Helllllllllooooooooooooooooo o all! Thank you for opening up the link to this story!
Regretfully, I will not be continuing this story until I am done with the three other continuous stories that I am currently writing. If you're wondering why I posted the opening bit to this story, I just want to say this: I am hoping to get a lot of followers with this story, so I figured I'd give it a head start so that more people can follow it as the story gets longer and longer! So tell your friends, tell your enemies, and get everybody you know to follow this story! If I may say so myself, it's going to be a good one.
Disclaimer: While I may own the plot, I do not own the characters of Hetalia. If I did, I'd totally show up Funimation and make everything USUK…they're a lot of nutters for shipping FrUK.
Plot: This story is actually based off of a story (very nearly verbatim) that I wrote previously and then tweaked so as to fit in the Hetalia characters because I figured that the Hetalia characters were a good lot to tweak a story to fit, hehe.
'Damn that Francis,' Arthur Kirkland thought blearily as he stumbled drunkenly up the steps. 'I always thought that he and I would be together…' The thoughts from earlier that evening made him sob again, causing him to nearly drop the bottle of brandy that he clung so desperately to and that had accompanied him ever since he saw the Frenchman entwining his arms and legs with those of the Canadian Matthew Williams.
Arthur brought the bottle up to his lips and let the last drops of brandy scorch his throat. He had hoped that by his second bottle, he would be drunk enough to forget about the fiasco and that the alcohol would burn enough to make him realize that there were more painful things in the world than being scorned in love; alas, not even this third bottle of brandy was doing either of these. His foot caught on the stairwell, and he collapsed, sobbing and scrabbling for the handrail. He lay there for a moment, the tears seeping from his eyes and the now shattered bottle spanning several steps in glittering crystal fragments. He picked himself up and hobbled up the remaining few steps, unlocking the door to the roof.
The cold night air quickly dried the tear tracks into lines of salt trailing down his cheeks as he forced himself to the edge of the roof. Foot catching on the uneven surface, he tripped again for the umpteenth time that night and slammed chest-first into the retaining wall. The city lights from below were glaring through his tear-hazed eyes, and he shut them, blocking out the painful glow.
As he lifted his foot to climb onto the retaining wall, he paused, a single thought working its way through his drunken stupor. His research…all his life, he had been scorned for his fantastical ideas of superhumans that roamed the Earth, living just out of the corner of the eyes…and then two years ago, he had received a grant with several others of his fellow scientists to research the possibility that there were indeed superhumans. Francis Bonnefoy, Matthew Williams, Kiku Honda, and Feliciano Vargas were the four other men whom he conducted his research with. Receiving the grant was a victory for Arthur, the possibility of redeeming himself to the people who had scorned him his entire life as well as the chance to prove that he wasn't crazy. And yet the events of this evening had brought reality crashing down upon him. He was once again the boy left alone on the playground, except this playground was now a battlefield: the battlefield of love. Francis may not have known that Arthur was in love with him, but he had certainly flirted with Arthur to such an extent that Arthur had believed that the feelings were mutual. The alcohol amplified this feeling until it ate away at Arthur's being, starting with his extremities and finishing with his heart, leaving him feeling empty and bitter.
With these thoughts in mind, Arthur finished bringing his first foot up onto the wall, pulling the rest of him along behind. The wind nearly knocked him off balance before he was able to stand up properly. Finally, he was standing, forty stories in the air on the top of an old abandoned office building at the edge of the city, illuminated by the nighttime lights and yet deserted so that he knew his body would not be found even that morning, or possibly even the next morning. No, he wanted Francis to first wonder where he was, and then, only after a few days, then he wanted Francis to feel remorse for leading him on and for abandoning him.
With these thoughts in his mind, Arthur threw his arm up in front of his face and plummeted downwards through the sky.
