Even heroes fall [1/3]
anonymous
March 29 2009, 20:43:09 UTC
It occurred to Arthur that in the end, the strongest men were the most likely to break.
He’d been there himself, bloody on the war field. He’d seen Ivan shrink during a few years as if the man had suddenly turned old. Even the Asian countries found their position threatened these days. But, and most to his own surprise, he’d actually never really thought of Alfred as someone who would crumble.
But there he was.
It should’ve been a quiet evening with a cup of tea, listening to the rain drumming against the windows in his living room. Therefore, as he’d heard the knocking from the door, he’d assumed it to be someone like the postman or some kind of delivery service. Standing outside, though, was Alfred, dripping with rain, blue from the cold, a face of sadness that could melt a heart of ice.
“Alfred?” Arthur glared at the man in disbelief. “Alfred, what are you doing here? Bloody hell, you’re not even wearing a jacket in that weather?”
“’m sorry.”
“I beg your pardon?
Alfred refused to look Arthur in the eyes, as he repeated: “’m sorry, okay?” in a blurred voice. The American swung his arms around himself, shaking from the cold. Arthur gritted his teeth before grabbing the taller man by the arm and dragging him inside.
“I have no idea what you’re blabbering about. Oh, look at you now! You’re freezing cold.” Arthur closed the door behind them before dragging the limp Alfred with him. “One would believe you’re still a child. I though I’d fed that brain of yours with just a minimum of common sense.”
Alfred remained silent. He followed his older fellow upstairs to the bedroom, his gaze fixed at the floor. It was this silence that made Arthur blabber nonsense like a CD on repeat. He noticed himself and snapped the mouth shut, pushing the American down to sit at the bed before turning to his closet. He grabbed a sweater and threw it at Alfred.
“Change into this,” he demanded, and seemed rather pleased as the other immediately did so. He crossed his arms and let go of a small sigh. “What were you thinking? Have you come all the way from home looking like that? You’ll catch a cold.” His eyes snapped open as he suddenly realized: “So will my tea. Bullocks, it has probably turned into ice by now.”
Re: Even heroes fall [2/3]
anonymous
March 29 2009, 20:44:26 UTC
“Sorry.” Arthur turned noiseless as the other started to speak again. He must’ve been saying that sarcastically, he thought, as the younger hardly had anything to apologize for; and hardly did even when he had. But Alfred’s face was far from sarcastic. His blue eyes were sorrowful and still fixed on the floor, as was he afraid of looking at Arthur.
Arthur shrugged the shoulders, unsure of what to answer. “Well, it’s okay..” he mumbled, “I’ll just make some new. Piece of cake.” Pause. “So, uhm, what did you come here for?”
“Is now not a good time?”
“When have you ever worried about whether I have time?” It was meant as a joke, but Alfred’s mouth twitched as if he’d been punched. Arthur swallowed guilty and went to sit beside his friend. “I was just planning on drinking tea anyway, now is a good time. A fine time,” he assured the other, and though Alfred’s face remained the same, he was sure the other understood.
A couple of minutes passed without neither of them spoke. Arthur was starting to feel the awkwardness of situation getting to him, then-
“Do you hate me?” Alfred’s voice had been vain, almost unable to hear. Arthur scratched his neck with a confused look on his face.
“What?”
“Do. You. Hate. Me.” The American spoke with clear punctuation between each word, making a slight nod with the head every time. Arthur’s scratching speeded up.
“A-Alfred, I really don’t know-“ No time to finish the sentence. Alfred launched himself at Arthur, slamming him back into the bed. The Englishman gave a yelp of surprise. “Alfred!”
“Don’t!” Arthur stared in shock at Alfred above him. He’d his body pressed down into the sheets, but the much stronger power holding him from shoving the other off was the tearful eyes. When, Arthur pondered, was the last time he’d seen his kid cry?
“Don’t..” Alfred pressed his face into Arthur’s shirt. His body sank down as if every bone in him melted, and soon it started to shake with every crying hiccup that came from Alfred’s mouth. “Don’t hate me,” he whispered and held onto Arthur with desperate fingers. “Please, I can’t… I can’t live with you hating me. Please don’t hate me.”
The furious begging mouthed to his chest left Arthur stunned. He opened and closed his mouth as a fish on land, trying to regain control of himself. His evening had been turned upside down within few minutes, and as he’d opened the door earlier, he’d never expected a situation like this to happen. Ever.
Re: Even heroes fall [3/3]
anonymous
March 29 2009, 20:45:01 UTC
“Why aren’t you saying anything? So you do hate me, don’t you?” The words made Arthur snap back to reality. Carefully, he placed his arms around the limp body and pressed his nose to the American’s hair.
“Of course I don’t hate you,” he whispered, receiving a small gasp from Alfred. Arthur forced his body up in sitting position, which was quite a task with Alfred lying on top of him, but somehow he managed to pull himself up, still holding the others in his arms. He embraced Alfred into a closer hug as he hushed comforting words into his ear.
“You don’t have to worry, why are you crying? Of course I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. Oh, silly, you went all the way here to get that confirmed?” Arthur felt Alfred’s hair tickling his neck as the other nodded, and he couldn’t help but smile sadly at that fact. “Silly,” he repeated.
“I don’t want England to hate me,” Alfred whispered, and Arthur grabbed his chin to force him to look at him.
“I never will.”
“How will I know?”
Arthur felt caught for a moment, then he smiled slowly and pressed his lips to the American’s.
“I’ll show you that I don’t hate you,” he breathed against the other’s lips, “and, if necessary, I’ll show you over and over again.”
He’d been there himself, bloody on the war field. He’d seen Ivan shrink during a few years as if the man had suddenly turned old. Even the Asian countries found their position threatened these days. But, and most to his own surprise, he’d actually never really thought of Alfred as someone who would crumble.
But there he was.
It should’ve been a quiet evening with a cup of tea, listening to the rain drumming against the windows in his living room. Therefore, as he’d heard the knocking from the door, he’d assumed it to be someone like the postman or some kind of delivery service. Standing outside, though, was Alfred, dripping with rain, blue from the cold, a face of sadness that could melt a heart of ice.
“Alfred?” Arthur glared at the man in disbelief. “Alfred, what are you doing here? Bloody hell, you’re not even wearing a jacket in that weather?”
“’m sorry.”
“I beg your pardon?
Alfred refused to look Arthur in the eyes, as he repeated: “’m sorry, okay?” in a blurred voice. The American swung his arms around himself, shaking from the cold. Arthur gritted his teeth before grabbing the taller man by the arm and dragging him inside.
“I have no idea what you’re blabbering about. Oh, look at you now! You’re freezing cold.” Arthur closed the door behind them before dragging the limp Alfred with him. “One would believe you’re still a child. I though I’d fed that brain of yours with just a minimum of common sense.”
Alfred remained silent. He followed his older fellow upstairs to the bedroom, his gaze fixed at the floor. It was this silence that made Arthur blabber nonsense like a CD on repeat. He noticed himself and snapped the mouth shut, pushing the American down to sit at the bed before turning to his closet. He grabbed a sweater and threw it at Alfred.
“Change into this,” he demanded, and seemed rather pleased as the other immediately did so. He crossed his arms and let go of a small sigh. “What were you thinking? Have you come all the way from home looking like that? You’ll catch a cold.” His eyes snapped open as he suddenly realized: “So will my tea. Bullocks, it has probably turned into ice by now.”
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Arthur shrugged the shoulders, unsure of what to answer. “Well, it’s okay..” he mumbled, “I’ll just make some new. Piece of cake.” Pause. “So, uhm, what did you come here for?”
“Is now not a good time?”
“When have you ever worried about whether I have time?” It was meant as a joke, but Alfred’s mouth twitched as if he’d been punched. Arthur swallowed guilty and went to sit beside his friend. “I was just planning on drinking tea anyway, now is a good time. A fine time,” he assured the other, and though Alfred’s face remained the same, he was sure the other understood.
A couple of minutes passed without neither of them spoke. Arthur was starting to feel the awkwardness of situation getting to him, then-
“Do you hate me?” Alfred’s voice had been vain, almost unable to hear. Arthur scratched his neck with a confused look on his face.
“What?”
“Do. You. Hate. Me.” The American spoke with clear punctuation between each word, making a slight nod with the head every time. Arthur’s scratching speeded up.
“A-Alfred, I really don’t know-“ No time to finish the sentence. Alfred launched himself at Arthur, slamming him back into the bed. The Englishman gave a yelp of surprise. “Alfred!”
“Don’t!” Arthur stared in shock at Alfred above him. He’d his body pressed down into the sheets, but the much stronger power holding him from shoving the other off was the tearful eyes. When, Arthur pondered, was the last time he’d seen his kid cry?
“Don’t..” Alfred pressed his face into Arthur’s shirt. His body sank down as if every bone in him melted, and soon it started to shake with every crying hiccup that came from Alfred’s mouth. “Don’t hate me,” he whispered and held onto Arthur with desperate fingers. “Please, I can’t… I can’t live with you hating me. Please don’t hate me.”
The furious begging mouthed to his chest left Arthur stunned. He opened and closed his mouth as a fish on land, trying to regain control of himself. His evening had been turned upside down within few minutes, and as he’d opened the door earlier, he’d never expected a situation like this to happen. Ever.
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“Of course I don’t hate you,” he whispered, receiving a small gasp from Alfred. Arthur forced his body up in sitting position, which was quite a task with Alfred lying on top of him, but somehow he managed to pull himself up, still holding the others in his arms. He embraced Alfred into a closer hug as he hushed comforting words into his ear.
“You don’t have to worry, why are you crying? Of course I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. Oh, silly, you went all the way here to get that confirmed?” Arthur felt Alfred’s hair tickling his neck as the other nodded, and he couldn’t help but smile sadly at that fact. “Silly,” he repeated.
“I don’t want England to hate me,” Alfred whispered, and Arthur grabbed his chin to force him to look at him.
“I never will.”
“How will I know?”
Arthur felt caught for a moment, then he smiled slowly and pressed his lips to the American’s.
“I’ll show you that I don’t hate you,” he breathed against the other’s lips, “and, if necessary, I’ll show you over and over again.”
Never again did Alfred spend his days alone.
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alkdj;asd ♥♥♥ That was perfect. Thanks you so much!
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