Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

"Will you marry me?" Alfred asks, blue eyes shining hopefully as he looks up at Arthur.

That suffocating feeling is upon him again, his breaths becoming shallower as he stares at the ring. It's nice, a small golden band encrusted with emeralds, and it was obviously quite expensive, but Arthur can hardly bear to look at it. It's garish, and over the top, and he had never wanted a golden one.

Hadn't he told Alfred that?

"Arthur?"

He had.

Alfred brought up rings a few weeks ago, telling Arthur that his "friend" was going to propose, and asked him for advice. Alfred, having "no clue" what to do, went to Arthur. Arthur picked up on the lie immediately, knowing that 1) Arthur himself knew nothing about jewelry and 2) none of Alfred's friends who were in relationships were ready for marriage. The realization that Alfred intended to marry him excited Arthur, but it also made his stomach clench.

And, looking back, perhaps the cause of that negative reaction was something other than nerves.

Arthur should be overjoyed. He should be leaping into Alfred's embrace and kissing him soundly as he whispers an affirmative response. He should pull back and watch as Alfred slides the ring onto his ring finger. He should be laughing merrily, or crying, or at least smiling, but he's not. He's staring blankly at the ring, trying to reconcile with the idea of wearing it, and Alfred is still on one knee, his eyes blindingly bright.

Arthur thinks that he might be having a small panic attack. It seems as if all the blood in his body has rushed to his head, drowning out all sounds besides that steady inhale, exhale, inhale and racing heartbeat.

It's not that he doesn't want to get married: he's always welcomed the idea.

So what is it that's preventing him from doing all of the things that he should be doing?

"My knee's going kinda' numb, Artie." Alfred jokes, smiling softly at him.

And that's when Arthur realizes that it's Alfred: he doesn't want to marry Alfred.

Because Alfred is too busy talking to listen, and because he can't even see what's happening before his eyes. So wrapped up in himself and his vision of how the world should be, in how he wants it to be.

Arthur gives the ring a glance, looking away quickly because it's so very wrong. Alfred's grin does not waver; he's all but glowing with happiness. Arthur feels a wave of nausea hit him. He closes his eyes for a moment, opens them, and forces himself to meet Alfred's eyes.

"Artie?" Alfred prompts, eyebrows furrowing as he attempts to decipher Arthur's expression.

Arthur wishes that he could just walk away. He wishes that the ground would open up beneath him; he wishes he were invisible; he wishes that Alfred would have never proposed. But it's not that easy, and none of those things are going to happen, so he has to do this.

Alfred's eyes shine, like they always do, and he's holding out a box with a ring in it that changes everything.

But not in the way either of them expected it to.

He doesn't know what to say.

For the first time in his life, Arthur doesn't know what to say. He feels completely incapable of conveying to Alfred the extent of his guilt, of his disappointment that they didn't click as he thought they did. How could he ever hope to explain this realization?

And more importantly: how could he do so without hurting Alfred?

The answer presents itself immediately: it's impossible not to hurt him. Impossible not to hurt this man, this man who is offering him everything he is.

He doesn't know what to say.

Arthur swallows, his mouth unbelievably dry, "I'm sorry."

Alfred blinks uncomprehendingly, still in one of the most vulnerable positions known to man, and Arthur almost says yes, if only to protect him. But he can't do that to himself, or to Alfred.

"I-" Arthur stops, unable to think of the words immediately, especially not with Alfred looking the way he is, "Stand up, please."

He knows that Alfred is finally beginning to understand when that smile of his turns shaky. He feels his throat tighten when Alfred complies, cradling the still open box to his chest as if it contains his heart, and not the ring.

"Arthur-" Arthur cuts him off, wanting to explain himself before he loses his nerve and runs away. He wants to make things clear; he wants to explain as much as possible before Alfred does anything else that shakes his resolve.

He wants to try.

Arthur doesn't know where to begin, so he starts with the first thing that comes to mind, "I hate that ring." Hurt flashes across Alfred's face, but Arthur has already started and he needs to get this out, so he continues, "I'm sorry, but I do. I told you what kind of ring I wanted, Alfred; I told you!" And now he's angry, because this ring is a symbol of everything that was wrong with their relationship, and the words are tumbling, unchecked, from his lips, "But you didn't listen, you never listened, because nothing that I say has ever mattered to you. It's all about you, isn't it? You never gave a bloody fuck about what I wanted!"

Alfred opens his mouth to protest, stepping forward with a pleading look in his eye (those eyes…always winning him over with their disarming beauty, their unrivalled sincerity, their persistent brightness), "Arthur, please…"

Arthur shakes his head, the broken note in Alfred's voice causing his anger to fizzle out, "I'm sorry Alfred, but I can't be with you anymore-I just…can't." Alfred is holding the box so tightly that his knuckles are white, "I love you…but I can't…" Can't marry you, can't be with you, can't love you as much as you love me "We want different things, and…" Arthur hesitates to continue, but knows it must be said, "I can't stay with someone who doesn't even know me."

Silence.

Arthur is sure his comment stung-it stung him. He feels like he's been such a fool, like he's been kidding himself, like he should have had this epiphany before any of this was even a possibility-before hurting Alfred was a possibility.

But, then again: Alfred is the one who hurt him first.

"I was happy." Alfred's voice is far smaller than usual, the light in his eyes dim, "I thought you were, too."

A bitter smile answers him (bitter because Alfred is still clueless, because Arthur didn't want to hurt him, because Arthur feels like he's done something wrong when he knows he hasn't, because Alfred isn't everything Arthur wishes he were, because this isn't a story with a happy ending), "So did I."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Until next time!