[Fanfic] - Any Other City - March
Title: Any Other City - Chapter 10
Rating: R
Characters: Ensemble
Pairings: France/Spain, Austria/Liechtenstein, Germany/Japan, France/Norway, England/fem!Netherlands, Prussia/fem!Romano, Norway/Japan, Germany/America, Germany/Sweden, Canada/Hungary
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In This Chapter: Nils has a fun time without nicotine, a lot of hanging out, a bit of hooking up, Lili is sick, Gilbert, Alfred, Antonio, and Francis play with skateboards and video cameras, Berwald and Ludwig are awkward, Ivan, Arthur, Kiku, and Nils go ghost hunting.
Warnings: Language, drinking, drugs, sexual situations, pretentious conversations and stuff.
It's Thursday update time update time!
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MARCH
---
Nils scowled and the straw in his mouth dipped down with it. He entered the last of the inventory into the computer and stabbed the last key down with far more force than necessary.
“Nils, what are you doing to that poor keyboard?” Francis called from across the store, then turned to walk over to him.
“Nothing.”
Francis stopped beside him and raised an eyebrow. “I wish you were still smoking,” he sighed, with a dramatic wave of his hand, “you are so intolerable like this.”
“Intolerable.”
“Yes, I think that is the word. And - stop chewing on those while you’re in here,” Francis chided, snatching the straw from Nils’ lips and tossing it in the trash bin with a curled lip. “This store has a reputation to keep up, you know - and, now that I think of it, stop snapping at customers - I don’t want to have to fire you, beautiful, but it is just...rude.”
Nils looked at Francis, then nodded. He looked at the computer screen a moment before sighing and stating “I wish I was still smoking, too.”
Francis raised his eyebrows for a moment, surprised that Nils was sharing his thoughts on - well, that he was sharing his thoughts at all - then leaned his hip against the desk and gave a gentle smile. “Ah, but I’m sure he thinks it is lovely that you aren’t any longer. Although,” he chuckled and gestured minutely to Nils’ waist, “he might not think that it’s lovely that you’re gaining a few,” he teased, winking at Nils.
Nils stared at Francis for a moment, then looked down, curious, and pulled his shirt up a little. His mind blanked a second - he’d never had an ounce of fat on him in his life - and, well, there it was. Not much, but a little pudge at his hips.
“Are you fucking kidding me!?” he snarled, poking at his side.
Francis gave a light laugh as Nils rolled his skin between his fingers, outraged expression on his face. “In my opinion, if you’re going to insist upon quitting - not that that is bad at all, dear, it’s simply that you’ve been so irritable lately - you should at least watch your figure.”
Nils’ furious gaze snapped up to him.
“Perhaps you should pick up some sort of physical activity?” Francis suggested. “Or,” he leered, “more of a certain physical activity.”
Nils closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for a moment. You can’t chew out your boss. You can’t chew out your boss. Even if he’s a fucking pervert who hits on everyone all the damn time.
“You could simply start riding your bike again,” Francis flippantly suggested. “It is nearly spring.”
Nils sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then tugged on the waistband of his jeans. They were a little tighter, weren’t they? “Yeah, I guess so,” he dully replied.
---
“That bastard kissed me in the middle of the station!”
Anja leaned back in the booth and wished for the nth time that you were still allowed to smoke in bars. Huh, apparently Lovinia wanted a response to that last statement, if that expectant glare was anything to go by. Fine, fine. But it wouldn’t be the response she wanted. “And then?” Anja prodded, eyebrow raised.
“...we went to a punk show,” Lovinia muttered. She scowled and finished off her beer. “And then that idiot started a mosh pit and yanked me in.”
Anja barked a laugh. “So, lemme see if I’ve got this right,” she began. Lovinia translation time was fun - it pissed her off so much when someone hit the nail on the proverbial head. “He’s a decent kisser, y’think he’s fun, and unusually attractive, has pretty eyes, and he must be bangin’ on the guitar because ya never said he sucked.”
Whup, bingo. Lovinia looked ready to throttle her. Anja twitched a small, evil smile, threw an arm over Lovi’s shoulders before Lovinia could actually do anything, and shook her around with another bark of laughter. Lovi hated it when she did that - which meant Anja did it all the time.
“His eyes are fucking creepy!” Lovinia yelled and harshly shoved Anja away. Anja fell into the side of the booth and kept laughing. Yeah, okay, she was definitely a little drunk.
She calmed down and righted herself again, glancing at Lovinia. “Bitch, y’need to get laid - ya haven’t since last summer,” she bluntly stated, taking a sip of her drink.
Lovinia’s eyes flew wide before she snarled “We said we wouldn’t talk about that!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll drop it.” Anja’s expression went from impassive to serious for a moment. “But really, you’ve gotta stop worrying about getting hurt.”
“I’m not -!”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” Anja cut her off with a roll of her eyes. “Just go get laid already. De-stress. You’d prob’ly be less of a bitch - “ that got her smacked in the arm “ - and the world would be better for it,” she finished.
They both looked down at Lovinia’s phone on the table, then - Anja shoved her over at the same time Lovinia made a grab for it and emerged victorious. She kept a viciously cursing Lovi at arm’s (and one leg’s) length away, leaning back and flipping the phone open. She went to the recent calls menu - “Hm, I’ll bet he’s the one called “That Stupid Bastard.” You’re pretty predictable, Lovi.” She cooly looked at a still-struggling Lovi and pressed the call button.
“You - fucking - cunt! Give that back you bitch!” Lovinia tried to climb over her but Anja just kicked her away. Thank God for long legs.
Anja heard it pick up and a surprised but arrogant sounding “Sup babe!” greeted her.
“Hey you - come pick your girl Lovi up.”
“Lovi, eh?” Gilbert cackled. “Er, wait - who the hell is this?”
“Anja,” she brusquely replied, and shoved Lovinia away from her when it looked like she was gonna get grabby again.
“Huh, well hey. So what’s this shit about Lovinia?”
“Yeah, we’re at this bar near Wilson and 12th, and I was just talkin’ ‘bout how she’s waaay too sexually frustrated - ouch! - so, get over here.”
“...fuck yeah.”
Anja finished the conversation and flipped the phone shut with an upward tilt of her chin and a self-satisfied grin.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Lovinia pouted, arms crossed.
“Seein’ as you’re pouting like a little kid and not kicking my ass, I’ll just say ‘you’re welcome’.”
Lovinia let out a muted huff of air. “Whatever, go buy me a drink.”
Anja snorted, flipped her off, and headed to the bar.
---
They didn’t have sex, but they did get naked.
...that moron could really use some tips on getting a girl off.
---
“Your boss is...interesting,” Kiku said softly, quirking a small smile while looking over at Nils across the diner table.
Nils rolled his eyes and scooped up a forkful of turkey and sweet potato hash, then observed it with a frown. How many calories were in this? It was all that fresh-and-local shit at this place, stuff Kiku liked - did that mean it was lighter, though? God damn it, and now he was thinking about ridiculous things like calories.
“Well, he won’t stop complaining about my non-smoking. Gilbert too. And I think Gilbert makes it a point to smoke around me, because he’s a douche like that.”
Kiku nodded, short and solemn. “Well, if you don’t think you can do it, then that is understandable.”
“You’re still going to be a passive-aggressive dick about it,” Nils scowled.
Kiku’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. “If you would like to put it that way.”
The rest of the meal was rather frigid.
---
“Hey boy,” was murmured right next to Eduard’s ear - he dropped the CD he was looking at with a clatter and whipped around. And stared. Eyes went down - dark blue band jacket with complicated silver cording - down - thin, skintight black jeans - down - gunmetal-silver, knee-high Doc Martens - then back up again, to those green, green eyes.
“Huh. You look surprised,” Feliks smiled, a little lopsided.
“Ah. Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t think we were supposed to dress up to go record shopping,” he laughed a little, sheepish.
Feliks’ expression fell flat. “Honey. I always dress up. If you’ve gotta do it anyway, may as well make it fun, ya know?”
Eduard sighed in relief and gave a weak smile. “Oh, good. I wouldn’t want to create a maladroit situation, which I suppose it would be if you dressed up for me and I simply arrived in my standard school attire.”
“Oh my God, a ‘maladroit situation’ - you and your vocab,” Feliks rolled his eyes and turned to see what Eduard was looking at, muttering “And, you know, I did make sure to look extra fab today.” He picked up the dropped CD and raised an eyebrow. “Phoenix? You don’t, like, have this yet? This is so last year.”
“I downloaded it,” Eduard impressed. He didn’t need Feliks to think he was nerdier than he already was - Feliks was so cool. Why in the world did he want to associate himself with a high-schooler?
Feliks nodded and picked through a few more CD’s. Eduard moved down the aisle and Feliks animatedly interrogated him about what other music he liked.
“Math rock? You’re totally gonna have to let me hear some of that.”
Eduard paused and looked at him. “You mean you haven’t?”
“Nope. Oh - come over to my place next week. You can bring your computer, or, whatever,” Feliks waved a hand, the other still flipping through discs. “This time works, right?”
“Ah, yeah, it does.” Wait, was he even really given a choice in that? Eduard watched as Feliks snatched up a CD and leaned back, placing his other hand on his hip - his personality seemed to fill up the room. Eduard hummed to himself. No wonder he’d been bowled over within the first minute.
---
“You play the banjo?”
“Hm?” Eliza looked at Matthew, who was hovering over the threshold to her room. She followed his gaze to the banjo in the corner. “Oh, yeah,” she crossed over to it and picked it up. “Wanna hear some? You don’t have to just stand there, y’know.”
He tentatively walked over and sat down on the floor beside her. “Oh, er, sure,” he replied, fidgeting, “I haven’t really heard much - I guess some Béla Fleck - and, er, the Carter Family? They played banjo, right? Or was it guitar...” he trailed off, quiet.
“Yeah, they played both! You like folk music?” Eliza asked, strumming a simple tune.
“Uh...” he bit the edge of his sleeve and watched her play, then shook himself out of it. “I haven’t heard much. Mississippi John Hurt, I like him - he played guitar though, I think.”
She nodded. “I’ve got a lot - I’ll put some on in a second. Okay, so see here? I’m playing in the three-finger style -” a short demonstration - “and some old songs use two-finger picking; there’s also the Keith style, which is pretty exclusive to bluegrass music, and the Scruggs style - that’s like the Beverly Hillbillies theme,” she laughed.
Matthew couldn’t really hear the difference, but he could definitely see that it was different, watching her fingers move across the strings, swift and practiced.
“Then there’s the clawhammer style - it’s a popular folk style.”
“Oh, I can hear the difference there,” he nodded with a small smile.
“Yep. It’s not used in bluegrass at all, really.” She got up and went over to her record player. “I don’t think I have any Stanley Brothers on record,” she sighed, flipping through a few albums, “but - oh, have you ever heard Roscoe Holcomb? He’s a classic.”
Matthew shook his head.
“I’ll put him on then. He was an amazing player - I’d play some for you but he used weird tunings and...” she shrugged, “it’d be easier to just listen to the record.”
It was fast. Matthew frowned and turned his head a little as she made her way back to the floor beside him.
“What do you think?”
“Um, well, his voice is...” he didn’t want to offend Eliza, but Matthew thought the voice was weird.
She laughed. “It takes some getting used to. His voice - they call it the high lonesome - it’s what most bluegrass performers use.” She picked up her banjo and let her fingers follow along, not actually hitting the strings, simply making the motions.
“I wish I could play something,” Matthew sighed, watching her content expression.
She paused and looked up at him. “You don’t play an instrument?”
He blushed. “Er, no.”
Eliza smiled, bright, then. “Ever tried the harmonica?”
“Um,” Matthew swallowed. “Harmonica?”
“Yeah, it’s really easy.” She got up again and came back with a harmonica, handing it to him. “Okay, so, bring it up,” she brought her hands over his and helped him adjust it against his lips. “Yep, like that.”
He tried to concentrate - her hands lingered on his.
“Now. Just blow into it, get used to it,” she brought her hands down but remained leaned in. He blew, just a weak little noise. She laughed. “A little harder. Yeah, that’s good. Make sure to exhale slowly, and just breathe through the harmonica and not your nose. So now, to get a note and not a whole bunch of them, curl your tongue - you can curl your tongue, right?” He nodded. “Good! Curl your tongue around one of the holes - block the holes on either side - got that? Okay, now, blow.”
Matthew did; he didn’t quite have it down, he could hear more than one note being played. He tried again.
“Put it further into your mouth,” Eliza instructed.
Aha! He pulled it away with a wide smile, then saw the spit all over the instrument and began a babbling apology. She just laughed and reassured him that it was okay.
“Just try and hold individual notes. There’s another technique you can use if you don’t like the tongue thing.”
They continued with the impromptu lesson and she began strumming along, their clumsy duet clashing with Roscoe Holcomb in the background.
Matthew pulled the harmonica away again and she paused, confused. “It’s hard to concentrate with that,” he chuckled, looking over at the record player.
She sat the banjo to the side with a small smile and said “Well, we can stop playing for now.”
He turned back around right in time for her lips to meet his - he gasped and then pulled her closer before he could think about it too hard and overreact. She laughed a little into his mouth and then - oh shit - climbed right into his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
A few minutes and she pulled back with a quirked eyebrow and a devious expression. “Bed?” she asked.
“Uh,” Matthew panted out, mind reeling. “Um, uh, yeah?”
---
Nils dropped his backpack by Kiku’s bedroom door with a sigh. “It’s nice of you to let me work on this here,” he muttered. He’d come to work on his paper for his Middle Eastern and Arab Mythology course - the urge to chain smoke while he was writing was way too strong for him to trust himself to make it through on his own.
“You are welcome,” Kiku murmured, and then looked at him. And continued to look at him.
Nils raised an eyebrow. “...what?”
“I...” Kiku fiddled with his sleeve. “Ah. I didn’t anticipate that you would have as difficult of a time with this...” He looked up and finished with “...as you are.” Nils looked back with his usual aloof expression in place; when Kiku didn’t go on, he quirked an eyebrow. “Well...I just wanted to apologize for making it harder for you,” Kiku sighed, looking to the side. Then he got up, crossed to a shelf, and handed Nils a package of Nicorette gum.
Nils’ eyes widened even as his brows furrowed. “I don’t know if that will make it easier or not,” Kiku said, quiet, “but...” he let it trail off with a shrug.
Nils opened his mouth and looked up, then back down at the package, then back at Kiku. He smiled, a little, just the corner of his mouth, and pressed his lips to Kiku’s. He wasn’t really one to say sorry - but he was, he’d been an absolute asshole lately and he knew it - so he hoped it at least came through in the kiss.
---
The final buzzer sounded and Ludwig narrowly avoided getting drenched in beer by a wildly cheering Alfred beside him in the stands.
“Whoa man, they won - how sweet is that, I never knew hockey was so cool - I mean now that I think about it, yeah, of course it is, it’s - and that Matthew guy is crazy!”
Ludwig nodded and contentedly listened to Alfred’s rambling about how Matthew was fuckin’ nuts and Ivan was scary and Berwald was so fast it was hard to keep track of him - and, oh, you’re going to his place tonight, right? This was followed by a wink, an elbow in the side, and Ludwig’s furious blush.
“Alfred,” Ludwig sighed, slightly chastising.
“Dude, don’t be like that, it’s awesome you’ve got someone as cool as you are,” Alfred smiled, then looked off a little and sighed. “Anyway, yeah, c’mon, the crowd’s almost gone!” And with that Alfred dragged Ludwig down the stands and to the entry of the rink to wait on the players to come out from the changing rooms.
They were really deep into a spirited debate about which generation of Dodge Challenger was the best - neither cared for the second, but Alfred liked the new third generation and Ludwig was partial to the original design - when a sweaty Ivan stepped up and looked between them.
“I didn’t realize either of you liked cars,” he said, soft.
“Oh! You like cars, dude?” Alfred excitedly asked.
“...not really.”
Alfred deflated for a moment, then perked up when he saw Berwald and Matthew coming up, their quiet conversation carrying over to them.
“Do either of you guys like cars - oh, hey, y’wanna go out for drinks now? I mean, Luddy and I have been drinking an’ all but - victory round or somethin’?”
Ludwig huffed a laugh and shook his head. He’d had enough to drink, he didn’t want to be ridiculously drunk this evening.
“Eh, sure,” Matthew replied. “Ivan? Berwald?”
Ivan shrugged and nodded; Berwald shook his head and said “Need t’shower.”
“Cool, well, c’mon you two!” Alfred threw his arm toward Ivan and Matthew in a big sweep, then turned to Ludwig. “You two have fun!” he winked, then wrapped Ludwig up in a bear hug and turned on his heel, dragging a flustered Matthew behind him.
Ludwig jumped a little and blushed - damn, still - laughed a little awkwardly and waved goodbye to the three.
They began the walk over to Berwald’s apartment - apparently it wasn’t very far from the rink - in comfortable silence, under the yellow streetlight glow. There was a slight breeze, and Ludwig couldn’t help but notice how he kept getting whiffs of Berwald’s sweaty scent. Normally such things disturbed him somewhat...but...Berwald smelled nice. How strange. He kind of wanted to hug him, just to smell - he shook his head. That was weird. And awkward. He was already awkward enough.
Berwald broke the silence. “So y’like Alfred?”
Erm. Ludwig froze, spine straight. “What?”
“Dunno,” Berwald half-shrugged and turned to him with a crooked imitation of a smile. “Y’got...ya just acted like it.”
That closed-mouth smile was all wrong. It wasn’t the usual one. It was trying to be teasing, but...Ludwig felt the slightest twinge in his chest. He didn’t really know what to say - how to articulate - he leaned into Berwald and kissed him instead. Right against the streetlamp pole, pressed in close, intense.
Ludwig pulled back and grinned at Berwald’s startled face. “I do like you.”
It was true, even if he was still a little hung up over Alfred.
Berwald nodded and turned, a hand brushing against Ludwig’s lower back for a moment. They continued the trek in comfortable silence once more.
---
He wasn’t wearing shoes. He was alone in a strange living room. Both of those facts made him feel awkward. But - there were so many books in Berwald’s apartment. Ludwig decided to look through the shelves, shuffling in his socked feet, while Berwald was in the shower. Philosophy, furniture, art, some zines, mixology, history - a Calvin and Hobbes anthology? Ludwig plucked it from the shelf and brought it back to the couch.
He was so deep into it that he didn’t realize Berwald was out of the shower until he entered the living room, toweling his hair, clad only in glasses and boxers. He sat down beside Ludwig - ooh that thigh was right against his - and leaned over, giving an approving nod at the comics.
Ludwig was trying not to stare, but - “What...” he frowned and turned a little, scrutinizing Berwald’s side. It looked like someone had doodled random little things in ink pen over his ribcage, down near his hip, one or two places on his stomach. “What are these?” He dared to touch one, barely brushing his finger to a rib. Berwald gave a small laugh and Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “You’re ticklish.”
“Maybe.”
Ludwig drew his finger away and observed the biggest one - a sort of cheery but cartoonish and crude skeleton holding a halberd, sprawled at a strange angle over the side of Berwald’s lower ribs.
He continued in his observations, Berwald watching with mild amusement. There was a ghost, a lightning bolt, some other doodles, a few words and phrases here and there, a few in symbols that Ludwig didn’t recognize.
“Ah - what is this, exactly?”
“Mm?” Berwald twisted to look down and pointed to one near his hip. “This?”
Ludwig nodded.
“Viking runes,” Berwald shrugged. “Arthur wanted t’do ‘em.”
“Arthur did these?”
Berwald nodded. “Jus’ stick ‘n pokes. He’s got a lot too. We were kinda wild when we were teenagers.”
Ludwig tilted his head, curious. “I’d like to hear about that.”
“Hm.” Berwald shifted and leaned into Ludwig, lightly kissing his neck. Ludwig stiffened. “S’metime,” he mumbled into the skin there, before giving a little lick that made Ludwig’s breath hitch. Berwald continued, gentle, wet, trailing down Ludwig’s neck, leaned over - nearly on top of - Ludwig -
“Ah,” Ludwig said, breathless, “I don’t know if the couch is big enough.”
Berwald pulled back and sat up on his knees with one breathy laugh. “Guess yer right.” He stood up and grabbed the towel, throwing it up over his shoulder and nodding to the bedroom.
Ludwig followed and watched Berwald’s back. Oh God, they were really doing this. He took a deep breath - it didn’t help his nerves much. He sat down on the edge of the bed, a ball of anxiety, and - Berwald looked even better in the dim lamplight.
“Yer nervous.”
“Ah. Kind of.” A scary frown and a raised eyebrow. “Yes.”
Berwald tossed the towel on his dresser and sat beside Ludwig on the edge of the bed. “Y’know we don’t hafta do anythin’.”
Ludwig nodded and swallowed. It was loud. He blushed, then turned and scooted to the middle of the bed. “No, it’s okay.”
“Be fine with jus’ kissin’ ya, y’know.”
“Ah, well. Then why are you over there?” Ludwig weakly asked, one side of his mouth up in a grin. Berwald turned around, one long leg still hanging off the bed, and met him. The intensity from earlier remained - immediately their breathing picked up, and Ludwig was the first to open his mouth. Berwald’s tongue was soft and gentle, flicked over his lips - Ludwig shifted and thrust his tongue deeper, pulled back a little and breathed out over Berwald’s lips, then cupped his jaw and pressed them together again.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he realized that Berwald wasn’t instigating anything - he was just going along with whatever Ludwig wanted to. Ludwig backed up and pulled them both down to the bed, lying almost side-by-side. Berwald scooted up to head-level and Ludwig cautiously trailed a hand down his torso, feeling Berwald’s quick intake of air at the motion. Ludwig raised himself up on his other elbow and just - looked - and felt - Berwald made no motion except for the rise and fall of his chest. Ludwig trailed his fingers along Berwald’s hand on the bed, then twined them together, loose, a little sweaty. Berwald twisted, half on his back, half on his side, tightened his hold on Ludwig’s hand. Ludwig swallowed and ran his eyes up the torso that was practically on display for him - leaned down and mouthed Berwald’s neck, returning the favor.
Berwald’s hand in his twitched and a tiny noise issued from the back of his throat. Ludwig kept going. More mouth, a swipe of tongue, gentle press of kisses nearly down to the collarbone - then it got too bright again.
“Um. Do you think you could turn off the lamp?” he asked.
Berwald stretched over and turned it off, nearly knocking it over, and the only light was from the streetlamps outside the window. Better. Ludwig pressed a quick kiss to Berwald’s lips and moved lower, ran his hand back down his chest, down to the hipbone - Berwald shifted up into it.
Ludwig sat up a little and tugged his shirt off. “You,” he said, a little husky - he paused at that - “you don’t have to just stay there.” He draped himself back over Berwald, one stuttered breath at the feel - smooth skin and light hair - Berwald twined their legs together and he pressed himself closer at that.
More kisses, more tongue, more heat, a hand down his back - just - more - Berwald’s erection pressed against the join of his hip and thigh and he pressed himself down into it, arousal covering nervousness for now. Berwald moved to nip at his collarbone - a shudder down his spine - “Oh.”
“’s that okay?”
Ludwig licked his lips. “Yeah,” he sighed, deep, and let out another trembling breath when Berwald repeated the action. This was...new.
He reached a hand between them and palmed Berwald through his boxers, a little too hasty; Berwald let out a small grunt and sucked at his neck. Ludwig twisted his hand and pulled him out of his boxers, through the opening, with an awkward tug, and stroked. Berwald panted against his neck and bit down for a fleeting instant, dragging a hand down Ludwig’s broad back and bringing his other to Ludwig’s side, kneading there. Ludwig shifted to a less awkward position and picked up the pace, bringing his mouth to Berwald’s and receiving harsh, needy kisses in response.
It wasn’t very long before Berwald twitched beneath him and groaned, low and barely audible, into Ludwig’s mouth - semen splattered between both of them and Ludwig tried not to grimace as he moved his mouth to Berwald’s jaw and kissed there instead, letting him catch his breath.
Berwald’s hand moved to Ludwig’s pants - “Ah - you...” Berwald looked up at him, still breathing heavily, glasses askew. Ludwig felt a jolt run down his spine at the sight - but still - “I don’t know. I mean - about...” Ludwig tried not to bite his lip and was thankful the darkness was covering his blush.
“Y’really are a funny one,” Berwald huffed, half-laugh and half breathlessness. He shifted and got up from the bed, returning with the towel, and handed it to Ludwig first. They cleaned up and Berwald went to toss it in the hamper. Ludwig laid back down with a sigh and a slight smile, shifting around and trying to fidget his erection away. He doubted that would really work.
He watched Berwald walk back to the bed and shifted at the surge of heat that provoked. Berwald stretched out beside him, then turned and pulled him close, kissing his mussed hair. They lay like that a while, lazily touching and stroking one another - arms, hands, chests - before Berwald suddenly broke the silence with “I used t’have a crush on Matthew.”
Ludwig looked up at him, surprised. “You did?”
Berwald nodded. “Never said anythin’ but I think ‘e knew.”
“What happened?”
There was silence, but Ludwig was used to Berwald’s delayed responses by now, so he just waited. “Grew outta it I guess.”
Ludwig pulled himself close and breathed into Berwald’s collarbone. “Alfred knows.”
He felt Berwald shift to look down at him. “Y’sure?”
“Yes. I told him.”
“...oh.”
Ludwig nodded and they stayed like that a while. “He was okay with it,” Ludwig finally mumbled, “we’re still friends.”
A few more minutes were spent tucked in each others’ arms, Berwald’s large hand stroking up and down Ludwig’s back. Then Berwald mumbled “Still prob’ly sucked.”
Ludwig heard both the bitter smirk and the sympathy in that comment. “Yes. It was fairly painful.” He felt Berwald nod against his head.
And all of a sudden Ludwig did want Berwald to touch him. He swiftly rolled them over and ground his hips, barely, into Berwald’s. “Would it be okay with you if I stayed tonight?”
Berwald chuckled below him, both eyebrows raised. “Y’can stay whenever y’want.”
---
The bow of Roderich’s violin slipped, and the resulting screech snapped him out of his thoughts. He sighed and sat it down - obviously his mind was elsewhere, despite the fact that his reason for playing was to not think about it for a while.
He reached to the side table and picked up his phone - annnd no. Still no calls from Lili. Roderich hadn’t heard from her in a few days, and once again he resisted the barbarian urge to chew his nails. Did something happen to her? Did she not like him anymore? She wasn’t really confrontational; maybe she’d just decided to ignore him.
He frowned and tried her number again. One...two...three...
A scratchy “Hey - sorry,” met his ears.
“Lili? Ah, are you - you don’t sound...”
“Yeah, I’ve been sick,” she replied, voice weak. “Sorry I didn’t call...but...I just felt too bad.”
“Do you know what sort of ailment it is? Have you seen a doctor? I could, ah, I could take you if you haven’t - you are quite welcome to stay here as well, I can’t imagine that the environment of the dorms could possibly help.”
She tried to chuckle but ended up coughing instead. “Aww, that’s sweet of you. I think it’s just some sort of flu...thing. I’d rather stay with you, but I don’t want you to get sick either - I’ll just stay here.”
“Are you positive?” he asked, not even trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “What if I dropped by the dorms? I could bring...soup? Or medication...or...”
Another weak laugh. “Nah, I really don’t want you to get it too. It’s awful. And I think I’ve got everything I need...but thank you.”
He wished her well and they hung up. He looked down at his phone for a moment, then quickly called Francis.
Lili got a bouquet of sunflowers and white roses delivered to her room the next day.
---
talk about maybe starting up a team with the dudes at gilbert’s work
“No, Gil, dude, ya gotta do that again!” Alfred called.
“What? Can’t you shits-for-brains get anything right? It’s a goddamn handheld camera, how hard can it be?” Regardless, Gilbert skated back over to the top of the stairs, flipping Antonio off when he started laughing. “Okay, Jesus. You guys ready or should I just have a picnic up here while I’m at it?”
Antonio looked over Alfred’s shoulder. “Looks good.”
“Yeah, okay man, we’re good!”
Gilbert skated back a ways, then started toward the stairs and slid down the railing, making it most of the way before losing his balance and landing in a grumbling heap at the bottom. His head snapped up at a new source of laughter.
“What the fuck is this fag doin’ here?” Gilbert asked excitedly, picking himself up and skating right into Francis with a crash, ruffling his hair around while Francis flapped his arms around and went on about how he had spent time on his hair today, really -
“Oooh, are you gonna try to learn how to skate, dude?” Alfred asked, walking over a well, Antonio slowly gliding over on his skateboard behind him.
Gilbert began laughing so hard he had to clutch onto Francis in order not to fall down.
“I don’t think he is,” Antonio replied, looking bemusedly at Gilbert and an entertained but slightly exasperated Francis.
“No, no, Antonio simply informed me that you three would be -”
“Man, you should totally try it!” Alfred exclaimed. Francis stopped short, looking confused. “Here, Antonio, let him have your board!”
Antonio kicked it over to Francis’ feet. “I think you should,” he smiled. Gilbert sat down, still howling, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Do you really think so, dear?”
Antonio nodded and Alfred’s smile increased tenfold as he flipped the camera back on.
Francis took a step onto the board and immediately stumbled off. “Oh - it tilts.”
“Yeah,” Antonio laughed. “Step into the middle.”
Francis tried again.
“Nah bro, ya gotta do it with your whole foot!” Alfred instructed.
“Alfredo, stop ruinin’ my fun!”
“My whole foot?” Francis asked, and stepped up again. “And - my other - where does it go?”
“Just stand normally,” Antonio grinned. Francis did and Gilbert rolled his eyes and began talking to Alfred about the team the skateshop was trying to set up, instead.
“Want me to give you a push?” Antonio asked, moving closer.
“Oh? Well, sure,” Francis frowned. “You won’t let me fall, will you? I wouldn’t trust those two not to do it,” he snorted.
“I’ll try not to.” Antonio lightly held his back and waist, and moved them forward, slowly. “Yep, keep doing that, just don’t lean too far forwards or backwards.”
“Why not?”
Antonio chuckled before saying “You’ll lose your balance with your feet so close together.” He stopped them. “Here, spread them apart.” He moved in front of Francis and made sure he kept his balance before returning to his previous position. “That better?”
Francis made a noise of agreement.
“Okay - now you can lean. It’s how you turn.”
“Oiy, Antonio!” Gilbert yelled. “Stop doin’ cute couple-y shit and let’s get this skate vid finished!”
“Huh? Oh, okay!” He made sure Francis didn’t faceplant coming off of the board and then gave him a small kiss. “Did you drop by for any reason?”
“No, no, I simply was around - and since I have never seen you skateboard, really - I decided to swing by.”
Antonio smiled, wide and bright. “You can stay and watch if you want to! Gilbert keeps crashing, so that’s fun.”
Francis shrugged, then seemed to consider, hand on his hip. “Watching Gilbert fall sounds like a wonderful way to spend the afternoon.”
---
Gilbert got up and headed to Lovinia’s bathroom to clean the mess off of his stomach, a slightly disoriented stumble to his proud swagger. She rolled over on the futon and buried herself in the covers.
“Holy shit!” he called. “You grow pot in your bathroom, Lovi?”
She didn’t dignify that with a response. Any moron with working eyes should know the answer to that.
“Hey, let’s smoke some!”
“Hell no. It’s not for me - or you. Unless you wanna pay for it.”
“What?” Gilbert poked his head out the door and raised an eyebrow. She didn’t even look at him, just burrowed further into the covers with a huff. “You gonna explain that, hot stuff?”
A sleepy “I sell it,” drifted up from the pile.
“Er...what?”
“You deaf or just a dumb shit? I sell it.”
Gilbert approached the bed cautiously. “’kay...” He slid back into the nest of blankets and wrapped an arm around her. She grunted and kept her eyes closed, but didn’t shove him off. Sweet.
Then a thought struck him. “Do you sell any other shit like that?”
Lovinia nodded and her mouth barely twitched into a frown for a moment. She sure was cute when she was half-asleep and not trying to maim him. He probably shouldn’t say that, both for the sake of his manly pride and his manly appendages.
“Like what?”
“Would you just let me fuckin’ sleep already?” she mumbled, an edge of her normal anger returning.
Gilbert pulled her closer and pressed his face to her hairline. “Not until you tell me what,” he sung, smiling into her hair.
She heaved a huge sigh and weakly pushed him away. “Fine, damn. Pot and acid, shrooms, sometimes coke or e - every once in a while I get ahold of some pills. S’about it.” Nothing that would get some crazy addict pounding down her door, she wasn’t dumb.
Gilbert went still.
...uh.
“You’re a dealer?” he yelped. “Like, a real, fuckin’ - bona-fide - shit!”
Lovinia cracked an eye open and frowned at him. “God, you really are an idiot.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” he asked, voice a little higher than normal.
She just raised an eyebrow and tried to fall asleep. She was comfortable and didn’t really want to have to get up to drag his stupid ass out. Plus she was naked - how embarrassing.
“I mean, that’s goddamn dangerous, Lovi -”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What if you got caught?! You could go to jail - Christ -”
She opened her eyes and glared at him. “I could go to jail?” she snarled. “Really? Well that’s fuckin’ news to me.” She rolled her eyes. “And - wait - you’ve been to jail, bastard! Why the hell do you care? Shithead like you would probably be all over it if, I dunno, Arthur sold them or something.”
Uh. Wait. Why did he care? He frowned - she was right, he really would be all over it if Arthur was a dealer.
“I’m going to sleep now,” she huffed, rolling over and away from him. “Bother me again and I’m punching you in the teeth. And turn off that lamp, asshole.”
He did, and within the minute she was asleep, tiny, light snores drifting up from the lump beside him. Gilbert stayed up and looked at the cracks in the ceiling, telling himself that it was her noise keeping him awake.
---
“So,” Eirik stated, flat-voiced, as he put a Smiths CD in the player of Natalia’s old car, “did you have anywhere in mind?” They were back home for spring break; she had called him up and said she’d be by soon to pick him up for a drive.
“Nope,” she smirked, “just a drive through the countryside. Nothing to do in this town anyway, may as well waste some gas.”
Eirik nodded and looked at the moonlight-bathed hills around them; a few clouds wisped across the sky, the budding trees painted into sharp, interlaced twists of platinum scratching at the night, with gray-black shadow dripping between. The road seemed bright and plain in comparison to the forest’s subtle stir to life.
He wished it was warm enough to roll the window down. He’d like to smell wet ground and hear the fwip-fwip-fwip as they sped past the trees. It was one of the things he missed when he was in the city.
Instead he turned to her. “What’d you end up doing today?”
“Hm? Oh,” Natalia paused a second and thought, “not much, really. Went on a few errands with my mom, stopped by Carlos’ house for a bit.”
An ex of hers. He sucked. Eirik scowled. “You saw that guy? Why?”
“Because we’re still friends? I haven’t seen him since Christmas break, so I figured I’d say hello,” she shrugged. “I don’t get what your problem is with him, anyway.”
“He never wanted you to hang out with me when you were dating,” Eirik groused, “so technically he started it.” He crossed his arms at this.
“Okay, fine, but now we’re not dating and it doesn’t even matter anymore. You can’t let it go?”
“No.”
Most people would have classified the response as curt and emotionless, but Natalia knew Eirik well enough to hear the carefully-hidden sulk beneath it. She sighed and rolled her eyes at him. “God, you’re such a jealous freak sometimes, Eir. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you had a crush on me or something.”
“I don’t have a crush on you.” I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. It is terrifying.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she laughed. “You’re my BFF.” She looked over and gave him an exaggerated wink.
Eirik stared at her a minute and then looked out the window. “...yeah,” he replied, voice dull.
Great, he was in one of those weird moods of his again. Natalia frowned. He didn’t act like this when they were kids. She was pretty sure middle school had messed him up a little, or something, that’s when this started - his parents divorced and he pretty much became part of Natalia’s family for a while. He didn’t want to go to either of his new houses.
The CD started skipping and she glanced at him. “Hey - find a new one,” she nodded.
Eirik dug under his seat for another CD that was surely lost down there (nothing was in its proper place in Natalia’s car), and thought he felt - his fingers clasped around a strange object and he brought it up to look. “Is this - ahah no - this is - some of those popsicle stick puppets we made in -”
“- Mrs. Jackson’s art class?! Did you find mine or yours?”
“Both...what was yours anyway?” he snickered a bit under his breath, turning it in the flickering strips of moonlight across the dash. “Looks like a deformed creature with a ray gun.”
“It is not a deformed creature!”
“Ray gun.”
“You -!”
“Pew! pew!” he laughed, pretending to shoot her with the puppet.
“Ahaha stop it you nutcase - I’m trying to drive!” she cried, and blindly swiped a hand toward the puppet.
He just grinned wider and lurched across the seat, tapping her in the head with the puppet repeatedly - “Pew pew!”
She threw her head to the side in a laugh - “You freak!” - then turned and shoved him back over into the passenger’s seat, playfully ruffling his hair. He loved it when she did that.
He sat and grinned at her, white and radiant in the moonlight.
She rolled her eyes with a smile and flipped to the next song.
---
“I’m not sure I want to tape a 40 to my hand, Gilbert,” Antonio stated, eyebrow quirked, half-grinning at Gilbert’s small army of 40’s lined up on the back porch of the Hjortdonner house.
“Antonio, c’mon, stop being a goddamn pansy. It’s Saint-fucking-Patrick’s, and me an’ Sadiq are gonna do Edward 40 hands because we rule like that. And I thought you did too,” Gilbert glowered.
Antonio laughed at his expression. “I’m not sure I can handle Steel Reserve, Gil.”
“Ey look,” Sadiq cut in. “What if ya drink, but don’t tape ‘em down. Don’t think we need any incentive to get shitfaced, Gil.”
Gilbert paused, frowning. “You’re sayin’ taping the Reserve is actually more cowardly than drinking it straight-up.”
“Yep,” Sadiq grinned.
“Ya got me there, fucker.”
“Ha, well, okay Gil,” Antonio smiled, grabbing a nearby bottle. “I’ll do that.”
They were all into the first bottle, keeping a fairly even pace, when Sadiq suddenly remembered that Francis was supposed to be there. “Where’d yer dude go, Antonio? S’always fun to see him plastered.”
“Hm? Oh,” Antonio looked at his phone. “He should be on the way. I already told him to just come around back.”
---
They were all seated at the rickety picnic table in the backyard, loudly conversing, nearly done with their first bottle, by the time Francis got there. Gilbert and Sadiq greeted him with a wild cheer, and Antonio, an enthusiastic, upside-down kiss.
“Way ta be late, bastard,” Sadiq laughed, shoving an open 40 into Francis’ hand. Francis frowned down at it.
“Oh fuck you Francis,” Gilbert snarled. “Too snooty for a 40? Man up and drink the goddamn thing. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
“Better not make them get a funnel,” Antonio laughed, a dark glint in his eyes.
“You are cruel for even proposing that idea, dear,” Francis responded. He took a drink and frowned. “This - ugh - it is fowl.”
“Ey man,” Sadiq looked at him, falsely serious. “Get drunk and it won’t be so bad.”
Francis heaved a heavy sigh and settled down beside Antonio, chugging as much as he could stand. “This had better be strong,” he muttered. Gilbert and Antonio crowed with laughter while Sadiq informed him that the ABV was 8.1%.
---
Francis had finished half the bottle, pace picking up now that he was on his way to the land of drunkenness - the other three had started on the second, Gilbert in the lead at this point.
Well, they were certainly frolicking in the land of drunkenness, Francis thought. Gilbert was standing on the table, alternately rambling, yelling, and singing whatever came to mind.
Antonio’s expression changed to a smirk, out of nowhere, and he laughed and swept his arm under Gilbert’s knees, bringing him crashing down to the table.
“You fucker!” Gilbert slurred, and launched himself at a wildly laughing Antonio, tackling them both to the ground. Antonio barked a dark laugh and bashed Gilbert’s head to the ground, only to get flipped and kneed in the gut. They continued rolling around, grappling, snarling, and pausing to laugh.
Francis stared at them a moment, then looked at Sadiq, who was leaning back against the table, watching with a somewhat dopey smile and keen eyes.
“What are they doing?” Francis asked.
Sadiq jerked a little and shot a slightly bewildered look at Francis. “Ya got eyes?”
Francis huffed and waved his hand at the two, who had now begun spitting vicious insults at each other between their breathless snickers. “I know Gilbert is - well, he does these things,” he began, “but, I would have never expected it of Antonio.”
“Uh, where ya been, dude? This kinda happens a lot.” Sadiq looked at them, assessing, then turned back to Francis. “They’ll do this, an’ then start destroyin’ things. S’usually when I jump in,” he grinned.
Francis laughed. “You stop the destruction? How noble of you, dear.”
Sadiq snorted. “Fuck no. I help, oi.”
They turned and watched as Antonio ate a mouthful of grass through a spluttering chortle. “I’ve never seen it,” Francis murmured, tilting his head and squinting, intrigued.
“Mm,” Sadiq grunted into his bottle. “I think he watches ‘imself around ya.”
Francis looked over, surprised, but Sadiq continued watching the fight with a smirk. He shifted in his seat, took another gulp of his drink, and watched with intent eyes as the vitality that always simmered within Antonio boiled over and lit up the night.
---
“So, Ivan,” Arthur sighed, “how long’s it been?”
“15 minutes.”
“Fuck me, this is boring,” Arthur griped, and lit up a cigarette. The flame from the lighter cut through the murky darkness and was reflected in a few polished graves around them - Kiku saw that it also brought out the distinct twitch of Nils’ jaw.
“It is only polite,” Kiku said, looking around at the cemetery.
“Yeah, you said,” Arthur shrugged, blowing smoke and taking another drag. Nils determinedly watched the clouds - they kinda looked smoky tonight, too. Damn.
“It is also not very polite to smoke,” Ivan frowned.
“To smoke?”
“No. It is not your home to trash.”
“Huh,” Arthur looked down at the cigarette in his hand. “Suppose I’ll just put the butts in my pocket, then.”
They stood in relative silence in the midnight quiet of the cemetery. The darkness was almost tangible - every object became another foggy slab of charcoal and gray, the shapes bleeding into one another. It was cold, misty, and wet, with no moon to light anything, no wind to move anything. Just heavy and chilled. Arthur whistled a tune and it seemed entirely too loud.
“Where are we plannin’ on going once we’ve been here long enough?” he finally asked into the air.
Kiku and Ivan looked at each other. “I think we should start in the oldest part,” Ivan shrugged.
Nils nodded and shifted to his other foot. “That’s a good bet for ghosts. Or orbs. Whichever.”
“I’d like to find orbs,” Kiku quipped. “Hopefully there will be more activity due to the equinox...” He pulled out his camera to adjust the settings. “Did anyone bring a disposable camera?”
“I did,” Nils replied. He’d made the mistake of bringing only a digital camera once (also the same time he made the mistake of bringing Alfred) and it started acting screwy when the temperature dropped out of nowhere.
“Time’s up,” Ivan smiled, and turned to lead the way, weaving between tombstones. The other three trailed behind in a lazy line, passing and falling behind each other as Nils would pause to look at a particular tombstone or Kiku would stop and glance around at the air surrounding him.
“What’s an orb?” Arthur asked Kiku, keeping his voice down to almost a whisper. He had no idea if any spirits would be around to hear or anything like that, but he’d rather not get caught by the police.
“It is essentially what it sounds like - a glowing ball of light.”
“Kinda like a will-’o-wisp, then?”
“No,” Nils flatly stated from behind them, “a will-o-wisp flickers like fire. Sometimes it recedes when you move toward it. An orb doesn’t flicker.”
Arthur nodded and veered off a little, to swing by a statue nearby on his way.
“I’ve never heard of a will-o-wisp,” Kiku stated, glancing at Nils. “What legend is that?”
“Oh,” Nils took a deep breath and thought, stepping over a tall clump of wet grass. “There are a lot of them.” When Kiku didn’t say anything he went on. “They’re from all over the world...er - well, some people thought that they were lights that misguided travelers. Other cultures thought they showed where treasure was buried underground. In America they’re part of the Jack-o-Lantern tales.”
“The Halloween pumpkins?” Kiku asked, a little humor seeping in.
Nils let out a small laugh under his breath. “Sort of. Most of them are a variation of one story. A guy named Jack is so evil he gets turned away from both Heaven and Hell, and has to walk around the earth forever with a flame. It probably came over from Ireland - the Irish had one about a guy who had to walk around with a lantern made from a turnip.”
“How the hell did you get ‘im to say that much in one go, Kiku?” Arthur laughingly asked from behind them. They both jumped a little and turned.
Nils scowled; Kiku smiled, barely, and said “It is easy when he’s talking about folk tales and mythology.”
Ivan had stopped and was looking around, appraising. They drew up to him as well, quiet.
“There is a Japanese tale that is similar to the will-o-wisp - it concerns the kitsune-bi,” Kiku whispered, warmth in his voice.
“Oh?” Nils asked, head cocked.
Kiku nodded and turned on his camera. “I can tell you about it later. It would be wise start hunting now that we are here.”
---
Antonio opened the door to his apartment only to get smothered with an excitedly blabbering Francis.
“Haha wait, wait, what?” he asked, pulling back and holding Francis around the waist.
“Antonio, my darling, lovely,” he held Antonio’s face and quickly kissed him on both cheeks before continuing, “oh my goodness, you’ll never - it’s simply so exciting dear - I got word from MetroPop magazine today - and - oh, it’s wonderful - they’re covering the store in the summer issue!”
Antonio smiled and kissed Francis, then shut the door. “That’s great!” He lead them both to the couch as Francis kept rambling on like an excited child, gesticulating everywhere. It was adorable. Antonio briefly wondered what, exactly, had made Francis so excited, but decided to simply revel in Francis’ glow with him.
“And - oh - they’re covering my clothing line too, it’s just -” he paused and looked at Antonio; Antonio raised both eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. “Do you even know what MetroPop is, dear?”
“Nope,” Antonio replied, peppy. “But you’re so happy - it has to be good!” He kissed Francis again; the giddiness was contagious.
Francis broke away and laughed before stroking the side of Antonio’s face. He really didn’t give Antonio enough credit sometimes.
---
-
---
Author’s Notes and stuff:
Yeah Matthew, tap dat!
Conversely - no no, Berwald and Ludwig did not have sex. Because I would sooo have written that. (Even better: I am so gonna write that. I am gonna write the hell out of that.)
So, Mathias and Sadiq’s total-bitch shoot-your-balls-off dealer? Yuuup.
Antonio and I finally agreed on his characterization! Woo! I can stop writing him from the other person’s POV/omniscient POV now! And not a moment too soon, dude. You’ve got some screen time comin’ up.
Kitsune! The Japanese tale Kiku was talking about - foxes hold glowing balls in their mouths or tails, and the balls are called fox fire. Here’s a pic - one of my favorite favorite Hiroshige prints:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8a/Hiroshige-100-views-of-edo-fox-fires.jpg
---
MARCH MIXTAPE
---
Basically the first four scenes:
Peaking Lights - Silver Tongues, Soft Whispers
The Nils-and-Kiku smoking shebang:
Modest Mouse - Dramamine
Feliks and Eduard meet up at a record store:
Metric - Succexy
Eliza and Matthew listen to folk:
Carolina Chocolate Drops - Sally Anne
Roscoe Hocolmb - Black-Eyed Suzie - Yeeeah boi drop dem g’s, pimp dem hollers STATE PRIDE BROFIST
Ludwig goes home with Berwald:
Weezer - Only in Dreams - oh, cautious love
Francis tries to skateboard:
Pavement - Range Life
Gilbert learns about Lovi’s day job:
Autolux - Sugarless
Natalia and Eirik go on a drive:
The Smiths - Asleep - Ahaha you probably thought I was gonna use that other one, yeah? So did I. I mean, it’s about riding in a car and wanting to be out and not home and enjoying your company and and and - It wasn’t subdued enough. -_- Le sigh.
Dirty on Purpose - No Radio
Nonstandard St. Patrick’s Day:
Blur - Song 2
Ghost hunting on the equinox:
Caboladies - Atomic Weekender Side B - if “creepy-beep-bloop-noise-synth” isn’t your cup of tea, skip this’un
Mediafire link: http://www.mediafire.com/?7eh8n1py58k6q
Rating: R
Characters: Ensemble
Pairings: France/Spain, Austria/Liechtenstein, Germany/Japan, France/Norway, England/fem!Netherlands, Prussia/fem!Romano, Norway/Japan, Germany/America, Germany/Sweden, Canada/Hungary
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In This Chapter: Nils has a fun time without nicotine, a lot of hanging out, a bit of hooking up, Lili is sick, Gilbert, Alfred, Antonio, and Francis play with skateboards and video cameras, Berwald and Ludwig are awkward, Ivan, Arthur, Kiku, and Nils go ghost hunting.
Warnings: Language, drinking, drugs, sexual situations, pretentious conversations and stuff.
It's Thursday update time update time!
---
MARCH
---
Nils scowled and the straw in his mouth dipped down with it. He entered the last of the inventory into the computer and stabbed the last key down with far more force than necessary.
“Nils, what are you doing to that poor keyboard?” Francis called from across the store, then turned to walk over to him.
“Nothing.”
Francis stopped beside him and raised an eyebrow. “I wish you were still smoking,” he sighed, with a dramatic wave of his hand, “you are so intolerable like this.”
“Intolerable.”
“Yes, I think that is the word. And - stop chewing on those while you’re in here,” Francis chided, snatching the straw from Nils’ lips and tossing it in the trash bin with a curled lip. “This store has a reputation to keep up, you know - and, now that I think of it, stop snapping at customers - I don’t want to have to fire you, beautiful, but it is just...rude.”
Nils looked at Francis, then nodded. He looked at the computer screen a moment before sighing and stating “I wish I was still smoking, too.”
Francis raised his eyebrows for a moment, surprised that Nils was sharing his thoughts on - well, that he was sharing his thoughts at all - then leaned his hip against the desk and gave a gentle smile. “Ah, but I’m sure he thinks it is lovely that you aren’t any longer. Although,” he chuckled and gestured minutely to Nils’ waist, “he might not think that it’s lovely that you’re gaining a few,” he teased, winking at Nils.
Nils stared at Francis for a moment, then looked down, curious, and pulled his shirt up a little. His mind blanked a second - he’d never had an ounce of fat on him in his life - and, well, there it was. Not much, but a little pudge at his hips.
“Are you fucking kidding me!?” he snarled, poking at his side.
Francis gave a light laugh as Nils rolled his skin between his fingers, outraged expression on his face. “In my opinion, if you’re going to insist upon quitting - not that that is bad at all, dear, it’s simply that you’ve been so irritable lately - you should at least watch your figure.”
Nils’ furious gaze snapped up to him.
“Perhaps you should pick up some sort of physical activity?” Francis suggested. “Or,” he leered, “more of a certain physical activity.”
Nils closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for a moment. You can’t chew out your boss. You can’t chew out your boss. Even if he’s a fucking pervert who hits on everyone all the damn time.
“You could simply start riding your bike again,” Francis flippantly suggested. “It is nearly spring.”
Nils sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then tugged on the waistband of his jeans. They were a little tighter, weren’t they? “Yeah, I guess so,” he dully replied.
---
“That bastard kissed me in the middle of the station!”
Anja leaned back in the booth and wished for the nth time that you were still allowed to smoke in bars. Huh, apparently Lovinia wanted a response to that last statement, if that expectant glare was anything to go by. Fine, fine. But it wouldn’t be the response she wanted. “And then?” Anja prodded, eyebrow raised.
“...we went to a punk show,” Lovinia muttered. She scowled and finished off her beer. “And then that idiot started a mosh pit and yanked me in.”
Anja barked a laugh. “So, lemme see if I’ve got this right,” she began. Lovinia translation time was fun - it pissed her off so much when someone hit the nail on the proverbial head. “He’s a decent kisser, y’think he’s fun, and unusually attractive, has pretty eyes, and he must be bangin’ on the guitar because ya never said he sucked.”
Whup, bingo. Lovinia looked ready to throttle her. Anja twitched a small, evil smile, threw an arm over Lovi’s shoulders before Lovinia could actually do anything, and shook her around with another bark of laughter. Lovi hated it when she did that - which meant Anja did it all the time.
“His eyes are fucking creepy!” Lovinia yelled and harshly shoved Anja away. Anja fell into the side of the booth and kept laughing. Yeah, okay, she was definitely a little drunk.
She calmed down and righted herself again, glancing at Lovinia. “Bitch, y’need to get laid - ya haven’t since last summer,” she bluntly stated, taking a sip of her drink.
Lovinia’s eyes flew wide before she snarled “We said we wouldn’t talk about that!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll drop it.” Anja’s expression went from impassive to serious for a moment. “But really, you’ve gotta stop worrying about getting hurt.”
“I’m not -!”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” Anja cut her off with a roll of her eyes. “Just go get laid already. De-stress. You’d prob’ly be less of a bitch - “ that got her smacked in the arm “ - and the world would be better for it,” she finished.
They both looked down at Lovinia’s phone on the table, then - Anja shoved her over at the same time Lovinia made a grab for it and emerged victorious. She kept a viciously cursing Lovi at arm’s (and one leg’s) length away, leaning back and flipping the phone open. She went to the recent calls menu - “Hm, I’ll bet he’s the one called “That Stupid Bastard.” You’re pretty predictable, Lovi.” She cooly looked at a still-struggling Lovi and pressed the call button.
“You - fucking - cunt! Give that back you bitch!” Lovinia tried to climb over her but Anja just kicked her away. Thank God for long legs.
Anja heard it pick up and a surprised but arrogant sounding “Sup babe!” greeted her.
“Hey you - come pick your girl Lovi up.”
“Lovi, eh?” Gilbert cackled. “Er, wait - who the hell is this?”
“Anja,” she brusquely replied, and shoved Lovinia away from her when it looked like she was gonna get grabby again.
“Huh, well hey. So what’s this shit about Lovinia?”
“Yeah, we’re at this bar near Wilson and 12th, and I was just talkin’ ‘bout how she’s waaay too sexually frustrated - ouch! - so, get over here.”
“...fuck yeah.”
Anja finished the conversation and flipped the phone shut with an upward tilt of her chin and a self-satisfied grin.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Lovinia pouted, arms crossed.
“Seein’ as you’re pouting like a little kid and not kicking my ass, I’ll just say ‘you’re welcome’.”
Lovinia let out a muted huff of air. “Whatever, go buy me a drink.”
Anja snorted, flipped her off, and headed to the bar.
---
They didn’t have sex, but they did get naked.
...that moron could really use some tips on getting a girl off.
---
“Your boss is...interesting,” Kiku said softly, quirking a small smile while looking over at Nils across the diner table.
Nils rolled his eyes and scooped up a forkful of turkey and sweet potato hash, then observed it with a frown. How many calories were in this? It was all that fresh-and-local shit at this place, stuff Kiku liked - did that mean it was lighter, though? God damn it, and now he was thinking about ridiculous things like calories.
“Well, he won’t stop complaining about my non-smoking. Gilbert too. And I think Gilbert makes it a point to smoke around me, because he’s a douche like that.”
Kiku nodded, short and solemn. “Well, if you don’t think you can do it, then that is understandable.”
“You’re still going to be a passive-aggressive dick about it,” Nils scowled.
Kiku’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. “If you would like to put it that way.”
The rest of the meal was rather frigid.
---
“Hey boy,” was murmured right next to Eduard’s ear - he dropped the CD he was looking at with a clatter and whipped around. And stared. Eyes went down - dark blue band jacket with complicated silver cording - down - thin, skintight black jeans - down - gunmetal-silver, knee-high Doc Martens - then back up again, to those green, green eyes.
“Huh. You look surprised,” Feliks smiled, a little lopsided.
“Ah. Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t think we were supposed to dress up to go record shopping,” he laughed a little, sheepish.
Feliks’ expression fell flat. “Honey. I always dress up. If you’ve gotta do it anyway, may as well make it fun, ya know?”
Eduard sighed in relief and gave a weak smile. “Oh, good. I wouldn’t want to create a maladroit situation, which I suppose it would be if you dressed up for me and I simply arrived in my standard school attire.”
“Oh my God, a ‘maladroit situation’ - you and your vocab,” Feliks rolled his eyes and turned to see what Eduard was looking at, muttering “And, you know, I did make sure to look extra fab today.” He picked up the dropped CD and raised an eyebrow. “Phoenix? You don’t, like, have this yet? This is so last year.”
“I downloaded it,” Eduard impressed. He didn’t need Feliks to think he was nerdier than he already was - Feliks was so cool. Why in the world did he want to associate himself with a high-schooler?
Feliks nodded and picked through a few more CD’s. Eduard moved down the aisle and Feliks animatedly interrogated him about what other music he liked.
“Math rock? You’re totally gonna have to let me hear some of that.”
Eduard paused and looked at him. “You mean you haven’t?”
“Nope. Oh - come over to my place next week. You can bring your computer, or, whatever,” Feliks waved a hand, the other still flipping through discs. “This time works, right?”
“Ah, yeah, it does.” Wait, was he even really given a choice in that? Eduard watched as Feliks snatched up a CD and leaned back, placing his other hand on his hip - his personality seemed to fill up the room. Eduard hummed to himself. No wonder he’d been bowled over within the first minute.
---
“You play the banjo?”
“Hm?” Eliza looked at Matthew, who was hovering over the threshold to her room. She followed his gaze to the banjo in the corner. “Oh, yeah,” she crossed over to it and picked it up. “Wanna hear some? You don’t have to just stand there, y’know.”
He tentatively walked over and sat down on the floor beside her. “Oh, er, sure,” he replied, fidgeting, “I haven’t really heard much - I guess some Béla Fleck - and, er, the Carter Family? They played banjo, right? Or was it guitar...” he trailed off, quiet.
“Yeah, they played both! You like folk music?” Eliza asked, strumming a simple tune.
“Uh...” he bit the edge of his sleeve and watched her play, then shook himself out of it. “I haven’t heard much. Mississippi John Hurt, I like him - he played guitar though, I think.”
She nodded. “I’ve got a lot - I’ll put some on in a second. Okay, so see here? I’m playing in the three-finger style -” a short demonstration - “and some old songs use two-finger picking; there’s also the Keith style, which is pretty exclusive to bluegrass music, and the Scruggs style - that’s like the Beverly Hillbillies theme,” she laughed.
Matthew couldn’t really hear the difference, but he could definitely see that it was different, watching her fingers move across the strings, swift and practiced.
“Then there’s the clawhammer style - it’s a popular folk style.”
“Oh, I can hear the difference there,” he nodded with a small smile.
“Yep. It’s not used in bluegrass at all, really.” She got up and went over to her record player. “I don’t think I have any Stanley Brothers on record,” she sighed, flipping through a few albums, “but - oh, have you ever heard Roscoe Holcomb? He’s a classic.”
Matthew shook his head.
“I’ll put him on then. He was an amazing player - I’d play some for you but he used weird tunings and...” she shrugged, “it’d be easier to just listen to the record.”
It was fast. Matthew frowned and turned his head a little as she made her way back to the floor beside him.
“What do you think?”
“Um, well, his voice is...” he didn’t want to offend Eliza, but Matthew thought the voice was weird.
She laughed. “It takes some getting used to. His voice - they call it the high lonesome - it’s what most bluegrass performers use.” She picked up her banjo and let her fingers follow along, not actually hitting the strings, simply making the motions.
“I wish I could play something,” Matthew sighed, watching her content expression.
She paused and looked up at him. “You don’t play an instrument?”
He blushed. “Er, no.”
Eliza smiled, bright, then. “Ever tried the harmonica?”
“Um,” Matthew swallowed. “Harmonica?”
“Yeah, it’s really easy.” She got up again and came back with a harmonica, handing it to him. “Okay, so, bring it up,” she brought her hands over his and helped him adjust it against his lips. “Yep, like that.”
He tried to concentrate - her hands lingered on his.
“Now. Just blow into it, get used to it,” she brought her hands down but remained leaned in. He blew, just a weak little noise. She laughed. “A little harder. Yeah, that’s good. Make sure to exhale slowly, and just breathe through the harmonica and not your nose. So now, to get a note and not a whole bunch of them, curl your tongue - you can curl your tongue, right?” He nodded. “Good! Curl your tongue around one of the holes - block the holes on either side - got that? Okay, now, blow.”
Matthew did; he didn’t quite have it down, he could hear more than one note being played. He tried again.
“Put it further into your mouth,” Eliza instructed.
Aha! He pulled it away with a wide smile, then saw the spit all over the instrument and began a babbling apology. She just laughed and reassured him that it was okay.
“Just try and hold individual notes. There’s another technique you can use if you don’t like the tongue thing.”
They continued with the impromptu lesson and she began strumming along, their clumsy duet clashing with Roscoe Holcomb in the background.
Matthew pulled the harmonica away again and she paused, confused. “It’s hard to concentrate with that,” he chuckled, looking over at the record player.
She sat the banjo to the side with a small smile and said “Well, we can stop playing for now.”
He turned back around right in time for her lips to meet his - he gasped and then pulled her closer before he could think about it too hard and overreact. She laughed a little into his mouth and then - oh shit - climbed right into his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
A few minutes and she pulled back with a quirked eyebrow and a devious expression. “Bed?” she asked.
“Uh,” Matthew panted out, mind reeling. “Um, uh, yeah?”
---
Nils dropped his backpack by Kiku’s bedroom door with a sigh. “It’s nice of you to let me work on this here,” he muttered. He’d come to work on his paper for his Middle Eastern and Arab Mythology course - the urge to chain smoke while he was writing was way too strong for him to trust himself to make it through on his own.
“You are welcome,” Kiku murmured, and then looked at him. And continued to look at him.
Nils raised an eyebrow. “...what?”
“I...” Kiku fiddled with his sleeve. “Ah. I didn’t anticipate that you would have as difficult of a time with this...” He looked up and finished with “...as you are.” Nils looked back with his usual aloof expression in place; when Kiku didn’t go on, he quirked an eyebrow. “Well...I just wanted to apologize for making it harder for you,” Kiku sighed, looking to the side. Then he got up, crossed to a shelf, and handed Nils a package of Nicorette gum.
Nils’ eyes widened even as his brows furrowed. “I don’t know if that will make it easier or not,” Kiku said, quiet, “but...” he let it trail off with a shrug.
Nils opened his mouth and looked up, then back down at the package, then back at Kiku. He smiled, a little, just the corner of his mouth, and pressed his lips to Kiku’s. He wasn’t really one to say sorry - but he was, he’d been an absolute asshole lately and he knew it - so he hoped it at least came through in the kiss.
---
The final buzzer sounded and Ludwig narrowly avoided getting drenched in beer by a wildly cheering Alfred beside him in the stands.
“Whoa man, they won - how sweet is that, I never knew hockey was so cool - I mean now that I think about it, yeah, of course it is, it’s - and that Matthew guy is crazy!”
Ludwig nodded and contentedly listened to Alfred’s rambling about how Matthew was fuckin’ nuts and Ivan was scary and Berwald was so fast it was hard to keep track of him - and, oh, you’re going to his place tonight, right? This was followed by a wink, an elbow in the side, and Ludwig’s furious blush.
“Alfred,” Ludwig sighed, slightly chastising.
“Dude, don’t be like that, it’s awesome you’ve got someone as cool as you are,” Alfred smiled, then looked off a little and sighed. “Anyway, yeah, c’mon, the crowd’s almost gone!” And with that Alfred dragged Ludwig down the stands and to the entry of the rink to wait on the players to come out from the changing rooms.
They were really deep into a spirited debate about which generation of Dodge Challenger was the best - neither cared for the second, but Alfred liked the new third generation and Ludwig was partial to the original design - when a sweaty Ivan stepped up and looked between them.
“I didn’t realize either of you liked cars,” he said, soft.
“Oh! You like cars, dude?” Alfred excitedly asked.
“...not really.”
Alfred deflated for a moment, then perked up when he saw Berwald and Matthew coming up, their quiet conversation carrying over to them.
“Do either of you guys like cars - oh, hey, y’wanna go out for drinks now? I mean, Luddy and I have been drinking an’ all but - victory round or somethin’?”
Ludwig huffed a laugh and shook his head. He’d had enough to drink, he didn’t want to be ridiculously drunk this evening.
“Eh, sure,” Matthew replied. “Ivan? Berwald?”
Ivan shrugged and nodded; Berwald shook his head and said “Need t’shower.”
“Cool, well, c’mon you two!” Alfred threw his arm toward Ivan and Matthew in a big sweep, then turned to Ludwig. “You two have fun!” he winked, then wrapped Ludwig up in a bear hug and turned on his heel, dragging a flustered Matthew behind him.
Ludwig jumped a little and blushed - damn, still - laughed a little awkwardly and waved goodbye to the three.
They began the walk over to Berwald’s apartment - apparently it wasn’t very far from the rink - in comfortable silence, under the yellow streetlight glow. There was a slight breeze, and Ludwig couldn’t help but notice how he kept getting whiffs of Berwald’s sweaty scent. Normally such things disturbed him somewhat...but...Berwald smelled nice. How strange. He kind of wanted to hug him, just to smell - he shook his head. That was weird. And awkward. He was already awkward enough.
Berwald broke the silence. “So y’like Alfred?”
Erm. Ludwig froze, spine straight. “What?”
“Dunno,” Berwald half-shrugged and turned to him with a crooked imitation of a smile. “Y’got...ya just acted like it.”
That closed-mouth smile was all wrong. It wasn’t the usual one. It was trying to be teasing, but...Ludwig felt the slightest twinge in his chest. He didn’t really know what to say - how to articulate - he leaned into Berwald and kissed him instead. Right against the streetlamp pole, pressed in close, intense.
Ludwig pulled back and grinned at Berwald’s startled face. “I do like you.”
It was true, even if he was still a little hung up over Alfred.
Berwald nodded and turned, a hand brushing against Ludwig’s lower back for a moment. They continued the trek in comfortable silence once more.
---
He wasn’t wearing shoes. He was alone in a strange living room. Both of those facts made him feel awkward. But - there were so many books in Berwald’s apartment. Ludwig decided to look through the shelves, shuffling in his socked feet, while Berwald was in the shower. Philosophy, furniture, art, some zines, mixology, history - a Calvin and Hobbes anthology? Ludwig plucked it from the shelf and brought it back to the couch.
He was so deep into it that he didn’t realize Berwald was out of the shower until he entered the living room, toweling his hair, clad only in glasses and boxers. He sat down beside Ludwig - ooh that thigh was right against his - and leaned over, giving an approving nod at the comics.
Ludwig was trying not to stare, but - “What...” he frowned and turned a little, scrutinizing Berwald’s side. It looked like someone had doodled random little things in ink pen over his ribcage, down near his hip, one or two places on his stomach. “What are these?” He dared to touch one, barely brushing his finger to a rib. Berwald gave a small laugh and Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “You’re ticklish.”
“Maybe.”
Ludwig drew his finger away and observed the biggest one - a sort of cheery but cartoonish and crude skeleton holding a halberd, sprawled at a strange angle over the side of Berwald’s lower ribs.
He continued in his observations, Berwald watching with mild amusement. There was a ghost, a lightning bolt, some other doodles, a few words and phrases here and there, a few in symbols that Ludwig didn’t recognize.
“Ah - what is this, exactly?”
“Mm?” Berwald twisted to look down and pointed to one near his hip. “This?”
Ludwig nodded.
“Viking runes,” Berwald shrugged. “Arthur wanted t’do ‘em.”
“Arthur did these?”
Berwald nodded. “Jus’ stick ‘n pokes. He’s got a lot too. We were kinda wild when we were teenagers.”
Ludwig tilted his head, curious. “I’d like to hear about that.”
“Hm.” Berwald shifted and leaned into Ludwig, lightly kissing his neck. Ludwig stiffened. “S’metime,” he mumbled into the skin there, before giving a little lick that made Ludwig’s breath hitch. Berwald continued, gentle, wet, trailing down Ludwig’s neck, leaned over - nearly on top of - Ludwig -
“Ah,” Ludwig said, breathless, “I don’t know if the couch is big enough.”
Berwald pulled back and sat up on his knees with one breathy laugh. “Guess yer right.” He stood up and grabbed the towel, throwing it up over his shoulder and nodding to the bedroom.
Ludwig followed and watched Berwald’s back. Oh God, they were really doing this. He took a deep breath - it didn’t help his nerves much. He sat down on the edge of the bed, a ball of anxiety, and - Berwald looked even better in the dim lamplight.
“Yer nervous.”
“Ah. Kind of.” A scary frown and a raised eyebrow. “Yes.”
Berwald tossed the towel on his dresser and sat beside Ludwig on the edge of the bed. “Y’know we don’t hafta do anythin’.”
Ludwig nodded and swallowed. It was loud. He blushed, then turned and scooted to the middle of the bed. “No, it’s okay.”
“Be fine with jus’ kissin’ ya, y’know.”
“Ah, well. Then why are you over there?” Ludwig weakly asked, one side of his mouth up in a grin. Berwald turned around, one long leg still hanging off the bed, and met him. The intensity from earlier remained - immediately their breathing picked up, and Ludwig was the first to open his mouth. Berwald’s tongue was soft and gentle, flicked over his lips - Ludwig shifted and thrust his tongue deeper, pulled back a little and breathed out over Berwald’s lips, then cupped his jaw and pressed them together again.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he realized that Berwald wasn’t instigating anything - he was just going along with whatever Ludwig wanted to. Ludwig backed up and pulled them both down to the bed, lying almost side-by-side. Berwald scooted up to head-level and Ludwig cautiously trailed a hand down his torso, feeling Berwald’s quick intake of air at the motion. Ludwig raised himself up on his other elbow and just - looked - and felt - Berwald made no motion except for the rise and fall of his chest. Ludwig trailed his fingers along Berwald’s hand on the bed, then twined them together, loose, a little sweaty. Berwald twisted, half on his back, half on his side, tightened his hold on Ludwig’s hand. Ludwig swallowed and ran his eyes up the torso that was practically on display for him - leaned down and mouthed Berwald’s neck, returning the favor.
Berwald’s hand in his twitched and a tiny noise issued from the back of his throat. Ludwig kept going. More mouth, a swipe of tongue, gentle press of kisses nearly down to the collarbone - then it got too bright again.
“Um. Do you think you could turn off the lamp?” he asked.
Berwald stretched over and turned it off, nearly knocking it over, and the only light was from the streetlamps outside the window. Better. Ludwig pressed a quick kiss to Berwald’s lips and moved lower, ran his hand back down his chest, down to the hipbone - Berwald shifted up into it.
Ludwig sat up a little and tugged his shirt off. “You,” he said, a little husky - he paused at that - “you don’t have to just stay there.” He draped himself back over Berwald, one stuttered breath at the feel - smooth skin and light hair - Berwald twined their legs together and he pressed himself closer at that.
More kisses, more tongue, more heat, a hand down his back - just - more - Berwald’s erection pressed against the join of his hip and thigh and he pressed himself down into it, arousal covering nervousness for now. Berwald moved to nip at his collarbone - a shudder down his spine - “Oh.”
“’s that okay?”
Ludwig licked his lips. “Yeah,” he sighed, deep, and let out another trembling breath when Berwald repeated the action. This was...new.
He reached a hand between them and palmed Berwald through his boxers, a little too hasty; Berwald let out a small grunt and sucked at his neck. Ludwig twisted his hand and pulled him out of his boxers, through the opening, with an awkward tug, and stroked. Berwald panted against his neck and bit down for a fleeting instant, dragging a hand down Ludwig’s broad back and bringing his other to Ludwig’s side, kneading there. Ludwig shifted to a less awkward position and picked up the pace, bringing his mouth to Berwald’s and receiving harsh, needy kisses in response.
It wasn’t very long before Berwald twitched beneath him and groaned, low and barely audible, into Ludwig’s mouth - semen splattered between both of them and Ludwig tried not to grimace as he moved his mouth to Berwald’s jaw and kissed there instead, letting him catch his breath.
Berwald’s hand moved to Ludwig’s pants - “Ah - you...” Berwald looked up at him, still breathing heavily, glasses askew. Ludwig felt a jolt run down his spine at the sight - but still - “I don’t know. I mean - about...” Ludwig tried not to bite his lip and was thankful the darkness was covering his blush.
“Y’really are a funny one,” Berwald huffed, half-laugh and half breathlessness. He shifted and got up from the bed, returning with the towel, and handed it to Ludwig first. They cleaned up and Berwald went to toss it in the hamper. Ludwig laid back down with a sigh and a slight smile, shifting around and trying to fidget his erection away. He doubted that would really work.
He watched Berwald walk back to the bed and shifted at the surge of heat that provoked. Berwald stretched out beside him, then turned and pulled him close, kissing his mussed hair. They lay like that a while, lazily touching and stroking one another - arms, hands, chests - before Berwald suddenly broke the silence with “I used t’have a crush on Matthew.”
Ludwig looked up at him, surprised. “You did?”
Berwald nodded. “Never said anythin’ but I think ‘e knew.”
“What happened?”
There was silence, but Ludwig was used to Berwald’s delayed responses by now, so he just waited. “Grew outta it I guess.”
Ludwig pulled himself close and breathed into Berwald’s collarbone. “Alfred knows.”
He felt Berwald shift to look down at him. “Y’sure?”
“Yes. I told him.”
“...oh.”
Ludwig nodded and they stayed like that a while. “He was okay with it,” Ludwig finally mumbled, “we’re still friends.”
A few more minutes were spent tucked in each others’ arms, Berwald’s large hand stroking up and down Ludwig’s back. Then Berwald mumbled “Still prob’ly sucked.”
Ludwig heard both the bitter smirk and the sympathy in that comment. “Yes. It was fairly painful.” He felt Berwald nod against his head.
And all of a sudden Ludwig did want Berwald to touch him. He swiftly rolled them over and ground his hips, barely, into Berwald’s. “Would it be okay with you if I stayed tonight?”
Berwald chuckled below him, both eyebrows raised. “Y’can stay whenever y’want.”
---
The bow of Roderich’s violin slipped, and the resulting screech snapped him out of his thoughts. He sighed and sat it down - obviously his mind was elsewhere, despite the fact that his reason for playing was to not think about it for a while.
He reached to the side table and picked up his phone - annnd no. Still no calls from Lili. Roderich hadn’t heard from her in a few days, and once again he resisted the barbarian urge to chew his nails. Did something happen to her? Did she not like him anymore? She wasn’t really confrontational; maybe she’d just decided to ignore him.
He frowned and tried her number again. One...two...three...
A scratchy “Hey - sorry,” met his ears.
“Lili? Ah, are you - you don’t sound...”
“Yeah, I’ve been sick,” she replied, voice weak. “Sorry I didn’t call...but...I just felt too bad.”
“Do you know what sort of ailment it is? Have you seen a doctor? I could, ah, I could take you if you haven’t - you are quite welcome to stay here as well, I can’t imagine that the environment of the dorms could possibly help.”
She tried to chuckle but ended up coughing instead. “Aww, that’s sweet of you. I think it’s just some sort of flu...thing. I’d rather stay with you, but I don’t want you to get sick either - I’ll just stay here.”
“Are you positive?” he asked, not even trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “What if I dropped by the dorms? I could bring...soup? Or medication...or...”
Another weak laugh. “Nah, I really don’t want you to get it too. It’s awful. And I think I’ve got everything I need...but thank you.”
He wished her well and they hung up. He looked down at his phone for a moment, then quickly called Francis.
Lili got a bouquet of sunflowers and white roses delivered to her room the next day.
---
talk about maybe starting up a team with the dudes at gilbert’s work
“No, Gil, dude, ya gotta do that again!” Alfred called.
“What? Can’t you shits-for-brains get anything right? It’s a goddamn handheld camera, how hard can it be?” Regardless, Gilbert skated back over to the top of the stairs, flipping Antonio off when he started laughing. “Okay, Jesus. You guys ready or should I just have a picnic up here while I’m at it?”
Antonio looked over Alfred’s shoulder. “Looks good.”
“Yeah, okay man, we’re good!”
Gilbert skated back a ways, then started toward the stairs and slid down the railing, making it most of the way before losing his balance and landing in a grumbling heap at the bottom. His head snapped up at a new source of laughter.
“What the fuck is this fag doin’ here?” Gilbert asked excitedly, picking himself up and skating right into Francis with a crash, ruffling his hair around while Francis flapped his arms around and went on about how he had spent time on his hair today, really -
“Oooh, are you gonna try to learn how to skate, dude?” Alfred asked, walking over a well, Antonio slowly gliding over on his skateboard behind him.
Gilbert began laughing so hard he had to clutch onto Francis in order not to fall down.
“I don’t think he is,” Antonio replied, looking bemusedly at Gilbert and an entertained but slightly exasperated Francis.
“No, no, Antonio simply informed me that you three would be -”
“Man, you should totally try it!” Alfred exclaimed. Francis stopped short, looking confused. “Here, Antonio, let him have your board!”
Antonio kicked it over to Francis’ feet. “I think you should,” he smiled. Gilbert sat down, still howling, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Do you really think so, dear?”
Antonio nodded and Alfred’s smile increased tenfold as he flipped the camera back on.
Francis took a step onto the board and immediately stumbled off. “Oh - it tilts.”
“Yeah,” Antonio laughed. “Step into the middle.”
Francis tried again.
“Nah bro, ya gotta do it with your whole foot!” Alfred instructed.
“Alfredo, stop ruinin’ my fun!”
“My whole foot?” Francis asked, and stepped up again. “And - my other - where does it go?”
“Just stand normally,” Antonio grinned. Francis did and Gilbert rolled his eyes and began talking to Alfred about the team the skateshop was trying to set up, instead.
“Want me to give you a push?” Antonio asked, moving closer.
“Oh? Well, sure,” Francis frowned. “You won’t let me fall, will you? I wouldn’t trust those two not to do it,” he snorted.
“I’ll try not to.” Antonio lightly held his back and waist, and moved them forward, slowly. “Yep, keep doing that, just don’t lean too far forwards or backwards.”
“Why not?”
Antonio chuckled before saying “You’ll lose your balance with your feet so close together.” He stopped them. “Here, spread them apart.” He moved in front of Francis and made sure he kept his balance before returning to his previous position. “That better?”
Francis made a noise of agreement.
“Okay - now you can lean. It’s how you turn.”
“Oiy, Antonio!” Gilbert yelled. “Stop doin’ cute couple-y shit and let’s get this skate vid finished!”
“Huh? Oh, okay!” He made sure Francis didn’t faceplant coming off of the board and then gave him a small kiss. “Did you drop by for any reason?”
“No, no, I simply was around - and since I have never seen you skateboard, really - I decided to swing by.”
Antonio smiled, wide and bright. “You can stay and watch if you want to! Gilbert keeps crashing, so that’s fun.”
Francis shrugged, then seemed to consider, hand on his hip. “Watching Gilbert fall sounds like a wonderful way to spend the afternoon.”
---
Gilbert got up and headed to Lovinia’s bathroom to clean the mess off of his stomach, a slightly disoriented stumble to his proud swagger. She rolled over on the futon and buried herself in the covers.
“Holy shit!” he called. “You grow pot in your bathroom, Lovi?”
She didn’t dignify that with a response. Any moron with working eyes should know the answer to that.
“Hey, let’s smoke some!”
“Hell no. It’s not for me - or you. Unless you wanna pay for it.”
“What?” Gilbert poked his head out the door and raised an eyebrow. She didn’t even look at him, just burrowed further into the covers with a huff. “You gonna explain that, hot stuff?”
A sleepy “I sell it,” drifted up from the pile.
“Er...what?”
“You deaf or just a dumb shit? I sell it.”
Gilbert approached the bed cautiously. “’kay...” He slid back into the nest of blankets and wrapped an arm around her. She grunted and kept her eyes closed, but didn’t shove him off. Sweet.
Then a thought struck him. “Do you sell any other shit like that?”
Lovinia nodded and her mouth barely twitched into a frown for a moment. She sure was cute when she was half-asleep and not trying to maim him. He probably shouldn’t say that, both for the sake of his manly pride and his manly appendages.
“Like what?”
“Would you just let me fuckin’ sleep already?” she mumbled, an edge of her normal anger returning.
Gilbert pulled her closer and pressed his face to her hairline. “Not until you tell me what,” he sung, smiling into her hair.
She heaved a huge sigh and weakly pushed him away. “Fine, damn. Pot and acid, shrooms, sometimes coke or e - every once in a while I get ahold of some pills. S’about it.” Nothing that would get some crazy addict pounding down her door, she wasn’t dumb.
Gilbert went still.
...uh.
“You’re a dealer?” he yelped. “Like, a real, fuckin’ - bona-fide - shit!”
Lovinia cracked an eye open and frowned at him. “God, you really are an idiot.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” he asked, voice a little higher than normal.
She just raised an eyebrow and tried to fall asleep. She was comfortable and didn’t really want to have to get up to drag his stupid ass out. Plus she was naked - how embarrassing.
“I mean, that’s goddamn dangerous, Lovi -”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What if you got caught?! You could go to jail - Christ -”
She opened her eyes and glared at him. “I could go to jail?” she snarled. “Really? Well that’s fuckin’ news to me.” She rolled her eyes. “And - wait - you’ve been to jail, bastard! Why the hell do you care? Shithead like you would probably be all over it if, I dunno, Arthur sold them or something.”
Uh. Wait. Why did he care? He frowned - she was right, he really would be all over it if Arthur was a dealer.
“I’m going to sleep now,” she huffed, rolling over and away from him. “Bother me again and I’m punching you in the teeth. And turn off that lamp, asshole.”
He did, and within the minute she was asleep, tiny, light snores drifting up from the lump beside him. Gilbert stayed up and looked at the cracks in the ceiling, telling himself that it was her noise keeping him awake.
---
“So,” Eirik stated, flat-voiced, as he put a Smiths CD in the player of Natalia’s old car, “did you have anywhere in mind?” They were back home for spring break; she had called him up and said she’d be by soon to pick him up for a drive.
“Nope,” she smirked, “just a drive through the countryside. Nothing to do in this town anyway, may as well waste some gas.”
Eirik nodded and looked at the moonlight-bathed hills around them; a few clouds wisped across the sky, the budding trees painted into sharp, interlaced twists of platinum scratching at the night, with gray-black shadow dripping between. The road seemed bright and plain in comparison to the forest’s subtle stir to life.
He wished it was warm enough to roll the window down. He’d like to smell wet ground and hear the fwip-fwip-fwip as they sped past the trees. It was one of the things he missed when he was in the city.
Instead he turned to her. “What’d you end up doing today?”
“Hm? Oh,” Natalia paused a second and thought, “not much, really. Went on a few errands with my mom, stopped by Carlos’ house for a bit.”
An ex of hers. He sucked. Eirik scowled. “You saw that guy? Why?”
“Because we’re still friends? I haven’t seen him since Christmas break, so I figured I’d say hello,” she shrugged. “I don’t get what your problem is with him, anyway.”
“He never wanted you to hang out with me when you were dating,” Eirik groused, “so technically he started it.” He crossed his arms at this.
“Okay, fine, but now we’re not dating and it doesn’t even matter anymore. You can’t let it go?”
“No.”
Most people would have classified the response as curt and emotionless, but Natalia knew Eirik well enough to hear the carefully-hidden sulk beneath it. She sighed and rolled her eyes at him. “God, you’re such a jealous freak sometimes, Eir. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you had a crush on me or something.”
“I don’t have a crush on you.” I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. It is terrifying.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she laughed. “You’re my BFF.” She looked over and gave him an exaggerated wink.
Eirik stared at her a minute and then looked out the window. “...yeah,” he replied, voice dull.
Great, he was in one of those weird moods of his again. Natalia frowned. He didn’t act like this when they were kids. She was pretty sure middle school had messed him up a little, or something, that’s when this started - his parents divorced and he pretty much became part of Natalia’s family for a while. He didn’t want to go to either of his new houses.
The CD started skipping and she glanced at him. “Hey - find a new one,” she nodded.
Eirik dug under his seat for another CD that was surely lost down there (nothing was in its proper place in Natalia’s car), and thought he felt - his fingers clasped around a strange object and he brought it up to look. “Is this - ahah no - this is - some of those popsicle stick puppets we made in -”
“- Mrs. Jackson’s art class?! Did you find mine or yours?”
“Both...what was yours anyway?” he snickered a bit under his breath, turning it in the flickering strips of moonlight across the dash. “Looks like a deformed creature with a ray gun.”
“It is not a deformed creature!”
“Ray gun.”
“You -!”
“Pew! pew!” he laughed, pretending to shoot her with the puppet.
“Ahaha stop it you nutcase - I’m trying to drive!” she cried, and blindly swiped a hand toward the puppet.
He just grinned wider and lurched across the seat, tapping her in the head with the puppet repeatedly - “Pew pew!”
She threw her head to the side in a laugh - “You freak!” - then turned and shoved him back over into the passenger’s seat, playfully ruffling his hair. He loved it when she did that.
He sat and grinned at her, white and radiant in the moonlight.
She rolled her eyes with a smile and flipped to the next song.
---
“I’m not sure I want to tape a 40 to my hand, Gilbert,” Antonio stated, eyebrow quirked, half-grinning at Gilbert’s small army of 40’s lined up on the back porch of the Hjortdonner house.
“Antonio, c’mon, stop being a goddamn pansy. It’s Saint-fucking-Patrick’s, and me an’ Sadiq are gonna do Edward 40 hands because we rule like that. And I thought you did too,” Gilbert glowered.
Antonio laughed at his expression. “I’m not sure I can handle Steel Reserve, Gil.”
“Ey look,” Sadiq cut in. “What if ya drink, but don’t tape ‘em down. Don’t think we need any incentive to get shitfaced, Gil.”
Gilbert paused, frowning. “You’re sayin’ taping the Reserve is actually more cowardly than drinking it straight-up.”
“Yep,” Sadiq grinned.
“Ya got me there, fucker.”
“Ha, well, okay Gil,” Antonio smiled, grabbing a nearby bottle. “I’ll do that.”
They were all into the first bottle, keeping a fairly even pace, when Sadiq suddenly remembered that Francis was supposed to be there. “Where’d yer dude go, Antonio? S’always fun to see him plastered.”
“Hm? Oh,” Antonio looked at his phone. “He should be on the way. I already told him to just come around back.”
---
They were all seated at the rickety picnic table in the backyard, loudly conversing, nearly done with their first bottle, by the time Francis got there. Gilbert and Sadiq greeted him with a wild cheer, and Antonio, an enthusiastic, upside-down kiss.
“Way ta be late, bastard,” Sadiq laughed, shoving an open 40 into Francis’ hand. Francis frowned down at it.
“Oh fuck you Francis,” Gilbert snarled. “Too snooty for a 40? Man up and drink the goddamn thing. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
“Better not make them get a funnel,” Antonio laughed, a dark glint in his eyes.
“You are cruel for even proposing that idea, dear,” Francis responded. He took a drink and frowned. “This - ugh - it is fowl.”
“Ey man,” Sadiq looked at him, falsely serious. “Get drunk and it won’t be so bad.”
Francis heaved a heavy sigh and settled down beside Antonio, chugging as much as he could stand. “This had better be strong,” he muttered. Gilbert and Antonio crowed with laughter while Sadiq informed him that the ABV was 8.1%.
---
Francis had finished half the bottle, pace picking up now that he was on his way to the land of drunkenness - the other three had started on the second, Gilbert in the lead at this point.
Well, they were certainly frolicking in the land of drunkenness, Francis thought. Gilbert was standing on the table, alternately rambling, yelling, and singing whatever came to mind.
Antonio’s expression changed to a smirk, out of nowhere, and he laughed and swept his arm under Gilbert’s knees, bringing him crashing down to the table.
“You fucker!” Gilbert slurred, and launched himself at a wildly laughing Antonio, tackling them both to the ground. Antonio barked a dark laugh and bashed Gilbert’s head to the ground, only to get flipped and kneed in the gut. They continued rolling around, grappling, snarling, and pausing to laugh.
Francis stared at them a moment, then looked at Sadiq, who was leaning back against the table, watching with a somewhat dopey smile and keen eyes.
“What are they doing?” Francis asked.
Sadiq jerked a little and shot a slightly bewildered look at Francis. “Ya got eyes?”
Francis huffed and waved his hand at the two, who had now begun spitting vicious insults at each other between their breathless snickers. “I know Gilbert is - well, he does these things,” he began, “but, I would have never expected it of Antonio.”
“Uh, where ya been, dude? This kinda happens a lot.” Sadiq looked at them, assessing, then turned back to Francis. “They’ll do this, an’ then start destroyin’ things. S’usually when I jump in,” he grinned.
Francis laughed. “You stop the destruction? How noble of you, dear.”
Sadiq snorted. “Fuck no. I help, oi.”
They turned and watched as Antonio ate a mouthful of grass through a spluttering chortle. “I’ve never seen it,” Francis murmured, tilting his head and squinting, intrigued.
“Mm,” Sadiq grunted into his bottle. “I think he watches ‘imself around ya.”
Francis looked over, surprised, but Sadiq continued watching the fight with a smirk. He shifted in his seat, took another gulp of his drink, and watched with intent eyes as the vitality that always simmered within Antonio boiled over and lit up the night.
---
“So, Ivan,” Arthur sighed, “how long’s it been?”
“15 minutes.”
“Fuck me, this is boring,” Arthur griped, and lit up a cigarette. The flame from the lighter cut through the murky darkness and was reflected in a few polished graves around them - Kiku saw that it also brought out the distinct twitch of Nils’ jaw.
“It is only polite,” Kiku said, looking around at the cemetery.
“Yeah, you said,” Arthur shrugged, blowing smoke and taking another drag. Nils determinedly watched the clouds - they kinda looked smoky tonight, too. Damn.
“It is also not very polite to smoke,” Ivan frowned.
“To smoke?”
“No. It is not your home to trash.”
“Huh,” Arthur looked down at the cigarette in his hand. “Suppose I’ll just put the butts in my pocket, then.”
They stood in relative silence in the midnight quiet of the cemetery. The darkness was almost tangible - every object became another foggy slab of charcoal and gray, the shapes bleeding into one another. It was cold, misty, and wet, with no moon to light anything, no wind to move anything. Just heavy and chilled. Arthur whistled a tune and it seemed entirely too loud.
“Where are we plannin’ on going once we’ve been here long enough?” he finally asked into the air.
Kiku and Ivan looked at each other. “I think we should start in the oldest part,” Ivan shrugged.
Nils nodded and shifted to his other foot. “That’s a good bet for ghosts. Or orbs. Whichever.”
“I’d like to find orbs,” Kiku quipped. “Hopefully there will be more activity due to the equinox...” He pulled out his camera to adjust the settings. “Did anyone bring a disposable camera?”
“I did,” Nils replied. He’d made the mistake of bringing only a digital camera once (also the same time he made the mistake of bringing Alfred) and it started acting screwy when the temperature dropped out of nowhere.
“Time’s up,” Ivan smiled, and turned to lead the way, weaving between tombstones. The other three trailed behind in a lazy line, passing and falling behind each other as Nils would pause to look at a particular tombstone or Kiku would stop and glance around at the air surrounding him.
“What’s an orb?” Arthur asked Kiku, keeping his voice down to almost a whisper. He had no idea if any spirits would be around to hear or anything like that, but he’d rather not get caught by the police.
“It is essentially what it sounds like - a glowing ball of light.”
“Kinda like a will-’o-wisp, then?”
“No,” Nils flatly stated from behind them, “a will-o-wisp flickers like fire. Sometimes it recedes when you move toward it. An orb doesn’t flicker.”
Arthur nodded and veered off a little, to swing by a statue nearby on his way.
“I’ve never heard of a will-o-wisp,” Kiku stated, glancing at Nils. “What legend is that?”
“Oh,” Nils took a deep breath and thought, stepping over a tall clump of wet grass. “There are a lot of them.” When Kiku didn’t say anything he went on. “They’re from all over the world...er - well, some people thought that they were lights that misguided travelers. Other cultures thought they showed where treasure was buried underground. In America they’re part of the Jack-o-Lantern tales.”
“The Halloween pumpkins?” Kiku asked, a little humor seeping in.
Nils let out a small laugh under his breath. “Sort of. Most of them are a variation of one story. A guy named Jack is so evil he gets turned away from both Heaven and Hell, and has to walk around the earth forever with a flame. It probably came over from Ireland - the Irish had one about a guy who had to walk around with a lantern made from a turnip.”
“How the hell did you get ‘im to say that much in one go, Kiku?” Arthur laughingly asked from behind them. They both jumped a little and turned.
Nils scowled; Kiku smiled, barely, and said “It is easy when he’s talking about folk tales and mythology.”
Ivan had stopped and was looking around, appraising. They drew up to him as well, quiet.
“There is a Japanese tale that is similar to the will-o-wisp - it concerns the kitsune-bi,” Kiku whispered, warmth in his voice.
“Oh?” Nils asked, head cocked.
Kiku nodded and turned on his camera. “I can tell you about it later. It would be wise start hunting now that we are here.”
---
Antonio opened the door to his apartment only to get smothered with an excitedly blabbering Francis.
“Haha wait, wait, what?” he asked, pulling back and holding Francis around the waist.
“Antonio, my darling, lovely,” he held Antonio’s face and quickly kissed him on both cheeks before continuing, “oh my goodness, you’ll never - it’s simply so exciting dear - I got word from MetroPop magazine today - and - oh, it’s wonderful - they’re covering the store in the summer issue!”
Antonio smiled and kissed Francis, then shut the door. “That’s great!” He lead them both to the couch as Francis kept rambling on like an excited child, gesticulating everywhere. It was adorable. Antonio briefly wondered what, exactly, had made Francis so excited, but decided to simply revel in Francis’ glow with him.
“And - oh - they’re covering my clothing line too, it’s just -” he paused and looked at Antonio; Antonio raised both eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. “Do you even know what MetroPop is, dear?”
“Nope,” Antonio replied, peppy. “But you’re so happy - it has to be good!” He kissed Francis again; the giddiness was contagious.
Francis broke away and laughed before stroking the side of Antonio’s face. He really didn’t give Antonio enough credit sometimes.
---
-
---
Author’s Notes and stuff:
Yeah Matthew, tap dat!
Conversely - no no, Berwald and Ludwig did not have sex. Because I would sooo have written that. (Even better: I am so gonna write that. I am gonna write the hell out of that.)
So, Mathias and Sadiq’s total-bitch shoot-your-balls-off dealer? Yuuup.
Antonio and I finally agreed on his characterization! Woo! I can stop writing him from the other person’s POV/omniscient POV now! And not a moment too soon, dude. You’ve got some screen time comin’ up.
Kitsune! The Japanese tale Kiku was talking about - foxes hold glowing balls in their mouths or tails, and the balls are called fox fire. Here’s a pic - one of my favorite favorite Hiroshige prints:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8a/Hiroshige-100-views-of-edo-fox-fires.jpg
---
MARCH MIXTAPE
---
Basically the first four scenes:
Peaking Lights - Silver Tongues, Soft Whispers
The Nils-and-Kiku smoking shebang:
Modest Mouse - Dramamine
Feliks and Eduard meet up at a record store:
Metric - Succexy
Eliza and Matthew listen to folk:
Carolina Chocolate Drops - Sally Anne
Roscoe Hocolmb - Black-Eyed Suzie - Yeeeah boi drop dem g’s, pimp dem hollers STATE PRIDE BROFIST
Ludwig goes home with Berwald:
Weezer - Only in Dreams - oh, cautious love
Francis tries to skateboard:
Pavement - Range Life
Gilbert learns about Lovi’s day job:
Autolux - Sugarless
Natalia and Eirik go on a drive:
The Smiths - Asleep - Ahaha you probably thought I was gonna use that other one, yeah? So did I. I mean, it’s about riding in a car and wanting to be out and not home and enjoying your company and and and - It wasn’t subdued enough. -_- Le sigh.
Dirty on Purpose - No Radio
Nonstandard St. Patrick’s Day:
Blur - Song 2
Ghost hunting on the equinox:
Caboladies - Atomic Weekender Side B - if “creepy-beep-bloop-noise-synth” isn’t your cup of tea, skip this’un
Mediafire link: http://www.mediafire.com/?7eh8n1py58k6q