I'm back, and I quiet like this chapter. Its short, but sweet and simple. At first it started as a UsUk hate fic., but then it came out as this.
Just my usual apologies, and a sorry for the lateness of this. At first I was going to stick these in order, but that's not going to work, my only other excuse is that I recently got into Avengers and I've been working on those fics to. So really no excuse.
I don't own Hetalia.
Also, the next should be longer, it just depends on which I choose, and it'll hopefully be out soon.
101 Story Challenge: 5, Fire, RusAme
Alfred stared at the burning building.
He could feel his own heart searing in pain.
He watched as his own Capital burn to the ground, as well as the building that was meant to stand for Freedom, not burn along with all hopes of his relationship with Arthur ever being the same.
The flames showed no signs on the outer part of his body, it was only a building, and it would not hold so much importance for quiet a while, but inside it felt as if his heart had exploded and was now trying to burst out of his chest with the force of a supernova, not that he knew what that was at the time.
He would never forgive Arthur, he had won his independence fair and square and now the bastard was trying to win him back.
Well, burning someone's heart was inexcusable. His citizens would fight with more vigor, and his brother would eventually see how terribly the man who claimed to be their father had treated him, and would also gain his independence. Arthur and him would eventually make up, something he thought was impossible.
But still he dreamed about that night (not all of them bad mind you, he had also watched with proud eyes as his First Lady simply refused to leave the portrait among other things. Things that would've been lost to history had they burned.) and he could feel his almost burst with the flame of hate and anger.
Tonight was different though.
Normally when he dreamed of such things he would thrash about until he became aware that he had ripped his sheets to shreds, but tonight he was shaken awake by to cold, but strong hands.
"Alfred, Alfred, what is wrong?" the violet eyed man beside him asked.
At first he freaked, he was supposed to be tough and unbreakable, and though they had been together for almost a year, he still didn't want to show Russia his weaknesses. Also, no one else knew they were together, should Russia mention something as personal as that, the others would get suspicious.
"Nothing, Russia. It was just a dream."
Russia looked at him sadly, he just wanted for his name to pass through the other man's chapped lips, but he understood Alfred's concerns. Neither wanted to face the other countries with their relationship yet, especially England and Belarus, and they both admitted that Alfred could accidentally ruin that with a slip up of calling him Ivan.
Russia had tried to encourage the man to, if only every once and a while, but he steadfastly refused. Ivan could tell it was one of the man's weaknesses, everyone looked down on him, and he felt he should fulfill everyone else's image of him, not himself. But that was a matter for another time, right now he had a boyfriend who looked as if he was about to cry.
"Alfred..."
Alfred gave up, he was much quicker to now, he knew how stubborn the man beside him was.
"It was just a dream about the war."
"The Cold War?" the icey nation questioned. That was the war he most often had dreams of, though not to this extent.
"No, 1812."
"Oh." the Russian said, they both had a difficult that time that year, Alfred started another war with his now brother figure, while Ivan had defended his boarders, though a lot of good music came out of that year.
The Russian wrapped his large pale arms around the American, looking the scar just above his heart as best he could. This was the first time Alfred had that dream, and it obviously affected the man.
So as the laid there, Alfred slowly calmed down, and as his eyes closed and image of a flame danced across his eyes.
At first he jumped, but then he thought for a second. There were many things flame could stand for, hate and anger only being a couple. Another was passion and love, a flame to be shared between only him and the Northern Country, warming both their hearts, in more ways than one.