and drinks the other half away. But at least he gives me enough money to stock the fridge and sends me to school for some awkward reason! But he shouldn’t do any of those, because really, who needs food and education when you have whores and booze every single night instead? Was that cocaine I found in your drawer the other day, dad? Because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t laundry detergent. After all, since when have you cared?”
“I have an idea.” His father calmly took another swig of beer, yet Arthur could see the fury in his expression, the blood rushing to his face, the murderous intent clear in those bloodshot eyes. Perhaps he’d gone too far.
“And what might that be?” and yet, the only means he had of venting his frustration at life were here, in this living room.
“You will leave the money for the delivery on the table, you will take everything that is yours, and you will get the fuck out of my sight, good? And then, when you’re sure I won’t be able to see your ugly face, you’ll come down and clean both the kitchen and the living room. Sounds good?”
Arthur glared at him defiantly, yet soon found himself overpowered by the pure, unadulterated rage in his eyes, sighing and turning around.
“Fine. The money’s there. Enjoy your Chinese.” He muttered before pulling his battered wallet out of his pocket, leaving it on the kitchen counter, and going to his room.
Once inside, he dropped everything on the ground and fell on his bed, the soft, warm covers inviting him immediately. He sighed and let his tired muscles rest before his eyes caught his backpack.
Right. He had homework to do, budget planning for the next month for the after-school clubs to start, and a living room to clean. Sounded like another 2-3 hours of sleep for him tonight. If one of his father’s whores didn’t stay past 1 in the morning, that is.
God, he was so sick of this. This constant rush to complete everything and trying to balance everything on his plate. He hated the world, and all he wanted to do sometimes was sleep forever. He was tired of school, tired of home, tired of life.
He just wanted to sleep, was that so hard to ask for?
And it's not just physiological sleep Arthur wants. The term "tired" is redundant in this fill because Arthur's not just physically tired anymore. Just sayin'
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [4a/?]
anonymous
July 26 2011, 23:08:03 UTC
OTL I'm sorry if I strayed from the prompt in part 3. I'll try to keep in line.
Arthur rushed into school the next day with a few minutes to spare. His senses were still groggy, and he was still mentally swearing at his alarm clock, like he did every single morning where he was pulled from his blissful, yet horribly brief sleep by the annoying ring.
He ran into class just as the bell rang, announcing the start of school. Panting, he took a moment to catch his breath, trying to filter out the whispers and the eyes trained on him. This was not his ideal way of starting his day.
“What’s wrong, Artie, slept in? Are you sure you’re even awake?” some jock yelled from the back of the room, prompting the entire class into a fit of chuckles and whispers. Arthur blushed and just rushed to his seat, noting the annoyed glint in the teacher’s eyes as he passed by her with a nod of his head.
“Alright, class, calm down. Pull out your textbooks please, and Arthur... Make efforts to listen and try not to fall asleep.” She sighed, a simple comment which prompted more laughter from the class. Arthur felt like sinking into the seventh layer of hell and just staying there. Perhaps the devil would allow him to sleep, at least.
He knew just by the feel of the atmosphere that today was not gonna be a good day.
He resisted the tempting call of sleep throughout the first period and felt immensely proud when he managed to squeeze in some note-taking as well. It wasn’t like he needed to listen much since his grades were pretty high, but he had to study before exams like everyone else and sometimes found himself at loss the day before, having missed out on notes in a particular class.
When the bell rang, he quickly put his stuff in his bag, and, feeling a bit better than before, he strode out. Still, he allowed his eyes to momentarily droop as he walked, turning corridors towards the empty part of the building where the English courses took place.
He had momentarily closed his eyes, letting the chatter of his classmates filter through his ears, when he suddenly walked into someone. His eyes flew open and he immediately went to say something, whether to apologize or tell the person off, he wasn’t sure himself, before he noticed that it was the group of guys from the American football team who kept teasing him all the time.
“Wow, Artie, you should really look where you’re going!” one of them chuckled in mock concern. “Perhaps you’re not awake yet, huh?”
“I am, now leave me alone.” Arthur muttered, looking for a way out, but found himself surrounded. Well, wasn’t this just perfect?
“You don’t look awake.” Another one commented.
“Don’t worry, well help you wake up.” Another one laughed, and Arthur turned just in time to see the bucket held over him.
Well shit.
He gave a loud yelp as the freezing water (and hopefully nothing else) was dumped over his head, his knees buckling at the sudden pressure. He fell to the ground with a groan, immediately shrugging out of his backpack to keep it from getting wetter than it already was.
“Hope you’re awake now, Artie!” the footballs jocks laughed before heading off towards class. Whispers and laughter arose from the crowd present, and Arthur hung his head. He couldn’t even muster the energy he needed to push himself up and go to the bathroom. When had he become such a wreck?
Something the colour of skin suddenly obstructed his view, and he drew in a sharp breath, his hand flying up to wipe it. He paled upon seeing what it was.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [4b/?]
anonymous
July 26 2011, 23:10:00 UTC
Cover-up...
“Shit.” He swore, realizing that his makeup was running, and that soon, the horribly ugly bruises beneath his eyes would show.
“Hey, you okay?” a voice suddenly asked from next to him. Arthur turned just in time to see innocent sky blue eyes blink at him, a hand extended in his direction. “Do you need help?”
Alfred.
Always swooping in to be the hero.
“Sod off.” Arthur grumbled, turning away and helping himself up on his wobbly feet. He lightly slipped on the puddle of water beneath him as he made a move to grab his bag, but Alfred was by his side in a second, steadying him by the shoulders.
“H-Hey, be careful, Artie-”
Oh, why had Arthur hoped that Alfred would at least be different?
“My name’s not Artie! Now unhand me, you bloody twat!” he yelled, violently pushing out of Alfred’s grip and stalking towards the nearest bathroom, leaving behind a bewildered and slightly hurt American who watched him go with a frown.
Once inside the bathroom, Arthur violently chucked his backpack at the wall, frustrated tears welling up in his eyes. Why couldn’t anything ever go right for him?
“Fuck my life.” He sighed, grabbing some towel papers and lifting his long bangs out of the way to wipe the running makeup off his face. As the skin-coloured foundation slowly came off, the purplish skin slowly poked out from below. Arthur hated looking at himself like this. It made him feel so weak, exposed and ugly.
He wasn’t one for looks, but with dark circles as severe as his under his eyes, questions would arise, and he hated receiving pity. So he just settled for makeup. It did the trick and hid his bruise-like bags perfectly, as long as it didn’t come in contact with water.
After cleaning and rinsing his face, he dried it off and fumbled through his backpack, pulling out a pod of foundation makeup and a stick of cover-up. Noticing he didn’t have long before the bell rang for class, he quickly drew random lines with the stick below and above his right eye, then smudged the cover-up accordingly to cover the entirety of the dark patch. Then, he grabbed his powder foundation and used the brush to cover any spots left.
Once he deemed it good enough, he stopped and started working on his left eye.
So engrossed in his work, he didn’t notice the approaching voices of people. He noticed too late as the door swung open and in strode 4 guys from his class.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [4c/?]
anonymous
July 26 2011, 23:14:33 UTC
“So I told her that she was a stupid whore and she’s all like-” the guy who was talking turned his eyes in front of him, only to spot Arthur, who was awkwardly fumbling to put the makeup away. “Kirkland?”
Arthur swore, shoving the stick and foundation in his pocket but forgetting the brush in his hand. He clapped another hand over his left eye just in case the bags were still showing and shook his head.
“Was that makeup I just saw?”
“N-No, it was uhh...” completely taken by surprise, Arthur stuttered before laughter made him look away.
“No way. Arthur Kirkland, the angry Brit who always sleeps in class and happens to be student council president wears makeup ?” another one choked out through strings of laughter, making Arthur redden in the face in embarrassment. Coupled with his sopping wet hair and dripping clothes sticking to his thin, bony body, he looked like the exact definition of pitiful.
“Oh man, I gotta tell the guys!” the leader laughed, catching Arthur’s attention. His eyes (or his only visible eye) widened in horror, and he put a hand out to stop them as they turned around to leave.
“N-No, wait, this isn’t what it looks like!” he tried protesting, cut off by more laughter, steadily getting farther as the boys exited the bathroom.
“Oh my god, Kirkland, you’re such a fag.” Was the last jeer he heard before his brain shut him out. Slowly, he leaned against the wall and let himself slide down, his clothes making squelchy sounds as he sat on them.
His lips pursed into a thin line, conflicting emotions giving him a headache (though he attributed it to sleep deprivation again). He didn’t know whether he should be angry, or sad, or vengeful, or just nothing. Right now, he was just so... confused. So confused with what he should be feeling, and so tired of thinking about it.
So he just sat there, against the wall, in a small bundle, not knowing if he should burst out into tears or completely cut the football team’s budget for the next three years to come.
“H-Hey, Arthur...?”
Oh. Oh, there was one left. Arthur couldn’t even find the energy to look up. He was sure he’d see the same worried blue eyes as last time.
“Go away.” He simply whispered. “Go laugh somewhere else.”
“I wasn’t gonna.” Alfred pouted, looking affronted. “I just wanted to know whether you needed help or not.”
“I don’t need your goddamn help.” Arthur muttered, staring at the tiles before pushing himself up and grabbing his backpack. “Tell the teacher I have urgent work to do in my office. I’m not going to class.” He simply informed him before pushing the door and exiting the bathroom.
Unfortunately for him, Alfred was by his side in a second.
“What’s wrong with your eye, though? Are you hurt?” he asked, eyes brimming with concern as he grasped Arthur’s frail (far too bony, were wrists even supposed to be that thin and pale?) wrist, trying to pry it away from his eye.
“I’m fine, just get to class, Jones.” The student council president snapped, slapping his hand away and stalking off. It seemed like his exhausted brain had decided on being angry after all.
Alfred could only watch in confusion and slight hurt as Arthur turned a corner and disappeared.
He just wanted to help... Why was Arthur pushing him away...?
And if Arthur were here and could hear those thoughts, he’d just let out an incredulous laugh and wonder how in hell he managed being so oblivious.
Phew, that's it for today! Author!anon loves your comments, but won't reply so she won't spam >_<" She still loves 'em, though~
Sleep sounded so appealing right now... To close his eyes, forget his life and screw everything around him in favour of deep, magical sleep... His eyelids had already drooped at the mere thought. Darkness invaded his vision as blissful respite was given to his brain. Just as he started making himself comfortable, though, a heavy textbook suddenly smashed in front of him, jolting him awake with a loud cry of surprise.
The class burst into laughter, which he registered blearily as he noted the teacher.
Aw shit.
“Mister Kirkland, this is the second time this week that I have caught you sleeping in my class! One more time, and I might just have to give you detention.” She warned sternly.
“Ah, n-no, please don’t give me detention.” Arthur gulped down nervously. “I promise not to sleep in class anymore, Miss.”
“I’d hope not. You’re not setting the right example for other students, Mr student council president.” Arthur blushed as he tried to block the snickering and jeering from his fellow peers out. “Anyways, don’t let me catch you again. Now turn your attention back to the lesson, Arthur.”
Arthur clenched his fists and looked up, glaring daggers at the teacher’s back. She walked through the aisle a bit before tapping her ruler against someone’s shoulder, turning their attention to her.
“You, too, Alfred. It’s good of you to point things out, but please pay attention to the lesson instead of looking at what your classmates are doing.” She lightly berated.
Alfred’s sparkling blue eyes turned up to her, and he shot her his million-watt grin, saluting mockingly.
“Yes Ma’am!” as the teacher kept walking back to the blackboard, though, he turned in his seat, staring right at Arthur, and grinned, giving him a thumbs up.
The Brit’s blood boiled, and it took all his willpower not to flip Alfred the bird and vent his frustration out. Instead, he opened his notebook and grabbed a pencil, trying to concentrate on the teacher and not the hushed whispers around him.
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That would be that kid Alfred’s dream. Not Arthur’s.
Speaking of Alfred.
Arthur turned towards the dirty blond and shot him a disdainful glare, still bitter about what happened that morning. As if he enjoyed missing important classes in favour of sleep. As if he enjoyed going out to the pharmacy to shop for cover-up to use to hide the heavy bags under his eyes. As if he enjoyed being... well, being himself.
Thankfully, Alfred was too focused on the teacher to notice the death glare being thrown at him. His thin brows (unlike Arthur’s) were furrowed in concentration as his sky blue eyes avidly gobbled up everything the teacher was going on about in that horridly monotone voice of hers, and he would occasionally glance down and scribble something on his notes.
And deep inside, Arthur envied him for being able to be so... normal.
Turning his mind away from Alfred (he hated him, right?), Arthur dug into his bag and pulled out some work he’d put off from last night, hiding it under the notes he was supposed to be taking. Might as well get some work done if he wasn’t sleeping.
As he looked at the first paper (something about the swimming club requesting new uniform bathing suits), a wave of disdain swept through him at the thought of the last student council president. It was partly because of him that Arthur had such trouble keeping up with life.
Dave, the last president, had thought that being president would get him all the girls. All it got him, though, was an unending stack of work. So he just quit, leaving his vice, Arthur, in charge.
With the winter dance coming up next month, as well as the regular work that had been put off by Dave, Arthur was starting to drown. So much work, so little time, along with the pressure being put on him at home and the steady flow of homework and exams coming in every single day...
Arthur couldn’t even recall the last time he had time for himself.
Thankfully, the lunch bell saved him, and he sluggishly packed everything before leaving the classroom alone. Maybe he could skip lunch and sneak in a nap in the student council lounge.
The idea of sleep sounded so appealing that he stumbled into the lounge, crashed into the nearest sofa and fell asleep immediately.
Short pointless chapter is short and pointless. I promise it'll get better afterwards. I've written about half the fanfic already, so I'll be updating with one chapter a day. Come back tomorrow for more~
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I can't wait until the next chapter! Thank you so much for writing this!!!
Much love, from OP <3
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Thankfully for him, no bouts of sleepiness attacked him during the first class after lunch. His brain seemed to be holding out enough for him not to get drowsy, and even if he had to pinch himself a couple of times in history, he managed to end it without falling asleep on his desk.
As a bonus, he pretended he was giving the teachers his full attention whenever he felt Alfred’s gaze on him. Kid was probably just looking for another crack in Arthur’s facade to get into the teacher’s good graces. The satisfaction of knowing he was ruining that made a small smirk appear on Arthur’s lips.
Arthur: 1
Alfred: 23
... Well, it was a start, at least.
The shrill bell suddenly rang, wiping the smirk off of Arthur’s face as the class bustled to leave to their last course of the day. As the blond stood up to follow his peers, though, his right knee gave in, awkwardly making him stumble, then regain his composure, hoping no one saw. Without even bothering to check, he stretched and yawned before grabbing his bag to leave.
The lower half of his body felt numb, but he blamed it on being seated for so long. Hey, at least he only had one more course to go.
He quickly switched classrooms and headed for his desk at the very back, plopping down tiredly on his seat and laying his head down on his arms by reflex. He instantly knew that the last period would be a struggle, though, as his eyes burned, begging for respite under his closed lids.
Well, wasn’t that just peachy.
And indeed, it was, as Arthur spent half the course fighting imminent sleep off before finally considering it. He was at the back of the class, after all, and the subject of the day looked extremely interesting to anyone who wasn’t him... One quick nap wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Looking around furtively, he made sure no one was looking before pushing his chair back a little. He slowly crossed his arms on the desk, his eyelids drooping already at the simple thought of sleep. Slowly, slowly, he gave into his human impulses, dropping his head, and finally, finally setting it against his forearms.
He could have sighed in relief if the resulting yell didn’t make him want to cry in desperation.
“SIR, ARTHUR’S SLEEPING IN CLASS AGAIN!”
“I’M NOT!” he instinctively yelled back, shooting upright and looking around nervously, quickly spotting the mop of dirty blond hair that belonged to the biggest bastard in the whole wide world. In Arthur’s standards, he was, at least.
“Arthur...” the teacher sighed. “Come see me after class. Now all of you -yes, you included, Alfred-, please listen. This is gonna be important for tomorrow’s lab test.”
But all Arthur could think of right now was his extremely long list of a hundred and thirteen ways to painfully kill Alfred Fucking Jones, and how he could contribute to it.
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“Arthur...” he finally spoke up, catching the Brit’s attention. “May I know why you are so adamant in sleeping in every single class?”
Arthur was about to proudly object that he didn’t sleep in history that day, before he realized that that wouldn’t help his case at all. Instead, he just looked at his shoes.
“I’m just... tired.”
“Obviously. Now tell me why.” The teacher leaned over his desk and crossed his arms.
“Lots of homework, and college kids next door.” Arthur lied through his teeth, crossing his arms in embarrassment.
“I’m sure that’s not all. Is everything alright at home?”
“Yes, yes, everything’s just peachy.” Arthur muttered, wondering if Americans could read sarcasm between the lines easily. He was a master at subtle sarcasm and quite enjoyed it, frankly.
“You know, if something is wrong, we have many counsellors and social workers here, I’m sure you could-”
“Yeah, yeah, seek help and whatnot. Now am I getting detention or not?” the blond cut in, tired of hearing the same speech over and over again. Why did everyone imply that he needed help?
“Maybe because you do.”
He never listened to the voices in his head anyways.
“Well, I was informed during lunch that you slept during two of the four classes this morning, so I’m afraid I’ll have to give you detention with your third offense. Stay after classes for two hours today and copy the dictionary. I’m sure you’ll find yourself compelled to avoid future behaviour like yours afterwards.” The teacher grabbed a detention slip and started filling it out.
“Uhhh, today?” Arthur gulped down, blanching. “I can’t, today. We’re Wednesday, right? I have to be home right afterwards on Wednesdays.”
“Well then, maybe detention on a Wednesday will teach you not to fall asleep in class anymore.” The teacher shrugged and kept filling out his form.
“N-No! I mean, I really, really have to be home. I’m already running late.” Arthur bit his lip, knowing he’d regret the sudden idea that popped into his head. “How about I do double, but tomorrow? I can stay four hours after class, just give me detention tomorrow, not today.”
The teacher stopped and raised a disbelieving brow, staring at him. Arthur didn’t buckle under his gaze and gulped down nervously.
“Seriously. I have to go right now for today, but I’m free tomorrow. Please?” he asked, putting his best innocent-child-pleading-his-parents-for-that-expensive-candy-across-the-street look on his face.
The teacher inspected him a while longer, then sighed, grabbing a new slip to fill out.
“Fine. Four hours, tomorrow. Be there.”
“Yes sir.” Arthur nodded, allowing himself a small mental cheer for the small victory of the day.
“Stay put until I write your slip.” The teacher instructed before turning to look behind me. “Now. Yes, Alfred? You’ve been standing there for quite a while now. Is there something you needed?”
“Finally!” the cause of Arthur’s many troubles stepped forward, putting up a work document. “I had a question about tomorrow’s lab exam. Titration, and all that jazz.”
“Yes, just a moment.” The teacher finished his new slip and handed it to him with a nod. “There you go. Have a nice day, Arthur.” He wished before turning back to Alfred.
Wordlessly, Arthur spent no more time in heading towards his locker to pack and leave school. In an effort to keep his mind awake during his twenty-minute walk home, he started thinking back.
Okay, so there was this one formula he didn’t understand in math... There was a chemistry lab exam tomorrow... He had to mentally prepare himself for P.E on Friday... And Alfred.
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“Oh no no no no no. You take that back right now , Arthur Kirkland.” He muttered to himself, looking both ways before crossing the street. There was no way that that stupid American could be anything close to handsome.
Sure, his hair was always so perfectly golden, and his eyes sparkled in the light. Sure, his body moved gracefully during swimming class and squared when he went to American football practice after school. Sure, he looked like a god on Earth and-
Oh no. He did not just go there.
“It’s official, I’m delusional.” He groaned, shaking his head. “Maybe I should really consider getting at least some sleep tonight.”
His brain threw a party inside his skull at the prospect of it.
The long sentences in italics are thoughts. It doesn't say whose, but it's quite easy to tell. Oh, and Arthur talks to himself a lot. Poor thing's just lonely, I guess xD Oh well, I'll see you tomorrow~
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I love you, author!anon! This is wonderful and exactly what I was looking for. I can't wait for the next part to go up :)
Thank you again for writing this!!! <3
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“I’m back.” Arthur called as he entered the small apartment, carefully avoiding the word ‘home’ in his greeting. This dump sure didn’t feel like home to him.
“You’re late.” Was the imminent greeting that was heard between the sounds of the TV and the bulldozer working outside on the field next to their apartment building.
“I had to stay a bit after school and the roads were closed for renovation so I took a detour.” Arthur muttered, hanging his scarf and putting his mittens in their place. The last week of November had been unusually cold this year. Arthur couldn’t wait until winter was over, and it hadn’t even started yet.
“Well goddamnit, I’m hungry! The hell was I supposed to do while you dragged your arse outside!?” the same voice came, tone going up and down with slightly slurred words.
“Well you sure didn’t have to bloat yourself with beer while you waited, that’s for sure.” Arthur groaned as he removed his jacket. Looks like he’d have to do some cleanup in the living room tonight, as well.
“That’s all there was in the fridge thanks to your lazy arse.”
“Me, lazy?” Arthur scoffed, heading for the living room and popping his head into it, immediately spotting his father sprawled on the couch, watching an American football game on the telly with a bottle of beer in his hands and many of them around him.
“That’s what I said, dumbass.” His father took a long swig of beer.
“Look who’s talking, you sack of potatoes. You could have moved your bloody arse and have picked out some crackers, at least. Those wouldn’t have gotten you drunk up your butt. Besides, there were crisps in the pantry if you actually bothered looking.”
“Here you go again, babbling with that useless mouth of yours.” His father took one more swig of beer, finishing off his bottle. Dread settled in Arthur’s stomach as he turned to hide behind the wall out of force of habit. Right on time as a bottle smashed against the wall where his head was just located. “Now get in that kitchen, little bitch, and make yourself useful!”
“Fuck you!” Arthur yelled back, grumbling swears under his breath as he opened the fridge to see what he was working with.
He was not the best cook, but he was not the worst, either. He used to burn everything he touched before his mom died and left him with his incompetent dad. That’s when he actually started learning how to cook simple things, if not to save himself and his sorry excuse for a paternal figure from dying out of hunger.
He lost himself in his own thoughts as he cooked and sighed in relief as he finished. Hopefully, he’d be given leave so he could go up and hit something in his room.
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Wordlessly, his dad took it and took a bite, chewing loudly. Arthur didn’t wait for him and twirled a bit of pasta on his fork, leaning against a far wall as he ate.
“It’s disgusting.” The older man finally said, gulping down.
“It’s better than what you make.” Arthur replied without skipping a beat, ignoring the pangs in his heart.
“Why are you so bloody useless!?” his father yelled again, smashing the plate against the ground and spilling pasta everywhere. Arthur remained unfazed, if not annoyed that yet another plate had been broken.
“It’s all I can do!” he yelled back. “It’s all I can do, and-”
“And honestly, I’m doing my best, so please don’t push me away, I promise I’ll be better, dad, I promise I’ll get better, I promise I won’t make you mad, just please, please stop yelling at me, I don’t know how much I can take anymore and please, I just want you to accept me, I just want you to appreciate me, just please stop yelling and GOD, why don’t you love me, dad? Why?”
“-And I can’t believe you broke another plate!” Arthur faltered slightly, feeling tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He attributed them to exhaustion, though, and certainly not the way his heart was twisting at his father’s words.
“I can’t believe you can’t even cook right! The hell can you do, then?”
“I can do a lot of things, a lot of things you never notice because you’re never there for me!” Arthur replied, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. He put his half-finished plate on the counter and crossed his arms over his stomach, trying to will the unpleasant ache in it away.
There was a small silence before Arthur’s father sighed and grabbed another beer from the case of 24 next to him, popping the cap expertly and taking a swig.
“Just get me some Chinese.” He muttered, turning his attention to the telly.
“Fine, but you’re the one answering the door. I have homework to do.” Arthur replied snappily, grabbing the phone and searching in the small list of numbers on a post-it next to the phone for a number for Chinese takeout.
“Speaking of which, why were you late today?”
“I was bargaining the terms for detention with my teacher.” The teen muttered, dialling the number labelled “Yao’s Wok” on the yellow post-it.
“Detention again?” the soft, slurred voice asking him that sure didn’t sound the same as the one that was yelling at him just a minute ago. And yet, it was.
Arthur figured that his father’s unpredictable mood swings were what really made him fear his dad.
“What for?”
“You know what for. Sleeping in class, as usual.” Arthur sighed, putting the phone to his ear and listening to the dial tone.
“You should stop it, then.”
“I’ll stop sleeping in class when you stop verbally and emotionally abusing me to the point of utter exhaustion.”
“You know I can’t. I’m just so stressed, I can’t seem to get a good night’s sleep.” The blond sighed, eyes downcast, listening as someone answered on the other line. “Yes, hello. May I get General Tao chicken please?”
“I want fried rice and spring rolls.”
“Fine, I’m sorry, could you change that to fried rice and spring rolls?” Arthur sighed, answering briefly to the rest of the questions before thanking the guy and hanging up.
Italics are thoughts, if you couldn't tell~
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“You know, you can’t become a lawyer if you keep getting detention.” He noted.
“I’m not becoming a lawyer, dad. We’ve had this conversation many times before. I’m becoming an author, and that’s final.”
“Author-smauthor, that’s a load of bullshit, and you know it. If you’re a lawyer, you have a steady, high-class job, you get paid well, and you don’t ruin the family name with your crap.”
“Oh, because you’re not ruining it already with yours.” Arthur gritted his teeth and grabbed his backpack from where he left it, in front of the kitchen entrance.
“Hey, remember who feeds you.” His father’s tone escalated a bit, making Arthur flinch. Mostly because of the words, though, and not the tone.
“You certainly don’t. You don’t do anything constructive with your life.”
“I go to work every single day for you, you ungrateful brat. That should be more than enough. You’d be out on the streets without me. Feel lucky I decided to keep you after your mother died.”
“Oh yeah, I’m extremely lucky!” Arthur cynically spat back, blood boiling in his veins. “My father works half the time and drinks the other half away. But at least he gives me enough money to stock the fridge and sends me to school for some awkward reason! But he shouldn’t do any of those, because really, who needs food and education when you have whores and booze every single night instead? Was that cocaine I found in your drawer the other day, dad? Because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t laundry detergent. After all, since when have you cared?”
“I have an idea.” His father calmly took another swig of beer, yet Arthur could see the fury in his expression, the blood rushing to his face, the murderous intent clear in those bloodshot eyes. Perhaps he’d gone too far.
“And what might that be?” and yet, the only means he had of venting his frustration at life were here, in this living room.
“You will leave the money for the delivery on the table, you will take everything that is yours, and you will get the fuck out of my sight, good? And then, when you’re sure I won’t be able to see your ugly face, you’ll come down and clean both the kitchen and the living room. Sounds good?”
Arthur glared at him defiantly, yet soon found himself overpowered by the pure, unadulterated rage in his eyes, sighing and turning around.
“Fine. The money’s there. Enjoy your Chinese.” He muttered before pulling his battered wallet out of his pocket, leaving it on the kitchen counter, and going to his room.
Once inside, he dropped everything on the ground and fell on his bed, the soft, warm covers inviting him immediately. He sighed and let his tired muscles rest before his eyes caught his backpack.
Right. He had homework to do, budget planning for the next month for the after-school clubs to start, and a living room to clean. Sounded like another 2-3 hours of sleep for him tonight. If one of his father’s whores didn’t stay past 1 in the morning, that is.
God, he was so sick of this. This constant rush to complete everything and trying to balance everything on his plate. He hated the world, and all he wanted to do sometimes was sleep forever. He was tired of school, tired of home, tired of life.
He just wanted to sleep, was that so hard to ask for?
And it's not just physiological sleep Arthur wants. The term "tired" is redundant in this fill because Arthur's not just physically tired anymore. Just sayin'
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Arthur rushed into school the next day with a few minutes to spare. His senses were still groggy, and he was still mentally swearing at his alarm clock, like he did every single morning where he was pulled from his blissful, yet horribly brief sleep by the annoying ring.
He ran into class just as the bell rang, announcing the start of school. Panting, he took a moment to catch his breath, trying to filter out the whispers and the eyes trained on him. This was not his ideal way of starting his day.
“What’s wrong, Artie, slept in? Are you sure you’re even awake?” some jock yelled from the back of the room, prompting the entire class into a fit of chuckles and whispers. Arthur blushed and just rushed to his seat, noting the annoyed glint in the teacher’s eyes as he passed by her with a nod of his head.
“Alright, class, calm down. Pull out your textbooks please, and Arthur... Make efforts to listen and try not to fall asleep.” She sighed, a simple comment which prompted more laughter from the class. Arthur felt like sinking into the seventh layer of hell and just staying there. Perhaps the devil would allow him to sleep, at least.
He knew just by the feel of the atmosphere that today was not gonna be a good day.
He resisted the tempting call of sleep throughout the first period and felt immensely proud when he managed to squeeze in some note-taking as well. It wasn’t like he needed to listen much since his grades were pretty high, but he had to study before exams like everyone else and sometimes found himself at loss the day before, having missed out on notes in a particular class.
When the bell rang, he quickly put his stuff in his bag, and, feeling a bit better than before, he strode out. Still, he allowed his eyes to momentarily droop as he walked, turning corridors towards the empty part of the building where the English courses took place.
He had momentarily closed his eyes, letting the chatter of his classmates filter through his ears, when he suddenly walked into someone. His eyes flew open and he immediately went to say something, whether to apologize or tell the person off, he wasn’t sure himself, before he noticed that it was the group of guys from the American football team who kept teasing him all the time.
“Wow, Artie, you should really look where you’re going!” one of them chuckled in mock concern. “Perhaps you’re not awake yet, huh?”
“I am, now leave me alone.” Arthur muttered, looking for a way out, but found himself surrounded. Well, wasn’t this just perfect?
“You don’t look awake.” Another one commented.
“Don’t worry, well help you wake up.” Another one laughed, and Arthur turned just in time to see the bucket held over him.
Well shit.
He gave a loud yelp as the freezing water (and hopefully nothing else) was dumped over his head, his knees buckling at the sudden pressure. He fell to the ground with a groan, immediately shrugging out of his backpack to keep it from getting wetter than it already was.
“Hope you’re awake now, Artie!” the footballs jocks laughed before heading off towards class. Whispers and laughter arose from the crowd present, and Arthur hung his head. He couldn’t even muster the energy he needed to push himself up and go to the bathroom. When had he become such a wreck?
Something the colour of skin suddenly obstructed his view, and he drew in a sharp breath, his hand flying up to wipe it. He paled upon seeing what it was.
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“Shit.” He swore, realizing that his makeup was running, and that soon, the horribly ugly bruises beneath his eyes would show.
“Hey, you okay?” a voice suddenly asked from next to him. Arthur turned just in time to see innocent sky blue eyes blink at him, a hand extended in his direction. “Do you need help?”
Alfred.
Always swooping in to be the hero.
“Sod off.” Arthur grumbled, turning away and helping himself up on his wobbly feet. He lightly slipped on the puddle of water beneath him as he made a move to grab his bag, but Alfred was by his side in a second, steadying him by the shoulders.
“H-Hey, be careful, Artie-”
Oh, why had Arthur hoped that Alfred would at least be different?
“My name’s not Artie! Now unhand me, you bloody twat!” he yelled, violently pushing out of Alfred’s grip and stalking towards the nearest bathroom, leaving behind a bewildered and slightly hurt American who watched him go with a frown.
Once inside the bathroom, Arthur violently chucked his backpack at the wall, frustrated tears welling up in his eyes. Why couldn’t anything ever go right for him?
“Fuck my life.” He sighed, grabbing some towel papers and lifting his long bangs out of the way to wipe the running makeup off his face. As the skin-coloured foundation slowly came off, the purplish skin slowly poked out from below. Arthur hated looking at himself like this. It made him feel so weak, exposed and ugly.
He wasn’t one for looks, but with dark circles as severe as his under his eyes, questions would arise, and he hated receiving pity. So he just settled for makeup. It did the trick and hid his bruise-like bags perfectly, as long as it didn’t come in contact with water.
After cleaning and rinsing his face, he dried it off and fumbled through his backpack, pulling out a pod of foundation makeup and a stick of cover-up. Noticing he didn’t have long before the bell rang for class, he quickly drew random lines with the stick below and above his right eye, then smudged the cover-up accordingly to cover the entirety of the dark patch. Then, he grabbed his powder foundation and used the brush to cover any spots left.
Once he deemed it good enough, he stopped and started working on his left eye.
So engrossed in his work, he didn’t notice the approaching voices of people. He noticed too late as the door swung open and in strode 4 guys from his class.
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Arthur swore, shoving the stick and foundation in his pocket but forgetting the brush in his hand. He clapped another hand over his left eye just in case the bags were still showing and shook his head.
“Was that makeup I just saw?”
“N-No, it was uhh...” completely taken by surprise, Arthur stuttered before laughter made him look away.
“No way. Arthur Kirkland, the angry Brit who always sleeps in class and happens to be student council president wears makeup ?” another one choked out through strings of laughter, making Arthur redden in the face in embarrassment. Coupled with his sopping wet hair and dripping clothes sticking to his thin, bony body, he looked like the exact definition of pitiful.
“Oh man, I gotta tell the guys!” the leader laughed, catching Arthur’s attention. His eyes (or his only visible eye) widened in horror, and he put a hand out to stop them as they turned around to leave.
“N-No, wait, this isn’t what it looks like!” he tried protesting, cut off by more laughter, steadily getting farther as the boys exited the bathroom.
“Oh my god, Kirkland, you’re such a fag.” Was the last jeer he heard before his brain shut him out. Slowly, he leaned against the wall and let himself slide down, his clothes making squelchy sounds as he sat on them.
His lips pursed into a thin line, conflicting emotions giving him a headache (though he attributed it to sleep deprivation again). He didn’t know whether he should be angry, or sad, or vengeful, or just nothing. Right now, he was just so... confused. So confused with what he should be feeling, and so tired of thinking about it.
So he just sat there, against the wall, in a small bundle, not knowing if he should burst out into tears or completely cut the football team’s budget for the next three years to come.
“H-Hey, Arthur...?”
Oh. Oh, there was one left. Arthur couldn’t even find the energy to look up. He was sure he’d see the same worried blue eyes as last time.
“Go away.” He simply whispered. “Go laugh somewhere else.”
“I wasn’t gonna.” Alfred pouted, looking affronted. “I just wanted to know whether you needed help or not.”
“I don’t need your goddamn help.” Arthur muttered, staring at the tiles before pushing himself up and grabbing his backpack. “Tell the teacher I have urgent work to do in my office. I’m not going to class.” He simply informed him before pushing the door and exiting the bathroom.
Unfortunately for him, Alfred was by his side in a second.
“What’s wrong with your eye, though? Are you hurt?” he asked, eyes brimming with concern as he grasped Arthur’s frail (far too bony, were wrists even supposed to be that thin and pale?) wrist, trying to pry it away from his eye.
“I’m fine, just get to class, Jones.” The student council president snapped, slapping his hand away and stalking off. It seemed like his exhausted brain had decided on being angry after all.
Alfred could only watch in confusion and slight hurt as Arthur turned a corner and disappeared.
He just wanted to help... Why was Arthur pushing him away...?
And if Arthur were here and could hear those thoughts, he’d just let out an incredulous laugh and wonder how in hell he managed being so oblivious.
Phew, that's it for today! Author!anon loves your comments, but won't reply so she won't spam >_<" She still loves 'em, though~
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