A/N: oh, I know, you guys want me to be working on my other stories. Well too bad. I've had this in my head for the longest time and HAD to get it out. This is FrUK btw.
That is mah absolute favorite pairing in the history of forevah~!
Enjoy!
I don't own Hetalia.
. . .
The sky was above him, of course he knew that. Even the most idiotic of people knew that. But he had never known that if one looked at it a certain way at a distance, the sky could appear to be below him as well.
It sounded quite odd, and maybe even crazy. But at this moment in time, standing atop the highest building he could find in the bustling city, peering down, the night sky indeed seemed to sit below his feet.
Although it was only about an hour past midnight, a large number of cars flew by at amazing speeds through the pitch black streets.
Stars. They were the stars of this sky. But only in appearance. Such filthy, disgusting, polluting machines should not be honored with such a name as "star".
The young man standing over the earth-bound lights had decided that a very long time ago. As a matter of fact, the man had decided that much of the world was rotten and godforsaken. A once gorgeous, lush planet, destroyed by what humans call "progress". And maybe it was in some areas. But in others, it was only damming them all.
That's why he wanted escape.
He felt dirty and tainted. For he was only human as well, and thus was as much to blame for the corruption of Earth as mostly anyone else.
And he hated it. He didn't want it. He couldn't stand it! When had he asked for life? Never. Were he given the choice now, he would have said, "no" without a second thought.
But he wasn't given a choice. However, he did have the choice of whether to end his life early or not. And he chose to.
Why else would he be standing up here, toes just peeking over the roof's edge? To admire the scenery? Ha! What a joke! There's nothing to admire here.
Sorrow and depression had long since overwhelmed him, filling his very soul with unbearable agony, but he refused to let tears fall. He always had. All his young life he'd been strong, facing whatever dared come his way head on, without even flinching. He could count all the times he had ever cried on one hand. And he wanted to keep it that way.
The thing was, were you to meet this man, still almost a boy, he would have seemed generally happy. Extremely short tempered, but still happy. He had money, friends, family, and, on the outside, almost no reason to be depressed. Which is why he was positive no one would suspect a thing and come looking for him too early.
They wouldn't be able to find him, even if they did go to look for him. The only thing he left behind was a will. No letter saying he was sorry or giving any clue to where he was. It wasn't like it mattered though. All it would take would be a matter of seconds, and all of his worries would forever be gone.
He didn't know what would become of his soul after he jumped. No one ever did. But whatever it was, it couldn't be much worse than this. Right?
Slowly, he bent at his waist so he was almost parallel to the ground. He gazed down over the city, kind of in a taunting fashion, as if provoking it to swallow him up right then and there. 'You want me, huh? You want to take me. Well trust me, I want that too. Soon. Very soon I'll be yours.'
Suddenly, he heard the muffled sound of angry mumbling. "Ugh, damn television signal. And not an employee anywhere." The door behind him that lead to the roof closes, and a gasp follows. "Mon dieu, non." A familiar French voice whispered in a mix of dread, desperation, and fear.
The man teetering on the edge of life and death groaned. Figures that frog Francis would be staying in this hotel . . . Actually, it figures this would even be a hotel. The man quite literally ignored what the building was. All he cared about was the height. Oh, and the frog just had to come up here, didn't he?
"…Arthur, cher, what are you doing up here?" Francis asked nervously.
The young man, Arthur, sighed and turned to look at the older one behind him. The wind was whipping Francis' golden hair wildly all around, and his light, blue eyes were shinning with unshed tears.
Why was he crying? Francis may have always annoyed him to no end, but he usually seemed to want Arthur to be happy. Well this is what would do that for him. This is truly what he wanted. If Francis really cared about Arthur's feelings, he would let him jump.
Not yet having an answer, Francis repeated the question, "What are you doing?"
Arthur chuckled bitterly, "Honestly frog, what the bloody hell does it look like I'm doing?" "Something you'll regret." "Now Francis," the twisted and even slightly insane grin he wore only grew, but for some reason his eyes softened. They now almost looked dreamy, like he was thinking fondly of something. "How on Earth will I regret it if I'm no longer here?"
The thought of such a thing made Francis go pale and want to throw up all the contents of his stomach. "…What's wrong cher?" his voice was deep with concern, and held a decent sized hint of pain, "You never seemed to be the very happiest of people, but I would have never thought you were depressed. Especially this badly. What happened to bring you this far?" the older blonde motioned to the building's edge where the other was balancing.
Arthur couldn't hold in a sigh. He tilted his head down and back at the man-made sky. If he reallywanted to, he could just fall back and be done with it. With everything.
Francis noticed where Arthur's gaze was, and must have figured out what he was thinking. He began to beg, "No! Don't do this! Arthur, please, let's talk. I'm serious, why are you doing this? . . . Was it Alfred? I know the two of you have your problems."
No. No not at all. Arthur loved his little brother with all his heart. Sure he was a big, fat, disgusting, idiot, who had left him on his own, but he was sweet. No matter what it seemed, Alfred's heart was always in the right place . . . just not always his brain.
Francis continued, "Cher, whatever is wrong, we can work it out. Please, you have so much. You have a great life. People love and need you cher. Don't throw it all away. Don't make those people suffer."
After taking in an abnormally large amount of air, Arthur blew it slowly out through his mouth. Francis just wasn't getting it, was he? This wasn't caused by something. It was caused by everything.
"Nothing's being thrown away that isn't already useless." The whisper was never meant to reach Francis's ears, but, unfortunately, the sound waves traveled so through the still, night air anyway.
Startled, he asked, "What did you say?" "I said it's useless!" Arthur was being pushed over the edge by Francis. Figuratively, of course. Were it physical, Arthur wouldn't have been mad at all. He would have been thanking and praising Francis.
Seriously, why was he still here? What was keeping Arthur from making himself tumble off the sky scraper and finally being happy and at peace? Why was he listening?
"What usle-'' But Arthur cut Francis off from asking the question. That's it, he'd snapped. Francis had shoved him off beyond return. He was already going mad; he really didn't need Francis here angering him. Arthur had planned on being calm on his way to death . . . well as calm as you can be when hurtling from a sixty story building. But Francis was pushing his already tiny temper past it's limit by coming up here in the first place, and now Arthur had to explain it all to him! . . . Great, just fabulous.
"EVERYTHING!" Arthur roared, his hands clenched into tight fists from frustration and anger. Because, as you are quite familiar with already, Arthur has such a short temper. "Everything in this horrid world that god forgot is just so damn fucked up! I don't want to be a part of it anymore! I don't like being responsible for destroying this planet. I'm just fucking done with it!"
Arthur took two steps back so that his heels were dangling over the side of the roof. Francis's body went stiff as the hardest stone and his face, now without the slightest hint of blood in it, became coated in fear and agony over what Arthur was about to do. A barely audible whisper of words slipped past his frozen lips, ". . . Don't. Please."
A kind of sad smile spread across Arthur's lips once again. "Good-bye Francis." And he stepped off into the cool air that felt like ice water as it rushed by him.
Wind whipped his face and hair, sending his locks flying everywhere they could reach with their short length. The loose ends of his gentleman's blouse and coat billowed around him, pressing even closer to his body against the air's force. Arthur felt as his stomach fell a victim to gravity, dropping and turning cold, yet at the same time it took flight as the butterflies in it fluttered higher than they ever had before.
It all felt amazing. It all felt impossible. To be tumbling to the hard, concrete streets so far below, moments away from the light or the darkness of death. That feeling of being free and soon to be relieved of the one thing he hated most. He loved it. But there is a reason people say all things must come to an end; because it is true.
To Arthur's immense dismay, the feeling of falling didn't even last for two seconds. No, not because he hit the ground, if that were the case he wouldn't mind it stopping, but because something had grabbed him and was holding him, suspended in the air, for dear life.
. . .
When Arthur had jumped, Francis, despite losing almost all feeling in his limbs, burst into action. With a horrified cry of, "ARTHUR!" he had sprinted forward on automatic reflex, and managed to thrust his arm down just fast enough to barely grab one of Arthur's hands that the wind had forced up. Never again would Francis curse the wind for making a mess of his hair or clothes, even when he'd just gotten them to look perfect. After this, he wouldn't really mind thanking the wind on a daily basis.
Francis visibly grimaced as he heard the younger slam against the hard brick of the building with a loud, smack! Arthur would diffidently, without a doubt be completely coated in bruises, and maybe even have a few cracked bones, but it'd be a hell of a lot better than if he continued his decent.
Quickly but cautiously, Francis began to pull Arthur up, back to the place where he'd just attempted to end his life.
The second he was dragged a far enough distance from the roof for Francis to feel comfortable, Arthur was pulled into a crushing, backwards embrace so he was still staring at the spot where he had jumped.
The younger man was in absolute shock. What the hell just happened? One moment he was in a state of pure astonishment, falling through the air, soon to have the pains of life taken off his chest. But then, before you could even bat an eye once, all of that stopped. The whole ordeal left him frozen to the spot.
Suddenly, Arthur's hair began to grow slightly wet. '. . . Is it raining?' he thought softly in a confused daze.
But the wetness wasn't rain water, even though it was falling like it was. The water was falling steadily from Francis, who has his face buried in Arthur's hair. He was shaking with sobs, but still held the man in his arms tightly.
"O-oh Anglete-erre!" Francis pathetically cried into the other's head, "O-o-h please. Please don't do that e-ever again. Promise me cher, I'm be-beg-ging you." He took a breath in an attempt to calm himself, but it didn't do much. Francis was still a bawling mess. He had almost lost Arthur! The very thought of a world without the blonde, emerald-eyed man made Francis go mad. He would miss everything. The teasing, the yelling, even the signature eyebrows. He couldn't let any of it ever leave him.
Now beginning to come back to his senses, Arthur began to thrash around harshly. "Let go of me Francis!" he commanded. Said person disobeyed, and instead tightened his arms, ignoring the multiple slaps and punches Arthur managed to deliver to his face and other body parts. "Non. I won't. I can't." Francis was back to sobbing. Damn, he was always so weak. No doubt Arthur would make a joke of him for it later.
"Arthur, amour, you don't understand." At those words, Arthur stopped his fidgeting. Amour? Had Francis really just called him amour?
He'd never done that to him before. Was Francis for real? Did he really feel like that, or was he just trying to get Arthur to stop trying to escape? . . . Or was it because he loved him that he was trying to get him to stop? Was that why he was so desperate to keep Arthur from jumping?
"Francis . . . do you love me? Tell the truth."
The Frenchman turned Arthur's head so he could see his face. He leaned in close. So close that Arthur could feel the heat coming off Francis's face and clearly see the tracks each tear he had shed left.
"Yes Arthur, of course. Ever since we were just petite les enfants(1) I knew you were the one for me. You make me so happy." Whispering the last part, he leaned in even closer, and connected their lips. Arthur gasped against the kiss. He didn't kiss back, but he didn't pull away either, so Francis continued.
Slowly, he moved his arms so that he was no longer hugging Arthur, but holding him gingerly by the shoulders.
God, he had wanted to do this for so long. Francis couldn't even remember the first time he fantasized about doing something like this to his cher peu d'amour(2). It was so long ago. And now it was real! It was truly happening.
Arthur hadn't responded yet though, and that worried Francis. Maybe their feelings weren't the same. But he quickly sent that thought out of his mind when Arthur's mouth began to move in sync with his own. It was a fairly simple kiss, there was no tongue, but it was far more than a peck.
Eventually they had to pull away from each other for air. Both were panting and blushing madly.
"That was . . . sudden." Arthur gasped, trying to regain control of his breathing. Francis nodded, "But did you like it cher?" Then, deciding that there was a more important question that had to be answered, he asked, "Do you feel alright? Do you need anything? Do you still want to . . . ?" He couldn't finish that sentence.
". . . I . . . I'll admit, I wouldn't mind closing my eyes and never opening them. One kiss and a love confession can't change my view on the world."
Francis felt his heart skip a beat, and he tightened his grip on Arthur on reflex to make sure he didn't try to run off. Arthur continued, ". . . But I never planned on hurting anyone. I don't want to cause any more harm than I have to." He laughed lightly . . . he laughed . . . was that a sign that he was healing already or going insane?
"And any idiot can see that if I do . . . that, you'll be hurt beyond repair." He put one of his hands on Francis's tear-stained cheek and slowly started to stroke it. "I refuse to do that." Finally, he went to rest his head on the older one's chest. It was comforting. For both of them.
Lovingly, Francis pet Arthur's hair. "Thank you amour. You have no idea how much that means to me. And we'll work on your views of the world. I'll get you to see that there are good things in life." "You've already made me see one."
Wow, Arthur could not be acting more out of character. But Francis wasn't complaining.
For a while, they just sat there, thinking about what the future would bring them. Arthur's mental recovery would be slow, if it even ever started (which hopefully it would). But Francis would be there to help him. They would make it work. Hopefully, in time, Arthur would learn to like life and live happily, maybe even with Francis.
Before long, the sun came into a clearer view, and the two decided they should get off the roof. They walked away, still in the embrace.
END.
A/N: but then Arthur tripped and ended up falling off anyway because of the horrible ending and how ooc he was.
I'm sorry, I did not like that ending, at all. While I was writing it I could just hear the sappy music playing. I just can't write major fluff (can this be called that?). if you liked it, good for you! *thumbs up*
FOOTNOTES: (1): translation, little children (2)dear little love
I LOVED the beginning though.
Crappy sequel anyone?
Review? ^_^