Vasilica was walking when it happened; ironic really, that with all the dangerous stunts he'd pulled in his too-short seventeen years, it would be a simple walk that killed him. He should have been safe, the path beneath him was as familiar as his own house; the woods around him more a home than any mere building could be. He didn't even get the dignity of an exciting death - no animal attack, no robbery gone wrong, not even a hunting accident! He'd fallen, a loose root catching his foot and sending him tumbling down the sharp incline accompanied by a scattering of pebbles and small rocks, contemplating exactly how annoyed his mother was going to be when he came home with his new trousers ripped and muddied, and trying to resist the urge to watch the world spin dizzily past. He'd closed his eyes, screwed them up tight to keep from getting any of the gritty soil in them, knowing from experience exactly how painful a scratched cornea could be. There was no warning; no light at the end of the tunnel, no fade to black, no out of body expereince. One moment, he was tripping, stumbling over the edge of the cliff pass and dropping the three feet to the barren hillside below, rolling down it. The next, he distantly heard a sickening crack, a dull, oddly wet thud, a sound from far away, and he attempted to look around for it, daring to peel his eyes open, even though he hadn't stopped falling. Except he had. Even as his body insisted that he was still rolling down the slope he could see spread before and below him, elbows and knees screaming as they were scraped raw, soft flesh protesting as sharp stones left bloody kisses and bruising touches, his eyes and brain were calmly informing him that he was sat completely still at the edge of the path, legs dangling over the ledge, heels just able to scuff at the ground his body still thought it was slamming against.
"Interesting." He commented, forcing himself to raise his arms and look at them, wincing at the sensation of one of the outstretched limbs colliding with a particularly large rock, though the bare skin before him showed no sign of being damaged... Though he did wonder where his favourite coat had gone.
"Isn't it though?" An unfamiliar voice commented dryly beside him; he turned to look at the newcomer curiously. A blonde boy, about his own age, was sat next to him on the narrow ledge, close enough that he should have been able to feel the press of the stranger's arm against his own, the warmth of skin even through the button-up shirt and smart trousers he wore. The boy glanced over, raising an unusually thick eyebrow, and Vasilica admired the bright green eyes looking at him skeptically. He'd always been fond of his own unusually coloured eyes, but green irises were supposed to be a sign of magic in the blood. "Honestly. I leave you alone for five minutes - five bloody minutes! And you go and do something like this?" The stranger sighed, shaking his head sadly.
"Am I to assume then, that I have died?" Vasilica asked, tilting his head to the side. He smiled, eyes glinting with interest, and leant forward slightly, invading the stranger's personal space. The boy scowled, leaning back but somehow not losing his balance despite the limited space on the tiny ledge he'd found in the cliff face, and stuck his hand out. Surprised, it took Vasilica a moment before he reached out to shake it, and the stranger relaxed slightly, eyes studying him intently. He didn't let go of Vasilica's hand, his palm oddly cool against Vasilica's own, tingles almost like pins and needles spreading from where his fingertips rested against Vasilica's wrist. His stare was intense enough that even Vasilica felt almost uncomfortable, though he kept his smile firmly in place. After a moment, the boy's expression softened, eyes warm with something almost like affection.
"You're a moron." He commented, squeezing Vasilica's hand a little. "A dead moron, but a moron none the less. And I'm Arthur." He flushed, then, frowning again, and shifting almost uncomfortably, though he still kept Vasilica's hand clasped in his own. "I'm... I suppose the easiest way to explain it to you would be to call myself your guardian angel." Vasilica thought about this for a moment, then gestured to the hill in front of him.
"Forgive me Arthur, but isn't the purpose of a guardian angel usually to prevent their charge from dying?" Arthur scowled and finally jerked his hand back, folding his arms defensively across his chest.
"Of course, I had to get the one bloody idiot who doesn't even question the fact I'm a damn angel, but instead criticises my bloody methods." He huffed, and, despite the fact there was no space for movement on their tiny ledge, he somehow managed to get to his feet, reaching a hand down to tug Vasilica up too, digging fingers that, despite their lower temperature, felt entirely human, into his arm almost hard enough to bruise. Vasilica pouted.
"That hurt."
"You're dead." Arthur rolled his eyes, grip still firm on his charge's upper arm.
"Which seems to be your fault, if you were supposed to be protecting me."
"I have been." Arthur's tone was indignant as he somehow, without moving, transported them to the top of the hill. Vasilica glared at the root which had been his literal downfall. "All your bloody life I've been right here, making sure nothing happened to you. Then I pop off for five bloody minutes, because Father knows I'm behind on my paperwork and more than due a break, sure that you'll be safe enough taking a walk - something you do every bloody night, and you've never tripped in the dark so why the hell would the light make that any different - and there you go, off down the cliff and smash your bloody head open on a rock. What am I going to tell your mother?"
"Are you going to be the one to tell her?" Vasilica asked, curiously. Arthur scowled and drew his hand back, only to return it a moment later in the form of a firm punch. Vasilica managed not to wince, simply maintaining his questioning expression. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"No. In fact, if I can make it down there before Death I'll be shoving you straight back in your body and sending you home none the worse for wear. Now stay. Here." He stepped back, glowing oddly, and a vast spread of pure white, almost painful to look at, materialised behind him. Vasilica blinked, and the white resolved itself into the vague shape of wings, blurred around the edges as if they weren't entirely in the same plane of existance as Arthur himself... And then he was gone. Vasilica leant against a tree, and waited patiently. It was only a few moments later that the angel reappeared, a broken and bloodied sack of meat that Vasilica hardly recognised as his own body cradled delicately in his arms. He was scowling, and a moment later, it became clear why, as a dark haired, scowling boy appeared beside him, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, and "wings" as black as Arthur's were white tucked behind his back.
"I told you, you can't damn well have him, bastardo! He's dead, that makes him my responsibility. Cazzo vai via stronzo, you fucked up, that means he's mine."
"Bugger off, I got to his body first, that means I get the chance to at least attempt to fix my mistake." Arthur snapped, kneeling and settling Vasilica's corpse on the ground. "Get over here, lad." He glanced up at Vasilica, who peered uncertainly at what had once been a perfectly functioning body, but now seemed more like a collection of shattered bones in a skin bag.
"You know, I think I'd rather not!" He chirped, brightly. "Death is supposed to be the next great adventure, after all, and some of those injuries look like something I'd rather not wake up to tomorrow morning." He was fairly sure the wet crack he'd heard earlier was the sound of his skull splitting open - he was fairly sure his head wasn't supposed to be that shape.
"Ha! Che cazzo, I win, he's coming with me!" The dark haired boy smirked, kicking Arthur sharply in the ribs before reaching out a hand to Vasilica, who frowned.
"Now that wasn't very nice." He commented, watching as Arthur winced and wrapped an arm around himself for a moment.
"He'll heal. Now come on, bastardo, I don't have all day." Arthur looked up at him, green eyes oddly sad.
"Vasilica, I'm sorry I let this happen, but I can fix it." He said, gently. "I... I just need you to trust me, can you do that?" He, too, held out a hand, and Vasilica looked between him and the dark haired boy, thinking. There was silence, long and heavy, and the moment seemed to stretch forever, before Vasilica let out a huff of breath, and reached out.
"Hello my darling little sugar lump! How was your little walkies, did you see anything interesting, sweetums?"
"Oh mother, you have no idea." Vasilica grinned wolfishly, flashing his teeth at his mother, who paled slightly, blinking for a moment, before smiling widely once again.
"That's wonderful, darling! I thought I might make a nice casserole for dinner, then how about some yummy-scrummy cake afterwards for my sweet little baby boy, I know that-" She was cut off as her son wrapped his arms firmly around her, of his own free will, for the first time in years. Startled, she nonetheless hugged him back firmly. "What's gotten into you, Vasikins?" She mumbled into his shoulder. She didn't get a response; her son's eyes were fixed on a spot some feet behind her, where a smirking blonde boy leant against the kitchen wall, a knowing glint in his green eyes. He winked, and then was gone; Vasilica stepped back from his mother, and graced her with a rare, true smile.
"Nothing mother. I just made a new friend." He rolled his eyes a little, bemused, at his mother's squeal of delight, and managed to slip away to his room a few minutes later, mind already spinning with plans and questions. Oh he was going to have such *fun* with this.
Beggars just really likes angels and ghosts and dying and stuff okay orz
I'm... Not even going to try and pretend I'm not using this entire situation as one big body-language practice. Gotta try and get better at subtlety before NaNo! \o/
Except Vasilica is about as subtle as a brick to the face, so maybe not :/
Mel I'm sorry these drabbles are yours only in name, other than that they're just self-indulgent crap.
"who made the first move?: …again, Vasilica, he just seems the more forward type"
“You’re reading Dracula again.” There’s pleasure in the tone, something amused and darkly smug, and Arthur fights not to react. He feels his cheeks heat up, and knows he’s failed.
“Bram Stoker was a talented writer, and Dracula his best known work. I enjoy it.” He replies, not daring look up from the page he hasn’t turned since the other man entered the room.
“But,” Arthur doesn’t need to see Vasilica’s face to know he’ll be smirking, can almost feel his intense stare. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and remembers to turn the page. “You’re reading Dracula… Again.”
“Did you consider that I simply haven’t finished it yet?” It’s close enough to the truth; he’s read the book before, dozens of times, but this is the first time he’s picked it up in years, and he has yet to finish. He’s been distracted.
“Not finished? When you usually read so fast? Then I wonder…” Arthur tenses up as a hand appears, resting lightly against his forehead, its owner too close for comfort. He doesn’t lean back; a sharp intake of breath his only reaction to the light touches to his face. “No fever…” Vasilica’s grin is as wicked as ever, something of the predator in the glint of his eyes and the glimpse of his fangs behind his smile. “Then something else is distracting you.” He removes his hand, finally, though not without trailing fingertips down Arthur’s neck, pausing above his jugular. Arthur fails to restrain his shiver; he leans back, far too late. Vasilica’s grin widens. Arthur swallows, seeks the words for a denial.
“The only thing distracting me is the presence of an idiot who doesn’t know the meaning of personal space.” He mutters, sullenly, and turns another page.
“Merely the actions of a friend concerned for your health, Arthur. You work yourself too hard.”
“A phrase comes to mind; something about pots and kettles… And the discolouration thereof. When was the last time you slept?” He looks up, finally, already raising an eyebrow in preparation for a full, disapproving stare, and finds Vasilica much closer than he expected. He blinks rapidly, startled, in lieu of flinching. The motion seems more like a flutter of eyelashes to an outsider; Vasilica’s lips quirk up in amusement.
“Sleeping is boring. Nights are interesting! I expect they’d be more interesting with company though.” His smile goes sly, head tilting slightly. He drops his gaze a moment, then looks up through his lashes. He saw it in a film once. Arthur’s breathing stutters, and he flushes. “Come with me tonight.” It’s a command, not a question, but he puts enough of a whine in his tone that he knows Arthur won’t deny him, enough of a promise in his eyes that Arthur has to look away, bright red, before he answers.
“I suppose I don’t have anything better to do.” He mutters, book hanging loosely in his hands, all but forgotten. Vasilica beams, and rewards him with a feather-light brush of lips across his cheek before withdrawing, flouncing out of the room with perhaps a little more of a strut than usual, mindful of the wide green eyes following him the whole way.
I still have three hours of Mel's birthday left...
That's enough time for a few more drabbles, right? ... Not that I need the excuse >n>
I MUST COMPETE WITH MEL-SENPAI'S OTHER ADMIRERS /shot
what would they get each other for gifts?: I bet they often give each other books on a fairly regular basis… and then when it comes to other gifts, I think like Vasilica’s big on mysterious trinkets and stuff like that, while Arthur prefers giving more practical sorts of gifts… I bet he gave Vasilica an HP themed teaset once /whacked - … and some Halloween themed sets >w> - and they have a super fancy red teaset that they share between them, wahaha~
“Arthur!” Vasilica storms through the kitchen, a blur of motion, passing through without pause like a tornado, leaving devastation in his wake; the signs of his brief visit clear in the disappearance of Arthur’s teacup, replaced by a worn old book, muddy footprints trekked across the floor, a sole drop of blood on a bottom lip nicked by a brush with sharp fangs. Arthur, face flushed, apologises to his guest and stands to make himself a new cup of tea. He doesn’t comment on Vasilica’s interruption, or the book, and spares only a moment for tutting over the filthy floor and dabbing at his lip before he returns to the conversation as if there had never been a pause, subtly pushing aside the hefty tome in a calculated movement as he reaches for the plate of neatly arranged biscuits. Nothing out of the ordinary, for the Kirkland-Lupei household.
A week later, Arthur buys a book on a topic he has no interest in, and pretends to be irritated when Vasilica appropriates it for his own collection. Vasilica just chuckles, and makes the tea.
THIS DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE WHAT IS CHARACTERISATION HOW DO I VASILICA WHAT ARE WORDS- Happy Birthday, Mel -u-
/writes Mel-senpai a love letter in my heart's blood, on paper scented with rosewater made from my own tears and puts it in an envelope sealed with ribbon woven from my own hair.
Then decides that's dumb and so just gives her this instead:
“who steals the covers at night?: Arthur, I say Arthur’s the blanket hog… I have this headcanon that Vasilica’s a bit of an insomniac anyway, so he doesn’t really absentmindedly steal blankets.”
“Come to bed, Vasilica.” Arthur’s eyes are shadowed in the dim, early morning light, his tone even. Measured. The spluttering flame of one solitary candle highlights his soft jawline, the defensive hunch of his shoulders against the chilled room and the slight downward furrow of his thick eyebrows in turn, but the hollows of his eyes remain hidden, save the briefest glint of green if Vasilica looks hard enough. Arthur sighs, but he keeps his face carefully neutral apart from the slant of his brows, as if he doesn’t care that’s he’s just found his- boyfriend? Lover? Vasilica likes “King” but Arthur scowls upon hearing “queen”; Arthur calls them partners and Vasilica follows it up with “in crime”, it’s just another thing they can’t agree on, like this, like now, like Arthur watching him, judging him, silently in the darkness and telling him to- “Come to bed.” Arthur repeats; sighs again, and holds out a hand. The corner of his mouth quirks up in the slightest of smiles, reassuring and fond but not forced, not now, and Vasilica hesitates barely a moment longer before he reciprocates, long fingers folding around Arthur’s shorter ones. He resists being pulled to his feet, using Arthur’s movement against him, to tug him closer, and Vasilica tilts his head, smiling wickedly, like a predator, like he’s trying to decide whether to rip Arthur to shreds now or indulge in a chase.
“What if I’m not tired, Arthur?” He says instead, taking advantage of their still-linked hands to brush his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles. His fingers are cold, Arthur’s barely warmer, and he moves, pressing a kiss to chilled skin before allowing Arthur to curl his hand along the length of Vasilica’s jaw.
“It’s been three days.” Arthur murmurs, thumb stroking the dark circles under tired eyes. Vasilica looses the fight to keep them open, leaning into the tender touch of a familiar hand.
“I managed a week last time.” There’s the softest sound of disapproval, a stifled tut, an irritated cluck from a frustrated mother hen.
“Come to bed, Vasilica.” He murmurs, the rustle of fabric a warning before he leans down to touch his lips to Vasilica’s forehead. His words are beginning to sound like a mantra; Vasilica’s sure he’s heard every single possible way of shaping the phrase, and he’s exhausted, tired enough to surrender if only his pride would let him. He contemplates making an innuendo of it, some euphemistic quip that will send Arthur storming off alone to cold sheets and an empty stretch of mattress. It’s the Ravenclaw bedspread this week; it was Vasilica’s turn to choose but he didn’t bother, hasn’t slept in the bed in weeks, not properly. Arthur knew which one he wanted anyway, put it on even though Vasilica knows he prefers the silver and greens of the Slytherin bedding. It matches his eyes.
“Half an hour.” He offers, fingers curling around those still cradling his face, as if he’s an animal that’ll spook if Arthur’s touch is too firm.
“If you’re not asleep by four you can get up again.” Arthur counters, and Vasilica turns to look at the grandfather clock ticking away comfortingly in the corner. It reads quarter past three; he controls his wince. Arthur has work in the morning, but here he is, trying to coax Vasilica into sleeping. He inclines his head in agreement; stands, abruptly, but Arthur’s expecting it, is already taking a step backwards to leave Vasilica room. Vasilica’s taller standing up, but Arthur’s presence, calm and warm and reassuring and safe, seems to fill the entire room. It’s a curious phenomenon, one they really should investigate one day. For now, Vasilica chalks it up to familiarity, to the touches of Arthur in the curtains and the pillows and the esoteric books on the shelf, and leans down for a kiss. Granted, and he smiles against Arthur’s lips.
“If you steal the blankets tonight I shall hide all the Earl Grey and not tell you where.” He promises in the space between shared breath.
“If you came to bed more often I wouldn’t be used to having the blankets all to myself.” Arthur replies, and there he is, the grumpy old man hiding inside Arthur’s youthful exterior. Vasilica likes Arthur when he’s tired, soft and peaceful and accepting of affection, but there’s a charm to the crotchety exterior too. He lets himself be guided out of the room, candle extinguished and door closed firmly behind them. Arthur doesn’t lock it; he’ll allow Vasilica to return if he wants. The bed is waiting, sheets wrinkled and duvet tossed aside, and Vasilica wonders if Arthur slept at all, if he lay there for hours, waiting for company that never came. A glance in the warm glow of the bedside lamp highlights bags almost as heavy as his own beneath Arthur’s eyes, and Vasilica wonders if he should protest next time Arthur attempts to keep him company, curled up quietly in an adjacent chair until his head droops and his book falls to the floor with a thump and he can’t deny the lure of mattress and pillows any longer. He likes the company, especially when it’s Arthur, but few are suited to his sleepless lifestyle, and Arthur’s seemingly ever-present scowl eases in his dreams. They lie down together. Vasilica stops wondering. He lets Arthur tuck him in; pulls the smaller man closer when it seems like he’ll slip away. They doze.
Arthur steals all the blankets.
Vasilica lets it slide, snuggles closer, smirks when the morning light shatters the soft intimacy the darkness grants and leaves Arthur flustered at their closeness. He doesn’t hide the Earl Grey, but they drink English Breakfast in the mornings anyway. Arthur calls in sick, complaining all the while of Vasilica being a bad influence, and they compete over who can remember the goriest legend. Vasilica wins; Arthur rolls his eyes, rests his head on Vasilica’s shoulder, nodding off again.
Vasilica forgets himself, and sleeps.
This wasn't actually what I was going for originally, but have it anyway. orz
Oops, didn't quite finish before Mel disappeared. Oh well.
I'm a dork.
And this is dumb.
I wrote it anyway.
What is characterisation.
Vasilica Lupei had fallen for his babysitter.
He’d been wary of admitting to it, at first. He’d attributed the way his face got hot at just the mention of the babysitter’s name, and his heart started racing whenever he saw that familiar figure heading up the path, to some kind of illness. But after months of careful observations, experiments, and extensive research, he had come to the conclusion that there was only one disease it could possibly be. And there was no cure.
Strictly speaking, Vasilica had no need for a babysitter any more – he was twelve and a half, and bright for his age. But his over-protective mother still didn’t like leaving him home alone, and so every time that both she and his father would be out of the house for more than a few hours, the babysitter was called. Any other child would have protested the treatment, and indeed if his babysitter was anyone different, Vasilica would have refused to have one. But he wasn’t going to deny himself the opportunity to spend more time with the object of his affections, even if it was through duty, and the lure of payment, and not through choice. Still, Vasilica liked to think that his babysitter enjoyed spending time with him to some extent; they had excellent conversations, as they shared many similar interests – Harry Potter, for example. This particular shared interest was the reason that Vasilica was currently stacking up his collection of DVDs to carry downstairs. His mother caught him on the way.
“You will be good, won’t you?” She asked him, tone concerned. “You know we don’t want to leave you, darling, but…”
“I’ll be fine, mother.” He reassured her, shifting the pile of films in his arms in order to better see her. “Just send my love to grandmother.” His mother bit her lip, still looking at him uncertainly. “Besides, I’ll have Arthur to look after me. You trust Arthur, don’t you?”
“Yes, Arthur is a wonderful young lad, and very mature for his age… But still…”
“Mother, I’ll be fine.” Vasilica said, tiring of the conversation. He simply wanted his parents to leave already, so he and his babysitter could begin their Harry Potter Movie Marathon. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” He looked meaningfully at the clock, which read half four. “Arthur will be here any moment, and you’ll need to leave soon after if you want to be at grandfather’s house before nightfall.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right.” His mother fussed over him for a moment longer, straightening his hat and stroking his cheek. Vasilica tried not to look too put out, though his mouth turned down at the affection. “Just… Behave. Be good.”
“Mother, I am always good.” He huffed, and she smiled fondly.
“I know. I just worry about you… We’ll be gone for nearly a week, that’s far too long to be away from you…”
“Four nights, mother, is not a week.” Vasilica raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to destroy the house whilst you’re away. After all, Arthur will be here to keep me in line. We’ll probably just watch films. And I won’t let him cook.” He added, after a moment’s pause for thinking. He’d never found anything that dreadful about Arthur’s food, but he did have a tendency to burn things.
“Well, Ethel said she’d keep an eye on you both as well, and she’ll bring you some meals. And there’s plenty of food in the fridge and freezer, and-” The doorbell rang, and Vasilica’s eyes widened, his mouth turning up into a delighted smile. He broke away from his mother and darted to the door, fumbling with the DVD cases in his overloaded arms, struggling to free an arm to open the door. He managed, eventually, and schooled his face into a calmer smirk to greet the boy standing on the doorstep.
Arthur Kirkland was sixteen, just, and small for his age. His blonde hair was, as usual, a tousled mop – he was forever loosing his comb, and so often borrowed his sister’s brush instead, which left his hair full of static. His most striking features were the bright green eyes, inherited from his mother, and theKirklandfamily eyebrows, which were thick, and as usual, drawn down into a fierce scowl. His expression softened upon seeing Vasilica, however, and he even granted the younger boy a rare smile. Vasilica’s stomach flopped, and he returned the expression with a broad, beaming grin of his own, flashing his unusual, elongated canines, sharpened to wicked points. He and Arthur both had certain physical abnormalities which had earned them much teasing in their youth – Vasilica still found it difficult to befriend children his own age, and it was partly to do with the fear and rumours that spread the moment someone noticed his ‘fangs’. In Vasilica’s mind, the shared experience simply made them even more suited for each other, in whatever capacity. Arthur understood him; he never mentioned Vasilica’s teeth, and Vasilica never commented on Arthur’s eyebrows. It was an excellent arrangement.
“Hello, Arthur!” He chirped, reaching out to snatch Arthur’s bag from him, handing him the heap of DVDs in return. Arthur simply looked bemused. He scurried off upstairs to set it in the guest room – he’d much rather have Arthur stay in his room, like a proper sleepover, but Mother insisted that since Arthur was kind enough to promise to stay the whole time they were away, he deserved his own space. Vasilica was aware that Arthur would have jumped at the chance to spend several nights away from his own crowded house, where he had to share a room with one of his three older brothers and a bathroom with all of his five siblings, even if he wasn’t being paid to look after Vasilica. He didn’t mention this to his mother though; he liked it when she praised Arthur. He had found Arthur after all, or at least brought him home, like some kind of stray cat. They’d just moved to the area – to the country, in fact, and the then ten year old Vasilica had wandered off to avoid having to help unpack, and promptly gotten lost. He’d met the then thirteen year old Arthur in a park; the older boy had been sat on a bench, talking to faeries, or so he claimed. Obviously they’d just been spooked at Vasilica’s sudden appearance, and flown off. Vasilica could have sat and listened to Arthur talk about his magical friends all day, but before long it started to get dark and; when Arthur realised that this strange ten year old was lost and alone, he’d promptly escorted him home. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t hard to guess that the unknown boy with an unusual accent was the child of the new Romanian family that had moved into the village, but at the time, Vasilica had marvelled at what seemed to be Arthur’s magical power – how had he known where the house was, when even Vasilica himself didn’t? Mrs. Lupei had been so glad to have her son home safe, and even happier that he seemed to have made a friend, that she’d asked Arthur to be Vasilica’s babysitter on the spot. It was a vast improvement on the Hungarian girl who’d looked after him back inRomania.
Vasilica dropped off Arthur’s bag and headed back downstairs again, not wanted to waste a moment of their time together. His mother and father were putting their coats on in the hallway; Arthur was standing there, arms still full of films, and nodding seriously in response to Mrs. Lupei’s instructions. She seemed to have a lot of them.
“Mother.” Vasilica interrupted. “Shouldn’t you get going? It’s a long drive.”
“Oh, yes, of course!” His mother smiled apologetically, stepping over and leaning down to kiss Vasilica firmly on both cheeks. “Please be good.” She whispered in his ear, before heading out the door and joining her husband in the car. Vasilica stood in the doorway; Arthur stepped up behind him, resting a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, and Vasilica fought not to shiver, returning his mother’s wave as she and his father drove off. The moment they were out of sight, he sighed in relief, stepping back and closing the door. He smiled brightly at Arthur.
“Shall we begin, then?” He indicated the heap of movies in Arthur’s arms. The older boy glanced down, and then eyed Vasilica for a moment.
“Do you have any homework to do first, lad?”
“No.” Vasilica replied calmly.
“Go do your homework, Vasilica.”
“I don’t-”
“Now.” Vasilica sulked as he headed to his room. He sped through the maths as quickly as he could, but took his English work downstairs, handing the book to Arthur, who had moved to sit in the living room with his sewing. Arthur took it, glancing at the cover.
“Jane Eyre. A classic. Did you want me to read to you, lad?” Vasilica nodded silently, taking advantage of the opportunity to sit close and lean in to Arthur as he opened the book and began to read aloud. He liked hearing Arthur read; the older boy’s voice was calming, somewhat soothing, and he always made the text seem far more interesting than Vasilica ever could. Tomorrow Vasilica would know the answer to any question the teacher asked, so enthralled was he with the sound of Arthur’s voice as it shaped the words. Eventually Arthur trailed off, shifting away from Vasilica, who was by this time completely curled up against the older boy’s side, head resting on Arthur’s shoulder. Vasilica jerked his head up and stared at Arthur questioningly; he received an apologetic smile in return. “I’ll carry on in a minute, lad, I just need a cup of tea first. It’s a bit of a strain on the old throat. Would you like one?”
“Yes please.” Vasilica sat up fully and stretched, waiting for Arthur to stand and head out to the kitchen before getting to his feet and padding after him. Arthur knew his way around the Lupeis’ kitchen perfectly, after over two years of babysitting, and he easily collected mugs, flipping the switch on the kettle before grabbing the teabags – English Breakfast tea for himself, plum for Vasilica. Vasilica hoisted himself onto the kitchen table and watched Arthur pour the just-boiled water and add the milk to his own tea with smooth, practiced movements. He passed over Vasilica’s mug with a chuckle.
“You’ll be coming into some money soon, lad.” He said, and Vasilica looked at him curiously until he elaborated. “The bubbles in your tea.” He indicated the large cluster at the centre of Vasilica’s cup, rotating slowly with the momentum from where it had been stirred. “If you have lots of bubbles, it’s supposed to mean you’re going to come into some money.” Vasilica’s eyes widened.
“Fascinating!” He murmured, eyeing his cup in a whole new light. “What else?”
“Well… I suppose we could read your tealeaves later, if you want.” Arthur offered, sipping at his own tea. “Once we finish reading, of course.” He smiled. “How far do we need to get tonight?”
“Up to chapter ten.” Vasilica answered promptly. He’d been planning to get Arthur to read further than that, but now he was intrigued by the thought of reading his tealeaves. “You could read it to me before bed.” He suggested, trying to drink his plum tea quickly so they could move on, and burning his mouth in the process.
“Aren’t you getting a little old for bedtime stories, lad?” Arthur chuckled, finishing his own tea despite the temperature and setting his cup aside. He reached down the tealeaves and fresh teacups, and set about making a second round of tea for them both. Vasilica glanced at the time, and then dug out the crumpets he’d asked his mother to get when she went shopping for food, and popped them in the toaster. “Tea and crumpets, eh? Excellent idea, Vasilica.” Arthur’s approval made Vasilica’s chest feel weird again; he beamed at the praise and went to fetch the butter whilst Arthur retrieved plates, and soon they were sitting down and talking about school whilst eating their supper. Vasilica was approaching the end of his first year at secondary school; Arthur was in his last. After the summer, he’d be going to the local sixth form, attached to the school, but in a separate building, in order to get his A levels. Vasilica was selfishly pleased that Arthur wouldn’t be going too far away, and that they’d still be able to see each other often. He didn’t know how much longer his mother would insist on him having a babysitter, but he hoped that even when he wasn’t being paid to, Arthur would still want to spend time with him... “You alright there, lad?” Vasilica jerked up from where he’d been staring at his tea, meeting Arthur’s concerned gaze.
“Yes, I…” He frowned, and sipped his tea, careful not to drink any of the tealeaves. “Will you still come visit even when I no longer need a babysitter, Arthur?” He asked, lowering his cup again. “Mother’s been more lenient with leaving me home alone lately, though I expect for overnight trips she’ll still ask you to watch out for me… But…” He trailed off, frowning at his inability to articulate what he was feeling properly. Arthur smiled.
“Vasilica, you dolt, of course I’ll still visit. You’re a good friend, even if you are still a kid.” The smile slid into a frown as Vasilica tensed up, fingers clenching around his teacup. “Is something the matter, Vasilica?”
“No, I… I don’t feel well. I think I’ll go to bed early.” Vasilica replied, standing abruptly.
“It’s barely six o’clock.” Arthur looked at him, in surprise. “Aren’t kids supposed to beg to stay up late when their parents are away? And what about the tealeaves? Or the films, for that matter?”
“Later. Tomorrow, maybe.” Vasilica mumbled, already halfway out the door. He headed straight up to his room, and shut the door, leaning against it. He took a deep breath, and stared at his own reflection in the mirror, his round, childish face and wide, upset eyes. He had fallen for his babysitter, but Arthur wouldn’t fall for him in return. He was still just a kid, after all.
Also what are good endings.
I think I'm gonna write a sequel to this. For the record.
I should give this a really cliched name like 'Good Things Come in Small Packages' but it's half four and I'm tired and also that looks really suggestive right now so WHO CARES.
Also this took way too long, and I'm sorry about that. There also may be some errors, 'cause like I said. It's half four. I'll take another look when I wake up to see if anything desperately needs fixing, but you're welcome to point things out.
For Mel
Iggymania, Upper School AU. Fight me.
Whilst growing up, height had never been an issue for Arthur, the fourth child of the notoriously strange Kirklandfamily. His older brothers teased him for everything – being smaller was just another item on the seemingly never-ending list of flaws they found in him – and for most of his childhood, Arthur was actually one of the tallest in his year group; at eleven he hit five foot three and towered over most of the other children he knew… Then promptly stopped growing. Six years later, he was still desperately awaiting his teenage growth spurt, trying to pretend that he didn’t mind being dwarfed by almost every other male he met. Even his youngest brother was fast approaching Arthur’s admittedly diminutive size, as he was frequently reminded by the three eldest Kirklandsons, who had all grown to perfectly acceptable heights, not one of them below the 5’9” national average. Add to this a soft jaw line, a fierce temper and a quite possibly unhealthy interest in magic, and by the time Arthur reached his final year of school, his brothers weren’t the only ones who found amusement in taunting the tiny teen. Arthur wouldn’t exactly consider his peers’ treatment of him bullying, but he certainly didn’t find it as humorous as they seemed to. He spent most of his school days firmly ignoring the rest of the students, nose buried in a book more often than not, looking forward to his eighteenth birthday, when he would definitely get taller. Why, he’d probably shoot up more than a foot almost over night, and who would be laughing then? Certainly not the 5’9” Francis Bonnefoy, or his barely-taller friend Gilbert, or that bloody American who was well over six feet - tall, not under, sadly – despite being in the year below. Even if he didn’t grow quite that much… Arthur would settle for another few inches. Even Kiku, the quiet Japanese boy in his History class, was 5’5”, and wasn’t that just unfair? And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the fact that most of the girls were taller than him, or wore heels and so seemed to be – in fact, the only person Arthur was certain was smaller than him despite being the same age was that Taiwanese girl who was somehow related to Kiku, and only because she wore ballet pumps most of the time. It didn’t make him feel any better; she was a girl, after all, and a dainty Asian girl at that, and her size fitted her perfectly. No-one taunted her about not being able to reach the top of the whiteboard.
By the time January rolled around, Arthur had become resigned to the fact he was never going to grow any taller. Three months until he reached adulthood, and he still had to climb on a stool to reach the first aid kit. He couldn’t even take up drinking to get his mind off it – he got asked for ID when trying to see films rated 15, how the hell was he supposed to get away with trying to buy alcohol? Sometimes his older brothers took pity on him, but most of the time they simply moved his tea up to the top shelf of the cupboard and then stood in the doorway sniggering whilst they watched him rock up onto tiptoes, arms and body at full stretch as he fumbled with the very edge of the box, determined that he wouldn’t have to ask them for help. Arthur was fairly sure they’d filmed him at least once.
Today, however, had been quiet – suspiciously so, almost. His tea had been exactly where he’d left it, as had his teacup, and his bag, whilst not on it’s usual peg, was at least on the floor and not hidden somewhere. None of his clothes had been switched with Peter’s – it might have worked when he still wore uniform, but if his brothers thought he wouldn’t notice his own clothing being replaced with Peter’s white shirt and garish school tie, then they were even bigger idiots than he’d already had them pegged as.
Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that the two eldest Kirkland sons had finally gone back to their universities after the Christmas break, and so there was only Alsdair left to taunt Arthur; for the first part of the year, Alsdair had been taking his frustrations about having to retake his A levels out on his younger brother, but since Christmas he’d mellowed out considerably, too focused on studying for his January exams. This particular morning, he’d even offered to let Arthur drive to school in the battered vintage mini that had once upon a time belonged to their father, but now served as the boys’ car, and with only the briefest of passing comments about how Arthur’s shorter legs were more suited to the cramped space inside the car anyway. He’d even stayed silent for the rest of the car journey, eyes fixed on a page in his textbook as he mouthed sentences to himself. It took Arthur four tries to snap his older brother out of it once they reached school, and eventually he just left Alsdair standing in the car park, still frantically reading through his text book.
“If you don’t make it to your exam, it’s your own bloody fault.” Arthur called back irritably, hitching his satchel higher up his shoulder; the bulk of his winter coat made it difficult to hold onto the heavy bag. Alsdair didn’t reply, and so Arthur headed inside on his own. He ignored the uniforms milling around, and the usual double takes from the teachers – how many times had one of them asked him the fatal question: ‘Didn’t you grow at all over the break, Arthur?’ – heading straight for the library, where his… Well, he hesitated to call them friends… Tolerated acquaintances, perhaps – usually gathered for the few minutes between arriving at school and the beginning of their first class. He didn’t hurry – he wasn’t particularly bothered about hearing the inane gossip of who kissed whom under the mistletoe (Francis, and everyone) or who drank too much at the Jones’ Christmas party and had to be sent home (Arthur would bet every penny he had that it was Gilbert), but he should at least put in an appearance. Lukas would be there, after all, and he was one of the few people whose company Arthur honestly appreciated. They shared many of the same… Interests, and both preferred quieter pastimes than their rowdier peers. It helped that Lukas was only a little taller than Arthur, though those three inches were still enough to make Arthur irritable on bad days.
When he reached the library, Arthur found all his tolerated acquaintances huddled together in a corner. So, he wasn’t quite late enough to miss the inevitable gossip session, then. He rolled his eyes and attempted to slink off before he was spotted and dragged into the conversation. “Artie!”
Too late. Arthur attempted not to flinch, but his shoulders jerked up defensively despite himself, and he stopped. Maybe if he just pretended he hadn’t heard, and kept moving… “Hey, Artie!” He was stopped before he’d even gone a pace, a sudden weight across his shoulders announcing the arrival of Alfred. Arthur tried not to groan as the excitable American boy dragged him over to the huddle of teenagers.
“It’s Arthur, twat.” He muttered. “If I have to remind you one more time I’ll kick your bloody arse. And I have work to do, prat, let me go.” He elbowed Alfred sharply, trying to squirm away from the larger boy.
“Not on the first day back you don’t, I call bullshit!” Alfred laughed and gave him one final tug; Arthur stumbled a little and turned to yell at the idiot, large eyebrow furrowed into a rather impressive scowl. Alfred simply clapped a mouth over Arthur’s open mouth. Arthur resisted the urge to bite it. He didn’t know where it’d been, after all. “Nah, I’m not gonna hear any complaining! You gotta meet the new guy anyway! He seems like the kind of guy you’d get on with!” His mouth was freed as Alfred moved the hand up, ruffling Arthur’s hair. Arthur elbowed him again, but Alfred didn’t even seem to notice.
“I hardly think you’re qualified to make that decision Alfred. You have incredibly poor tastes.” Arthur was ignored, again, as the huddle of teenagers finally seemed to realise what was going on (though how they could have missed it, when Alfred’s ‘indoor voice’ was the same volume as most people’s shouting, was a mystery) and dispersed a little, turning to face him. There were a few greetings, but Arthur simply nodded, distracted by looking for this new student that Alfred had mentioned. He thought he would have noticed a new face amongst the unfortunately familiar ones. There was Francis, standing between Gilbert and Antonio; thick as thieves like always. If Arthur wasn’t very much mistaken, Francis had a hand in each of the other boys’ back pockets. Apparently the Christmas holiday hadn’t taught him any manners. Next to Antonio were the Vargas twins, Lovino looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else than standing between the ‘tomato bastard’ and Feliciano, who in turn was babbling away cheerfully to Ludwig and Kiku. Arthur granted the latter two a nod in greeting, before flicking his eyes over to the next person in the group… And found he didn’t have to look up, which was a pleasant surprise, though he didn’t show it. He eyed the new boy sceptically for a moment, noting in the back of his mind that everyone else seemed to have gone quiet, even Feliciano. The new student was smirking as he watched Arthur, his arms folded loosely across his chest. He seemed to get bored of being inspected after a moment, as he dropped his arms to the side and stepped in close, rocking on his heels for a moment, hands clasped behind his back. Arthur’s frown deepened slightly as he realised that whilst this stranger was also rather short, he was still ever so slightly taller than Arthur himself. A sly smile crept across the newcomer’s face, as if he could tell what Arthur was thinking.
“So you must be Arthur, hmm? Salut, my name is Vasilica Lupei! It is nice to finally meet someone smaller than me! And my, you are rather short, aren’t you? I was beginning to think I was doomed to a life of being the smallest male in the room wherever I went!” He grinned like a shark, all sharp teeth and wicked amusement. Any shred of good feeling Arthur might have nursed towards him was gone in an instant, and he narrowed his eyes.
“Congratu-bloody-lations, you’ve managed to hit the grand old height of five feet and four inches.” He said dryly, attempting not to lose his temper. It was rather early in the term for a detention, after all. “Your parents must be so proud.” Rolling his eyes, Arthur attempted to move away from the relative stranger invading his personal space, and bumped into Alfred, who was hovering behind him, probably waiting for the moment he’d have to hold Arthur back from throwing a punch. Vasilica, however, just chuckled. It was a strange sound, almost a cackle, broken by soft huffs, and Arthur felt Alfred shiver behind him. He raised an eyebrow; anyone with a laugh unnerving enough to make the connoisseur of slasher films tremble would normally be a capital fellow in his book, providing they weren’t French. But Vasilica’s first words spoke against him, and so Arthur simply stared at him witheringly. “Is there anything else that requires my urgent attention?” He snapped. “Or may I go to class? The rest of you wankers may not give a shit about your education, but some of us do.”
“Hey, chill Artie! The bell hasn’t even gone y-” Alfred’s attempt to placate the older teen was cut off by the sharp ring that announced the beginning of the school day; the American jumped a little in surprise, and Arthur took the opportunity to duck out of his reach, striding off towards the History department. Kiku quickly caught up with him; Ludwig would no doubt follow as soon as he detatched himself from Feliciano. The Japanese boy looked over (and down), expression carefully blank.
“The new boy has uh… Some interesting hobbies, from what I could gather.” He commented, voice quiet enough that Arthur had to strain slightly to hear him over the babble of other students. “We had all expected that you two would get on. You have much in common.”
“What, like an inability to reach things in high places?” Arthur retorted sharply, staring straight ahead.
“There is that.” Kiku admitted. “But other things, too. If you would at least talk to him, you may like him.”
“An ill-mannered tosser who begins a conversation by commenting on my height is hardly someone I’d like to consider a friend.”
“Ah, yes, but… Wouldn’t you be pleased, if you found someone smaller than you?” Kiku’s voice dropped even lower, his expression slightly apologetic, to someone who knew him well. There was a moment’s pause, as Arthur thought about it; they reached the door to their history classroom, but didn’t go in, waiting for Ludwig to catch up with them.
“Yes.” Arthur admitted finally, slightly reluctant. “I suppose that would be a slight boost to the old self confidence.” He huffed and ducked into the classroom without waiting for the third member of their little group. He hated it when Kiku was right about things. The Japanese boy was not deterred by Arthur’s abrupt dismissal; he waited politely for the German to catch up before the two followed Arthur to their usual table.
“I’m sure Ludwig will agree that you should attempt to befriend him.” Kiku continued their conversation as if the brief break hadn’t happened. Ludwig looked between the two smaller boys, and then, catching on, nodded.
“Ja. Vasilica is… A little strange… But I’m sure you two would get on.” Arthur raised an eyebrow; causing Ludwig to lift his hands placatingly. “He seemed rather interested in you, you could at least indulge him. You’re usually fond of younger students.”
“He’s younger too?” Arthur’s other eyebrow joined the first, hidden in his hairline, then he groaned. “Bloody hell. I had to be the only bloodyKirkland whose genes cocked up.”
“Your sister is rather small.” Kiku commented, attempting to be helpful.
“She’s thirteen.” Arthur snapped, fumbling in his bag for pen and paper as the teacher walked in. “I’ll give the wanker another chance if it’ll make you shut the hell up, how’s that?” He added, dropping his voice in response to their teacher’s disapproving eyes. Kiku and Ludwig glanced at each other, and seemed to come to a non-verbal agreement that they should take what they could get. They nodded, and then turned to their own work. “Bloody hell! Is this a potential friendship or marriage counselling?” Arthur muttered, flicking through the pages of his textbook. Ludwig and Kiku both went pink.
“We just think this would be an excellent opportunity to extend your social circle.” Ludwig said finally, avoiding Arthur’s glare by diligently transcribing notes from his own textbook; Arthur huffed, and ignored them both for the rest of the lesson.
“Right, twat, don’t get the wrong idea about this, I still think you’re an arse.” Vasilica looked up, smile unreadable, as Arthur slid into the chair opposite him at the most secluded table in the entire library. Arthur let his bag slide to the floor before retrieving his flask of tea and sipping at it, eyeing Vasilica with suspicion.
“That’s unpleasant of you to say!” Vasilica chirped, leaning over and stealing the flask right out of Arthur’s hand – the older boy just blinked in shock whilst Vasilica took a sip and hummed. “I prefer plum. Remind me, I’ll bring some in tomorrow to share with you.” He smirked slightly, handing the flask back over and leaning forward. He rested his elbows on the table and hooked his chin over his hands, staring at Arthur in a manner that many would find unnerving. “Which I wouldn’t do for just anybody, you know.”
“Excellent. I feel so special.” Arthur rolled his eyes, wiping the edge of the flask with an expression that didn’t even attempt to disguise his distaste. “I’m only here because Kiku and Ludwig were harassing me during History. They insisted that I talk to you at the very least. I can manage my own bloody social life without them forcing me to talk to idiots just because we’re both pint-sized.” Scowling, he all but snarled the last words, before taking another gulp of his tea.
“Yes, your other friends were rather keen for me to meet you, too!” Vasilica remained cheerful, snatching Arthur’s flask away the moment the older boy let his guard down. Arthur spluttered in annoyance, but Vasilica continued talking right over the top of the incoherent complaints. “I’m not certain why!”
“Because apparently I don’t have enough friends.” Arthur muttered, almost absently, eyeing his flask clasped in Vasilica’s hands. He lunged suddenly, but Vasilica just tugged it out of the way, smirking.
“Now, now Arthur! You could just ask. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Arthur glared at him again, clenching his fists.
“It’s my bloody tea, y-” An unfortunately familiar hand insinuated itself over his mouth and Arthur struggled in vain against it – he wasn’t going to bite this one either. Especially not this one.
“Now now, mon canard, be nice to our new friend, oui?” A soft chuckle accompanied these words, and Arthur flailed almost frantically, his yelled complaints still muffled by the palm pressed firmly across his face. “You should be more careful, Vasilica, mon cher. If you upset our little Arthur, he may…” Arthur rolled his eyes at Francis’ dramatic pause. “Put a curse on you!” The French boy finally moved his hand away from Arthur’s face; he wriggled his fingers and let out a sarcastic ghostly wail, before sniggering. Arthur, hackles already raised by the mere presence of the frog, lost his temper at that and the accompanying snorts from Francis’ two idiot friends.
So he turned around and punched the Frenchman right in the crotch, then, when he doubled over in agony, walloped him right across the face as well, for good measure.
“Bloody hell!” He muttered angrily, turning back to grab his stuff in order to make a quick getaway, preferably before the librarian came over to investigate. “How many bloody times-! Just because you twats can’t appreciate magic for what it is, doesn’t mean it’s not real! The studies of the arcane and eldritch are fascinating, though of course I don’t expect a close-minded arse like you to understand. Twat.” He snatched his satchel up from under his chair, and realised Vasilica was staring at him with some kind of amused admiration. He held out Arthur’s flask of tea, and his smile finally seemed genuine, as opposed to the unsettling smirk he’d been wearing since the moment they met. Arthur took the container, eyeing the younger boy with suspicion. Vasilica’s grin widened under the scrutiny.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you!” He chirped. He reached out and caught hold of Arthur’s free hand, dragging him out of the library, ignoring Francis still doubled up on the floor, Antonio fussing and Gilbert in hysterics. In shock, Arthur simply allowed himself to be dragged, clutching his flask and trying not to stumble whilst listening to Vasilica babble on. He attempted to tune in to what the younger boy was saying, but only caught “magic club” and “Luna Lovegood” before he gave in and settled for attempting to make interested but noncommittal noises at regular intervals and wondered if there was any tea left in his flask. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
The months passed in a flash; the tail end of winter slipped into spring, and the last weekend of the Easter holiday found theKirklandfamily with an unexpected guest.
“You could have at least warned me you planned on popping round.” Arthur grumbled, extracting his friend – and how strange did it feel to use that word now? – from his younger brother’s clutches. “I would have told you not to bother. Peter’s an absolute git when he’s stuck in the house for long periods of time.” He glanced outside at the dreary grey skies and the pouring rain, then eyed the bedraggled and dripping wet Vasilica with the same expression of disapproval he usually reserved for his younger brother when he was being particularly irritating. “You’re an idiot.” Sighing, Arthur beckoned Vasilica to follow him upstairs, pausing by the airing cupboard to grab a towel, throwing it at him with a little more force than was necessary. Vasilica simply caught it with a chuckle.
“Thank you, Arthur!” He said, carefully removing his hat and barely hesitating before handing it to Arthur whilst he rubbed at his soaked hair. Arthur rolled his eyes, but held the hat carefully nonetheless, aware of its importance to its owner.
“If you’d mentioned you wanted to see me I could’ve come over.” Arthur pointed out, leaning over to set the hat back on Vasilica’s head as the towel was relegated to hanging across one damp shoulder. “You didn’t need to walk the entire way here, in the rain.”
“Nonsense Arthur! I wasn’t going to let you brush me of again! It’s high time I met your family!”
“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Vasilica. Much as it pains me to admit it, I actually find your company tolerable, in stark contrast with most of the idiots we hang around with. I’d really rather you weren’t traumatised by my relatives.”
“Arthur, please. If I can handle you, I don’t imagine that your family would be any worse!” Vasilica smirked before darting off down the corridor. “So, which room is yours? No, no, let me guess!” He stood and turned slowly on his heel, eyeing each door in turn with equal suspicion, even the one which clearly displayed a name plate reading ‘Peter’. Finally, he let out a triumphant noise and darted forward to try the handle of the door at the very end of the corridor. Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Well done.” He said, following Vasilica into the small room. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”
“Please Arthur, you’re severely underestimating my intuitive abilities!” Vasilica smirked and flopped down on Arthur’s bed; the older boy winced.
“Vasilica, at least put the towel down first if you’re going to sit on my bed in soaking wet clothes.” Arthur moved over and snatched the towel from where it was draped over Vasilica’s shoulder, shooing him away from the mattress long enough to drape the towel out over the duvet cover with a flick of his wrists.
“My clothes aren’t that wet.” Vasilica pouted, sitting back down the moment the towel was in place. “They’ll dry in no time.”
“Yes, well, they’ll dry faster if you’re not wearing them.” Arthur commented wryly, arms folded. Vasilica smirked.
“Why Arthur, are you propositioning me? Well this is rather sudden!” At the indignant, mortified expression on Arthur’s face, Vasilica burst into laughter. The older boy scowled and stormed over to his drawers, tugging out a pair of joggers and a spare t-shirt, tossing them at Vasilica. They hit him right in the face, though it didn’t stop his laughing.
“Oh, bugger off.” Arthur growled, heading towards the door. “I’m going to go make tea, just get changed… Or don’t, and catch a cold. I don’t give a damn either way.” He didn’t wait for a reply; instead he headed straight for the kitchen and slammed around making tea. The cups, pot and tealeaves were all in there usual place, but the sugar pot was nowhere to be found. Arthur’s shoulders rose defensively as he heard a soft snort from behind him, and turned to find Breandon and Alsdair standing on the far side of the kitchen island, smirking. The sugar pot sat in the middle of the counter, and Arthur narrowed his eyes at his older brothers.
“What’s the matter, Arthur?” Alsdair asked innocently. “Aren’t you making tea for you and your little… Friend? Don’t let us stop you.” Arthur continued to watch them suspiciously as he slowly moved over to the counter and reached for the sugar pot. Quick as lightning, Breandon darted out a hand and tugged it closer towards him. Arthur huffed and folded his arms, scowling.
“I’m not going to fight you for it, twat. Just pass it over so I can leave you two wankers to your nattering.” He held his hand out, attempting to remain civil.
“We’re not stopping you Arthur! If you want it, take it!” Breandon urged, holding his hands out, palms up, in a placating gesture.
“I’m not bloody stupid, unlike you two, and I’m not falling for such an obvious trick. Pass it over, I’m not crawling all over the bloody table just so you can get a cheap laugh at my height… Again.” He stared them down; they simply snorted.
“You’re no fun anymore, little brother.” Alsdair complained.
“Emphasis on the little.” Breandon added, picking up the sugar pot and walking around the island. He handed it to Arthur, ruffling his hair before the younger boy could duck out of the way, and then left. Alsdair mimicked him, substituting the hair ruffle for a clip around the ears. Arthur retaliated with a kick to the shins which just made Alsdair laugh, even as he hobbled away. He passed Vasilica in the doorway, and Arthur would bet anything that the muttered comment he made was lewd; Vasilica simply smiled his usual unsettling smile and slipped past Alsdair to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow, but Vasilica ignored it, taking his tea.
“Your brothers are fascinating! So, who do I get to meet next?”
In the end, Vasilica managed to introduce himself to every member of the Kirklandhousehold. Despite Arthur’s reservations, not only did Vasilica actually like Arthur’s family, they seemed to like him back; he rather charmed Arthur’s mother, though Chelsea remained slightly suspicious, and Peter disliked any friend of Arthur’s on principle. Even the three eldestKirkland sons liked him, possibly because of his talent for making Arthur flustered, which Arthur didn’t want to contemplate too deeply – the thought of all four of them working together was a terrifying one.
Mrs. Kirkland insisted on Vasilica staying for supper, despite Arthur’s attempts to get him to leave before someone was traumatised. He was glad that mumsy liked Vasilica but at the same time… Well, Vasilica was one of an extremely small number of close friends, and though the git had proven to be a pain in the arse on more than one occasion, Arthur would be… Upset if his family managed to scare Vasilica off.
“So! The most important question of all, Vasilica. Dragons or unicorns?”
“Hmmm… Neither! Ghosts!”
Then again, Vasilica was hardly normal himself. Arthur decided to ignore the debate beginning to his right, and served himself up potatoes.
“Well I like him.” Mrs. Kirkland commented later that evening, once Arthur returned from dropping Vasilica back at his house – he wouldn’t allow the younger boy to walk home again whilst it was still chucking it down outside. He paused in the hallway, looking at her cautiously. As he’d expected, she had something else to add to that. “He’ll make an excellent addition to the family.” She smiled coyly, the green eyes she’d passed on to almost all of her children glittering with mirth. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“He’s a person, mummy, not a pet you can adopt.” He eyed one of the family cats, a foul tempered Scottish Fold which was attempting to slink into the kitchen unnoticed, whilst he spoke.
“I wasn’t planning on adopting him, poppet. There’s more than one way to join a family.” She pinched Arthur’s cheek, sly smile still in place. “And it seems like I’m not the only one that’s rather fond of the lad…” Her meaning finally hit him, and he flushed slightly, face shifting quickly into a scowl.
“He’s my best friend.” Arthur replied, drawing his shoulders up defensively. “He’s one of the only people I can stand, of course there’s some element of affection there.”
“Of course dear, of course.” Mrs Kirkland ruffled her son’s hair, smirking in an amused manner. “Bring him around again soon. I ought to get to know him, if he’s your… ‘Best friend’. You’re good together.” She turned and glided off, leaving a confused Arthur to stand in the hallway, unsure as to why his face felt so hot at the implications... So Mumsy had seen more in their relationship than actually was there; it wouldn’t be the first time someone had assumed that the two boys who spent so much time together were more than simply friends. Mumsy, like everyone else who had made such a suggestion, was wrong. Arthur hung up his coat and went back to his room. If he dreamt about bright, mischievous eyes and a sharp-toothed grin, he didn’t remember it the next morning.
The end of the school year arrived quickly, and along with most of the other students approaching the end of their school career, Arthur was focusing all his attention on his exams, trying not to think about the fact that after summer, he would be heading off to university, alone, leaving behind his family and friends... Naturally, he was concerned about one friend in particular. Whilst the majority of the few people Arthur could tolerate – Lukas, Ludwig and Kiku, for example – were also going to university in September, Vasilica still had another full year of school to complete. What kind of idiocy would the boy get up to without Arthur there to keep him in line and remind him when one of his harebrained schemes was a little too dangerous? Vasilica didn’t seem to pick up on his concern – if anything, his plans got even loonier, like he was actually trying to get them both killed. And today wasn’t shaping up to be any safer.
The idea, a trip to the theme park as a bit of post-exam fun and one final get together before everyone scattered for summer and higher education, had actually originally been Gilbert’s. Of course Yong Soo, the Korean boy in the year below, had quickly claimed it as his, and Alfred had seized onto it and taken over the arrangements. Arthur had found himself designated a driver, and saddled with three passengers. He had at least managed to argue for Vasilica and Kiku, as fitting three giant teenage boys into the Mini would be near impossible. Unfortunately, someone had to take Alsdair, and he’d insisted on sitting in the passenger seat, leaving Vasilica and Kiku to squeeze into the back. Vasilica had laid claim to the seat behind the driver’s, and spent the entire journey leaning forward to chatter animatedly in Arthur’s ear. Alsdair scowled and complained about Arthur’s music choices, and Kiku sat in his seat, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
It was a long journey, but they did eventually make it to the theme park without killing each other, though they had to stop every half an hour or so for Arthur and Alsdair to yell at each other, arguing about everything from the route to who’d stolen whose teddy when they were toddlers. By the time they arrived, everyone else had already been there for an hour and had dispersed to start going on rides, leaving a clearly irritated Ludwig and a bored Feliciano to wait for the stragglers. Almost before they had chance to climb out of the tiny car and lock it up, the German was upon them, handing them their pre-ordered tickets before allowing his Italian friend to drag him off towards the main gates, Kiku pausing to thank Arthur for the lift before trailing after them. Alsdair looked at his younger brother for a moment, eyes narrowed.
“Just don’t get caught.” He grunted, before following the other three. Arthur and Vasilica looked at each other; Vasilica was, as usual, grinning like he was on day release from the hospital. Arthur mentally revised the sentence he was about to say.
“Of course Alsdair assumes we’re going to end up doing something stupid and dangerous, I’m with you, after all. Bloody moron.” He rolled his eyes. Vasilica just chuckled.
“You say dangerous like it’s a bad thing! Now how about we go check out some of these rides, hmm?” Arthur hesitated, eyeing Vasilica suspiciously.
“I’d rather not die today, if it’s all the same to you.”
“I’m not going to let you die, Arthur! As interesting as it would be to have a ghost for a best friend, I’ve become rather fond of you as you are!” He grinned, and started walking towards the park gates. “Come along now, we don’t want to waste our time here, do we?” Arthur stood where he was for a moment, mouth moving silently, face flushed. Vasilica paused and turned back, raising an eyebrow; Arthur shook off his surprise, bit down the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, and hurried to catch up.
They went around all the lesser rides first – it was Vasilica who dragged them onto the merry-go-round, smiling smugly as Arthur tried to hide his delight whilst choosing to ride the unicorn; Vasilica picked the lion next to it and they both ignored the strange looks from parents watching their significantly younger offspring enjoy the kid’s ride. Eventually, Arthur surrendered his unicorn to a gap-toothed little girl with a kind smile, and bullied Vasilica into giving up the lion to another girl with long dark braids who stared at them suspiciously as they hopped down from the merry-go-round and continued to make their way around the park. Arthur’s half-formed ideas about avoiding anyone they knew for the duration of the trip were quickly shattered when he heard a familiar voice calling his name, clearly audible even over the hubbub of the rest of the visitors. Arthur debated just ignoring it, but Vasilica had already seized his hand again, and was dragging him over to where the rest of their group were all gathered in line for a large rollercoaster.
“Sup Artie?” Alfred chirped, grinning at him. “Hi Vasilica! You guys are coming on the rollercoaster with us, right?” The American didn’t wait for a response; simply dragged them both into the line, ignoring the complaints from the patrons behind them. Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Vasilica was looking eagerly at the enormous thrill ride, and he didn’t have the heart to argue with the almost childish excitement on his best friend’s face. He sighed, and sidestepped out of the way of Francis’ wandering hands with ease born of years of practice, glaring at the Frenchman before turning back to listen to Alfred babbling away about the rollercoaster they were about to ride.
The line shuffled forward agonisingly slowly, and although they were barely waiting for twenty minutes, it felt like they were standing in the midday heat for hours before they finally reached the front of the queue; Arthur was starting to regret choosing to wear his favourite sweater vest instead of something more suited to the summer weather. The majority of their group loaded onto the ride with no problems, but the moment the ride operator whipped out a stick to measure Kiku against, Arthur knew what was going to happen. Kiku was ushered onto the ride, and the others continued to board, before the operator spotted Vasilica and Arthur and hurried over. Vasilica passed, barely. Arthur… Didn’t.
“I’m sorry sir, but due to safety regulations…” The operator tried to apologise, but Arthur just waved him off.
“It’s fine.” He muttered, trying to fight down his scowl in order to shoo Vasilica towards the ride. “I’ll wait here.”
“You know,” Vasilica began, looking at the rollercoaster thoughtfully. “I don’t think this is particularly my kind of ride.” He turned and grinned at Arthur, ducking under the barrier that marked the edge of the ride’s queue. “We should go explore the haunted house, instead!” He suggested, already walking off without waiting for an answer. Arthur gaped for a moment, spluttering something about Vasilica not having to miss out just for him; after all, he was an adult and would no doubt enjoy the break from having to babysit Vasilica – the younger boy wasn’t listening. Arthur managed to prevent himself from looking too pleased, and trailed along after Vasilica as he made a beeline for the dilapidated faux-Victorian mansion, the sign across the front boldly advertising: “Shocks, scares, and frights a-plenty! Step inside… IF YOU DARE.” The building looked the part, but as the two boys showed their wristbands to the bored teenager manning the doorway to the attraction, and stepped through into a darkened room, they shared glances that predicted the unimpressive nature of the so-called Haunted House. They paused a moment, to allow their eyes time to adjust to the atmospheric lighting, and turned in unison at the sound of a ghostly wail. What was essentially a sheet suspended by wires had dropped from the ceiling and was jerking up and down in an aborted parody of a haunting. Vasilica let out a burst of his distinctive laughter, and Arthur snorted in amusement.
“I highly doubt anything in this pathetic excuse for a haunted house will be any more impressive than this, but shall we continue to explore, nonetheless?” He looked over, barely able to make out Vasilica’s features in the darkness.
“Of course! But it’s rather dark in here. I wouldn’t want to get lost; perhaps we should hold hands to ensure we stay together?” Arthur was glad the darkness hid his blush as he spluttered for a moment, before managing a coherent reply.
“Hold hands? Are you off your bloody rocker? No, thank you! If we get separated, all I’d have to do is follow the sound of an idiot blundering around and terrifying innocent bystanders because he lacks social skills.”
“You wound me Arthur. I have excellent social skills; I’m not the one who spends his evenings sat in his room, sewing.” Arthur could hear the smirk in the younger boy’s words, and he huffed in annoyance.
“At least I don’t sit around watching someone indulge in a perfectly innocent and in fact useful hobby, like some kind of bloody creeper.” He muttered, glancing around the hallway and picking a direction to walk in. Vasilica laughed softly.
“I like watching you work, Arthur. You have interesting hands.”
“What a load of tripe.” Arthur muttered, face still feeling unusually hot. The house got darker the deeper they went in, until he could barely see an inch in front of his face. He managed not to flinch or make any unmanly sounds when he felt something touch his hand; a moment later, warm fingers laced with his own, and he turned, eyes staring blankly at the darkness. “Bloody hell, I said we don’t need to hold hands, git!”
“Ah, but I have had an idea to make this particular attraction rather more entertaining, Arthur, and I require your assistance!”
“I’m listening.” Arthur replied, after a moment’s pause. Vasilica tugged on his hand, and he stumbled in close with a muffled yelp. “What was that for?!?”
“Shh, Arthur.” Vasilica’s voice was amused as he tapped at the older boy’s face with one finger. Arthur wasn’t sure what he was aiming for, but he narrowly avoided a poke to the eye, and so Arthur groped for Vasilica’s wrist and tugged the hand away from his face, trying to ignore how intimate the moment felt, standing close together in the darkness, hands linked. “Come, let’s find somewhere a little more… Convenient, shall we?” Arthur didn’t have time to question what Vasilica meant by ‘convenient’ before the cold blue light of a mobile phone screen was spilling out into the darkness, Vasilica using the light from the device to navigate through the corridors, Arthur being dragged along behind like a piece of luggage. Vasilica seemed to find what he was looking for; with a triumphant cry, he stopped outside a door covered in peeling, grubby, off-white paint. He released Arthur’s hand and passed him the phone to hold instead whilst he fumbled in his pocket for something. A moment later, he handed Arthur a paperclip and gestured to the door. Arthur simply raised an eyebrow, and Vasilica sighed.
“Arthur I am well aware of your lock-picking skills. You have demonstrated them to me several times whilst drunk. Now, if you please, the door.”
“Vasilica, I’m not just going to unlock it for you without an explanation.” Arthur folded his arms and waited. Vasilica sighed again.
“Can’t you simply trust me, Arthur? I assure you, you’ll enjoy it!” Arthur hesitated a moment longer, and then sighed and turned to the lock, muttering under his breath about idiotic wankers who didn’t understand the meaning of breaking and entering (“But we’re already inside the building, Arthur!”). The lock clicked, and Arthur moved out of the way, allowing Vasilica to twist the handle and skip inside.
The room was large, but cluttered with a collection of old props and broken furniture. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, and after hunting around for a moment, Vasilica found the switch to turn it on. The room was soon lit by harsh white light, and Arthur stepped in, closing the door behind him. He looked at the unremarkable room, and then turned to his best friend, his expression showing every ounce of scepticism and confusion. Vasilica grinned and tossed him a piece of chalk, before dropping to his hands and knees and starting to draw on the floor with his own. Arthur’s eyes widened slightly as he realised what Vasilica was doing, and, after a moment, he smirked and joined the younger boy in drawing the elaborate pentagram on the bare boards. Vasilica glanced up, grinning wickedly. His eyes gleamed in the flickering light from the poor-quality bulb, and Arthur cursed his heart for the way it pathetically skipped a beat.
“Let’s liven this place up, shall we?” Vasilica suggested, not seeming to notice Arthur’s discomfort.
Between them, they soon finished the necessary symbols, and then they stood close together in a small protective circle and chanted together, sharing dark smiles as they watched the spirits swirl into being and then disperse throughout the house. The screams started almost immediately and they stepped out of their protective circle and went to stand at the door, flicking off the light and peering out through the crack to watch the fruits of their labour. They were almost uncomfortably close; Vasilica leaning against Arthur’s back, his head on the older boy’s shoulder so they both could look through the tiny space at the same time. They saw a few of their group, stumbling around in terror, and Arthur tried very hard not to snort when Gilbert screamed like a six year old girl at the sight of a particularly ugly ghoul popping out of the wall in front of him. Vasilica’s hand found his again in the darkness, and Arthur caught his breath, turning to look at Vasilica, eyes straining to see his expression in the limited light. There was the whisper of fabric as Vasilica moved; a flutter of breath across his face was all the warning Arthur had before Vasilica was leaning in and kissing him chastely. Arthur tensed up, startled, and Vasilica pulled back without saying a word. He turned back to the crack in the door, and after a moment’s uncertain staring, Arthur did too, unable to prevent his mind from racing. Vasilica had kissed him, and he’d just stood there in shock, and not reacted. He had no idea what this meant for their friendship; he hoped it wouldn’t be the end of it, he wasn’t sure what he’d do without his best friend. Perhaps he should-
“Arthur~? Are you in here, mon canard? Your brother sent me to find you, he wishes to leave soon!” Arthur’s eyes narrowed at the sound of the familiar voice, and he let out what could have been interpreted as a growl had it been any louder. He felt Vasilica’s eyes on him, and stubbornly resisted returning the gaze, his face growing hot. Francis wandered into sight, having somehow miraculously avoided all the rogue spirits so far. Vasilica began to murmur under his breath, and Arthur gave in and glanced over, eyes mostly adjusted to the darkness now. He’d thought, with Vasilica’s attention focused on Francis and his chant, that he would be safe, but the younger boy’s mischievous eyes slid over to lock with his, and Arthur fought the urge to jerk away. Vasilica stopped chanting and indicated that Arthur should look back through the crack; he did, focusing on the French boy still calling out for him. A large, shadowy mass began to collect behind Francis as all the spirits collected together, merging into one being. Francis huffed, having not received any indication as to Arthur’s whereabouts, and turned around to leave. His terrified, cut off scream was the most satisfying thing Arthur had heard in a long time, but he missed the Frenchman’s frantic sprint for the exit as he turned to look at Vasilica again. The younger boy was chuckling, watching Francis’ hasty departure, but he glanced over when he noticed Arthur had stopped laughing, his own amusement easing off. The tension grew again, their eyes once again fixed on each other, and this time Arthur ended it by grabbing Vasilica and pulling him into their second kiss, harder and deeper than their first. When they broke apart a moment later, Vasilica grinned widely and tugged Arthur straight back, barely giving them time to pause for breath.
When, almost half an hour later, Alsdair finally managed to pry the story out of a still-trembling Francis, he simply rolled his eyes and dismissed the summonings with a wave of his hand and a sharp command. He was unsurprised to find his brother and Vasilica oblivious to the world in a corner of the storeroom, perched on rickety chairs with their heads tilted close together as they chatted quietly to each other. He took great pleasure in startling them by slamming the door open; Vasilica’s chair collapsed underneath him, and Arthur hurried to help his friend – boyfriend? – up.
“C’mon, you wee buggers. I want to get home sometime today, you can have your little gossip session another time.” Alsdair scowled at them, before turning on his heel and stomping out. “Bloody nattering away like bloody girls, dumb bastards.” Arthur and Vasilica simply linked hands again and followed him out, Vasilica smiling smugly, and Arthur still trying his best to look disgruntled despite the colour in his cheeks.
He stuck his tongue out at the operator of the rollercoaster as they passed, a moment of childish weakness.
He'd never thought there'd be a day when he'd be grateful for being small.
My name is Beggars and I am also known as the queen of terrible endings. Deal with it.
