I do not own Hetalia
Persepolis is not an actual club
Alone by Moonlight
"London." Arthur turned, pulling his glasses off so the hot, 1984 sun glinted off it sharply. "Welcome to it."
"God! How absolutely marvellous, I'm enraptured." His American friend said, grinning.
They leaned against the slick black car, looking at the towering apartment complexes set up before them. Arthur crossed his arms, nodding to himself. "Yes, you can even see Big Ben from here." He pointed towards the tip of the clock tower just behind their home.
"You'd think that it would be more…" Alfred twisted his mouth, now clean of lipstick. He shrugged.
"Big?"
"Yes, imposing."
Arthur adjusted the collar of his trench coat, turning around. He had his sunglasses tucked into his pocket. He went around the car and took Alfred's suitcases out. They clattered against the ground. Alfred went to help, but Arthur waved him off.
"And you, good sir, need to watch your language."
Alfred raised his hands in surrender. "I have yet to say anything offensive."
Arthur's furry eyebrows arched. "That's not what I meant. You need to make sure you use more acceptable terms. This neighbourhood isn't exactly what you would call friendly to our sort."
"Why do you live here then?" Alfred asked, exasperated.
Arthur already was walking towards the building. Alfred ran after him. They trailed up several croaking, barely painted staircases.
"I live here because I like it. Also, mum lives nearby."
"Mamma's boy." Alfred teased.
"And what is it to it?"
"My Ma beat me with a stick when she heard I kissed ol' Paul." Alfred brought his nearly deadened southern accent back to life.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, here you are now."
Each floor had two rooms cramped together in a narrow doorway. Most houses had either welcome mats, flowers, or trash bags poised before it. One had a set of bottles with the labels peeled nearly off. At the sixth floor, there was an old lady watering her petunias. Arthur stopped. "Hello Miss Peterson."
The old woman looked up, her plumy lips twisting into a smile. "Hello, dearie."
"This is my cousin from America, I brought him over to stay for some time until he can find his own home." Arthur gestured to Alfred with a nod of his head. "His name is Alfred."
Miss Peterson's scrunched figure shuffled to him. Alfred shook her hand gently, smiling. "Hello, Albert. What a pleasure it is to have you here! A nice young spirit for once. This boy here needs a young man if you ask me."
Alfred bit his lip so not to correct her. He smiled and bent down, speaking loudly for he noticed a cream-coloured hearing aid poised in her left ear. "I try, ma'am."
"And such manners. You could learn from him." Miss Peterson's wiry eyebrow lifted towards Arthur.
Arthur scoffed and went across the hall to his apartment. He shoved his key into three separate locks and pushed the heavy doors open. Alfred followed. Inside, Arthur had taken care to stem any sort of positivity that could take root in an otherwise upbeat British town.
The apartment was cramped, like the rest of the building, and had four separate rooms: a kitchen, bathroom, Arthur's room, and a main room. Arthur set the bags next to a squat coffee table. On it were several books. They were what didn't fit on the numerous bookshelves lining the walls. The room was decorated in beiges and purples and dark hues.
Arthur turned to Alfred and held out his gloved hands with a shrug. His sandy hair stuck up as usual, illuminated by the sunlight that traveled through cracks in the blinds.
"Welcome to my home."
"Thanks." Alfred grinned.
Arthur peeled off his coat, which he really didn't need, and revealed a black turtle neck clamped against his sleek body. His trousers were light and rolled up to the ankles. He kicked off his shoes.
"Don't you get hot?" Alfred asked.
"Better than getting cold."
Arthur went to his room. Alfred looked around, sighing deeply. So, this is where his life had gone. Here he was, an ocean and half a country away from home. Where the weather was habitually moody and the people were difficult to comprehend.
Maybe he should ask what clubs there are. He should check them out before he started work the next day. Alfred frowned. But, no, Arthur would of course tell him to sleep off his jet-lag and prepare for a new life. Not party. Not excite his American way of life.
Arthur returned with a pillow, blanket, and towel. He set them on the couch.
"Until you can move into your apartment—which I trust you have already purchased." He said pointedly.
Alfred smirked.
"You did, didn't you?"
"No, I was hoping to meet a wealthy man and woo him into loaning me his house."
"Alfred." Arthur snapped.
Alfred shrugged. "Of course I got it. They just need to get done with all their bullshit and that will take a week or so."
"Good."
"Hopefully."
Arthur continued unsmilingly. "You'll sleep on the couch until then. You're young and you don't have back problems yet. If you need a towel, there's a closet in the bathroom. You can stay as a guest for a week. After that, if you're still here, you'll take part in tending the house. All I ask is you don't make a mess. And," he sighed, "If you bring a man over please don't bother me with it."
Alfred began to unzip his luggage and set it aside. He was an American Goody, it shouldn't take long to meet a few interesting men. Arthur watched him separate his male and female attire, which had been set in two different bags. Alfred put a pink pouch of toiletries on the table.
"Why, pray tell, do you have so much?"
"I left home." Alfred said.
"No, so many of these." Arthur pointed to a lace bra in the red bag.
Alfred laughed. "These? I need to look convincing."
Arthur appeared puzzled.
"I have two jobs here. My normal job," Alfred rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, "with some advertisement company. And then a night job as the imported Astounding Amelia of America!"
"You're life will be spent acting?"
"Pretty much."
Arthur didn't have a response.
Alfred mulled around in his belongings for some time. He dug up a circular pocket mirror from the inside pocket of one of his jackets and flipped it open. He examined himself for some time. He checked out the fine lines of his fine jaw, he brushed his smooth hair back, rubbed his eyebrows, adjusted his glasses, puckered his lips, and attempted to wink his ice-blue eyes alluringly.
Arthur watched with his arms crossed for the first ten minutes. He then left for the kitchen and set a teapot on the stove, looking through a thin rectangular window into the streets down below. Wires with clothing criss-crossed down below, where a cat pawed at an empty can. A child holding pebbles then began to chase it. Arthur wanted to yell at the kid, but decided against it.
Kids will be kids, he said, feeling remarkably old.
Alfred went to the small table pushed into the corner of the kitchen, draped with a spotted tablecloth. He sat down, crossing his legs.
"When was the last time you got laid?"
Arthur snorted.
"Last time I checked, you didn't have the rights to my private life."
"I was making conversation." Alfred pleaded innocently.
Arthur turned to him, shaking the steaming teapot.
"No, asking about the weather or how well the movie you last saw was or, heaven forbid, if I watched the sports last night is conversation. Asking if I had sex with someone recently is not 'small talk'. It's a breech of privacy and I profusely refuse to treat you to an answer."
"Jeez, I was just wondering." Alfred huffed.
Arthur poured himself and Alfred a cup of tea and set them on the table, along with a tiny plate of biscuits. Alfred happily munched on one with sugary strawberry glazing on top. He sipped his tea.
The sound of the overhead neighbour's radio filled the impending silence. Arthur stared at Alfred over his teacup, his emerald eyes bewitchingly testy.
"So, I take it it's been over six months?" Alfred said.
Arthur set his cup down with a clink.
He stared at Alfred still.
The clock ticked time away.
"To be honest, I don't remember." Arthur said quietly.
Alfred's eyebrows rose. His lips parted in surprise.
"How do you forget something like that?"
"With a surplus of time."
"Don't you go to clubs?"
"Sometimes."
"And?"
"And they have no interest in old blokes like me."
Alfred reached over and patted Arthur's shoulder. "Naw, don't say that."
Arthur smiled weakly, touching Alfred's hand. It was warm and soft along the top, but calloused at the fingertips. Alfred hid his scars well.
"I'm sure there are some people who like an older man too."
Arthur chuckled at the notion. "Maybe."
"I would fuck you."
Arthur glowered.
"Well, maybe not because that would be weird. Even for me."
"I told my coworkers that you're my brother."
"Oh, even better."
Arthur rubbed Alfred's knuckles. The young man, hardly half way through his twenties, knew a thing or two about comfort.
"And, besides, you're kind of unapproachable."
Arthur shrugged away Alfred's hand, his cheeks colouring. "What do you mean?"
"You can be mean looking sometimes."
"That's a considerably polite way to say I'm hideous."
"I didn't say that."
Arthur crossed his arms. Alfred pointed at the gesture as if it explained everything wrong with the universe and also held the secret to life and everything else. One hand flew in the air.
"See? That's what I mean! You cut yourself off so no one wants to come close to you."
"I do not!"
"Yes, you do, honey." Alfred said gently. "I can teach you the ways. Besides, you still look good for a guy your age."
"Much appreciated." Arthur said, but only half-bitterly. He chewed on his lower lip, considering. "Where are you working?"
"A club called 'Persepolis'."
"Oh, I've been there."
"Will you show me the way there?" Alfred asked, hopeful.
Arthur scratched his cheek. "What if someone I know sees me there?"
"Does no one know?"
"Do you know what time period we live in or have you coincidentally forgotten?"
"There are open-minded people out there. Especially in somewhere like France."
Arthur considered for some time, tapping his fingers against the table. Finally, he stood up. "Fine. I'm going to go get something for us to eat and tonight we'll head to Persepolis. It's a big place."
. . .
Alfred placed his hands on his hips and looked around the street. Couple and groups walked past, talking loudly and enjoying a place where they were welcome for who they were. Where they didn't have to hide.
"It's not as big as California."
"No, not quite I suppose." Arthur agreed. He decided to wear simple clothing, nothing to give him away. Although either way it was futile, his very presence there forced him out of the closet. He dug around his pocket and picked up a cigarette. "Want a fag?"
"Always, honey." Alfred smiled, flashing his white teeth under bright-pink lipstick.
His character, Amelia, had decided to go go-go dancer today. Long, neon-pink boots rode up to his knees, where a stretch of skin separated them from a bright red skirt. A belt hung crooked against his hips, where padding had been set to make hips. His stomach, toned and smooth, was barely hidden by a midriff and raunchy black top that hugged the extra padding there. He wore a curly blonde wig and adjusted it constantly. His hands, bound in yellow and pink curling stripes on elbow-high nylon gloves, flashed in the dark.
Arthur tucked the cigarettes away. Alfred didn't smoke. The cigarette hung at his lips, billowing lightly blue smoke across his face. Alfred flashed it a quizzical glance.
"What?" Arthur turned to him.
"Are you treating your body—?"
"—Wahhhhw!"
Alfred turned around, a hound hungry for praise. A queen stood before him, the one who ran Persepolis. He was an immigrant from the East, named Wang Yao—or Peony at night—and that night he (Yao preferred that pronoun) wore an extravagant dress with a high neck and short sleeves, that ended at his thighs. It was red as a candy apple and had dragons of golden stitches roaming around the curves and stomach.
"I was about to tell you two to go to your straight town, you had me convinced." Yao said, smiling. He could easily have passed of as a flower in a courtesan house, with delicate lips and hair dark as ink pulled into a bun with an ornament of gold pinning it down.
"Thank you," Alfred said.
"You're new here. Tell me, you don't happen to me my American coworker?"
"I'll leave you here." Arthur said quickly, waking into Persepolis. Alfred and Yao soon followed.
Arthur entered the bar, with light blue lights flashing occasionally and an array of personalities lining the tables. He chose a bar seat and ordered scotch. The bartender vanished around the corner. Arthur leaned his head against his palm.
No one had even spared him a single glance.
He may as well get a little tipsy and then go home. Alfred was already being flocked by admirers. Several begged him to get on the stage adjacent to the far right wall. Alfred denied it, saying he was on duty the next night and—with a smart wink—they better come see.
Alfred eventually scrambled over next to Arthur.
"How does my make-up look?"
Arthur looked up at him.
"Looks fantastic."
"Where is it smudged?" Alfred turned serious.
"No where."
"Then why are you so flippant? Come on, it's a week-end and the world is my oyster! But I can sell you the pearl." He laughed.
Arthur spared him an amused glance. Over his shoulder he spotted something, causing his eyes to widen. "Oh, bloody hell…" Arthur turned away. The bartender returned with his drink. He downed it in a single gulp.
Alfred turned around, his curls bouncing.
A group of men, three, walked in. One had his shirt off, exposing his brown, smooth chest with a chain dangling between his collar bones. He looked like a Spaniard. On his right was a mans in an elegant suit and long blond hair pulled back in a bright red ribbon. On the Spaniard's left was an albino man who looked too intoxicated to create a complete sentence.
They flirted with the men, some winked at the women, and swallowed the scenery. Alfred was thankful for the moment of repose. He took this time to flip a mirror open before his face and reapply his lipstick. He even added a heart-shaped beauty mark on his cheek for good measure.
Eventually, the blond one came by and threw his arm around Arthur.
"Ah, look what we find here! An English delight." He said, his French accent rolling.
Alfred smiled. "Hello."
"With an American?"
"No, I'm his cousin." Alfred said.
Arthur remained silent as stone. He stared at his empty glass, rattling the ice inside.
"I'm Francis." The man said, holding out a hand.
"Pleasure." Alfred said, introducing himself.
Francis turned back to Arthur, pinching his cheek and turning him towards his cheeks. He smelled of roses. Arthur submitted to Francis' warm touch, frowning. He stared into the light blue eyes.
"What do you want?"
"I want to know why I haven't seen you in so long. And why you're so alone." His lips were far too close. Arthur shrugged him off.
Francis stepped back.
Arthur showed no signs of being sociable.
"Is he always this frosty?" Alfred perked up.
"Since the day he was born. They say he come from his mother's womb surly and demanding to be alone." Francis said, a few people replied with muted laughter.
Alfred leaned back. "I wouldn't doubt it."
"Go get a disease or something." Arthur spat at the both of them.
Alfred touched his chest. "I'm offended!"
"Thank you for describing your thought process."
"Bitter." Francis smiled. "He'll eventually warm up with a drink or two."
Alfred joked with Francis until the rest of his posse arrived. The albino, named Gilbert, stayed only long enough to introduce himself to Alfred. After he had said that, his scratchy voice grating his personality into Alfred's ears, he turned away and, faster than even Alfred could manage, made eye-contact with a man. He grabbed his crotch then pointed at him. The man nodded.
"They met earlier." Francis explained.
The other man, the bare chested one, was Antonio. He approached Alfred and picked up his hand. He kissed the knuckles with warm lips and bowed.
"I had never seen a flower in such beautifully ripe bloom."
Alfred smiled. "And I have never seen the sun shine so boldly."
"I'll leave you to get married." Francis said, walking away.
Antonio turned away from Alfred and patted Arthur's back. Antonio bent down. And, much to Alfred's surprise, Arthur consented to quiet talk. They spoke calmly for some time, their voices too low to hear. Alfred grew bored and walked away.
Antonio ordered a drink and, hunched over, his back glossy under the fluorescent lights, looked Arthur over. He leaned his head in and kissed Arthur's forehead. Arthur's cheeks burned crimson.
They exchanged a long look. Arthur was thankful to have such a good friend.
"Are you feeling better? You've been sick for so long." Antonio whispered.
"I'm getting better. Focusing on work helps."
"What about your friends?"
"I can't stand half of them."
"Who can you stand?"
"You, Tino, Lukas, my brothers on good days…"
Antonio took a sip of his drink while Arthur rolled a ring around his finger. The engagement that never went through. The marriage that was swept up in heartbreak and sickness. The sorrow that still plagued his heart.
The ring glinted. Arthur set his hand down, unconscious of his own nervous tick. Antonio bit his lip.
"How long has it been?"
"Just over a year."
"It hurts still." Not a question. A statement.
Arthur looked down.
"I miss him."
"I know." Antonio rubbed his back. He pressed his head to Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur felt a surge of love for Antonio. Francis could be bothersome, but he could help if needed. Gilbert was a mess after being thrown out by his brother and disowned by his family. But Antonio, Antonio was good. He was sexy, beautiful, charming, shy, smart, every good thing imaginable. Something about him attracted people, men and women alike, like honey attracts flies.
Maybe because he was like honey. His skin was the same, earthy tone. His voice and personality just as sweet without being artificial. Most of all, he could make Arthur laugh when nobody else could even get him to crack a smile. Arthur leaned his chin against Antonio's head. But, they were just friends. It didn't go beyond that.
Antonio eventually stood up. He kissed Arthur's forehead and ruffled his hair. "Go home. We'll take Alfred to your apartment when he's had his fill."
Arthur stood.
"All right. Say good night to them, won't you?"
"Sure." Antonio smiled.
. . .
That night Arthur dreamt of hospital beds and riots outside. All wanting to crush his love, as well the love of so many others. He woke up drenched in sweat and tears.
He plopped back down on the bed and rubbed his face with his hands. He attempted to return to sleep, but it fiendishly stayed away. He rose eventually and went to the bathroom. Alfred had taken care to organise his belongings, as well as some of Arthur's.
Arthur splashed water against his face, listening to the quiet sounds of the night. Alfred had returned not long ago and now snored on the couch, his make up washed off and his gait transformed. He was no longer the self-confident Amelia, but a smart, funny Alfred. An Alfred who sometimes resembled a puppy kicked too many times, but still wagging its tail and woofing lovingly at anyone it saw.
Arthur rubbed Alfred's head and returned to his room.
From the window there he could see the moon clearly shine on to the city. Pockets of wakefulness still buzzed in various spots on the city. The apartments were mostly asleep however. Arthur leaned against the window sill, looking up at the sky woefully. So lonely.
Arthur, you're never alone. You can always drink alone by moonlight.
He had said that to him. So long ago. When they were young, foolishly in love. Arthur had asked him what he would do if he was alone.
The moon's an awfully poetic thing, isn't it? It keeps everyone company. It has forever. All of mankind has stared up at that beautiful heavenly body.
So, if one of them was gone, they could look up at the sky and feel welcomed that they are looking at the same moon the other looked at. Some sort of otherworldly comfort was derived from that, Arthur supposed.
He trailed to his bed and sat down, bringing his knees to his chest. He kept his ring firmly on his finger. Nothing would take it away from him. Not again. Sure, maybe it wasn't legal yet to get married. But who cares? The government shouldn't have a say in that.
We'll get married by the sea. To hell with 'official' and 'unofficial'!
And the dream was washed away by the tides. Someday it will change.
. . .
The following morning Alfred woke to find Arthur serving breakfast. It sat on the table while Arthur, who could only cook breakfast, fished the toast out of the toaster. Alfred smiled at him, not woozy as he hadn't had any drinks the pervious night, and joined him.
They ate silently.
After Arthur finished, he checked his watch.
"I'll drive you to work when you get ready."
"Won't you be late?"
Arthur shrugged. "It's not a problem. I'm usually early anyway."
"Oh… All right."
Alfred tried to take up as little time as possible. His routine still took nearly an hour. Once finished, Arthur drove him to work and then went by himself in the scorching sun to his daily job.
. . .
That night, while Alfred went to his second job, Arthur stayed home alone. He turned on the lamp in his room and read quietly from his book. The silence grew louder and louder. The empty spot next to him became too stuffy and the air unbreathable. Arthur trucked through a hundred pages before he gave up. He set his book on the table and turned off the lamp, alone by moonlight.