Technicolour
Summary: "Alfred, I'm cold." "Come here Art, I'm here."
Pairing: USUK
Rating: K-T
Warning: Tragedy.
A.N: Okay, first things first, I am so so so sorry for being absent so long. But I am still alive! Still here! Still thinking about how to advance my fics! And secondly, I'm sorry about this fic D: I was listening to 'I Know You Care' by Ellie Goulding and was suddenly inspired to write this sob-fest in one sitting. Despite it being around midnight! Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I'm really proud of this fic and think it's somewhere in the same vein as 'Terminal'. I am currently looking into focusing my efforts on continuing 'This Time' because I adore that fic, but TSAICS and TBAH are also high on my list too. I will get around to them at some point :
Disclaimer: The cover art for this fic belongs to hakuku (link art/USUK-summer-dusk- 178237610) I have permission to use it but I wanted to make sure to credit this gorgeous picture!
Technicolour
Arthur had never known a winter as cold as this one.
Frosted spirals of ice twirled their way up the building and across the windows, tiny, death-cold fingers probing, searching, seeking purchase. Snow stacked up against the doors, deceptively beautiful mounds of powder betraying the fact that Arthur had not left the house in weeks. And the wind, oh, the wind, unrelenting in its ferocity, howling as if in injustice, slicing cheeks and chilling bones, crooning softly that there is no such thing as sun, no such thing as warmth.
Arthur saw through its lies all too clearly.
Summer, throughout the years, had been as kind to him as any child, love and promises and stolen kisses that burned like a fire in his mind.
Arthur knew the wind lied to him.
For he knew all too well that warmth existed. Existed in the form of a young, laughing man with hair the colour of sunshine and eyes the colour of forever.
And rain had never brought him down too much, if anything, those forever eyes grew brighter, umbrellas and hands in pockets that didn't belong to him, nose kisses and drawings and ticket stubs and forever, cars and singing and laughter and companionable silence and whispered oaths that fluttered like butterflies upon the wind, but somehow always landed back at their feet.
The wind was kinder then.
It caressed and promised and kept those promises, as the days got shorter and the sun got lower in the sky.
And then patchwork days and nights under the stars, a warmth unlike anything Arthur had ever known before or since, staring into those eyes the colour of forever.
Alfred.
He had always liked to help, donating affection and care and his own unique warmth as if it came freely. You couldn't be in the same room as him and not smile.
Arthur had known that most of all.
The first echoes of autumn, leaves russet and caramel and golden in the yellow sky, the crunch underfoot as thrilling to Alfred as an adult as it had been to the both of them as children, so many years before but side by side even then.
Hand in hand days melted into silhouette nights, the embrace of a warm fire and the scent of smoke and gunpowder and the sights and sounds of what seemed like the very stars exploding above them in showers of red and green and blue.
That was when Arthur had first heard the wind.
It whispered to him, tugging at his fingers, knotting his hair, whispering that it was going to be a long, long time until summer.
A long, long time.
And those were the times when warm beds and sugar-scented breath on his forehead and the security of arms around his waist were most welcomed, and Alfred was all too happy to comply, losing trains of thought in the shelter of another beating heart and those eyes, those eyes.
Oh...
The smell of pine and glue, spices and red cheeks and too many people in one house.
Turkey and honey and rich liquor that affected Arthur more than it should, fumbling fingers and hot breath ghosting over skin, stars and merriment and soft laughter in the sanctuary of family.
Arthur didn't think Alfred had ever been more beautiful than when he was surrounded by the ones he loved.
The skies were thick and heavy with snow that refused to fall.
Late nights chanting numbers backwards, champagne that fizzed in his nose and on his tongue when they kissed, bright lights and beautiful eyes, and the colour of forever was all Arthur could see, painted across his vision, tinting the world bright shades of technicolour that made it look perfect, the start of one year and what should have been so many more to come.
It was over too quickly, then, and it was time to leave.
The snow had finally fallen. And stopped. And fallen some more. Ice laid out glittering, cross-threaded tracks on the road, freezing the car door shut when they tried to get in.
And music and laughter and teasing remarks and heavy, contented sighs, and calm silence, and peace, and the cars passing them by, flickering lights and bending shadows, a glow off the tarmac that reflected softly in the windshield, a gentle warmth in Arthur, assuring him all was right with the world.
And then the sudden squeal of breaks.
Tyres skidded, no purchase to be found, another vehicle careered wildly into their car, blocking their view, wheel slipping from shocked hands, a shout, an almighty crash that Arthur thought must be the end of the world, glass splintering, a stabbing pain in his chest, silence, then a heart-rending-
"Arthur!"
And nothing.
Time and silence and flowers and silence and words and silence and emptiness and silence and WHY
I don't
Summer
Listen to me
WHY
Long, long time
Warmth does not exist.
Warmth does not exist.
Arthur lifted a hand to his head, staring out of the frosted windows, the telltale burning of unshed tears at his eyelids.
(Alfred, I'm cold.)
Everyone always said Alfred was in a better place now, but if it truly was a better place, surely Arthur would be there too.
(come here Art, I'm here.)
The wind howled at him, shrieking words Arthur knew all too well by now.
(It's going to be a long, long time until summer.)
Arthur had never known a winter so cold now he no longer had the security of Alfred's heartbeat to tell him summer was just around the corner.
(Warmth does not exist.)
And the wind blew on as if he had never mattered.
As if none of it had ever mattered.
(It's going to be a long, long time until summer.)
His hopes and dreams and beliefs and faith and love and patience and devotion and passion and
and
and
why
Arthur!-
nothing
(warmth does not exist)
nothing
it's going to be a long, long time
nothing
(Alfred, I'm cold)
and nothing.
Nothing to remember a beautiful boy.
(come here, Art, I'm here.)
With his hair the colour and sunshine and his eyes the colour of forever.
You lied to me.
You lied.