A/N: Hi there! It's a pleasure to meet you. In case we haven't met before, my name is Lumi. I've written one story for Hetalia in the past called Draw a Circle and it's a delight, if you ask me. Although, I've also recently finished a different Hetalia story that's a crossover with Fruits Basket that follows the boys of the BTT getting mixed up with the Sohma family and shenanigans ensue. Some moments are cute. Some are kind of hot. Some get very sad and angsty. It's a healthy mixture of a lot of different things. It's like trail mix. But I've never played around with the 2p! characters before. This is going to be a first for me. I'm pretty excited. Now, I'm currently working on a NaNoWriMo project, so I'm going to be away until December, but that doesn't mean I won't be with you in spirit for the next few weeks. So, enjoy the fruits of my labor and I'll hopefully see you back here in December. I'm going to get back to work now. Enjoy!

Oh, but before I go, this does kind of have a little bit of mentions of blood and the aftermath of a bad fight, but everything's going to be ok, so…Just be forewarned.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle it anymore. The plates shattered in what used to be our kitchen, the picture frames that held once precious memories in pieces in what used to be our living room. The fake smiles that we used to call love…I couldn't fake them anymore. And I couldn't stand to be in that house we used to call home. Apparently, after one whiskey sour too many, he figures that's a good time to start hashing shit out. I needed to get out of there before things got any worse.

It's not like I could go back to my parents' house. They warned me about Reid when we started dating. He's an asshole, Amy. He's just going to break your heart. Guys like him are only after one thing. I guess I was stupid in thinking we could prove them wrong. And I know damn well that if I were to go back home with a broken heart, they wouldn't hesitate to throw this in my face. I didn't have the energy to deal with that. Not after everything that's happened.

What am I going to do? I could only sit in the park for so long. Yeah. It's nice for the time being, but at some point, I'll have to go back there. I'm sure Reid's going to change the locks on me, so sleeping in my own bed tonight is probably unheard of. I needed to do something, but I just can't think of what. Am I really that screwed?

I suppose a good first move would be to clean up my cheek. The stinging sensation still lingered after the ceramic plate shattered on me. My reflexes were usually pretty quick, but when I had four plates coming at me, I can't block them all. There are probably shards of ceramic in my open wound. I was lucky I had my phone and my wallet on me, let alone a pair of tweezers. Maybe I should let it get infected. That would teach me for falling in love with an idiot.

"Pardon me," a voice chimed in the dark, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I put my hand up to my face, hoping this guy didn't see the carnage, "I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm lovely," he giggled to himself, reaching for my hand, "But you're not fooling anyone, darling. I'm sorry, but do you mind if I take a look at that?"

"At what?" Denial is my friend. Right now, I might hate the guy, but dealing with Reid when the wound is still fresh (quite literally, in this case) wasn't something I had in me.

"Your face," he lowered my hand with the most delicate touch, "Oh, goodness…That doesn't look very nice, does it?"

"I'd suppose not."

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked, taking the empty spot next to me.

"About ten minutes ago," I figured, my head a bit fuzzy, "Are you some kind of wealth of medical knowledge or something?"

"Just a man who has taken a couple of first aid classes," he pulled his pocket square out and put it under my fingertips, "Here. I want you to hold this for a moment. Could you tell me your name?"

"Amy," I could do that much, "Amy Williams."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he smiled sweetly, "My name is Oliver. It's unfortunate we had to meet under these circumstances, but we don't have much control over that. No matter, I do wish I could clean that up for you a tad better. Do you live around here?"

"I did," I grumbled, "I lived with my boyfriend, but then…"

Oliver let out a little gasp. I knew pity would've happened eventually, "Did he do this to you?"

Again, I didn't feel like filing an assault case tonight, "Are you a cop?"

"Not at all," he promised, "I'm not even involved in social work. Forgive me if I asked too much."

"Don't worry about it," I brushed him off, "I'll be fine."

"We really should clean that properly," Oliver got up and offered me his hand, "If it's alright with you, my house is just 'round the corner. I have a small pharmacy in my medicine cabinet."

"Ok," I took his hand.

"Slowly, love," he insisted, "We wouldn't want you getting dizzy and getting hurt somewhere else. Let's keep it down to one injury tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah," I followed his instructions and eased off the bench, "Oliver, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Amy," Oliver allowed, "What is it?"

"This isn't the part where you take me to your place," I wondered, using him as a crutch, "And I end up being chopped up in your basement, is it?"

"Heavens, no!" he laughed, "Your overactive imagination betrays you, Amy. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Good," I relaxed, "I had to ask."

"I understand," Oliver let it go, "You can't be too careful. But I promise I'm no serial killer."

"Ok." He had something in his eyes. Something kind and trustable. Maybe because I still had Reid on the brain, I'm a little mistrusting. But that's my problem, not his. By the looks of it, this guy just wanted to help me.

Oliver and I walked down the street and turned the corner where a beautiful Victorian stood. I wish I could see more. Going by what I could tell from Oliver, I could almost guarantee he had a pretty yard. Nevertheless, we were here on a mission. Oliver helped me up the stairs and brought me into his house. My god…This place is huge. Everything seemed meticulously cleaned and organized. Oliver brought me into the living room and sat me down on his couch.

"If you could," Oliver asked, "Wait here. And please try not to bleed on my sofa. White antique furniture is hard to come by and restoring it is even worse."

"I'll do my best," I promised.

"Make yourself at home," he scurried off to God knows where. Probably his bathroom. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about this man. Although, it would be rude to go through his stuff. Instead, I merely looked around the room. The whole hose looked like it could be my grandma's. His doilies had doilies. The plants seemed to be well loved. I had to ask…

"Hey, Oliver," I wondered, "Is it just you who lives here?"

"Just me," Olivier confirmed, walking back in with a bottle of peroxide in one hand and a handful of cotton balls in the other, "I used to have someone else here, but they left. Now, it's just me. Could you take my pocket square off your face please?"

"Sure," I pulled his pocket square off, the dry blood sticking like glue, "Owie, owie, owie, owie…"

"I know, poppet, I know," he helped me, "I wish it didn't hurt for you, but it'll be over soon. I'm sorry. I should've brought a warm washcloth, too."

"I'll be fine," I winced, getting the rest of it off, "Just hurt for a sec."

"There," Oliver took his pocket square from me and tossed it aside, "All better. For now."

"Sorry about the blood," I bit my lip.

"No, no," he hushed me, "No need for that. Nothing a little lemon and some club soda won't fix. That also doesn't mean to actively try bleeding on my sofa. Even though it's a simple process, it's extensive and tedious."

"I'm trying to keep the mess to a minimum," I promised.

"I know, love," Oliver poured some peroxide on his washcloth, "This may sting a little."

"I can handle it," I braced myself, knowing this was going to hurt like a bitch.

"I'll be gentle," he winced, catching phantom pain, "I promise. Are you ready?"

"Ready," I let out slow, even breaths. To no surprise, the peroxide burned like a lighter under my skin.

"It's alright," Oliver spoke softly, finishing quickly, "Shh…It's ok. I'm all done, Amy."

"Thank God," I sighed out, "That sucked."

"Can I ask you something?" he reached behind him for antibiotic cream and a bandage.

"Go ahead."

"Is your name really Amy?" Oliver asked, patching up my face, "Or is it short for something?"

"It's short for Amelia," I told him, "I was named after my great-grandma."

"It's a beautiful name," Oliver smiled, "Why wouldn't you go by that?"

"Because…" I thought it over, "I don't know. Just don't."

"Could I call you Amelia?" he requested.

"You can call me whatever you want," I allowed, "It's not often anyone calls me Amelia, though."

"I've always loved the name Amelia for a little girl," Oliver melted, rubbing the bandage on, giving it a little kiss, "There. All better."

"Really?" I giggled, the kiss catching me off guard.

"I'm sorry," he cleaned up the mess, "It's a habit. But a kiss makes everything better, don't you think?"

"I guess," I held back a smile, "Thank you, Oliver. I appreciate it."

"You're very welcome," Oliver got up and threw the wrappers away, "Amelia, do you need somewhere to stay tonight? Surely after all of this, you're not going back to that. God only knows how much worse it could get."

"No," I shook my head, "Thank you, but I couldn't."

"It's no trouble," he assured, "If you need somewhere to stay, you're more than welcome."

"No," I turned him down, "I think I'm just going to swallow my pride and go to my parents' house. I'll be alright."

"Alright," Oliver seemed so sad to see me go. He grabbed my phone off the table and tapped away on the screen, "If you need anything, darling, don't hesitate to call me. Ok?"

"Ok." I think I like this guy. He's alright.

"Before you go," he walked into the kitchen and came right back out. In his hand, Oliver had a few brightly pastel colored squares, "Would you care of a sweet? I made them myself just this morning."

These were almost too pretty to eat, but the light pink one called my name. It'd be rude of me to turn him down twice, "Sure. Thank you, Oliver. For everything you've done for me. Most people would've left me on that bench."

"I'm not most people," Oliver and I walked out onto his wraparound porch, "Hopefully, this won't be the last we see of each other."

"Probably not," I waved behind me and started my short, yet eternal walk to my parents' house. This is going to suck. At least my dad's awake. The TV's still on. I knocked a couple times on the front door.

"Hi, Amy," Dad answered, "A little late for you to be here, don't you think?"

"I had a bad night," I kept my head down, making sure the bandage on my cheek was well hidden, "Do you think I could stay here tonight?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "What happened?"

"I'm really tired." And I didn't want to talk about it anyway, "Could I just go to bed? It's been a long night."

"Alright," Dad allowed, "But you do know your mother's going to be asking you questions in the morning, right?"

"Yeah," I sighed out. That's for future Amy to worry about. Because current Amy didn't want to deal with shit right now.

"Go on," he sent me off, "Get to bed."

"Ok," I rubbed my eyes, not needing to be told twice, "Night, Dad."

"Night, Amy."

I made the treacherous walk up the narrow staircase and into my old bedroom. It hadn't changed much from when I moved out. Honestly, I don't even know what they were using it for. Probably a guest room, but here nor there. Right now, I had one thing on my mind. My big, comfortable bed that knew how to hold me just right. God bless. Then, I remembered the candy in my pocket from Oliver. No time like the present.

When I popped it into my mouth, my world became a better place. The sweet strawberry flavor filled my mouth and my body slumped down into my bed. My god, Oliver, you know what you're doing, don't you? Now, I have more than one reason why I was thankful to meet you today. At least my day didn't end like shit.