Visiting England

It was a wet rainy day in London with strong winds and a dark, grey, cloudy sky. It was as if the weather itself matched his mood. He always had had a moody personality but Antonio didn't mind. He liked that side of him. Always unpredictable and he liked seeing all of his different faces, some of them he rarely showed others. Today, the weather was pouring and screaming … he was probably in a very foul mood. Well, it's understandable and that's why Spain is here, in a taxi, driving towards his house. Hopefully he would manage to cheer him up.

Once he was in front of the door, Antonio had to wait a while before being answered. When the door finally opened, a very sick, coughing, with a paler skin than usual and dark stains under his jade eyes, Arthur glared at him. He was indeed in a foul mood and it wasn't broken by the bright, cheerful smile Antonio sent him. In fact, it got worse.

"What do you want? How did you get here? No, scratch that! Just what the bloody hell are you doing here?" Arthur asked in raspy voice barely audible. He couldn't even scream at him … he really was sick. Antonio's smile wavered at the sound of Arthur's sick voice.

"You don't look so well mi amigo! Francis told me you were sick so I came to visit!"

"How did …? I only phoned Francis about my illness just last night! And it's 7am in the morning! How did you …? Never mind! (coughs) I don't even want to know! Just come in, you'll get sick too if you stay out in that rain."

Antonio walked inside and eyed his host inquisitively. Arthur was wearing his pyjamas covered by a thick woollen jumper and carried a blanket on his shoulders as he walked or more like zigzagged to the kitchen, coughing. Antonio rushed after him, worried he might fall but Arthur somehow managed to make it to the kitchen counter safe and sound … sort of. He started boiling a kettle and shifted his pale face to look at his Spanish guest. He looked so pale, almost ghostly. He was tired and strained and dark stains bordered his eyes, eyes that had lost their usual spark and irony and were now just a dull, clouded green.

"What can I offer you?" Arthur asked, forcing his voice up but he barely managed a loud whisper.

"Nothing! I'm fine!" Antonio answered hurriedly, a bit too hurriedly.

Arthur shrugged, too sick to think anything of it. He looked in a cupboard and got out his tea and a box of medicine. He gulped in a pill with a glass of water and was now taking his sugar and milk out on the counter.

"Shouldn't you go to bed and rest?" Antonio wandered aloud. His voice was plain and straight but it lacked its usual teasing it had when talking to Arthur.

"I need something warm to drink. I was asleep before you came but …"

"Sorry."

Arthur shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. I haven't been sleeping well at all since last night. Damn …"

Arthur dropped his mug and grabbed his head in his hands. The mug shattered on the floor but neither of them cared. Antonio rushed to Arthur's side who was keeping his balance by holding onto the counter table with one hand, the other holding his head. His face showed pain and agony. Antonio felt powerless. He didn't know what to do.

"Arthur?"

"I'm … fine … just give me a minute …" Arthur panted, out of breath. What was wrong with him? Antonio was seriously worried. Without thinking he lifted the blond onto his shoulder and carried him up to his room. He knew were his room was since last time he came with Francis and Gilbert. He wanted to put Arthur to rest in his bed but the Englishman didn't agree to the means he used.

"What the fuck are you doing? Put me down this instant!" Arthur tried to shout but it just sounded like a small, squeaking noise. It made Antonio wish the man had screamed.

"I'm taking you to bed! You're sick. In your condition, you need to sleep. No arguing!" Antonio's tone of voice was firm and strong. It surprised England and shut him up for a minute, wandering why the Spaniard sounded different from usual. Was he actually worried about him? Arthur shook his head and shrugged. He really didn't have the strength to bother with that.

"Fine … do what you want …"

Antonio felt Arthur's body relax on his shoulder and when he laid him in bed, the man was already fast asleep. Antonio stared at his face for … god knows how long! He looked so weak and fragile … but somehow … somehow, he still had that aura of strength surrounding the island nation. It was faint and barely noticeable due to his sick condition but it was still there. His ghostly – looking face still remained beautiful despite the effects of the illness. He almost looked like he was dead and could have fooled Antonio if not for his uneven breathing. Antonio ran his hand in Arthur's golden locks and then gently descended down to caress his face. He was sweating and despite its cold, icy aspect, his face was burning hot, like on fire. Antonio leaned forward towards the sleeping man's face. He looked at him and waited. What was he waiting? Even he didn't know. He just stayed there, their faces inches apart. He noticed Arthur's pink lips were unusually dry and his breathing was fast and irregular. He waited. Then pulled back with a sigh and went downstairs. When Arthur wakes up, he'll want some tea.