You sit across from me, a book in your lap and a cup of tea in your hand. You're opened to a page with tiny font, millions of words scattered across the page to form a literary masterpiece, and staring at me expectantly. I stare back, unsure of what to do.
Maybe I should say something. After all, I was the one who captured your attention. But I haven't a clue what I am to say to you. One of your impressive eyebrows is raised, and you seem to be waiting for me to say something, but I remain silent.
When I fail to do what you expect of me, you sigh and adjust yourself, making the chair you are seated in groan under your weight. You're a petite man, so it's not quite understandable why the chair would groan, but still it does. You lean towards me, elbows on your now closed book and face resting in your hands.
I wonder, briefly, is this how it's always been?
And by this, I mean the obvious uninterest in one other. The prolonged silences. The monotonous conversation that is shared. It's as though what used to mean so much is overlooked completely now. Like we aren't 'together' anymore, but merely forced to be around one another. How long have we been together now? Twenty years? Being nations, we've ventured through many more years than that, so that is hardly any time at all. But at this point, we may as well have been together for centuries.
I remember that it was never like this before. We used to be so in love.
At least, I think we were. I wouldn't know. We've never exactly verbally expressed it.
You continue to stare at me, obvious annoyance gleaming in your emerald orbs. The same ones that enchanted so many years before. The same ones that used to hold so much gentleness and caring, but now rarely stray from neutral. I finally speak up, before I become too lost in thought. I say what I'm thinking, because even if I don't, you'll figure it out somehow. That's something I never understood. How good you were at reading people.
Especially me.
"Arthur, are we in love?"
Your eyebrows shoot up. You're taken aback by my question. They then furrow, recovering from that moment. You seem to contemplate this, staring at the floor, your forehead creasing in thought. I can't help but mentally remark how cute you look. You finally look back up at me, ready to answer.
"Yes, Alfred, I believe we are."
It's my turn to furrow my eyebrows. If we're in love, then why does it feel so empty? People in love are supposed to constantly be on each other, and gush about how much they love one another. The closest thing we ever got to that was mild bickering and then watching a film, with a tiny bit of cuddling. And that's if we were both having a particularly good day, which, nowadays, was extremely rare.
"It doesn't feel like it."
I realize too late what I've said, and know I can't take it back. But your face remains calm, there's not a trace of anger there. Maybe you felt the same way. Or maybe you don't care. I wait with baited breath for your reaction. You merely put your book on the end table, next to your now cold tea. You stand up and walk over to me, placing on chaste kiss on my lips. It was gentle, and felt much different from all of the other kisses we've shared recently. You pull away, and I can't help but follow you, hooked by a simple kiss.
"I guess we'll just have to change that."
Your voice is light, and filled with promises of not the best intentions.
And later on that night, I felt the full effect of falling in love, as we laid in bed, your face buried in my chest, my hand caressing your hair, and the whispered words that sealed our fates. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing I've ever had the fortune to be a part of- neigh- witness;
We fell in love all over again.
First fanfic, finally up! :D I don't really like this, but I figured, eh, why the hell not? and put it up. Reviews are greatly obliged. Thanks for reading! :)
I own nothing. Nothing at all.
