[Secret Santa] On Which the Sun Never Sets [USUK]
Title: On Which the Sun Never Sets
Author: shibbyone
Recipient: haruchitalia
Pairing/Characters: America, England; USUK (newly established relationship)
Word Count: 2,859
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, save for awkward fluff and human names.
Prompt: US and UK, feeling (and tears) of relief and triumph because of the end of WW2. Hugging involved.
Notes: So as a reward to myself for finishing a full draft of my dissertation, I decided to finalize my usxuk Secret Santa assignment :) So here it is! My headcanon is that England helped in the rebuilding efforts immediately after WWII, because I really couldn't see him sitting around in meetings all the time while his people picked their way back to normalcy, y'know?
~*~
The first thing Alfred noticed was the smell.
When he stepped off the plane at Heathrow, his boots connecting with solid ground for the first time in eight hours, he was surrounded by peculiar smells. Upon entering a new continent, one would expect to experience new sensations, but this was different. Sulfur, gunpowder and sawdust filled his nostrils, and he cringed as he breezed through customs.
Getting into London was no better. The car that came to pick him up was badly damaged on one side, presumably from falling debris, and the closer they were to the heart of London, the more desolate the scenery became. Alfred had seen the effects of the Blitz on television and in newspapers, of course, but he had yet to experience it first-hand.
“My apologies, Mr. Jones, but we can’t take the route you requested,” the driver said as they wound around what used to be a block of well-to-do buildings. “There is some construction happening on the South Bank.”
“Its fine,” Alfred said, captivated by the sight of the damage. The war had been officially over for nine months, almost a year now, and yet stained air raid shelter signs remained on every other corner and Underground station. Buildings that hadn’t toppled were instead pockmarked, ancient façades damaged irreparably without destroying some facet of their history.
Once they crossed the river, Alfred saw the looming shadow of St. Paul’s, still standing amidst the rubble. The sun was breaking over the morning clouds and casting hues of clear blue and streaks of pink over the cathedral, baptizing it into a new day.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I can walk from here,” Alfred said suddenly, placing a hand on the driver’s shoulder. The driver stopped, surprised at Alfred’s request.
“B-but sir-I was under strict orders-” he began, but Alfred waved him off.
“From Churchill? I’ll phone him and let him know that I forced you into it,” Alfred said, winking and pulling his bag from the trunk. “I want to look at the cathedral.”
“A-alright,” the driver said, looking anxious. But the cars behind him were becoming aggravated so the driver roared the automobile to life and drove off, allowing traffic to flow once again. Alfred walked up to the steps, admiring the classical building with his hands on his hips, his jacket banging against his legs in the breeze.
It was nice to see something English that wasn’t broken. Alfred lowered his gaze to the people trickling in and out, regular folk who had somehow made it through the past thirty years unscathed. At least, unscathed on the outside.
He wondered if Arthur was carrying on as such. Since the Pacific Theater, he hadn’t seen the English nation for some time, and it made him uneasy. Alfred shoved his hands into his pockets, flexing his fingers to keep from getting antsy. He had only alerted Arthur to his visit recently, and wasn’t sure if Arthur would even receive him. Things had been better, albeit tense, since the Great War; this was the first time Alfred had come to London of his own volition since his colonial days.
And the first since they transformed their friends-with-benefits arrangement into something more.
Alfred rounded the cathedral, bag slung over his shoulder, letting smooth accents wash over him as pedestrians passed by. Somewhere nearby he could hear yelling, and the sound of machinery, and as he took to a side street, he saw a building being demolished from where it had been damaged from the Blitz. Alfred’s heart flip flopped at the sight, for it was such an old building that was being torn down.
“Bring me the pipe, wouldya?”
“I don’t think-Marco, the hammer, it’s going to fall-!” Alfred turned just as there was a horrendous crash and a dark-haired youth, standing on a bit of scaffolding towards what was left of the roof covered his mouth, eyes wide as dinner plates. Another, older man, looking worn and frustrated, sighed and motioned to someone inside the shell of the building. Alfred stopped to watch the interaction.
“I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to drop it,” the youth said to the older man. He then turned and looked down. “Arthur, are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah-oh, God, this dust,” another voice said, and the front door opened to two men exiting, dust clouds billowing up. Alfred’s eyebrows raised as a familiar voice perked his ears. “Be more careful, Marco, this entire building could go down any moment!”
It was Arthur. Alfred had to stop his jaw from dropping as he saw Arthur, Arthur Kirkland, standing on the sidewalk wearing nothing but a pair of work pants, boots and thick gloves, dirt and dust smudged into his cheeks with dark bags under his eyes. He turned to face the building and Alfred got a full view of his scarred back, with the outlines of the just-now healing scars from the past war glinting in the sunlight. Arthur flexed his shoulders, winced, and went back inside, the other man rolling his eyes and following.
“Alright, you idiots, knock off the ruckus and let’s get the rest of the foundation down,” Arthur said from inside the building. Alfred stepped off the sidewalk and pushed open the door, gaping at the gutted interior. Whatever this building had been before, it had clearly been standing for some time, for the foundation went deep and had a buildup of ancient sun-dried bricks. The other man who had been with Arthur on the ground floor lit a cigarette and held the wayward hammer in his hands, eying Marco on the scaffolding. Three more men were talking in a corner and one other was consulting some of the machinery that was stationed just beyond the perimeter of the building.
Alfred went unnoticed-until Marco glanced down to find the hammer and saw him in the doorway.
“Hey, this is a construction zone!” he called down, flashing glances at his superior. “You could get hurt! Get outta here!”
“What is it, Marco?” Arthur called up, and Marco pointed at Alfred. Arthur turned, stopped, and stared. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened, the folder he was holding in his hands hitting the dusty ground with a soft thwump. Alfred gave him a sheepish smile as a tremor ran down his back and his cheeks heated up. Arthur moved his mouth wordlessly, clenching his hands into fists and staring at Alfred as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Alfred gripped the edge of the door, feeling almost faint from the sight of a healthy, working Arthur before him. An Arthur he hadn’t seen since before the Great War; an Arthur he missed dearly.
“Hey you punk, get outta here,” Cigarette man said, although he sounded disinterested at best.
“Alfred?” Arthur said finally, snapping out of his trance, practically stumbling over to the doorway. He turned to the elder man on top of the scaffolding.
“I-I’ll be right back,” he said, and he shoved the younger nation out the door. Alfred tripped onto the sidewalk, where Arthur grabbed his wrist and dragged him around the corner of the building, beyond a makeshift wall that formed the construction zone.
“What, are you gonna say something, Ar-” Alfred began, when Alfred was silenced by Arthur pushing him against a wall with a bruising kiss. Arthur had clamped his hands on both of Alfred’s cheeks and smashed their lips together, pressing against the American and holding him tightly. Alfred briefly lost his footing and slid down the wall, but Arthur just hungrily sucked at his lips until his lungs burned for air and he released Alfred, breathing heavily through his nose. Alfred crouched with his back to the wall, wiping his mouth with one hand and giving an awkward grin to Arthur.
“Uh, hello to you, too,” Alfred said. Instantly Arthur turned away, his face blazing and wiping at his own mouth with his wrist.
“S-sorry,” Arthur stammered, and he extended his hand to pull Alfred to his feet. “I, um, I got carried away.” Alfred stood, back to the wall, and held onto Arthur’s hand. They stood for a moment, sunlight glinting at their backs, and finally Arthur pulled his hand from Alfred’s.
“I, uh, didn’t realize you were coming today,” Arthur said, placing a hand on the back of his neck. He glanced up the street towards the building he was helping to demolish.
“Yeah, well, I’m here,” Alfred said, watching a young woman across the road. She was pushing an oddly-constructed pram, very old-fashioned and partly damaged. Arthur followed Alfred’s gaze and frowned at the sight of one of his citizens using something so decrepit.
Alfred’s fingers twitched. He wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around Arthur and hug him tight to his chest, pepper his cheeks and ears with kisses and lay with Arthur beside him, not even speaking, just basking in existence.
Instead, he glumly followed Arthur back up the street to the building.
“After I work on this building I’m heading to the East End to help out there a bit,” Arthur explained. “When I’m not in legislative meetings... this is what I do.” He looked up at the waving scaffolding. “It’s helping me build some of my strength back up.” Alfred nodded, but Arthur looked uneasy. Alfred raised his eyebrows as Arthur took a tentative step back into the construction zone, glancing over his shoulder at Alfred as he went. Alfred gave a small wave, indicating it’s alright, I’m not going anywhere. Arthur stopped, stared up at the scaffolding, looked back at Alfred, and sighed.
“Marco?” Arthur called up. Marco was leaning on the top layer, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold beneath him. “Marco, is Jimmy up there?”
“Nah, he went over to talk to someone,” Marco called down. “But you got here long before we did, Arthur. You should go take a break.” Arthur frowned up at the youth.
“I really don’t think-”
“I know I’m not in charge but my father would say the same,” Marco said, motioning to the stout man who had been up in the scaffolding before. “I can tell you haven’t seen your friend in a very long time.”
“You’re right!” Alfred called up cheerfully. Arthur scoffed at Alfred and turned back to Marco.
“Marco-”
“Go, already!” Marco called back. “Before I fire you!”
“None of us are employees,” Arthur called back up. “We’re not paid to be here.” Alfred chuckled behind his hands. Marco opened his mouth, decided against it, and shook his head.
“Nevermind, just go,” Marco said, giving an impatient wave. Arthur’s lips twitched into a rare sincere smile and he retrieved his shirt, attempting to brush off his skin with a dusty towel.
When he was semi-respectable again, he grabbed Alfred’s arm and pulled him down the road, walking parallel to the cathedral.
“I was really happy to see St. Paul’s still standing,” Alfred said as they passed. “It looks beautiful as ever, Arthur.” Arthur slowed and came to a stop, staring up at the building.
“I was... really afraid it would get Blitzed,” Arthur murmured, dropping his grip from Alfred’s arm. His eyes trailed the marble steps, up to the old wooden doors and following past the columns, the cornices and the detailed friezes that made up the building’s face. It seemed to glow in the morning light. “I’m beyond happy that it survived.”
“Me, too,” Alfred said softly, and Arthur turned to face the younger nation. Alfred smiled into Arthur’s tired emerald eyes, glancing over the elder nation’s head to look at the cathedral. They fell into an awkward silence; Arthur facing Alfred, Alfred looking at the cathedral, both of their thoughts swirling of each other. Their relationship was just so new after being so poor for so long, and it had slipped into romance before either knew it was happening... everything had just been lumped together in a rush during the war.
“You know,” Alfred began, his eyes still trained on the church, “when we first got together, Arthur, I was thinking of this church. During the Blitz, I mean.” Arthur eyed Alfred carefully, moving his arm but not reaching out for Alfred’s hand like he wanted to. “I remember seeing it in the press one time, and I just thought it’s really still standing. Just like Arthur. And... and that’s why I, um, wanted to be with you.” Arthur stared at Alfred, furrowing his brow.
“...pardon?” Arthur said, and Alfred chuckled, his cheeks flushing.
“I-I mean-you’re so strong, Arthur, like the cathedral, but at the same time you were in so much pain and-I thought even if Germany does invade Britain, at least things like the cathedral will remain standing, and-I don’t really know what I was thinking, or why I’m trying to explain it,” Alfred admitted finally. He reached out and placed his fingertips on Arthur’s cheek. “I just know that... I wanted to make sure you knew how much I love you. In case you didn’t... in case the Blitz was... a success,” he said. Arthur placed his hand over Alfred’s on his cheek, flattening his palm against his skin, closed his eyes, and smiled. Few people were out this early on a Saturday morning, and for a moment it seemed as if the entirety of St. Paul’s was abandoned save for them.
Suddenly, Arthur found himself pressed up against Alfred’s chest. Fingers roamed the thin fabric stretched over his back and pressed gently against his shoulder blades, and a chin nestled into his messy, dirty hair. Arthur relaxed and tightened his grip, his cheek leaning over Alfred’s rapidly beating heart. The boy held onto him, rubbing small circles into his back, warm breath fluttering down the sides of Arthur’s face. Arthur closed his eyes, burying his nose into Alfred’s jacket.
“Missed you,” Alfred heard from beneath his chin. Arthur’s arms trembled just slightly and Alfred pressed his lips against the crown of Arthur’s head, scrunching his eyes shut as he did so. The corners of his eyes stung with unshed tears as he fought to keep them from rolling down his face.
“I missed you, too,” Alfred murmured against Arthur’s head. I missed you so much more than you could even realize. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t made it out of this war. Arthur gently pushed against Alfred’s chest, pushing them apart just enough so Arthur could lock eyes with Alfred’s. A flock of pigeons were pecking at the pavement beside them, their feathers rustling and brushing against their legs.
Alfred didn’t even realize he’d failed to stop the tears from coming. Arthur smiled gently and reached up, wiping away one of Alfred’s tears with his thumb. Arthur’s cheeks glowed a slight, healthy pink, his eyes brighter than Alfred had ever seen them. It was such a serene expression, his eyes brimming with adoration for Alfred, that the taller nation’s shoulders shook as he pulled Arthur towards him and pressed their foreheads flush to one another, closing their eyes and just standing in the shadow of the looming cathedral. Arthur smiled as he listened Alfred’s uneven, jagged breathing as he struggled to hide the fact that he was crying even harder than before. Even Arthur’s eyes were beginning to sting as the reality of the situation settled into his heart.
“We’re just a c-couple of s-saps,” Alfred murmured. A double decker roared by as more cars started milling the streets surrounding St. Paul’s.
“I suppose we are,” Arthur responded, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Alfred’s lips. Alfred stiffened; surprised that Arthur would kiss him so openly (even though they’d been embracing near the steps of St. Paul’s for who knows how long, now). Arthur opened his eyes and gazed into Alfred’s, even though the younger’s were partially blocked by how fogged his spectacles had become.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Arthur said in a hushed voice.
“I’m so happy there’s a here for me to come to,” Alfred commented, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. Arthur’s expression faltered, but he smiled again regardless, pushing some wayward hair behind Alfred’s ear.
“There was a time I thought I’d never see you again,” Arthur said, focusing on the stray lock. Alfred took Arthur’s hand in his own and squeezed gently.
“Me neither,” Alfred whispered, as if he were admitting a dark secret. “I’m glad it’s not true.”
“It’ll take a lot more than Germany to break me,” Arthur said, and he squeezed Alfred’s hand in return. He wanted to make some quip to Alfred about the war or how late he’d been to it (he’d taken to joking about the war since, well, he couldn’t deal with it any other way) but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to. Not right now. Not after seeing Alfred for the first time in so long.
All either of them could do was smile into the sunrise as they set off for the construction zone Arthur had left earlier together, walking amongst the rubble of a new beginning.
~*~
Some of my history might be a bit questionable, but it's just difficult to find intricate details of Blitz damage to non-major-landmark buildings. Anyway I hope haruchitalia enjoys! Merry Christmas and happy holidays!
Author: shibbyone
Recipient: haruchitalia
Pairing/Characters: America, England; USUK (newly established relationship)
Word Count: 2,859
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, save for awkward fluff and human names.
Prompt: US and UK, feeling (and tears) of relief and triumph because of the end of WW2. Hugging involved.
Notes: So as a reward to myself for finishing a full draft of my dissertation, I decided to finalize my usxuk Secret Santa assignment :) So here it is! My headcanon is that England helped in the rebuilding efforts immediately after WWII, because I really couldn't see him sitting around in meetings all the time while his people picked their way back to normalcy, y'know?
~*~
The first thing Alfred noticed was the smell.
When he stepped off the plane at Heathrow, his boots connecting with solid ground for the first time in eight hours, he was surrounded by peculiar smells. Upon entering a new continent, one would expect to experience new sensations, but this was different. Sulfur, gunpowder and sawdust filled his nostrils, and he cringed as he breezed through customs.
Getting into London was no better. The car that came to pick him up was badly damaged on one side, presumably from falling debris, and the closer they were to the heart of London, the more desolate the scenery became. Alfred had seen the effects of the Blitz on television and in newspapers, of course, but he had yet to experience it first-hand.
“My apologies, Mr. Jones, but we can’t take the route you requested,” the driver said as they wound around what used to be a block of well-to-do buildings. “There is some construction happening on the South Bank.”
“Its fine,” Alfred said, captivated by the sight of the damage. The war had been officially over for nine months, almost a year now, and yet stained air raid shelter signs remained on every other corner and Underground station. Buildings that hadn’t toppled were instead pockmarked, ancient façades damaged irreparably without destroying some facet of their history.
Once they crossed the river, Alfred saw the looming shadow of St. Paul’s, still standing amidst the rubble. The sun was breaking over the morning clouds and casting hues of clear blue and streaks of pink over the cathedral, baptizing it into a new day.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I can walk from here,” Alfred said suddenly, placing a hand on the driver’s shoulder. The driver stopped, surprised at Alfred’s request.
“B-but sir-I was under strict orders-” he began, but Alfred waved him off.
“From Churchill? I’ll phone him and let him know that I forced you into it,” Alfred said, winking and pulling his bag from the trunk. “I want to look at the cathedral.”
“A-alright,” the driver said, looking anxious. But the cars behind him were becoming aggravated so the driver roared the automobile to life and drove off, allowing traffic to flow once again. Alfred walked up to the steps, admiring the classical building with his hands on his hips, his jacket banging against his legs in the breeze.
It was nice to see something English that wasn’t broken. Alfred lowered his gaze to the people trickling in and out, regular folk who had somehow made it through the past thirty years unscathed. At least, unscathed on the outside.
He wondered if Arthur was carrying on as such. Since the Pacific Theater, he hadn’t seen the English nation for some time, and it made him uneasy. Alfred shoved his hands into his pockets, flexing his fingers to keep from getting antsy. He had only alerted Arthur to his visit recently, and wasn’t sure if Arthur would even receive him. Things had been better, albeit tense, since the Great War; this was the first time Alfred had come to London of his own volition since his colonial days.
And the first since they transformed their friends-with-benefits arrangement into something more.
Alfred rounded the cathedral, bag slung over his shoulder, letting smooth accents wash over him as pedestrians passed by. Somewhere nearby he could hear yelling, and the sound of machinery, and as he took to a side street, he saw a building being demolished from where it had been damaged from the Blitz. Alfred’s heart flip flopped at the sight, for it was such an old building that was being torn down.
“Bring me the pipe, wouldya?”
“I don’t think-Marco, the hammer, it’s going to fall-!” Alfred turned just as there was a horrendous crash and a dark-haired youth, standing on a bit of scaffolding towards what was left of the roof covered his mouth, eyes wide as dinner plates. Another, older man, looking worn and frustrated, sighed and motioned to someone inside the shell of the building. Alfred stopped to watch the interaction.
“I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to drop it,” the youth said to the older man. He then turned and looked down. “Arthur, are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah-oh, God, this dust,” another voice said, and the front door opened to two men exiting, dust clouds billowing up. Alfred’s eyebrows raised as a familiar voice perked his ears. “Be more careful, Marco, this entire building could go down any moment!”
It was Arthur. Alfred had to stop his jaw from dropping as he saw Arthur, Arthur Kirkland, standing on the sidewalk wearing nothing but a pair of work pants, boots and thick gloves, dirt and dust smudged into his cheeks with dark bags under his eyes. He turned to face the building and Alfred got a full view of his scarred back, with the outlines of the just-now healing scars from the past war glinting in the sunlight. Arthur flexed his shoulders, winced, and went back inside, the other man rolling his eyes and following.
“Alright, you idiots, knock off the ruckus and let’s get the rest of the foundation down,” Arthur said from inside the building. Alfred stepped off the sidewalk and pushed open the door, gaping at the gutted interior. Whatever this building had been before, it had clearly been standing for some time, for the foundation went deep and had a buildup of ancient sun-dried bricks. The other man who had been with Arthur on the ground floor lit a cigarette and held the wayward hammer in his hands, eying Marco on the scaffolding. Three more men were talking in a corner and one other was consulting some of the machinery that was stationed just beyond the perimeter of the building.
Alfred went unnoticed-until Marco glanced down to find the hammer and saw him in the doorway.
“Hey, this is a construction zone!” he called down, flashing glances at his superior. “You could get hurt! Get outta here!”
“What is it, Marco?” Arthur called up, and Marco pointed at Alfred. Arthur turned, stopped, and stared. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened, the folder he was holding in his hands hitting the dusty ground with a soft thwump. Alfred gave him a sheepish smile as a tremor ran down his back and his cheeks heated up. Arthur moved his mouth wordlessly, clenching his hands into fists and staring at Alfred as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Alfred gripped the edge of the door, feeling almost faint from the sight of a healthy, working Arthur before him. An Arthur he hadn’t seen since before the Great War; an Arthur he missed dearly.
“Hey you punk, get outta here,” Cigarette man said, although he sounded disinterested at best.
“Alfred?” Arthur said finally, snapping out of his trance, practically stumbling over to the doorway. He turned to the elder man on top of the scaffolding.
“I-I’ll be right back,” he said, and he shoved the younger nation out the door. Alfred tripped onto the sidewalk, where Arthur grabbed his wrist and dragged him around the corner of the building, beyond a makeshift wall that formed the construction zone.
“What, are you gonna say something, Ar-” Alfred began, when Alfred was silenced by Arthur pushing him against a wall with a bruising kiss. Arthur had clamped his hands on both of Alfred’s cheeks and smashed their lips together, pressing against the American and holding him tightly. Alfred briefly lost his footing and slid down the wall, but Arthur just hungrily sucked at his lips until his lungs burned for air and he released Alfred, breathing heavily through his nose. Alfred crouched with his back to the wall, wiping his mouth with one hand and giving an awkward grin to Arthur.
“Uh, hello to you, too,” Alfred said. Instantly Arthur turned away, his face blazing and wiping at his own mouth with his wrist.
“S-sorry,” Arthur stammered, and he extended his hand to pull Alfred to his feet. “I, um, I got carried away.” Alfred stood, back to the wall, and held onto Arthur’s hand. They stood for a moment, sunlight glinting at their backs, and finally Arthur pulled his hand from Alfred’s.
“I, uh, didn’t realize you were coming today,” Arthur said, placing a hand on the back of his neck. He glanced up the street towards the building he was helping to demolish.
“Yeah, well, I’m here,” Alfred said, watching a young woman across the road. She was pushing an oddly-constructed pram, very old-fashioned and partly damaged. Arthur followed Alfred’s gaze and frowned at the sight of one of his citizens using something so decrepit.
Alfred’s fingers twitched. He wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around Arthur and hug him tight to his chest, pepper his cheeks and ears with kisses and lay with Arthur beside him, not even speaking, just basking in existence.
Instead, he glumly followed Arthur back up the street to the building.
“After I work on this building I’m heading to the East End to help out there a bit,” Arthur explained. “When I’m not in legislative meetings... this is what I do.” He looked up at the waving scaffolding. “It’s helping me build some of my strength back up.” Alfred nodded, but Arthur looked uneasy. Alfred raised his eyebrows as Arthur took a tentative step back into the construction zone, glancing over his shoulder at Alfred as he went. Alfred gave a small wave, indicating it’s alright, I’m not going anywhere. Arthur stopped, stared up at the scaffolding, looked back at Alfred, and sighed.
“Marco?” Arthur called up. Marco was leaning on the top layer, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold beneath him. “Marco, is Jimmy up there?”
“Nah, he went over to talk to someone,” Marco called down. “But you got here long before we did, Arthur. You should go take a break.” Arthur frowned up at the youth.
“I really don’t think-”
“I know I’m not in charge but my father would say the same,” Marco said, motioning to the stout man who had been up in the scaffolding before. “I can tell you haven’t seen your friend in a very long time.”
“You’re right!” Alfred called up cheerfully. Arthur scoffed at Alfred and turned back to Marco.
“Marco-”
“Go, already!” Marco called back. “Before I fire you!”
“None of us are employees,” Arthur called back up. “We’re not paid to be here.” Alfred chuckled behind his hands. Marco opened his mouth, decided against it, and shook his head.
“Nevermind, just go,” Marco said, giving an impatient wave. Arthur’s lips twitched into a rare sincere smile and he retrieved his shirt, attempting to brush off his skin with a dusty towel.
When he was semi-respectable again, he grabbed Alfred’s arm and pulled him down the road, walking parallel to the cathedral.
“I was really happy to see St. Paul’s still standing,” Alfred said as they passed. “It looks beautiful as ever, Arthur.” Arthur slowed and came to a stop, staring up at the building.
“I was... really afraid it would get Blitzed,” Arthur murmured, dropping his grip from Alfred’s arm. His eyes trailed the marble steps, up to the old wooden doors and following past the columns, the cornices and the detailed friezes that made up the building’s face. It seemed to glow in the morning light. “I’m beyond happy that it survived.”
“Me, too,” Alfred said softly, and Arthur turned to face the younger nation. Alfred smiled into Arthur’s tired emerald eyes, glancing over the elder nation’s head to look at the cathedral. They fell into an awkward silence; Arthur facing Alfred, Alfred looking at the cathedral, both of their thoughts swirling of each other. Their relationship was just so new after being so poor for so long, and it had slipped into romance before either knew it was happening... everything had just been lumped together in a rush during the war.
“You know,” Alfred began, his eyes still trained on the church, “when we first got together, Arthur, I was thinking of this church. During the Blitz, I mean.” Arthur eyed Alfred carefully, moving his arm but not reaching out for Alfred’s hand like he wanted to. “I remember seeing it in the press one time, and I just thought it’s really still standing. Just like Arthur. And... and that’s why I, um, wanted to be with you.” Arthur stared at Alfred, furrowing his brow.
“...pardon?” Arthur said, and Alfred chuckled, his cheeks flushing.
“I-I mean-you’re so strong, Arthur, like the cathedral, but at the same time you were in so much pain and-I thought even if Germany does invade Britain, at least things like the cathedral will remain standing, and-I don’t really know what I was thinking, or why I’m trying to explain it,” Alfred admitted finally. He reached out and placed his fingertips on Arthur’s cheek. “I just know that... I wanted to make sure you knew how much I love you. In case you didn’t... in case the Blitz was... a success,” he said. Arthur placed his hand over Alfred’s on his cheek, flattening his palm against his skin, closed his eyes, and smiled. Few people were out this early on a Saturday morning, and for a moment it seemed as if the entirety of St. Paul’s was abandoned save for them.
Suddenly, Arthur found himself pressed up against Alfred’s chest. Fingers roamed the thin fabric stretched over his back and pressed gently against his shoulder blades, and a chin nestled into his messy, dirty hair. Arthur relaxed and tightened his grip, his cheek leaning over Alfred’s rapidly beating heart. The boy held onto him, rubbing small circles into his back, warm breath fluttering down the sides of Arthur’s face. Arthur closed his eyes, burying his nose into Alfred’s jacket.
“Missed you,” Alfred heard from beneath his chin. Arthur’s arms trembled just slightly and Alfred pressed his lips against the crown of Arthur’s head, scrunching his eyes shut as he did so. The corners of his eyes stung with unshed tears as he fought to keep them from rolling down his face.
“I missed you, too,” Alfred murmured against Arthur’s head. I missed you so much more than you could even realize. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t made it out of this war. Arthur gently pushed against Alfred’s chest, pushing them apart just enough so Arthur could lock eyes with Alfred’s. A flock of pigeons were pecking at the pavement beside them, their feathers rustling and brushing against their legs.
Alfred didn’t even realize he’d failed to stop the tears from coming. Arthur smiled gently and reached up, wiping away one of Alfred’s tears with his thumb. Arthur’s cheeks glowed a slight, healthy pink, his eyes brighter than Alfred had ever seen them. It was such a serene expression, his eyes brimming with adoration for Alfred, that the taller nation’s shoulders shook as he pulled Arthur towards him and pressed their foreheads flush to one another, closing their eyes and just standing in the shadow of the looming cathedral. Arthur smiled as he listened Alfred’s uneven, jagged breathing as he struggled to hide the fact that he was crying even harder than before. Even Arthur’s eyes were beginning to sting as the reality of the situation settled into his heart.
“We’re just a c-couple of s-saps,” Alfred murmured. A double decker roared by as more cars started milling the streets surrounding St. Paul’s.
“I suppose we are,” Arthur responded, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Alfred’s lips. Alfred stiffened; surprised that Arthur would kiss him so openly (even though they’d been embracing near the steps of St. Paul’s for who knows how long, now). Arthur opened his eyes and gazed into Alfred’s, even though the younger’s were partially blocked by how fogged his spectacles had become.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Arthur said in a hushed voice.
“I’m so happy there’s a here for me to come to,” Alfred commented, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. Arthur’s expression faltered, but he smiled again regardless, pushing some wayward hair behind Alfred’s ear.
“There was a time I thought I’d never see you again,” Arthur said, focusing on the stray lock. Alfred took Arthur’s hand in his own and squeezed gently.
“Me neither,” Alfred whispered, as if he were admitting a dark secret. “I’m glad it’s not true.”
“It’ll take a lot more than Germany to break me,” Arthur said, and he squeezed Alfred’s hand in return. He wanted to make some quip to Alfred about the war or how late he’d been to it (he’d taken to joking about the war since, well, he couldn’t deal with it any other way) but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to. Not right now. Not after seeing Alfred for the first time in so long.
All either of them could do was smile into the sunrise as they set off for the construction zone Arthur had left earlier together, walking amongst the rubble of a new beginning.
~*~
Some of my history might be a bit questionable, but it's just difficult to find intricate details of Blitz damage to non-major-landmark buildings. Anyway I hope haruchitalia enjoys! Merry Christmas and happy holidays!