[Fanfic] Prussia/S.Italy "Good Luck Moving On" Chapter 2
Title: "Good Luck Moving On"
Author: einannanhalling ( einwritting )
Characters/Pairings: Mainly; Prussia/S.Italy
Length: around 3,000 words?
Rating: PG-13 (thus far)
Warnings: None
Summary: Gilbert's been living with his brother for the last six months, signed up for an anger management class he doesn't need and watching his younger brother get things under control better than he could hope to. After spending a day out job searching an offer from an old friend (Antonio Carriedo) to come and stay at his apartment leads to interesting developments.
Beta'd by; zazzy
As comfortable as Antonio's tiny apartment getaway was, there were some things about it that just seemed to ruin all the charm. One of those things was the lack of blinds on the two tall windows that sat on either side of the entertainment center. Gilbert wasn't too sure why the two biggest windows in the whole place were the only ones left without any decoration, but it had been just his luck that his nice spot on the couch would be compromised by something like shadeless windows. He found out the hard way that this particular wall faced east and the sun had a perfect angle to shine right in his eyes as it began to peak it's glowing face over the tops of the quaint suburbia he found himself situated in.
It was nothing like back home, he mused to himself, turning on his back to stare at the ceiling while a LaFee song drifted through his ears, heard, but not listened to. Ludwig had seen fit to perch himself in the city, at the belly of the whale.
"It's close to the corporation," he'd justify and Gilbert would just shrug. It wasn't like he needed to verify where he'd decided to live. It was clear enough to Gilbert that his brother made more in his first year of college than Gilbert himself had ever hoped to make in his life, and thus could afford to live like that. Gilbert drank in city life like he could press a straw into it like those old Tropicana commercials. The neon lights were like his sunrise, and many a night was spent blowing the allowance owed to him by the government because he was a poor, grieving soul. Gilbert didn't like to think over the reason why they saw fit to shove a decent amount of spending money in his hands every month. It hurt everything when it came to that. Some of the people in the anger management class said that sort of feeling was in their chest-- or in their stomachs, but Gilbert felt it everywhere. It all hurt.
The city smelled like sewage when you stepped off certain sidewalks. The city smelt like dirt in certain alleys. People carried hand sanitizer with them on the subway he took back home, no one used water fountains, and that was fine with him. But here? This little cloister of quaint houses with yellow siding and green doors was clean. It smelt like freshly cut grass and barbeques.
-
There were no neon lights streaking by when he sat in the passenger seat of Ludwig's car, idly tracing the tortoise shell that lined most of the inside surfaces, interrupted now and then by a sleek silver vent, or the tiny port that let him play his iPod through the car speakers (Whoever thought that up was genius really.).
It was silent for the four seconds of white noise as the music switched from one song to another, and all he could hear was the small squeak of his brother's driving gloves against the leather of the steering wheel. Most times, he just hit the next button, but he could see Ludwig's eyes flash in his direction every time he leaned forward in his seat to do so. He'd stopped after the fifth time and decided to stare out the window, and get a good feel for his new home.
"How boring. I didn't know he lived on a cul-de-sac in the middle of fucking Stepford."
"The whole house is his?" Ludwig finally spoke up after a two hour drive. It sounded terribly awkward, considering the silence had made it feel more like he'd been a parent driving his kid home after a long talk with the school principle.
"No, just the top. He makes good money, but not enough for a whole fucking house."
"What does he do?"
Gilbert was silent for a minute shooting a look as if to say, 'Why does that matter?'
"He's been playing with stocks, but the guy is an idiot. He went to school for journalism though, so he checks over columns in 'The Herald' or something like that, I think."
"Maybe he can help you get a job there."
"Maybe." He let a huff of air shift through his teeth before he'd opened the door of the car, once it came to a full stop along the sidewalk along the front of a yellow house with green shutters and white trimming. Instantly, the car chimed in with a suave 'The door is ajar.'
Normally, they'd make fun of how his car had an accent like some could-be posh british woman, but the jokes didn't come easy this time. Instead, Ludwig shifted his hands on the wheel with a look in his eyes like he had something to say, but couldn't bring himself to talk first. Gilbert sat still in the seat of the car, his hands still holding onto the door handle, the car continuing to chime, 'The door is ajar.'
It sounded as if the alarm were hurrying Gilbert out. Ludwig opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and Gilbert ducked out of the car with a loud laugh.
"You seriously need to get yourself a new car. Or at least one that doesn't have such an attitude!"
His brother's face fell into a sad smile and he gave a small laugh, patting a gloved hand against the cove that read off his milage, speed, gear, and amount of gas left, in tiny white numerals that lit up a digital screen.
"I'm kind of attached to her now. I don't know if I could do that."
"You need to get out in the world and make some friends bro," he grinned leaning in to pluck his iPod off of the dock and grab the duffle bag that had been sitting at his feet. "Thanks for the ride."
"It's nothing. If you need anything..."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll come calling for my baby brother. Have some faith! I'll be fine!"
"You will be." He smiled and Gilbert shut the door.
The elder brother stepped around the front of the car and waved before trying his best to slide across the hood of the it, but only managed to hurt his hip. The look on his brothers face was something to make him bark out a laugh. Ludwig's eyes were snapped open wide, and his mouth hung like Gilbert had done something ludicrous. He could have taken a flame thrower to the thing and he was sure Ludwig would have the same look.
-
"Late, I'm late!"
Gilbert was drawn away from his pondering by Antonio, hopping out of his room with one leg into his dress slacks and the other trying to worm it's way in on it's own. The german pushed himself further up the couch with his toes, leaning over the arm that rested in the curve of his lower back, and watched as his friend wobbled around. He didn't say anything at first, just tried his best to hold in a laugh as the Spaniard tried to steady himself on the coat rack screwed into the wall next to the door, and only managed to buy himself a few seconds of stability before he half crashed to the wood floor.
"I could have sworn I set my alarm..." he could hear him murmur, before green eyes turned their attention to the new addition currently hanging over the couch like a tossed coat. "Gilbert! I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"
Gilbert jerked a thumb over to the windows that had been his undoing this morning, watching as Antonio fastened the buttons of his pants and haphazardly tucked in the white button down, all the while never getting up from his spot on the floor. It had been like watching an acrobat, only much less coordinated, and a bit spastic considering he had only been getting dressed and not pulling off some sort of drastic stunt.
"Nah, the sun did all the work for you. Looks like I'm going to be a morning person from now on."
"Oh! I forgot about those blinds!" He squirmed onto his feet, snatching a sweatshirt off of the very rack he'd attempted to use as a way to keep his balance, and shucked his feet into a pair of dress shoes set next to the right of door. "They're at the dry cleaners. No one told me that fabric shades could get so dirty, and I couldn't put them in the wash because there are these wooden planks, I think, in some spots and-"
"'Toni. Aren't you late?"
"Oh, yes! This is the second time this week! I think I need a new alarm clock, you know? I could have sworn I set it last night, and every morning it alway-"
"Work, 'Toni."
"Oh, yes! Work! I'm late! Uh, I promise I'll get those blinds for you today, Gilly! Just call my cellphone to remind me alright?"
He continued to say something as he stepped out of the door, but Gilbert couldn't hear much. There was a long string of spanish as he listened to his friend make his way down the stairs outside, and then even more as he made his way back up. Gilbert watched as the front door clicked open and Antonio shot him an almost guilty look verifying, "Forgot my briefcase, again!" as he slipped across the apartment, to the brown briefcase laid at the end of the island counter, and back out again.
He snorted, a lazy smile on his face as he squirmed his way back onto the couch, turning on his side so he wasn't facing the windows, and tried to sleep. It didn't work. Most often, it never did. There was something in his blood that made it law that once he had been woken up, and the sun was out, there was no going back to bed.
Gilbert gave an over dramatic sigh and rolled off of the couch. Dark eyes slid around the apartment that, for one reason or another, looked as if it were different when all of the artificial lighting was gone. It looked brighter, but that was expected when the sun acted as your primary light source. He slunk to the kitchen, not bothering to lift his feet, but instead skated across the polished wood floor on his socks all the way to the fridge.
It wasn't that he was actually hungry yet, it was just habit to eat right after he'd gotten up. A pale hand yanked the fridge open, the pop of the sealant echoing through the empty space. Cooking was not something he felt like doing-- in fact, most times, he let Ludwig cook whenever he felt like it, and when he didn't, Gilbert just settled for bread, or crackers and cheese. He was a no-frills eater, really.
"God, I could go for some cereal. Milk, milk, where are you milk..." he grumbled, shifting his weight onto one leg and itching the back of his calf with his free foot, "What the hell is this? Soy milk. 'Toni, you hippie fuck! You don't even own real milk!?"
The fridge door slammed shut, and Gilbert chose to push the idea of putting milk in his cereal aside. Maybe he could eat it dry. He'd do that before he poured some sort of rabbit food over his breakfast cereal. After one or two tries, he'd finally found the cereal cabinet, that was more or less abandoned other than an old box of rice puffs and what looked like it could have been Kix, but it was hard to tell with all of the holes in the box. He'd leave that one alone for now, deciding to snatch up the box of rice puffs that had the fortune of not being massacred by what looked like a five year old with a pair of scissors.
For a second or two he starred at the box in his hands before catching a glimpse of a forgotten bottle of soda settled on the floor next to the fridge. Antonio never liked soda, so he had to guess that it must have been left over from a party, or was requested by someone else that stayed a night or two. Gilbert didn't care much whose soda it was, but it would now be his aid for fulfilling breakfast.
Without a second thought, he unscrewed the cap and poured the soda straight into the plastic bag that housed the puffs.
By the time Gilbert had worked away half of the saturated rice puffs, the click of the bedroom door set his ears to attention. He kept his eyes on the television, watching the reflection of the living room on the screen to see what it was, exactly, that was going on behind him. It was Romano this time, shuffling past the back of the couch as if the German weren't there. Those gold eyes were squinted, along with a wrinkled nose like he'd smelt something terrible. It was starting to become increasingly more obvious that the Italian perpetually had that look plastered on his face. Long fingers brushed through the tangle of brown hair as he turned to make his way to the kitchen, but froze turning to look at the back of Gilbert's head. He just watched his reflection instead of turning to face him.
"What are you eating? That smells like shit," he grumbled, voice still rough with sleep.
"Cola and rice puffs. The breakfast of champions," came Gilbert's smooth reply. He shot a grin over his shoulder, stuffing a spoonful of ugly, browned puffs into his mouth. He groaned through the mouth full, making a real show of chewing, even if they didn't require much chewing at all, before swallowing. Romano just watched him like he'd been watching the blond tear a human being apart with his bare teeth. His lip curled up at the corner, pushing up a deep wrinkle along the side of his nose, obscuring a tiny freckle that Gilbert hadn't notice the night before.
"That's a fucking food abomination. You're disgusting."
"Oh, come on now! The fizz makes just the right consistency."
"I'm going to punch you in the back of the head." Romano began moving around the side of the couch and dropping down on the seat opposite Gilbert. "I can't believe you're eating that."
Gilbert grinned, holding a spoon out to him.
"Try it."
"No."
"Do it."
"Fuck you."
"Come oooon," he whined, leaning over to push the spoon against the Italian's lips that were closed so tight they'd begun to turn white. "Open up~"
Romano smacked the spoon right out of his hands, the curl along his nose deepening further, and he spit out a quick, "I said no, cazzo!"
They watched as the two swollen rice puffs hit the floor at the foot of the couch with a stomach turning splash. Gold eyes slid from the mess on the floor to the man on his left as if to say and you were eating that, you sick bastard. Gilbert only returned the stare with a sheepish smile, shrugging his shoulder, even if his own lip had started to curl. Food took on a whole new identity when it hit the floor with a sound that just couldn't be placed in any particular category other than...
"...Nasty...."
"Yeah, well, it tastes good."
Gilbert shrugged and leaned over the side of the couch, leaving the box of cereal to hang in his hand while it's brother searched around for the remote he'd discarded earlier on that night. When his middle finger skimmed the smooth, rounded plastic of the remote he smiled, victorious in a small way, and pulled it closer, turning on the television. There was a low grumble from the Italian as he pushed himself further against the arm of the couch, keeping an eye on the cereal threatening to spill over the side of the box.
"Don't spill that crap on me," came a grumble, as he tucked his feet up under him.
Dark eyes moved from the television screen, to the box swaying in his hand, and then finally to the searing look slapped across Romano's face. A grin split Gilbert's lips.
"What's this? What's wrong? Don't want to get sticky?"
Leaning closer to Romano on the couch, Gilbert wiggled the box around in his hand, only to have it shoved back against him. He felt a quick squirm in his chest, something like panic, but he couldn't imagine why there would be a need to panic over spilled milk-- or cola. They stayed that way; Romano, with his eyebrows furrowed so close they were almost twisted together, and Gilbert with a blank, wide eyed expression. It was only after the german felt the other's knee shifting against the inside of his own thigh, dipping further into the couch with Romano's applied weight, that he realized what the eel twisting around his lungs must have been.
"H-hey," his voice sounded strange, even to his own ears, but he bit back the shake there and continued, "you're gonna knee me in the balls or something."
The slip and slide along the inside of Gilbert's chest seemed to stir as an almost feral smirk tugged at the italian's lips, pinching his eyes up into near slits as he leaned closer, resting his chin on the blond's shoulder as he hissed, "I'll fucking kick them up into your throat if you try spilling that crap on me again," before moving to get up from the couch. Gilbert watched his back as Romano shuffled past the coffee table, finding his ears were ringing so loud he almost didn't hear the low laugh curling out from the italian's chest.
"You, uh, got a little-"
"Huh? A what?"
"You spilled your nasty cereal all over your lap, moron."
"O-oh," he stated dumbly, moving his hand to asses the damage. "Oh fuck! It's all over the couch!"
Romano let out a low growl, slinking back into the bedroom with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.
"Fucking clean it up then idiot!"
"You're not going to help?"
"Do I look like your mom, cazzo? I have to go in an hour, anyway..."
Gilbert blinked down at his lap, now sodden in sticky cola and bloated cereal grain, before shooting a confused look to the bedroom door that still hung open, allowing him to see Romano nearly tearing through the drawers of the old oak dresser. There was a colored window just above it painting the room in yellows, blues, and the pure white of sunshine in neat sections, a speckle of color here or there managing to dance along Romano's face as he continued to rummage.
"...Go?"
The idea that he'd be alone, left in a house that wasn't his, on the couch of someone accomplishing more than himself had not set in. The fact that just because he was moving in didn't mean that everyone else's life stopped to accompany him had seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders. This seemed like a new start, but in fact all it was was the continuation of the cycle he'd started after his father's passing- the same continuos decaying he hoped to ignore long enough that it would just give up trying to get his attention.
"Yeah, asshole, unlike you, I actually try to do something with myself, other than bum off other people."
This was going to be a lonely day, but he didn't mind. Being alone always seemed to help him remember how much he deserved to be in that position-- this was what he deserved, after what he'd done.
"Oh, you wound me," he laughed, placing a sticky hand over his heart, "I'm going to take a shower, don't miss me too much while we're apart."
It was ten minutes or so later, just when Gilbert had gotten around to shampooing his hair, that he could hear Romano's voice over the droplets of water colliding with the decorated spanish tiles on the floor of the shower, high and almost hysteric.
"YOU SONOFFA- YOU DIDN'T CLEAN UP THE DAMN COUCH!"
He laughed to himself enjoying the way it seemed to echo back to him in the empty bathroom.
Characters/Pairings: Mainly; Prussia/S.Italy
Length: around 3,000 words?
Rating: PG-13 (thus far)
Warnings: None
Summary: Gilbert's been living with his brother for the last six months, signed up for an anger management class he doesn't need and watching his younger brother get things under control better than he could hope to. After spending a day out job searching an offer from an old friend (Antonio Carriedo) to come and stay at his apartment leads to interesting developments.
Beta'd by; zazzy
As comfortable as Antonio's tiny apartment getaway was, there were some things about it that just seemed to ruin all the charm. One of those things was the lack of blinds on the two tall windows that sat on either side of the entertainment center. Gilbert wasn't too sure why the two biggest windows in the whole place were the only ones left without any decoration, but it had been just his luck that his nice spot on the couch would be compromised by something like shadeless windows. He found out the hard way that this particular wall faced east and the sun had a perfect angle to shine right in his eyes as it began to peak it's glowing face over the tops of the quaint suburbia he found himself situated in.
It was nothing like back home, he mused to himself, turning on his back to stare at the ceiling while a LaFee song drifted through his ears, heard, but not listened to. Ludwig had seen fit to perch himself in the city, at the belly of the whale.
"It's close to the corporation," he'd justify and Gilbert would just shrug. It wasn't like he needed to verify where he'd decided to live. It was clear enough to Gilbert that his brother made more in his first year of college than Gilbert himself had ever hoped to make in his life, and thus could afford to live like that. Gilbert drank in city life like he could press a straw into it like those old Tropicana commercials. The neon lights were like his sunrise, and many a night was spent blowing the allowance owed to him by the government because he was a poor, grieving soul. Gilbert didn't like to think over the reason why they saw fit to shove a decent amount of spending money in his hands every month. It hurt everything when it came to that. Some of the people in the anger management class said that sort of feeling was in their chest-- or in their stomachs, but Gilbert felt it everywhere. It all hurt.
The city smelled like sewage when you stepped off certain sidewalks. The city smelt like dirt in certain alleys. People carried hand sanitizer with them on the subway he took back home, no one used water fountains, and that was fine with him. But here? This little cloister of quaint houses with yellow siding and green doors was clean. It smelt like freshly cut grass and barbeques.
-
There were no neon lights streaking by when he sat in the passenger seat of Ludwig's car, idly tracing the tortoise shell that lined most of the inside surfaces, interrupted now and then by a sleek silver vent, or the tiny port that let him play his iPod through the car speakers (Whoever thought that up was genius really.).
It was silent for the four seconds of white noise as the music switched from one song to another, and all he could hear was the small squeak of his brother's driving gloves against the leather of the steering wheel. Most times, he just hit the next button, but he could see Ludwig's eyes flash in his direction every time he leaned forward in his seat to do so. He'd stopped after the fifth time and decided to stare out the window, and get a good feel for his new home.
"How boring. I didn't know he lived on a cul-de-sac in the middle of fucking Stepford."
"The whole house is his?" Ludwig finally spoke up after a two hour drive. It sounded terribly awkward, considering the silence had made it feel more like he'd been a parent driving his kid home after a long talk with the school principle.
"No, just the top. He makes good money, but not enough for a whole fucking house."
"What does he do?"
Gilbert was silent for a minute shooting a look as if to say, 'Why does that matter?'
"He's been playing with stocks, but the guy is an idiot. He went to school for journalism though, so he checks over columns in 'The Herald' or something like that, I think."
"Maybe he can help you get a job there."
"Maybe." He let a huff of air shift through his teeth before he'd opened the door of the car, once it came to a full stop along the sidewalk along the front of a yellow house with green shutters and white trimming. Instantly, the car chimed in with a suave 'The door is ajar.'
Normally, they'd make fun of how his car had an accent like some could-be posh british woman, but the jokes didn't come easy this time. Instead, Ludwig shifted his hands on the wheel with a look in his eyes like he had something to say, but couldn't bring himself to talk first. Gilbert sat still in the seat of the car, his hands still holding onto the door handle, the car continuing to chime, 'The door is ajar.'
It sounded as if the alarm were hurrying Gilbert out. Ludwig opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and Gilbert ducked out of the car with a loud laugh.
"You seriously need to get yourself a new car. Or at least one that doesn't have such an attitude!"
His brother's face fell into a sad smile and he gave a small laugh, patting a gloved hand against the cove that read off his milage, speed, gear, and amount of gas left, in tiny white numerals that lit up a digital screen.
"I'm kind of attached to her now. I don't know if I could do that."
"You need to get out in the world and make some friends bro," he grinned leaning in to pluck his iPod off of the dock and grab the duffle bag that had been sitting at his feet. "Thanks for the ride."
"It's nothing. If you need anything..."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll come calling for my baby brother. Have some faith! I'll be fine!"
"You will be." He smiled and Gilbert shut the door.
The elder brother stepped around the front of the car and waved before trying his best to slide across the hood of the it, but only managed to hurt his hip. The look on his brothers face was something to make him bark out a laugh. Ludwig's eyes were snapped open wide, and his mouth hung like Gilbert had done something ludicrous. He could have taken a flame thrower to the thing and he was sure Ludwig would have the same look.
-
"Late, I'm late!"
Gilbert was drawn away from his pondering by Antonio, hopping out of his room with one leg into his dress slacks and the other trying to worm it's way in on it's own. The german pushed himself further up the couch with his toes, leaning over the arm that rested in the curve of his lower back, and watched as his friend wobbled around. He didn't say anything at first, just tried his best to hold in a laugh as the Spaniard tried to steady himself on the coat rack screwed into the wall next to the door, and only managed to buy himself a few seconds of stability before he half crashed to the wood floor.
"I could have sworn I set my alarm..." he could hear him murmur, before green eyes turned their attention to the new addition currently hanging over the couch like a tossed coat. "Gilbert! I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"
Gilbert jerked a thumb over to the windows that had been his undoing this morning, watching as Antonio fastened the buttons of his pants and haphazardly tucked in the white button down, all the while never getting up from his spot on the floor. It had been like watching an acrobat, only much less coordinated, and a bit spastic considering he had only been getting dressed and not pulling off some sort of drastic stunt.
"Nah, the sun did all the work for you. Looks like I'm going to be a morning person from now on."
"Oh! I forgot about those blinds!" He squirmed onto his feet, snatching a sweatshirt off of the very rack he'd attempted to use as a way to keep his balance, and shucked his feet into a pair of dress shoes set next to the right of door. "They're at the dry cleaners. No one told me that fabric shades could get so dirty, and I couldn't put them in the wash because there are these wooden planks, I think, in some spots and-"
"'Toni. Aren't you late?"
"Oh, yes! This is the second time this week! I think I need a new alarm clock, you know? I could have sworn I set it last night, and every morning it alway-"
"Work, 'Toni."
"Oh, yes! Work! I'm late! Uh, I promise I'll get those blinds for you today, Gilly! Just call my cellphone to remind me alright?"
He continued to say something as he stepped out of the door, but Gilbert couldn't hear much. There was a long string of spanish as he listened to his friend make his way down the stairs outside, and then even more as he made his way back up. Gilbert watched as the front door clicked open and Antonio shot him an almost guilty look verifying, "Forgot my briefcase, again!" as he slipped across the apartment, to the brown briefcase laid at the end of the island counter, and back out again.
He snorted, a lazy smile on his face as he squirmed his way back onto the couch, turning on his side so he wasn't facing the windows, and tried to sleep. It didn't work. Most often, it never did. There was something in his blood that made it law that once he had been woken up, and the sun was out, there was no going back to bed.
Gilbert gave an over dramatic sigh and rolled off of the couch. Dark eyes slid around the apartment that, for one reason or another, looked as if it were different when all of the artificial lighting was gone. It looked brighter, but that was expected when the sun acted as your primary light source. He slunk to the kitchen, not bothering to lift his feet, but instead skated across the polished wood floor on his socks all the way to the fridge.
It wasn't that he was actually hungry yet, it was just habit to eat right after he'd gotten up. A pale hand yanked the fridge open, the pop of the sealant echoing through the empty space. Cooking was not something he felt like doing-- in fact, most times, he let Ludwig cook whenever he felt like it, and when he didn't, Gilbert just settled for bread, or crackers and cheese. He was a no-frills eater, really.
"God, I could go for some cereal. Milk, milk, where are you milk..." he grumbled, shifting his weight onto one leg and itching the back of his calf with his free foot, "What the hell is this? Soy milk. 'Toni, you hippie fuck! You don't even own real milk!?"
The fridge door slammed shut, and Gilbert chose to push the idea of putting milk in his cereal aside. Maybe he could eat it dry. He'd do that before he poured some sort of rabbit food over his breakfast cereal. After one or two tries, he'd finally found the cereal cabinet, that was more or less abandoned other than an old box of rice puffs and what looked like it could have been Kix, but it was hard to tell with all of the holes in the box. He'd leave that one alone for now, deciding to snatch up the box of rice puffs that had the fortune of not being massacred by what looked like a five year old with a pair of scissors.
For a second or two he starred at the box in his hands before catching a glimpse of a forgotten bottle of soda settled on the floor next to the fridge. Antonio never liked soda, so he had to guess that it must have been left over from a party, or was requested by someone else that stayed a night or two. Gilbert didn't care much whose soda it was, but it would now be his aid for fulfilling breakfast.
Without a second thought, he unscrewed the cap and poured the soda straight into the plastic bag that housed the puffs.
By the time Gilbert had worked away half of the saturated rice puffs, the click of the bedroom door set his ears to attention. He kept his eyes on the television, watching the reflection of the living room on the screen to see what it was, exactly, that was going on behind him. It was Romano this time, shuffling past the back of the couch as if the German weren't there. Those gold eyes were squinted, along with a wrinkled nose like he'd smelt something terrible. It was starting to become increasingly more obvious that the Italian perpetually had that look plastered on his face. Long fingers brushed through the tangle of brown hair as he turned to make his way to the kitchen, but froze turning to look at the back of Gilbert's head. He just watched his reflection instead of turning to face him.
"What are you eating? That smells like shit," he grumbled, voice still rough with sleep.
"Cola and rice puffs. The breakfast of champions," came Gilbert's smooth reply. He shot a grin over his shoulder, stuffing a spoonful of ugly, browned puffs into his mouth. He groaned through the mouth full, making a real show of chewing, even if they didn't require much chewing at all, before swallowing. Romano just watched him like he'd been watching the blond tear a human being apart with his bare teeth. His lip curled up at the corner, pushing up a deep wrinkle along the side of his nose, obscuring a tiny freckle that Gilbert hadn't notice the night before.
"That's a fucking food abomination. You're disgusting."
"Oh, come on now! The fizz makes just the right consistency."
"I'm going to punch you in the back of the head." Romano began moving around the side of the couch and dropping down on the seat opposite Gilbert. "I can't believe you're eating that."
Gilbert grinned, holding a spoon out to him.
"Try it."
"No."
"Do it."
"Fuck you."
"Come oooon," he whined, leaning over to push the spoon against the Italian's lips that were closed so tight they'd begun to turn white. "Open up~"
Romano smacked the spoon right out of his hands, the curl along his nose deepening further, and he spit out a quick, "I said no, cazzo!"
They watched as the two swollen rice puffs hit the floor at the foot of the couch with a stomach turning splash. Gold eyes slid from the mess on the floor to the man on his left as if to say and you were eating that, you sick bastard. Gilbert only returned the stare with a sheepish smile, shrugging his shoulder, even if his own lip had started to curl. Food took on a whole new identity when it hit the floor with a sound that just couldn't be placed in any particular category other than...
"...Nasty...."
"Yeah, well, it tastes good."
Gilbert shrugged and leaned over the side of the couch, leaving the box of cereal to hang in his hand while it's brother searched around for the remote he'd discarded earlier on that night. When his middle finger skimmed the smooth, rounded plastic of the remote he smiled, victorious in a small way, and pulled it closer, turning on the television. There was a low grumble from the Italian as he pushed himself further against the arm of the couch, keeping an eye on the cereal threatening to spill over the side of the box.
"Don't spill that crap on me," came a grumble, as he tucked his feet up under him.
Dark eyes moved from the television screen, to the box swaying in his hand, and then finally to the searing look slapped across Romano's face. A grin split Gilbert's lips.
"What's this? What's wrong? Don't want to get sticky?"
Leaning closer to Romano on the couch, Gilbert wiggled the box around in his hand, only to have it shoved back against him. He felt a quick squirm in his chest, something like panic, but he couldn't imagine why there would be a need to panic over spilled milk-- or cola. They stayed that way; Romano, with his eyebrows furrowed so close they were almost twisted together, and Gilbert with a blank, wide eyed expression. It was only after the german felt the other's knee shifting against the inside of his own thigh, dipping further into the couch with Romano's applied weight, that he realized what the eel twisting around his lungs must have been.
"H-hey," his voice sounded strange, even to his own ears, but he bit back the shake there and continued, "you're gonna knee me in the balls or something."
The slip and slide along the inside of Gilbert's chest seemed to stir as an almost feral smirk tugged at the italian's lips, pinching his eyes up into near slits as he leaned closer, resting his chin on the blond's shoulder as he hissed, "I'll fucking kick them up into your throat if you try spilling that crap on me again," before moving to get up from the couch. Gilbert watched his back as Romano shuffled past the coffee table, finding his ears were ringing so loud he almost didn't hear the low laugh curling out from the italian's chest.
"You, uh, got a little-"
"Huh? A what?"
"You spilled your nasty cereal all over your lap, moron."
"O-oh," he stated dumbly, moving his hand to asses the damage. "Oh fuck! It's all over the couch!"
Romano let out a low growl, slinking back into the bedroom with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.
"Fucking clean it up then idiot!"
"You're not going to help?"
"Do I look like your mom, cazzo? I have to go in an hour, anyway..."
Gilbert blinked down at his lap, now sodden in sticky cola and bloated cereal grain, before shooting a confused look to the bedroom door that still hung open, allowing him to see Romano nearly tearing through the drawers of the old oak dresser. There was a colored window just above it painting the room in yellows, blues, and the pure white of sunshine in neat sections, a speckle of color here or there managing to dance along Romano's face as he continued to rummage.
"...Go?"
The idea that he'd be alone, left in a house that wasn't his, on the couch of someone accomplishing more than himself had not set in. The fact that just because he was moving in didn't mean that everyone else's life stopped to accompany him had seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders. This seemed like a new start, but in fact all it was was the continuation of the cycle he'd started after his father's passing- the same continuos decaying he hoped to ignore long enough that it would just give up trying to get his attention.
"Yeah, asshole, unlike you, I actually try to do something with myself, other than bum off other people."
This was going to be a lonely day, but he didn't mind. Being alone always seemed to help him remember how much he deserved to be in that position-- this was what he deserved, after what he'd done.
"Oh, you wound me," he laughed, placing a sticky hand over his heart, "I'm going to take a shower, don't miss me too much while we're apart."
It was ten minutes or so later, just when Gilbert had gotten around to shampooing his hair, that he could hear Romano's voice over the droplets of water colliding with the decorated spanish tiles on the floor of the shower, high and almost hysteric.
"YOU SONOFFA- YOU DIDN'T CLEAN UP THE DAMN COUCH!"
He laughed to himself enjoying the way it seemed to echo back to him in the empty bathroom.