So... here's a little something I finished months ago and never had the desire to put up. But then I saw this floating around the folder containing the chapters for my on-going story Proof of Existence, and suddenly here I am, posting this. I don't even know.
The inspiration came from a song called England from The National (one guess as to who this song reminded me of), and all the quotes that you see in this fic come directly from that song. You should all go and check it out.
That said... I really have no idea what happened to this plot (which is virtually non-existent). I was planning for an angsty Arthur drabble and instead got romance-y revolutionary fic. Still has bunches of angst though, so at least there's that.
I never - I repeat NEVER - write stuff like this. So it may be a little... off. Please tell me what you think. It'd be much appreciated.
Warning: usuk (it can be ignored though if you want to see it in a more fraternal/paternal way).
Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia or the song England.
"Someone send a runner through the weather that I'm under for the feeling that I lost today."
It hurt. It hurt oh so much. It hurt right down to the very center of his core. It was a hurt that would never ever go away. A hurt born in wind and rain and mud. A hurt embodied by betrayal and freedom. Revived in smiles and in sparkling, azure eyes.
It was unbearable.
But he endured.
He would never tell anyone. Never. Not how he hurt. Not how he lost. He had lost it all. Everything he had ever cared about, torn away by the wind and rain and mud. By the betrayal and by the freedom.
Smiling and sparkling and walking away.
A feeling he had once lived for, but was now leaving. Heading towards a brighter, more liberated future.
Gone. Without even taking a look back.
And lost. Somewhere he could never ever follow.
The feeling was lost long ago.
"You must be somewhere in London, you must be loving your life in the rain."
It rained. It rained and poured and it never stopped. From the foundations of the city to the crests of the clouds the rain never stopped.
It felt like his soul was crying.
It felt like he was crying.
A rain that was born from the depths of his feelings.
They said it was the weather, the climate, the location. He wanted to scream and yell and cry "It's ME" and have someone, anyone, return to him that lost feeling, but he stubbornly refused to speak up, conveying his pain instead in glares and frowns.
And it rained.
"It's ME" he wanted to gasp and sob and weep. "This is me breaking. Please… please put me back together."
And it rained and poured and the tears, the tears never stopped.
The rain had always been his tears.
"I don't even think to make… I don't even think to make corrections."
Days and years and centuries passed. He endured. He endured so well that it was almost as if he had never broken in the first place. Almost as if he wasn't still broken. Almost as if he wasn't still searching for pieces of himself that had been scattered by the wind and rain and mud and lost among the smiles and the sparkling, betraying, azure eyes.
He never allowed himself to think about it. He hid away those lost feelings under lock and key somewhere deep inside next to the center of his core.
And still, faster than he could piece himself back together, he continued to break, hoping with a desperate hope that the fractures and faults weren't visible to the rest of the world.
But how he wished they could be seen.
How he wished they could be fixed.
And yet he could never fix it. He could never make corrections. Not by himself. He just continued to hide, continued to smirk and laugh and patronize while burying himself further and further away from the light.
He didn't even think to make himself a way out, a path he could one day follow to the lost light. He merely blocked out the dwindling rays with lies and falsehoods and eventually he too convinced himself that he had stopped breaking.
But in a moment of weakness, he let one, single, remaining stubborn ray of light continue to shine through. Oh, he pretended to bury it, to leave it behind like it had left him. But still it remained. A reminder. A memory.
He wouldn't let himself think of it as a final, desperate grasp of hope.
"Put an ocean and a river between everybody else, between everything, yourself, and home."
He was alone. So very alone. He was separated and divided from everyone, a land floating by itself in a cold and violent storm of disconnection. Almost as if all those rain drops and tears and broken pieces had washed away, far away, and encircled him with a shivering and impenetrable wall of loneliness.
He no longer cried though, all the tears having been shed long, long ago. He was dry. And he didn't think he could break any more. The pieces were so small now; they were no more than dust.
He would never be put back together, but neither could he ever shatter. Not again.
At least that's what he told himself.
The rain, however, continued to come down in torrents, only increasing that barrier between himself and the others. The barrier of an ocean and a river and many other forgotten memories.
A barrier that he himself would not let fade. For if it were to disappear he would be weak, vulnerable, open.
He would have to face those lost feelings.
And so he was alone. Forsaken centuries ago by what seemed like everything. By those sparkling, betraying, azure eyes. Eyes that now surveyed the world from a pedestal so high up that even the clouds couldn't reach it.
What chance did he have, then, of reaching those blue windows of freedom when he was so far below and the damned clouds continued to block his view.
No, instead he thrived among the ocean, river, and land, beneath the clouds that floated so high up, and tried not to think of the living, breathing part of the world that had left him behind.
But he had never truly forgotten.
And those lost feelings continued to stubbornly scream for attention. The rain, instead of muting their plea, only intensified their demand to be heard. And that last fragment of light continued to shine with the desperation that only dying hope could provide. Emotions that wanted to be heard, struggling to break free even as he pushed them down with all his might.
And then, somehow, the shattered remains of his feelings trying to come together one last time. Pushing past his murky defense and forcing one final, unwanted cry for help.
A break in the façade.
He was never as strong as he used to be.
"Arthur, why are you crying?" A voice, quiet and demure and so unlike its usual sparkling prodigality.
"I don't know what you are talking about." Stubborn refusal, resisting the approaching light.
"Your eyes are wet."
Broken laughter emerging from trembling lips. "You must be mistaken. I haven't been able to cry in years."
A blink of confusion, a pause of silence. "Are you okay, Arthur?" And a frown of concern, worry eclipsing a typically carefree face.
The truth, or at least, part of it. "I've never been okay." Short, simple, rebuffing.
"Is there something you want to talk about?" A disarming, seemingly innocent question.
A rejection, on the tip of his tongue. A simple, one syllabled refusal that seemed to get caught in his throat.
So instead, only silence.
A step closer, the light struggling against his crumbling defense. "You're not okay, are you?"
How could he be breaking now, anew, when he had already been shattered so completely? But it felt like the mighty wall he had been hiding behind for the past innumerable centuries was disintegrating.
"No lad, I don't think I am." A few rapid blinks, trying to hold back those traitorous tears.
"Is there something wrong? Can I help?" The usual attempt at aid. Forever the hero. But then a change in appearance. Expression indescribable. "Hey, you're worrying me now, are you... you're really not okay, are you?" A question, overlaying the desire to help.
His mouth was open, ready to give a stark, reassuring reply and end the conversation. Wanting only to escape. But then a flash of memory. The wind, rain, and mud. The buried feeling of being left so completely alone.
And then a sound. An unintentional gasp, and a dry sob, coming from his own lips. Betrayed by his feelings. A few more bricks falling away and letting the rays of light spill in.
In return there is the offer of, surprisingly, understanding. "I'm here. You know, it's okay to cry." And a question, spoken tentatively. "Or would you rather I leave…?"
Crying, tears bubbling forth and breaking down walls and allowing more and more light to shine through. "No! D-don't leave." A desperate plea, demanding to be seen. "Please don't leave me." And the tears he had thought were long gone continued to poor like rain. "It hurts… oh god it just hurts so much…"
A pause of uncertainty, and then…
Arms that were as gentle as the summer wind and yet as powerful as a raging storm circled around his trembling frame. "Artie… Artie, it's okay. I'm here. I won't leave, okay? I promise."
"You s-said that once before."
A short, pained inhalation. A realization. Only silence as a response.
But there was more to be said. "You said that b-before, and… you lied." The harsh truth followed by a shattering sob. His hands grasping the material of the shirt that was pressed before him.
A quick tightening of the hold, an apology given through the physical embrace. "I… I'm sorry."
Tears stained the cotton material as a tired head came to rest on a broad shoulder.
"I–I'm just so alone."
Large hands pressed flat against his back. An attempt to convey comfort in gestures alone. And words, spoken with stark, pure honesty. "You're not alone anymore."
Shuddering, the desire to believe pushing past his cynical reluctance. But the encroaching doubt and pain is still present, refusing to let go. "You might still leave me…"
And so, more promises. "I won't. I won't leave you. If you want me to stay..."
"Yes." No more than a breath.
"Then I'll never leave you again."
Another sob, but this time with the hint of something new. A sense of feeble hope. The light was shining now, the threat of being buried gradually fading away.
And finally, perhaps, the desire to accept what was before him. "I… I'm going to hold you to that, you git."
There was a light rumble in the large chest, a brief laugh of reassurance, taking away that harsh edge and turning it into something more comforting.
And although he couldn't stop crying, the drops became less like tears and more like relief.
A promise to start anew, bathed in rain and forged in sunlight and made solid by the physical presence that gave no sign of ever letting go.
Thoughts? I'd love to hear them.