AN: Ok, so this is my first proper Hetalia fanfiction, so please don't be too harsh

Please enjoy!


Alfred F. Jones jolted awake. His eyes squinted in the semi-darkness, searching for something that wasn't there. His skin was covered in a thin sheet of cold sweat, and the only things he could hear were his own, shallow breaths, and the deep, relaxed breathing of his partner, Arthur Kirkland, who was sleeping in the same bed, to his right. Alfred's breathing calmed down gradually, his pounding heart slowing. It had just been a dream - well, a nightmare. He'd had the same one countless time, about Arthur. Only, it wasn't Arthur in the dream...

No. It was him. That monster, that hadn't ventured into the open for over five years - a fact for which Alfred knew both him and Arthur were largely grateful.

Alfred turned over so he was facing Arthur's back, exhaled to calm himself that bit more, and closed his eyes, putting an arm gently around Arthur's waist. The last thing he heard was Arthur mumbling something in his sleep, and he smiled to himself.

The next morning, Alfred opened his eyes slowly, groaning at the light that streamed through the large window at the right of the bed, facing out into the street below. After a moment, of trying to look into the light - without much luck of his eyes getting used to it - he simply got up and drew the blinds, sighing at the dimness that enveloped the room.

"Alfred? You up?" Came Arthur's voice from downstairs. Alfred's face broke out in a smile at his voice.

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute!" He called back. He threw on a t-shirt, his glasses and jeans, and ran a brush through his hair, before bounding down the stairs, where Arthur had made a fry-up, and was just starting to eat his. Alfred sat down carefully, examining the food - it wasn't everyday that Arthur made something that was particularly edible. After a moment, Arthur looked up. "Oh, just eat it, it's fine," he snapped.

Alfred held his hands up in a surrender. "Er, morning to you too." He picked up a piece of bacon in his hands and took a bite, chewing it slowly. Arthur was right, it wasn't as bad as some of the things he'd made in the past. Alfred finished the bacon and ate everything else fairly quickly, finishing before Arthur.

"I'll wash up when you're done - d'you want me to-"

"Yes. Put the news on." Arthur's voice was anxious, and Alfred couldn't blame him. Recently, there had been a short string of deaths around their estate. Or murders, rather. The police didn't have any leads as to who was behind it, so the people were left to fear for their lives. Other than the fact that all the deaths had been on the same estate, the victims were completely random, so no one could be sure if they were safe. Alfred's gut twisted, as he remembered Arthur after the first murder, the effect it had had on him... he squeezed his eyes shut; he didn't want to think about that, about the way Arthur's voice had shook, his whole body trembling. He went around the table, kissing Arthur on the head as he went past, to the small television they had on the kitchen counter. When he turned it on, it was already on the news channel. Arthur stopped eating, and they just watched the news woman, sat at a desk with the news logo behind her on a screen.

"And, also this morning, another murder on Greenwood Estate. A girl named Angelina Brooke, twenty three years old, was stabbed to death in her home. Police are doing all they can to catch the perpetrator. Her family and friends are devastated, and her funeral will be held at St. Mark's church. In other news..."

Alfred turned the television off. That was all they wanted to hear. Arthur pushed his plate away.

"I'm not hungry anymore."

"Aw, c'mon Art, you've gotta eat something - you've hardly eaten since this whole thing started." Alfred tried to push the plate back, but Arthur didn't let him.

"I'm fine - you don't need to worry about me, Al."

"I'm not worried about you, I just..." Alfred trailed off. Of course he was worried about Arthur - who wouldn't be? He'd lost a few pounds from not eating, and jumped whenever someone entered a room. He wasn't himself.

Of course, there was one thing - a thought at the back of Alfred's mind, nagging at him... but no. That could never be right. He didn't want it to be right. He would not think of that. If he said anything to Arthur, he didn't think the poor man would be able to take it - not while he was in the state he was getting himself in.

"Just what?" Asked Arthur, his eyes narrowed. Alfred sighed.

"Nothing. Just, please look after yourself."

"I am doing." His voice was dismissive and tired, like he wanted this conversation to be over. Alfred didn't want to talk about this either, but he felt he had no choice.

"No, Art, you're not. You need to eat something." He pushed the still almost-full plate of food back to Arthur, who scowled.

"Don't call me 'Art'. It's Arthur. And don't bloody tell me what I need to do!" He stood up abruptly and stormed out. Alfred rushed after him, bewildered at the sudden change of tone.

"Arthur!"

"I'm going for a walk. I want to be alone. I won't be long." He grabbed his coat from the hook in the hallway, and slipped it on quickly.

"Look, I'm sorry, 'kay?" Alfred wasn't sure what exactly he was apologising for, but he did anyway.

"No, it's not! Shut up, and leave me the fuck alone!"

Alfred gave up. There was nothing he could do when Arthur got like this. So he just let him go. When the irritated Brit slammed the door shut, Alfred let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and sauntered back into the kitchen to clear up the table, biting his lip nervously. He always worried about Arthur, especially when he had these mood swings. He was unpredictable when he went off on one, but Alfred kept telling himself that Arthur wouldn't lie, he wouldn't be long, and Alfred would just have to wait it out and be optimistic. There was always the nagging at the back of his mind, but he ignored that the best he could.

While he wiped the table clean of crumbs and a small spillage, he caught sight of the photo on the window sill. He dropped the cloth for a moment, and went over to look, smiling fondly when he saw it and remembered. It was of him and Arthur - who looked a lot happier than he had been recently - standing infront of a large white plane; their first holiday away together, to Veneziano, in Italy. It had been magical. Alfred ran a finger over the joyful smile on this Arthur's face, taking in every detail - how his eyes lit up and creased at the edges, the two dimples on his cheeks - and his own smile faded slightly.

"I wish you could be happy again," he muttered to himself.