Chapter Text
It felt like nothing could help. Lovino held onto his head as if it were a ball he was trying to crush out of exsistence, but that was not helping either. Why was he doing it again? Wondering about it only made his brain hurt further.
"And what's up with you?" Arthur questioned, once again the first to wake up. He'd already figured out the Italian had rather sleepless nights as he, earlier that day, suggested he'd take sleeping meds, but overally brushed it off. He probably couldn't care less. Either way, he was still here to bother the other.
Lovino groaned like a spoiled child and turned his head away from the Brit, searching for help behind the window. Its curtains were still closed.
What would he usually do? Lovino couldn't remember. It feels as if he, for the first time, had a headache and that was purely not true! He's had it multiple times just this week, so what was the problem? What was the difference? Why was it bigger?
No, no, he does remember. Besides ignoring it, usually he'd take a random box of pills and swallow a handful of them. He knew it was dangerous, but usually he couldn't bring himself to care. Plus it worked. But what was before that? If he knew that was wrong, something must've been. Then?
There were a few minutes of peace as the Brit dissapeared into his room. During that time Lovino stood up, almost fell down, kicked something that was laying on the ground, cursed himself for it, gave up on opening the curtains in case of being yelled at for it and made his way to the table where he sat, that closer than the couch. What a waste of time.
He sighed. Why was everything so loud? He could hear leaves rustling behind the closed window, people walking around the neighbourhood, presumably going to their jobs. Why do jobs always start so early in the morning? Someone moved on their bed upstairs, one of the siblings presumably. How was Feliciano? His own breath, his clothes shuffling with the slightest movement, even as small as breathing, chest moving up and down slowly. Finally, Arthur making his way back to the living room.
Think, Lovino, think! What was he missing?
The floor squeaked with every step the Brit took, and he just had to take more of them as he looked for Lovino on the couch first, only then finding him closer to the kitchen. He was holding something white in his hand, but it was hard to tell what, the world seeming blurry suddenly.
A cold pressure was put on Lovino's forehead, it taking him a few seconds to realise it was Arthur's hand. The other sighed and handed him a small thermometer.
"Great…" he mumbled, looking at the space somewhere behind the Italian. "Take your temperature, I'll get you a glass of water" hopefully not poisoned. If you could poison water, that is. Could you? Lovino would've known if he payed more attention in class. Heck, if he payed more attention in class, he would be living his best life back in Italy. What a joke he was.
A drink, a drink. He was usually handed a drink when sick. But it wasn't water, no. What was it? Something warm and sour… Oh, yeah! Honey tea with lemon. And oranges, sometimes kiwis… And when they ran out of fruits that was replaced by some stupid syrup, yeah. Made of honey, lemon and onion, presumably?
In the end it turned out he came down with a cold. The temperature was only narrowly higher than a usual person should have, so they assumed the sickness would be gone soon enough. Lovino felt weak and had an awful headache, but he were grateful to not feel nauseous or hot.
Talking to Alfred was awful though. Each word spoken by him was like a nail digging into the Italian's brain, making his well-being worse and worse. How ungrateful!
When the siblings left, Arthur and Francis took a trip to the basement. An argument could be heard, but Lovino felt too exhausted to care. The two came back an hour later, the first covered in dust and with a scowl, the second looking flawlessly, smiling and carrying two old boxes. He put them down next to the couch with a loud thud that might have made Lovino's ears ring for a few seconds.
He stared as the two began unpacking the boxes, scrolling on his phone only making the headache worse. Francis quickly caught up on being watched, explaining the story of each Christmas tree decoration they had. Some were very pretty, had great colours and patterns, others looked like? Something? One coloured smaller boxes? It was easy to tell which were bought by whom.
The funniest part though, was when the Frenchman squealed and ran up to Lovino, shoving a plastic Christmas bauble into his face. It had a messy 'Alfred' written on it and a caricature of a masked superhero on its other side. The tacky parent behavior painfully reminded him of a certain Spaniard.
"Alfred made this in kindergarten when he was six!" Francis exclaimed in between snorts as he showcased the bauble like it were a monument.
"Not easy to tell. His handwriting hasn't changed one bit" Arthur added, yelling that part from the room beside. A smile was clear in his voice. For a moment there, it sounded like they were a really happy family. Must be disappointing the Italian was with them.
Somewhere about another hour had passed since then, each of the decorations taken and sorted out, laying on the couch. There was also a suspicious cherry wooden log placed in the room's middle. The whole ordeal was chaotic, the movement only getting louder the longer it took.
"You're feeling better?" the Brit asked once they took off to actually decorating. Not enjoying who he were asked the question by, Lovino nodded slowly. "You either help us or wash the dishes. You didn't yesterday"
Of course he'd care about that rather than another person's well-being. Usually, the Italian wouldn't care. He can't blame others for being careless with people not worth of care. But when it was Arthur doing that it was annoying. Dammit, he hoped no one would mind if he skipped on washing the dishes. That's just free labour!
Being glared at and having no other choice, he sluggishly made his way towards the sink.
The dishes were as distinctive as the decorations. Some were amazing, pretty, taken care of, having beautiful golden or silver patterns on themselves. They were the good variations of your typical grandma dishes. Others were like an abyss from the previous. Plain, carrying no personality, made for good usage and good usage only.
Thinking of dishes as only something you place your food on is plainly stupid. What's the point of buying something if you don't at least enjoy looking at it? People with such a lack of taste must be hellishly boring.
Boring, boring… That's right! Antonio played his idiotic far from listenable songs on that raggedy guitar when Lovino was a kid. That was what always helped him when he was sick… No, that's stupid, it couldn't have. It annoyed him more than anything, plus how would some guitar melody help with a sickness?
So why was it, that he seemed to hold a warm feeling when recalling the memory?
"Mon dieu, what are you doing? This looks horrible!" Francis called out, his voice having a somewhat shaken tone to itself. There was some shuffling, the tree's smell reaching the kitchen as something on it was moved around.
A light scoff in response. "You and your made up problems… Just put the decorations on the tree, it's not that hard. I don't see any issues" Arthur held a note of distraught as well as arrogance. It was hard to tell whether he was upset or embarrassed.
"Yes, exactly. You, my dear, are massacring it"
Lovino giggled. It was a shame he couldn't watch the scene.
Something slipped from his hand. It was hard to hear, the sound of it falling mixed with the sound of running water, but one of the plates fell down onto the sink's bottom. His heartbeat quickened. Not turning the water off, as to not be suspicious, he tried to pick it up with not only wet, but now shaking hands. A piece of the golden pattern had broken off, already washed up in the sink. Looking at the plate's rest, it seemed like one of the little roses surrounding its edges was the missing piece.
God damn it! He comes into a stranger's house, interrupts their holidays, makes them angry, and now destroys their belongings? It's as if he were a parasite, existing only to make a mess!
Trying to play it off, he put the plate away, picking up another dish. A glass this time. The scrubbing was much slower and weaker. Lovino had to bite the inside of his cheek not to sob. How pathetic! A grown man crying over such a small inconvenience! Feliciano would know what to do. He'd probably cry too, but he'd address the problem. He'd talk about it and fix it. Lovino knows that's what he should do. Why doesn't he then? What's stopping him? Is it his overbearing mindlessness?
And how come the Spanish bastard comes into his mind when he's in a situation like this? Why does he want to be comforted by someone and why in god damned hell was it always that stupid guy? They weren't even related! Why was he the only one that cared?
No, he didn't care. Why would he? His moronic ass was probably holding pity towards him, like everyone else currently.
Did Alfred care? Why is he showing up in his head as well?
Something fell down in the living room. He didn't turn to look what.
"Ack, what the hell?" Arthur complained loudly.
"Not my fault you can't do anything right! At least, not decorate. Move away so I could do this by myself, bien?" Francis scoffed but the sounds of clothing ruffling made it clear he was pushed away.
"Can anything lower your ego? Let me manage stuff in my own house you frog!"
"Our house, mon cher, don't forget that!" a clear smirk on his face. Funny how much you can tell from voices alone.
"Pfft, yeah. Biggest mistake of my life" were the last words uttered. Another something (or someone?) moved around and suddenly it was quiet, until Francis didn't start laughing. His laugh was very… French.
Lovino sighed, again.
Must he always pity himself? That, on itself, is stupid, isn't it?
It's just the three same sentences about being useless repeating themselves over and over. Is that how life was supposed to be? Has he never grown up to form any other opinion about himself?
He glanced out the window. By now, the curtains were opened, the sky an ocean blue and the trees almost fully naked. Still no snow, but so many decorations on just the streets. People care about such small stuff. Does this really make them happy? People with such lives must have them sorted out enough to not have to care about bigger problems at hand.
Does Alfred have it all sorted out? Does Matthew? Probably. The first is so energetic and has so many interests it's almost unreal. The second has a life already. He has an apartment, protective friends, a hobby he's clearly passionate about. Does Lovino have any hobbies? Not one of them he's good at. Feliciano and him always seemed to share those, his younger brother beating him at each of them, seemingly without any effort, as if he were doing it specifically out of spite!
Humiliating.
Does Lovino have anything? Does he have interests? Does he have an idea of who he is? Of what he wants to do?
Whether he wants to be?
He never really thought about it. Now it was too late. Now he had no money, no life, no nothing, not even a friend. Just people pitying him. He doesn't even know what his favourite colour is. Shouldn't he know that?
His hands felt disgusting, so soggy and wrinkled from the water.
Should he be grateful for the pity? Some don't even get that. Finally, he forced himself to take a glance at what was happening behind him. Arthur was choosing out the last decorations, the tree not bare anymore, far from it, Francis keeping his arm around the other's waist.
He looked back at the dishes. Is he really ruining their Christmas, being here?
The water stopped dripping. Everything was clean. Yet, he kept staring into the sink, his brain more foggy than hurting.
He's such an ungrateful brat. He always was. That's another reason why his brother was preferred, his brother at least could show gratitude, could listen to commands and could fulfill them well. It's another reason why he got so ahead in life so quickly, and Lovino hadn't.
The towel was rough against his skin as he attempted to wipe the water off his ugly hands.
His hands.
He stiffened.
Would he be as much of a disgrace if he did something for the family?
There was no time to buy anything anymore, nor did he have any money for it. But, he could make something, couldn't he? With the stuff the family has, that they own, not him, so basically not giving them anything… Plus whatever he makes can't be too pretty. Too worth it. Still, it does feel like he should at least try.
But in that case, what should he make?
Usually he'd ask someone. His brother, maybe. Or Toni, he always was good with creative stuff.
No no, that's stupid, shut up. You can't put that on others otherwise it'd be like you put in no effort yourself! Besides, those two would be the worst choices for that anyways. Yeah. No reason to be bothering them with his exsistence.
At last, he turned around. His steps were heavy against the old floor, alarming him getting closer to the others. Both looked at him curiously. Shaking the odd feeling of being observed off, he looked around the place.
It had lots of decorations, starting from the overcrowded Christmas tree and ending on little accessories hanged around the walls.
All in all, it looked really good. Surprisingly good, especially that the people arranging it seemed to have no stop to their arguments. How do they do that?
Could he also find a balance between his arrogance and actually doing something useful?
"This star looks a bit off… It'd fit much better around that snow, there" he pointed at a small paper star glued to the wall, then moved his finger to the room's opposite side, where fake snowflakes were placed. "Because… Coloristically. And it'd look less packed" he explained quickly, not wanting to be cocky.
Arthur opened his mouth, as if to argue, but following the Italian's gaze he put a stop to it, nodding along. As he moved the star around, Francis chuckled, sending a weird glance between the two of them.
The result was much better.
"Quite the artist, are you?" the Frenchman asked, turning to Lovino. The other's cheeks flushed slightly.
"No, it's… A simple observation" he mumbled in response, looking away. Francis giggled, turning to Arthur who was already next to the teapot.
At last, it was quiet. Lovino's mind was still a bit soggy, his body still a bit weak, but he felt. Better, somewhat. Maybe it were the decorations, or the quiet atmosphere the house managed to achieve.
Even when, somewhat about twenty minutes later, the siblings came back with a loud smack to the doors, it didn't annoy him or make him feel worse. How come?
Matthew, visibly stressed out by something, ran upstairs before anyone could go further than catch a glance at his figure. Not minding that at all, Alfred kicked off his shoes and ran to the Italian with a smile. He was basically dancing from foot to foot, not being able to even sit, that much energy he held. There was a certain shine in his eyes that Lovino had seen for the first time.
A package of pills was thrown onto his lap as Alfred babbled. His words seemed blurry and he was talking without making much sense. In the end, he finished the weird performance with a "How are you doing? Are you better now?"
"Yeah" he simply nodded, lost in the whole situation. Why was Alfred staring at him like that?
To his rescue came Matthew, who was still in outdoor clothing but was done with whatever he were up to upstairs. He showed up next to them without notice, then shook the American by his shoulders, throwing the both of them off.
"Look, Al! The tree's decorated already" he stated, looking around the room. His brother followed his gaze, mouth going agape.
"No way! You guys decorated without me?" Alfred whined, freeing himself from Matthew's grasp. He then ran to the still opened, almost emptied boxes and started skimming through them, trying his best to add something to the tree, a focused pout on his face. The sight had almost put a smile on Lovino's.
Now it was his turn to be startled by the Canadian, who grabbed his shoulders in a similar manner to the previous. Flinching, Lovino expected to also be shaken by them too, but that didn't happen. What a stupid thought.
"Have I told you about Alfred's weirdest intrests yet?" Matthew asked instead, with an unreadable grin and a mean sparkle in his eyes. The Italian shook his head.
He was then provided with a list of, as stated by the information provider, kids shows his brother enjoyed a lot. It was told quickly and quietly, only half of the titles staying in Lovino's mind.
"Okay?" he were confused at the sudden burst.
The Canadian giggled, winking at him. "I'm sure Al would be thrilled to get something related to a show he likes" then he left, finally taking the big coat off, its shuffling overshadowed by Alfred arguing with his parents over the embarrassing bauble from kindergarten, making Lovino feel slightly empty.
Nevermind that, what the hell happened on that shopping trip? And why was Lovino getting dragged into it?
Even if the whole ordeal did give him an idea.