Summary: Rolling Boy continues to roll. He's been rolling down the same hill forever it seemed. No one can save him. No one notices. But...perhaps someone...
Rating: Rated T for mild fluff and some mentions of abuse
Pairing: FrUk (France x England), AU setting
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or its characters. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.
A/N: What's up my dudes and dudets?
Sorry for not posting anything in so long. School sucks that way, and I'm having a little family issues. Also, my other Fanfiction, the Hetalian State of Hawaii, in discontinued (I can't think of anything). But I'm back, and I'm going original!
Well, I actually had to write a story for school (a short story) about a common middle school problem...and it was something like this (like I had to not put Arthur's last name because that's copyright, and I didn't mention any sort of abuse happening at home). Anyway, hope you enjoy it. R & R plz~
Durruufuuu~
It seemed he had been pretending forever.
Hiding behind a mask; a tough personality. That isn't the real him. The real Arthur Kirkland isn't tough, he's broken. That's the only word for it. He never smiled. At least, not anymore.
One last time, Arthur thought with a tired sigh. I'll try one last time. After this, if things don't get better, I'm sure…
"…I won't be able get back up again..," Arthur whispered to himself, grabbing his bag and heading downstairs.
And so, Rolling Boy rolls down the hill one last time.
Arthur's footsteps were all that could be heard in the cold morning air, yet instead of the silent taps of his black Converse shoes his father's previous shouts filled his ears. The argument that morning had seemed to rattle the neighbor's windows along with their own, although most had come from his father, and perhaps some jeering from Arthur's cruel older brother, Scott.
But he couldn't be sure, not over the wounding insults made by his father. His father, who had become more and more unstable since his Arthur's mother had died.
'Useless! Selfish! You don't do anything right! Your mother would have been ashamed of your useless, selfish ways!' his father had screamed. 'No! No you're wrong!' Arthur had cried back, although his voice had cracked and tears ran down his face. He wasn't even entirely sure what he had done this time, although he had a strong feeling it had to do with the dishes the pre-teen had forgotten to do the previous night out of exhaustion. He was in charge of the chores everyday, and he got hit every time he forgot. He had always managed to hide the bruises (and sometimes cuts), but it still didn't take away the pain.
As his father his tears, he had smirked and looked ready to this time sneer at his son's weakness, drawing back his hand to hit the boy. It was then Arthur decided to make his getaway, grabbing his bag sprinting out the door.
As he half walked, half jogged, Arthur muttered quietly to himself, "…Why must my life be like this?"
Things did not get better at school, as he'd hoped that morning.
As the large, silver front doors framed by the clean, white building of his academy came into view, people passing him ignored him completely, shoving past the thirteen year old as if he was nothing more than empty space.
The school's blue carpeted, well organized hallway wasn't any better.
Here, some people took the time to hiss a nasty comment to him in a not-so-quiet whisper, sending everyone around who could hear it into violent sniggers and chuckles. This elicited no particular reaction from the blond British boy, although he kept his head up and sometimes even snapped retorts back at the insulters as he made his way to his first period and favorite subject, just as the start of school bell rang.
English went well enough, along with the next two periods before lunch, but the entire time Arthur could feel the burning stares of several people drilling holes the back of his head. Their whispered gossip about him seemed magnified as they reached his ears.
Usually, a 'stiff upper lip' would keep Arthur going, but today, they pierced right through the wall he set up between the world and him and plunged themselves into his insides. It burned with a severe pain, yet no tears fell.
He couldn't allow it.
He wouldn't allow it.
However as he sat there at lunch, by himself at the end of a table, trying to pretend nothing is wrong, tidal waves of pain, self-loathing, self-doubt, and loneliness ate up his insides.
He touched nothing on his plate.
Rolling Boy still rolls. No one is there to catch him.
By the end of lunch and past fifth period, it took every ounce of his willpower to keep Arthur from sobbing his pain out in front of his sixth period class. He was so tired, and in so much agony. By the time the end of school bell rang, he was barely holding back tears. Nearly forgetting his bag, silver doors swinging closed behind him, he ran.
Stormy, darkening clouds swirled into an angry mess above him, reflecting his current emotions. Wind wiped hair from his face as he tried to run from the torture he must sit through five times a week.
And yet, the same torture remained where he was going...
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, the reality of it all hitting him full force. Fat, cold drops dropped around him, first slow then getting fast, hitting his face and mixing with the warm, salty drops that had begun to pour from his emerald green eyes.
He had nowhere to go. No place to hide, no safe haven in which he could cry out his worries and fears and grief. He knees became weak, and suddenly the hard, now damp pavement meet his knees.
Nobody was there...
"Arthur?"
...nobody...
"Mon cher ami..."
...except...
The sound of a French accented voice penetrated Arthur's thoughts. Abruptly, he felt warm arms around him.
Startled, he opened his eyes. The only thing he could see of the person was the back of the school's blue uniform jacket, yet he knew that unusual scent of roses and French food. The boy pulled away to stare at Arthur, reveling shoulder length, wavy blond hair and deep blue eyes filled with worry and grief.
Francis Bonnefoy, Arthur's childhood friend. The only one who could, Arthur was sure, notice his pain and loneliness behind his barrier.
"You need to stop hiding behind your mask," Francis said "it kills me to see you like this."
No words left Arthur's lips, so Francis continued, embracing him once again "I'm here. I'm always here for you. Don't pretend anymore. I'm here."
The two boys hardly noticed, but the rain had stopped, and the dark clouds rolled away to revel the sun. Just as for Arthur, the rain on his face stopped, and the dark clouds of pain rolled away to revel his long-lost smile.
Someone, someone is there. There to catch Rolling boy. Rolling boy finally stops.
A/N: I'm so mean to Iggy...and there are some grammer errors...and I divide sentences like a retard...
But I hope you all enjoyed this little short story! ^.^
Please leave a review, and I will maybe accept requests for other short stories~
Over and out, Captain Alfred F. Jones