Ignorance, My Bliss [26-28b/?]
Happy New Year, everyone~ <3 Update is behind the cut.
All he knew was that it was cold.
His consciousness swam in and out focus, the world swirling into breathy shapes and blurred colors; he couldn’t make anything out distinctly, as if the film had been overexposed to the fever weighing heavily upon his brow. He could feel that heat, however, waiting: the warmth that prickled beneath the skin, just where the coolness was unable to reach. He felt his hair sticking to his face, matted and grimy from the sweat that glazed his features, trickling along the back of his neck.
He remembered how much it had hurt, how the heat leaked from his eyes onto blooming red cheeks, heart fracturing into a million pieces in his shaking hands.
Arthur-
Didn’t love-
Him-
He remembered how sleepy he had suddenly felt, how the warm, downy cotton had filled his mind, how his eyes and head had felt so heavy.
He remembered leaning against someone’s knees, and they were shaking his shoulders, wake up, wake up, but he was too tired, the last of his energy dripping away with the few salty tears remaining on his cheeks.
In other news, unemployment has now exceeded the ten percent mark, worrying investors and consumers alike; concerns and tensions are high, and many are afraid that this is indicative of a false bottom to the decline, and fears of further failures are being considered-
If he listened hard enough, he could hear garbled sounds and words, a murmured, silken tone, and a mournful, chaste soprano. They mixed together into a strange sort of lullaby, no words, only a harmony that reminded him of the feel of the wind in his ears. The sleep pulled at him, deeper it said, go deeper; the darkness only thickened, wrapping him in an loving embrace as he drowned in his own exhaustion.
“Please-I came-help-you’re the-trust-”
Mind far away, he was vaguely cognizant that his cheeks were wet; was he crying? He wasn’t sure. More warmth brushed the tears away, fingers pressed gently against the skin, cupping his cheek; he wanted to touch those fingers, to intertwine them with his own, but his body felt disconnected, limp and detached from him and the situation.
“Hurry-inside-might see you-”
Someone pressed a kiss to his brow.
“Alfred-Alfred-”
And the shadows won over coherency.
=~=~=
The waking was unavoidable, but happily painless.
Lids unveiled to a creamy white ceiling, the small chandelier glittering in the morning light; eyes traced a line down the wall, windows dressed with slightly shabby curtains, the lace long since past its prime. The rays trickled through the dressings, too sterile to be from that of a sunny day, which would have bathed the room in yellow and gold. An old clock was resting against the far wall, keeping time slowly, deliberately. Pushing the blankets back (were they handmade?), Alfred slowly stood, swaying in place. He fumbled his way to the window, thoughts hazy and saturated with heat, and pushed the fabric aside, taking in the outside view.
It was white.
There were snowdrifts as far as the eye could see, fluffy, like captured clouds, untouched by human hands. He saw smoke curling off into the distance, vaguely recognizing it must be coming from the house he was in. He leaned his forehead against the glass, savoring the coolness he found there.
-did I say you could speak?
it hurt
Arthur
arthur
it hurt hurt hurt
UsELesS-
The fragments were so sharp and jagged it felt as if his mind was being sliced open, spewing rotten memories and feelings at his feet, mentally vomiting the sickness from every recess of his being.
The room had a distinct blur to it now, fuzzed around the edges like a frayed blanket; he pressed himself against the window, trying to regain his balance, panting from exertion. He heard a click come from somewhere, and a gasp, high, breathless.
“America!”
In seconds, arms were wrapped around him, carefully cradling him against an ample breast; he was gently guided back towards the bed, tucked in like a sickly child. He blinked a few times, trying to clear the slurring.
Pale, ashen-blonde hair and liquid blue-amethyst eyes; he momentarily panicked, thinking it was Russia, but a firm, motherly grip calmed him. The cool hands pushed the sweat-matted hair from his face, replacing it with a cool washcloth.
“Нет, это хорошо-ah, pardon me, I mean, you are fine, America. Do not worry; there is safety here.” He somehow managed a rasp.
“U-Ukraine?” She smiled down at him, and he lost himself for a moment in her eyes, colored with sadness and the hardships of the past.
“Да, yes, it is me, America; you are in my home. It is alright.”
“Matthew,” Alfred wheezed, “Wh-what about Mattie-?”
“Alfred, I’m here.”
A second face joined the first, pallid skin framed by waves of sunshine hair, glasses perched high on his nose, magnifying violet eyes heavy with worry. Matthew set down the tray he was carrying, gaze never leaving his brother.
“You shouldn’t have been up,” the Canadian quietly chastised, fiddling with something on the tray, “You’re really sick; you need to rest.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Several days,” Ukraine supplied, “We have been very worried, Matthew especially,” she added, gesturing to the man at her side. Matthew looked down, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“I’m not going to lie, Al-it’s bad.” Alfred paled further, countenance a bleached alabaster, bloodless.
“B-bad?” His brother grimaced, nearly a sneer pulling at his lips.
“The people haven’t caught on yet-why their countries seem to be unbalanced, like tension is trying to break the surface. Oh, Al-they don’t know; they don’t know because they can’t! Most of them have no idea we exist! They can’t stop it!” He seemed nearly angry now, gesturing viciously with his hands.
Alfred could say nothing.
“And all the while, the other countries are-God, they’re looking everywhere for you. I managed to get in touch with Liechtenstein, who told me how she and Vash have been bombarded with nations at their door, some of who threatened them for your location. Just because they’d thought you’d be there-”
He paused, as if debating whether or not he should continue. Finally, he spoke, voice barely a murmured whisper.
“Russia put a gun to her head, Alfred; he was going to kill Lili.”
There was darkness slinking into his vision, radiating in little waves across his already dim, fading vision.
She had been smiling so gently, the carefully painted picture of kindness; her hand had been soft in his handshake, and long lashes fluttered against her pink cheeks when she had blinked, dipping into a curtsy, like young royalty; but it had fit her.
“Mr. America; it is very nice to meet you.”
“Vash was so angry he wouldn’t even talk to me,” Matthew laughed coldly, emptily, “Her voice-she sounded so strong though; for me, for you.”
And he had placed a kiss on her slim hand, much to the chagrin of her brother, because the handshake had seemed so brutish towards someone like her, a modern-day lady. He had grinned at the blush that bloomed on her cheeks, gesturing with his free hand towards the room around them.
“Welcome to the UN, Liechtenstein.”
“Mr. America…”
The heat spilled from his eyes, streaking down his face, lips partially parted, but no words to speak; a sob caught in his throat, and he slung an arm across his face, hiding the eyes that marked his weakness, emotion bubbling over rims, unable to be stopped. Ukraine gave his free hand a squeeze, her own lip beginning to tremble in sadness. She swiped at her now sparkling violet eyes, quickly standing.
“Я сожалею, Извините меня-I mean, p-please excuse me; I m-must go check the doors,” she stuttered, giving a clumsy half-bow before exiting, closing the door mutely behind her. Matthew took her place, sitting in the old chair, dulled and smoothed from countless years of use. He laced his fingers with Alfred’s, gently stroking the top of his hand; the tears only increased, sobs choking in the other’s throat.
“M-Mattie-I’m so tired.”
Matthew continued to caress the other’s hand, as if he could smooth the wrinkles away by the brushing of fingers.
“I don’t understand-everything was okay.”
Child.
“I thought-I thought they really l-loved me; that they loved me for the help I gave them.”
Don’t cry, little one.
He sounded so small, as if someone had ripped apart his book of fairytales, letting the pieces fall upon him like snow.
Because the rain cleanses, but the snow freezes, freezing dreams where they stand, lifeless and cold, but still tauntingly seen.
“W-why is this happening to me?”
Because you deserve it.
“It’s going to be okay, Alfred,” Matthew said, voice barely heard over the haze, “We’ll get through this, we will.”
Because everyone must pay a price.
The clock began to chime.
=~=~=~=~=
Good; he was asleep.
The amber-eyed man carefully crawled out of the bed, mattress only slightly shifting; he pulled the sheets over the blonde, giving him a soft kiss on the temple.
“Ti amo~”
The other gave a soft sigh, curling further into the sheets; the Italian smiled.
Good.
He slipped on his shoes, adjusting his shirt and tie, and left the room, making sure to leave a light on, just like Ludwig liked. He turned away from the door, heading to his own room just down the hall. He opened the door with his cardkey, only a little surprised to see his brother leaning back into the couch, eyes closed, an open bottle of Centerba on the table along with a half-full glass. Feliciano didn’t speak to him, choosing a black hanging bag from the closet. He shed his shirt and pants, exchanging them for the other clothes resting neatly in the now unzipped case. With nimble fingers, he tied his tie, red silk slick against his touch; he tied the charcoal black laces on the Armani shoes hugging his feet, perfectly spotless, polished leather. He glanced in the mirror.
Enzo Tovare suit; black, pin-striped.
Silk handkerchief that complimented his tie, ideally crisp.
Diamond cufflinks, flashy, yet fashionably subdued by the rest of the outfit.
Good.
He shrugged into his topcoat, patting his breast pocket to make sure he had everything; satisfied, he made his way towards the door.
“I hope you know what the fuck you’re doing.” A tone laced with repressed anger, venom.
Feliciano didn’t turn.
“Ve, I’m not sure what you mean, brother.” He heard the wine bottle hitting the rim of the glass, pouring more noxiously wonderful liquid.
“I hate it when you’re like this; you’re goddamn fucking scary.” Feliciano only laughed softly, though something else lurked in his sweet mirth.
“How is Spain?”
The silence confirmed his thought; he’d hit the mark. The voice was strained, drowning in the strong wine.
“He’s still talking about the gold.” The northern twin smiled, turning the door handle without a second glance.
“Sleep well, brother.”
He took the elevator down a floor, analyzing the numbers with a calm, detached visage. Finally, he found the room he needed. He knocked twice, waiting patiently for the door to be answered. Finally, it was, and a snarling countenance met his own; Feliciano smiled once again.
Good.
“Good evening, England.”
OTL
Um...happy new year? :D [/shot] I'm sorry, guys; I'm really going to try and be better with the updating, but break's been pretty rough for me so far. Anyway, we really seem to be getting somehwere now~ Is it clearer yet? Can you see it? ;3 I hope so. <3
Thanks to the amazing comments on the last section! There were so many, and they made me smile so much! <3 Rememeber, they're what make me get my butt into gear and write, so keep them coming!
Till next time~ :)