Disorder and Discord (1/4)
anonymous
March 29 2009, 06:30:39 UTC
It’s become a hobby of his; it’s rather petty, but Feliciano loves doing it all the same just because he knows he’s the only one who can.
He slides the pencil two millimetres sideways. Ludwig twitches and tenses, his eyes watching it like a hawk, relentlessly, agitated, transfixed.
“What’s wrong, Ludwiiiiig?” He’s a bastard, and he knows it. He twists the pencil a little under his finger and the German next to him grimaces ever so slightly, almost as if the pencil is a part of him and he needs it, needs it back-
Feliciano moves his hand away from his neighbour’s desk, and like lightning Ludwig nudges the stick back into perfect, precise order along with his pens and ruler and pencils and erasers, all aligned and in colour order and sharpened to precise points.
-back in place. Ludwig relaxes, releasing a sigh. Then he remembers to be angry and bites out a snarl at the Italian leaning back on his chair (slovenly), with papers all over his desk (disorganised), notes scribbled illegibly (scatter-brained) and a triumphant smile on his face (worthless).
“Will you cut it out, you stupid Italian?” He reaches a hand out to move the other’s notebook (He needs to, it’s not right, it’s not in balance and why can’t Feliciano see that?) into some semblance of order, but Feliciano catches his wrist in one casual movement, eyes twinkling.
He kisses the fingers playfully in what he hopes is a seductive fashion but really isn’t. Later, he will explain it away as Italian tradition and Ludwig will believe him because he wants to, but now his best friend flushes and blusters and pulls away.
In their shared dorm the towels are folded in right angles, the bench is always spotless and the beds are always perfectly made because Ludwig stays behind every morning to fix them. Feliciano watches him with an odd feeling in his throat, thinking of messy beds and a kitchen that shows signs of love and use and clothes that smell of German instead of Nothing.
While Ludwig angrily ignores him, Feliciano stretches over and moves his favourite fountain pen out of position. He enjoys this sense of power more than he probably should.
-
“Mathieu?” Francis knocks on the door to the dorm again, eyebrows tense and drawn. He is supposed to be in; hockey training had finished two hours ago at the latest. “…Mathieu?”
There’s a small, slow laugh from the other side of the door which the Frenchman takes to be Matthew, but it sounds out of place and more than a little hysteric. He unsuccessfully rattles the doorknob. “Mon Dieu, Mathieu, you will open the door this instant!”
Another pause. Then, “…Alfred’s not here. Go away.”
“Alfred?” Francis doesn’t understand. He’s not looking for Matthew’s brother. “Mathieu, c’est moi. Francis.”
There’s finally some sign of movement and life as he hears heavy steps coming towards the doorway. There’s a crash and a muffled curse in Quebecois, then enough time for Francis to begin to feel his mouth grow dry. Matthew struggles with the door, twisting the handle until, finally, the door opens.
Francis has to clap a hand over his nose to stop the sickeningly familiar sweet sent from assaulting him. The room hangs with the smell of smoke. The Canadian looks at him through dazed, vacant eyes.
“Dieu.” Matthew speaks unclearly and with great deliberation, staring at Francis. “…Your face is amazing.” His hands creep up towards his cheeks. Francis stops him, a mixture of anger and fear rising up inside.
“I thought you weren’t going to do this anymore,” he forces out, taking in his friend’s dopey expression. He grabs the other’s hand. “You- you’re late to French.”
Matthew resists limply, looking confused. “…but it’s only lunch, Franics. What’re you talkn ‘bout?”
“…Class started half and hour ago, non? You have missed out on your lesson.”
What begins as a look of puzzlement turns gradually into amusement and then into full-blown laughter. The boy struggles to hold himself up, slumping against the doorframe in drowsy mirth. “Alfred…Alfred doesn’t even…take French!” he wheezes out, a comedian with his best punch line. How stupid could Francis be? “How can he…he can’t…haha- he can’t be late…”
Disorder and Discord (2/4)
anonymous
March 29 2009, 06:44:12 UTC
Francis slaps him.
“I am talking about you, Mathieu, not your brother. Now come.” Canada has suddenly drawn himself to his full height, glasses hanging slightly off centre on his face. His face flushes in anger.
“…You hit me.” His voice is dangerously quiet and slurred. “You’re like them, aren’t you? You only want me to go with you so you can look better next to me- you…you’re always like that Francis- you…”
“Mathieu-“
“No. Non. Look at me, look at me- that’s all you are Francis. You and Alfred and…always, don’t ignore me, don’t ignore… sick of it.”
The Canadian breaks away and slams the door in his face. He turns towards the stuffed bear on his bed and tells Kumajirou that, secretly, he’s actually not his brother, even if everybody thinks that he is. Kumajirou tilts his head and tells Alfred to shut up and start talking sense.
Outside, Francis stands in front of the door and feels Matthew’s words sting for long minutes.
-
Shit.
Lovino needs pasta. He doesn’t even know what kind. He just needs to cook something and eat it, even if the tomatoes are canned shit and the spaghetti is instant. For a moment he even considers buying the bloated, overcooked crap from the cafeteria.
He forces himself to stop, to breath, to calm down. He doesn’t need to eat. He concentrates on the writhing, sinking, swooping feeling in his stomach and admits to himself that it’s not hunger. It’s not hunger and he’s not hungry and eating now will only make him sick.
It’s not hunger that’s making him feel empty like this. It’s just that feeling he gets whenever he enters his brother’s dorm and sees Feliciano curled up on that fucking German’s bed with a dirty school uniform from the laundry hamper, when he sees his brother run his tongue over that stupid, clueless bastard’s fingers in the back row of History class, when he realises that his brother lov-
-Screw this. Lovino’s hungry and he’s going to make a bucket-load of pasta and that’s all there is too it.
-
The school counsellor sighs and taps her fingers together. Heracles watches her through hooded eyes, awkwardly large in the spindly plastic chair. “So…” he mumbles with barely a questioning inflection. “Is…that a bad…thing?”
She pushes her glasses back up her nose. “Well, yes. Your teachers have been complaining about your…your participation in class. Or rather, your lack of participation.”
Lost in imaginings of Zeus and Apollo and Athena he only just catches the last couple of words. He blinks slowly, almost like a cat. “But…I’m not failing…”
“No, not at all.” She’s quick to back off, waving her hands. “You seem to be studying well. But Hypersomnia isn’t something to take lightly. There are a range of medications available- or another option is simple light therapy…”
Heracles closes his eyes and goes to sleep.
-
Arthur taps his foot impatiently. “Oh, come on, you sod. We’re going to be late.”
Alfred closes his mobile and shoots him a grin. “You’re impatient tonight Artie.” The Briton rolls his eyes, but Alfred persists with that insufferable smile spread across his cheeks. “Could it possibly be because I happened to catch you in the bathroom the other day?”
“Alfred, I’m warning you-“
“No, no- plucking your eyebrows is perfectly manly, Arthur. I just wanted to warn you that your tweezers might not be up to such a long haul-”
“Do you want us to make Ivan wait or something?” he snaps. Alfred freezes and shuts up, pulling his shoes on a little more frantically.
Ivan and Latvia are waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase. “Sorry we’re a little late,” America says easily, pulling on his bomber jacket. “Kiku sends his apologies. He’s kinda busy with some project or something, but he said he was honoured to be invited.”
“A pity,” the Russian quips, hand on Latvia’s shoulder.
Arthur inwardly groans as Alfred rubs his hands together eagerly. “So- what was this you said about a bar with a mean vodka?”
Disorder and Discord (3/4)
anonymous
March 29 2009, 06:52:47 UTC
The bar is actually a lot more acceptable than Arthur would have expected from Ivan. Ivan’s sensibility makes Arthur’s head twist unpleasantly when he tries to understand it, but this time he find himself appreciating the Russian’s taste. They even serve warm beer, and for the first time in a while he finds himself relaxing as they eat simple bar French fries and skewers and laugh at their lecturers and dorm mates. Ivan and Alfred bounce arguments off of each other, downing vodka almost like water.
Arthur’s eyes rest on Raivis, the two of them sitting quietly next to their friends and watching them become more and more passionate as they turn their discussion to politics. He counts the glasses on the bar in front of the boy and…wait. He blinks. Arthur can’t be drunk yet- he’s only had a few beers.
The number of glasses in front of blond boy isn’t a hallucination. “err…Raivis?” he says quietly. “Are you…alright?”
He hangs his head like he’s ashamed, eyes dark and face lax. He shakes his head, not raising his eyes. Arthur feels his heart stop. “You feel sick? I can get you something-”
Raivis shakes his head harder, letting a small sound out of his throat. “Nothing. ’S nothing. … not alright.”
Glancing nervously at Ivan before scooting closer, Arthur rests a hand on Raivis’ back. “It’s not alright?” he prods gently, taking his glass of vodka away. The boy seems to curl in on himself. He’s sobbing, Arthur realises. Raivis is sobbing heartbrokenly, quietly.
“…Ivan…sorry. I’m sorry…”
Then, Alfred’s booming voice shatters the air between them. “Hey Art- I beat your score in English, right? I told you, Ivan, I said-“
Arthur stays silent. His friends turn to him and Raivis hides his face in the bar.
“Oh, Raivis,” the Russian sighs. “I am telling you always that drinking so fast is not helping you.”
After what Arthur has heard, Ivan’s comment sends chills down his spine, but he has no time to worry about that because Alfred has his face in his personal space.
“We should probably head off then,” the American says. “Wouldn’t want to make Rai suffer.”
The Latvian says nothing.
-
Click. Clatter.
“Yun Soo, I thought you were off!”
“In a second Aniki. In a second.”
Yao storms through the room, finally fed up. “You said that an hour ago. And two hours ago. You haven’t even started that report, aru!”
“In a second. I swear.” Yao stands and crossed his arms. He has to do this report. They have to do it and he has to do well. He has to, because last test he made stupid mistakes and only came in second after Japan, and that’s not good enough. He has to be the best, or he won’t be able to face his parents back in China.
Click. Click.
Yao glares at him. He’s always online. Never does anything else, and Yao’s beginning to wonder if it’s healthy or not. He has to remind Yun Soo to eat sometimes; he wakes up in the middle of the night to see his brother’s face illuminated by a laptop screen.
“It’s like…feeling connected to everything, you know?” he’d tried to explain once. “And when I’m not on, then- who knows what I’m missing? I might miss an e-mail or someone on DODA might need me or…I dunno. I’m scared if I’m not communicating. You know?”
Yao doesn’t know at all. He walks off finishes their report alone, worrying about test percentages and keyboards.
Disorder and Discord (4/4)
anonymous
March 29 2009, 07:00:49 UTC
The sound of retching fills the bar’s restroom.
Alfred is purging in the toilet.
Arthur rests the back of his head against the door and closes his eyes, emotion surging under his skin and deep in his chest. He listens until the sound is gone, and then gives his friend a minute before opening the door to peer inside. Alfred jerks his head up from the sink where he is washing his hands.
“Ready to go?” he asks, forcing himself to smile and look him in the eye. He’s a liar. He’s staring at a liar, but he’s the one living the lie because he knows. He’s known about this for years and he doesn’t know what to do. Arthur’s a liar, and Alfred’s a liar, and Raivis has been lying to them all along about something that they’ll probably never find out.
As they walk out together into the night, Arthur thinks that Ivan is probably the only honest one between them. Suddenly his eyebrows don’t seem like such a big problem any more.
-
Kiku Honda watches Alfred, Arthur, Ivan and Latvia walking back in the dark outside, three storeys below and somehow even further away. They look as though they’re having fun.
Kiku likes Arthur- he’s friendly and amiable in a sarcastic kind of way. Latvia smiles at him in their Advanced Physics classes; Kiku should really apologise to Ivan for that fight that they had at the end of last year, but he never has. Alfred’s always the life of every party, they say.
Not that Kiku would know, of course. He never goes.
He’s always asked. Taiwan flirts with him when they sit next to each other in class. He has plenty of friends- people he talks to in class about tests and so on. He visits Feliciano and Ludwig’s dorm sometimes and they have fun, talking and laughing and drinking a quiet German beer or two.
But he can’t. He can’t leave his room, he can’t go and talk with people and god-forbid should he ever go into a bar, because they’d be real people there, strangers…
It hurts him when he has to turn down Feliciano’s offer to celebrate his birthday at a nearby club. When Alfred rings him up and tells him that Ivan-knows-a-cool-new-bar-want-to-come? he wants nothing more than to be able to just say yes.
But he knows that it’s just pity. They don’t really like him. And even if they do, Kiku’ll do something strange and he’ll embarrass himself and they’ll all laugh. He’ll have to do something that isn’t part of the everyday, isn’t on his script. He’ll have to improvise in front of all of his perfect, happy, social friends, and he’ll fail. And that terrifies him more than anything.
As he listens to Alfred’s voice outside in the corridor, Kiku curls up in his bed and wishes that he were normal.
- Sorry- anon is not really familiar with human names. Hope they were all correct...^^;
I suppose this is all up to interpretation but just in case you want a list:
Re: Disorder and Discord (4/4)
anonymous
March 29 2009, 08:46:19 UTC
Oh. Oh my.
T_T
My heart broke anew with every character I read. Why, oh why, did these characterisations fit so well? The ones I loved most were Canada's, South Italy's and Japan's because they were just too devastaingly true. And the bit about Arthur thinking that Ivan may be the most honest of the all? That line was the one that moved me he most.
Re: Disorder and Discord (4/4)
anonymous
March 31 2009, 01:58:52 UTC
I enjoyed this probably more than I should have. The Germany and Italy part was adorable and the bar scene was interesting (I liked the bar scene but I can't seem to describe how or why I liked it). I was surprised with Greece being a hypersomniac though it defiantly seems to fit him. (I have hypersomnia too but I have medication.) Anyway good job author!anon
He slides the pencil two millimetres sideways. Ludwig twitches and tenses, his eyes watching it like a hawk, relentlessly, agitated, transfixed.
“What’s wrong, Ludwiiiiig?” He’s a bastard, and he knows it. He twists the pencil a little under his finger and the German next to him grimaces ever so slightly, almost as if the pencil is a part of him and he needs it, needs it back-
Feliciano moves his hand away from his neighbour’s desk, and like lightning Ludwig nudges the stick back into perfect, precise order along with his pens and ruler and pencils and erasers, all aligned and in colour order and sharpened to precise points.
-back in place. Ludwig relaxes, releasing a sigh. Then he remembers to be angry and bites out a snarl at the Italian leaning back on his chair (slovenly), with papers all over his desk (disorganised), notes scribbled illegibly (scatter-brained) and a triumphant smile on his face (worthless).
“Will you cut it out, you stupid Italian?” He reaches a hand out to move the other’s notebook (He needs to, it’s not right, it’s not in balance and why can’t Feliciano see that?) into some semblance of order, but Feliciano catches his wrist in one casual movement, eyes twinkling.
He kisses the fingers playfully in what he hopes is a seductive fashion but really isn’t. Later, he will explain it away as Italian tradition and Ludwig will believe him because he wants to, but now his best friend flushes and blusters and pulls away.
In their shared dorm the towels are folded in right angles, the bench is always spotless and the beds are always perfectly made because Ludwig stays behind every morning to fix them. Feliciano watches him with an odd feeling in his throat, thinking of messy beds and a kitchen that shows signs of love and use and clothes that smell of German instead of Nothing.
While Ludwig angrily ignores him, Feliciano stretches over and moves his favourite fountain pen out of position. He enjoys this sense of power more than he probably should.
-
“Mathieu?” Francis knocks on the door to the dorm again, eyebrows tense and drawn. He is supposed to be in; hockey training had finished two hours ago at the latest. “…Mathieu?”
There’s a small, slow laugh from the other side of the door which the Frenchman takes to be Matthew, but it sounds out of place and more than a little hysteric. He unsuccessfully rattles the doorknob. “Mon Dieu, Mathieu, you will open the door this instant!”
Another pause. Then, “…Alfred’s not here. Go away.”
“Alfred?” Francis doesn’t understand. He’s not looking for Matthew’s brother. “Mathieu, c’est moi. Francis.”
There’s finally some sign of movement and life as he hears heavy steps coming towards the doorway. There’s a crash and a muffled curse in Quebecois, then enough time for Francis to begin to feel his mouth grow dry. Matthew struggles with the door, twisting the handle until, finally, the door opens.
Francis has to clap a hand over his nose to stop the sickeningly familiar sweet sent from assaulting him. The room hangs with the smell of smoke. The Canadian looks at him through dazed, vacant eyes.
“Dieu.” Matthew speaks unclearly and with great deliberation, staring at Francis. “…Your face is amazing.” His hands creep up towards his cheeks. Francis stops him, a mixture of anger and fear rising up inside.
“I thought you weren’t going to do this anymore,” he forces out, taking in his friend’s dopey expression. He grabs the other’s hand. “You- you’re late to French.”
Matthew resists limply, looking confused. “…but it’s only lunch, Franics. What’re you talkn ‘bout?”
“…Class started half and hour ago, non? You have missed out on your lesson.”
What begins as a look of puzzlement turns gradually into amusement and then into full-blown laughter. The boy struggles to hold himself up, slumping against the doorframe in drowsy mirth. “Alfred…Alfred doesn’t even…take French!” he wheezes out, a comedian with his best punch line. How stupid could Francis be? “How can he…he can’t…haha- he can’t be late…”
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“I am talking about you, Mathieu, not your brother. Now come.” Canada has suddenly drawn himself to his full height, glasses hanging slightly off centre on his face. His face flushes in anger.
“…You hit me.” His voice is dangerously quiet and slurred. “You’re like them, aren’t you? You only want me to go with you so you can look better next to me- you…you’re always like that Francis- you…”
“Mathieu-“
“No. Non. Look at me, look at me- that’s all you are Francis. You and Alfred and…always, don’t ignore me, don’t ignore… sick of it.”
The Canadian breaks away and slams the door in his face. He turns towards the stuffed bear on his bed and tells Kumajirou that, secretly, he’s actually not his brother, even if everybody thinks that he is. Kumajirou tilts his head and tells Alfred to shut up and start talking sense.
Outside, Francis stands in front of the door and feels Matthew’s words sting for long minutes.
-
Shit.
Lovino needs pasta. He doesn’t even know what kind. He just needs to cook something and eat it, even if the tomatoes are canned shit and the spaghetti is instant. For a moment he even considers buying the bloated, overcooked crap from the cafeteria.
He forces himself to stop, to breath, to calm down. He doesn’t need to eat. He concentrates on the writhing, sinking, swooping feeling in his stomach and admits to himself that it’s not hunger. It’s not hunger and he’s not hungry and eating now will only make him sick.
It’s not hunger that’s making him feel empty like this. It’s just that feeling he gets whenever he enters his brother’s dorm and sees Feliciano curled up on that fucking German’s bed with a dirty school uniform from the laundry hamper, when he sees his brother run his tongue over that stupid, clueless bastard’s fingers in the back row of History class, when he realises that his brother lov-
-Screw this. Lovino’s hungry and he’s going to make a bucket-load of pasta and that’s all there is too it.
-
The school counsellor sighs and taps her fingers together. Heracles watches her through hooded eyes, awkwardly large in the spindly plastic chair. “So…” he mumbles with barely a questioning inflection. “Is…that a bad…thing?”
She pushes her glasses back up her nose. “Well, yes. Your teachers have been complaining about your…your participation in class. Or rather, your lack of participation.”
Lost in imaginings of Zeus and Apollo and Athena he only just catches the last couple of words. He blinks slowly, almost like a cat. “But…I’m not failing…”
“No, not at all.” She’s quick to back off, waving her hands. “You seem to be studying well. But Hypersomnia isn’t something to take lightly. There are a range of medications available- or another option is simple light therapy…”
Heracles closes his eyes and goes to sleep.
-
Arthur taps his foot impatiently. “Oh, come on, you sod. We’re going to be late.”
Alfred closes his mobile and shoots him a grin. “You’re impatient tonight Artie.” The Briton rolls his eyes, but Alfred persists with that insufferable smile spread across his cheeks. “Could it possibly be because I happened to catch you in the bathroom the other day?”
“Alfred, I’m warning you-“
“No, no- plucking your eyebrows is perfectly manly, Arthur. I just wanted to warn you that your tweezers might not be up to such a long haul-”
“Do you want us to make Ivan wait or something?” he snaps. Alfred freezes and shuts up, pulling his shoes on a little more frantically.
Ivan and Latvia are waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase. “Sorry we’re a little late,” America says easily, pulling on his bomber jacket. “Kiku sends his apologies. He’s kinda busy with some project or something, but he said he was honoured to be invited.”
“A pity,” the Russian quips, hand on Latvia’s shoulder.
Arthur inwardly groans as Alfred rubs his hands together eagerly. “So- what was this you said about a bar with a mean vodka?”
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Arthur’s eyes rest on Raivis, the two of them sitting quietly next to their friends and watching them become more and more passionate as they turn their discussion to politics. He counts the glasses on the bar in front of the boy and…wait. He blinks. Arthur can’t be drunk yet- he’s only had a few beers.
The number of glasses in front of blond boy isn’t a hallucination. “err…Raivis?” he says quietly. “Are you…alright?”
He hangs his head like he’s ashamed, eyes dark and face lax. He shakes his head, not raising his eyes. Arthur feels his heart stop. “You feel sick? I can get you something-”
Raivis shakes his head harder, letting a small sound out of his throat. “Nothing. ’S nothing. … not alright.”
Glancing nervously at Ivan before scooting closer, Arthur rests a hand on Raivis’ back. “It’s not alright?” he prods gently, taking his glass of vodka away. The boy seems to curl in on himself. He’s sobbing, Arthur realises. Raivis is sobbing heartbrokenly, quietly.
“…Ivan…sorry. I’m sorry…”
Then, Alfred’s booming voice shatters the air between them. “Hey Art- I beat your score in English, right? I told you, Ivan, I said-“
Arthur stays silent. His friends turn to him and Raivis hides his face in the bar.
“Oh, Raivis,” the Russian sighs. “I am telling you always that drinking so fast is not helping you.”
After what Arthur has heard, Ivan’s comment sends chills down his spine, but he has no time to worry about that because Alfred has his face in his personal space.
“We should probably head off then,” the American says. “Wouldn’t want to make Rai suffer.”
The Latvian says nothing.
-
Click. Clatter.
“Yun Soo, I thought you were off!”
“In a second Aniki. In a second.”
Yao storms through the room, finally fed up. “You said that an hour ago. And two hours ago. You haven’t even started that report, aru!”
“In a second. I swear.” Yao stands and crossed his arms. He has to do this report. They have to do it and he has to do well. He has to, because last test he made stupid mistakes and only came in second after Japan, and that’s not good enough. He has to be the best, or he won’t be able to face his parents back in China.
Click. Click.
Yao glares at him. He’s always online. Never does anything else, and Yao’s beginning to wonder if it’s healthy or not. He has to remind Yun Soo to eat sometimes; he wakes up in the middle of the night to see his brother’s face illuminated by a laptop screen.
“It’s like…feeling connected to everything, you know?” he’d tried to explain once. “And when I’m not on, then- who knows what I’m missing? I might miss an e-mail or someone on DODA might need me or…I dunno. I’m scared if I’m not communicating. You know?”
Yao doesn’t know at all. He walks off finishes their report alone, worrying about test percentages and keyboards.
-
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Alfred is purging in the toilet.
Arthur rests the back of his head against the door and closes his eyes, emotion surging under his skin and deep in his chest. He listens until the sound is gone, and then gives his friend a minute before opening the door to peer inside. Alfred jerks his head up from the sink where he is washing his hands.
“Ready to go?” he asks, forcing himself to smile and look him in the eye. He’s a liar. He’s staring at a liar, but he’s the one living the lie because he knows. He’s known about this for years and he doesn’t know what to do. Arthur’s a liar, and Alfred’s a liar, and Raivis has been lying to them all along about something that they’ll probably never find out.
As they walk out together into the night, Arthur thinks that Ivan is probably the only honest one between them. Suddenly his eyebrows don’t seem like such a big problem any more.
-
Kiku Honda watches Alfred, Arthur, Ivan and Latvia walking back in the dark outside, three storeys below and somehow even further away. They look as though they’re having fun.
Kiku likes Arthur- he’s friendly and amiable in a sarcastic kind of way. Latvia smiles at him in their Advanced Physics classes; Kiku should really apologise to Ivan for that fight that they had at the end of last year, but he never has. Alfred’s always the life of every party, they say.
Not that Kiku would know, of course. He never goes.
He’s always asked. Taiwan flirts with him when they sit next to each other in class. He has plenty of friends- people he talks to in class about tests and so on. He visits Feliciano and Ludwig’s dorm sometimes and they have fun, talking and laughing and drinking a quiet German beer or two.
But he can’t. He can’t leave his room, he can’t go and talk with people and god-forbid should he ever go into a bar, because they’d be real people there, strangers…
It hurts him when he has to turn down Feliciano’s offer to celebrate his birthday at a nearby club. When Alfred rings him up and tells him that Ivan-knows-a-cool-new-bar-want-to-come? he wants nothing more than to be able to just say yes.
But he knows that it’s just pity. They don’t really like him. And even if they do, Kiku’ll do something strange and he’ll embarrass himself and they’ll all laugh. He’ll have to do something that isn’t part of the everyday, isn’t on his script. He’ll have to improvise in front of all of his perfect, happy, social friends, and he’ll fail. And that terrifies him more than anything.
As he listens to Alfred’s voice outside in the corridor, Kiku curls up in his bed and wishes that he were normal.
-
Sorry- anon is not really familiar with human names. Hope they were all correct...^^;
I suppose this is all up to interpretation but just in case you want a list:
Germany- Obssesive Compulsive Personailty Disorder
Italy- Infatuation
France- ...attention seeking?
Canada- Occasional Weed/ Inferiority
South Italy- Comfort eating/jealousy
Greece- Hypersomnia
England- Body Dysmorphic disorder (eyebrows ^^;)
Russia- …being Russia?
Latvia- Alcoholism
China- Pressure/perfectionism
Korea- Internet Addiction
America- Bulimia
Japan- Social Phobia
List is far from concrete, but then again, neither are the people they describe. :) Take of this what you will, anons!
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My heart breaks for all of them. But so much for Raivis. And Kiku. And Matthew. Oh God, Matthew. :(
Glorious job, anon!
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was a little paranoid that the representations would be OOC, as I haven't written Matthew or Francis or Arthur or even really Raivis properly before.
neway- thanks a heap!
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Which, by the way, was EXCELLENT.
Kudos again, anon! (yay bulimic!Alfred returns <3) Japan's social phobia is a great (and historically reminiscent) touch.
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matthew made me cringe a bit. and GOD. al. sdfhsuef and lativia.
u_____u ♥ ilu anonwriter!
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T_T
My heart broke anew with every character I read. Why, oh why, did these characterisations fit so well? The ones I loved most were Canada's, South Italy's and Japan's because they were just too devastaingly true. And the bit about Arthur thinking that Ivan may be the most honest of the all? That line was the one that moved me he most.
Well done anon, well done.
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This fic was so good!
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(Oh, Matthew--I weep for you, love)... This is a great start. OCD!Germany is effing amazing. Dope-to-cope!Canada is tragic, twisted awesome.
I'll be watching! <3
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