The 4th of July. He sighed remorsefully. He hated that day. He felt a migraine coming to him already, and he plopped back onto the bed, bringing the sheets up to cover his face, groaning. Today wouldn't get any better. He just knew it.
He slipped a hand under his pillow, carefully bringing out a faded old photo. He smiled melancholically, reaching a feverish hand to brush against the people the scene depicted. They were smiling happily, forever frozen in a time when things had been perfect.
Just what had gone wrong?
xxx
"What's this?"
"Another country, idiot," he snapped. "It's small,"
The two had fought over the child, as they had near everything else. And he knew he lost when France tempted the child with food. He frowned, fists childishly clenching as he willed himself not to cry over his apparent defeat. He hated losing to France. The other always boasted, and paraded it around like the finest of crowns.
He was surprised when a small tug on his sleeve startled him out of his thoughts. He looked down to find the child, staring up at him with trusting eyes and a wide smile.
"..Don't cry…"
xxx
He had been a cute child, Arthur thought, fondly, as he stared out of the window. He rolled his eyes as footsteps approached his room, and Francis barged in, unwelcome. Was the man here to laugh at him? For being so pathetic and unable to let go?
He ignored the fact that the picture was quickly back under his pillow, opting instead to stare up at Francis with slightly hazy eyes.
"What?" he snapped.
xxx
"Alfred? Alfred, are you okay?" he rushed over to the boy worried, reaching a hand out. Only Alfred would ever cause him to feel so protective, so paranoid…
He was startled when the boy brushed his hand away, standing on his own. Without any need for him. Since when had Alfred grown so much? He was taller than him already. Since when had those small hands that fit snugly into his changed?
Had he always seemed that big, Arthur wondered, as he watched the other walk away. Had those shoulders, always beside or behind him, always been so broad? And he watched as Alfred walked away from him, and all he could see was his back which faded into the shadows.
xxx
He didn't know why this happened every year, on the day Alfred declared independence. Was he still in shock, disbelieving, hurting? Even after so many years? Every time the door opened, every small creak it made on this day… He would crack open his eye no matter how tired, hoping, anticipating. But the one he was looking for never showed.
He was impassive as Francis left, eyes closed and panting harshly. Alfred… wasn't going to come, was he? A hand caressed the crumpled memory, the other reaching out to grasp hold of something he could never get. And he smiled brokenly.
"I can't reach him anymore…"
