A/N: Sorry I have posted the new chapter yet. I don't have internet at my house, so I can only post things at my parents' house. I'm glad you all are liking the story thus far! I hope I can continue with the angsty goodness. R&R. Enjoy!
~…~
Scene IV: Don't You Ever Forget About Me
~…~
The hardest thing I'd ever do
Is say goodbye and walk slowly away from you
But I'll do it
~…~
Leaving was hard, so very, very hard. Harder than Alfred had expected, as a matter of fact. He had known that it was going to be hard, especially after all of the things Ivan had said to him, but he hadn't realized that it was going to be soul-wrenching hard. It was as though a piece of himself was breaking away from his very soul, shattering into a million tiny pieces as he packed what he could carry with him and walk out of the door to their…no, Ivan's house. That place was no longer his home, although it still felt like it even after a week, and he was no longer welcome there, although it was the only place he wanted to be right now.
Arthur's house had been the only option. Going back to his home in the States seemed so damn final, like it was all really over and Alfred just wasn't ready to accept that. In all honesty, he didn't think he'd ever be able to accept that. Thinking about it now was too hard for him; fresh tears pricked his red-rimmed eyes.
He knew he looked like utter hell, but he didn't give a damn. The only thing he cared about right now was Ivan and the fact that they were over. Alfred didn't understand it, either! Honestly, he didn't! While things had been strained – mostly because Ivan hadn't been opening up to him much like he used to – things hadn't been bad. Yes, they fought, but not often and Alfred understood, he seriously did. Letting things out and sharing everything that was going on inside one's head was a difficult thing to do, especially when one was a country as enemies wore many friendly faces. But after being together so long, Ivan should have known that Alfred wasn't his enemy. They had never been enemies. The Cold War…that was nothing because Alfred had never felt any sort of animosity or hatred or anything negative towards Ivan, especially during that time. Actually, during that period of time, he often wondered if the older nation felt as tired and drained about the whole ordeal as he felt.
And now, he felt even more tired and drained and sad, so very, very sad, and lonely. Now more than ever, Alfred needed Ivan. He needed his strong arms wrapped around his body, he needed his familiar scent, he needed his soft voice, he needed his small smile…hell, he just needed Ivan period!
Nothing Arthur said or did helped, either. None of his words of insult about Ivan or his words of support or comfort made any impact on Alfred or lifted his spirits. How could his soul be lifted when he had left part of it behind with Ivan?
~…~
And after all this time I shared with you
It seems unfair to leave with nothing more than blank stares
But I'll do it
~…~
It was so damn unfair! After all this time, after years, centuries even, of being so utterly alone and unloved and unwanted and unneeded, Alfred had found someone who saw true value in him because he was him, who loved him unconditionally and who wanted him and needed him as much as Alfred wanted and needed Ivan. At least, he thought that Ivan had wanted and needed him. Perhaps that had all been a lie…
No, he must've think like that. Ivan's love wasn't something he gave on a whim or lied about and Alfred knew that. His mind was playing games with him again. But it was hard to not believe the things his mind was telling him.
Just the way Ivan had looked at him…
Alfred had wanted Ivan to come and embrace him as he gathered his things together and packed them. He wanted him to take back all of the things he had said and to get back together again. But Ivan hadn't and Alfred wasn't going to force him to do or say something he didn't want to do or say. No one could force Russia to do anything he didn't want to, especially America. It was the look on Ivan's face, though, that had hurt more than anything he had said to Alfred. Ivan had always been hard to read – Alfred even had a hard time reading him – but the blank stare on his face just seemed so…definite, like there was no going back.
And maybe Ivan didn't want to.
And if that's what Ivan wanted, then Alfred would try his best to give it to him, no matter how dead it made him on the inside. And he felt pretty dead right now.
~…~
If it's for the best then I wish you well
If it helps to say our life was a living hell
Well then do it
Then do it
Then do it
~…~
Alfred really wanted to wish Ivan well, he really did. He wanted to tell Ivan good luck, but he couldn't. He just…couldn't. It hurt too much for him to even think about it. There was no way in hell he'd be able to walk up to Ivan, before or after a meeting or just in private, and tell him that he hoped everything went well for him in the future. Alfred would break down on the spot and cry and Ivan would probably smile that small smile at him and call him a coward or a weakling and laugh in his face.
That thought alone brought even more tears to Alfred's eyes and he curled up in a tight ball on the bed and buried his face in his pillow. It was around midnight, maybe even a few minutes before, and he didn't want to wake Arthur.
Maybe Ivan was just tired of being with Alfred. After all, Alfred himself had a hard time opening up and letting Ivan in; such things happened when a country like Alfred was pretty much all alone in the world, with friends and enemies that seemed to be one in the same more often than not. Perhaps it was just getting to Ivan, making him feel worse and worse and maybe breaking up with the younger nation had been his way to save himself. If that was the case, then Ivan should have just said so. But then again, why would he when he couldn't properly open up himself?
~…~
Don't you ever forget about me
When you toss and turn in your sleep
I hope it's because you can't stop thinking about
The reasons why you close your eyes
I haunt your dreams at night
So you can't stop thinking about me
Don't stop thinking about me
~…~
Alfred wondered if Ivan was thinking about him right now. Was he sitting in his chair by the fireplace with a glass of vodka in his hands? Were his violet eyes staring into the fire, watching the flames dance while his mind rolled with thoughts of Alfred and what they had had? Or was he thankful and relieved that it was over? Was he even thinking of Alfred at all?
Was he?
Was he forgetting him and what they had, barely a week after they had been through? Would Ivan do something like that? Would he move on so easily after all they had been through?
Alfred wasn't sure; his heart said no and yet his mind said yes and he wasn't sure which one he ought to believe.
~…~
Do you really think you can see this through?
Put on a smile and wear it for someone new
Don't you do it
~…~
Maybe Ivan had found someone else he wanted to be with. Perhaps he was so sick and tired and just done with Alfred and his insecurities and low self-esteem and he wanted someone else. That thought shook Alfred to his core and sobs wracked his already trembling body, making him shiver and shake as hot tears streamed down his face. If that was the case…if that was the case then…then Alfred was dead.
There was no one else for him aside from Ivan. He felt more connected to Ivan than anyone else in the world and he knew that he wouldn't be able to find someone else that he'd be as happy with as he had been with the older nation. But what if Ivan didn't feel the same way? What if he decided that he'd rather be with Natalya or Toris or someone, anyone really, who wasn't Alfred?
Well, Alfred couldn't really blame him if that was the case. So many others had far more to offer than he did anyway. If Ivan found another person he wanted to be with, who could give him things that Alfred couldn't and make him feel things that Alfred couldn't, then what could the younger nation do? Nothing, really. He couldn't force Ivan to stop feeling what he felt. Hell, he couldn't even control what he felt. He couldn't control anything.
And yet, the idea of someone else being in Ivan's life, of making him smile and laugh, really, truly smile and laugh, caused so much jealousy and anger to spread throughout him that it frightened Alfred. Thinking about someone else being in Ivan's arms, in his bed, even in his thoughts made Alfred want to punch whoever it was in the face repeatedly until they didn't look like a person anymore. And what frightened him even more was that he would honest to God do it too, regardless of who it was.
It wasn't like Alfred to want to harm someone just because. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't just punch people in the face or whatever when they disagreed with him. Actually, he could be rational and mature when he wanted to be and it wasn't often that he got into personal arguments or physical altercations with another nation because of personal feelings. But he wanted to find whoever Ivan was interested in and beat them to a bloody pulp so that they would know not to mess with his man.
But Ivan wasn't his man, not anymore, and his feelings of jealousy and anger were unwarranted. At least, that's what his brain told him. His heart on the other hand was telling him that of course he'd be jealous and angry and hurt and upset and completely devastated about the very notion that there was somebody else in Ivan's life – and in his bed.
If possible, he cried even harder. How someone could have so many tears even after almost crying every single day of the week astounded him. Alfred sure as hell had never known that he had that many tears inside of him. It brought him back to the time in his life when the world was nothing but gray skies and heavy hearts even when the skies above him were bright blue and the people around him laughed and smiled without a care in the world. It was as though nothing had truly changed and Alfred was still very, very lonely and that no one saw him for who he was.
Everyone else only ever saw him as America, so why not Ivan too?
Why would Ivan be any different?
~…~
'Cause I know I'm not the easiest one to love
But every ounce I had
I invest in you
But no one said love's not for taking chances
~…~
Yes, Alfred knew that he had his problems; the other nations around him, Arthur, Francis to name a few, had helped him out with that. The fact that they thought that he was stupid and useless and arrogant and of no importance had left their marks, probably permanently, within his mind. Not only that, but all of the wars he had been through, all of the bloodshed that he had seen and that he, on some level, had caused his people to suffer, the Great Depression, all of it had made him believe that what the other nations said and thought about him were true. That he was useless and arrogant and selfish and irrational and bloodthirsty and power hungry and…and dangerous.
There were other problems he had too, self-image problems, that stemmed from Arthur and Francis and even Yao calling him fat, and that was putting it nicely…
Ivan knew about all of his problems even if it had taken Alfred a long time to tell him about them. He understood, or he had said that he understood, where the younger nation was coming from. And he had made Alfred believe that he wasn't alone anymore, that there was someone out there who understood his pain and his sadness more than anyone else ever would. Because of that, and for so many other reasons, Alfred had fallen in love with him and he had given him everything he had within him.
Every ounce of love, every tear he cried for Ivan or with Ivan, every laugh, every sigh, every moan, every drop of sweat or blood, it held as much love as Alfred had to give in it. He never believed in doing things half way; if he committed himself to something then he gave one hundred and fifty percent. The same was true with his relationship with Ivan; he gave everything he had and so much more. Even now, Alfred loved Ivan with a fiery passion that would make the flames of Hell seem nuke warm. Even now, if someone captured him and tortured him for information about the older nation, Alfred wouldn't utter a word about him, not one single word.
He knew when he began pouring his heart into their relationship that he was taking a huge chance, that he very well may lose everything he had. It was a chance that he happily took at the time because he believed that no matter what, through thin and through thick, that he and Ivan would endure and remain together.
Well, he had been wrong about that, hadn't he?
Alfred should have expected it, he should have known. Arthur and Francis and all of the other nations had been right all along: Alfred was nothing but a stupid American. Nothing more and nothing less and certainly nothing to love or remember.
~…~
So don't you ever forget about me
When you toss and turn in your sleep
I hope it's because you can't stop thinking about
The reasons why you close your eyes
I haunt your dreams at night
And so you can't stop thinking about me
(Can't stop thinking about me)
~…~
Perhaps Ivan had realized that about Alfred. Perhaps he had finally come to believe that all of the other nations had been right about Alfred. Maybe that was another reason why he broke up with Alfred. Well, he supposed that now he'd never know. Even if he managed to be able to eventually talk to Ivan normally during meetings, Alfred would never walk up to him and ask him before or after. He probably wouldn't even want to be seen talking to the American now anyway.
If Alfred could curl into a tighter ball, he would. All he wanted to do right now was waste away and disappear from existence. What was the point in existing anymore anyway? There was nothing left for him now and his people didn't need someone as weak and as pathetic as him for a country anyway. But he knew that trying anything would be pointless – it wouldn't work even if he tried – and it was the cowardly way to go out. Alfred was stronger than that.
Wasn't he?
Right now, he didn't feel all that strong. Actually, he felt pretty pathetic and weak and cowardly, like the lowest thing on the planet, lower than dirt, lower than child molesters. Would he always feel this way? Part of him said yes, he would, because the love he had for Ivan was still so very strong and it wasn't going to disappear, not even with time. Another part of him said no; he'd feel even worse if Ivan found someone else and forgot what they had shared together.
A soft knock came to his door suddenly. Lifting his head and looking at the clock on the bedside table, Alfred realized that it was half past midnight.
"Yeah?" he called out and he winced. He sounded as horrible and as shitty as he felt, and that meant that Arthur would be able to tell as well.
"Alfred, love, I know that this is a stupid question, but…are you alright?" came Arthur's voice through the door that separated them.
The younger nation nearly laughed at that. Was he alright? No, he wasn't alright and he wasn't going to be alright. But he didn't want to inconvenience Arthur any more than he already was. He was already using Arthur now; he had known about Arthur's desire for him even before Ivan had broken up with him and he knew that he didn't feel the same way. Nothing was going to change between the two of them and Alfred had told him that on many occasions. And yet, here he was, using Arthur's desire for him for a place to stay since Ivan's was, obviously, out of the question and since he didn't want to go back to his own place in the States.
"I'm fine, Arthur," Alfred replied and laid back down on the bed, clutching one of the pillows to his chest. There was a pause before Arthur's voice came through the door again.
"Well, if you need me, don't hesitate to ask," he told him.
Alfred didn't say anything; he just allowed his tears to roll down his puffy cheeks while he listened for Arthur's footsteps to carry him away from his room. Soon enough, he heard the older nation sigh softly and walk away, leaving him by himself once more. Not that Alfred minded being by himself; he had had many long years by himself and now, he'd have many more yet to come.
~…~
Will you take me back in the morning
If I promise to never act this way again?
Oh, oh
'Cause I'm so bad at being lonely
But I don't know how (don't know how)
I don't know how
~…~
Loneliness wasn't something Alfred was unused to. On the contrary, he was very much used to being lonely. And it had taken him a long time to learn how to not be lonely. But around Ivan, it was almost natural. He didn't feel lonely at all when he was round Ivan. Alfred could be in a room full of the other nations and he'd still feel lonely if Ivan wasn't around him.
And then a thought popped into his head.
Maybe…maybe Ivan would take him back if Alfred promised, swore to him, that he would change. He would do whatever it took if it meant that he'd get Ivan back; he'd do anything, anything at all. It didn't matter what the price was; he would gladly pay it. It didn't matter what Ivan wanted him to change about himself; Alfred would change it. Anything Ivan wanted, he would give him if only it meant that they could be together again.
Alfred wanted to be with Ivan more than anything else. He wanted his soul to be whole again. He would do whatever it took. He would give up everything if only he could go back in time and change whatever he had done wrong to make Ivan distance himself and want to not be with him.
But he wouldn't even know where to start to change whatever the hell was wrong with him. Alfred wouldn't even know if it would work. Now he was lonely again and his heart ached and yearned for its true love, for Ivan. The things he needed to change about himself…the list was so long that he wasn't sure if he'd even be able to start the changes in time to save their relationship.
What if they were doomed to fail from the start? What if Ivan had never even felt as deeply for Alfred as Alfred felt for him? Would he be able to handle knowing about that? No, he didn't think he would. Actually, it would probably kill whatever was left of him, and that wasn't much. Besides, time travel didn't exist and he couldn't go back and change himself, no matter how hard he wished he could.
~…~
So don't you ever forget about me
Don't you ever forget about me
Don't you ever forget about me
When you toss and turn in your sleep
I hope it's because you can't stop thinking about
The reasons why you close your eyes
I haunt your dreams at night
So you can't stop thinking about me
(Don't stop thinking about me)
~…~
Alfred released a self-deprecating laugh.
For all he knew, Ivan was in bed with someone else, fucking them hard and rough and enjoying himself more so than he had when he was in bed with Alfred. Maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in their ear in Russian and grinning when they moaned and arched into his touch, into those hands that could be cool and warm, soft and strong all at once. And maybe he meant those sweet nothings he whispered to them; maybe he was truly happy for once.
A choked sob escaped his dry, sore throat and Alfred buried his face in his pillow. Merely thinking about it tore his already broken heart into even tinier fragments.
Ivan had probably pushed Alfred out of his mind already and was thinking about other, more important things. He was probably laughing to himself at how pathetic and sad the younger nation was and how easily it had been to fool him. Matthew, his brother, had once told him that he was too naïve for his own good and he had been right; Alfred had trusted Ivan with all that he had to give and now he was being laughed at from miles away. And whoever he was fucking was probably laughing right along with him. Hell, for all Alfred knew, he had just been a game to the Russian, a passing fancy that had caught his attention for a time being but was now nothing more than a boring little boy that he didn't want to play with anymore.
Maybe Ivan was in his bed right now sleeping soundly with that small smile on his face as he dreamed of vodka and sunflowers. Perhaps Alfred was in his dreams and perhaps Ivan was laughing at him and tearing him apart gleefully while his dream self crumpled to pieces and wept like a child. Or perhaps Ivan's dream self was beating Alfred's dream self with that pipe that he loved to carry around with him, rejoicing in the physical pain and torment he was bringing his ex-lover.
Another sob escaped him and Alfred closed his eyes tightly and shook his head back and forth, back and forth, trying and failing to erase such thoughts and images from his mind. Ivan wouldn't do that, would he? Not even in his dreams would he hurt Alfred, right? If that was true, then why would he hurt Alfred in the real world?
Was he thinking about Alfred right now? Did he even care about him and what he was going through? Had he ever cared about the younger nation? Had all of his words been lies and nothing more than sweet nothings to get Alfred in bed? Or was he hurting just as much as Alfred was? Would Alfred ever know? Did he even want to?
Alfred was so hurt and confused that he didn't know what to believe or what to think. All he knew was that he was tired and that...that...
He sat up in bed and listened into the night. A soft pang hit his window. After a minute or so, another pang struck, and then another one. What the hell was that noise? It wasn't rain; he would have been able to tell if it was rain.
Rolling out of bed, Alfred made his way over to his window. He hesitated, not sure whether he wanted to pushed back the curtain and look down or not. It could be anyone, it could even be Ivan… But that would be asking for too much and he knew that. So, maybe it wouldn't hurt to see what or who it was after all.
Sighing heavily, feeling like shit and looking like it too, Alfred pulled back the curtain and looked down.
There, standing in the soft glow of yellow light that emanated from the nearby light, was Ivan and Alfred felt his heart stop.
~…~
Just close your eyes
And fall asleep at night
~…~