I have actually done little research on Heart Donation. OTL All I know is that we can freeze someone's heart then transplant it into someone else when needed. Also, a live heart donation has been attempted and they were successful in doing it but it cost a lot. So, I set this somewhere in 2030's where live heart donation is a little more frequent and less expensive.
This isn't technically my first fanfiction on Hetalia, but it is my first fanfiction on this account. So, yeah.
With All Your Heart
Alfred awoke to the sounds of the honking of bustling cars and the light faintly blinding his eyes—a typical morning in America. He yawned as his eyes opened in the slightest but still he dragged his feet from his bed to the bathroom. He rubbed his eyes for it was a little uncomfortable seeing without his glasses as an aid.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He stared at himself long and hard, enough to notice all the flaws that he physically held. What he saw was a drowsy and half-asleep blonde that was staring back, and the longer he let his eyes roam the reflection, the more he felt self conscious as he let his image sink in his mind.
"No, this won't do."
Alfred then fixed himself, took a bath and got dressed. He dressed himself in the usual slacks, white undershirt and bomber jacket people always see him wearing. He grabbed his shoulder bag that had imprints of blue, red and white stripes that shows a great amount of patriotism. He went back to the mirror to see his image once more. He now saw a man who looked neat and lively in all aspects, which satisfied him in return. He smiled sorrowfully.
After all, today is another normal day...
The man went down the stairs and his nose instantly recognised the faint smell of pancakes being cooked, which he followed. In the kitchen, Matthew Williams smiled as he felt the presence of his brother, his beloved brother—
Alfred sat down and eagerly waited for breakfast while Matthew continued flipping the pancakes, his eyes not meeting blue ones; his whole body turned away from him. Alfred watched discontentedly but soon thereafter, it was done.
The meal was in peace and only the contact of the utensils to the china was heard throughout the room. Alfred looked at his brother who was eating awkwardly, obviously trying to ignore the unbearable and deafening silence.
"Hey Matt!" He called the other's attention cheerfully—an attempt to snap his brother back to reality.
The silent brother glanced at his counterpart, a questioning look on his face, "What is it?"
"Let me drive us to work today!" Enthusiasm coated his voice, and then added an inaudible 'please' at the end.
Matthew was a bit surprised. Alfred knows that Matthew doesn't like to lend his car—last time he did, he had to bail him out of jail—and knows what he would say... Then why—
Suddenly, a thought crossed him and he looked at Alfred with a hint of pity. With eyebrows bunched upwards and violet eyes swimming on warm tears accompanied by a small whimper, he responded, "...Yeah, sure. But only for today."
Alfred grinned before taking the keys from his brother's hand. He chuckled softly and Matthew's tears began streaming down. "Of course," he looked outside the window, grinning, "Only for today."
"Kesese! Did you see the look on Francis' face?" The red-eyed male shouted, and then snickers were heard within the room.
"Dude, that was epic! You should have seen it, Kiku. He looked ready to kill Gilbert while cry at the same time!" Alfred laughed while his friend chuckled along. The group roared with laughter.
Francis, on the other hand, had his head down and fists clenched, trying to block out any noise or insult that came out his colleagues' lips.
"It's alright, amigo," Antonio patted his shoulder, but whether he was trying to cheer up the Frenchman or just give him lip service is beyond Alfred's knowledge.
"Don't talk to me," he hastily responded. Francis actually has a good reason to feel moody, considering most of the office already knows a part of him no one really wants to know. A soft (almost faked) sob was heard.
"Alright, spin the bottle, Francis," Roderich interrupted, successfully calming down most of the persons in the room. The game Truth or Dare was always played by the group during the lucky times they had weekends where no work is dumped on them, or when their boss Gilbert wanted to invite his colleagues to 'a friendly game'. It was hard not to accept his offer and expect your record to be clean. "Although I must say that was quite the intriguing bravery you had, Francis Bonnefoy; a real stain to one's pride, indeed," he teased. Francis glared while reaching for the bottle.
"Shut up," He spun the item wildly, the bottle threatening to break and the sound of glass against concrete intensifying the tension around. After a few moments, the bottle slowed down and pointed to—
"Alfred F. Jones!" Gilbert remarked, laughing all the way, "alright 'hero', Truth or Dare?"
Alfred smiled enthusiastically, "Dare! Give me your best shot!"
"Kesese! You don't learn, do you?" He grinned to Francis, "So Frenchie, what'cha going to make golden boy do?"
The Frenchman smirked, the whole event before almost forgotten, "Remember ma cherie Alexandra from high school; the Mexican girl you were madly in love with?" He pulled out a somewhat thick folder full of inserted papers and scribbles as some of Alfred's past classmates chuckled at the memory, "This is a collection of poems you wrote for her during your foolish teenage years. Alfred, I dare you to announce each and every one right now, in front of everyone." Snickers were heard.
Alfred's smile began to falter a bit. Every single "puppy love" poem he sent to Alexandra? How did he get that thing in the first place? 'That was high school, for Christ sake! I've moved on!' He thought, but it did not stop him. Even if he began to feel slightly uncomfortable, he proudly strode towards the Frenchman, grabbed the folder from his hands and faced his class with what dignity he will lose.
"These are all important words, so y'all better listen!" He exclaimed, then opening his diary. His classmates began cheering loudly. "Roses are red—"
"Hold on, Alfred-san! Are you sure that you want to reveal those to us?" Kiku asked a bit dejectedly, a worried look on his face, "it would be alright if you didn't."
The American grinned, "Dude, it's a dare; I have to do it." He reopened the book, and skipped ahead a few pages. Kiku sat down; he was most likely worried, but reassured. Alfred looked at him through the corner of his eye and then opened his folder,
"After all, you can only live your life once. Better enjoy what's left of it."
"Alfred."
The sound of his name snapped him out of reverie and immediately turned around. "I was hoping to see you here," his Irish colleague, whom he recognised as 'Eily', approached him.
Alfred smiled as he looked at the view again—it was serene, bright and absolutely nostalgic. "Well, you were right about that, eh?"
She nodded. "You liked the peace, did you not?" Her voice laced with an Irish accent sounded after a heavy silence, the girl's gaze darting through everywhere except Alfred.
"Nah, I like everyone's company better..." He trailed off and noticed the sun finally set itself free from the cover of the clouds, "although this isn't so bad." He laughed softly, a habit he can't seem to let go.
"I see." She said, like it is the best thing to say at the moment. Both stared at the view, not knowing what the other might say next. Eily, however, decided to break the silence. "Okay, I'm going to be blunt now. About him—"
"I am more than willing to do it, especially if it is him." He sent a glance to Eily, who slightly pitied the man.
"You do know what would happen to you when you do it, right?" A silence followed. "You also realise what he would feel when he would know that his heart is actually—"
"Eily," The American faced the girl, "I want to do it. I want all of you to see him breathing and alive. Don't you feel the same?"
Eily bit her lip, eyes full of pity and unshed tears. "I do—I do. But—" Eily's statement was cut off by an obnoxious yet silent chuckle, a laugh only Alfred could make—a contradiction only no one could understand, except—
"See he understood me, despite my personality and whatnot. I guess... he was the first one who became so close to me, and not just because of football, science or that. We don't even have any common interests, yet, see? We are really close..." he sighed, "And, I really want to do this. A life without him is... I don't even want to imagine it."
The other listened intently and felt the strong emotions they both had, that unbreakable bond that was certainly them, that aura of certainty around them whenever they interact, and the loyalty they depended on. She was almost jealous.
Without her noticing, the man gave her a friendly pat on the head, "You will see your brother's emerald eyes again, all shiny and lively. Just wait and see."
Alfred drove to the hospital and slowly parked the car, and then he dialled his brother's number. A beep, two, and then another. After a while, he heard a voice.
"This is Matthew Williams. I'm not really available at the moment so please leave a message."
"Hi Matt, it is Alfred. Just so you know—your car is front of the hospital we always go to. Pick it up after 8, 'kay? Okay, bye bro!" He grinned and ended the call, striding to the hospital casually and was met by a nurse.
"Good evening, Mr. Jones," she said with a smile, "Dr. Beilschmidt is expecting you now. Please follow me."
"Wait, Ms. Hedervary." The nurse turned around, her shoulders tensing a bit, "Could I... could I visit Room 238 first?"
She looked at him and then to her clipboard as she browsed the papers for room 238. She flipped and flipped until she stopped on a page, and when she saw the name, she immediately knew. She then gave a pitiful and warm smile, "Of course. This way, please, Mr. Jones."
"Thank you so much," Alfred returned the gesture and quietly followed.
Both of them silently walked through the white halls, doctors and patients bustling past them occasionally. Patients with worn-out faces were sitting in benches, and on some corners families would cry—either from joy or sadness, Alfred wouldn't know. The smell of flesh and alcohol lingered around, Alfred noted as he wrinkled his nose. He never liked hospitals; it gave him chills and this feeling of being trapped and helpless, plus he could never get over the smell of dried blood or alcohol-perfumed rooms. Still, he thought, this is what would give him the miracle of his life, the last place they would meet.
"Here we are, sir," her voice echoed as she opened the door. He didn't even notice the walk to the room. He looked the room number and the name under it: "Arthur Kirkland," it read. He felt mixed feelings erupt from the pit of his stomach.
"Feli? Can we come in?" She called, and it alerted the attention of another nurse inside the room. He was looking at the man that lay softly on the hospital bed and had machines attached to him everywhere with tears on his eyes. He abruptly stood up as he saw Alfred's face and meekly nodded. He was then guided by Elizabeta outside, "We'll leave you... um... two alone here, then."
Alfred nodded appreciatively and closed the door, leaving him with the other in the room. The man looked pale and was fed through a tube while a mask gave him oxygen to breathe. The beeps heard were almost deafening—any second it might go faster, any moment it would be just one long beep, any moment—
He sighed, scratching his head while laughing. "Hey Arthur," he started, gulping a bit, "Uh, funny story..." He stopped and looked at curiously listened to the beeps again while scratching his neck. His eyes darted to the window, the machine, the floor—everywhere except Arthur.
"Hah... So, I started the day with pancakes—you know Matt, can't live a day without 'em—then we went to Gilbert's condo and we played this game that should be played by high school students and Francis was humiliated! His face looked hilarious! Oh man, you should have been there—"
He stopped again, but this time his eyes were dead-set on Arthur, "But you weren't... were you?" He clumsily sat on the chair, "I, uh, I'm sorry you're not going to have a say on this... but... you'll understand, right? I mean, I am the hero so I should save a pitiful man like you—"He pointed at Arthur and was silenced again. Afterwards, he buried his face with his hands and quietly sobbed.
"God, I missed you, Arthur. You had no idea how horrible these past months have been. It was—it was so different," Alfred cried and fisted his hair, "I just, I just want to see you again. I want to see that smile and those green eyes, and—and knowing that you are still here, struggling, I—I couldn't take it..." He laughed and looked at him again; he was still lifeless and cold...
"I am so pathetic. If you were here... you would tell me to stop crying, wouldn't you? You were like that even since we were children. You would tell me you could do it and it would be fine, but no Arthur, it wouldn't," he touched his hand; it was lifeless and cold... "And, and... you would keep this problem to yourself again, wouldn't you? Like hell I'd allow that." He chuckled a bit.
"I'm such an idiot, aren't I? I... I don't want anyone else to give you a heart—how stupid is that? I am selfish, I am greedy; it just has to be me, ain't it?" He now looked at Arthur again, lifeless and cold...
"Do you know—do you know how many people miss you? Eily talked to me a while ago... she looked really stressed. Francis and the others too don't drink that much anymore. And—and Gilbert, he wouldn't let anyone take your cubicle even though the office is now cramped. Even—even Antonio and Mattie and Kiku and Yao—even Lovino—they weren't the same. Then me... I... I don't know where to start." He sobbed uncontrollably for a minute, then he kneeled on a knee, "But hey, just you wait... it wouldn't be like that much longer," he said with most sincerity as his rest on his chest.
His hand grazed Arthur's once more and his lips lightly brush against the palm. He stood up and wiped his tears as he went for the doorknob. He glanced at Arthur again, then smiled, "See you, Arthur." Alfred then exited the door.
"It—it was just... aaah!" Feli cried again as Elizabeta rubbed his back for comfort.
"There, there..." The other looked at Feli, no other comforting words leaving her mouth. She commented, "Mr. Jones is such a brave man." Hearing this, Feli burst into tears once more.
"Feli? What?" A deep voice was heard and Feli rushed to the man and hugged him, "Feliciano! What is wrong?"
Feli sobbed and looked up, "Ludwig, promise me... promise me that Mr. Jones and Arthur will be alright! Please, Ludwig," he kept crying and the doctor looked at Elizabeta, who shrugged but did not miss the tears on the corner of her eyes.
"Feli..." he started, and he felt his chest grew tighter, "Uh, I assure you that they'll be fine. Don't worry."
The other looked up and then buried his face on the other man's chest again, "Thank you, Ludwig. Thank you." The doctor felt a smile, and deemed it contagious for he too returned the gesture.
The door creaked and revealed Alfred, eyes slightly red and puffy while his hair was pretty much dishevelled.
Ludwig looked at the other, "Mr. Jones, you know it is not too late yet to rethink this—"
"Thank you for the concern, Mr. Beilschmidt," he smiled and looked at the room again, "but I'm pretty sure with what I am doing."
"Are you accompanied by someone, sir?"
"Don't worry, I told them to come a bit later," Alfred reassured.
Ludwig grabbed his glasses and put them on, "Then, are you ready now, Mr. Jones?"
"Oh wait," Alfred's face turned into a thoughtful one as he rummaged through his bag and took out an envelope which he handed to Feliciano, "Mr... ah, Feli, could you give this to Arthur when he wakes up?"
Feliciano's eyebrows hunched upwards and his eyes were glittered with tears once more. With shaky hands, he accepted the letter and smiled, "Don't worry, Mr. Jones. I will make sure Mr. Kirkland reads it when his state is better."
Alfred grinned appreciatively, "Thanks a lot!"
Ludwig smiled pitifully and looked at Alfred. The man was smiling and almost no trace of worry for himself was seen on his face. Whenever they would meet, it looked like the man was worried over Arthur more than himself. Why is he so happy when he knows this would be the cause of his death? The answer to that question, he would never know.
"Alright then, this way please, Mr. Jones," he said and Alfred, with a smile that never seemed to leave his face, followed obediently.
One month later...
"Mr. Kirkland? Can you hear me?" Voices swarmed around him and steady beeps echoed around the room. Everything was white and blurry, and his head and chest hurt. His eyes finally adjusted, after being closed for so long, to the image of a doctor looking at him who smiled contentedly.
"Ah, you're finally awake. It has been truly a miracle," a blond said and recorded something on his clipboard, "Do you remember my name, Arthur?"
Arthur looked at him as he racked his brain for answers, "Mr... Beilschmidt..."
The man's face brightened, "Good. And the man beside me; who is he?"
He looked at the other with auburn hair and a naughty curl. He knew him... "Mr. Vargas."
"Wonderful. Your memory seems to be in order. Now, we are—"
"Pardon my rudeness, Mr. Beilschmidt," Arthur hurried, catching the other's attention, "but what exactly happened to me? Have I... been cured?"
A silence followed afterwards, the occupants of the room unsure of how to answer the blond. Ludwig was the first to break the unbearable silence, "Mr. Kirkland, someone has donated his heart a month ago. Your recover was actually speedy, unlike most that had undergone the procedure."
Arthur's face fell into a mournful and appreciative one, "May I—may I know the name of the donor?"
Feli visibly tensed and Ludwig's eyes sharpened. As they say, the truth shall set you free, "The donor... is Mr. Alfred F. Jones, Mr. Kirkland. Both of you went through live organ donation."
Arthur's eyes widened and he was immediately silenced. The beeps in the room were deafening, and the cause of the beeps was Arthur's—no, A-Alfred's heart... Tears fell from his eyes and he visibly paled, "He... what?"
Eily and some others hurried to the hospital and the girl quickly demanded, "Where is Arthur Kirkland located?"
The registrar, shocked to the bone, muttered, "Room 238, ma'am—"
The others dashed down the hallways and ran as fast their feet could carry them. The group hurried up the stairs and their hearts hammered in their chests. They had heard the news, and even she had a hard time grasping the truth. He had awakened—thank God—he is okay, she thought over and over. They kept running and running, a single thought dominant in their heads.
"Guys, over here!" Matthew shouted to them and the group looked back. Matthew was looking at the room number and his eyes drifted to the name below. "Arthur Kirkland," it read. The group walked to him, the adrenaline inside them still alive.
Matthew hesitantly knocked and he was answered by a nurse, "May I help you, sir?"
The other tensed and greeted, "Good evening. I'm Matthew Williams, Mr. Jones' brother. We are Arthur's friends. May we see him?"
"I don't think Mr. Kirkland is ready for visitors yet, sir. Could you please come back later?" The nurse defended and glanced at the man on the hospital bed again, head down and buried.
Eily pushed through the group, "Sir, I am Eily Kirkland, Arthur's sister. We received this letter from Alfred Jones, Arthur's heart donor, to see him immediately after his state has been deemed stable. He is probably going through an emotional turmoil after knowing the name of his heart donor, but we assure you that we are here to help. Please... please let us in." Some tears formed at the rim of her eyes.
The nurse looked at the woman then back at the group wearily and replied, "Could you please go in two's? The patient is currently recovering, and the number of people might shock him with his current state." The group visibly lightened up, and Eily thanked the man.
The first to enter the room were Eily and Matthew. They entered silently and stared at Arthur. Despite his now healthy condition, the man looked pale and lifeless. His green eyes were dull and red as he looked at the window distantly. Matthew silently closed the door.
"Arthur?" Eily called out and snapped Arthur out of his trance. Eily immediately hugged the man, sniffing a bit, while Arthur lightly returned it. Matthew smiled at them.
"How are you, Arthur? Are you feeling ill? I-Is there something we could do? We missed you so much..." She tightened her grip on the man and Arthur felt his hospital gown get wet from tears. Arthur glanced at Matthew then at his chest.
"Did you know... did you know Alfred donated his heart to me?" He asked warily and Eily's head slowly tilted upwards.
"Yes, dear; we know." She whispered and Arthur stared at her.
"Then, why did you not stop him?" Arthur forced a chuckle and stared at Matthew, "why did you let him do it?"
Eily released her hold and bowed her head, "Arthur dear, only a few people knew that Alfred decided to do done his heart. He—"
"Even so, I know you knew... did you not, Eily? Why did you let him do it?" Arthur hissed, and Eily backed a bit.
"Arthur, he insisted. He said that he wanted his heart to be yours, and only his. He—he wanted you to be alive, remember that."
"How does he plan to do so?" He demanded, "By giving up his life? By... ignoring all the other heart donors and decided to give his to me? How, Eily? How?" He was now shouting and swore that it can be heard from outside, but he did not care.
He glared at Matthew, "You knew, right? You were his brother; surely you knew. Why did you let him?" Matthew looked away but Arthur continued, "Are you not mad at me? Are you not angry to know that your brother's heart," he pointed at his chest, "is in my chest? Answer me, Matthew." He breathed as his voice broke and tears were gathering at his eyes.
"Arthur, it was his decision. I couldn't stop him, he—he really wanted to do it," Matthew replied, but he was answered with a silence.
Arthur, at this point, curled up and covered his face, "Could you please... come back tomorrow? I'm not in the most stable state right now. I will interact with all of you tomorrow in a better way. Please, just," Eily looked at him and exited the room, but Matthew stared at him.
"Arthur, I'm not mad at you. Alfred wanted to give you his life, he wanted you to have a better life," Matthew whispered but Arthur didn't budge. Matthew disappointingly left the room.
Outside, he could see Eily explain the situation. Their faces were all worn-out and filled with worry, while others had this enthusiasm, but after seeing Eily, their faces darkened as well.
"And I really wanted to see mon cher Arthur," Francis commented, but Matthew did not know if it is of sarcasm or disappointment. Nonetheless, he patted his shoulder and after glancing at the room once more, they all left, promising to come back tomorrow.
"That selfish, stupid git," Arthur repeated once more and tightened his hold on the sheets once more, sniffing a bit. Questions flooded his mind and he searched his brain for answers, seeking for comfort. Would he be hated? Would they wish for Alfred instead of him? Did the git even think of these things when he told the doctor of his plans? Did it not occur to him what—what Arthur would feel after knowing that his heart is actually Alfred's? How about his family? Did he not think of Matthew when he signed the papers? Who did Alfred think he was, suddenly proclaiming that he wanted his heart to be in Arthur's chest and not some stranger he would thank for life? What—what—
"That selfish, stupid, mindless American git," Arthur's mind ached of thinking. How would he face his colleagues, his family, and Matthew after knowing that Alfred had been a heart donor, and that organ beats in Arthur's chest, pumping the blood that was not Alfred's and making organs function that were not Alfred's? He sniffed, and many countless times, tears slid down his cheeks as he drowned in his thoughts.
"Mr. Kirkland?" A voice called out and Arthur looked up to see his nurse, looking at him with eyes full of sorrow, "May—May I come in?"
Arthur stared at him longer than necessary. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, "Of course, Mr. Vargas."
The nurse smiled at him, "Call me Feliciano, sir. I had been here with you for a while, and it's uncomfortable to hear my surname after seeing you for so long."
Arthur smiled and then looked away. Feliciano clenched his hands, the awkward silence reigning between them deafening. After a while, he shuffled through his pocket and brought out an envelope. He offered it to Arthur and said, "Sir, before the live heart donation, Mr. Jones gave me a letter. It was addressed to you, sir. He said to give it to you as soon as possible."
Arthur eyed the letter wearily before accepting it, "Thank you, Mr... ah, Feliciano."
The man clumsily opened the envelope and read:
Dear Arthur,
You would probably be mad at me for undergoing a live heart donation with you. But, it is done, right? Since you are reading this, I trust that your nurse had already given your letter, right? Right. So, I guess I have a lot of explaining to do.
So, the moment I learned you needed a heart donation, the thought struck me immediately. I negotiated with Dr. Beilschmidt about this. He actually hesitated for a moment before agreeing to it. Only a few people actually know I'm doing this—Matthew, Eily, Scot, Brin, Gilbert, Dr. Beilschmidt, our nurses, some of the hospital staff—that's it. My parents don't even know I did this, but they probably won't care. And, I guess I wanted to do it... which sounds kind of pathetic when you think about it.
Arthur, do keep in mind that I did this for you. It might be foolish of me, but I did not doubt once. Don't worry about Matthew or those other people about their opinion, I don't care, actually. They wouldn't hate you, Arthur, if that is what you are thinking. Rather, I think they would be really happy to know that you are alive and well, and I did what I wanted and I was contented before my death.
If you think that I did this on impromptu, you are wrong. I had thought about it over and over to the point I couldn't get enough sleep. It hurt me to see you lying in that bed, it pained me to know that you are struggling right now, and I had to do something about it. The reason, also, why I did not let anyone else be a heart donor is because—you might find this a little cheesy or awkward—I don't want anyone else to be. I wanted my heart to be in yours, that way we are somewhat bonded or something. I wanted mine to be yours, and only mine. That way, you only owe yourself to me and not some stranger. You might think I am a selfish brat for doing this, but well, I am your selfish brat now, since what kept me alive for twenty years is now your possession.
Don't worry, I thought of the others as well. I gave Matthew a letter and told him to explain what I did to our colleagues. It would be fine, don't worry. And knowing you, I had to remind you to take care of yourself—because you keep overworking and shit, which is unhealthy for what is still technically my heart—and don't think of anything stupid. We share the same life now, and I still want to keep living (well, somewhat).
Arthur, I know what runs in your mind. Don't be afraid of the world because of this. Don't fear that people would hate you because of this, because they wouldn't. If they did, I will send them a curse from heaven (or hell, I'm not really sure where I am going yet). Matthew isn't mad, Gilbert wouldn't fire you, Francis wouldn't think of you differently, and me... I would watch over you. I would keep you safe from anything.
Unlike you, I am not really good with organizing my thoughts. This letter might be a mess and you might be laughing at me for my mediocrity at writing. But Arthur, trust me, you were the only one in my mind for so long. And, I couldn't bear to see you suffer and die while I stand and do nothing. I can't do that, because I (Ink blotch, erasure) you so much, for so long.
Well, see you someday again, Arthur, but hopefully not soon.
Sincerely,
Alfred
"That idiotic, stupid, selfish, American git," Arthur said through gritted teeth and tears streamed from his eyes. He let out a sniff and covered his face with a pillow.
Feliciano smiled, "Sir, it's not healthy to keep all those feelings bottled up. If this keeps on, you would have to visit a psychiatrist as well," he joked, and Arthur smiled at him again.
"I guess I had a hard time absorbing what he did. That is all." A silence, but unlike before, it felt lighter and cleaner.
Arthur sniffed again and faced the nurse, "What was—what was Alfred like?"
Feliciano tilted his head to the side, "Arthur?"
"I mean, how did he act? What was his behaviour before... the live heart donation?"
Feliciano looked up as if to recall the events, "He... was smiling. He went to see you before the actual surgery. He... cared a lot for you, sir, more than you think," he nodded, and Arthur seemed to believe this.
"I know, lad. I know," Arthur looked up but his eyes were still wet. "Did you know how eager I was to have a heart donation? That's because, I kept telling myself, if I get out of here, I could see Alfred again," he chuckled then sighed, "But, I guess, that's not really in the realm of possibility now, is it?"
Feliciano stared at Arthur with sad eyes. Arthur stared back and continued, "However, I can feel his presence. I can feel his warmth and I can hear his heartbeat," he closed his eyes and listened to the beeps of the machine; it was steady and rhythmic, almost beautiful to Arthur's ears.
"What am I doing," Arthur sat up and wiped his tears, "I'm sorry for what I displayed. It was inconsiderate of me."
Feliciano grinned and stood up, "It's alright, sir," he smiled and slowly walked to the door. However, he turned back to Arthur at the last minute.
"Sir, could I say something?" Arthur looked up while his eyes looked interested, "I was actually touched with your relationship with Mr. Jones. Everyday before the heart donation, he would be here and visit you diligently. He really cared for you, sir, and I think... he didn't doubt whatever he did."
Arthur smiled, and it was the warmest one he had seen him put on, "Thank you, lad," he looked outside the window and remarked that it was a beautiful night, and the stars were like Alfred's eyes: beautiful, glistening and always seem to fascinate Arthur.
One year later...
Arthur awoke to the light blinding his eyes and the shouting downstairs. He dragged himself to the bathroom to take a bath, brush his teeth, and whatever a man does to make himself ready for work.
He put on his usual slacks, white shirt, dress shoes, coat and tie. He looked at himself in the mirror, examining his features and the way he looked.
"No, this won't do."
He picked out another set—a fancier one with his favourite black tie to match—and left his bathroom. Downstairs, he was greeted with Scot and Brin arguing, while Eily ate her breakfast diligently.
"Ah, if it isn't my little squirt of a brother!" Scot came to him and ruffled his hair, to which Arthur growled. Scot looked at him with amused eyes and smirked, "Well, what's today? You look fancy."
"Excuse me for wanting to look presentable once," he sighed and sat down to eat a scone made by his brother.
"Hah!" Brin laughed, "You might have this well-tailored suit, but your eyebrows give it all away."
"It's not like you don't have it too!" Arthur remarked while Scot laughed and Brin looked away. Eily, who had been eating in peace, stood up.
"What? Are we not going?" Arthur blinked and then stood up, sipping his tea one last time.
"Hey Artie, could you pick me up at my workplace later? I get to go home early today," Scot asked and Arthur shook his head.
"I have somewhere to go before I go home," Scot opened his mouth and Arthur held up a hand, "and wherever I will go is none of your business."
Scot shrugged and bid goodbye to the duo as they head for another glorious day of work.
After travelling for a few minutes, Arthur parked his car in front of the building as both Eily and he went inside. While inside the elevator, they met Francis and Gilbert, who look a bit wasted after drinking the night before. Arthur stifled a chuckle.
"What? It's not like you were any better in dealing a hangover," Francis hissed but his face soon broke into a grin, "Why, the last time we drank together, you sang inside the bar so loudly that I think my ears would bleed forever with nothing but a—"
Arthur held his finger at the Frenchman's face, "Mention a single detail of that night and I will make sure that you would never ever be able to taste another sip of that beloved wine of yours again," Francis looked unimpressed with his insult but still he kept silent while he went back to harassing that bird on top of Gilbert.
"Hey Gilbert," Arthur started, while Gilbert looked at him with discomfort as he tried to shrug off Francis from his beloved Gilbird, "Could I leave work early today?"
Gilbert flinched and Francis stopped his actions, "Holy shit. Did you hear that, Francis? Arthur wanted to leave early." A silence surfaced before Gilbert spoke again, "When is the fucking apocalypse? I knew that 2012 movie was real; I told Mattie that it was real. Oh my God. I am too awesome to die—"
"Gilbert."
Gilbert looked at Arthur, "Oh... yeah sure."
Arthur nodded, "Thank you."
There was an awkward silence inside the elevator, but soon a 'ding' was heard. Gilbert walked briskly to his office and the door closed immediately to continue upwards. Soon, Eily chuckled, followed by roars of laughter from Francis and Arthur. Well, even they could agree on something from time to time.
It was already three o'clock, and Arthur found himself leaving the company grounds and driving his car. He stopped at a nearby flower shop and walked inside it with a 'cling'. He was greeted by a tall man who wore a scarf.
"Welcome to 'Flower Patterns'! May I help you with anything?" He said, handling sunflowers with utmost care as he smiled towards the blond.
Arthur looked around the store, and after a while saw a bunch of red, blooming roses, "How much for this?"
"Three dollars, my good sir," he smiled, still tending to the sunflowers.
Arthur paid for the flowers and was told a 'goodbye!'—to which he smiled—and drove off to his destination. The clouds looked gloomy and dark; he must hurry if he does not wish to be with the rain. And soon, he had entered the compound where hundreds and hundreds of graves are placed on land covered with grass.
After going through turns, he stopped the car and walked the land. The wind was fair and blew away the orange fallen leaves of autumn. He had memorised this path, and soon, he found himself standing in front of a white grave with a candle beside him. He glanced at the name. "Alfred F. Jones," it read.
Arthur knelt in front of the grave and laid the roses just beside it. He smiled and sighed, looking up to see the thundering clouds grow darker each second. He opened his umbrella and sheltered the grave.
"I'm sorry I won't be here for so long," he said, and a thunder roared, "It seems that the weather does not want to cooperate with me today." He smiled apologetically at Alfred.
"It has been a while, hasn't it? Work was flawless as usual, although that French git wouldn't stop annoying the bloody hell out of me, and my brothers were ever so mocking—I swear, Scot would catch his death with a smirk, I tell you," he joked and laughed, but his laughter diminished as he eyed the grave again.
"Did you know that I miss you?" He asked, and then he chuckled, "well, I do; so much."
Arthur looked up, "I still haven't forgotten what you did, you know? Every night I would think of what you did, if this was all a joke and you would suddenly come out wherever you are hiding. Every time your face just pops in my mind, I was at the brink of sadness and all that. I guess I can't help but miss the old days," he placed his hand gingerly on the grave. He continued, "It was a bit stressing, actually—how much everything had changed, I mean. They would hide it, their thoughts on me. Every time your name is mentioned, they would fall silent and then Matthew, the lad, would somehow change the topic. If they think of it or shrug it away is beyond me, but I know. I know."
He fell silent and listened to the wind move the leaves, slowly, ever so gently... "It wasn't just the same. However, your letter saved me. I was actually thinking of suicide back then, but... I remembered, you sacrificed your life for mine, and I would be eternally grateful," he sniffed, "Tell me again, Alfred, why you did it. I had heard a lot of answers, particularly, 'he cares for you' or 'he wants to' and all that. However, I'm not exactly contented with that. But then again, I'm not easily contented."
Arthur's face looked calm, caring, and then at the same time melancholy. Then, he searched his file case and brought out a piece of paper, "This is your letter. See, there is this erasure here and I want to know what it is. Not only do I detest erasures, but you left me quite curious and hanging. But, if this is what I think it is..." Arthur smiled, and then caressed the grave, "I l-love you as well, Alfred. For—for so long, I have. Yes," he looked away, wondering why was he feeling such, "But it is a shame you had only admitted then, and I now." Tears fell on the grass, and Arthur swiftly wiped his cheeks.
"What am I doing," he whispered, "Crying over... hah..." he looked at Alfred's grave and then more tears slid down. He couldn't stop it, and he was not bothered to stop it anymore.
"I miss you, Alfred. Why did you do it, my lad? Why?" He sobbed and the wind blew harder, drying Arthur's cheeks. He smiled.
"Thank you for that," Arthur sat up and rubbed his eyes, this time effectively stopping his tears, "And... thank you for everything. Thank you for the memories, the times, the love, this heart," he pointed to his chest and let his shoulders relax. He looked at the grave one last time before standing up.
"So, hopefully you had heard it. I said it. I love you, Alfred F. Jones, and I will probably do so for a while. And I will love you," he placed his hands on his chest and smiled, so warmly and lovingly, "with all your heart."
LOLOLOL I'M DONE!111!
Haha, that took a while actually. I actually started this a month ago and I continued it at the end of December as a gift to you guys. Hooray~
Eily-Northern Ireland; Scot-Scotland; Brin-Wales; that flower guy-Russia. :D
Rose—the United States' national flower.
Yeah. Thanks for reading. ^^