[Hetalia] "Heartbreak"
Felt like writing something angsty... consider yourself warned. I've been having a hard time lately and have been trying to write happy things, but I guess the sad things were just tugging at me today :/
*****
Title: "Heartbreak"
Author: shuriken7
Claim: America
Prompt: 45. Rough @ 50ficlets, 60. Drink @ fanfic100
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 976
Summary: America is finally free and learns what England feels about him.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
America had just returned to his house, drunk on the victory of what he had just achieved. He was a nation now, no more boundaries, no more given directions, no one telling him what to do. He leaned against his closed door grinning, looking forward to his future. He headed upstairs to his room to change out of his uniform and planned on getting into some of the ale that was in his pantry. It was dark and he lit his candle heading upstairs to his room. The door creaked slightly, he would have to remember to oil the hinges. He sat his candle on the holder next to his bed before turning to his wardrobe.
“Are you happy now, America?”
America’s heart leapt into his throat at the voice, a voice he had been hearing all his life. The voice he had last heard choked with tears on a battlefield in the pouring rain. England’s voice was different now, it was tired and mocking. America turned to face the voice, his heart beating wildly. He had won, it was not England’s place to be here now. The other nation was hidden in the flickering shadows of the opposite wall of the room. He leaned there, his face hidden by the darkness. America steeled himself to speak to his former colonial master.
“Yes, very much so. What are you doing here in my house?” He was worried that England had changed his mind and come to kill him. England stood up and walked over to him, leaning in close. America could see every line in his face, the puffiness in his eyes that showed that he’d been crying, the whiteness of his teeth as he leered at him. He grabbed America by the collar of his jacket. He leaned in close and America could smell the drink on him.
“I came to congratulate you.” he said, slurring his words. He leaned in and pressed his lips to America’s. The new nation thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest. He had imagined this, but it had been different. England wasn’t slamming him into the wardrobe, and he certainly wasn’t drunk. As soon as his wits were about him, America shoved England away. England stumbled and leaned heavily on the edge of the bed. America put the back of his hand to his lips, feeling violated, that wasn’t what his first kiss was supposed to be like. America was certain the pain he felt in his heart crept up onto his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What did it bloody look like?” England replied, glaring at him drunkenly.
“Why?” He stared wide-eyed at the other nation, watching as England seemed to try and get his thoughts straight in his drunken state.
“Always wanted to, ever since...” He gestured at America, indicating his growth into a young man.
America felt anger rise up in him, “So what? You thought you could take advantage of me?” It was not going to happen, no matter how often he had dreamed of England kissing him, of even more, it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t with England like this, defeated and into his cups. It wasn’t an England lusting after him for his attributes, just England looking at him the way he was now made him feel dirty and used. He felt like nothing more than a resource. Something to satisfy England, even when he was no longer his.
England leaned up from where he had been leaning and came over to him again, grabbing him roughly and kissing him again, forcing his tongue into his mouth. America could taste the concoction of alcohols that England had been drinking. He shoved him again, harder, knocking him into the post of the bed. England looked angry now, “Don’t act like you don’t want this.”
“I don’t want you when you are like this. Get out.”
England stared at him as if he hadn’t heard, “What?”
“Get out.” America repeated, he couldn’t even put words to the emotions that were choking him. He needed England to leave, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. England had the nerve to look at him apologetically.
“America...”
“Get out!” America walked across the room and grabbed England by his upper arm and dragged him out of the house, throwing him out the front door, barring it shut. He leaned heavily upon it, sliding down to the floor and wrapping his arms around his knees. He buried his face into the wool sleeves of his coat and cried. He could still feel England there on the other side of the door.
He didn’t realize that England was feeling as broken as he did, that he was ashamed of what he had just done. He couldn’t even look America in the eye when the treaty was signed that ended the war between them. They didn’t speak a word to each other the entire time.
The next time England spoke to him directly was after the War of 1812. America felt awkward walking past him in the hallway, the memories of their most recent war fresh in his mind.
“America.” England said. America paused, turning to look at the nation he had once again had to fight. “I’m sorry for that night.”
America felt his heart beat a little faster at the memory of that night, and the anger that came with it.
“Would you ever consider...”
America cut him off, “I can’t right now England, maybe in the future, but... not now. I... I can’t.”
England nodded, his expression not belying the hurt he felt, “I understand.”
America gave him a small smile and kept walking, wondering if it would ever feel right to reach out for the man that he had always looked up to, always wanted with all of his heart.
*****
Title: "Heartbreak"
Author: shuriken7
Claim: America
Prompt: 45. Rough @ 50ficlets, 60. Drink @ fanfic100
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 976
Summary: America is finally free and learns what England feels about him.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
America had just returned to his house, drunk on the victory of what he had just achieved. He was a nation now, no more boundaries, no more given directions, no one telling him what to do. He leaned against his closed door grinning, looking forward to his future. He headed upstairs to his room to change out of his uniform and planned on getting into some of the ale that was in his pantry. It was dark and he lit his candle heading upstairs to his room. The door creaked slightly, he would have to remember to oil the hinges. He sat his candle on the holder next to his bed before turning to his wardrobe.
“Are you happy now, America?”
America’s heart leapt into his throat at the voice, a voice he had been hearing all his life. The voice he had last heard choked with tears on a battlefield in the pouring rain. England’s voice was different now, it was tired and mocking. America turned to face the voice, his heart beating wildly. He had won, it was not England’s place to be here now. The other nation was hidden in the flickering shadows of the opposite wall of the room. He leaned there, his face hidden by the darkness. America steeled himself to speak to his former colonial master.
“Yes, very much so. What are you doing here in my house?” He was worried that England had changed his mind and come to kill him. England stood up and walked over to him, leaning in close. America could see every line in his face, the puffiness in his eyes that showed that he’d been crying, the whiteness of his teeth as he leered at him. He grabbed America by the collar of his jacket. He leaned in close and America could smell the drink on him.
“I came to congratulate you.” he said, slurring his words. He leaned in and pressed his lips to America’s. The new nation thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest. He had imagined this, but it had been different. England wasn’t slamming him into the wardrobe, and he certainly wasn’t drunk. As soon as his wits were about him, America shoved England away. England stumbled and leaned heavily on the edge of the bed. America put the back of his hand to his lips, feeling violated, that wasn’t what his first kiss was supposed to be like. America was certain the pain he felt in his heart crept up onto his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What did it bloody look like?” England replied, glaring at him drunkenly.
“Why?” He stared wide-eyed at the other nation, watching as England seemed to try and get his thoughts straight in his drunken state.
“Always wanted to, ever since...” He gestured at America, indicating his growth into a young man.
America felt anger rise up in him, “So what? You thought you could take advantage of me?” It was not going to happen, no matter how often he had dreamed of England kissing him, of even more, it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t with England like this, defeated and into his cups. It wasn’t an England lusting after him for his attributes, just England looking at him the way he was now made him feel dirty and used. He felt like nothing more than a resource. Something to satisfy England, even when he was no longer his.
England leaned up from where he had been leaning and came over to him again, grabbing him roughly and kissing him again, forcing his tongue into his mouth. America could taste the concoction of alcohols that England had been drinking. He shoved him again, harder, knocking him into the post of the bed. England looked angry now, “Don’t act like you don’t want this.”
“I don’t want you when you are like this. Get out.”
England stared at him as if he hadn’t heard, “What?”
“Get out.” America repeated, he couldn’t even put words to the emotions that were choking him. He needed England to leave, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. England had the nerve to look at him apologetically.
“America...”
“Get out!” America walked across the room and grabbed England by his upper arm and dragged him out of the house, throwing him out the front door, barring it shut. He leaned heavily upon it, sliding down to the floor and wrapping his arms around his knees. He buried his face into the wool sleeves of his coat and cried. He could still feel England there on the other side of the door.
He didn’t realize that England was feeling as broken as he did, that he was ashamed of what he had just done. He couldn’t even look America in the eye when the treaty was signed that ended the war between them. They didn’t speak a word to each other the entire time.
The next time England spoke to him directly was after the War of 1812. America felt awkward walking past him in the hallway, the memories of their most recent war fresh in his mind.
“America.” England said. America paused, turning to look at the nation he had once again had to fight. “I’m sorry for that night.”
America felt his heart beat a little faster at the memory of that night, and the anger that came with it.
“Would you ever consider...”
America cut him off, “I can’t right now England, maybe in the future, but... not now. I... I can’t.”
England nodded, his expression not belying the hurt he felt, “I understand.”
America gave him a small smile and kept walking, wondering if it would ever feel right to reach out for the man that he had always looked up to, always wanted with all of his heart.