I Crave You
"Why?"
She would ask herself this simple yet complicated one-worded question and would come up with no solid answer.
Why does he look away when she looks at him?
Why does he not take the slightest notice in her?
Why does he not acknowledge her existence?
Why?
Why can't you want me like the other boys do?
They stare at me while I stare at you
Why can't I keep you safe as my own?
One moment I have you the next you are gone
Rehearsed steps on an empty stage
That boy's got my heart in a silver cage
Why can't you want me like the other boys do?
They stare at me while I crave you
"Oh, my dear beautiful darling Celeste! Will you accept my offer to take you out to an exquisite restaurant tonight? You, mon amour, will be my special guest of the evening," France brought her hand up to his lips before handing her a bouquet of roses tied with a luxurious gold satin ribbon. These weren't ordinary roses; these were high quality, fresh with a deep rich crimson color, and had petals dotted with white Swarovski crystals (courtesy of Austria) to imitate the natural glimmer of morning dew.
Any normal girl would dream of a moment like this. Any normal girl would be so ecstatic they cried from experiencing too much happiness in a short span of time.
"France, these are gorgeous..." she began, a smile forming over her previously blank expression. "You are very sweet."
Much to his growing contentment, France's thoughtful proposition seemed to be paying off and he was anticipating her lovely voice to respond with that desired answer: "Yes."
Or something similar.
Her smile never faltered. That sweet, sweet alluring smile that made even the perverted and liberal France's heart jump into his throat and stay there as long as he gazed upon that wonder.
Time appeared to slow down as France watched the delicate and expensive bouquet tied with a gold satin ribbon of crimson red roses covered in white crystals plummet to the ground with a horrifying but imaginary shatter, as if the ground were being rained upon by thousands of broken shards of glass and crystal. In reality, the sound of the bouquet falling was nothing more than a rustle of petals and leaves and a flutter of ribbons. She turned around, without saying a single words or muttering a single sound, and walked away. Her smile remained there unseen by France as he fell to his knees, his gaze fixed on the now flawed pile of a mess in front of him.
However, he looked up into the blue sky above him, above the trees, uncaring of those around him who looked upon him with sadness and pity, and he too smiled.
Canada was sitting in the corner of the library, reading a few books like always. He was so absorbed by the pages that nothing could bring him back from his world of literature and words (Not that anyone would consider trying in the first place). His attention was directed through his eyeglasses, while others paid no attention to the quiet boy in the corner of the library, reading his books.
Sometimes an insignificant tear would form in the corner of his eye, not from reading about death or misfortune, but from being unnoticed and overlooked and sometimes, you know, lonely.
A pair of hands would tenderly come to rest on both of his shoulders, and he would jump somewhat at the unexpected physical contact. But he knew who it was, because there could only be one person.
"Hello, Celeste."
She pulled out a chair from the table and took a seat next to him. Her juxtaposition triggered a spontaneous series of a mix between an anxiety attack and a desire to pass out and a need to have her focus on him. This intimate moment between the shy boy and the divine girl suddenly drew all attention on the both of them. Canada just didn't feel ready for this pressure of awareness.
She stroked the side of the page of the book he was currently reading from, scanning over the words with little interest, because obviously it was another fictional romance novel.
And what could be more tragic than reading Romeo and Juliet? She already knew the ending, but telling Canada would only ruin it.
He would never be her Romeo. And she would never be his Juliet.
He was hoping for something that will never happen in a lifetime, because it would just become another fictional romance novel and a tragic ending. The only difference would be the title of the book.
Another tear would indiscernibly form in the corner of his other eye, because he unconsciously knew she did not sincerely care about him with the bottom of her heart. He felt that heavy aura. It was impossible.
Canada and Celeste.
I walked into the room dripping in gold
Yeah dripping in gold
I walked into the room dripping in gold
Dripping in gold
A wave of heads did turn, or so I've been told
Or so I've been told
My heart broke when I saw you kept your gaze controlled
Oh I cannot solve
"Italy is giving me a headache again."
Her gaze on him kept firm as he ranted about his subordinate's rather comprising traits. Germany knew very well that she was there to listen and not to hand him sympathy on a silver platter. He enjoyed her quiet and submissive company to his tirade.
Submissive wouldn't be a good enough word though.
He decided that that was enough for the day; her ears were probably numb from his constant jabbering and criticisms. Then he began to feel self-conscious, as if the whole thing was just a joke he played on himself. Then the burning question came upon him in a swift stab sharper than the blade of a double edge.
"Have you ever felt... sentimental about someone, Celeste?"
He was unsettled by the lack of a spoken answer. He was one to demand immediate feedback, but he couldn't bring himself to force her. Was it because of the hazy boundary between his affection for the clumsy Italian and his unwarranted feelings for... her? Never had he felt such uncertainty due in his part.
She propped her elbows onto the table and stared vacantly into Germany's blue eyes, noticing their captivatingly mysterious hue. They were lighter than the sea, yet darker than the sky, where the distance disappears into the horizon. Beyond that horizon, that distance, she would see a familiar shade that would decline her inspection.
She was dragged away from the shade. The waves of the sea washed her away, drowning her corpse into a foam of teal, ultramarine, and violet. The winds of the sky swept her away, tearing her limbs apart at each joint, one at a time until her scarlet blood drizzled dry into the empty space of thin air. The torture. The torture.
Oh, the torture.
He thought himself a fool. That smile... was of an unquenchable thirst not of the tongue. Her hungry mind was rooted in the ugly permanence of masochism.
"What a beautiful sentiment."
Her rapid breathing was arousing. It was stimulating. It was intoxicating.
He kissed along the smooth contour of her jaw before arriving over her moist lips, where he used his tongue to gain access into her depths. He positioned himself steady before entering her, getting sucked into her heated warmth. He thrust his hips against hers in a tantalizing rhythm. Sweat dripped from the silvery tips of hair as he continued his escapade, striving to attain the highest level of worldly bliss.
"Faster, Prussia. Faster, please."
He was climbing her marble stairs into a place unknown to the immature, into a place where humanity craves to stay but cannot. Where the steps stopped, he would ultimately reach his peak and touch that place for but a brief second. He released himself into her, calling out her name without any true purpose but to show his success of achieving temporary and complete satisfaction.
"Celeste!"
It was awesome sex.
She awoke feeling the atmosphere of departure. The lingering odor of alcohol on his breath reminded her of the night before, in their passionate and reckless session of lovemaking. When she touched him, it didn't send shivers up her back. It was just another body embracing her own. But she knew better than to mistake it for a dead man's body. She felt warm flesh, she felt the rising and deflating of his chest, his breathing, she felt the jugular within his chest pumping the essence of life beneath his skin. Everything about him was moving, even in the idle paradoxical state of sleep.
He was alive.
It was honestly only for limerent love's departure, to sate her ravenous corporal lust.
Prussia awoke feeling the atmosphere of departure. She was gone.
His fulfillment was for naught, because though she left him her body, he never touched her soul. Not even close.
She was gone.
Why can't you want me like the other boys do?
They stare at me while I stare at you
Why can't I keep you safe as my own?
One moment I have you the next you are gone
Rehearsed steps on an empty stage
That boy's got my heart in a silver cage
Why can't you want me like the other boys do?
They stare at me while I crave you
All was silent once she opened her mouth and breathed the stale air like a seraph. How could her singing be of such a phenomenal quality? Even his brother Italy knew that a thousand operas cannot come to rival her angelic voice, her inherent power on the stage solo.
Regardless of a stage. That didn't matter.
Hearing her melody but a mere four centimeters away from his left ear was indescribable. Each word had its own unique meaning, own unique emotion. He couldn't stand listening to her mesmeric voice anymore. He felt sickened by the melancholy laced between the lyrics of her song.
To anyone, her song possessed the simplicity of longing.
He didn't turn around to look at her. He couldn't. Her silky fingers traced down his cheeks as she hummed that same tune. That same, miserable tune.
"Why can't you want me like the other boys do? They stare at me while I stare at you..." She wasn't asking him.
"Why can't I keep you safe as my own? One moment I have you the next you are gone..." He would never, ever think of leaving her. Who in this damned world would have a shitty-assed mind crazy enough to leave her?
"Rehearsed steps on an empty stage. That boy's got my heart in a silver cage..." It would be cliché if he said his pulse skipped a few beats. He wasn't going to turn around. He wasn't going to sense the feeling of her smooth touch. He wasn't going to listen to her God-forsaken song!
"Why can't you want me like the other boys do?" It was her fault. All her fault.
"They stare at me while I..." Don't say those last two words. Don't.
"Crave you."
Christ above.
She called his name after a moment of silence. "Romano."
"C-Celeste?" Why did he stutter?
She gave him a peck on the left cheek, and he turned around. This whole time, he wanted, no, needed to see her when he turned around. As fate had its flight of fancy, he was too late. And he would regret ever listening to that refrain, because it would echo, and echo, and echo.
For an eternity. He would die, hearing her words. Those words.
"Why can't you want me like the other boys do? They stare at me while I"
"Crave you."
It's true I crave you
Crave You
It's true I crave you
Let's just stop and think, before I lose face
Surely I can't fall, into a game of chase
Around his little finger, that boy has got me curled
I try to reach out, but he's in his own world
This boy's got my head tied in knots with all his games
I simply want him more because he looks the other way
"Ice." She couldn't hold the tears after so long, painfully holding them. "... why?"
Iceland looked up at the ceiling as the simple yet complicated one-worded question finally came. She sobbed in his arms, gripping onto his shirt with the fear of half-death, mainly rejection.
His eyes squinted at the glare of bright lights installed into the ceiling. It was blinding. It burned into his corneas, constricted his irises. It hurt to look up. He didn't want to look down.
"I don't know. I'm sorry, Celeste."
He sounded childish. At the same time, he sounded mature. She couldn't let go. "I don't understand, why?"
"Why?" Neither knew if one or the other had said it first. Her thoughts decayed with each passing second.
He was left to pick up the remaining broken pieces that he never intended on touching a second time.
He was left with her precious tears staining the white of his shirt.
She was crying.
For his brother.
"Let go of me." She was cornered, her back against the corroded slab of concrete wall. There was nowhere to run. There was no reason to scream. There was no one to hear her anyway.
"Tell me, Celeste." His breath was right on her neck. His grasp on both of her wrists tightened as he pressed his body closer to hers, her back feeling the pressure of the cold wall.
Was he trying to take advantage of her? Perhaps.
"What do you see in him? I would like to know."
She shifted her gaze to the side, her apathy washing over her features as she replied, "I see nothing in him."
He was on the verge of hitting her across the face, but he saw that it was pointless.
"Liar," he seethed, clenching his teeth in acrid resentment, "I don't get why you would do this to me."
"I don't get why you would do this to yourself!"
She snapped her eyes shut in denial. He could see right through her to the very end. No matter how hard she tried, she could materialize no worded explanation.
"You don't truly love him." She wanted to cover her ears.
"Yes I do."
"You are just selfish. Egotistical and selfish. You know he doesn't love you, and yet look at you. Wasting your time."
"Don't."
"All of us have to suffer because of you. You had your choice, but instead you picked the only who doesn't fucking love you and kept on chasing him even though you knew!"
"Denmark. Stop it."
"You are a selfish idiot. It's time you wake up and face the music. Get it through you head. Norway doesn't love you, Celeste!"
The way he said her name. The way he said his name. Her composure ruptured. The weight of the Earth came crashing down upon her trivial existence in an infinite wave. The music was deafening. Her heart spilled onto the ground below in a gory wreck. She screamed bloody murder as far as her vocal chords could stand.
"Shut up! Just shut up! I won't take your shit anymore! I don't care if. He. Doesn't. Love. Me! You will never have me either! So just stop this vicious cycle! Stop! I don't care if you have to make yourself hate me! Make the rest of the world hate me!"
"I can't do that, Celeste. Everyone loves you. I love you."
Why was Fate so cruel, ironic, mocking her in amusement?
She laughed hysterically. Her head was spinning, in circles. Round and round and round...
Why can't you want me like the other boys do?
They stare at me while I stare at you
Why can't I keep you safe as my own?
One moment I have you the next you are gone
Rehearsed steps on an empty stage
That boy's got my heart in a silver cage
Why can't you want me like the other boys do?
They stare at me while I crave you
His beautiful, dull sapphire eyes. Her heart ached and ached, bled and bled. And she just stared longingly at him, for so long. She faded, ever so slowly. Nothing could wake her from this living nightmare.
He was unattainable. Untouchable.
Nothing could faze her, not even death itself.
She decided to right him a letter. Composed of a meager seven words which is not of length, but it was a letter truly of undying reflection for its recipient.
Dear Norway,
I am craving you
Why?
Or so she thought. She would never know. And she would be glad never to have known what he thought as he read it.
It would have killed her more so than by her own twisted inventions.
She saw him walking away in the distance but didn't pursue him.
She knew and couldn't help but smile.
"Crave You" by Flight Facilities
In a way, this short story shows somewhat of a messy yet straightforward love triangle.
The song was the complete inspiration for this piece, and tried to capture the essence of its message.
Sometimes, the one you can't reach might end up becoming the one you desire most. And you might not know why.
And that uncertainty, that insecure and perilous love becomes both a sensual experience and a road of suffering.
I might change it up sometime in the future, because I kind of got a bit... lazy :P
Cheers and thanks for reading.
sylizen