Hi. Completely unrelated to anything else, I give you soul-bonding tropes set in AU Hetalia (all are human). Imagine that (insert science/religion/unexplained plot device) has given humans the ability to go one step better than marriage- soul bonding. It has replaced marriage as the highest, purest expression of deep, abiding love- marriage is now considered more like the bond between adulteror and mistress. However, there is no one predestined 'soulmate'- you still have to find someone and fall in love with them.
Yeah, so I didn't go so in depth with this world as I wanted to. But I like the piece as it is now. Features established FrUK, mentions others, curses occasionally and maybe has traces of my deep, abiding sarcasm for the idea of a one true love for every person (ironically, I love stories where character A finds their soulmate in character B and they fight evil and triumph together over every hardship and live happily ever after. As a fiction trope, it's great. In real life... aeyeesh.)
Disclaimer- heh, I wish. Short oneshot is short, but it features poetry! (which I equally disclaim, and pretend I am not-so-secretly a fan of.) Assume, going into this, that Francis has just proposed the idea of soul-bonding to Arthur. The writing starts probably half-way into his reaction.
Enjoi.
"Loving someone- it shouldn't be something you need, something that makes you whole again." Scorn dripped from every word he said. "You aren't my other half; you don't complete me; I would sooner say you're a better man than my better part, and even that would have to be dragged out of me!"
Francis was watching him with very wide eyes. It was impossible to tell what he thought of Arthur's impassioned speech. The Englishman continued, regardless.
"You can keep your French fancies of soul mates and eternal bonding- I would rather a thousand years spent in Hell than a mere lifetime effectively tethered to someone in complete and idiotic adoration." His look dared the Frenchman to challenge him on this. "I love you, you bloody prat." He took a deep breath and elaborated on what might be the most important words of his life. "I love you enough that I would never want those ropes binding us; my feelings are such that although I'd still have the option to walk away at any time, I never would." His voice hardened. "And if you can't see that for the gesture it is, then fuck you. Like I said, I don't need you to complete me, you don't make me want to be a better person and if it isn't enough that I choose to be with you rather than being trapped with you then I'll drink myself stupid over you, then I will forget about you." His breath was coming in short gasps as he forwent breathing to get the words out. "Because that is the way I choose to love- you make my life infinitely better for being in it, but never presume that you will ever become that life."
Blue eyes, set in a carefully blank face, appraised every part of his expression, judging its sincerity. For lack of anything witty to say, Francis laughed a little to dispel the heavy atmosphere. It turned out to be the wrong action, for Arthur visibly gathered himself and made to storm from the room in a fit of temper before Francis caught his wrist to prevent such an event. "For someone who so disregards romantic notions, you have quite the way with poetic speeches." Arthur bristled and tried to tug his wrist away; Francis strengthened his grip. "So we have a difference of ideology; it should not be insurmountable." His throat was dry. Francis coughed to clear it. "Arthur- I was willing to trust you with every part of me- with my very soul. Compared to that, what is trusting that you love me as ardently as you proclaim?"
Arthur's jaw had gone slack; his face was the definition of gobsmacked. "You would..." he broke off, stuttered, and tried again. "You would forgo a soul-bonding for me?" Hope, bright and almost painful to see, bloomed in his eyes. "Despite the abnormality of such a choice in this current climate?"
"You sound so unsure," Francis teased him lightly. "Where is the passion I heard only minutes ago?" Something clicked in his head then- he realised exactly why the speech was so impassioned. "I am not the first person you've said this speech to."
Arthur shook his head, but there was no trace of shame in his expression. He did not regret loving the way he did, fiercely, unfettered and utterly by choice.
"Might I know who else has heard it?" Francis asked like he had no real stake in the matter, but curiosity was burning at him. Had they been as receptive as he to the matter, only for Arthur to walk away later?
For seconds he thought the Englishman would not answer, then with a sigh and a head shake, Arthur muttered the list, short as it was. "Elizabeth. She scorned me but hasn't bonded herself, the hypocrite. Victoria- she found true love and bonded with a German pillock, Albert." Francis didn't know either name; he presumed he'd never met the women. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, glanced to the side as though wishing to be anywhere else, and finally muttered the last name. "Alfred."
Francis blinked slowly. "Our Alfred?"
"Do you know any other Alfreds?" Arthur asked, biting at the words. "He- we fought bitterly over it. He refused to believe I truly loved him because I wouldn't give him everything. Wouldn't give him my soul." He met gazes again; steadfast in his belief despite how it cost him. "It is my soul, and nobody else's to possess. I would give you my regard and my time- give you my heart and everything it might symbolically represent. But I don't want your soul, and I won't give you mine."
"Arthur." Francis's voice was low and measured. "Arthur, I love you, and as such I'd never ask for it."
It was the first time he'd told the Englishman as such, and he saw the impact it had on the shorter man. Every muscle relaxed, the tension drained from his shoulders and his eyes lost some of the shadows of the past.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but Francis suddenly knew what he could say to break it. "I could not love thee, Dear, so much, loved I not honour more." He had a ghost of a grin on his face. They often swapped quotes in a game of wits.
Arthur matched him as always, smiling himself. "And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare."
