"Wasn't the world supposed to end?" He said to no one in particular. Alfred stood on the roof of his work, collecting snow on the wrinkles of his coat. He hated the cold, he hated snow, and he hated this New Year. The year 2013 was a half an hour away and all Alfred could take in account was the fact his life was behind schedule and that he was still here. Where was here? Well currently it was the roof of Beilschmidt Corp. However, here was not the roof but the inside. The inside being his comfortable little cubicle where he worked from Monday to Friday 8 to 5 making sells. Granted, Alfred didn't hate his job, he hated that he was still there.
The man took another sip of his beer feeling his buzz deepening. Everyone was partying, having a great time, where he took solace being alone on the roof. God Alfred had to be alone after what he just did. The man shook his head feeling the shame rise up in his stomach.
Not wanting to throw up, Alfred placed his beer on the floor and pulled out his composition book from under his arm. The man was an avid writer and had the nervous habit of brining his composition book in any social situation. Not that Alfred was bad at socializing, but the book provided him with an escape anytime he felt uncomfortable or just wanted to avoid talking. It also came in handy anytime a new idea would arise and he didn't want to forget it.
Tonight's purpose for the book though was to try and snuff the horrible creeping sensation of what he had done. Not any amount of alcohol could erase that memory, two beers down and he still felt uneasy. So, he reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a ballpoint pen he took from his cubicle. He pressed the top of it indecisively, not even sure what he was going to write. The street lights before him provided him with enough lighting to see through the fog in his mind. And with sudden shakiness he scribbled down the date. Alfred snapped the book shut leaving the pen inside as a book mark and reached for his beer. He looked around for a moment to see if he was completely alone. The only thing he saw was the little brick room that was just the door to the stairwell. It stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the roof as snow started to pile around it. Alfred shrugged, took a swig of his beer, and began to write again.
Today,
He sighed and scribbled out the word today.
Tonight, as I stand alone, in the snow…I realize that I am going to hate this New Year. And not just hate, but ABSOLUTELY LOATHE.
Alfred stopped for a moment. What was he doing? He was tainting the story he had been working on for three months with this. Here he was in the middle of a chapter and completely interrupts it with some lame ass journal entry about his feelings. Alfred grabbed his beer and took another long swig.
"Fuck it's cold!" He shivered.
Today, Tonight, as I stand alone, in the snow…I realize that I am going to hate this New Year. And not just hate, but ABSOLUTELY LOATHE. I am going to hate it because it's just proof that I failed my New Years Resolution from last year.
I mean I gained five fucking pounds when I meant to lose fifteen and …And, I'm still here. I was supposed to be out there…Making a name for myself! Taking risks! Instead, I continue to closet write this story idea from when I was 18 all the while peddling my webcomic that has a total of four readers. Notice I say readers and not fans. Yeah…still lame at the age of 24. Not fun.
My best friend who also happens to be my co-worker got promoted and is getting his own office. Don't get me wrong, I am happy for the guy but…He was my cubicle-mate. Now I'm probably going to have to share my tiny little office space with…Kirkland….Who had been eying my precious little cubicle from day one. Look, the guy doesn't care too much for me. Or maybe I don't care too much for him. Ever have a frenemy? He's that. He's this pompous British douche who feels the need to belittle me at every fucking faculty meeting.
The only reason he wants my cubicle is so he can get away from that French guy…And I think Beilschmidt is going to crack and let him move in with me, cuz those guys fight daily.
Alfred once again stopped. Could he sound any whinier? He mindlessly flipped back to his story and began to re-read what he last wrote. He could have just ripped out the entry and continued from there, but he really didn't feel like it. In fact, he really didn't feel like writing. He just needed a distraction. Alfred huffed noting the fog that curled around his mouth and flipped back to his random journal entry. He needed to get this out of his mind.
The only reason he wants my cubicle is so he can get away from that French guy…And I think Beilschmidt is going to crack and let him move in with me, cuz those guys fight daily.
I guess that's not the only thing I'm upset about. I'm upset about this stupid office party. We usually only have a Christmas one but because Mr. Beilschmidt was sick he decided we should have a New Years one instead. AND I HATE NEW YEARS.
I don't celebrate it. I don't watch the ball drop. I just turn off the lights around 11:30 or so and sleep. But noooo, we had to have a party this year! Granted, I could have just said I was sick or something, but this isn't just a New Years party. This is also a "Congratulations Kiku for moving up on the social ladder!" party. Kiku Honda, as I said before, is my best friend. I can't just ditch this party because I dislike the holiday…I could tell he really wanted me to go too…
That isn't just it though.
Alfred chugged the rest of his beer. How could he even put this semi-traumatic event into words? He swayed a bit feeling his buzz get the best of him. The words that rattled inside his brain swirled dangerously causing him to suddenly feel very queasy. The American knelt down and held his composition book against his stomach. The folds of his shirt collected around his waist, revealing a small gut that had been even smaller last year. Alfred shivered and pulled his coat on tighter, debating on whether or not he should just head back downstairs. The wave of nausea was passing, but still quite apparent as his thoughts continued to mushroom. With leisure in his pace, Alfred stood back up.
That isn't just it though. I did something really dumb..I mean absolutely positively STUPID.
Alfred chewed his lip.
I…I…had sex with the boss's brother (technically my manager) in the men's room. I just can't believe I did that….I only had a drink, A DRINK! How..Why? Why did I do it? I don't like the guy; I don't even find him attractive. The opportunity just arose! There we were, washing our hands (very romantic right) and he said something really repulsive to me, and before the feeling of disgust could even reach my brain, we were in the handicap stall…doing…you know.
UGGH THAT'S JUST SO NASTY! WHAT IS FUCKING WRONG WITH ME?! I CAN LOSE MY JOB!
And maybe, just maybe I subconsciously want to. The most dangerous thing in the world is getting comfortable. And I am very comfortable at this job. I get decent pay, a weekend off, and dental. THAT'S AWESOME! But it's not awesome because I have been here for almost four years. It was only supposed to be one.
That's still no excuse though…Gilbert Belidschmidt is an asshole. He's got an overly huge ego. I should have reported him for sexual harassment a long time ago. This wouldn't be the first time he said something weird to me..
Man right after he put his finger to my lips and whispered: "Our little secret, ja?"
Yeah like I'm going to tell the whole office about us getting down and dirty in the restroom. I can never look at that handicap stall the same…I just hope that it will blow over and never be brought up again.
God, I despise the way this feels. It feels so lonely.
"Alfred-san, what are you doing up here?" Alfred quickly shut his book close and spun around to face his friend.
"Ah nothing! Just enjoying the snow!" He nervously tittered. Kiku quirked a brow.
"But you hate the snow."
"But I can still marvel at how pretty it is, right?" Alfred didn't know why he felt the need to lie. It wasn't like Kiku was going to demand to see his book. Kiku appeared concerned, if not a tad red in the face, but smiled.
"Ten minutes until New Years, come down and count with us."
Alfred looked back at his empty beer. "Well I am running a little empty, alright I will come down. Just give me a minute to gather my bearings."
"Alright." Kiku then turned back and headed for the stairwell door. Alfred really wanted to tell Kiku about what happened, but he didn't want the man to look at him any differently. It would be one thing if Alfred was roaring drunk, but to be not even buzzed and just careless…That took the cake. When Alfred heard the door shut, he re-opened his book and pulled out his pen.
God, I despise the way this feels. It feels so lonely. Imagine having sex in the restroom stall. The tile is cold, the door squeaks, you're terrified that somebody will pop in, and it smells like piss. It isn't exactly ideal. I mean I looked that man in the eye, and saw nothing. Which is what I should have expected, but in that moment of heat…I never felt so isolated. Everyone outside was having fun, together in their warm intimate conversations…And here I was, sprawled against the wall with a rough accent burning the tips of my ears with lustful bullshit.
I didn't want love from the guy…or even infatuation…I just wanted something more than knitty-gritty sex.
Before Alfred could continue, he heard the door open again. "You coming twat?" Alfred inwardly groaned when he recognized the slurred British accent.
"Yeah yeah I'm coming." Without even thinking, Alfred placed his composition book down and grabbed his empty beer bottle.
"Well hurry up!" The man then hiccuped. "We have five minutes!"
"Okay okay!" Alfred shuffled through the snow with empty beer bottle in hand. Arthur opened the door and started to head down with Alfred following him. Despite writing it all out, the American still felt uneasy. He grimaced at the thought of seeing a certain albino downstairs. He sharply inhaled deciding that it would be best to worry about it later.
Alfred shut the door behind them completely unaware of the fact that he left his dear composition book in the snow.
When the stairwell door shut, a tall massive man appeared from behind the brick room to the stairwell. He had platinum blond hair and dangerous violet eyes that brought out a certain malicious quality to his childlike grin. Curiously, he had been watching Alfred for that whole time he was writing. He was originally on the roof to enjoy the falling of snow when he heard the door creak open. Not having the greatest social skills, he ducked behind the stairwell room and decided to wait until whoever it was left.
But when he heard Alfred talking to himself, that's when his interest was piqued. Slowly, Ivan raised his head to see the blond sulking near the edge of the roof. What was he doing? Maybe he's really drunk…Last Ivan checked everyone seemed to be having a rather good time. Though from the way Alfred was carrying himself he appeared more upset than drunk.
Alfred took a sip from his bottle and pulled out his composition book. Ivan continued watching now recognizing one of his co-workers nervous habits. Alfred always carried that beat up thing with him, and scribbled in it mercilessly anytime he wasn't getting attention. Ivan didn't really know Alfred that well but had seen him around the office. Unlike most of his co-workers, Alfred didn't seem to be that intimidated by him.
Ivan never understood why everyone was so afraid of him. He was a fairly nice guy. Perhaps he was guilty of some of the rumors the others had spread, but that didn't warrant them to judge him so harshly. Yes, he did threaten his last cubicle-mate with a painful horrible death and caused him to suddenly leave the company and transfer to another one across country. And he did hang out in the parking garage and watch everyone from afar. There was that time he cornered that scuzzy brother of Mr. Beilschmidt and made him piss himself for taking one of his pencils. But that didn't mean Ivan was not a likeable person.
It got lonely being the office creep. And in some sense, Ivan really hated Alfred. The American was everything he was not. He was funny, charming, and pretty much well liked by everyone. Whereas Ivan was awkward, unapproachable, and avoided like the plague. He came to this party to try and break from his shell and perhaps actually make some friends. His dreams were quickly dashed though the moment he walked into the room.
After Alfred was harassed by two people to come down stairs, he left. Did anyone come looking for Ivan? Nope. So the Russian sadly lumbered to where Alfred was originally standing. Before he could even plan any form of revenge against all of his co-workers for leaving him out again, he noticed something black and white in the snow. Ivan gently picked it up and noticed it was a composition book with a Star Wars sticker on the cover. Alfred left his notebook! The man quickly flipped through the slightly soggy pages and stopped when he found the pen Alfred was writing with jammed in the middle. His eyes rapidly soaked in the words that were scrawled before him.
Gradually, a sinister smile stretched across the Russian's face, and a devious plan started to emerge into his brain. This, this was going to be good.
AN:
I'm pretty sure I am addicted to writing Hetalia fanfics...Especially RusAme...I'm trying to get ballsy and actually do something with my pairing.
This story is meant to be cheesy, funny, and over-all dramatic. I'm trying to take a total U-turn from stuff like Precious Birds and challenge myself with different genres. I'm still going to write Precious Birds, but I really wanted to do this story. It popped up in my head one day and I couldn't get it out. I think the journal perspective may have come off as awkward and maybe forcibly shocking, but I do enjoy experimenting with my ideas. I'm sorry if this chapter sucks, I wrote it at work. It's actually a re-write. I wasn't feeling the original...Lemme know what you think! R&R!