A/N: Yes, I got this from a Facebook like thingy. I thought the story was so sad, yet touching, and I had to use it. 'Cause I'm a loser. It's supposed to be a one-shot, but it can become multi-chaptered through popular demand. I already have an entire plot running through my head. :D
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers, nor the characters Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones. Hetalia © 2008 Hidekaz Himaruya. I really don't own this sob story either, no matter how much I wish I did. It's beautiful.
WARNING!: This has been turned into a yaoi. Boy love. Homosexual. If you're a yaoi hater, I don't wanna hear about how I "hate heterosexual love" or whatever. I just thought it'd be cute as a yaoi, 'kay?
This is also Hetalia. If you're a Heta-Hater, leave. Because I absolutely will not tolerate you.
Alfred and I met in middle school. We were best friends.
He always told me he loved my eyes. I never quite knew why.
I was in love with him, so of course my face lit right up whenever he said it.
He was handsome, kind, and a kind of goofy that was self-created just to make people laugh.
We would be talking about absolutely nothing, and he would suddenly turn to me and state, sincerely:
"I love your eyes."
One day, I sat in my house, waiting for him to drive over to watch a movie with me.
I got a phone call.
It was his mother. She sounded as if in a panic.
I couldn't quite understand what she was saying, but as I tried to process, it came out as:
"Arthur, quickly! Alfred, accident, Main Street - too much blood!" Her voice cracked as she let out a short sob. "Come now!"
My jaw slackened and, though I had no idea what had happened, it could not have been good.
I ran the short distance from my home to Main Street, still in my leisurewear.
I saw Alfred's mother, helplessly crying, waiting for the ambulance long-since-called to arrive.
I saw a mangled, unrecognizable lump of metal - Alfred's blue Mustang - smushed into the front of a heavy-duty Ford. There was blood splattered in various places around the wreckage - all over Alfred's windshield...
Then I saw him. Alfred.
My heart sputtered to an abrupt stop as I broke into a frantic sprint towards his body.
His twisted, cracked glasses sent broken glass into my feet, but I couldn't register the pain.
"Alfred? Alfred!" He did not respond. Just lay there, like a twit. I was bawling. "Would you look at me, you insufferable -"
Before I could get out my frustrated insult, I was shoved aside by the paramedics, taking Alfred away like angels with a soul.
Blood was seeping, dripping through his matted, blond hair - that annoying cowlick actually sitting against his head for once...
I sat there, on my knees, uncomprehending of the world around me; of my own emotions.
I sat there and sobbed.
I went to the hospital that night - I went every night. Actually, the only times I ever left were to get food, and even then, I never managed to keep any of it down.
The doctors attempted moving me, getting me to leave. I adamantly refused.
It was all my fault.
If it hadn't been for me, convincing him to come over for a petty movie night, this never would have happened.
Four days passed, and he didn't so much as blink.
On the fifth day, his eyes tentatively fluttered open.
"A-Alfred?" I whispered hoarsely, disbelieving.
He was floating between reality and a dream; he probably hadn't even heard me.
Abruptly, doctors and nurses flooded in around me, hurriedly warning me to stay outside until they performed a psych-check.
I did - albeit, impatiently - for a few hours.
A doctor finally emerged solemnly from the room, saying:
"It has come to my understanding that you are Alfred's close friend - Arthur, was it?"
"Yes," I choked out.
The very generic-looking doctor bit his chapped lip.
"He's woken; he's fine, but... I'm afraid he's suffered long-term memory loss."
I gaped at him, eyes narrowing into a venomous look. "Are you bloody mad?" I almost shouted. "That's not quite fine,is it?"
He smiled wryly. "I suppose not."
I didn't meet his gaze. I couldn't.
It became apparent to him that I wasn't going to respond further, so he began again.
"You may go to see him, but he doesn't remember a thing - not even his mother."
I scuffled in, trembling in terror and anticipation.
I saw him. He looked peaceful yet fragile as he slept – rather than that restless look he had while in his coma-like state - but I yearned to shake him awake. You've been asleep five days! I wanted to shout. Isn't this a rather elaborate prank you've decided to play on me, you git?
However, I kept reminding myself that this wasn't a cruel joke - the bloody gauze wrapped thickly around his head was proof enough.
I took his hand in both of mine, gripping it so tightly that, if he were awake, he would have complained of pain.
I wanted for seemingly an eternity, until I saw his eyes crack open again.
I expected doctors to swarm in, rushing me out as they had before.
Instead, he looked me straight in the face, blinked at me owlishly and whispered, delicately:
"Y'know, this is going to sound so creepy," I could hear him nearly choking on his own voice. "I have no idea who you are, but...
"I love your eyes."
A/N:
Yup, I'mma jerk. I nearly killed Alfred.
I friggin' love Alfred. I didn't want to hurt him. ;A;
IT'S NECESSARY TO THE PLOT, I SWEAR TTATT