Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly.
The end. :)
"What am I doing? I don't even know if he'll be here…"
An American man muttered to himself angrily as he knocked on the front door of his brother's house.
Silence.
Again the blond knocked on the door—well, this time around it was more like punching—and tapped his foot, cursing under his breath.
"I swear, Matt, I will fuckin' kill you with my own hands if you don't answer the goddamn door—"
"H-Hey Alfred…"
The man sighed in relief.
Thank God. He was home. Now he didn't have to waste valuable time murdering him.
"Matt, is Arthur here? Did he call ya? Is he on his way over?"
The brother only gave a confused stare. Maybe he had forgotten?
"I-I haven't seen or talked to Arthur in a few days…is there something wrong?" Matthew asked hesitantly. He had never seen his brother so worked up before.
Alfred only shook his head.
He must still be home then…
"Thanks anyways, Matt. See ya!" He shouted as he rushed down the street and back to his car.
"Fuck. Arthur you better be at home."
-----
What am I doing here?
A short Englishman gazed up at the house he had been in a week before. He had flown all the way over here to see Matthew. But old habits took place and he found himself on this porch instead. He wanted to go inside. He wanted to see Alfred. But for all he knew, that idiot was probably out somewhere by now.
Arthur stood frozen on the front porch as it began to drizzle lightly.
"My door's always open," Alfred beamed—using that cheeky smile that Arthur loved. "You can come anytime ya want."
He tapped on the window.
No answer.
He knocked on the door.
Again, no answer.
Arthur balled his hands into fists. Of course Alfred wouldn't be here at this time.
"I'm going home…"
----
"Can't this thing go any faster!?" Alfred screamed into the cockpit. "It's a jet for fuck's sake! I should've been there already!"
The pilots both jumped up, obviously frightened by the sudden outburst. Their boss was never like this.
"S-Sir, this is as fast as the plane can go!?
Alfred fumed as he sat back in his seat, his fingers drumming against the arm rest.
"Fan-fucking-tastic."
With a pout, the nation glanced out his window.
It was raining.
After two hours of shouting and yelling at his pilots Alfred finally arrived at the airport, quickly hailing a taxicab.
He squirmed around in the backseat. This was taking way too long for his liking.
"This it, kid?"
Alfred quickly jumped up, throwing some money at the taxi driver. "Thanks!"
As the cab drove off happily, Alfred sprinted up to the porch and pounded on the door.
No answer.
The rain only came down harder.
"I'll stand on this fuckin' corner in the pouring rain until you come home Arthur Kirkland. I promise."
And wait Alfred Jones did.
----
Jetlag definitely got the better of the older nation.
Arthur waited inside the airport of his hometown, hoping the rain would let up. He didn't want to risk driving in it. He was in no shape to drive at all in the first place.
"I can't believe he wasn't home. Stupid git." He mumbled to himself as he stared up at the dark sky. Apparently the sun didn't want to come out today.
Might as well drive anyway. There's no chance of it letting up anytime soon.
The ride home felt faster than it should have. Arthur parked his car in the front of his house and turned it off.
He couldn't even find the will to get out of the damned thing.
"I really did it this time," he said in a broken whisper.
As he gripped tighter onto the steering wheel as Alfred flooded his thoughts. It didn't take long before he was holding his head in his hands.
Wiping his tears away sloppily, Arthur peered over at the rearview mirror.
Pasty white skin streaked with tears. Countless bags under his eyes.
"G-God…I'm pathetic," he sobbed as more tears began to stream down.
Suddenly something caught his eye in the mirror. There was…a person? A person standing on the corner behind his car. It looked like a man—an idiot, nonetheless, for standing out in the pouring rain—who was soaking wet, staring at the car wide-eyed.
Fair-haired? Maybe. It was hard to tell with blurry vision.
Glasses? It seemed like that's what they were.
That jacket looked oddly familiar too.
"No…no, I'm getting worked up over nothing. I'm imagining things."
"Arthur!"
Arthur cringed and tears rolled down faster. Now he was just torturing himself.
"Arthur!!"
Why did it have to sound so real? Why did he have to push the only person he had ever loved over the edge?
"ARTHUR! GODDAMNIT, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!!"
Arthur turned.
Green eyes met blue.
"Y-You're…real?"
The younger nation answered by pounding on the car's passenger window, obviously real.
Arthur would've laughed if he could.
Unlocking the door, Alfred quickly slipped inside the car.
Great. Now the bleeding interior's going to get wet.
"Where the fuck were you?!" Alfred growled as he struggled to wipe his glasses clean.
How long were you waiting outside?
Arthur just stared at Alfred, still not able to believe he was really there.
"Hello! Earth to Arthur!" Alfred rose his voice, waving a hand in front of Arthur's face. "Why weren't you at home?!"
Arthur finally regained his voice.
"Why weren't you at your house?"
The younger nation went rigid.
"You…you went to my house?" asked a confused Alfred. "I thought you were going to Matthew's!"
Arthur could only shake his head as he wiped his eyes again. "I was going to…but I ended up at your house instead…I guess you could call it force of habit." He grumbled, avoiding eye contact. "It just sort of happened…"
Now Alfred was upset.
"What the hell, Arthur! I've been waitin' out here for four hours in the fuckin' rain!"
Arthur, you're making it extremely hard to be angry at you right now seeing as how your cheeks are pink, your green eyes watery…beautiful and…are those tears?
Meeting Alfred's unintentional stare, Arthur squirmed in his seat.
Stop staring at me…
"Were you…crying?"
Completely avoiding the question, Arthur frowned. "If you had answered your phone in the beginning none of this would have happened."
Arthur peeked over at the other man whose expression had now softened into a smile.
"Were you crying, Arthur?"
It was said so gently it caused shivers to roll down Arthur's spine.
"Of course not! A-Are you mad?!"
Isn't it obvious enough that I was crying?
"Wh-What would I be crying over in the first place?! If you weren't home, you weren't home! Who bleeding cares?"
Arthur, stop lying to me. It's okay.
"I sure as hell do not care! And anyways, I was in the rain—of course my face is wet!"
Why do I say these things when I know I don't mean them?
"I was not crying!"
Arthur, you don't have to pretend you don't care. Nobody else is around.
"Arthur."
"What do you want?" He huffed, making a sour face.
"Shut up," Alfred ordered, taking Arthur's face in his hands before crushing their lips together.
Before Arthur even had the chance to fight it, his lust gave in and he melted into the kiss. Alfred simply wrapped his arms around his waist, almost casually, and pulled Arthur tightly against his chest. This made the older nation almost whimper. Alfred, seeing the advantage, snaked his tongue through Arthur's slightly parted lips. Arthur shuddered.
"…You're soaking wet," he managed to gasp out between kisses. His hair was now matted to his forehead, click with the water from Alfred's hair.
Alfred grunted. "I know," and leaned back in for another kiss. For awhile there was no struggle, no hesitation. That is, until Arthur firmly pushed Alfred away. Crying.
"W-What's the matter now?" Alfred frowned, keeping a grip on Arthur who was now blubbering.
"I-I can't do this! I feel bloody terrible! Y-You're acting as if nothing ever happened! How can you forgive me and j-just kiss me this way?"
Alfred smiled at this.
"I knew you could be insecure sometimes, but this is just ridiculous Iggy," he laughed.
Arthur continued to cry and shout at Alfred incoherently.
It was cute for a moment, until it started to get on Alfred's nerves.
Before he knew it, he had grabbed Arthur by the shoulders and was shaking him. "D-Damn it to hell, will you—will you let me speak?!"
More incoherent shouting.
"Listen to me, I want you to,"—now Arthur was pushing Alfred away and punching his chest—", fucking shit, listen to me! I want you to close your eyes."
Arthur only gave a questioning look.
"Just close your eyes," Alfred mumbled bitterly as he grabbed a hold of Arthur's hands.
Wow. I don't remember Arthur's hands being this small before.
"What's the bloody poi—"
"Shush, will you? Just do this for me, 'kay? Now…when you open your eyes, I want you to see me as an adult,"—Arthur's body went stiff at this sentence—", because that's what I am."
Arthur loosened his grip on Alfred's hand. He didn't know if he was ready to acknowledge something this big.
"Iggy, I love you!"
"Iggy, it's…erm, delicious!"
"Iggy, Iggy, you'll come back, right?"
"Arthur, I want independence."
"Arthur, I'm not a kid."
"Arthur, your food is terrible."
"Arthur, you're stupid."
"Arthur, I'm a hero."
He was already in tears.
"Arthur Kirkland," Alfred breathed out as he gave his hands both a gentle squeeze and smiled. "I love you. And I'll never stop."
The green eyed nation opened his eyes to stare at the boy—no, man, before him.
And he smiled.
"I love you too, Alfred. I always have."
