Arthur's POV
I watch as Lovino paces the guest room nervously. He's decided to stay with me for a while for reasons he won't talk about.
"I can't do this." He says, running a hand though his hair frustratedly.
"You're going on this date, Lovino," I tell him, dragging him to the door as the doorbell rings.
He pouts and crosses his arms at me childishly.
I grin mischievously at him before throwing open the door to reveal the nervous Italian to the Spaniard. I make sure I'm behind the door and can't be seen. In addition to his new clothes, Lovino wears black converse and gold over-the-ear headphones.
"Shit," I hear Lovino mutter as his wide eyes take in the Spaniard, making me have to hold in a giggle.
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Lovino's POV
"Shit," I accidentally let slip as I take in the annoying bastard in front of me. No one should look that good. He's wearing tight black pants and boots with a slightly baggy white button up and red belt. He almost looks like a matador.
"Hola, mi tomate!" He greets cheerfully, "Ready to go?"
I nod briefly and am carried forward on legs that seem to have minds of their own. Somehow making it to the car, he opens the door for me in a gentlemanly fashion. He gets in and we sit in silence as he drives to wherever the fuck we're going. What have I gotten myself into?
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Antonio's POV
He looks so adorable, red in the face and staring out the window awkwardly. He looks like a tomato, and I nearly giggle at his cuteness.
Turning back to the road, I notice the sky looks kind of dark. Thankfully, everything I have planned is inside an old family cabin of mine. I've set up a picnic and some space for dancing.
As I'm pulling onto a hardly ever busy road, Lovino suddenly looks at me. "Where are we going?" He asks curiously.
"It's a surprise," I tell him, grinning mischievously at him.
He pauses for a moment before turning back towards me.
"Trade?" He asks nervously, avoiding eye contact as his face turns red.
Trade? What does he mean 'trade'? I raise an eyebrow at him in confusion.
"I'll trade you a k-kiss if you tell me. Just not on the l-lips," he stutters out nervously, uncharacteristically quiet and cautious.
We jerk forward as I slam on the brakes in surprise. "Deal," I say immediately, turning towards him happily.
"Don't look so excited," he mutters, furrowing his eyebrows as he cups my jaw and leans forward.
He places his soft lips on my cheek, dangerously close to my mouth. Time seems to slow down as he does. Our breathing and the air conditioning drown out the small pitter patters of raindrops falling onto the car. My heart feels as if it's going to beat right out of my chest. He pulls his lips away from my tingling skin before slowly placing them against a slightly lower place on me. Slowly kissing his way along my jaw, his other hand lands on one of mine. Immediately squeezing his hand gently, I breathe heavily as his soft lips cause a euphoric sensation to erupt along my skin.
HONK!
We pull away from each other quickly, panicking. Some guy in a truck behind us honked at us. "HEY, ASSHOLE," he calls out to us, "MOVE ALREADY!"
I feel myself grow angry and flip him the bird before speeding away, cursing vulgarly in Spanish.
I'm taken out of my rant by a red faced Italian, who is laughing uncontrollably. I look over to Lovino in surprise. His head is thrown back, and his hands clutch his stomach as the most beautiful sound I've ever heard spills from his lips.
"What's so funny?" I ask in confusion.
"Y-You when you're m-mad!" He laughs even harder, and I shake my head. I'd be mad if I didn't love listening to the beautiful Italian's musical laugh.
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Arthur's POV
"Arthur~"
I sit up and look around the living room in confusion.
"Artie~" a voice calls out.
That sounds like... "Shit!" I curse quietly. I throw my book down and bolt to my room in an unreasonable attempt to get away.
It laughs. "Oh, Artie, I'm disappointed. Don't you know I'm just in your head?"
I grit my teeth as my head erupts in pain. It's like icy claws are scratching at the inside of my head, trying to free itself from me.
"Now," the voice says darkly, "let's have some fun."
I sit up, panting and confused. Looking around, I realize I'm in the same dark empty space as last time. This time there's no mirrors. The demon me sits on nothing in mid air, almost floating. He looks at his nails, claws rather, and clicks his tongue. "I'm disappointed, Artie," he says, starting to circle me, "I thought you'd be more of a challenge to figure out." His wings flap almost silently but perfectly graceful in the deadliest way. "But, you're pretty simple. You're selfish and conceited. You always make it about you. You always think of yourself as the victim. You always focus on what's been done to you. You always focus on you. You always make conversations about you. You don't think of others, or what you've done to them. It's all just you, you, you. Isn't it Arthur?" He looks at me, grinning darkly, "It makes me proud. It means you're more like me than you think. Yeah, you can use a few tweaks here and there, but you're practically at the finish line." His sick grin widens and he looks at me with a dark sense of joy.
"What if it's a race I don't want to finish?" I retort lamely. I can't let him have the last word. If he does, it'll mean he's right. I can't let him be right.
"Oh, love," he pouts at me mockingly, "you don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice," I declare stubbornly, making his brow furrow.
"That's where you humans fall short," he tells me as his posture becomes that of a lecturer, "You always think that everyone has a chance to recover. You think everyone can be fixed or mended. You think everyone can get better. Well, news flash," he glares at me angrily, "not everyone can be saved."
I'm caught off guard by his passionate response. For someone who claims not to have feelings, he seems to feel pretty damn strongly about this. He turns away from me and sighs in frustration. "Is that what happened to you?" I ask softly, taking a step forward.
His body tenses. "I'm an idea, Arthur," he tells me sagely, "I've watched it happen to people."
I pause. "What do you mean 'an idea'?" I ask, quizzically raising an eyebrow.
"I mean," he sighs, "that I've been in the minds of millions of people for longer than the idea of you existed, and I'm always conjured up from within the bowels of someone's broken mind. I'm the monster they invent in their head. Time and time again, I've watched these people die because they can't be fixed." He stops as if unable to see how to coninue, but he has no need.
I understand him completely. He doesn't want to be some monster anymore. That's why he wants me to be his version of strong, so I won't be so broken that I can't be fixed. It's so human of him. It's so painfully human, and he doesn't realize how much like me he really is. It's so painfully obvious that I want to hug him to my chest in some sick sense that it'll help him understand.
Instead, I walk over to him confidently and turn him around. He glares at me before I slap him across the face. He stares at me in confusion, and I grip his shoulders steadily. "You aren't the monster you think you are. You never were. You never will be. You're the part of the mind that is the victim of its self hatred and fury. You aren't the monster. You're just what they blame. You've just been convinced that you are." He gasps in surprise and shakes slightly.
Small trickles of blood flow from his eyes. He's crying. Sniffling and wiping away the ruby streams, he surprises me with a hug. He buries his face in my shoulder. "Most people would've cried at the truth of what I said or beat the shit out of me in denial. There may be hope for you yet, kid," he says quietly, his voice muffled by my jacket. I wrap my arms around him awkwardly, trying to be mindful of the wings.
"Well, I like my face. I wouldn't want to mess it up," I say jokingly, making us both chuckle.
He pulls away from the hug, and I stare in awe as his eyes shift from their deep black to a silvery green color. He smiles at me. "You've just earned yourself an ally," he says with a small smile.
I smile in return. He holds up his fist and I tap mine against his in a rather lame fist bump. "Well, ally, can you tell me where I am?" He shrugs.
"I don't even know." He looks at me with honest eyes and a small embarrassed smile.
"Well can you tell me why I'm here?" I ask, desperate for answers.
His smile falls from his face. "Arthur," he says slightly painfully, "you've been cursed."
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Wasn't that sweet!? Lol! In case you're confused, demon Arthur represents the idea of mental illness, and our dear England has come to terms with his ^-^ I hope you nuggets enjoyed this chapter (you better because I accidentally deleted this the first time and had to retype all of it) Let me know if you guys have any questions or suggestions! See you nuggets in the next update! Bai!!! >:3
-IggyScones