Heyy, here I am with another Hetalia fic! And this one's kinda sad too…. Woooopsssiesss
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia because I cannot draw for my life.
It was raining.
Nothing out of the usual for the blond man standing among the rows upon rows of mismatched carved stone. It drenched him, sneaking through the thick fabric of his jacket slowly and pressing the cool droplets to warm skin. The man was shaking where he stood, but not from the chilling cold, as most people would have believed.
Emerald eyes were dark with pain and shimmering with grief, screaming out at the world. Tears slipped from them, mixing with the cool raindrops that pelted pale cheeks. Golden strands were limp and plastered to the man's forehead, cheeks, and neck.
His knees gave out and Arthur collapsed into a lopsided kneeling position. He sobbed brokenly, leaning his arms against the cold stone in front of him, shoulders jerking unevenly as he did so. "Dammit Alfred." he breathed out between sobs. Quivering fingers traced out the letters carved into the grave stone, and the blond nation choked on his keening sob.
"Bloody git." he whimpered out, sinking further into the muddy ground, curling up against the icy marble.
Why did the colony have to demand independence?
Why didn't he understand?
How could he not see that it was Alfred leading the last charge?
"Ig…" a voice murmured. England stiffened up before blinking at the headstone through bloodshot eyes. "I'm going mad, absolutely bonkers." he said through a broken whisper, feeling his heart let out a painful twisting lurch of agony.
"Iggy… you are crazy." the voice stated calmly, lightly dosed with humor.
Teary emerald eyes shot open to meet worried baby blue ones. "A-Al…" the smaller blond mumbled before pressing his face deep into the taller country's shoulder. Arms wound tighter around the Brit and held him close as he let his tears finish. A hand tangled in his slightly sweaty locks, trying to soothe him.
He wasn't in a grave yard, he wasn't back in time by 200 or more years, and America was very much alive. It was probably raining though – when wasn't it raining in London?
"I'm okay, Iggy." Afred murmured, kissing the top of the smaller nation's head.
"You're damn lucky I couldn't hurt you." Arthur muttered, curling tightly into America's warm body. The other country chuckled, shaking his head and keeping his arms close around the other. "As if you'd land a hit on me, the hero!" he replied cockily. A fist bumped his ribcage, drawing a small grunt.
"Egotistical Yank." Arthur scolded sternly. Alfred rolled his eyes. "You love me for it." he shot back. The other only sighed, not wanting to get into another argument, especially not this late at night. "Good night." he mumbled before closing his eyes.
"Oh, Iggy? You're still crazy."
Another fist found its way into Alfred's ribs.
I think I need help writing happy stories… this one is much fluffier than the other two though! So that's good, right?
Please R&R! I like to hear what people think, and especially if you caught any mistakes, cuz I'm not perfect.
Thanks~!
Foxxie