All Mine
"Why do you always have to ruin everything, Alfred?"
"Ouch, Artie, tha-"
"My name's not Artie!"
Geez, that guy sure can yell for such a small little dude. Maybe that's why he gets so grouchy all of the time; maybe his body's not big enough to hold all of the frustration in and then he explodes, kinda like a bomb or a volcano or some over awesome exploding thing. Apart from it's not very awesome when he's exploding at me, making me feel like some kind of douche bag instead of the hero I know that I am. Or that I at least try to be for the sake of my British boyfriend. I still feel proud now, after three whole months of us being together, whenever I think about Arthur being my boyfriend.
Mine. All mine.
Mine and, right now, extremely angry. Because I kindofsortofmaybe ruined his precious flowerbeds out the back with my awesome, super-cool new ride-on lawn mower. But hey, how was I to know that it would kill his stupid collection of stupid roses? Things looked too girly anyways; ruined the yard.
"Are you even going to bloody apologize for it?" He all but snarls, using that voice he only uses when he's truly mad or upset (or both) with me. I think it's probably the one thing in the world that has the power to make me feel guilty, his voice. "Of course you aren't. Because you're the hero." He lets out a dry shot of laughter that somehow has no humor to it whatsoever; only a weird sort of anger that makes me shiver and my stomach churn and want nothing more than to hug Artie until he can't breathe. "Some hero you are."
"Hey! I've saved your ass gazillions of times!" I protest, using my usual beam in order to win him over; it always works, he says that when I'm smiling it makes him happy and when someone's happy, they can't be mad, right? "Like that time you got sick and I helped you get all better. Remember? I was an awesome hero then!"
Artie just rolls his eyes, refusing to meet my starving gaze with those mossy green irises of his. God, I love his eyes. It's the way they shine when the light catches on them just right, like two massive moons gleaming with everything that makes Arthur Kirkland the Arthur Kirkland. I can read his eyes like he can read Shakespeare, even when he's vocally lying to me I can still find the truth in those beautiful portals of vision. For example, when Ludwig's been mean to him and he tells me that it doesn't bother him, his eyes, or rather the way they shimmer with salt water, tell me that it's a load of bullshit and that it actually really does bother him. A lot.
And right now his eyes, the way they're seemingly burning with an emotion that doesn't look right on my Artie, tell me that he's not mad at me.
He's completely fucking furious.
His fists are balled at his sides, clenched tight like two boulders waiting to crush any/everything in their path, and it's enough to make fear bubble in my gut even if I do know that Artie would never actually hurt me. His thick eyebrows are slanting and meeting at the middle, as though his frustration is physically weighing them down. Everything about him is screaming at me that I've really screwed up this time.
But c'mon, they were just some stupid flowers.
"A-artie?" He growls at the nickname, making me gulp and step away from him as though he's a highly dangerous wild animal instead of my harmless little boyfriend. "Arthur, you're not, like, that mad, right?"
When he doesn't say anything, I take it as the go ahead to step forward and reach an arm around his back to pull him into a great big bear hug; more like a great big mistake.
He all but shoves me away and although he isn't exactly strong, the venom behind it is more than enough to ensure that I get the message. The message that Artie really does want me to stay away from him, that he really does hate me. I don't want him to hate me, I really don't. Hell, I'd even eat an entire batch of his scones with a smile on my face right now if that would mean him not hating me. Now that's love.
Too scared of what I might find if I look at his face, I let my head droop down in shame, my hands clenching at the hem of my shirt to stop me from fidgeting around. More like to stop me from grabbing a hold of Arthur's hands and never letting go, just holding onto him so that he can't ever leave me.
Can't ever hate me.
Only do I look up when I hear some faint sniffling, the sound of a man giving up on a lost cause. And it makes my heart snap in two like a pocky when I realize that the man is Artie and that I'm that lost cause.
Shit, I've made Artie cry. That's not a very hero-like thing to do. Not at all.
I snap my head up at the speed of light, only to see that his has been snapped forcefully down; kind of like he's ashamed that he's crying in front of me. He shouldn't be though, not ever, because I'm the hero and if he's crying it's my job to know so that I can make it all better for him.
Anyway, I don't need to see his floorward face to know that he's upset, gone past the point of being simply furious. Stupid as it may sound, I think I preferred when he was angry with me.
Y'know what? I don't care if he doesn't want me to hug him; I know that he needs me to hug him right now, cuddle him close like I do late at night because I like having something to hold when I sleep. I guess I just never grew out of needing a teddy bear in bed with me.
Acting on instinct, I stride forward and wrap my arms around Arthur's slight frame before he has a chance to escape, pulling him in close until I can feel his quivering lips against my chest through the weak fabric of my top. It feels like a drill, boring straight through my skin and exploding my heart with guilt and worry and all of the other horrible things that come hand-in-hand with a crying Artie.
My Artie.
"Shush there, Cuteness." I whisper, holding my voice steady among the rampant regret fighting to be heard within it. I know I've really messed up when the pet name doesn't make him blush in the slightest, his already red-tinted skin (from tears) doing nothing by the way of showing any shade of modest embarrassment. "Oh, Artie. I'm sorry, okay? Like, really sorry, man. But they're just flow-"
"If you dare say they were just flowers, I swear to God I will inflict high amounts of pain upon you." His words would be funny if only it weren't so serious. And if he wasn't fighting through sobs to make them heard. "God, you're a wanker." I can't resist the tiny smirk that sneaks onto my face at that, a sure sign of Arthur coming back to his usual grouchy-yet-adorable self. "It's just that you didn't bloody think, did you?" He shakes his head, refusing again to meet my eyes as I rub slow, comforting circles on his shuddering lower back. "No, you did think. About how much fun you could have. About yourself. That's all you ever think about! It's like you don't even care about me anymore, self-centered prick."
I gasp, flat-out flat-lining at the thought of him thinking such things; thinking that I don't care about my Artie. Because I really do, more than anything I've ever cared about before. It's sincerely excruciating to me that he could ever even consider thinking that, twists into me like a bullet, because I thought I do a pretty awesome job at making my boyfriend feel all loved and cared-for.
Apparently not.
Doing the only thing that makes sense right now, I tilt his chin up with my hand. The gesture is firm yet gentle enough for him to know that he can get out if he wants to. It stings knowing that I kinda have to give him that option right now, that it's even an option at all. When he finally does look up I almost wish he hadn't; he looks distraught, for lack of a truer word. Like he's worked himself up into such a state of inner-agony that it's physically hurting him. If there's one thing I loathe more than seeing my Artie in pain, it's seeing Artie in pain and being able to do nothing about it.
And I loathe being the cause of that pain even more.
"Oh, Artie." I sigh, leaning down and letting our breath mingle in the barely-there space between our lips. "I do care about you, a hell of a lot. You gotta know that, right?"
He just looks away, the single action screaming at me louder than any word ever could that I've failed my Artie.
"I-I just don't know anymore, Alfred." His voice is strained, torn apart by brutal conflicting emotions. "I'm sorry, but I don't."
Great. Now he's apologizing. What if he thinks that this is all his fault? What if he thinks that he's done something wrong?
Well, I guess I'll just have to make him see otherwise, make him see just how much I truly do adore him.
I carefully pull his head into the area between my shoulder and neck, slowly rocking us as he cries silently into the horrible atmosphere that my own actions have forced upon us. God, I can't believe that I've been so stupid. Okay, so maybe I can. But what I really can't believe is that I've been so stupid with my Arthur. Stupid enough to make the poor guy cry.
"Sweetheart?" He nods, daring to look up at me like a kitten at a Rottweiler, his eyes full of tears on the brink of escape. "I love you. More than anyone's ever loved anyone or anything. Sure, we have our ups and downs, and you can be a helluva grumpy bastard ninety-nine percent of the time, but I wouldn't change you for the world." The words are just dribbling out of my mouth, straight from my heart in one unstoppable torrent of desperate honesty. "I love you."
He blinks at me, searching for something that I can't quite place but know that he shouldn't have to look for.
"Prove it."
So I do.
I gently, ever so gently, pull his face up to meet mine, grinning at how I have to lean down to reach my shorter partner, and take a moment just to take in his beauty. That natural, unique beauty that can stop my heart whenever he so much as glances at me from across the room; that beauty that captivates my heart no matter how many times I've seen it before and know I will see it again.
And then, I kiss him.
Soft and sweet; full of loving care and caring love, attempting to expel all of his heartbreaking doubts in one swift action. My hand snakes up his back and ensnares itself in his messy flop of blonde, savoring the way it feels like the most valuable kind of silk against the pads of my fingers. His lips are hungry, starved of the kind of care he deserves and I oblige to fill them up to the point of gorging. His arms are fast around my neck like a cashmere scarf, locking around me like a padlock of desperate clingy-ness. Not that I mind him being clingy, in fact I think it's super-adorable. Besides he needs it right now, because I, Alfred F Jones, failed him. But that's okay; I'm fixing this, holding him close and kissing him like the treasure he is.
So damn precious.
I don't want to pull away, I really don't, but I can tell that Artie's dying to say something. Something that I just know he needs to say. That I need to hear.
"Alfred?" He mewls up to me, eyes glimmering in a way that makes my heart skip a beat and smiling like he always should be. I nod, too in awe of him to form words. "I believe you and I, um, I'm sorry for getting angry." He blushes lightly; so adorable and all mine. "And I love you too."
I break out into my signature beam, daring to ruffle his hair and pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose; celebrating a victory.
"But I love ya more, Gorgeous."
A/N: So, I had a massive list of things to do today (GCSE-related homework, applying to college, cleaning my room, etc) and I did none of it. Instead I watched four hours of Hetalia, read so much fanfiction my eyes started to bleed and I wrote this. Personally, I'm not too pleased with how this turned out, but hey. PROCRASTINATION FTW.
Thank you very, very much for reading and please let me know what you think! Invisible virtual pasta for anyone who reviews! :)