I got inspired by a couple of prompts and quickly wrote this-I'm trying out a different narrative style, and I wanted to write something short and sweet, as opposed to my usual dark, complex, multi-chapter fics.
Reviews and the like are much appreciated! Enjoy. :D
Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own Hetalia.
He wonders how he got himself into such a mess. He didn't expect himself to end up this way.
When did it start?
Perhaps it was the war.
They had both forgotten about it since, and pushed aside their previous strife... but it drove a wedge between them that he would from then on hide behind. That sweet respite where he could hide his emotions.
He never did choose the best hiding places for those. They quickly turned into insults, flustered teasing, sometimes anger.
He got the sense that the American never really returned the negative sentiment.
Maybe. Maybe there was a way to make it up.
There was, until he realized that there was a thing called dignity threatening to step in his path and trip him, face-first, into the dust. He would only be willing to be so blunt if he were dying.
So he had an idea.
He told himself it would work. That the American would realize what he was going to say and believe him. He would hear the words he had been aching to hear for years.
Then his heart was shattered... he had played oblivious. Or perhaps he truly was.
Something told him the latter was false.
Naturally, he told himself he would keep trying. He knew it might take a literal eternity, but he would do it.
The next time, he was upstaged by a whale.
Well, Plan B was a failure.
He was out of ideas. There was no chance at all; no chance that he saw. He would have to watch and wait.
Someday he might tell the American he loved him.
Then, in response, the American might—just might—turn around. He would give a tiny smile, raise his eyebrows ever so slightly, and reply,
"Yes, Arthur. Yes."
Just maybe.