Love Me With Opaque Eyes

09/01/14

. . . .

It was probably one of the hardest things he's ever done, but it has to be done, or else it would cause them a great deal of unhappiness in the long run, and it would be forever in his guilt and regret to pull someone down in sorrow with him just because he permitted his self to be selfish. For the last time, he allowed himself a last glance of his beloved, a last glance that will surely be embedded in his memory, drinking in every detail and flaw, admiring the imperfect perfection and loving all that's him, and that's it. That's all that he has and will ever have from the man lying peacefully-unaware of the torment he subjected the older nation to, a memory, a little something to keep and hopefully it would be enough to somehow coax him to wake every morning. Mon Dieu! He's far from being beautiful, he's a work of art. Art isn't supposed to be beautiful; it's meant to make you feel something. And the good lord can only know and be made witness of the myriad emotions this man managed pull out of him, and he began to wonder, did he somehow feel them too?

Probably he did. However, it was never safe to assume, and he can feel it. Being the embodiment of love, he can feel his much coveted affection from the man, and he too is longing for the same love, but he can never tell to whom it's directed to. And as much as they love each other, they can never fulfill the other's needs. They're too different that way.

Once upon a time, Angleterre did love him, the way Francis will always love him, but that was a long time ago and over the years, Arthur outgrew the childish fantasy that was France and what once was a mere channel that separated them grew into a vast ocean from the tears brought by the pain they kept on inflicting each other. It wasn't enough anymore, and Arthur found someone to worthy to take Francis' place. Someone who drew tears from Arthur's eyes far more than Francis ever did, someone who had inflicted far more pain, but also the one who bought tremendous happiness and fulfillment to Arthur, and still do.

'Oh mon Angleterre.' His cerulean eyes began to gloss over. 'I'm going to miss you.' he leaned down and for the final time, he indulged his self a kiss. It was chaste and sweet with a lingering bitter aftertaste like England's much adored tea. The other man barely felt it and would never have any recollection of it, but for Francis, it's all that he'd want to remember and keep. 'I'm sorry I never managed to bring a smile out of those lips.'

He began to dress himself, taking his time observing the chaotic aftermath of the night before, their nights were always wild and raving and blurry and most of the time, Arthur can't remember any of it. The first time it happened, both he and Arthur are sloshed beyond oblivion that when Arthur woke up… it wasn't pretty. He chased a still dazed France-both donned only by spreadsheets, with a knife though the streets of London while calling him names of colorful varieties in all language that he knew. The Frenchman chuckled at the memory; that was centuries ago and what a spectacle they have made their selves then!

The next few times taught France a valuable lesson; flee before Arthur wakes up and don't look back. It's better if Arthur knew nothing of or didn't have anything to remind him of their passion filled night. As much as Francis wants to stay, like he did on the first few times and when he gets the better of himself, he knows Arthur wouldn't and never will welcome his presence sober. It's painful to be looked at by the man you love with a fleeting glance, like you don't deserve a second thought at all, but it's more painful when he looks at you only when he's inebriated because then, he can imagine the face of the man he loves in your place. Francis long knows that he's nothing more than a mere substitute, a willing body eager to take what he can, even the blame of being the dirty tramp, the seductor, the pervert who's willing to anything that moves. Frankly, when Francis follows Arthur when he's out to get a 'drink', he doesn't really intend to end everything in bed, it just happens after Arthur sloppily crashes his lips on the grieved French after he rants out his woes on the American. He feels guilty really, feeling like he's committing a heinous crime by taking advantage of the island rose when all his intention really lies on taking the Englishman safely home. And having the fact the he was never really wanted by England in the first place rubbed on his face was all too much for Francis to bear. So he just leave, even knowing it's not a proper thing for a gentleman to do. He'll never be a gentleman to Arthur's eyes anyway. He's probably worth no more than a scum on the Englishman's shoes.

With the final button in place, the Frenchman began to leave. His shoes, waiting by the door to step out and never look back.

Dear mon Angleterre,

I… I guess I should start with an apology. I know it's what you want to hear, but if we're to be honest here, and I'm sure you'd rather have that given this will be the last time you'd hear from me, then I should probably tell you that I'm not sorry for last night… and all the nights we spent together. I'm not apologizing for that. Those nights, those aren't meant to be lamented-at least not for me. Those nights were a slice of heaven to a sinful soul in hell. Those nights were for me to keep and to cherish, and torment myself to.

I do want to apologize for one thing though. Just one thing that could have changed the way we could have been, hadn't I been what I have.

I'm sorry for not being enough.

I'm sorry that I'm not the person you expect to be standing in your front porch every morning, and when you open your door I'm not the face you'd want to see and that my food isn't greasy enough. I'm sorry it's my umbrella that you are stuck with when you can enjoy the rain with someone else. (I'm sorry it's me who'd drag you out the rain to dance when you could have been safe under someone's umbrella.) I'm sorry that I'm not the one you want running in your house when you need someone to fix the pests on your roses nor the presence welcomed to console you when you clean your attic. I'm sorry it's not my hug that should comfort you. I'm sorry that it's not my hands that should wipe your tears away. I'm sorry that my lips aren't what bring you the sweetest honey. I'm sorry that I enjoy getting struck by you because it's the only physical contact that is purely meant for me. I'm sorry that it's not my name you'd cry when you have my body to use for your pleasure and that I leave before you wake in the morning because I know waking next to me will ruin the fantasy of him. And besides, it's no more than a disgusting deed to do with the frog. I'm sorry I still come to you though it's not my name you call. I'm sorry I never managed to bring a smile on your face, nor peace in your mind. I'm sorry for being a nuisance. I'm sorry for bringing you misery and pain.

I'm sorry for being selfish.

Don't blame yourself for last night either. It's always me remember? I seduced you-just think that. I deflowered you, keep that in mind. I molested you, taken advantage, anything! Just don't blame yourself. You once told me, you want to conquer France and crush it to the ground, you already did cher. You've captured what's vital of my existence, it was yours to own anyway.

Last night, you were sober enough to see the scars and bruises littered on my body, you asked me if you caused them all and I can't answer you. Truth is, some of them are self-inflicted when I terribly upset you. See what we do to each other? England, I know we're past loving each other and I know I was just a phase for you. I know that I'm merely a boyish crush and now a substitute for Ameriqué, nothing more. I'm not blind Arthur; I can see the way you search for his eyes, just the way I do to you. I guess it's just me who can't truly let you go, but I can't subject you to this any longer. I know I'm hurting you and the last thing you need is a French frog to add to your burden. I want to see your smile again Arthur, even just from a far. I want to see that carefree little island nation that I once knew before he was tamed. I want you happy again mon ami.

Perhaps our argument before was our way of expressing our love and pent up tension, but now we're merely destroying each other. I did love you though, and I still do, however, I'm not the one you need and who you want. I'm not getting in your way any longer and I wish you all the happiness we never had with Ameriqué. Take care cher. I love you.

~Francis

Arthur woke up to the sun filtering through his window, dazed and nursing a terrible hung-over. The sheets next to him, empty. His clothes, neatly folded and placed inside his hamper. Memories of last night kept playing on his head. The scars, the secrets that reluctantly tumbled out of the Frenchman's lips, the confessions, the pain and love painted in a shade of blue.

He tightened his grip on the paper in his hand, crumpling it and throwing it away, only for him to pick it up later and smooth it down, because it's the last thing he's left of the Frenchman. He swore to never touch more than a glass of his favorite drink, but he knew what a lie that was. Because how ever happy he was in the arms of a certain manic nation, he knows from time to time memories of the blonde French will still plague his nights and he'd pull out the letter and drown his self with alcohol and pretend to hear Francis' voice over and over again.

Because contrary to what he believes, Francis is more than a substitute.

Francis is, and above all, his first love...

…Take care cher. I love you…

'Oh Francis…'

Hi guys! I know this makes no sense at all. But I'm actually thinking of adding more to this, I'd still think about it though. Probably show their history and some flashbacks, what do you think?

Wahhhh! I'm enjoying the last day of freedom, tomorrow I'll be 18 and I'm not thrilled about it. Anyway, thank you guys for reading, comments, suggestions, criticisms are greatly welcomed and highly encouraged. Too cheesy? too sad? too dramatic? too cliche? let me know.

I'm sorry for grammar inconsistency, I was writing this in between school works.

Have a great day/night!