Smile (Gilbert/Mathew)
By: UnknownPaws
July, 2011
Warning: Same sex pairing (boyxboy) Yaoi.
Summary: He was fighting a losing battle, but before he gave in, he wanted to see that soft, beautiful smile once more. "Smile…" Yaoi, MathewxGilbert (PruCan). Giftfic for a friend. R&R
DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING! HETALIA belongs to Himaruya.
The room was a soft beige, from the walls to the floors to the ceiling. White curtains gung over the window, the sky outside dark with night. Wooden dressers, a desk, bookcase and shelves were placed variously around the room in a carefree, but neat style.
The only light can from a candle sitting atop a nightstand next to a queen-sized bed, casting a gentle glow upon the man lying comatose under the soft brown blankets.
Once stark white hair, now dirty from lack of care, sat messy upon his head. Red eyes once so caring and bright lie dull and faded beneath half-lids. Skin once so beautiful and healthy was withered and worn, clinging fleshless to the bone. A face once so handsome, now sunken and sickly pale. A body so tough, now so weak and small. A heart so strong now frail and struggling. A man, once invincible, now broken by disease.
He couldn't move; hadn't for weeks. He could hardly speak, could hardly see. But he could sense, hear and feel. And right now, he could hear the sound of his lover weeping mournfully at his bedside.
A hand took his to ensure he was not alone.
He could feel that hand, and if he could, he would squeeze it back gratefully. Hot tears landed on his face. He could feel his lover's soft hands stroking his greasy hair, hear the words whispered in his ear, and taste the sweet, sweet maple on his lips. But he could not see his love's beautiful face, those striking violet eyes, soft blonde French hair, and creamy porcelain skin. He couldn't kiss back, lips virtually paralyzed like the rest of his body.
Sadness welled; never again would he experience that wonderful smile, that sugary laugh, and those little hugs given ever odd moment. Sweet little moments, shared between just the two of them, gone forever.
But he had to be strong, for him. He was going fast, fighting a losing battle. But before he gave up, he wanted to see his love one last time. He forced his muscles to move, to break free of paralysis, and his eyelids to open more to the light.
It was like he were a new born learning to adjust to a brand new world. Everything was blurry and too bright. His body screamed as he slowly turned his head across the cotton pillow.
Then, like a boat catching the light house through the fog, his vision focused upon one precious sight.
Those oh, so sweet violet eyes brimming with tears, cheeks stained, and hair lying limp on his head. It occurred to him that this would be the last time he would see him.
A tear trickled down his face.
A slender finger brushed it away.
Looking up, his lover stared down at him, his eyes filled with tears like rain, and his lower lip being bit in fear.
He parted his mouth, a hoarse whisper came out.
"Smile."
His love hesitated, but gave him the biggest, brightest smile he could muster. It lit up the room more than the tiny candle ever could, and for a brief second, the man felt well again.
Then he passed out, head hitting the pillow, a similar smile gracing his lips.
The nurse entered the room shortly after, ushering the other male out. It took all his willpower not to break down on his way out the door.
The phone rang at about one thirty that night. He didn't have to pick it up to know who it was. But that didn't stop the tears or the sobbing when he heard Ludwig's voice, broken and hurt, on the other end.
"He's gone."
The day of the funeral, the weather was cloudy and raining. To some it seemed suitable.
Mathew hated it.
He wanted it to be sunny for Gilbert, not stormy and dreary like this. His lover didn't deserve this.
Any of this.
The memories came flooding back. The start, the shock, the long, agonizing pain they went through together. Every day going by, Gilbert became weaker and weaker until he was bedridden. They made his last months his best.
Now, those months, those days, those moments, were over.
He knelt beside the coffin, stroking the side of Gilbert's face, sniffling like a child leaving his mother on the first day of kindergarten.
His lover, his mate, his everything was gone
No more would he hear the "kesesese" of his laugh. No more would he witness the parading in underpants around the house. No more would he feel the softness of his hug, hear how "awesome" he was, taste his kisses, or bathe in the gentle warmth he radiated.
His love looked so peaceful. Kumajiro stood on his hind legs, placing his forepaws on the edge of the coffin, looking in sadly with Gilbird sitting on his head. The little yellow bird gave a mournful tweet.
Mathew stroked its head with a trembling finger. He would be the one to take care of the orphaned pet now. Gilbert wouldn't have let anyone else do so.
Kumajiro gave Gilbird a lick of comfort before doing the same to his master. Mathew tried not to choke up. He still needed to give his speech about his lover.
A pair of arms wrapped themselves around Canada, and he looked up at America. His brother's eyes were wet, swirling with sorrowful emotions, speaking more than words ever could.
Alfred led Mathew to the reception, where friends and family would be giving their last respects. Ludwig spoke of his brother, how they grew up together, how he raised him. France and Spain mourned the loss of their friend, the Spaniard collapsing into the Frenchman halfway through the speech, sobbing harshly into his coat.
Kiku choked up throughout his commemoration, in the end being led back to his seat by a depressed England, a complete mess of his normal calm self. Italy couldn't even speak, wailing loudly at the podium. He then ran off, latching tightly onto Germany's arm, never wanting to let go. Ludwig wrapped his arms around the smaller male, burying his face into copper-coloured hair, a sensation from his childhood rising in his chest. No one noticed the tears falling down his face.
In another section of the dimly lit room, Austria held a sobbing Hungary in a similar embrace. Memories of hunts, of battles, of times playing in the trees together came back to Elizaveta, and the more she thought, the more she cried.
Roderich rested his chin on Elizaveta's head, murmurs of comfort flowing from his mouth. His eyes remained dry, but his heart bled for the rival he once had, and for the pain this caused to the woman he loved.
One by one, friends and family spoke of Gilbert, words and tears shared equally among them all.
Then it was Mathew's turn. Stepping up to the podium, he swallowed against the lump in his throat, adverting his eyes from the crowd in front of him to the papers before him. With a slightly broken voice, but more so with a torn heart, he spoke.
He spoke of his relationship with Gilbert, of the times they shared, how much he meant to him. He spoke of the time Gilbert broke his ankle trying to jump a bridge with bike, and how he swore at the doctors the entire time in the emergency room, all the while holding Mathew's hand in terror, He spoke of the time he got sick, how Gilbert carried him home that day, caring for him with no thought of himself. He told of their last months together, how they fought tooth and nail in this painful battle only to loose it all in the end.
Most importantly, he spoke of how much he loved him.
It was so hard not to choke up when he spoke. Like his throat was a garden hose, trampled upon until the water could no longer flow through.
The eyes upon him were teary. Sympathetic and mournful, they gazed upon him with utmost respect and consolation.
His part done, Mathew took a seat next to Alfred. Ludwig stood up, and with a determined expression, began to sing a melody written for his beloved brother.
Soon after, the other members of the reception joined in the song, using a translation page brought up on an overhead. Mathew, however, sang purely in German, for Gilbert.
The reception lasted until late afternoon. People left slowly, alone or in pairs. Mathew stayed behind, making his way to the room where Gilbert lay.
He walked slowly to the coffin, as though this were a dream. He half expected Gilbert to sit up, open his arms, grin and scream, "April Fools!"
But this wasn't April, this wasn't some huge prank, and Gilbert wasn't coming back.
Mathew shed a tear.
Gilbert was a soldier, in war and everyday in life. He was a hero; Mathew's hero. But now the soldier had fallen; the hero was defeated. Mathew was all alone.
As he knelt beside the coffin, the familiar scent of rosemary filled his nostrils, the warmth of an invisible embrace enveloped him, and a soft voice whispered in his ear.
'Don't worry…I'm always with you, even if you can't see me…Good bye, Mathew…I love you…'
The voice, scent, and warmth faded, leaving behind a cold, empty space. Mathew swallowed thickly, gazing into the coffin.
Those last words…
"Smile…"
Gilbert lay there, dressed in a suit, hands clasping a rose, the smile from that night still upon his face.