Alfred F. Jones.
He was a sickly boy living in the United States of America. He lived alone most of the time, because his parents were serving in the war. His doctor visited him every week or so, but one does get tired of seeing their doctor.
He was prohibited from going outside his house due to his illness, so he never met anyone his age. All he did was go through every day, alone.
It was quite a dreadful life.
Alfred always wanted to meet someone his age, so every morning he woke up alive, he would wish that somehow, someone would become his friend.
Alas, he went on with life, that someone never appearing. But that never stopped him from hoping.
Alfred woke up one morning, feeling as sick as every morning, but thankfully alive. He made his everyday wishes – that he might get better soon and that he'd perhaps make a friend. He pushed himself out of bed with some effort and stumbled over to the kitchen, still rubbing his eyes.
He had his normal breakfast of Frosted Flakes by himself. He looked out the window, watching the trees sway in the wind ever so slightly. Alfred always enjoyed admiring nature, though he never actually encountered it.
He finished his breakfast quickly and went to watch some television, but all his favorite channels showed updates on the war. The war was depressing for Alfred; it only reminded him of his lonely situation. He turned off the TV and walked back upstairs to grab his latest superhero magazine.
On the way back to his room, the door leading up to the attic caught his eye. He had never gone to the attic, since his parents told him it wasn't such a good idea. But hey, he was older now.
He opened the door and walked up the stairs. The room was dusty, but Alfred looked beyond that. He looked through some of the boxes in the attic, finding worn pictures of his parents. They both looked so young, so enthusiastic in the pictures, comparing to when Alfred saw them. His parents were always so serious around their son, concerned for his welfare. Now that Alfred had seen them with smiles on their faces, he wondered: Was he really a "bundle of joy" or was he just a burden?
Alfred put the pictures back in the box, feeling even more depressed than ever. He scanned the room for something that might cheer him up.
At the other end of the room, there was an old mirror. The glass was cracked at the bottom and the amount of dust covering it made it difficult to see one's reflection. Alfred walked closer to the mirror, watching his blurred reflection copy his movements.
He knew, standing in front of the mirror, that he was not a perfect person. He had bright blue eyes that no one saw clearly due to his glasses. His hair was always somewhat messy, and there was always that one lock of hair that never seemed to come down.
And he was ill.
He sighed. "If only," he said out loud, his voice echoing in the empty room. "If only my reflection could become my friend."
Alfred looked back at his reflection, and then blinked in surprise. In the mirror, his eyes were an emerald-green. Then the reflection changed even more – his eyebrows became thick and bushy; his hair turned blonde, became shorter and scruffier, and that one lock of hair that defied gravity had disappeared; his clothes had been covered by a black cape. Alfred looked down at himself. He didn't look anything like his reflection.
"You git, look over here!" a voice said. It was a hard tone that had a thick British accent to it. Alfred looked around for any intruders. No one was there.
The voice sighed. "In the mirror, idiot!"
Alfred turned back to the mirror. "Finally," his reflection said. "Perhaps you can understand English after all."
The American boy could only gape for a moment. "Who are you?" he finally asked.
"Arthur, Arthur Kirkland. No, I know already, you're Alfred Jones," Arthur replied, waving Alfred down when he tried to introduce himself. "I'm here to grant your wishes. Okay, now be happy."
Alfred was happy, but his confusion weighed more. "But why?" he asked.
"Well, you're the one who asked for a reflection friend," Arthur said. "If you've changed your mind, I can leave."
"No!" Alfred shouted. "I mean, please don't leave."
Arthur shrugged. "Whatever you say."
"How long are you going to stay?" Alfred said.
"As long as the magic lasts, I guess." Arthur scratched the back of his neck. "Once the magic's gone, I can't grant anymore wishes. And you have as many wishes as you want."
Alfred hesitated. Was this a dream? Was he going to wake up soon, and no longer have someone like Arthur to talk to? He slowly raised one of his hands, watching Arthur mimic his movements. He placed his hand on the mirror; Arthur did the same. Were the mirror not there, their fingers would have touched.
Instead of feeling the cold glass, Alfred felt warmth, as if they were really touching. It wasn't just a dream. He could feel the magic surging through them, from Arthur's heart to Alfred's and back again. "Could you… say my name?" Alfred requested finally.
Arthur smiled ever so slightly. "All right… Alfred."
Alfred felt something fluttering in his heart. It was a good feeling, and it made him smile. "Thank you… Arthur."
The English boy turned away, though his hand was still pressed to the mirror. "It's only because you asked for it, idiot."
Alfred wasn't offended, but that fluttery feeling was so powerful; it brought tears to his eyes. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, unable to face Arthur. "Is it all right…" Alfred began, losing confidence for a moment, but gathered his courage again. "Is it all right to call you my 'friend', Arthur? You'd be my first one."
Arthur blinked at Alfred. "Of course it's fine! That's what the system is for!"
The two boys stayed there in the attic (or rather, Alfred was in the attic and Arthur was wherever he was), hands pressed to the mirror, for hours. Alfred was delighted, but kept the feeling down. Can I really keep holding your hand? he thought. I've been alone for so long, I had forgotten how important a warm hand was, even if it's on the other side of the mirror. Alfred smiled to himself, looking at Arthur from the corner of his eye. He was smiling as well, a true smile although it was small. Maybe, just maybe, Arthur appreciated having Alfred around. Maybe, just maybe, they could become very good friends.
Maybe, just maybe, Alfred was falling for Arthur.
Alfred visited the attic very constantly over the next few days. Not because he had wishes, but he wanted to get to know his new friend. Arthur didn't seem to mind that much. He'd listen to Alfred talk about anything; about his parents, his everyday life, his feelings about a certain subject, anything. Once in a while, he'd respond with a "Hm" here and there, perhaps an "Is that so" every few paragraphs, or a "That's just like you, git" every so often.
Alfred would listen to Arthur talk as well, although that happened less often. The magician would talk about his brothers, his friends that everyone thought was imaginary, his annoying neighbor Francis, and other things too. Alfred would try to stay quiet, but he'd always end up interrupting with another story of his own. Arthur would laugh every time Alfred interjected, muttering a "You idiot," then continue listening.
Arthur did grant some of Alfred's wishes, though. The American recovered from his illness, astonishing his doctor ("It's a miracle!"). Alfred went outside sometimes and became friends with a boy named Matthew, but he still spent most of his time in the attic, talking to Arthur.
One day, Alfred received a letter. It said that his parents were MIA – missing in action. Arthur tried to comfort him. "Missing in action doesn't necessarily mean dead, you know," he said. "They'll find their way back here, I'm sure of it!"
Alfred, who was staring down at the ground, hands clasped together tightly and full of grief, suddenly stared right into Arthur's eyes. "Arthur, could you please make the war end?"
"That'd be dangerous, you know," Arthur said slowly. "It'd affect everyone's lives, and perhaps an unstable person could be left alive, and then could destroy your future –!"
"I don't care!" Alfred yelled, causing Arthur to jump. "If the war is over, my parents might be found! And less people will die now!"
The green-eyed boy was startled, but nodded. "The war will be over within a few days."
"Thank you, Arthur." Alfred put his hand up to the glass. Arthur followed suit, the familiar warmth making them both smile.
Sure enough, the war did come to an end. Alfred's parents were found within a short amount of time, but they were severely injured. Alfred went to visit them in the hospital, but they weren't very responsive.
"I'm glad they're alive," he said to Arthur. "It could have been worse, huh?"
"Of course it could have been worse, you idiot! They're not dead, thankfully!" Arthur replied. "I told you they'd find their way back!" He wouldn't dare tell Alfred that he too, was originally doubtful of Alfred's parents' conditions.
Alfred laughed softly at Arthur's outburst. "Fine, fine, you're right." Arthur couldn't help but laugh along with him.
One night, Alfred had a dream. Within it, he was a powerful prince, respected and loved by the people. He had been a war hero and lived in a grand castle of marble.
"It was beautiful," Alfred said, Arthur listening from the mirror. "The courtyard was so big and perfect, and I'd run around in it with you."
"So we met in person in the dream?" Arthur asked.
Alfred nodded.
"Hm." Arthur's expression was thoughtful. "The law in the United States bans royalty, I believe. And I can't come and meet you in person."
"What are you thinking, Arthur?"
"You idiot. I'm creating your dream world!" Arthur said. "You want that, I assume?"
Alfred was speechless for a moment. Arthur smiled.
"Yes, you do," he confirmed. "I can't make you royalty, but I'll make your social status better." He clasped his hands together and whispered an incantation. As Arthur repeated the chant, a strong breath of wind rushed toward Alfred from the mirror. The house began to change. The floor seemed higher from ground level than before, and the dust in the room disappeared. The walls became pearly white, the boxes organized themselves, and the mirror was no longer cracked.
The American stared at the newly cleaned attic in awe. The Brit laughed. "Go look at your house. The map's the same. It's just the design."
Alfred raced downstairs. Arthur could hear his "oohs" and "ahhs" as he admired his new mansion, which made him smile. But if one looked closely, there was something weird about that smile. Like the smile had a tinge of sadness.
Alfred knew that all of his wishes had been granted, for the most part. He was healthy. His parents were recovering, slowly but surely. He lived a wonderful life.
But still, something was missing.
He dragged an old cot next to the mirror in the attic and lied down. Arthur did the same. They pressed their hands against the mirror and smiled at each other.
"I wish the magic would last forever," Alfred said.
Arthur sighed. "You know that's impossible, Alfred."
"I know…" Alfred sighed. "But that won't stop me from wishing."
Arthur loved how Alfred kept hoping. Sometimes, it made the American look like an idiot, but that was Alfred. And Arthur didn't want it any other way.
"Don't let go of my hand, okay?"Alfred whispered.
Arthur nodded; his cheeks slightly pink. Alfred smiled.
"Hey, Arthur," he said even softer than before, his eyes struggling to stay open. "Will you say my name?"
The Brit smiled back. "Alfred," he said slowly.
Alfred closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, his smile still on his face. Arthur watched him for a while, and then he too, closed his eyes and went to dreamland.
Weeks passed. Both boys were satisfied with their lives as of that moment. They were talking one day, about something that no outsider would understand when Arthur suddenly jumped in surprise, his emerald-green eyes filled with alarm.
"What's wrong?" Alfred asked, worried for his friend.
"The magic," Arthur said breathlessly. "It's wearing off!"
"No!"
"I'm so sorry, but I guess this is good-bye." Arthur's eyes were filled with tears.
"Don't leave!"
"But I must, Alfred, I must."
"Please, Arthur!" Tears were streaming down Alfred's cheeks.
"Oh, Alfred…" Arthur whispered. "Don't cry…"
"Then don't leave!" Alfred shouted.
"I'm so sorry. But this mirror connects two 'mirror images'. Everything on my side of the mirror is the 'reflection' of your side," Arthur explained, his voice trembling with sobs. "We have completely different fates, so we can't be connected through the mirror.
"I'll never forget you – your laugh, your tears, your stories, even that lock of hair that just refuses to stay down," he continued, his image and voice fading quickly. "So please, don't forget me…"
And with that, Arthur vanished from the mirror, leaving Alfred to stare at his reflection, his real reflection. He wept freely, the tears splashing onto the floor.
"We should have stayed together forever!" Alfred shouted into the empty room. "Even without the magic! I'll be here, waiting here for you, always! No matter how much time passes, I'll keep waiting for you!" He fell to his knees, in front of that old mirror, the one that held so many memories. "It's because I love you, Arthur! I love you!"
Through his cry of loneliness, Alfred swore he heard a faint voice, that familiar British accent, saying, "I love you too, Alfred. I love you too…"
Xiang here! Phew, that took a long time. This is based off Magical Mirror by Rin Kagamine. I do not own the song or Hetalia, as much as I wish to. Unfortunately, Xiang doesn't have enough money.
Reviews sound nice, so please review! Feel free to criticize. In fact, please criticize. I need it. And please read my other stories?