I don't own Hetalia!

The Leaf and the Wind

He's waiting, under that maple tree a little distance away in the sunlit grass. It's very difficult to see him, or even make out his outline in the dappled darkness of the tree's shadow, almost like he's invisible, but he's there. Alfred knows this, knows that he'll always be there, and at the same time, he was clinging to a last desperate hope that he would be gone now.

He looks the same as he always did. Just like Alfred, except if you take a second glance, they're not the same at all. His hair could probably use a trimming, and it's oddly two-toned (lighter blond on top and practically orange at the tips), a wild curl distinct from the rest of it in front of his face. His eyes are on the wider side, and a peculiar shade of violet that seems to glow behind clear glasses. His skin is a shade or two paler, as if he doesn't spend much time outside, and he's barely half an inch shorter than Alfred and thinner, more frail. He's still clutching that stupid stuffed polar bear in his arms. Doesn't he ever let go of that thing? Every time Alfred sees him, he's holding it.

He's like... a different version of Alfred from an alternate universe. A creepy version of Alfred. A restless spirit, almost. Haunting him relentlessly.

Alfred tries to keep his pace even as he walks. Maybe if he walks right past the boy, it'll be like he never existed. Then he'll go on, do whatever is necessary in this dream until he wakes up.

Step, step, step.

Please don't notice me, he thinks. His footsteps plod slowly, steadily, like drops of rain falling to the ground.

Step, step, step.

A bit farther, and then I'll be past him. Just a little more...

Step, step, step.

Stop.

Alfred's left foot is poised in the air, barely above the ground. Half a step more – actually, more like two inches – and he'd have made it. Only two inches. So close, yet so far.

There is a gentle tugging on his clothing. Alfred stares in dismay at the thin fingers pulling at his sleeve, then looks up at his face. The purple eyes smile at him shyly, the polar bear plushie supported by his remaining arm.

"What do you want?" He huffs out a sigh. He was so close. Of course, there's no reply. Maybe he's actually deaf and mute, or it's just an odd quirk of this boy who appears in every dream he dreams, but he never speaks, not even to reply to Alfred who he is so intent on following. Nor does he seem to hear anything Alfred says, whether he yells or whispers. The boy merely tilts his head curiously at the sight of his sour expression.

"You... just who are you? You follow me around everywhere, and you never talk, and I only see you in my dreams..." Alfred's voice is rising, even though it's utterly pointless since the only other person around is someone who won't respond. But he's tired of this. And he's fed up of not understanding who, what, and why this boy is here.

"It's really creeping me out, okay? You just go around everywhere with me in my dream, and no one ever sees you except for me, and you can't hear anything I say. What am I supposed to do about that?" He complains. Frustration starting to boil over in his eyes, Alfred stomps off to the base of the maple tree, leaves crunching softly under his shoes, and plops down on the ground so that his back is leaning against its sturdy trunk.

He stands there where Alfred left him for a while, apparently with no reaction, before crossing over as well. His feet make nothing but the sound of silence on the dried leaves as he moves, further supporting Alfred's idea that he's not a real person. Though of course, Alfred isn't really sure himself.

In concern, the boy lays a hand gently on his shoulder. Alfred tenses up at the sensation and pushes it away. "Just stop it. Don't act like you're my friend or anything, because you're not, got it? I don't even know if you really exist, or if I've got some sort of crazy mental disorder that makes me see you. And why do you help me out when you won't get any credit for it, anyway? Why?" Alfred's voice rises even further, to the point that he's almost on the verge of yelling. In a fit of resentment, he stands up and pushes the other boy away from him roughly, making him stumble back and sending the stuffed polar bear to the ground a little way away. It lands with a muffled-sounding thud among the fallen leaves as the wind starts to pick up. "Go away," he says, both weakly and harshly at the same time.

The boy just stays where he is, staring blankly at Alfred who is still huddled up at the base of the maple tree. Hot tears are starting to run down his face, only serving to further his irritation. For the second time, he pads over to Alfred and sits down beside him, and now he doesn't resist since he's too preoccupied with his display of crying to really notice.

He attempts to wipe the dampness off on his sleeve, before giving up and hiding his face in his hands and mumbling a soft, "Please, just leave me alone." He sits still for a while, the sound of his choked hiccups seeming much louder in his ears.

At the light tapping on his upper arm, he lifts his head. Blinking away the tears in his eyes, the outstretched hand in front of him comes into focus better. In confusion as to what he wants, Alfred shakes his head, only to flinch slightly as the hand plucks his glasses neatly off his face and proceeds to wipe them dry on a handkerchief that must have come from his pocket. As the boy does so, he can't help but stare at his face. His strange violet eyes are devoid of any anger, hate, or hurt. Instead, they are filled with nothing but a gentle, somewhat cautious concentration, even though Alfred shoved him really roughly and it's a little odd how he's not upset in the least.

"I–I feel like an idiot asking you so many 'why' questions when you're probably never gonna answer, b–but... dude, I just pushed you really hard there. Why are you still being so nice?" Alfred chokes. He only responds by turning Alfred's face towards him and gently drying off the tears with the handkerchief before replacing his glasses.

The wind has grown even more by now, and falling maple leaves are starting to drift past the line of Alfred's vision. They sit together in silence for what seems like several minutes but might be hours, before an idea seems to occur to the boy and he starts brushing leaves away from one spot on the ground, until a cleared area sits in front of them about one and a half feet long.

Using the tip of his pointer finger, Alfred's mirror image (as he sometimes thinks of him) starts to make patterns in the soil, for lack of a better description. Even though what he's sketching looks to be very simple, from the way his hand moves Alfred can infer he is a good artist. That is, if he truly exists.

Apparently done, he takes his hand away from the ground a minute or two later to show Alfred what he drew: a fairly accurate maple leaf, the same kind as the ones on the ground around them, and swirling lines around it to represent wind. Slowly, he gestures toward the leaf drawn in the dirt and then points towards Alfred. He does this again several times, perhaps aware that what he's trying to communicate isn't easy to show in a drawing.

Alfred scratches his head, perplexed. He's not sure what the meaning of the drawing is, so he makes his best guess out loud. "You tryin' to say that I'm the leaf or something?" In response, his doppelgänger gestures in the direction of the swirly markings, and then towards himself. And then he brushes his palm over the marks that make up the wind, making it as if they were never there at all. All that is left in the soil is the leaf, perfectly untouched.

He turns to Alfred and smiles faintly, tiredly, at him, asking him to try to understand. Alfred nods, even though he doesn't have a clue on the meaning of the leaf drawn in the dirt.

The boy starts drawing shapes in the ground one more time, very shakily, as if it takes him a tremendous amount of effort. As Alfred looks, the crooked shapes slowly form letters, and the letters form a word. A capital M, followed by an A, two T's, H, E, and finally a W.

M-a-t-t-h-e-w. His name.

Alfred stares at him, who is clutching his chest and breathing hard. His face is paler than it was before, making him look terribly sick. He grins encouragingly, patting Matthew lightly on the back.

"Thanks, I guess. You're Matthew, huh?" Alfred mumbles to himself. He scrawls his own name in the dust as well, pointing at it to draw Matthew's attention. When he notices it, he spends several seconds looking, mouthing Alfred's name to himself before nodding in understanding. That's good. At least, well, they know each other's name now.

Alfred grins again, before getting up and offering a hand to the boy. Matthew smiles weakly and takes it. He's oddly light, even though they look relatively similar to each other in terms of height and body structure.

As they walk away from the towering maple tree, Alfred tries to puzzle out the meaning of the leaf and the wind in the dirt. Maybe it means... no, that's not it.

In their haste, they leave the polar bear plushie behind, forgotten and covered by leaves.

"Alfred! Good lord, are you ill? Wake up!" Arthur's sharp, accented voice comes from a faraway time and place, bringing him to wakefulness. Groaning, Alfred opens one eye halfway to see a pair of green eyes frowning at him, narrowed in vexation. He's shaking him back and forth. Painfully.

"What...? Stop doing that, Arthur... it hurts." He complains.

"It's already half-past eight. I've been trying to wake you for almost ten minutes. Were you having nightmares or something?"

"Urgh..." Alfred rubs his head. What was he dreaming about? Oh, right. Something about... a drawing in the ground, markings made with a trembling, thin hand. A maple leaf, he remembers, with swirls of wind carrying it far, far away. He never did figure out the meaning of it, did he? "...or something."

"Hurry, now. Or else you'll be late for school again and get into a terrible row."

As he chokes down Arthur's breakfast-flavoured cooking, brushes his teeth, forgoes combing his hair, struggles through the math quiz he completely forgot about at school, and steals some of Kiku's lunch because he didn't remember to bring money, the drawing in the earth haunts his mind relentlessly.

Just what did it mean? And it's too bad that he woke up before Matthew could find a better way to explain. Now he'll never truly know.

You are the leaf, and I am the wind that carries you. I will follow you wherever you go, and even though no one acknowledges me but you,
I will never stop helping you in what you wish to accomplish. I will always be there, together with you.

Author's Notes:

Blame 番凩 for this story. BUT IT'S SUCH A GOOD SONG GUYS ;_;

I left Alfred and Matthew's age relatively ambiguous, I suppose, but he's definitely under ten. Not sure if he is the type of child who cries when he's frustrated. But I thought it was okay to write in. And if it's not obvious by now that endings are not my forte...

I have a pretty solid idea for a multichaptered sequel to this. Dunno if I'll ever get to writing it though, so I'm not gonna promise anything.

Again, reviews of any kind are appreciated!