Hello, this is my newest story. It'll be a two-shot, and I'll post the other chapter sometime this week/early next week, I'm guessing. Review please, I hope you enjoy! Inspired by Sally's Song from Nightmare Before Christmas.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers
I sense there's something in the wind
That feels like tragedies at hand
And though I'd like to stand by him
Can't shake this feeling that I have
The worst is just around the bend
And does he notice my feelings for him?
And will he see how much he means to me?
I think it's not to be
What will become of my dear friend?
Where will his actions lead us then?
Although I'd like to join the crowd
In their enthusiastic cloud
Try as I may, it doesn't last
And will we ever end up together?
No, I think not, it's never to become
For am I not the one
Football and Awkward Conversations
Arthur Kirkland had spent yet another football game staring at the player with the number 50 on his back, Alfred F. Jones. Of course, it wasn't like he really cared about the sport. In fact, he didn't at all. Besides, this wasn't even football. This was a barbaric and unappealing sport. Football was a great sport, although these Americans referred to that as soccer. Which, if you asked him, made no bloody sense at all.
The Brit didn't even want to come to these stupid football games, but as student council president, it polished his image. It made him look like he was just another student, that he could blend in. That he could relate to all these stupid teenagers. Well, at least that's what the student council vice president had told him. So, he gave it a shot. Although really, he was only here to stare at the quarterback, or whatever the fuck that position was called.
Alfred was donned in a sweaty uniform, showing off his perfectly sculpted biceps. Ah, damn, that really was a great uniform. Even from where he sat in the bleachers, Arthur could see the beads of sweat dripping down Alfred's tanned face, and the mud stains marking his pants. The crowd was roaring in applause and cheers and Arthur guessed that another point had been awarded to his school's team, but he did not remove his green eyes from Alfred.
Bloody hell, how long had he been in love with that twat now? Two, maybe three, years now? They had only spoken a handful of times, and each second of conversation between them Arthur treasured and held close to his heart, remembering the American accent and the deep voice and loud laughter. The tilt of the head with every question, the large smile that was plastered on the bespectacled boy's face every second of the day.
They were in multiple classes together, but they still never communicated much besides those few times where Alfred struck up a minor conversation with questions like 'did we have homework last night?' or 'how'd you do on the test?' and sometimes even: 'are you coming to the game on Friday?'
But there was never questions like 'you wanna go on a date after the game?' or 'you look really cute in that sweater' and never one declaration of 'I've always been in love with you.'
A gust of cold wind snapped him out of this thoughts, as well as reminding him that now that it was late autumn, he really needed to start carrying around a warmer coat. It also made the blond realize that he was in fact, sitting alone in the bleachers, all the students around him had already flooded out of the stands.
"Damn, is it over already?" Arthur muttered to himself, mentally scolding himself for not paying more attention to the time. Fuck, he probably looked like a stalker just sitting here alone in the bleachers.
Standing up from his seat, he walked down the metal stairs, the echoing clack of his shoes the only sound. Breezes continued to brush against him, chilling him to his very core. For some reason, tonight's wind was different. It was cold, but comforting. It felt like tragedies at hand. Like his heart was going to be broken, crushed into pieces. With each step he took, he couldn't shake the feeling, but he continued on.
"Hey, yo! Artie, buddy, is that you? What're you still doing here?" A happy voice asked, and Arthur could practically hear the smile.
Turning around, his green eyes met the gorgeous blue eyes of one certain blond football player. "Ah, well it appears I was lost in thought and didn't realize the game had ended..." Arthur answered, desperately trying to hide the fact that his heart was starting to beat quicker. "And my name is Arthur, not Artie."
Alfred nodded in reply, before smiling widely and saying, "but Artie suits you!"
"Arthur suits me just fine."
There was a pause, a moment of consideration, as Alfred jogged to catch up with the shorter teen. "Yeah, I guess it does, but it doesn't mean I'm gonna stop calling you Artie! Anyway, what did you think of the game?"
I wasn't watching the game because I was too busy staring at you, dumbass. "It was fine." He settled on saying, trying to ignore his nervous sweaty palms.
"Fine? Fine? The game was incredible! We're probably going to states for that last point we scored! We really beat the other team into the dust!" Alfred began yapping in an excited tone about other games and regionals and sports terms that Arthur really couldn't understand, but he didn't interrupt.
The walk back to the student parking lot was long, which Arthur was secretly glad for. It meant more time with Alfred, and that was never a bad thing. Every moment he could spend with the other boy was a gift. Even just being in the same class together made him happy. The wind made the autumn evening seem like a winter night, and Arthur still had that strange empty, sinking feeling in his chest.
"Hey man, you cold? You're shivering an awful lot." Alfred said, eyeing the shivering teen up and down before asking, "you want my jacket?"
"No, you twat, I'm not cold at all." Of course, he was cold. In fact, he felt very cold. But there was no way in hell he was going to wear Alfred's jacket. He didn't think his heart could handle something like that. Having the big leather bomber jacket draped around his shoulders that must smell just like Alfred, considering the blond never took the bloody thing off.
Alfred didn't drop it. "But you're shivering."
"Am not."
"Are too." Alfred pressed on, "dude, I can see you shivering, you can't even deny it. Why the hell aren't you wearing a coat in fall?"
"Am not. And because I like this bloody sweater, that's why."
"Are too." Alfred didn't say anything else, instead silently slipping off his jacket with a smirk on his face and draping it around Arthur's petite frame. "No more shivering, Artie! The hero will always be here to lend you a jacket!"
Don't give me hope like that, you twat.
Don't look at me like you actually care about me.
Don't make me think I'm special to you.
After a moment of silence, Arthur abandoned his thoughts and muttered a thank you, and the two teenagers continued on their way, walking slowly to avoid the rain puddles from the previous night and this morning that had not yet evaporated.
They turned the corner, Alfred still chatting animatedly about the game. Unlike most people, Arthur was satisfied with not sharing his feelings. He never planned on telling the athlete his true feelings, nor anyone else. Of course, sometimes he still got the desire to just stand up on the cafeteria table and shout "Alfred, you fuckwad, I'm in love you with you!"
But he would never really do that.
If he did, that confidence would be immediately followed by regret. Arthur could imagine it now, the teasing, the laughter. The jabbing apology from Alfred when he got rejected. Just thinking about it left a taste in his mouth like orange juice and mint toothpaste.
Alfred continued to talk on, seemingly not noticing that Arthur was spacing out, too busy thinking about whether or the jock noticed his feelings for him or not. Maybe Alfred was just teasing him, maybe this was all just some sick game. Maybe Alfred had known all along that Arthur was in love with him, but was too kind to tell him he wasn't interested.
Suddenly nervous, Arthur wondered if maybe that was the case. Or if he said something, would Alfred know how much he means to him? Perhaps it would be easy, just a simple confession and then they could be happy together. Holding hands and going to the movies, picnics and kisses. Arthur could cheer at each and every game and Alfred would wait for him outside of every weekly student council meeting so they could go home together.
But no, it was not meant to be.
Arthur knew that, hell, that's what had stopped him from confessing every single day. The two weren't meant to be together. Alfred was a popular extrovert, the star of the football team. People swarmed around him and screamed his name from the stands of every game, holding up handmade signs with his name on it. Meanwhile Arthur was just the "grouchy student council president" who couldn't cook for shit and scared everyone at school with his strict mannerisms and quick temper. He was just a lonely British transfer student who could count his friends on one hand.
What would become of the tall blond boy standing beside him? Alfred was obviously going places in life. He'd probably get a scholarship to a nice college for his athletic involvement at school and find himself a pretty girl and marry her. Something like that, right? The American Dream. Whatever would become of Alfred, it certainly didn't involve dating a bitter Englishman.
The green-eyed teen wished he could just join the crowds in the bleachers in their enthusiastic cloud, screaming and cheering Alfred's name with each movement the athlete made, clapping and hollering widely when he ran down the field or threw the football lavishly. A few times, Arthur had made an attempt to cheer along, but try as he may, it never lasted. With each cheer of Alfred's name he was reminded that that was the name of the boy he would never get to hold hands with, the boy he'd never be loved by.
Would they ever end up together? Arthur had asked himself that question many times, and although he tried to persuade himself otherwise, the answer always turned out to be a big fat no. He wanted to give himself hope, he wanted to twist his thoughts somehow so he could convince himself that maybe he had a chance with the boy of his dreams. But no, it wasn't plausible nor possible. Call him a pessimist, but Arthur knew they would never be.
"Hey, Artie, I've gotta question for ya."
"Yes, Alfred?" Arthur responded, waiting for the most likely idiotic question.
Alfred replied instantly, his voice nonchalant and seemingly with all the confidence in the world. "Where would you like to go on a date?"
The Brit's heart almost stopped beating. "Excuse me?"
Maybe it was time for him to reconsider that previous question. Maybe it was possible for them to be together? Could he really join the crowd in their enthusiasm cloud and cheer along as loud as he could? Was the feeling the wind gave him earlier just a lie? Was there hope for him yet? His heart was pounding, like it was trying to escape from his chest. Sweat beaded on his hands, making his palm sticky and warm.
Alfred laughed, and it sounded like music. "I mean, there's this girl and I've been meaning to ask out for a while now, and you seem like you have good taste for stuff like that, am I right? So Artie, help a bro out, please?"
Arthur did in fact, not want to 'help a bro out' actually, he almost wanted to cry. It felt like his heart had shattered and the pieces had blown away in the wind. His eyes burned, and he couldn't tell if it was with sadness or humiliation. Even though it was only for a second, he had actually convinced himself that the incredible boy before him had actually liked him. Mostly he wanted to throw Alfred's damned bomber jacket to the ground, run back to his car, lock the doors and bawl his eyes out.
Instead, he blinked his green eyes rapidly and did not let the tears show. He cleared his throat, just like he would do in his student council meetings, and he looked at the street in front of him and did not glance at the other boy. Steadying his voice, he spoke. "Well Alfred, it really all depends on the girl you're asking out. Every girl likes different things, so you should really plan around that."
Arthur walked quicker, until he was at a pace where he was almost jogging. Alfred continued to walk alongside him, his perfect eyebrows scrunched in confusion at Arthur's reaction. "Artie, buddy, you okay?"
Buddy. That's all I'll ever be.
"Yes Alfred, I'm perfectly fine." His voice was shaking, wasn't it? "But you know, you can never go wrong with going to the cinema or a nice restaurant, those are always good places to go." He had never been on a damn date in his entire life, but all those romance books he had read couldn't have possibly mislead him, right? "She's a lucky girl, I wish you two the best of luck together."
His pace sped up just a little bit more, but Alfred matched his speed. "Yeah man, thanks for the advice! I sure hope she says yes!" He sounded so excited, like a lovestruck buffoon. That happy expression on his face made Arthur feel like he had been stabbed in the heart.
Arthur slowed to a stop. "Of course she'll say yes, you're Alfred F. Jones!" He forced a laugh, and it came out cheap and fake, like a knockoff handbag that seemed real until you actually glanced at the labels. "I just remembered I have much to do, student council work and all that, so I'll be going now." He made for his escape, taking a sudden turn in the opposite direction of the student parking lot where his car was.
Hell, he'd rather walk home than walk with Alfred for one more second. The blond knew he wouldn't make it. If Alfred kept talking about this soon-to-be girlfriend of his, he'd break down.
"Artie!" The bespectacled blond called after him, and Arthur froze in his spot, but did not turn around. Alfred's mouth fell open, like he wanted to say something but couldn't choke out the words, and Arthur didn't wait for him to figure it out.
"Oh, you're right, silly me." The green-eyed teen shrugged off the bomber jacket, walking over and shoving it into Alfred's hands, trying not to establish eye contact, although he was sure that Alfred had caught a glimpse of his glassy eyes judging by his shocked face. "I'll be going now. Goodnight, Alfred."
Then he turned away, not wanting to hear the next words that would leave Alfred's mouth. And would they ever end up together? The tears pooled in his eyes as he realized his final answer. "No, I think not..." He whispered to himself, harshly wiping at the fat, salty tears dripping down his cheek. "It's never to become." The wind brushed against his cheek again, like it had earlier that evening. "For I am not the one."
To be continued
