PLEASE DONT HATE ME! PLEASE DONT HATE ME! PLEASE DONT HATE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Warnings: spiritual themes, character death, tears, drama, yaoi, NO FLAMES, violence, kinda fluff (?)
Disclaimer: don't own Hetalia or the songs this was inspired by ANNNNNNNND...um...I dont know? Oh, yeah, sorry for grammatical errors~!
Enjoy~
When we met, I hated you...
I was fifteen when I met him, fifteen and rebellious. Dressed in leather pants, a worn "Cradle of Filth" t-shirt, a black vest, black, leather, finger less gloves and black motorcycle boots, I had piercings on my lip, my ears and my eyebrows and my messy, coarse, blonde hair had streaks of neon green in it. A bandanna with the flag of England was tied around my mouth and nose as I handled the spray paint expertly, my boyfriend at the time -James -standing beside me and helping me spray paint the back of the school.
"W'at are you doing?"
"None of your business!" James snapped turning to glare at the French boy.
"...you really shouldn't be doing zhis, oui?"
"Get out of here, frog!" I shouted pausing long enough to glare at the intruder from over my shoulder. And, god, was he beautiful! Long blonde hair pulled away from his face, bright blue eyes, shadows of a beard on his jaw and a lean, well muscled build but wasn't much taller than me. "Who the hell are you?!"
"Francis," the French boy -no, he had to be a man with that beard -said with a smirk, "And you are?"
"Arthur," I snapped, "Now go away!"
He raised an eyebrow, still smirking. "W'at ever you zay, sourcils."
You told the principle what I was doing and I got detention. All because of you...
"SHUT UP YOU DAMN FROG!"
"Well, eet eez not mon fault zhat you don't know anyzhing about fashion!"
"At least I don't look like a chick!"
"Your eyebrowz are 'ideous!"
Tears stung my eyes but I didn't know why. Plenty of people have said that before, hell, even James said so most of the time. So...why did it matter what that...th-that damn frog, thought of my eyebrows?!
"...Arzhur?"
God, my name sounded too good.
"Arzhur? Angleterre, are you alright?"
So, so good... "Y-Yes I'm fine you, bloody imbecile!" I stammered, face heating up as I turned away to wipe away the tears with the sleeve of my long, white shirt.
"An-Angleterre, désolé, I-I didn't mean w'at I zaid!" Francis said quickly, walking up behind me and wrapping his strong arms around my waist and pinning down my arms to my sides; being the same height as me, it was a little awkward until he laid his chin on my shoulder, "Your eyebrows aren't ugly! Je promets, I actually zhink zhey are adorable!"
"Wh-What?" I asked my voice raising in pitch and cracking embarrassingly, "Wha-no, you don't!"
"Oui, I do~" he said, whining slightly and nuzzling his face into the back of my hair, "Your face wouldn't look right wizhout zhem! Zhey make you look even more adorable zhan you already are~."
Blushing, I punched him in the gut and walked away. Damn him for making me feel like this!
I'm still not sure if your decision was a bad thing or a good thing...But I know that, because of that, I got to know you a little better...
"Francis, look what I found in the clearance section of Spencer's yesterday," I said tapping the older teen's shoulder. He turned, smiling, and my heart began to pump blood faster through my body, specifically towards my face.
"W'at, mon lapin?"
I blushed harder, smiling slyly and waving a "Broken Iris" album in his face, "Recognize this, wanker?"
His handsome, French face lit up, resembling a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh, Angleterre, did you get zhis for moi~?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"Angleterre~" Francis whined wrapping his arms around my arm, "don't be zo cruel!"
...and you got to know me...
"Mon lapin!"
I looked up from my spot on the bench, looking up at his perfect face in front of the sun, creating a perfect, angelic image. "Francis?" I asked placing a book mark my personal copy of Pride and Prejudice, "What's up?"
"Look w'at I bought~" he sang waving two strips of paper in my face.
Scowling, I snatched them, looking down at them. I read the small print before gasping and looking up at the French man with wide eyes. "Fr...Francis," I murmured, astonished, "These...these are tickets to see Korn in concert..."
"Oui, zhey are."
"You... you bought these?" I asked, gasping when he nodded, "Francis, you didn't need to-!"
"I wanted to," he said with a sheepish smile that made my heart beat faster, I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
"Thank you!" I nearly shouted, touched beyond words that he had dared to think about me, had dared to spend his hard earned money on me. "Francis, you have to come with me. Please!" I didn't think to bring me boyfriend, who I knew would enjoy the tickets.
"...If you inzist, mon cher," he said with a slight blush. I didn't understand why he was blushing but I didn't particularly care.
Because of you, I began to hate you a little less...even though we still fought...
"DON'T YOU DARE SAY YOUR CRAPPY MUSIC IS BETTER THAN THE BEATLES!"
"AT LEAST MON COUNTRY DOESN'T KNIGHT ANY BÂTARD ZHAT WANTS EET!"
I began to hate you less...and like you more...
"Stop hanging with that whore, Artie, he probably has HIV!" James was shouting, his beer sitting on the table next to him and his cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. We were at a party one of Francis' best friends, Antonio, was holding while his parents were out of town.
"Francis isn't a whore," I snapped, glaring at him out of the corner of my eye as I refilled my red, plastic cup full of rum and coke, "Granted, he's a player, but he's my friend. Why do you care anyway?"
"You're my boyfriend!"
"And he's my friend, just a friend!" I exclaimed, although my heart began to hurt and threaten to crack in half. We were just friends...
Suddenly, I felt a beer bottle smash against my head, a fist collide with my stomach, a foot pressing my shoulder into the linoleum of the kitchen. I screamed and gasped, clawing at James, the tan, auburn haired American with the harsh, thick, Boston accent, with the lusty eyes and the devious smirk. The American I had thought loved me or, at least, would never hurt me like he did to the awkward Russian kid he bullied. "I think you protest too much, Artie," he growled in a tone that sent shivers of fear up and down my back, tears leaking from my eyes, "Don't cry you little bitch! This is what you deserve, this is your punishment!"
...and more...
I felt the burn of a cigarette on my collar bone and I screamed, "F-Francis!"
"Stop calling for that fucking gaywad!"
"FRANCIS, H-HELP ME! PLE-!"
"SHUT UP!" James shouted lifting his foot up to stomp on me and I flinched, muscles tensing as they prepared for the expected blow. But it never came. Instead, I saw Francis -looking angry and pissed -grab the back of James' short sleeved, button down shirt and yank him to the ground. James fell, the French man standing over him, and was greeted with furious kicks and punches to his face and stomach, all curtsy of Francis.
"Don't" -a kick to the stomach -"touch" -the heel of Francis' boot slammed into James' arm with a satisfying crack -"Arzhur" -a punch was delivered to James' ear -"again!"
"Francis, amigo, what are you doing?!" Antonio exclaimed running into the kitchen, his boyfriend -Lovino -on his heels.
"Get 'im out of 'ere," Francis growled spitting on James' bruised and bloody body, " 'e eez a piece of shit zhat tried to 'urt Arzhur! Get 'im out of 'ere, Tonio, before I kill ze bitch!"
Grimly, Antonio nodded and motioned for his boyfriend to help him tossed James from the house.
...and more...
Francis knelt down beside me, fingers gently caressing my bruises and bleeding cuts. I gasped and flinched when he touched a particularly tender one.
"D-Désolé..." he apologized his guilty blue eyes locking with mine, "I...I should 'ave 'urried more...eet eez all mon fault zhat you are like zhis..."
"You're here now," I said gently, lifting my hand to cup his cheek, "that's all that matters."
Until hate turned to love...
Tears fell from his eyes. "I'm zo sorry, mon amour..."
I blushed and smiled shyly, knowing what that meant. "Don't be, dearie," I mumbled cupping his face in both hands and cupping his cheeks with both hands.
Our first kiss was soft, passionate.
It was magical.
I'll never forget it.
You changed me, love...
Walking into school the next day, I received plenty of stares that made me severely uncomfortable. It should have been expected, and I was expecting them, just...not so many!
I tapped Francis on the shoulder, blushing and running a hand through my hair as I said, "Good morning, love."
He turned, a beaming smile on his face but that smile quickly turned into a shocked gape. "Ar-Arzhur..." Francis mumbled, eyeing me up and down lustfully, "mon cher, w'at are you wearing?"
I blushed, clutching the strap to my back pack and shrugging. "The-The whole 'rebel' thing was getting old..." I mumbled extremely self conscious, continuously running a hand through my hair. I was wearing brand new, dark wash, skinny jeans, black and white Vans and a green, knitted, turtle neck sweater that was too big for my skinny, slight frame, the neck was too big -going up to my mouth -and I had to fold it down below my chin, the sleeves went passed the heel of my hand and the bottom of my sweater went down to the end of my thighs. The only things left of my rebel style was the piercings in the shell of my right ear, the small stud in the lobe of my left ear and my manicured, black nails. "Do you...Do you like it?"
Francis gaped, blinking twice before a grin spread across his bearded face; suddenly, Francis was picking me up and slamming my back against the locker. My legs wrapped around his waist automatically as his fingers dug into the hip bones poking above my skinny jeans and through my skin. "Angleterre, I don't like eet," he mumbled leaning forward to whisper in my ear, licking the shell before biting and tugging on my ear lobe, "I love eet, mon amour."
When he kissed me it was full of tongue, saliva and love.
...you motivated me...
"-and as we go about our travels, go forth on our journey, I hope that we remembered what we have learned here," as Valedictorian, I got the privilege to speak at my college graduation, my blue graduation cap firmly on my head and the sleeves of my blue, graduation gown rolled up so that my hands could rest on the podium, "I hope we will remember what we have lost, what we have gained, the pain we felt as well as our happiness because they have all made up who we are. Rather we like it or not. Well...we've finally getting out of here guys!" My fellow students cheered as I descended the stairs of the stage, classmates tossing up their caps as I ran passed them. I found Francis smiling at me and leaning against the wall, I ran up to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing my deeply.
He had graduated three years prior, having become a sue chief for a famous New York chief. Francis had made sure I had worked hard to graduate, to get my Masters in English Literature and Education, so I could move into the house we had picked out a few months back and get an English teaching job.
"I did it, Francis!" I exclaimed, laughing as he wrapped his arms around me and spun me around.
"Oui, mon amour, you did!" he chuckled kissing my lips, then moving down to pepper kisses on my neck.
...you loved me...
He placed me down on the ground before taking my hand between his. "Arzhur, I 'ave loved you ever zince I zaw you spray painting ze school all zhose years ago," Francis said placing my knuckles against his chin, "I 'ave never stopped loving you et you 'ave been mon only lover for years, et I 'ave never tired of you. Each day eez like a new adventure, and eet makes moi wish time would stop zo we could be wizh each ozher forever." He dropped onto one knee and my eyes went wide. "Arzhur, mon cher, mon lapin, mon rosbif, sourcils, mon amour...please...please do moi ze 'onour of becoming mon 'usband."
I gasped, placing a hand on my mouth. The tears were coating my cheeks and clogging my throat, preventing me from speaking. I nodded, chocking out a wet sounding, "Y-Yes, you stupid git!"
But, more than anything you have ever done for me, have ever taught me...
I fixed the black lapels of my tuxedo, beneath it was an emerald shirt and a black tie. A knock on the door was the only signal I received as my sister popped her head in, dressed in a green tulle, bride's maid dress. "Artur, love," she said in her beautiful, lilting, Irish voice, "we need tah get goin' in tree minutes...can Aliaster come in?"
"Yes, of course," I said as the red headed Scot slid passed our brunette sister, closing the door softly behind him. He was dressed in a grey suit, a white shirt and red tie, his untamable red hair pulled back into a tiny, messy ponytail at the nape of his neck.
He smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, his own golden wedding band glinting on his finger. " 'ello, Arthur," he said his Scottish accent deep and rumbling, "Are ye ready tah be married off?"
I smiled, slipping my hand in the crook of his elbow and letting him lead me down the aisle after the wedding party which consisted of: Antonio and my brother Dylan, Gilbert and my sister Fiona, Francis' sister Monica who flew all the way from Monaco and my brother Seamus and, finally, the ring bearer -my little brother Peter -and the flower girl -Francis' young cousin Michelle from Seychelles. I came in last, escorted by my oldest brother, and meet Francis' eyes. His were bright and shinning with joy, eyeing me happily as I eyed him. He was dressed handsomely, in a white tuxedo, a white bow tie and a lavender shirt.
...more than anything you have ever done for me, have ever taught me...
"Francis, do you take this man to be your husband?" the priest asked, "In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, til death do you part?"
He smiled at me. "Oui, whole 'eartedly."
...you have made me happy...
"And do you, Arthur, take Francis to be your husband?" the priest asked, turning to me now, "In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, til death do you part?"
I will not cry, I will not cry... "You bet your ass I do," I mumbled tears pouring down my cheeks but, that was ok, because Francis -my husband -was crying too.
"Then I now pronounce you two husbands," the priest said and we took a step closer, Francis wrapping his arms around my waist and I sliding my hands into his hair, messing it up and causing it to slip out of the lavender ribbon holding it back, "You may now kiss."
We leaned in, Francis pulling my lower body closer and my hands tightening in his hair, bringing his face closer-.
But, like all good dreams, they must end.
My eyes slid open, me struggling to peal them back, dried tears and eye crusts sticking my bottom and top eyelashes together. Stiffly, I rolled over, onto my back, and looked to the left. Francis' side.
It was cold empty, the sheets undisturbed.
Even good dreams have to end.
You're all gonna hate me...
but...I love you...
~kitty
Songs I was inspired by:
New Hope by Broken Iris
Forever by Broken Iris
Fleurs Captives by Nicole Dollanganger
Phantom Pains by Nicole Dollanganger