A/N: why I am writing oneshots when I could be updating I don't know
I came up with this idea... while rowing.
Just a note, there is a lot of rowing terminology in this. If you don't understand any, just skip to the end where I've left a list.
Oh yeah, Allie is fem!America.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia
Longing
The first time I saw Arthur Kirkland I was in awe.
I had just moved to London from Paris, meaning to come to university. I chose London, the glimmering capital with countless possibilities, as my place to study. Looking for activities to do outside of university, I signed up for the local rowing club.
I arrived on my first day and saw him.
His form was perfect. His blond hair was whipped about in the wind, his eyes focused straight ahead. He could have only been my age, maybe a little older.
Although he was in a boat on his own (a single, as I later learnt) he was powering past the others in boats of two or four.
And from that moment I was in love.
I went rowing as often as I could, desperate to see him. I was never in a crew with him, no, he was experienced and I was the opposite. But just looking at him, watching him, that was enough for me. The way that when he got out of the water his forehead glistened with sweat, yet he still had the strength to carry the boat up to the racks, and then go for a session on the rowing machines (ergs, my instructor called them). He always seemed like nothing was good enough, everything must be better than it is.
Not once did he even look at me.
And I was okay with that.
The first time I talked to Arthur Kirkland, he told me how stupid my ponytail looked.
My hair fell down to my shoulders, too long to have down whilst doing regular exercise, so I tied it up with an elastic band (not stylish in the least, but if I'd had worn a ribbon I would have never heard the end of it). I passed Arthur in the corridor of the boathouse – I was just about to go on the water and he was just coming off, water dripping from his red, blue and white stripy all in one that left nothing to the imagination. I let my eyes linger for a little longer than necessary as he strode past, and I was going to continue when I heard a shout from behind.
"Hey!"
I turned to see him frowning at me, huge eyebrows furrowed in an adorable scowl.
"Your hair looks stupid. Cut it off, you twat."
With that he was gone, and I was left staring at his back.
I did think about cutting my ponytail off that night, but I decided against it. I was too attached to my hair to do anything like that to it.
The first time we held a conversation, it didn't go as well as I had hoped.
It was the clubs annual dinner, where we all came together to eat. There was a pub about a minutes walk from the boathouse, so it was just held there.
There were the newbies (like me), some just starting university, others much younger. Then there were the pros, most my age and older. There were veterans too, some Olympic athletes now well on into old age who still rowed for old times sake.
By pure fluke, I ended up next to Arthur.
Most of the time he was talking to the pretty girl on his other side and I had to tame down my jealousy. Arthur was not mine to have, and besides, he probably didn't even swing my way. When he eventually turned to me, his smile turned into a frown.
"You didn't cut it." He stated, green eyes staring into my blue.
"No." I replied. "I am too attached to my hair to do anything so vile to it."
My accent mangled my words, the French inside of me just desperate to rear its head. Arthur's expression turned into one of disgust.
"Oh. You're French." He spat, and my heart broke slightly. "That explains a lot."
"Francis is a big sissy." Called my instructor from the other side of the table. "But once you get past all the French, he's a good guy, and a decent rower to boot."
Arthur just huffed.
"Francis. How typically French. I suppose your surname is something equally as outlandish and French, like Dubois or Laurent."
"It's Bonnefoy."
"Bonnefoy." He mulled the name over in his mouth. "Still incredibly pompous."
He turned back to the pretty girl next to him, and they began laughing together.
I had never had my heart broken until that point in time.
Our first proper conversation was civil.
I had joined the rowing club months ago, and was slowly getting better. I was good enough, apparently, to row in a race. Sure, it was the worst crew of my age group (there were two quads and occasionally an eight, but I had never swept so had no chance of being in that), but it was still a crew, and my first race at that. The instructor knew this and put me at two, thankfully not at bow or stroke.
The race was being held in Nottingham, a three hour drive away. This meant we had to take a minibus or two, as well as a truck for the trailer.
Arthur had been late for some reason like he had forgotten his phone. By the time he arrived, the only space was next to me.
He had groaned and asked Mathias to move next to me, but as good natured as the Dane was he wouldn't move. Accepting his fate, Arthur sat down as far away from me as he could get without falling off the seat.
We sat in silence for a while as the bus drove down roads. Eventually, I had had enough.
"If we're going to sit next to each other for the whole three hours we might as well be civil." I started, holding out my hand. "I'm Francis Bonnefoy."
"Arthur Kirkland."he begrudgingly stated, taking my hand and shaking it.
"So how old are you?" I asked.
"Nineteen." He replied. "I'm going to the Imperial College of London right now. What about you?"
He seemed to be sticking to the 'be civil' remark, so I did the same.
"I'm also nineteen, and I'm going to university near the boat club."
"You're accent is really annoying, you know that?" Arthur asked.
"Well I did live in France for the last eighteen years." I retorted.
"You should tone it down." Arthur continued. "It's no wonder people don't talk to you."
I stopped talking then as the truth hit me in the face. He was right. In the six months since I had joined the club, I hadn't really talked to anyone apart from my coach. I knew everyone, and they knew of me, but I had no real friends. In fact, my only friend in England was my room mate, Antonio, and he probably didn't notice, seeing as he was Spanish himself. I didn't see him half the time either, for he was usually with his boyfriend, who I hadn't even met yet.
"Hey!" Mathias shouted from across the isle. "There's no need to be such a douche Artie!"
"I told you not to call me Artie!" Arthur yelled in return.
"You're gonna be called Artie until you act like a human being to Francis! Just because you've got a little gay crush-"
"I do not have a gay crush! And besides, I have a girlfriend!"
And if my heart wasn't broken before, it certainly was now.
"I know, just teasing." Mathias said, the atmosphere calming considerably. "But you've gotta be nice to Francis."
"I know." Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry Francis."
"It's fine." I replied, even though I wasn't really.
The rest of the bus ride was spent in silence.
In case you wondered, my crew came second in our race. The better crew came first and the eight came third. Arthur was in a single, and he won his race, as expected. The ride back to London was spent showing off our medals and generally shouting, Arthur included. I sat in silence, trying to drown the shouts in my music.
I failed.
The first time he touched me was a lie.
I had just gotten off the water, walking down the same corridor I had when Arthur first talked to me. I had collected my bag and was going to go back to my apartment and finish an assignment when I ran into Arthur.
He looked terrible, beautiful eyes ringed with red, tears dropping onto the floor. When I went to ask what was wrong, he grasped the red lycra of my all in one for dear life and almost dragged me to the floor.
"Arthur, what's wrong?" I finally got out, trying to keep him up off the floor.
"She dumped me!" He slurred, voice thick with tears. "She fucking dumped me for some Russian prick! Oh god, Allie... I miss her already..."
I assumed this Allie was his girlfriend, who had just dumped him.
"I'm sorry Arthur, but could you please let go?" As much as I wanted, needed, craved his touch, I knew that it had to come to an end.
"No!" Arthur yelled, gripping even tighter. "Francis, I need you! I want you." He moaned.
'He's faking it.' I told myself. 'It's all lies. He's drunk, he doesn't really want you.'
But when Arthur kissed me, I couldn't help but give into temptation.
The morning after was awful. Antonio was smiling all morning, looking at me as I ate cereal and nursed sore limbs.
"Someone had some fun yesterday." He smirked.
"Shut up. It didn't mean anything." If it had meant something, Arthur would still be here, he wouldn't have left as soon as we were done like nothing had happened.
"It sounded like it did to me."
I remembered moans, tangled limbs and mouths, Arthur screaming a name that was not my own.
That day, I tried to forget everything in alcohol.
The first time Arthur and I rowed together in a boat was not as bad as I had expected.
We had both mutually agreed to forget that day, and instead continued as if nothing had happened. No one had seen us leave, so no one knew but us. The last few months had been spent with us not speaking to each other.
I hated it.
As much as our conversations broke me, as many harsh words were exchanged, I missed them. I missed his voice, I missed his eyes, I missed him.
So when my coach put us in a crew together, I was both excited and nervous.
We rowed along the Thames, both not speaking a word except when he occasionally told me to sit up taller or to slow the slide down. After quarter of an hour of near silence, I had had enough.
I turned round in my seat to face him, his green eyes meeting mine.
"We can't go on like this." I spoke, accent less noticeable after months living in England. "I agree, what happened was a mistake, but we could at least be civil with each other. We could at least talk."
"I... I agree." Arthur admitted, looking at the footplate. "I hate to admit this, but... I don't actually hate you as much as I used to. It was a mistake to sleep with you, and I'm sorry. Acquaintances?"
"Acquaintances." I agreed and we shook hands.
The day I became a friend was one of the best days of my life.
We were put in a boat more and more, because, according to our instructor, we rowed perfectly as a crew, and we had great potential. This of course meant spending more time together, which meant we talked more. We eventually started going out for drinks after training, and occasionally venturing to each others apartments.
It was I was confessing to him what a bitch my lecturer was that Arthur piped up.
"I think that it's time to move on from being acquaintances."
"What?" I asked, putting down my coffee.
"I think we've become close enough to be friends, as much as I hate to say it." Arthur frowned, holding out his hand for me to shake.
I shook it as I said. "Friends."
I never stopped smiling all day.
Arthur and I kept on getting faster. His form still enthralled me, and whenever he was stroke in our double, or I was watching from the sidelines as he rowed past, I liked to watch and aspire to be that good. He confided in me that he was thinking about trying out for the Olympics in a few years, to his parents disgust. They wanted him to be a lawyer, like his father, so when he went to do English Literature at university, they shunned him. They were even more disgusted at his decision to row, saying that 'sport wasn't a real profession.'
I disagreed, telling him that he could be whatever he wanted, and his parents should support him no matter what.
Before I met him, Arthur had been rowing since secondary school. His parents were fine at first, saying it was just a hobby.
I noticed that he was beginning to open up to me. He was using less hateful words, his eyes lighting up whenever he saw me with some hidden emotion that I could not quite recognise.
I soon found out that emotion was love.
The second time Arthur kissed me it was for real.
It was our first race together as a double, and I was nervous. Although we had been rowing as a double for months, and I knew that Arthur definitely had the strength and skills, I wasn't confident in mine.
"It'll be fine." Arthur reassured me, patting me on the back as we rowed away from the jetty. "Just remember, sit up tall, be a tower of power, and legs on."
I smiled, although he couldn't see me do so.
It had been a one kilometre quick race against other doubles in lanes. We won the first round easily, Arthur making sure that we didn't row into other lanes. The second and final race was a lot tougher. We had to use all our strength, all the power stored in our muscles to just stay ahead of the other boats and win. By the time we came to a stop, I was shouting, pumping my fists in the air, and by the sound of things Arthur was the same.
I turned round, ready to give him a congratulatory hug, when he brought his hand around to the back of my head and smashed our lips together.
It was magical, as if fireworks were going off in my brain. I knew that this was what a true kiss felt like.
This was what true love felt like.
I eventually pulled away, knowing that we had to row back to the jetty.
I never stopped smiling the whole time.
A/N: Some rowing terminology:
Single – a boat with only one rower
Double – a boat with two rowers
Quad – a boat with four rowers
Eight – a boat with eight rowers, except in an eight you sweep instead of scull
Sweeping – rowing with one blades
Sculling – rowing with two blades
Bow- the seat at the back, the one that steers
Stroke – the seat at the front, the one that keeps the rate
Ergo/ Erg – a rowing machine
Footplate – the plate that the feet are attached to in the boat
All in one – like a skin tight spandex thingy. Like a onsie but skin tight, made of lycra/spandex/whatever you call it and it doesn't cover all your legs and has short sleeves
I'm sorry if I missed any out.
I do row myself, and tried to explain them as best I could, but I'm sorry if you don't understand. Just message me if you need one explaining!
I hope you enjoyed this! Please leave a review!