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Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on blindness and teaching. All information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.

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Nihilism

"To love another person is to see the face of God."
—Victor Hugo

Arthur didn't come back. He tucked himself into the cramped art room, doors locked, and sat on one of the stool, staring at the table or occasionally glancing at his watch.

He could still hear the jeer. Gay. Gay. Gay. Each echo was a stab to his chest. Memories he hoped that would never resurface haunted him again. They made him wish he never returned to high school, even for a teaching career, and made him vow to never fall in love again.

In the third year of his high school career, Arthur had a crush on a younger, American football player, Alfred F. Jones. Alfred fit in the jock stereotype—fit, large, loud, demanding, all brawn and no brain, and arrogant. But he held a certain charm with him that even wallflower Arthur fell in love with. He was popular. People cheered for him, followed him around, adored him. Unlike the majority of the popular teens, he deserved all the attention. Outgoing. Friendly. He loved everybody. He talked with everybody. He wanted to help everybody. One time, his friend shoved a smaller child around. Instead of supporting his friend, Alfred broke his friend's nose, sending them wrestling on the sidewalk until Alfred's arm snapped. But on the next day, Alfred's heart of gold shown through, and the two were best friends again.

Arthur knew he was gay ever since he had a crush on his best friend, Kiku. But he kept his homosexuality and love under wraps. He was afraid of the repercussions, so he grinned and bore it until his feelings faded away a year later. Since then, he told himself he would keep his crushes on other males a secret, but when he fell in love with Alfred, Arthur felt like he would be an exception. For days, Arthur would fantasise about life with Alfred, and each story seemed to end in eternal happiness. There would be no unwanted consequences.

At first, Arthur wanted to simply wait out his feelings, like what he did with his crush on Kiku. Then his other friend, Vladimir, found out. Arthur denied his crush on Alfred, but Vladimir knew him too well and managed to squeeze the truth out. Although not homosexual himself, since he had been chasing a girl and competing for her love for God knew how long, Vladimir was supportive. His encouraging words and "schemes" were appealing. Eventually, Arthur believed that maybe his fantasies would come true, and when he planned to confess to Alfred, Vladimir cheered him on.

The consequences were unfortunate. That was the most accurate way to describe them. Arthur had managed to get to talk to Alfred privately, bringing them both in the back of the school after classes ended. Arthur worked up all of his courage. He stood tall, fisted hands stuck deep into his pockets. His chin was up, and his eyes aimed right at Alfred's. He didn't waver. He showed no fear, gathering all the confidence he collected during his lifetime. But his voice trembled.

"Alfred, would you go out with me?"

Alfred gave Arthur a pitying smile, slowly shaking his head. Arthur's heart plummeted to his stomach, hitting every rib along the way. Alfred told him that he was sweet and chivalrous; he was great company, and struck up the best conversations because of his intelligence and sophistication. However, Alfred never saw Arthur anything more than a peer, and would never love him like he loved Alfred. With that, Alfred rejected Arthur and left.

Arthur would have been more satisfied if everything ended like that. He was grateful that Alfred had been respectful about everything, and wanted to at least remain as an acquaintance. But the timing threw fairness off-balance. If Arthur had confessed later, or persuaded Alfred to leave school with him briefly, then Arthur wouldn't have been pushed to the ground afterwards. But, he didn't, and he hadn't thought about privacy. During the time, one of Alfred's friends was looking for Alfred to collect him to go to a game. The moment he had found the teen was when Arthur made his love confession.

Gossip spread like cancer. Rotten ideas planted themselves into the student population. The word had reached every student by the day after. Everybody knew Arthur was in love with Alfred, the most popular jock in the school. No fingers pointed at Alfred, who had avoided the kick by rejecting Arthur and by his popularity that couldn't be tarnished. However, Arthur was a nobody; it was easy to create a twisted image around him. He became disgusting, sinful—he was a villain. The Devil, while Alfred was Jesus who pushed noxious temptation away. People began to treat Arthur differently. Hateful letters were shoved into his locker. People pulled him aside to scorn him. He ate dirt. Mockery swirled around him. Arthur was no longer a man, or a teen boy anymore. He was just something to be shoved aside or annihilated lest his disease spread onto innocent bystanders. And nobody saved him. Alfred would stop people if he was there, but that was the extent of it all. Teachers had a blind eye; boys were boys, as they thought, not quite putting one with one when the behaviour wasn't in the forefront of their minds. And Vladimir—he apologised. "I'm sorry" streamed from his mouth until tears flowed out. Finally, Arthur simply shook his head, and let Vladimir go. Distance developed between the two once best friends. They would exchange a few glances and a handful of pleasantries, but their friendship ended. Arthur couldn't blame him. If anyone found out that Vladimir was on Arthur's side, then Vladimir would only fall into a pitiless abyss of despair, one further down than what Arthur was falling into.

Arthur was all alone. He didn't go to anybody for help. He just took what was given to him. He was a strong individual. A little too strong. He only made vows for himself, and pretended nothing was going on. He didn't run away; he stood his ground, but didn't move. To any innocent bystander, he was just another aloof, reserved individual.

Arthur closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Distance was his strength. Professionalism was his shield. And perfection was his sword. If everything was only about work, then Arthur wouldn't worry about anything or anybody. It was only about ability. He laid judgement solely on competence. He couldn't rely on anybody unless somebody could get the work done better than he could. If something wasn't about work, then it didn't matter to Arthur. He shouldn't worry about the past. It was stopping him from going back to the rehearsal. But he didn't want to go back.

Suddenly, the door opened. Arthur stiffened, remaining silent. He knew who the intruder was: The clicking of a cane against the floor gave it away. Why was it always him? Couldn't he leave Arthur alone without further making him feel uncomfortable? Maybe if Arthur remained as quiet and still as possible, he would go unnoticed, like a prey under the nose of a predator.

"Arthur, the rehearsals ended. I let them all out early. Are you all right?"

Arthur let his finger twitch, but he remained silent.

Francis sighed, running his thin fingers through his hair. "Arthur, I know you're in here," he called, closing the door behind him and walking through the art room.

But Arthur merely watched. Francis was groping around the art room, tapping his cane against the legs of the tables and bumping into the boxes and chairs that were strewn all over by careless art students. He walked like a moth searching for light, when there was no light to begin with, but he gave no heed for anything that was in his way.

Finally, Arthur couldn't watch Francis anymore. "Be careful, you git. You're going to knock something important over at this rate."

Francis' face lit up, turning towards Arthur as if he had finally found a beacon to follow. "Glad it seems like I haven't yet," he said as he weaved around the table for a seat beside Arthur.

"Maybe you have, but just didn't notice," Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Francis laughed. "You don't give me any credit! I'm perceptive enough."

"As perceptive as a dead mole."

"The kettle calling the pot black."

Arthur snorted, scowling. But he fell silent after that. Francis waited for him to respond with a snide remark, but none came. The clock ticked time away. Arthur stared at Francis, and Francis faced him. No movement was made, each waiting for the other to do something.

Finally, Francis sighed and leant his cane against the table. "Arthur."

"Mr. Kirkland, Bonnefoy."

"I'm sorry."

Arthur jerked back. "For what?"

"I stepped over the line. And I shouldn't have. And I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Damn right, you should be bloody sorry! You freaked me out!"

"I know, I know… and I cleared things up. Don't worry."

"… What did you tell them?"

"I told them that I freaked you out because I took off my glasses, and you're squeamish about my eyes."

"That makes me sound like a pus. Asshole."

Francis shrugged. "What else was I supposed to say?"

Arthur exhaled through his nose, folding his arms on the table and resting on them. "I suppose that would have been the best option…" He paused. His eyes looked up at Francis, who turned down when he heard Arthur's voice near the table. For a moment, Arthur wanted to hug Francis—tell him "thank you." A long time had passed since he remembered feeling that way towards anyone except his parents. Instead, however, he asked, "So do you know the truth…?"

"No." Francis shook his head. "But I don't need to know why."

A smile travelled over Arthur's face. He felt something dry get stuck into his throat. Blinking more, he turned and buried his nose into the sleeves of his shirt.

"Arthur?"

"… What?"

"You're beautiful."

"You sound like a lovesick idiot when you say that."

"I'm just a sentimental man."

"Bloody softy."