Last Night
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia
It had been a year. A year since coldness seeped into the body that now laid five feet below the Brit's own two. A light drizzle upon his back did nothing to aid the renewed grief that flooded his eyes and threatened to choke anyone who stared into them long enough. Upon the stone was engraved was simply three words and two dates. In yet, the meaning of those words and dates struck sorrow into the centre of his being. He stood frozen to his place, a dam of tears continuously threatening his grip on the present. It has just been a simple year.
It has been a simple year, one with silence in the cold mornings and the smell of brunt and rotten foods in the evening. It had been a year of piled blankets in the night and dazed faces in the day. It had been a year without him and frankly, everyone was surprised the Brit had survived.
"And what do you want, frogger?" A seventeen year old, London born Arthur Kirkland cocked a brow at no other then the infamous Francis Bonnifroy. The Frenchman simply smiled and took the chair from the next table and sat backwards in it.
"A date."
"A-A what?" acid eyes opened with disbelief, thick eyebrows shooting to the tops of his young forehead.
"A date, just one. That's what I want, chèri." Francis said simply. He promptly had the science text book smashed into his face by the embarrassed Brit.
Later that week they had their first date.
Arthur could clearly remember when the illness started to slip into Francis' life. It was just a few years after their first date. They were back in their own countries, studying from renowned colleges. They kept in touch Skype was a blessing for them. Each wore a silver promise ring during those years. Even over the cruddy webcams, Arthur could tell that something was off on the Frenchman. Back then, he thought nothing of it.
"Come on! Help me unpack before you indulge yourself on that bloody wine, Francis." The shorter blond snapped as he watched his boyfriend unplug a wine bottle in the kitchen. So far it was the only room fully unpacked and put away; Francis had insisted it to be that way. The Brit tapped his foot as he not so patiently waited for the other to respect his wishes.
"Alright, chèri. We shall unpack the bedroom next, yes?" Francis chuckled as he wondered over to his grumpy Brit, taking him into an embrace before herding him into their newly shared bedroom. That night they broke in their new bed and perhaps shattered a wine glass or two.
The rain stopped but the unnatural hold the tombstone had on him refused to leave with the passing clouds. He was entrapped, unable to free himself and not all too willing to put forth the effort. His heart felt heavy, almost too much, he came to realise. It felt like it would give in any moment and he wouldn't have to "Keep Calm and Carry On" like a good trooper any longer. Half of him feared that prospect while the other accepted it with a grim smile. "You always said I'd be the death of you..." he murmured bitterly once be found his voice to talk to the three words and two dates. No reply came, and it made him laugh like mad man, lost to all causes. It was a quiet laugh, but numbing and saddening nonetheless.
"Francis?" Arthur called to the household as he entered the door, closing it and shrugging off his heavy overcoat. The house was cold, which was odd since it was a rainy day and Francis preferred to be warm on such occasions. The perplexed Brit stepped forward, calling out once more after failing to hear a reply. The second voicing was followed by a third and a fourth as he moved closer to the bedroom after discovering the kitchen and living room void of the dear Frenchman. The blond heard the hushes of the shower and opened the already parted door. A panicked gasp left his lips as he rushed to what he saw.
Francis was toppled over the shower, folded over it like a broken rose. The water had long since grown cold and the man was paler then he usually was. Arthur quickly found his phone and dialed for aid. While the help was on its way he tried to rouse the other from his unplanned slumber only to get him into the real world long enough for the man to murmur a "I love you."
The sun had started to set upon the graveyard and Arthur had still failed to budge an inch. He just couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't look away, couldn't stop remembering. The Brit held the roses and daffodils tight as he recalled the last moments of Francis' life.
His last night.
The doctors said the man didn't have much time left. To everyone in the room, the ones who knew him, the words were heart wrenching. To Arthur, they were world ending. Several people crammed themselves into the not too big hospital room, letting the Brit remain the closest as Francis weakly told them some story. He would often repeat himself and then forget where he was. It was sad but they endeared it. After all, these were his last hours. Just around the dawn, some of the members of the room gone, as children could only stay up so long, Francis stirred for his last time. He turned his head as much as he could in his weak state and reached a hand up to stroke his love's hair. This caused the acid orbs he fell for what seemed a lifetime ago to open from their weary doze. Arthur sat up and took his Francis' hand.
"Je t'aime mon ange." He croaked, much like a frog. "Au rivoir."
"W,what? No!" Arthur begged as the other closed his beautiful blue eyes. "I love you too, that's why you can't leave! Francis!"
But, he was gone.
It had been a year, from that day and Arthur stood above his lover's grave. He remembered all the time they had together, both the great and the horrid. By this time the sun had all but sunk. He jumped when two hands clasped upon his shoulders. He was freed from the hold the three words and two dates held on him as he looked at the sources of human touch. It was Alfred and Matthew. Each of them wore sorrow stuck faces, equally tinted with worry.
"Arthur, dude, we have to go, the graveyard's closing up." Alfred said as he tightened his hold on the Brit's right shoulder. Matthew put on an endearing smile and added. "Besides, we still need to go eat something before going home."
The two released him from their holds and Arthur leaned down, putting the bouquet on top of the perfectly cut grass before the tomb stone. He murmured five words and let himself be herded away by Alfred and Matthew. Lavender and Sky met in a silent talk over the sunken head of their friend.
And the next year, they were the ones standing over six words and four dates.