The rain fell, turning the grass and mud into a disgusting brown mush, the footsteps of the most recent funeral lay prominant in the ground as if scarring the broken graves in the cemetary. Thick droplets of water slid down the blond mans face, plastering his golden locks to his translucent skin, the rain had no effect, he did not flinch or turn up his collar to protect him from the rain, he was empty. Nothing was left that could get him to smile, laugh, cry or shout.
Francis slouched in his chair, one arm draped over the back as he gazed out the window. He heard the door slam open, and a thick, raspy german accent interupted the silence in the classroom. "Guten tag, I am the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt" A tall, albino, German stood infront of the entire class. His silver hair was mussed and windswept, and his crimson eyes glistened with a strange excited gleam. Francis tore his gaze away from the window, and locked eyes with the Prussian who grinned at him; Francis grimiced and turned around to talk to Antonio, his best friend who was sat next to a annoying Italian boy. He began talking to the Spaniard half heartedly, as Antonio seemed to be more interested in the Italian than himself. A thud sounded out next to the seat where Francis was sitting - the seat that wierd English boy sat in whilst he muttered to himself- he didn't need to turn to see who it was. A pale hand was thrust infront of him, beckoning the Frenchman too take it "hello.. I am the awesome Gilbert". Francis took Gilbert's hand and shook it lightly "Enchanté" he muttered.
A tan hand pressed lightly into Francis' black jacket "I'll leave you to it, mi amigo" he said, the usual happiness ring to his voice had gone and it was obvious Antonio was fighting back tears but was holding them back for Francis' sake. The Spaniard turned and walked towards the Italian he had been so obsessed with in High School, the southern Italian opened his arms and the spanish man fell into them, sobbing quietly before being led away wrapped in the Italians arms.
Snow was spiralling down from the cloudy sky, settling down like a thick, white blanket coating the buildings, trees and fields. Gilbert sat on a bench shivering slightly, Francis sat next to him, his eyes trained on the pale Prussian; the germans white hair glistened in the snow and his crimson eyes were the only bright colour around. The German turns towards Francis, avoiding eye contact with the other "Francis.."He muttered, gaining the frenchmans attention "I-I like you" a pale pink blush appeared on his porceline features. Francis blinked in disbelief and shock, slightly taken back at the abrupt confession before his face softens into a smile "I like you too, Gilbert". Francis felt the German place his hand in his own, squeezing it slightly; Francis leaned in and pressed his lips to Gilbert's, closing his eyes.
Francis fell to his knees, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he dug his hands into the soft ground. His slender fingers scrabbling at the dirt, in futile attempts to dig up the grave. He scooped out the wet mud with his pale hands, only to have the slippery earth slip through his fingers and filling in the shallow holes in the ground.
Gilbert had his feet kicked up on the dashboard, seatbelt off, and slumped in his seat; he had something in his hand that he kept turning around and around his fingers. Francis thought nothing of it, he was to busy concentrating on the road but seeing his boyfriends tapping feet annoyed him "Gilbert, get your feet off the dashboard please" he snapped. The german glared at the other "don't tell the awesome me what to do" he hissed, slouching furthur down to prove a point to the Frenchman. "What if theres a car crash Gil? What if you go headfirst out the front window because of the stupid way your sitting?" He was shouting now, his eyes locked with the difient red ones, not paying attention to the road. It all happened so fast. The crunch. The sirens. Francis reached out, his hands shaking and blood covered, searching for his boyfriends hands. His vision blurred, he saw a mist of red and Gilberts still staring eyes, his head stuck in a wierd angle and his legs broken and mutilated. Francis' hand found the germans limp one, the fingers fell open revealing a small, glistening circular object in the pale palm. Looking closer, and to his horror he saw the object was a small gold ring. He didn't remember anything after that.
He stopped, and stared at the grave. Francis reached into his pocket and pulled out the blood-stained ring,- he hadn't the heart to clean his lovers blood off it- and pressing it to his lips. His fingers travelled up his face, stroking the long gash that was the result of the crash. The crash that scarred him. The crash that claimed his life. The crash that claimed Gilbert Beilschmidts life. "Je'taime".
Wow... I didn't know I could write sentimental stuff like this... ANYWAY this is my first fic woo! the idea came to me in a dream, not really I thought of it in school.
I hereby dedicate this to my friend Jessie the admin of justbecausecookies
-Al