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~
You totally did not stray from the prompt. I love this. And I love you.
The scene between Arthur and his father was perfect -- I really do believe that emotional abuse and neglect are just as devastating as any form of physical abuse, so I'm glad you decided to take this route... I feel so sadistic. But anyway, you managed to inject real emotion into part four, and I had tears welling up and everything! As if his home life isn't bad enough, he gets bullied too?! I just want to give the poor boy a hug.
I do love how you've kept him so in character though-- being all angry and snarky even when he's crying on the inside. <3 I'm loving this fill and I can't wait for more!
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [5a/?]
anonymous
July 27 2011, 18:18:55 UTC
Omg, your comments makes my life, you guys <3 I'll try not to disappoint~
“So apparently, Kirkland is gonna cut the funds for the football team.” One of the football players announced at their table during lunch.
“The fuck? He can’t do that.” Another rolled his eyes at the empty threat.
“Of course he can, he’s student council president! He decides pretty much everything!” the one next to Alfred contested.
Alfred simply looked at his friends innocently, munching on his fourth hamburger as he watched the arguments and objections fly.
“We could complain to the principal if he does.”
“No way. We’d just tell the coach and he’d give that little bitch his just desserts.”
“Why would you even wait for the coach to make a move? If he cuts our funds, all we gotta do is beat him up after school.” Another suggested, clamouring replies of agreement arising.
Alfred felt his throat lock up.
“Uhhh... guys?” he choked, putting his burger down. “Is the violence really that necessary?”
“If he takes our money to give it to some pussy-ass chess club, then yes, we’ll have to give that little asshole a piece of our mind.” Another one cracked his knuckles, eliciting a few laughs from around him.
“But, uhh... You started it by mocking him...” Alfred pointed out, drawing a few incredulous stares from his group of friends.
“No, we didn’t. You did, Jones. You started it by telling on him every single time he tried to snooze off in class. Not that that’s a bad thing, but point is, you’re the main reason he hates us.” Another one noted.
Alfred’s breath hitched. So... Not only Arthur, but his friends were angry at him too...? But... he was just trying to have fun. Arthur’s reaction was pretty hilarious the first time... And the second time.. . And the third time... And the- Oh damn it all, Alfred had done it because Arthur’s expression had been priceless all 23 times.
“Were you planning on going against us, man?”
He didn’t want this. Things were going too far. He hadn’t wished to upset so many people.
Especially not Arthur.
Annoy him, yes. He wanted to insert himself in Arthur’s life and get closer to him through whatever means necessary, but he didn’t want the student council president to flat-out hate him...
“The hell, Alfred? Answer us!”
“I, uhh...” he fumbled around with his words, a ball forming in his stomach. He didn’t feel so hungry anymore.
“Tell us, Jones. You with us, or against us?”
“If you’re gonna insult Artie like that and gang up on him and beat him up and throw him into an alley, then yes, yes I’m against you. I want to protect Artie, I want to be his hero, I won’t let you touch a single hair on his-”
“With you.” He simply replied, shoving his burger in his mouth to avoid having to say more.
He would get Arthur’s attention, and no one could stop him.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [5b/?]
anonymous
July 27 2011, 19:07:26 UTC
The next time Alfred saw Arthur was in chemistry. Everyone had slipped into their lab coats and glasses, going around collecting the material they needed for the titration test, when he spotted him. Arthur was at the front (and looking quite handsome in that lab coat of his), probably asking the teacher something.
Alfred was so busy looking at Arthur that he almost missed the teacher calling out the group names.
“Alright, so we’re gonna make teams of 2, alphabetical order to keep things simple.” He then started pairing the students together while Alfred tried to figure out who his partner would be.
Jones, J... H, I, J, K... The first name in K would belong to...
The two boys seemed to make the same conclusion at the same time as they immediately turned to face each other, gapes on both of their faces. Alfred, out of delight...
“Jones, Kirkland.”
... And Arthur, out of horror.
It took a while for the two to get settled at their table, seeing as Arthur was adamant on not communicating with him. Sure, Alfred was delighted that he was in a team with his high school crush (don’t tell anyone, though. He didn’t want anyone making fun of him), but he would’ve liked teamwork better.
Besides, he liked chemistry, and really wanted to ace the test, Arthur or no Arthur.
“Alright, so we should get started. Could you pour the mystery solution in the Erlenmeyer? I’ll fill this burette with acidic solution during the meantime.” Alfred decided, letting Arthur handle his stuff while he concentrated on filling the burette with exactly 50ml of the given solution.
The two worked in silence, halfway through switching roles so that Arthur could continue with the burette while Alfred wrote something down in the report.
Arthur gulped down and looked at the laboratory gear, remembering that the teacher warned them that burettes were very fragile. He’d have to do something about his trembling hands if he was to do this correctly.
“Go on.” Alfred prompted, still writing down the analysis of what had happened up to now.
Not wanting to disappoint any more than he had to, Arthur nodded and gulped down, opening the burette latch and waiting for a millilitre to drop into the solution. When it did, he jerkily closed the hatch and pulled the Erlenmeyer out from under it, mixing the two substances together and watching for a colour change. The base substance, though, remained fuchsia red. Looks like they’d need more.
His hands shook, helping the mixing process a bit, but when he turned around to set his Erlenmeyer on the table again, a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and he stumbled, falling to his knees with a surprised yelp. The Erlenmeyer smashed against the floor, ruby liquid flowing through the cracks in the tiles.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [5c/?]
anonymous
July 27 2011, 19:10:33 UTC
Almost unconsciously, Arthur found himself apologizing. Over and over and over again. And he didn’t know why. Arthur Kirkland never apologized. Why was he apologizing now? It felt like it wasn’t even his voice speaking in a rushed, panicked tone. Like some other part of him that he’d kept locked up since forever.
Through his apologizing, he heard students laughing and clapping cynically around them, partly masked by the sound of Alfred’s worried voice in his ear. Alfred was speaking to him. What was he saying? It was hard to understand when it wasn’t even him inside his own body. He felt like he was drifting away.
“Arthur... something... Stop...nothing... say...”
Arthur slowly became aware of a warm pair of arms circling his shoulders, supporting him in his sitting position. One hand was grasping his right one, and his left one was burning for some reason. Slowly, he felt his conscience being tugged back into his body, and the world suddenly rushed back. He jerked in Alfred’s arms and took a shaky breath, looking up at him. Panicked green met worried blue, and the world froze for a second before Alfred’s words rushed back to his ears.
“Arthur, please say something... Stop apologizing, it’s nothing... Just please say something else...” the blond was whispering, every word breathed so close to Arthur’s ear driving him that much closer to the edge.
“Uhh...” Arthur finally stammered, his gaze straying to the failed experiment on the ground. “Bloody hell, this sucks.” He dumbly muttered.
Above him, Alfred chuckled, relieved, and slowly pulled him up from the ground.
“That’s my Artie alright.”
“My name’s Arthur, and I don’t belong to you, bloody git.” Arthur swore before sharp pain assailed his left hand. Gasping, he clutched it to his chest, swearing softly. Suddenly, his hand was pulled away by the teacher, who inspected the shard of glass in his hand and sighed.
“Alright, Arthur, come with me. We’ll bandage your hand while Alfred restarts the experiment. You can just stick to filling the analysis afterwards.” He decided, gently leading Arthur away.
Once at reasonable distance, he sat Arthur down and pulled the first aid kit out, frowning.
“Why did you collapse?”
“Like I chose to collapse in the middle of an experiment.” Arthur huffed, putting his hand out.
“Were you injured before today?”
“No, but I have been feeling sick for a few days now. I just got hit by a wave of dizziness, is all.” He muttered, not telling the truth, but not lying either.
After so many years of practice, he’d figured out that the best lie was on the very edge of truth.
“Go get some rest at the infirmary.”
“I can’t, sir, I don’t want to let Alfred work alone.”
Lie. He just didn’t want to miss out on any more lessons... Or was it a lie at all? Maybe he subconsciously liked spending time with Alfred.
“Then after detention, go straight home to bed.”
“I will, sir.”
Lie. The winter dance’s blueprints still hadn’t been started and it was in a month. Plus, his father’s bedroom probably needed cleaning, judging by all the awkward noises that were coming from it at around 2 in the morning last night.
“And tell your father. He should take you to a doctor if the sickness persists.”
“I’ll tell him that.”
Lie. Big bloody lie. Like the man would even give a flying fuck what his son did in school. He couldn’t care less about his accomplishments, so why would he care about the bad things that came with school?
“Good. Now there, you’re all set. Get back to work and take it easy.” The teacher smiled, patting Arthur’s bandaged hand comfortingly. If Arthur were a cat, his fur would have bristled at the motion. “And remember, Arthur. If you ever need to talk...”
“I know, sir, I know.” Arthur muttered, swiftly turning around and heading back to his workstation, ignoring the furtive glances and whispers destined for him and him only.
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [5d/?]
anonymous
July 27 2011, 19:16:34 UTC
By the time Arthur was done with detention, it was already dark outside. His hand was numb from writing so much, he still felt humid and sticky, he was hungry and so tired . He’d almost fallen asleep three times while copying the dictionary, and had mostly spent his detention time trying to keep himself awake instead of actually copying.
Thankfully, the teacher hadn’t commented on the measly three and a half pages he’d accomplished and had let him off with a warning.
The cold winter chill ran through his body as the wind howled. Snow would start soon, and Arthur was not looking forward to it. He sneezed into his scarf and buried himself tighter in his winter clothing, shivering when the still-humid patches of his clothing came in contact with the cold wind.
The last thing he needed was to get sick.
Thankfully, his father worked late on Thursdays and went to a bar after that, so Arthur had the house to himself until up to midnight. The downside was that his father came home with a whore (or two, sometimes) 50% of the time, so after midnight, there would be really loud sex until the early morning hours.
Arthur did his best to ignore it and get work done. He hated Thursdays.
Unfortunately for him, there was a surprise waiting for him when he stepped inside their flat. A package, with a note on it, destined for him. A delivery.
“Well shit. It’s my only day off from you and you still make me work my arse off. Bloody hell.” Arthur grabbed the package, ripping the instructions left for him off of it and glaring daggers at the address written on the yellow post-it.
Sometimes, his father would leave packages for him to deliver places. He never told him what was inside, but frankly, Arthur didn’t care. Whatever it was, it was getting them money, and it was helping them live. So Arthur did it.
And even though he felt light headed and knew that with this delivery, he’d probably be back in two hours, if not more, he quickly changed into his street clothes and slipped back into the darkness of the streets.
Sounded like another sleepless night to him. He really shouldn’t have made it a habit of accumulating those one after the other.
All this is accumulation for the climax, if you couldn't tell~ Also, let me warn you that I'm used to writing fanfiction and not kink meme fills, so my updates can and will be lengthy at times. Part 6 goes up to 6f OTL
I'm still loving this like you wouldn't believe, and I don't think that anyone is complaining about update lengths, least of all me! This is so very well written and I loved how we got a peek at Alfred's thoughts this chapter :) how can you produce these pangs in my heart and tears in my eyes so easily?! I'm desperately looking forward to the climax, and I can't wait to read the next chapter! <3
Life is a Beautiful Nightmare [6a/?]
anonymous
July 28 2011, 22:20:28 UTC
Here we go for the seemingly endless string of divisions for part 6 OTL. Enjoy~
Saying Arthur felt like a zombie in the morning would be an understatement.
“I feel like a dead zombie that just rose up again, died, and rose up again. And died.” He groaned to himself (or to his fairy friend, which he curiously only seemed to see when he was extremely tired) as he crossed the street to school.
And if he were in a more rested state of mind that morning, he would have caught himself and kicked his own ass at how dumb he’d sounded with the previous sentence. But he didn’t, because his mind could barely register anything at all. His bag felt like lead, the books inside weighing heavily on his back like rocks.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, his tired mind argued with him), Arthur started the day with English, one of the rare classes he enjoyed and made genuine efforts not to fall asleep in, and then P.E, meaning he could take his time between the two classes.
Hopefully, the first period would wake him up. They were doing Shakespeare at the moment, a subject that reminded Arthur of England, his own home and friends, and of a better life. During English class, he couldn’t help but let a smile slip onto his face as he followed along the current reader as the students took turns narrating the play.
So engrossed in his perfect world of bliss and happiness, he didn’t notice when Alfred turned his gaze from next to him to check the page they were on, but noticed the small, almost shy smile on the Brit’s face instead.
The two boys spent the entire class with their stares frozen. Arthur drank in Shakespeare’s soothing, familiar words, to recall when he was feeling sad and lonely as Alfred worked on analysing, mapping and archiving the rarely serene expression on Arthur’s face, to remember when he was feeling rejected and lovesick.
Time seemed to pass too quickly for them, the shrill sound of the bell snapping them out of their trances simultaneously. Both packed up without another word and left with the crowd of students, towards the gym.
While Alfred was jumping up and down in glee at the prospect of P.E class, Arthur was mentally begging whatever god was willing to listen to him at that moment to spare him.
He barely had the energy to walk in a straight line (he actually had to use the walls to make sure his blurry vision didn’t fail him), much less run laps and play volleyball with a gang of football players.
The boys and girls separated at the changing rooms, each going their own way. A jeering cry of “Hey Artie, you’re in the wrong changing room!” reminded Arthur that he still needed to cut the football team’s funds, but asides that, he simply changed in relative silence, quickly slipping into his shirt and shorts and unknowingly blocking a pair of worried blue eyes from analysing his bony, too-pale body.
The simple action of stepping into the gym and smelling the heavy, sweaty air made another wave of dizziness rush to him, sending him grabbing for the nearest hold to keep him from falling. Once steadied, he took a deep breath and bravely ventured inside. At worst, he’d just take it light, to keep his blurry vision from taking him tumbling. Everyone knew P.E wasn’t his best subject, too, so he could get off easy if he acted it out right.
“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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The scene between Arthur and his father was perfect -- I really do believe that emotional abuse and neglect are just as devastating as any form of physical abuse, so I'm glad you decided to take this route... I feel so sadistic. But anyway, you managed to inject real emotion into part four, and I had tears welling up and everything! As if his home life isn't bad enough, he gets bullied too?! I just want to give the poor boy a hug.
I do love how you've kept him so in character though-- being all angry and snarky even when he's crying on the inside. <3 I'm loving this fill and I can't wait for more!
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“So apparently, Kirkland is gonna cut the funds for the football team.” One of the football players announced at their table during lunch.
“The fuck? He can’t do that.” Another rolled his eyes at the empty threat.
“Of course he can, he’s student council president! He decides pretty much everything!” the one next to Alfred contested.
Alfred simply looked at his friends innocently, munching on his fourth hamburger as he watched the arguments and objections fly.
“We could complain to the principal if he does.”
“No way. We’d just tell the coach and he’d give that little bitch his just desserts.”
“Why would you even wait for the coach to make a move? If he cuts our funds, all we gotta do is beat him up after school.” Another suggested, clamouring replies of agreement arising.
Alfred felt his throat lock up.
“Uhhh... guys?” he choked, putting his burger down. “Is the violence really that necessary?”
“If he takes our money to give it to some pussy-ass chess club, then yes, we’ll have to give that little asshole a piece of our mind.” Another one cracked his knuckles, eliciting a few laughs from around him.
“But, uhh... You started it by mocking him...” Alfred pointed out, drawing a few incredulous stares from his group of friends.
“No, we didn’t. You did, Jones. You started it by telling on him every single time he tried to snooze off in class. Not that that’s a bad thing, but point is, you’re the main reason he hates us.” Another one noted.
Alfred’s breath hitched. So... Not only Arthur, but his friends were angry at him too...? But... he was just trying to have fun. Arthur’s reaction was pretty hilarious the first time... And the second time.. . And the third time... And the- Oh damn it all, Alfred had done it because Arthur’s expression had been priceless all 23 times.
“Were you planning on going against us, man?”
He didn’t want this. Things were going too far. He hadn’t wished to upset so many people.
Especially not Arthur.
Annoy him, yes. He wanted to insert himself in Arthur’s life and get closer to him through whatever means necessary, but he didn’t want the student council president to flat-out hate him...
“The hell, Alfred? Answer us!”
“I, uhh...” he fumbled around with his words, a ball forming in his stomach. He didn’t feel so hungry anymore.
“Tell us, Jones. You with us, or against us?”
“If you’re gonna insult Artie like that and gang up on him and beat him up and throw him into an alley, then yes, yes I’m against you. I want to protect Artie, I want to be his hero, I won’t let you touch a single hair on his-”
“With you.” He simply replied, shoving his burger in his mouth to avoid having to say more.
He would get Arthur’s attention, and no one could stop him.
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Alfred was so busy looking at Arthur that he almost missed the teacher calling out the group names.
“Alright, so we’re gonna make teams of 2, alphabetical order to keep things simple.” He then started pairing the students together while Alfred tried to figure out who his partner would be.
Jones, J... H, I, J, K... The first name in K would belong to...
The two boys seemed to make the same conclusion at the same time as they immediately turned to face each other, gapes on both of their faces. Alfred, out of delight...
“Jones, Kirkland.”
... And Arthur, out of horror.
It took a while for the two to get settled at their table, seeing as Arthur was adamant on not communicating with him. Sure, Alfred was delighted that he was in a team with his high school crush (don’t tell anyone, though. He didn’t want anyone making fun of him), but he would’ve liked teamwork better.
Besides, he liked chemistry, and really wanted to ace the test, Arthur or no Arthur.
“Alright, so we should get started. Could you pour the mystery solution in the Erlenmeyer? I’ll fill this burette with acidic solution during the meantime.” Alfred decided, letting Arthur handle his stuff while he concentrated on filling the burette with exactly 50ml of the given solution.
The two worked in silence, halfway through switching roles so that Arthur could continue with the burette while Alfred wrote something down in the report.
Arthur gulped down and looked at the laboratory gear, remembering that the teacher warned them that burettes were very fragile. He’d have to do something about his trembling hands if he was to do this correctly.
“Go on.” Alfred prompted, still writing down the analysis of what had happened up to now.
Not wanting to disappoint any more than he had to, Arthur nodded and gulped down, opening the burette latch and waiting for a millilitre to drop into the solution. When it did, he jerkily closed the hatch and pulled the Erlenmeyer out from under it, mixing the two substances together and watching for a colour change. The base substance, though, remained fuchsia red. Looks like they’d need more.
His hands shook, helping the mixing process a bit, but when he turned around to set his Erlenmeyer on the table again, a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and he stumbled, falling to his knees with a surprised yelp. The Erlenmeyer smashed against the floor, ruby liquid flowing through the cracks in the tiles.
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Through his apologizing, he heard students laughing and clapping cynically around them, partly masked by the sound of Alfred’s worried voice in his ear. Alfred was speaking to him. What was he saying? It was hard to understand when it wasn’t even him inside his own body. He felt like he was drifting away.
“Arthur... something... Stop...nothing... say...”
Arthur slowly became aware of a warm pair of arms circling his shoulders, supporting him in his sitting position. One hand was grasping his right one, and his left one was burning for some reason. Slowly, he felt his conscience being tugged back into his body, and the world suddenly rushed back. He jerked in Alfred’s arms and took a shaky breath, looking up at him. Panicked green met worried blue, and the world froze for a second before Alfred’s words rushed back to his ears.
“Arthur, please say something... Stop apologizing, it’s nothing... Just please say something else...” the blond was whispering, every word breathed so close to Arthur’s ear driving him that much closer to the edge.
“Uhh...” Arthur finally stammered, his gaze straying to the failed experiment on the ground. “Bloody hell, this sucks.” He dumbly muttered.
Above him, Alfred chuckled, relieved, and slowly pulled him up from the ground.
“That’s my Artie alright.”
“My name’s Arthur, and I don’t belong to you, bloody git.” Arthur swore before sharp pain assailed his left hand. Gasping, he clutched it to his chest, swearing softly. Suddenly, his hand was pulled away by the teacher, who inspected the shard of glass in his hand and sighed.
“Alright, Arthur, come with me. We’ll bandage your hand while Alfred restarts the experiment. You can just stick to filling the analysis afterwards.” He decided, gently leading Arthur away.
Once at reasonable distance, he sat Arthur down and pulled the first aid kit out, frowning.
“Why did you collapse?”
“Like I chose to collapse in the middle of an experiment.” Arthur huffed, putting his hand out.
“Were you injured before today?”
“No, but I have been feeling sick for a few days now. I just got hit by a wave of dizziness, is all.” He muttered, not telling the truth, but not lying either.
After so many years of practice, he’d figured out that the best lie was on the very edge of truth.
“Go get some rest at the infirmary.”
“I can’t, sir, I don’t want to let Alfred work alone.”
Lie. He just didn’t want to miss out on any more lessons... Or was it a lie at all? Maybe he subconsciously liked spending time with Alfred.
“Then after detention, go straight home to bed.”
“I will, sir.”
Lie. The winter dance’s blueprints still hadn’t been started and it was in a month. Plus, his father’s bedroom probably needed cleaning, judging by all the awkward noises that were coming from it at around 2 in the morning last night.
“And tell your father. He should take you to a doctor if the sickness persists.”
“I’ll tell him that.”
Lie. Big bloody lie. Like the man would even give a flying fuck what his son did in school. He couldn’t care less about his accomplishments, so why would he care about the bad things that came with school?
“Good. Now there, you’re all set. Get back to work and take it easy.” The teacher smiled, patting Arthur’s bandaged hand comfortingly. If Arthur were a cat, his fur would have bristled at the motion. “And remember, Arthur. If you ever need to talk...”
“I know, sir, I know.” Arthur muttered, swiftly turning around and heading back to his workstation, ignoring the furtive glances and whispers destined for him and him only.
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Thankfully, the teacher hadn’t commented on the measly three and a half pages he’d accomplished and had let him off with a warning.
The cold winter chill ran through his body as the wind howled. Snow would start soon, and Arthur was not looking forward to it. He sneezed into his scarf and buried himself tighter in his winter clothing, shivering when the still-humid patches of his clothing came in contact with the cold wind.
The last thing he needed was to get sick.
Thankfully, his father worked late on Thursdays and went to a bar after that, so Arthur had the house to himself until up to midnight. The downside was that his father came home with a whore (or two, sometimes) 50% of the time, so after midnight, there would be really loud sex until the early morning hours.
Arthur did his best to ignore it and get work done. He hated Thursdays.
Unfortunately for him, there was a surprise waiting for him when he stepped inside their flat. A package, with a note on it, destined for him. A delivery.
“Well shit. It’s my only day off from you and you still make me work my arse off. Bloody hell.” Arthur grabbed the package, ripping the instructions left for him off of it and glaring daggers at the address written on the yellow post-it.
Sometimes, his father would leave packages for him to deliver places. He never told him what was inside, but frankly, Arthur didn’t care. Whatever it was, it was getting them money, and it was helping them live. So Arthur did it.
And even though he felt light headed and knew that with this delivery, he’d probably be back in two hours, if not more, he quickly changed into his street clothes and slipped back into the darkness of the streets.
Sounded like another sleepless night to him. He really shouldn’t have made it a habit of accumulating those one after the other.
All this is accumulation for the climax, if you couldn't tell~ Also, let me warn you that I'm used to writing fanfiction and not kink meme fills, so my updates can and will be lengthy at times. Part 6 goes up to 6f OTL
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Loving lenghty updates.
Awww Arthur I just want to give him a hug.
But seriously, I the emotions in this are so correct....
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Saying Arthur felt like a zombie in the morning would be an understatement.
“I feel like a dead zombie that just rose up again, died, and rose up again. And died.” He groaned to himself (or to his fairy friend, which he curiously only seemed to see when he was extremely tired) as he crossed the street to school.
And if he were in a more rested state of mind that morning, he would have caught himself and kicked his own ass at how dumb he’d sounded with the previous sentence. But he didn’t, because his mind could barely register anything at all. His bag felt like lead, the books inside weighing heavily on his back like rocks.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, his tired mind argued with him), Arthur started the day with English, one of the rare classes he enjoyed and made genuine efforts not to fall asleep in, and then P.E, meaning he could take his time between the two classes.
Hopefully, the first period would wake him up. They were doing Shakespeare at the moment, a subject that reminded Arthur of England, his own home and friends, and of a better life. During English class, he couldn’t help but let a smile slip onto his face as he followed along the current reader as the students took turns narrating the play.
So engrossed in his perfect world of bliss and happiness, he didn’t notice when Alfred turned his gaze from next to him to check the page they were on, but noticed the small, almost shy smile on the Brit’s face instead.
The two boys spent the entire class with their stares frozen. Arthur drank in Shakespeare’s soothing, familiar words, to recall when he was feeling sad and lonely as Alfred worked on analysing, mapping and archiving the rarely serene expression on Arthur’s face, to remember when he was feeling rejected and lovesick.
Time seemed to pass too quickly for them, the shrill sound of the bell snapping them out of their trances simultaneously. Both packed up without another word and left with the crowd of students, towards the gym.
While Alfred was jumping up and down in glee at the prospect of P.E class, Arthur was mentally begging whatever god was willing to listen to him at that moment to spare him.
He barely had the energy to walk in a straight line (he actually had to use the walls to make sure his blurry vision didn’t fail him), much less run laps and play volleyball with a gang of football players.
The boys and girls separated at the changing rooms, each going their own way. A jeering cry of “Hey Artie, you’re in the wrong changing room!” reminded Arthur that he still needed to cut the football team’s funds, but asides that, he simply changed in relative silence, quickly slipping into his shirt and shorts and unknowingly blocking a pair of worried blue eyes from analysing his bony, too-pale body.
The simple action of stepping into the gym and smelling the heavy, sweaty air made another wave of dizziness rush to him, sending him grabbing for the nearest hold to keep him from falling. Once steadied, he took a deep breath and bravely ventured inside. At worst, he’d just take it light, to keep his blurry vision from taking him tumbling. Everyone knew P.E wasn’t his best subject, too, so he could get off easy if he acted it out right.
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