The next day, as Alfred fixed himself in the mirror, adjusting his suiting, he wondered when exactly he was going to wake up this nightmare. It wasn't just something he could sleep off; Arthur wouldn't be there when he woke up. It wasn't something he could throw a tantrum over; he had already done that. And overall, it wasn't something he… could fix. Alfred was Alfred; he was so use to using some sort of force to get what he wanted but he couldn't force England to love him. As Francis had told him before, you cannot force love…
The American fixed his tie as he listened to the song playing on the radio in the background. When he was done, he sighed as he saw he still made his tie crooked. It'd been awhile, he had to admit, that he had to fix his own tie. The American sat down on the bed and untied the asymmetrical knot if the tie and completely rid himself of it before spraying on a dash of his cologne. "Arthur…" he said quietly to himself as if saying his name would somehow make the emptiness seem a little less lonely.
It didn't though; it merely reminded him that he was still without and everywhere there was something that had reminded him of Arthur.
Arthur was quiet as he stared at his cup of tea. His eyes were still slightly red from the early night morning that he had spent trying to get over what he thought was going to be easier a second time around; losing America. He sniffed once more before picking up his tea and pouring it out. It had gotten cold anyways… he told himself as he prepared a new cup.
"Who am I kidding…" Arthur mumbled to himself as he looked into the sink. His hands gripping the edge of the counter as he leaned his weight over to stare at himself in the water's reflection. He stayed like that for a long while, just trying to silence his own mind before he shook his head and walked away, going into his living room as he waited for the water to boil.
He leaned in the doorframe connecting the kitchen and the stared into the living room. The noon's sun brightened up the place with the windows open. Up on the walls were photographs he still couldn't bring himself to take down. He walked over to them, quiet as a ghost. The more recent ones were near the fireplace or in his phone and computer. The ones on the wall were much earlier, ranging from the 40s to the early 2000s if they were of him and Alfred. He walked over to the oldest one he had of him and his now ex-lover. It was black and white, Alfred and Arthur were standing together with Roosevelt beside America and Churchill beside Arthur.
The war might not have been simple, but boy… the joys were. He picked the photo off the wall and smiled in its memory from once upon a time ago. Why couldn't things be like they were back then? Just two countries, two of the big three… Now? Now was different. He placed the photograph back on the wall as he heard the kettle whistle like he was being called back to the present.
At the meeting, Alfred looked around the room, tired and annoyed. His hand clenched down on at his mug of coffee he had gotten from the self-service table and he sighed. It was going to be a long day. He could already feel it in his bones. Everyone was already there; they were all just waiting for England to call the meeting into session. But they both could feel it.
They both felt it.
It was like hearing a bell before lunch that just didn't come this day. Everyone in the room knew something was off between the two. America was never one to keep to himself, and England was never the one willing to chat up anybody in order to avoid being called into conversation with America. But as they came into the final minutes before the meeting was officially in session, America noticed France sit beside him where England had usually sat but looked at the younger nation with concern more than anything.
"Alfred..." Francis as he leaned forward to the American to speak quieter. "Is something in the wrong with you?" he asked.
"The matter? Nothing's really up," Alfred responded as he finished the last of his coffee.
"Then why does it feel like there exists an elephant in the room?" France asked as he propped his head on his hand, looking at the American with disbelief more than anything.
"You're being melodramatic."
"And you're behaving like a dog who just got its balls chopped off."
"Say... you and England use to date, right?" France, a little startled by the uneasy question, widened his eyes in its surprise but then slowly nodded as he leaned back in his chair.
"Oui... what about it? That was more than a few lifetimes ago; why dig up the past now?"
Alpaca: eh... I might discontinue this. :/