Love is Blind

Rating: T

Summary: Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after being after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

BrooklynBabbii

Author Alert:

Story alert/ Favorites: **ChubbyCubby23, iAMthedamnhero, MaliceArchangela, ThatPurplyThing, psychokittenterror, Yubel198, fluteprincess95, knyghtstar, Demon Piper, Obsession and Insanity, HoneySweetSins, Gilly B, Ashcola17, Hikary Sanoko, Prussian Sinister, Vampirates, PaperDream, Fireshadow242, Hunny The Monster**

Reviewer(s)!: ** iAMthedamnhero, easha, Guest, Animaegan, Sylene Bloodrose, Blind fetish, Ashcola17, Prussian Sinister, GilbirdAttack, Vampirates, nadzuke eno mono**

iAMthedamnhero: (Yay, my first reviewer is the hero! :D) And thank you for saying so. I had always wondered what would happen if Alfred was blind. *shrugs* Now we know!

easha: This is what happens next…

Guest: I'm glad you want to know, here you go!

Animaegan: I will continue, and you'll soon find that Ivan is going to make a mistake that he will look back on and never regret.

Sylene Bloodrose: I really hope you can, I can't update every day…although I wish I could.

Blind fetish: (First, you're not the only one) Second, thank you! You imagined it too? I thought his eyes looked beautiful, too. No, rant as much as you like. I'm glad you enjoy as much as you did.

Obsession and Insanity: Epic username, enough said.

Ashcola17: *salutes* Yes, yes sir! Update complete, sir! :|

Hikary Sanoko: They accept your concern, and I hope this update is soon enough for you.

Prussian Sinister: Angst is for-a every-a-body! :{D And yes, that is true. Sad history/plot and tears make for good stories. :)

GilbirdAttack: *hands tissue* Here you are, hun. Yes, ja, yes, a certain Russian is on his way. Right now, actually~

Vampirates: Why, t-thank you for complimenting my writing style. O/O D-danke for reviewing.

nadzuke eno mono: Yes, yes, I do. –w– *bows* Danke for that, and your review.

Wow, this story got a lot more support than I thought. Danke so much, I won't ever be able to tell you how happy it made me to see all of the positive response to this story. I really can't say anything.

So I'll just show all of my thanks in a new update. Thank you all, and please review.

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.:Chapter Two:.

"True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation."

–George Washington

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Once again, Alfred found himself outside. He liked being outside, not because that he looked to like the feeling of the earth's elements around him, it was because of his early memories.

When he could remember what he could pretend that he could still see. When he could pretend to see the lush and green tree leaves, how the sky's pretty blue color seemed to stretch on forever. How the birds looked in flight, their wings spread and then jutting down in a semi-fast or slow motion in their natural way of flight.

Ah, the natural sense of sight, it was such a precious thing. Most people didn't even realize they were lucky to have it, whilst others tried to cherish the small things they still remembered from when their sight was still with them. Alfred was one of the people still treasuring small memories of colors and images like an average Joe treasures his lucky charm or his most precious memory from being forgotten.

Alfred sighed, and then threw out his arms, to flop back onto his grass. He felt the little blades tickle his skin, and reached out to feel a strand between his fingers. What color was grass again?

Wait, did it change with seasons? What season was it now; it was summer, was it? Would the grass be green right now? Or would it be brown? Maybe it was green with brown splotches? Oh, grass, what color art thou? And why do confuse Alfred so?

"What color are you?" Alfred asked softly. Naturally, the grass didn't answer, but Alfred hadn't expected it to. Although, if he had, it would have been helpful and saved him from giving himself a self-induced headache from thinking too hard on his few memories of color.

The wind drifted by, spilling its weight over Alfred's stomach and trying to rifle his hair. A small twinkle began in pale eyes, but it was quickly dead and gone, as Alfred lifted his arm blindly to the wind. The breeze wiggled through his fingers, though he tried to catch it, as it kissed its fingertip.

Did the wind have a color? If it did, what color was it? If it didn't have its own color, then what color would it choose to be? What color would the wind be? Would it choose a color at all?

Alfred hummed to himself, as he rocked and then slowly turned onto his side and then his stomach. He stared at the space of the yard in front of him. As if he could still see the grass dancing in the gentle, summer breeze and the tiny flowers growing out of turn.

The smell of mixed flowers brought Alfred's head to the right, and he smiled. The flowers were certainly enjoying the day today. He didn't need his eyes to be able to tell that. He could just smell how much vibrant the flowers were in the bright sun after the recent rain.

Alfred smiled gently. If any had been in his backyard, they might have called it bitter. Some may have called it knowing, or the face of a man who has seen many things. The latter would certainly be a pun, wouldn't it?

But...others, the people who truly knew him or could honestly understand, would have just saw it as the face of the sad little boy who still mourned over the one of the greatest things taken from him.

Alfred had long thought over his lost of sight. He had come to this conclusion. It was from all of the gasps, when he lifted his dark glasses, or when he forgot to put them on. It was when he went with his brother out into the streets, to help with shopping, or just to come along to get out of the house. It was those times, when people saw his milky blue eyes; how they would shush their children and tell them not to stare, when they themselves were doing just the same.

It was hurtful. It made him feel like a freak, like he was an alien among his own neighbors. He was American, same as them, he was born here and so were his parents. He didn't like the treatment. But more than the stares and gasps, he hated – absolutely loathed – was the damned pity, that people tried to give him.

He was a full grown man, he had finished school, and he was well on his way to a degree in history and archaeology, even without his sight. He would make more money than his brother, who could still see, and people thought he wanted their pity.

Just because you know what blindness is, that doesn't mean you understand. Just because you enjoy the dark and have been blindfolded before, that doesn't mean you understand what it means to be blind. Hell, even there are some are blind, who still don't understand it themselves.

Alfred could still remember the day that some lady had put a few coins and a dollar in his empty cup, while he was sitting on a park bench, waiting for his brother to return with their ice cream. He hadn't wanted to say anything, because he could hear the kid beside her pointing at him and saying: "Mommy! Mommy! What's wrong with his eyes? They're such a weird color? Is there snot in his eyes? It looks like snot. Is it's not, Mommy?"

When his brother had gotten back, Alfred threw his ice cream away, and said he wanted to go home. Alfred didn't go out for a while after that. He knew, deep down, that the children hadn't meant to hurt his feelings or offend him…But snot? He thought he had snot in his eyes?

Alfred made a small sound in his throat, close to a cross between a groan and grunt, before he idly flicked at the grass with his fingers. He could do this, at least. He just had to pay attention. Feel the blade lean back with the wind, and then push into his finger before he flicked it away, only for it to come back again.

He sighed; already bored with the little flicker of entertainment he had gotten from the grass. He was about to stand, and "look" for other entertainment inside, when he heard his name being called from the gate. He got up and off the ground, trying to brush the grass from his person, and probably failing since he couldn't see where it is.

In the end, he straightened his T-shirt, and walked in the direction of where he had heard his name. It had been his brother's voice. Honestly, half the time, Alfred forgot the boy was there. He was so soft-spoken, since the accident had damaged his vocal cords.

The damage had made it painful to speak louder than necessary. On some certain days, Mattie would completely lose his voice and just sit there and cry. It was usually those days, that Alfred could feel his face burning in a phantom pain.

It was on those days, Alfred would be so doped off his medication, he would think he was back at age six, and he would have a bit of trouble remembering Mathew's name. He would be in the dark and he would feel terrified. He would be in so much pain, and he would just lie there. Some days, it was so bad, he would shed some tears, just because it was so tormenting.

Alone in the dark, alone and in pain, he would be alone and crying. Just like that day, long ago…He hated those days. It left him feeling weak, like he had no strength or control over what happened to him. It hurt his pride, and it nearly always found a way to draw cracks over his will not to break down. The accident had left them both more than just physical scars, after all…

"Mattie!" Alfred called back, frowning. One of those days must be coming earlier than usual. Mathew was already losing his voice. Alfred hadn't felt any pain from his eyes, so he thought that he had a few more days before the accident came to remind them of their scars.

"Al," Mathew tried to call again, and pressed a hand to his throat. It was soon going to be one of those days; they were coming for him soon. He would have to call in sick at his job, when it felt close, while he could still speak.

Mathew cleared his throat, and tried again. He heard his brother respond, and smiled. The other was going to be happy to hear this, right? He hoped so. Alfred hadn't really branched out to meet the other neighbors, because of how they treated him for his sight, and few people would take the time to listen to Mathew's words, when his voice was so soft.

Arthur, a friend of Alfred's from up the street, had said he had seen a moving truck come in. Mathew hadn't believed it at first, because few people moved to this neighborhood. It was nice, sure, it was very well-off actually, but most people drove by or dismissed it since it was farther from the city.

But truth be told, two blondes, a young and large-breasted woman and a tall young man were standing on his porch. Well, the woman was sitting in a chair, and the young man was leaning against the railing. He seemed deep in thought. The woman, well, she just looked relieved to sit. The move must have been hard on them.

Mathew smiled, still waiting on his brother, and getting a little worried. He had surely heard Alfred call back. Had he tripped over an unseen rock and hurt himself. He had done that once, and created a scratch under his chin that one time. Mathew had told him to be careful, but Alfred claimed he was careful and it wouldn't happen again.

Had it happened again? He thought, as he worried his lip with a soft bite. He sighed, and made a move to stand from his chair on the porch. "I'll be back," he said, and then turned as he went to open the door. He had no reason to be rude. "Do either of you two want anything to drink?"

The woman looked at the man, but he said nothing, intent on looking somewhere in the distance, hyacinth eyes unseeing. She nodded after a moment, and said, "Water would be nice, um, thank you."

Mathew had tucked the pause in his mind for later thought, as he nodded and went inside. He hoped Alfred didn't make a bad first impression. He went about, filling few glasses of water, and single glass of milk. For some reason, his brother had grown fond of the beverage after his sight left. Al liked to joke that it was the one thing he could still see. Mathew didn't know whether it was a really good joke or a terrible one.

He was working his way outside, a tray in his arms, as he tried to maneuver to open the door. Being a tactician paid off some ways, as he was always able to think up an idea to solve a problem. He put on a small smile, and found his smile widening, a little in shock and a little in amusement, when he came upon the scene outside.

Alfred was smiling and holding a clipped sunflower to the young man.

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-END CHAPTER-

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:D I finished it. Yay! We have Ivan. Does anyone know what's wrong with Ivan? Does anyone have a clue what he was thinking about? Where's Belarus/Natalya?

Who thinks they know the accident now? *sees no hands* Okay then, more details soon. Anyone THINK they know what's going to happen next? XD That's an easy one. Well, I can't really tell you now, so just—

READ AND REVIEW!