My Oh My!
"So, what brings you here?"
Arthur Kirkland could only stare, mouth shut, unable to speak. This was quite rare for the (overly) opinionated Brit, who had a scathing response for almost everything. And confusion wasn't a look that best suited Arthur; it was very, very weird for him not be scowling, or frowning, or looking generally displeased.
"Eh? Cat got your tongue?"
"U-um…" Arthur stuttered hesitantly – then winced.
He sounded pathetic, like some shy, adoring fangirl who'd bumped into her crush whilst doing the grocery shopping and was struck dumb for words, looking at her feet, blushing.
This described Arthur's whole situation to a tee, minus the 'girl' part (Arthur was a gentleman, and that would never change no matter how many times Elizaverta, the deranged lunatic that she was, tried to force him into pretty dresses). Oh, and Arthur hadn't been doing grocery shopping, nor had he bumped into his 'crush'.
He didn't have a crush.
Nobody at Hetalia High had caught his attention in such a way; the only people that stuck out in Arthur's mind were the ones that really, really pissed him off, like Gilbert and Francis.
But Arthur (no matter how he tried to deny it) was struck dumb, was lost for words, was looking at his feet, and blushing perhaps wasn't the right word, because his face looked like a bloody tomato.
Curses! inner-Arthur swore. Sometimes, he really, really hated his pale complexion, which made his flushed cheeks all the more prominent.
It wasn't exactly emasculating.
Neither were the bloody dresses.
"Why don't you have a seat? We can talk about whatever's troubling you! It's my job, after all. Ehehe~"
Numbly, like a robot, Arthur crossed the sparsely furnished room. It was very white. White walls, white curtains, white carpet. It made him think of snowdrifts and winter, and how Peter would pester him to make snowmen and go sledding and how his younger brother actually expected him to kneel down in the cold and wet to ball up bits of over glorified crystalline water ice and get frostbite in his fingers and throw it at people as though it was actually fun. Snow ball fights – perhaps the stupidest things invented ever since 'How to Speak French' was translated into French.
As if anybody would want to speak French, anyway.
Of course, Arthur was a gentleman, and he would never demean himself in such a way to actually participate in a snowball fight.
Not ever, ever, ever, in a million-zillion years.
Not even when Peter threatened to put his history homework in the paper shredder or auction his Union Jack print underwear on e-Bay.
Not even then.
Still staring at the (white) floor, Arthur took a seat.
"Why won't you look at my face? I'm not that scary, da?"
It was only then, when Arthur (hesitantly) lifted his gaze to the man behind the desk, he realised. Of course, he had known all along, but now he was left in no doubt that this wasn't some bizarre dream.
He was actually in a physiatrists' office.
Him! Arthur Kirkland! The most calm, collected, level-headed student in the whole of Hetalia High! The idea was almost unthinkable.
Maybe Elizaverta needed help, what with her ungodly obsession for 'boys' love' (as she called it) and that secret stash of X-rated comics she kept under bed.
But not Arthur.
And yet, Arthur thought darkly, it was him sat on that stupid chair in that stupid office twiddling his thumbs and staring at the stupid, creepy, blank-faced physiatrist before him with the empty smile and the dead eyes and the cold demeanour that sent shivers running down the Brit's spine. Not Elizaverta.
Of course, this eerie man wasn't a real psychiatrist. He was only a high school counsellor.
But they were similar sort of things. Too similar for Arthur's liking.
The name-plate on the desk before him read 'Ivan Braginski', but this didn't tell Arthur one jot about the dead-eyed man. What really informed Arthur as to Ivan's personality was the deranged look on his face, only partially hidden by an insincere smile.
Maybe he's planning to bludgeon me to death with a lead pipe. Would it be polite to look at least a tad surprised if such an eventuality arises?
"Good! I can see your face now, hehe." With that laughter, waves and waves of creepiness began radiating off the older man. Arthur moved back in his chair, pressed against the upholstery. "So, do you need my help? I'm good at helping out, you know!~"
"Help me by never looking at me again!!!"
…Is what Arthur would have liked to say.
Instead, he forced a half-smile, and began picking at some loose thread on his trousers. Normally, he would scold people for fidgeting (it was very distracting), but under the gaze of Ivan, it was hard to stop himself.
"I…" he said, after a pause. His voice sounded weak and fearful. He shook his head, and tried again. "There's nothing wrong with me."
"So why are you here?"
Arthur's mouth thinned into a line. His eyes narrowed.
Now, that was interesting story. 'Interesting' meaning embarrassing, demanding and disturbing. An epic tale of great proportions, which involved Elizaverta, her camcorder, ill timing, pixies and blackmail.
"I don't want to talk about it," said Arthur, after a sizable pause. He folded his arms, pouting. Of course, if one were to tell Arthur he was pouting, he would shake his head and deny the fact – pouting all the while, lips pursed, cheeks flushed (of course, he'd deny he was blushing, too, even whilst his face glowed like a red traffic light. Because Arthur was that kind of person.)
"But I want to hear about what you have to say," beamed Ivan – smilesmilesmile, like somebody from a Disney film.
Yet behind his icy charm there seemed to be something much darker.
Arthur's rage dissipated. It was replaced with fear – which, he told himself, was fuelled by mere assumptions and baseless paranoia. And yet… His 'sixth sense' had never lied to him before.
Trying not to look conspicuous, Arthur pushed his chair back a few feet.
"U-um… I wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for Elizaverta. And you shouldn't listen to a word she says, it's all rubbish!"
"But even so," sighed Ivan. With that one sigh, Arthur felt his body tense up, "you seem troubled. Maybe we should schedule regular appointments, if you feel you are having problems…?"
Oh God no.
I'm going to kill Elizaverta. I'll hang her up from the ceiling by her eyelids and push pins into every square centimetre of her body! Or maybe I should burn her? Would she count as a 'witch'?
…Maybe I should just hire Vash to do it.
"You see, I'm very interested in how the students of this school feel." The creeper smile on Ivan's was growing by the second, until it seemed ready to curve round the back of his head. Like a zipper, with gleaming toothpaste-advert teeth.
"W-why?" Arthur battled to keep his voice steady, to remain calm. To sit there like a man and not, for the love of God, not, hightail it out of the room like a complete pansy.
Oooh, this was bad.
"Because…" Ivan's voice dropped to little more than a whisper, but Arthur was able to hear every word. A truly dark look spread across his features, one more terrible than anything Arthur had ever seen in his whole life – and he'd some quite disturbing spectacles in his time. "I want to see their lives get screwed over. One by one. They'll all learn. They'll all learn. Kolkolkol~"
Arthur had just enough time to appreciate that he'd found someone terrifying enough to haunt his nightmares for years and years to come.
And then he ran.
a.n: Ahahaha! I only started this… strange thing… because I had a random idea of Russia being a psychiatrist, and being all 'I only took this job to laugh at miserable, pathetic people! Kolkolkol!" And I was amused XDDD So, yea. This was born xD
It doesn't have a real plot at the moment thougghhh. It was written on a whim. So if you guys have any ideas on what should happen, please review (hintyhintyhintXD) and give me a hand here??? I'd like to hear your suggestions! I'll give you credit if I used anyway xDD
Anddd I totally want the pairing to be Russia/England. Fo sho. Because I love it =3 But I want to add Belarus in here somewhere, too! X3 But idk.
Ideas plz? :3 Can I has?
Read, review, relax!