[APH]Cracked
Title: Cracked
Author: Kanon
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: USUK (Mainly from Arthur's POV)
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I'd own the entire world. I don't.
Summary: Arthur had a cracked heart and he had put it away somewhere safe. But what was once cracked could always be cracked again; especially if it was by the same hand.
Timeline: Hinted as post-American Revolutionary War and progresses from thereon.
Warning: Human names. Can be taken as AU; details generally vague. Character death.
A/N:
...Please don't kill me. Sorry, Arthur. And Alfred.
:::::Cracked by Kanon:::::
Arthur had a cracked heart.
Be it metaphorical or literal, the all important organ was cracked, and Arthur knew exactly when it had happened. It had nearly stopped functioning when the tip of the bayonet rose to the middle of his forehead, the bright sky-blue eyes ferocious behind it. It had, just for a moment. Then, when he saw Alfred grinning at the completed form, every joyous sparkles in the eyes he had loved so dear, now the sharpest daggers digging into his heart, he had heard it; the dreadful sounds of cracks creating shallow crevices, zigzagged spider webs spreading out like a viral infection until the red thing was a red, brittle thing, more fragile than the finest china.
But it had not broke. Alfred was smiling; he was happy. It made Arthur want to scream in agony but it was what made it just a fractional touch easier to bear. Because Arthur had never wanted anything else but happiness for his little angel. Not so little any more, perhaps, but as the boy, no, the man, donned on his glasses, the bomber jacket with the meaningful 50 on its back, and laughed as the wind danced about him, Arthur had learnt to blend the tears into a broken smile, turn around, and carefully scoop up his cracked heart, tending to the delicate thing so that it would not fall apart.
And so he had, gently placing it in a sturdy chest with no key, because the cracks that had already invaded his heart could not be mended and erased out, and the next best thing was adding an extra barrier instead. He didn't need any keys; he was never going to need it.
His frail, bleeding heart was not going to love anyone ever again.
-
A key was not the only way to opening a chest.
Arthur should have known it. Because compared to young Alfred, he had seen far many more of the treacheries of life and there were too many ways of breaking through the barrier to count. And sometimes, his grumpiness and notorious temper were simply not enough to repel away those that his own footsteps of his life had bound to him.
Most importantly, he had overlooked one important fact; that his safe had one crucial weakness. One cracked heart could always be cracked again; even what protected it, if it was by the same hands.
Arthur could feel the little rattles and bumps it gave as his cracked heart thumped dangerously strongly. Sometimes, he would worry whether the crevices had dug in deeper, threatening to split apart the barely held together pieces of his heart. Sometimes, he thought he could hear the tiny clinks of the shards hitting the bottom of the chest.
And he hated it. The harder his heart beat, the more noisy the chest grew, the more Arthur drank himself to inebriation and threw himself to the stupidest things. Yet it never stopped. All it took was just a glance of the blues he could only dream of back in his home country and Arthur was paralysed, trapped in fear of his heart finally breaking, anxiety of the bubbling emotion rushing blood to his face, that warm feeling only the damn American could give, and-
-and the realisation that he had lost his heart. It had not been his for long before he had known. What frenetically beat in the locked chest was a cracked heart that had once been his; and was now Alfred's. The one that he had all too gladly given to Alfred; the one that Alfred had thrown away with his ridiculous force.
Arthur cried for the first time in a long while.
-
His body was, apparently, now falling apart.
He needed to re-learn how to breathe. His stomach, it had endured years of the rough rolling of the sea, but it was now twisting and churning, throwing out its contents. His eyes refused to blink or focus and all he could hear in his ears was the ringing echoes of the words that he could not have possibly just heard from nervous-looking Alfred, because there was no way that he had just seen Alfred in front of him, hear him saying that he loved him.
Blood pulsed in his temples. Thump, thump, thump. The world was turning, the colours merging with each other. The rattling of the chest grew deafening. Was his - Alfred's - heart crying in there? Were the cracks oozing with crimson tears? Did it yearn so desperately to escape its safe haven, to return to its owner?
'I love you, Arthur.'
Arthur choked on a sob and put his hand over his cracked-heart-in-a-chest.
"I love you, Alfred, I love you, too..." The chest shook harder; a drop of tear rolled down Arthur's pale cheek as the pained eyes fluttered shut, "but I will not love anyone any more..."
The chest juddered, rocking on its edges, and with a reverberating thud, toppled over.
For the second time in his life, Arthur heard 'crack'.
-
"Arthur, give me a damn reason why you're rejecting me!"
The darkness that the chest was buried in was now littered with splinters and shards of the same colour, and the mess was growing and growing. Arthur could not do anything except watch it helplessly, watching the azure eyes burning with dark fire he did not want to interpret. He had never felt the beating of his heart so clearly, so pregnantly; it was shaking his entire body, his reasons, and it had to be in a far worse shape than it was before with all the banging, but it was not giving up.
"You don't answer anything, Arthur, and I'm fed up! You won't even allow me to give up because you won't tell me you don't like me! Arthur, you show me what the problem is or I take this to the next step my way, right here, right now."
The grips on his wrists were tightening but Arthur had no mind to pay attention to them. His cracked, fragile heart; what a valiant thing it was. The sharp corners of the chest had finally broken free, the pieces lying about here and there. There was oppressive force squeezing it from outside as his heart continued to pound at its confinement and Arthur knew this was Alfred, threatening to grant it the freedom that he must think it deserved, just like he did. No, not threatening; it was what Alfred was set to do, and what Arthur did to stop it did not matter.
"Alfred..."
Alfred stilled for a moment, both glad and annoyed that Arthur had spoken at last, looking at him, not whatever it was that the green eyes had been distantly staring at. But this was Arthur's last chance. His patience was wearing thin and he was going to make Arthur spit out the reason; no matter what he had to do for it.
"Talk to me, Arthur." Or I'll make you.
Arthur fell back into silence, his hands slack in the vice-grips, his eyes examining the other's face just an inch away from his. Blood rushed along his veins, vitality he had not felt for far too long colouring his cheeks healthy pink.
The chest bore ragged holes and it continued to rattle around. Red seeped out of it, trails and drops spotting the darkness, but it did not stop.
The moment Arthur picked it up, it quietened down instantly. Carefully, Arthur lifted it and peeked in through one of the holes. The energetically beating heart looked back at him. Glistening red liquid hid the cracks from the view, and it was not the best of the signs, but it was pumping like never before.
Arthur curled his fingers around the hole on either side and pulled apart the tattered chest.
It cracked open with a loud snap. It had once been a sound, sturdy safe. It had been his own heart that had weakened it. Arthur looked at it - looked at Alfred - without a word for what seemed like forever, then slowly cupped the heart that he had locked and freed - cupped Alfred's cheeks - with his hands.
"...Arthur? Arthur, you're... Arthur, oh god, Arthur, please, don't cry, I didn't meant to make you cry, Arthur..."
The warmth filling his hands; Arthur breathed a sigh. He felt dizzy. Fear and excitement gripped him, fighting to dominate him. Only Alfred's persistence could have made him turn back on his decision but it was Alfred that had led to the lock-up in the first place.
But Alfred wouldn't do it again... would he? Not when he had been so stubborn?
...He wouldn't, would he?
"Alfred..." Arthur murmured. Alfred's frantic cooing halted and Arthur leaned in, pressing his lips against Alfred's parted ones. "I love you too."
I freed my cracked heart for you; your heart that you cracked.
So please don't leave me again.
Don't break my heart.
Alfred did not waste any time in taking what Arthur was at last willing to give.
-
Arthur opened his eyes and in the fog of morning drowsiness, blinked a few times. The cotton cover of the blanket was cool and soft against his bare skin. An uncertain but happy smile adorned Arthur's face as he stretched his legs despite the discomfort between them. Rubbing his eyes, Arthur turned around-
-and froze. The space next to him was empty.
Sleep disappeared faster than a blink of an eye as Arthur jerked upright. There was no sound of water running from the en-suite bathroom.
Arthur's cracked heart gave a thump. Blood drained from Arthur's face, leaving him look like a ghost, and he bit down his lower lip, wrapping the blanket around his naked body. Alfred was maybe in the kitchen, making that awful drink of his. But then, if that was the case, well, Arthur guessed he could probably join, just for today. For Alfred. Yes, he could do that. Coffee just for a day wouldn't kill him.
The kitchen was empty. The kettle was, too.
Maybe he was in the lounge, watching TV. Munching on a burger? More than likely. He had better not have spoilt the antique couch. The grease was hard to get rid of. He needed to get Alfred back on proper meals. But then, having a burger once in a while was sort of okay. Arthur could always try to learn how to make home-made ones. Those were definitely healthier than the fast food restaurant ones. Arthur turned around the corner.
TV was off. The antique couch was as clean as he had last seen it; and empty.
The strained smile Arthur had managed during his hurried search started to get chipped away as the trembling eyes surveyed the vacant area. The lips twitched. The furnitures blurred into each other. Had Alfred truly left him, again? Were all those sweet words for nothing?
Crack.
Arthur startled, falling to the ground as his knees gave out. He looked around but there was no one; no Alfred. It was the crevices; they were deepening.
Biting his already abused lips, Arthur stood back up on his shaky legs and trudged up, nearly tripping over the blanket on his way. Maybe, Alfred had just gone out to buy some coffee. Now that he thought about it, he probably didn't have any. Dizziness came over him and Arthur barely made it to the bed before his legs gave out, slumping onto the mattress like a ragdoll.
His fingers tightly curled around the blanket, Arthur peeped out at the clock. He would wait. If he waited, this time, Alfred would come back. He had to. Alfred had insisted that he loved him. Alfred had forced him to free his tattered heart again; Alfred's tattered heart.
...Was that what Alfred had wanted? To get what belonged to him back?
Arthur closed his eyes, swallowing back down the overwhelming terror rioting inside him. He would wait. Wait until as long as it took.
Crack.
As long as his heart was in one piece.
-
Crack.
The clock ticked.
Crack. Crack.
No doorbells. No footsteps.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Arthur looked at the chapped thing with a pitiful, resigned smile. It reminded him of the barren, dry desert in Alfred's place. The gaping fissures were opening wider everywhere, faster and faster as time passed. It strained to carry on its duty with its slashed remains, badump, badump, badump, and a clear droplet plummeted from Arthur's eyes as if the moisture would close the wounds like the rain to the desert. Except this was no desert; this was his heart, cracks left unhealed for years, and nothing would be able to close them.
"You and I are both helpless, aren't we?"
Here we are, abandoned, and we still cling on.
"I was a fool."
But it had been out of my control.
"You, my dear, damn heart, brought this upon yourself."
I'm now tired. Too tired.
"It's about time we stopped."
Badump, badump, badump...
Arthur turned, facing where Alfred had been over the night. A broken smile twisted Arthur's face; for all he knew, it might as well have all been a dream.
Badump, badump, ba... dump...
Perhaps, if he closed his eyes, fell back into sleep, and woke up again, he would realise that everything had been his fickle imagination.
Badump, ba... dump... ba... dump...
But he knew.
Ba...dump... ba...
This was no dream. He was left alone; again.
Ba... dump...
And Arthur's heart was at last broken.
-
A loud bang echoed through the house, followed by rushed footsteps and a curse when the staccato rhythm broke off for a moment before continuing.
"Arthur! I'm sorry, my boss...?!"
Alfred physically clasped his hands over his mouth to kill any sounds immediately including his harsh breathing, the wide blue eyes perplexed and disbelieving. Alfred stayed absolutely still as if even a ruffle of air would disturb what he was seeing, which was to say Arthur, still in bed, wrapped in the blanket. Alfred glanced at the clock then shook his head with a quite chuckle, lowering his hands. He hadn't worn Arthur out that much last night, had he? Arthur was surely getting old. Alfred shrugged off his trademark jacket and dove down to the bed. The mattress bounced, rolling like sea waves, but Arthur still didn't make any move. Alfred raised his brow; Arthur was, as long as he was not drunk, a fairly light sleeper.
"Arthur, wake up," Alfred said, weaving his hands in the sandy locks. They were thick and the ends prickled at his fingers but still soft enough to feel like silk. Alfred grinned, buzzing of happiness; he had only dreamt of this sensation for so long. "Arthur, I'm back. Wake up or are you not planning to sleep tonight?"
Silence persisted and Alfred's smile dropped a little. Something was off.
"...Arthur?" Alfred said as he gently shook Arthur at the shoulders over the blanket. There was not even a grunt or a sleepy mumble from Arthur. Alfred was now starting to get panicky.
"Arthur?! Arthur, are you sick??" Alfred pulled the blanket down, or attempted to, but it simply went askew. Alfred craned his neck and saw that Arthur's hand tightly held the ends just under his chin. Alfred frowned. "Arthur, if you're trying to pull a joke, you suck. Now, open your eyes and let me have a look at you."
Trepidation started to thread into the blue eyes as Arthur's eyes remained firmly shut. "Arthur?" Alfred called out again, laying his hand on the bare skin, only to jump and withdraw his hand immediately. Cold. It was icy cold. "Ar...thur...?"
Alfred stretched out his hand again, quivering in shock. The fingertips touched the round curve of the shoulder and he flinched again. There was no mistake. This was not what he had revelled in last night; this was...
"Arthur!!" Alfred screamed, pulling the stiff form into his arms, the blanket and all. He gasped when Arthur's head rolled limply, hanging over his arm, and quickly lifted it up to lean it against his chest.
"Arthur!! Oh god, Arthur... Arthur, what..."
Alfred cupped the pale cheek desperately as if it would transfer his heat to the silent English but to no avail. Tightly hugging Arthur's body, Alfred curled over him, pressing Arthur against him as he rocked back and forth. He couldn't understand what had happened.
"Arthur, please, tell me this is a joke. Arthur!! Arthur, please wake up... Why did this happen?!! Arthur, please... I love you, please..."
Alfred pressed his lips everywhere on Arthur's face, peppering kisses with overwhelming love, pouring his soul into every one of them. But the viridian eyes he longed to see did not open; they never would.
"Arthur, whatever it was, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I'll listen to everything you say... I'll even drink tea and eat your scones... Please.. just... just..."
He had whispered so many 'I love you' into the night by himself, dreaming of the day that he would be able to make Arthur shiver with them. The reality could not even begin to be compared to his imagination, the porcelain skin glowing in the moonlight as the trembling travelled from Arthur to him by their flushed skin. So delicious, so enthralling; now all lost.
"Arthur, I love you... You can't... I..."
Crack.
Alfred startled and his face wet with flood of tears, whipped around. There was nothing.
Crack.
The blue eyes snapped back to the cold, unmoving form in his arms.
Crack.
There, Alfred saw his heart; his heart, Arthur's heart, and its first ugly, tormenting crack.
Author: Kanon
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: USUK (Mainly from Arthur's POV)
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I'd own the entire world. I don't.
Summary: Arthur had a cracked heart and he had put it away somewhere safe. But what was once cracked could always be cracked again; especially if it was by the same hand.
Timeline: Hinted as post-American Revolutionary War and progresses from thereon.
Warning: Human names. Can be taken as AU; details generally vague. Character death.
A/N:
...Please don't kill me. Sorry, Arthur. And Alfred.
:::::Cracked by Kanon:::::
Arthur had a cracked heart.
Be it metaphorical or literal, the all important organ was cracked, and Arthur knew exactly when it had happened. It had nearly stopped functioning when the tip of the bayonet rose to the middle of his forehead, the bright sky-blue eyes ferocious behind it. It had, just for a moment. Then, when he saw Alfred grinning at the completed form, every joyous sparkles in the eyes he had loved so dear, now the sharpest daggers digging into his heart, he had heard it; the dreadful sounds of cracks creating shallow crevices, zigzagged spider webs spreading out like a viral infection until the red thing was a red, brittle thing, more fragile than the finest china.
But it had not broke. Alfred was smiling; he was happy. It made Arthur want to scream in agony but it was what made it just a fractional touch easier to bear. Because Arthur had never wanted anything else but happiness for his little angel. Not so little any more, perhaps, but as the boy, no, the man, donned on his glasses, the bomber jacket with the meaningful 50 on its back, and laughed as the wind danced about him, Arthur had learnt to blend the tears into a broken smile, turn around, and carefully scoop up his cracked heart, tending to the delicate thing so that it would not fall apart.
And so he had, gently placing it in a sturdy chest with no key, because the cracks that had already invaded his heart could not be mended and erased out, and the next best thing was adding an extra barrier instead. He didn't need any keys; he was never going to need it.
His frail, bleeding heart was not going to love anyone ever again.
-
A key was not the only way to opening a chest.
Arthur should have known it. Because compared to young Alfred, he had seen far many more of the treacheries of life and there were too many ways of breaking through the barrier to count. And sometimes, his grumpiness and notorious temper were simply not enough to repel away those that his own footsteps of his life had bound to him.
Most importantly, he had overlooked one important fact; that his safe had one crucial weakness. One cracked heart could always be cracked again; even what protected it, if it was by the same hands.
Arthur could feel the little rattles and bumps it gave as his cracked heart thumped dangerously strongly. Sometimes, he would worry whether the crevices had dug in deeper, threatening to split apart the barely held together pieces of his heart. Sometimes, he thought he could hear the tiny clinks of the shards hitting the bottom of the chest.
And he hated it. The harder his heart beat, the more noisy the chest grew, the more Arthur drank himself to inebriation and threw himself to the stupidest things. Yet it never stopped. All it took was just a glance of the blues he could only dream of back in his home country and Arthur was paralysed, trapped in fear of his heart finally breaking, anxiety of the bubbling emotion rushing blood to his face, that warm feeling only the damn American could give, and-
-and the realisation that he had lost his heart. It had not been his for long before he had known. What frenetically beat in the locked chest was a cracked heart that had once been his; and was now Alfred's. The one that he had all too gladly given to Alfred; the one that Alfred had thrown away with his ridiculous force.
Arthur cried for the first time in a long while.
-
His body was, apparently, now falling apart.
He needed to re-learn how to breathe. His stomach, it had endured years of the rough rolling of the sea, but it was now twisting and churning, throwing out its contents. His eyes refused to blink or focus and all he could hear in his ears was the ringing echoes of the words that he could not have possibly just heard from nervous-looking Alfred, because there was no way that he had just seen Alfred in front of him, hear him saying that he loved him.
Blood pulsed in his temples. Thump, thump, thump. The world was turning, the colours merging with each other. The rattling of the chest grew deafening. Was his - Alfred's - heart crying in there? Were the cracks oozing with crimson tears? Did it yearn so desperately to escape its safe haven, to return to its owner?
'I love you, Arthur.'
Arthur choked on a sob and put his hand over his cracked-heart-in-a-chest.
"I love you, Alfred, I love you, too..." The chest shook harder; a drop of tear rolled down Arthur's pale cheek as the pained eyes fluttered shut, "but I will not love anyone any more..."
The chest juddered, rocking on its edges, and with a reverberating thud, toppled over.
For the second time in his life, Arthur heard 'crack'.
-
"Arthur, give me a damn reason why you're rejecting me!"
The darkness that the chest was buried in was now littered with splinters and shards of the same colour, and the mess was growing and growing. Arthur could not do anything except watch it helplessly, watching the azure eyes burning with dark fire he did not want to interpret. He had never felt the beating of his heart so clearly, so pregnantly; it was shaking his entire body, his reasons, and it had to be in a far worse shape than it was before with all the banging, but it was not giving up.
"You don't answer anything, Arthur, and I'm fed up! You won't even allow me to give up because you won't tell me you don't like me! Arthur, you show me what the problem is or I take this to the next step my way, right here, right now."
The grips on his wrists were tightening but Arthur had no mind to pay attention to them. His cracked, fragile heart; what a valiant thing it was. The sharp corners of the chest had finally broken free, the pieces lying about here and there. There was oppressive force squeezing it from outside as his heart continued to pound at its confinement and Arthur knew this was Alfred, threatening to grant it the freedom that he must think it deserved, just like he did. No, not threatening; it was what Alfred was set to do, and what Arthur did to stop it did not matter.
"Alfred..."
Alfred stilled for a moment, both glad and annoyed that Arthur had spoken at last, looking at him, not whatever it was that the green eyes had been distantly staring at. But this was Arthur's last chance. His patience was wearing thin and he was going to make Arthur spit out the reason; no matter what he had to do for it.
"Talk to me, Arthur." Or I'll make you.
Arthur fell back into silence, his hands slack in the vice-grips, his eyes examining the other's face just an inch away from his. Blood rushed along his veins, vitality he had not felt for far too long colouring his cheeks healthy pink.
The chest bore ragged holes and it continued to rattle around. Red seeped out of it, trails and drops spotting the darkness, but it did not stop.
The moment Arthur picked it up, it quietened down instantly. Carefully, Arthur lifted it and peeked in through one of the holes. The energetically beating heart looked back at him. Glistening red liquid hid the cracks from the view, and it was not the best of the signs, but it was pumping like never before.
Arthur curled his fingers around the hole on either side and pulled apart the tattered chest.
It cracked open with a loud snap. It had once been a sound, sturdy safe. It had been his own heart that had weakened it. Arthur looked at it - looked at Alfred - without a word for what seemed like forever, then slowly cupped the heart that he had locked and freed - cupped Alfred's cheeks - with his hands.
"...Arthur? Arthur, you're... Arthur, oh god, Arthur, please, don't cry, I didn't meant to make you cry, Arthur..."
The warmth filling his hands; Arthur breathed a sigh. He felt dizzy. Fear and excitement gripped him, fighting to dominate him. Only Alfred's persistence could have made him turn back on his decision but it was Alfred that had led to the lock-up in the first place.
But Alfred wouldn't do it again... would he? Not when he had been so stubborn?
...He wouldn't, would he?
"Alfred..." Arthur murmured. Alfred's frantic cooing halted and Arthur leaned in, pressing his lips against Alfred's parted ones. "I love you too."
I freed my cracked heart for you; your heart that you cracked.
So please don't leave me again.
Don't break my heart.
Alfred did not waste any time in taking what Arthur was at last willing to give.
-
Arthur opened his eyes and in the fog of morning drowsiness, blinked a few times. The cotton cover of the blanket was cool and soft against his bare skin. An uncertain but happy smile adorned Arthur's face as he stretched his legs despite the discomfort between them. Rubbing his eyes, Arthur turned around-
-and froze. The space next to him was empty.
Sleep disappeared faster than a blink of an eye as Arthur jerked upright. There was no sound of water running from the en-suite bathroom.
Arthur's cracked heart gave a thump. Blood drained from Arthur's face, leaving him look like a ghost, and he bit down his lower lip, wrapping the blanket around his naked body. Alfred was maybe in the kitchen, making that awful drink of his. But then, if that was the case, well, Arthur guessed he could probably join, just for today. For Alfred. Yes, he could do that. Coffee just for a day wouldn't kill him.
The kitchen was empty. The kettle was, too.
Maybe he was in the lounge, watching TV. Munching on a burger? More than likely. He had better not have spoilt the antique couch. The grease was hard to get rid of. He needed to get Alfred back on proper meals. But then, having a burger once in a while was sort of okay. Arthur could always try to learn how to make home-made ones. Those were definitely healthier than the fast food restaurant ones. Arthur turned around the corner.
TV was off. The antique couch was as clean as he had last seen it; and empty.
The strained smile Arthur had managed during his hurried search started to get chipped away as the trembling eyes surveyed the vacant area. The lips twitched. The furnitures blurred into each other. Had Alfred truly left him, again? Were all those sweet words for nothing?
Crack.
Arthur startled, falling to the ground as his knees gave out. He looked around but there was no one; no Alfred. It was the crevices; they were deepening.
Biting his already abused lips, Arthur stood back up on his shaky legs and trudged up, nearly tripping over the blanket on his way. Maybe, Alfred had just gone out to buy some coffee. Now that he thought about it, he probably didn't have any. Dizziness came over him and Arthur barely made it to the bed before his legs gave out, slumping onto the mattress like a ragdoll.
His fingers tightly curled around the blanket, Arthur peeped out at the clock. He would wait. If he waited, this time, Alfred would come back. He had to. Alfred had insisted that he loved him. Alfred had forced him to free his tattered heart again; Alfred's tattered heart.
...Was that what Alfred had wanted? To get what belonged to him back?
Arthur closed his eyes, swallowing back down the overwhelming terror rioting inside him. He would wait. Wait until as long as it took.
Crack.
As long as his heart was in one piece.
-
Crack.
The clock ticked.
Crack. Crack.
No doorbells. No footsteps.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Arthur looked at the chapped thing with a pitiful, resigned smile. It reminded him of the barren, dry desert in Alfred's place. The gaping fissures were opening wider everywhere, faster and faster as time passed. It strained to carry on its duty with its slashed remains, badump, badump, badump, and a clear droplet plummeted from Arthur's eyes as if the moisture would close the wounds like the rain to the desert. Except this was no desert; this was his heart, cracks left unhealed for years, and nothing would be able to close them.
"You and I are both helpless, aren't we?"
Here we are, abandoned, and we still cling on.
"I was a fool."
But it had been out of my control.
"You, my dear, damn heart, brought this upon yourself."
I'm now tired. Too tired.
"It's about time we stopped."
Badump, badump, badump...
Arthur turned, facing where Alfred had been over the night. A broken smile twisted Arthur's face; for all he knew, it might as well have all been a dream.
Badump, badump, ba... dump...
Perhaps, if he closed his eyes, fell back into sleep, and woke up again, he would realise that everything had been his fickle imagination.
Badump, ba... dump... ba... dump...
But he knew.
Ba...dump... ba...
This was no dream. He was left alone; again.
Ba... dump...
And Arthur's heart was at last broken.
-
A loud bang echoed through the house, followed by rushed footsteps and a curse when the staccato rhythm broke off for a moment before continuing.
"Arthur! I'm sorry, my boss...?!"
Alfred physically clasped his hands over his mouth to kill any sounds immediately including his harsh breathing, the wide blue eyes perplexed and disbelieving. Alfred stayed absolutely still as if even a ruffle of air would disturb what he was seeing, which was to say Arthur, still in bed, wrapped in the blanket. Alfred glanced at the clock then shook his head with a quite chuckle, lowering his hands. He hadn't worn Arthur out that much last night, had he? Arthur was surely getting old. Alfred shrugged off his trademark jacket and dove down to the bed. The mattress bounced, rolling like sea waves, but Arthur still didn't make any move. Alfred raised his brow; Arthur was, as long as he was not drunk, a fairly light sleeper.
"Arthur, wake up," Alfred said, weaving his hands in the sandy locks. They were thick and the ends prickled at his fingers but still soft enough to feel like silk. Alfred grinned, buzzing of happiness; he had only dreamt of this sensation for so long. "Arthur, I'm back. Wake up or are you not planning to sleep tonight?"
Silence persisted and Alfred's smile dropped a little. Something was off.
"...Arthur?" Alfred said as he gently shook Arthur at the shoulders over the blanket. There was not even a grunt or a sleepy mumble from Arthur. Alfred was now starting to get panicky.
"Arthur?! Arthur, are you sick??" Alfred pulled the blanket down, or attempted to, but it simply went askew. Alfred craned his neck and saw that Arthur's hand tightly held the ends just under his chin. Alfred frowned. "Arthur, if you're trying to pull a joke, you suck. Now, open your eyes and let me have a look at you."
Trepidation started to thread into the blue eyes as Arthur's eyes remained firmly shut. "Arthur?" Alfred called out again, laying his hand on the bare skin, only to jump and withdraw his hand immediately. Cold. It was icy cold. "Ar...thur...?"
Alfred stretched out his hand again, quivering in shock. The fingertips touched the round curve of the shoulder and he flinched again. There was no mistake. This was not what he had revelled in last night; this was...
"Arthur!!" Alfred screamed, pulling the stiff form into his arms, the blanket and all. He gasped when Arthur's head rolled limply, hanging over his arm, and quickly lifted it up to lean it against his chest.
"Arthur!! Oh god, Arthur... Arthur, what..."
Alfred cupped the pale cheek desperately as if it would transfer his heat to the silent English but to no avail. Tightly hugging Arthur's body, Alfred curled over him, pressing Arthur against him as he rocked back and forth. He couldn't understand what had happened.
"Arthur, please, tell me this is a joke. Arthur!! Arthur, please wake up... Why did this happen?!! Arthur, please... I love you, please..."
Alfred pressed his lips everywhere on Arthur's face, peppering kisses with overwhelming love, pouring his soul into every one of them. But the viridian eyes he longed to see did not open; they never would.
"Arthur, whatever it was, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I'll listen to everything you say... I'll even drink tea and eat your scones... Please.. just... just..."
He had whispered so many 'I love you' into the night by himself, dreaming of the day that he would be able to make Arthur shiver with them. The reality could not even begin to be compared to his imagination, the porcelain skin glowing in the moonlight as the trembling travelled from Arthur to him by their flushed skin. So delicious, so enthralling; now all lost.
"Arthur, I love you... You can't... I..."
Crack.
Alfred startled and his face wet with flood of tears, whipped around. There was nothing.
Crack.
The blue eyes snapped back to the cold, unmoving form in his arms.
Crack.
There, Alfred saw his heart; his heart, Arthur's heart, and its first ugly, tormenting crack.