I do not own any, I SAY ANY, of these lovable, tortured characters. Or Hetalia
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Arthur sat down in a chair located right next to his fireplace, a cup of tea in one hand and a paper in the other. More precisely a letter. The letter was nothing more than a check up on how he was doing. On how he was coping with the incident. It was signed, Alfred.
The British man scowled. How dare this man ask him how he's doing? It should be obvious when he's been avoiding World Meetings altogether.
Oh, he was doing positively fine. Just fine. It's not like his little brother practically disowned him…
Would he write back, lying about how he was doing ok without the other? How could he? How could he write back about how well he was doing when in reality he was falling to pieces?
These questions boggled his mind as he glared at the paper that held concern and worry. It seemed genuine enough to be believed. If it was true, it had to be disposed. Too many emotions welled up in him from any kind of contact with his former brother.
So from there on out, he would pretend as if the letter was never sent to him. He never saw such a thing. If Al asked him about it, all he would get is something along the line of, "What are you talking about?" And that would be the end of it.
No one would ever know he received it. He would erase the memory of it from his mind. He would forget he had ever gotten it. It seemed sad in a sort of way.
Arthur tossed the paper into the fire, taking a sip of his drink and softly mumbled to himself, "What letter?" As if it never existed. He had never read this letter. He had never seen that signature. He had never gotten worked up about the letter.
This is what he told himself, it almost kept him sane. But some day he would have to be honest with himself. He was nothing without his brother. In all honesty… Alfred was like a kind of rock or wall he could lean on if he wanted.
Now whenever he leaned, he would simply fall because nothing was there to catch him. Nothing was there to keep him from falling face first to the ground. However, he would get back up, even if his lip was bleeding. He would stand, maybe limply but stand.
The nation was getting weaker and weaker. His words barely had effect on anything, almost like Canada in some way.
He used to be so strong, but now… Without his brother, his lover…
Arthur couldn't seem to stand upright anymore.
Heeyyy, it's me again! xD And if you're wondering, yes he stands upright, it was just supposed to symbolize how he couldn't lean on anything anymore. At the moment I don't have internet, and I'm just writing story after story. But by the time I get it up all of these stories will probably be posted. xS So hope you enjoyed it!
