There is a silence in the air, pregnant with questioning and awkward stares to the ground, that seems to last far too long for any sort of comfort. The falling snow provides some comfort, though, offering her cold, numbing caress to the bared sections of Arthur's skin. He welcomes it. Maybe if he stands there long enough, it will seep inward and numb his heart as well.
No, that's silly to the point of pathetic. The only good standing out here too long would do is give him a cold.
Tension grows quickly, and Arthur's taken to biting on his lower lip in regret. What was he expecting, again? What foolish thing made him think this would end well? End well at all? With every millisecond, his heart implodes a little further, trying to curl up and hide within its own shadows like a small, frightened child.
Funny, how an oh-so-fearless nation as himself can transform into a quivering mess in a matter of a few, silent seconds. Yes, absolutely ridiculous.
He lifts his head back up, hands clenching behind his back, mind reeling to provide thoughts to his opening mouth. It's a bad choice, because when he lifts his head he only sees Kiku's pale skin, his fragile lips, black bangs decorated with strings of snowflakes, dark lashes behind which surely hides those mysterious eyes he loves so much. His heart clenches a little more, body flooding with so much emotion he wants to cry. Instead, he breaks the intolerable stillness.
"I'm sorry," he begins, because it's the only thing he can manage. His voice is a bit too rushed for his liking, so he slows it down as he continues; it sounds colder and more voice of emotion when he says, "I didn't mean to upset you. This is my fault. I'll just… I'll leave now." Even the polite tone cannot hide the self-deprecation behind it.
True to his words, Arthur makes a move to leave, further breaking the stagnant heaviness of expectancy. But to contradict, Kiku snatches his sleeve with a gentle grasp, effectively turning the shocked Englishman to face him. His eyes are round and all-consuming, warm and thoughtful as though he finally, finally realizes something that has been puzzling him.
Hope makes itself known in Arthur's gut, butterflies spinning about in that ever-poetic manner. He reclaims the space between their bodies, takes Kiku's slim flanks between bare, anesthetized hands. And he watches with wonder as words form along Kiku's delicate lips.
"I – I love you, as well, Arthur-san."