ficlet. hetalia: finding starshine [homage to "general relativity"] ; matthew/mr. jones
SO. What to say.
There exists this truly amazing, mindblowing Canada/America fic out there on the kinkmeme. It's called "General Relativity," and in it, Alfred is Mr. Jones, a physics professor, and Matthew is an English major who falls totally in love with him, and there are stars, and the cosmos, and pudding cups, and movie-dates-that-are-not-dates, and overprotective!Ludwig, and a whale, and...dfkjkfljghl. Need I say more? Seriously. Author!anon did a fantastic job. GO READ IT.
Anyway, and I hope anon doesn't mind me posting this here! I promised author!anon fic of this like aaaaages ago (even though, admittedly, it's probably a little weird to write fic for a fic, but hey.) Instead I drew fanart, lmao. Whatever. The fanfic-for-a-fic that was so long coming finally happened last night. >> It's nowhere near enough to show how awesome I think "General Relativity" is, but. I tried. ♥
DISCLAIMER: This is in no way meant to take any credit for myself, the epic win is all in the original fic. FOR SERIOUS, GO READ THE ORIGINAL FIC.
Without further ado:
Finding Starshine
Matthew/Mr. Jones ; based on the fanfic "General Relativity."
Sometimes, Matthew contemplates whether it is fated somehow that he feel shattered, utterly in shards, until the very moment that Mr. Jones's voice reaches him through the phone with static clinging to the edges.
"Hello? Matthew?" Mr. Jones asks. He sounds bewildered to be called so late; Matthew can picture it: Mr. Jones chewing his lower lip raw, brows furrowed. Maybe he'd rake the hand that wasn't holding the phone through his hair, leave it in mussed, chaotic disarray. Possibly, he'd be holding his breath.
(Matthew wants to sob out his relief, wants to say oh, you exist, flesh and blood and bone and molecules, thank god I didn't just dream you, dream all of this, because you're too perfect for words.)
Instead, he blurts, "I love you," all one taut jumble--it's akin to plummeting, he can't see the bottom, he's setting himself free, this is it, crash and burn, he should have kept quiet, he should have said something else, he's--
Mr. Jones huffs out a long breath (he'd been holding it, Matthew triumphs), says, simply, "Matthew." He says it as though it is the first time he's ever said it. He sounds like he's been punched, hard, in the gut. Matthew rushes, rushes to fill the silence and drown out the clamor of his mind.
"No, wait--wait--don't say anything yet. It's weird, it's weird, I know, believe me, and Ludwig told me about boundaries and not reporting you but--can't you see? I don't want to. I don't give a--god, I don't care, Mr. Jones. I don't mind." Matthew skitters to a halt. He feels his heart ricocheting madly against some unfamiliar part of his chest. And then he realizes what he's just said. "Oh, god. I'm sorry. I--I'm--you can, uh, hang up now. I'll understand completely," he finishes, feeling small and mortified and very, very stupid. So Mr. Jones is gay. Mr. Jones goes where his heart leads. That doesn't mean he's at liberty to call Mr. Jones at--what time is it, anyway? Matthew doesn't remember--and tell him things like this.
"I'm not gonna hang up."
It's wrong, Matthew murmurs to Mr. Jones in his head, that I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not near you. That I want to take a real star from the sky and give it to you, in shoddy last-minute wrapping, just to watch your face light up. I shouldn't want to know what waking up next to you on a rainy Saturday morning would be like, and I shouldn't wonder if you could still explain quantum time to me in bed while I sucked you off. But, Mr. Jones, I feel all of these things. I go weak-kneed when you smile, and my soul blazes every time you talk about the cosmos, and if this isn't love… then I don't know what is.
In real life, he manages, "You're not?" A loopy, disbelieving grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"No way! After something like that?" When Mr. Jones laughs, real, beautiful, tremulous--almost palpable--everything inside Matthew finally settles, warm and good.
Yeah. I don't know either. But I tried to pay proper homage. :D dlkfjglhfjkh This fic is so much win that I don't even know. Plus it gave me an excuse to write Canada/America, lmao.
There exists this truly amazing, mindblowing Canada/America fic out there on the kinkmeme. It's called "General Relativity," and in it, Alfred is Mr. Jones, a physics professor, and Matthew is an English major who falls totally in love with him, and there are stars, and the cosmos, and pudding cups, and movie-dates-that-are-not-dates, and overprotective!Ludwig, and a whale, and...dfkjkfljghl. Need I say more? Seriously. Author!anon did a fantastic job. GO READ IT.
Anyway, and I hope anon doesn't mind me posting this here! I promised author!anon fic of this like aaaaages ago (even though, admittedly, it's probably a little weird to write fic for a fic, but hey.) Instead I drew fanart, lmao. Whatever. The fanfic-for-a-fic that was so long coming finally happened last night. >> It's nowhere near enough to show how awesome I think "General Relativity" is, but. I tried. ♥
DISCLAIMER: This is in no way meant to take any credit for myself, the epic win is all in the original fic. FOR SERIOUS, GO READ THE ORIGINAL FIC.
Without further ado:
Finding Starshine
Matthew/Mr. Jones ; based on the fanfic "General Relativity."
Sometimes, Matthew contemplates whether it is fated somehow that he feel shattered, utterly in shards, until the very moment that Mr. Jones's voice reaches him through the phone with static clinging to the edges.
"Hello? Matthew?" Mr. Jones asks. He sounds bewildered to be called so late; Matthew can picture it: Mr. Jones chewing his lower lip raw, brows furrowed. Maybe he'd rake the hand that wasn't holding the phone through his hair, leave it in mussed, chaotic disarray. Possibly, he'd be holding his breath.
(Matthew wants to sob out his relief, wants to say oh, you exist, flesh and blood and bone and molecules, thank god I didn't just dream you, dream all of this, because you're too perfect for words.)
Instead, he blurts, "I love you," all one taut jumble--it's akin to plummeting, he can't see the bottom, he's setting himself free, this is it, crash and burn, he should have kept quiet, he should have said something else, he's--
Mr. Jones huffs out a long breath (he'd been holding it, Matthew triumphs), says, simply, "Matthew." He says it as though it is the first time he's ever said it. He sounds like he's been punched, hard, in the gut. Matthew rushes, rushes to fill the silence and drown out the clamor of his mind.
"No, wait--wait--don't say anything yet. It's weird, it's weird, I know, believe me, and Ludwig told me about boundaries and not reporting you but--can't you see? I don't want to. I don't give a--god, I don't care, Mr. Jones. I don't mind." Matthew skitters to a halt. He feels his heart ricocheting madly against some unfamiliar part of his chest. And then he realizes what he's just said. "Oh, god. I'm sorry. I--I'm--you can, uh, hang up now. I'll understand completely," he finishes, feeling small and mortified and very, very stupid. So Mr. Jones is gay. Mr. Jones goes where his heart leads. That doesn't mean he's at liberty to call Mr. Jones at--what time is it, anyway? Matthew doesn't remember--and tell him things like this.
"I'm not gonna hang up."
It's wrong, Matthew murmurs to Mr. Jones in his head, that I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not near you. That I want to take a real star from the sky and give it to you, in shoddy last-minute wrapping, just to watch your face light up. I shouldn't want to know what waking up next to you on a rainy Saturday morning would be like, and I shouldn't wonder if you could still explain quantum time to me in bed while I sucked you off. But, Mr. Jones, I feel all of these things. I go weak-kneed when you smile, and my soul blazes every time you talk about the cosmos, and if this isn't love… then I don't know what is.
In real life, he manages, "You're not?" A loopy, disbelieving grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"No way! After something like that?" When Mr. Jones laughs, real, beautiful, tremulous--almost palpable--everything inside Matthew finally settles, warm and good.
Yeah. I don't know either. But I tried to pay proper homage. :D dlkfjglhfjkh This fic is so much win that I don't even know. Plus it gave me an excuse to write Canada/America, lmao.