Hey there, yep, first published Hetalia fic.
Be gentle please.
I'm thinking about making this a series, if so, then the next chapter will most likely be France and Canada. And if I were to go on from there, then I'd probably just stay in the FACE family, since I love them much.
Who know what I'm actually going to do though... I'm really indecisive...
Arthur looked down at the bundle in his arms and smiled lightly to himself. So what if he looked soft? So what if he was doing something so out of place at the time, people would look at him and run away in fright? He liked it.
The child in his arms stuck his fingers in his mouth sleepily, his eyes drooping the slightest bit. Arthur would normally scold him, and yank his hand away from his mouth, but, at the time; did it really matter? It wouldn't accomplish anything, it would only make the small child scream in protest, and he knew that. So for now, he would just stare down at him dreamily, wondering how this child could be this perfect.
Perfect. He hated to use the word, but what other word could he use to describe him? He really was perfect, the way his middle and ring finger were absentmindedly sucked on as his giant, blue eyes drooped lower. The way his breathing had that little crack in it. The only thing he wouldn't mind getting rid of was the crying, or the loudness of his actual voice. Why did he have to yell everything at him? "Alfred, I'm right here. Indoor voice." He'd tell him, but no. The child insisted on screaming his answers to whoever was asking. Good lord, Arthur thought, What am I going to do with him?
Though no actual solution was ever executed.
Arthur picked Alfred up from his lying down position in his arms, and laid his head on his shoulder. Arthur's hand instinctively cupped Alfred's head, while his other snaked around his bottom to hold him steady. The child made no protest, or awoke from his sleep; he merely adjusted his legs for Arthur, and continued to heavily breath in his ear. It was music to Arthur's ears, the quiet breathing in his ear, the soft creak of the house when the wind blew. All of it, it was bliss.
The sudden whistle and hiss of his tea pot went off in the kitchen, Arthur jumped. He had completely forgot about his tea! Without thinking, he robotically got up from the chair, and walked toward the kitchen. He knew his movements wouldn't wake Alfred, if anything they would sooth him into a deeper sleep. Alfred always loved to try to catch the steam from the pot, or try to blow it back. And Arthur would always give him a minute to have his fun, before taking off the hot burner, and letting the whistling die down.
"Why does it whistle, Mr. Britain?" Alfred asked one day, looking up and Arthur with his giant blue eyes.
"So when I'm in another room, I know when it's done," was his answer, at the moment he was too busy to focus on the boy down by his legs. Trying to prepare himself and the boy dinner.
"But why does it whistle? Why doesn't it just say 'I'm done'?" As Arthur walked about the kitchen, Alfred followed, always being right under the elders feet. Almost getting stepped on multiple times. Arthur remained calm.
"Because it's an inanimate object, such things do not speak." Arthur may have sounded dry, and short with Alfred, but this was just his mood at that point. He hadn't had any tea earlier that day, and dinner wasn't going as planned as it was. He was already ten minutes behind.
"Oh," Was his reply, a small, meek sound which came from Alfred as he sat down at the table, looking at the floor.
Arthur caught a glimpse of Alfred out of the corner of his eye, and frowned. He hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, or make him down. He sighed, and an idea popped into his mind. He drained the tea pot of most of its contents, and made them their tea. He set the two tea cups on the table, and held the pot behind his back.
"Alfred," Arthur said, crouching to his level. Alfred looked up at him, his eyelids drooping just the smallest bit.
Arthur held out the tea pot, and held his thumb on the lever which opened the spout. He began to move it as if it were a mouth, and tried to keep it in time with his voice. "Alfred, don't be sad, that old git is just cranky," he said, through a higher pitch in his voice, trying to keep his mouth mostly shut.
Alfred's eyes lit up, and a giant smile swiped across his face. He chuckled a little, and got down from his chair. He lightly pushed Arthur's arm out of the way, and wrapped his arms around his neck.
"Thank you Mr. Britain."
Arthur smiled at his memory, and reached up into his cupboard for his tea cups. He took in his hand a white one, with a pattern of blue vine-y flowers swirling their way up the glass. Alfred slightly jerked in his sleep, and startled Arthur, who let the cup and saucer in his hands slip. The cup and saucer came down with a loud shattering sound, which made Arthur cringe.
Alfred awoke suddenly, his pulse thumping throughout his body. He began to cry, for the feeling of being startled in such a way, though not unfamiliar, didn't settle right with him. What had made that crashing sound? Was someone trying to harm both him and 'Mr. Britain'?
Arthur began to bounce Alfred, cupping his head once again, and tugging his body closer to his own. With a panicked expression, he tried shushing the now wailing child. Though he knew he wouldn't stop anytime soon, it was still worth a shot. He bounced him, and bounced him, and shushed him, and held him. What else was there really to do? Scold him? Not now. Not while he was crying. He wouldn't hear him anyway.
After what seemed like half an hour, Alfred began to let up, his wails and sobs became sniffles, and a few tears rolling down his hot, red cheeks. His small fists attached to Arthur's shirt, and one in his hair, though pulling roughly, Arthur remained calm. Alfred began to hiccup, usually, after a crying fit, he would contract the hiccups. Sometimes they would last for a few minutes, once they lasted a whole night. He knew how to get rid of them, and when he normally triesd, and failsd, Arthur just reminds him "Hiccups leave when they want to."
"There, are we done?" Arthur asked, rubbing circles into Alfred's back. Swaying back and forth slightly. He received a few more sniffs, then a very small nod. "Alright, good." Arthur went towards Alfred's chair at the table, and tried to sit him down. Though Alfred didn't want to be left alone in this big chair, or put down out of Arthur's grasp, he complied. Arthur went back to the tea, and noticed it was still fairly hot. Good, he thought, I won't have to make more. He reached for the cups once again, and set them down gingerly on the counter. He also retrieved the tea bags, and placed them in the cups. As he poured the hot water into the cups, he heard rustling from across the room. Before he knew it, something was on his leg, encasing it. He looked down, and sure enough it was Alfred holding onto his leg.
Arthur scrambled to pick him up, still aware of the glass all over the floor. "Yes yes, what do you need?" He asked flustered, trying to shove some of the glass aside, and checking Alfred's feet for any cuts.
Alfred gave no reply, but laid his head on arthur's shoulder, not intending to ask for anything, or talk at all. Which somewhat took Arthur aback. It was just one of those days. One of those rare days where Alfred really wasn't his loud, energetic self. Had he slept alright the night before? Was he afraid of something he just couldn't muster up the courage to say? Maybe he was becoming ill...
"Are you feeling alright?" Arthur asked, holding the back of his hand to Alfred's forehead. He seemed to be at a normal temperature. As he readied to get plates out of the other cupboards, he continued; "What's bothering you? ... Is it just the crash?" He received a small nod. "It was just a cup, nothing to worry about."
"It was really loud..." Alfred whispered, somewhat unsure of what he was saying.
Arthur snorted, and laughed lightly. "You're one to talk, America!" He continued to laugh his hearty laugh as he took down the plates, and set them on the table. He sat Alfred back down in chair, and went to retrieve the broom and dustpan.
Alfred watched him as he did the things he did. He himself wasn't aware of his abnormal volume. He just thought everyone else was quiet. "Am I really that loud, Mr. Britain?" He asked in a hushed tone, wrapping his foot around one of the chairs legs. Arthur was sweeping the glass, not paying the small boy much attention.
"You can be," he sighed, hoisting himself back up and dumping the broken glass into the trash. It clattered with itself and the sides of the trash can. He re-turned his attention back to Alfred, who was looking sad and meek. "But that's what sets you apart from everyone else. So, it's something to be proud of... You git." Arthur rolled his eyes as he walked toward Alfred. He crouched to his level, and smiled up at him.
Alfred swung his arms around Arthur's neck, and smiled. No matter what, he concluded, Arthur could make him smile.