Rated for implied murder/character deaths and darkness. Mentioned PruAme, one-sided PruCan. Probably makes no sense
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
The Sun, the Sea and Everything In-between
Matthew loved the ocean. It made him happy.
Gilbert had loved the ocean. He had loved Gilbert.
He was cold, because it was raining terribly and the wind rushed around him harshly, each gust of wind threatening to push the small boy off the cliff. Clothes clung to him in all the wrong places, and his hair was matted against his forehead.
Hair sharp and silver like a knife. Blood red eyes. What a odd looking child…
But although he was cold and wet and covered in blood and tears and they were not his; he was happy.
Oh, how he loved him.
He decided, right then and there, that he loved the moon, too. The moonlight gave everything a silvery tinge, and it was so dark he could barely see the blues and blacks and reds he was used to seeing, and he liked the silver much better. It was almost like him, calm and quiet and pale, and he almost laughed at the idea of being compared to a celestial being.
Alfred had loved the universe. He had loved Gilbert, too.
You could look straight at the moon, too, and it didn't bring tears to your eyes or force you to look away before you got hurt, not like the sun did. If he was a moon, then Alfred was the sun. Fierce and unpredictable and angry, yet kind and warm to the right (wrong) people.
Cornflower blue eyes. Wheat blond hair. A smile. Beautiful. A darling beam of sunshine.
Yet with the moon bought a definitive sense of darkness, of fear, but Matthew knew that people were afraid of the darkness, and not the moon, although, without the darkness, the moon might as well not exist at all. Like he didn't even exist at all.
It almost hurt his eyes to look at.
Yes, the moonlight is beautiful, the child thought. It would be even more beautiful if he had someone to share it with, though. Matthew found himself wondering about Gilbert and Alfred, and whether they would enjoy it as much as he did.
Were they afraid of him? Why else would they avoid him like this; averting their gaze if he so much as made eye contact. What did he do to them?
He knew that Alfred would perhaps glance at it for a while before inevitably growing bored and pulling out his gaming console. Gilbert would say that it was stupid, but Matthew knew that he would secretly like the calmness of it all. The albino always had preferred being the centre of attention, the brightest star around, and sometimes the sun outshone him.
He knew about their sexually-driven rendezvous. How could he not? The were loud, and competitive. Often Alfred would appear next morn with several dark bruises on his neck (below his neck) and a satisfied yet sleepy expression.
If Matthew was the moon, and Alfred was the sun, then Gilbert was the stars scattered across space that still shone despite having died a long time ago. It was hard to shine when you were dead inside, and Matthew thought it was an admirable feat. Was Gilbert with the stars now, just as he was with the moon? If that was the case, then Alfred would be with the sun. The thought saddened Matthew, as he knew that both of them abhorred being alone. He wished that they were both with the moon, with him, instead.
How dare they. How dare they think for even a second that they could keep such things from him. His brother and love unrequited.
But where were they, really?
He would make them really have something to be afraid about.
"Alfred?" His clear, crisp voice suddenly broke the silence, and when it was quiet again, he felt scared. No, not scared, he told himself. Uneasy.
He was suddenly unsure of were he was and his purpose for being out there, and was so scared he trembled and cried for a bit, and eventually the wind forced him to the ground, so he just lay there shivering.
Matthew had no idea when the sun finally peeked over the horizon, and when the moon disappeared, as it was still raining and it was hard to concentrate on your surroundings when you are terribly confused. But he could see color now, and he did not like it.
"Gilbert? Are you there?" He carefully stood up, his clothes soaked all the way through and his bones laced with ice. He wobbled once, twice, but didn't fall over. Shakily, he started walking towards the edge of the cliff. Each step was excruciating, but he barely noticed.
When he reached the edge, he stared down at the large waves and the sharp rocks for a long time. It was hard to look at the cracked glasses that were covered in blood, and it was exceptionally hard to look at the blond head (had it always been that red?) they barely clung to. It was very hard to look at the rosary that was supposed to represent a God that did not exist, and it was even harder to look at the chest it lay on, which was definitely not supposed to be as flat and unmoving as it currently was.
He wondered where Gilbert and Alfred were, at that moment, because their most prized possessions were there, but they were not. The little boy had to find them, and bring them back. But what if they didn't want to come? What would he do then?
Maybe he could stay there with them. If they let him, of course. But he would stay anyways.
They had shone so brightly.
Not bright enough.
[Fin.]