Untitled (1/2) repost because I fail
anonymous
July 3 2009, 11:43:15 UTC
*insert profanity here* HTML fail. D: Repost because, well, I can't stand HTML fails. ---
"Why...why don't I remember him? I should remember, shouldn't I?" Alfred worries, wracking his brains for something. A face, a feeling, anything to identify this Kiku other than those dreadful mushroom clouds that aren't supposed to be part of his memory anyway. "There's a reason, Al. Don't think about it, just go. Yong Soo told me there wasn't much time..."
Heartbeat quickening, he enters the hospital.
"Is...Is it my fault? That he's...?" He asks without thinking as his brother pulls him into a hug. Matthew hesitates before answering. "No. No Al. You did...You did what you had to." The puzzling reply is followed by a comment about the human mind and for some reason, the word 'human' seems far too significant.
Eyes closing, hands tightening around the bouquet of flowers he's brought, he opens the door. "Hello, Alfred-san." A frail young man sits on the stark white bed, reading a card someone has sent. He does not look up as Alfred opens his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Y-Yo." He says in return, setting the bouquet on the bedside table with other gifts. He catches the names of some of the senders. Arthur Kirkland. Wang Yao. Im Yong Soo. All are vaguely familiar, though only one he knows (that Yong Soo person Matthew is penpals with). Kiku turns his head, brown eyes glowing with an unseen smile, frighteningly pale face illuminated against his ink black hair (too late for chemotherapy, someone had said).
"My cousin told me you were coming to visit," He begins slowly, as if unsure of what to say, "I'm glad you're here." The smile in his eyes fades, replaced by a sweet yet sad smile on his lips. It is a smile Alfred has seen before, on Matthew's face when he thinks he's not looking. A smile that knows something that Alfred does not. The blonde frowns at this, but quickly puts on a cheerful face for Kiku. He kneels by the bed and they make small talk for a few minutes before the conversation becomes more meaningful, and Alfred feels as if he has known the dying man for centuries.
He has. He knows he has, and yet he does not, as Kiku softly presses his lips against the younger man's. It isn't awkward as one might expect it to be. After all (and now, he really does know), they have been lovers for years. But other supposedly-forgotten memories come with that realization. "I...I did it to save you." He tries to explain after Kiku pulls away. The dark-haired man nods. "So you remember?" He asks, resting a thin hand on Alfred's. "Bits. Pieces. Hiroshima and Nagasaki, at least." The blonde responds, hands curling into fists as his stomach twists. "I...I..." Tears fall and Kiku reaches up to wipe them away, repeating Matthew's earlier words. "There's a reason, Alfred. That you didn't remember." It's better that way, better if you forget who you used to be, who we all were.
Kiku remembers the day they all lost their homes, their very sense of being. Recalls how their histories had played back before them, how Alfred and others had been overcome by all their mistakes. "I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't want to, I just wanted it to end. I never wanted to kill...I thought I could have time to right my wrongs..." Many of them had chosen to forget their bloody pasts. Russia, Latvia, Hungary, Austria, Spain...America was just another who had decided to, needed to, let go.
Obviously the human mind would not let him forget completely, at least not yet. What was once Japan wraps his bony arms around what was once America, consoling him in a way that only one about to die can. The rest of the evening is spent in silence, each now content simply with the other's presence and their happier memories. Alfred still sits on the floor, head resting on the bed and hand holding Kiku's in a death-grip, choosing at least one memory to keep.
HTML fail. D: Repost because, well, I can't stand HTML fails.
---
"Why...why don't I remember him? I should remember, shouldn't I?" Alfred worries, wracking his brains for something. A face, a feeling, anything to identify this Kiku other than those dreadful mushroom clouds that aren't supposed to be part of his memory anyway.
"There's a reason, Al. Don't think about it, just go. Yong Soo told me there wasn't much time..."
Heartbeat quickening, he enters the hospital.
"Is...Is it my fault? That he's...?" He asks without thinking as his brother pulls him into a hug. Matthew hesitates before answering.
"No. No Al. You did...You did what you had to." The puzzling reply is followed by a comment about the human mind and for some reason, the word 'human' seems far too significant.
Eyes closing, hands tightening around the bouquet of flowers he's brought, he opens the door.
"Hello, Alfred-san." A frail young man sits on the stark white bed, reading a card someone has sent. He does not look up as Alfred opens his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Y-Yo." He says in return, setting the bouquet on the bedside table with other gifts. He catches the names of some of the senders. Arthur Kirkland. Wang Yao. Im Yong Soo. All are vaguely familiar, though only one he knows (that Yong Soo person Matthew is penpals with). Kiku turns his head, brown eyes glowing with an unseen smile, frighteningly pale face illuminated against his ink black hair (too late for chemotherapy, someone had said).
"My cousin told me you were coming to visit," He begins slowly, as if unsure of what to say, "I'm glad you're here." The smile in his eyes fades, replaced by a sweet yet sad smile on his lips. It is a smile Alfred has seen before, on Matthew's face when he thinks he's not looking. A smile that knows something that Alfred does not. The blonde frowns at this, but quickly puts on a cheerful face for Kiku. He kneels by the bed and they make small talk for a few minutes before the conversation becomes more meaningful, and Alfred feels as if he has known the dying man for centuries.
He has. He knows he has, and yet he does not, as Kiku softly presses his lips against the younger man's. It isn't awkward as one might expect it to be. After all (and now, he really does know), they have been lovers for years. But other supposedly-forgotten memories come with that realization.
"I...I did it to save you." He tries to explain after Kiku pulls away. The dark-haired man nods.
"So you remember?" He asks, resting a thin hand on Alfred's.
"Bits. Pieces. Hiroshima and Nagasaki, at least." The blonde responds, hands curling into fists as his stomach twists. "I...I..." Tears fall and Kiku reaches up to wipe them away, repeating Matthew's earlier words.
"There's a reason, Alfred. That you didn't remember." It's better that way, better if you forget who you used to be, who we all were.
Kiku remembers the day they all lost their homes, their very sense of being. Recalls how their histories had played back before them, how Alfred and others had been overcome by all their mistakes.
"I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't want to, I just wanted it to end. I never wanted to kill...I thought I could have time to right my wrongs..."
Many of them had chosen to forget their bloody pasts. Russia, Latvia, Hungary, Austria, Spain...America was just another who had decided to, needed to, let go.
Obviously the human mind would not let him forget completely, at least not yet. What was once Japan wraps his bony arms around what was once America, consoling him in a way that only one about to die can. The rest of the evening is spent in silence, each now content simply with the other's presence and their happier memories. Alfred still sits on the floor, head resting on the bed and hand holding Kiku's in a death-grip, choosing at least one memory to keep.
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