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And special thanks to J'suis le Canada for the awesome guest review! Thank you so much for leaving your critiques. I will take your suggestions to heart; I've already gone through the next few chapters and have attempted to keep the mood consistent ('course, I don't guarantee that I did the job right, since I have to develop that skill and I've had trouble with mood consistency in the past, but I do feel like it's a bit better than it was before). I'm glad that you like this story, and I hope to keep up with your expectations, or possibly exceed them, in the next few chapters until the end. I hope to see you soon. Thank you so much for your time and effort to leave the constructive criticism.

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 teaching and blindness. All information come from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.

Enjoy!

Nihilism

"If the only tool you have is a hammer,
You tend to see every problem as a nail."
—Abraham Maslow

On any other day, Arthur would sit next to Francis in the teachers' lounge during lunch, eating cheap takeout or microwaveable lunches, and arguing with him over the art and music curriculum. But on one particular day, when Arthur was finished with kicking Francis in the knees over the upcoming spring concert and art show, Arthur gathered up his disgustingly wet microwaved pasta, excused himself, and made his way to the principal's office. A student exited the office at that moment, and Arthur congratulated himself for his wonderful timing as he peered into the office, seeing Romulus Vargas leaning back against his chair while eating some gourmet spaghetti that he made in a humble Tupperware.

Almost ashamed of his own pasta that paled in comparison, Arthur covered his meal with his hand. "Vargas? May I speak with you?"

"'Course! 'Course!" Romulus replied, his right cheek puffed out as he hid the chewed up parts of his pasta. With one beefy, hairy hand, he gestured to the seat in front of him, where the student had been sitting before. Arthur took the seat, shifting uncomfortably in the plastic chair. "So what're you here for?"

"I just want to ask a small question." Quickly, Arthur finished the last few bites before tossing the plastic plate into a trash bin off to the side. "Why did you hire Bonnefoy?"

"Why?" Romulus laughed. His shoulders bounced and his chest shook. "Because he has talent and he fosters inspiration within the student body and—"

"No. I want the real reason."

Romulus stopped, and the large smile on his face dissolved within moments. "What do you mean? I'm giving you the real reason. He's—"

"No. Can't you see that he's suffering? He can't do as much as a normal art teacher would. He just can't see all the drawings—can't see his own, can't see his students', can't see the famed artists'."

"Are you saying that he's unfit for his job because of his blindness, Kirkland?"

"Yes, I am."

Romulus shot up from his seat. His eyes stormed with a contained anger. "Kirkland! That's blatant disrespect!"

"No, it's not. He's more than capable. He has the talent. He can draw extraordinary things, despite his blindness. And he is admired and respected by his students. I personally can't even accomplish a fraction of that." Arthur sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "But you don't see what I see, because you're not working directly with him, like I am."

"Then?" Romulus raised one eyebrow. "Explain."

"His blindness is frustrating him. There is a limit—a wall—that he keeps bashing his head against. All he can teach is sketching, because he can feel the graphite on paper. But he can't teach watercolour or computer generated imaging, because he can't feel them. He would probably be much better with more tactile mediums, like pottery or something, but we don't have the funding for any of that. Just because blindness is an obstacle to overcome doesn't mean that he can still do the same things as before. His talents no longer lie with the visual arts."

Romulus let out a heavy sigh. His shoulders drooped, and he fell limp into his chair. "Can't believe it…"

Arthur shook his head. "Well, that's all I'm going to say. Good day, Mr. Vargas." With a final glance towards Romulus, who buried his face in one hand, he got up, and moved to the door.

"Do you know why I hired Francis?"

Arthur stopped.

"I hired him because he's my nephew. One of my beloved nephews."

Slowly, Arthur returned to his seat, listening to Romulus speak through his hand. Brown eyes stared out of the window, watching the birds twitter on the branches of nearby trees.

"I remember when he was very young—he could barely speak coherently—and he would pick up the crayons and draw all over the place. Papers, tables, walls, and I even saw a picture of a butt on my brother's toilet seat." Romulus chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "He loved to draw so much… As he got older, he got a drawing teacher. And then, in middle school, he was already drawing these fabulous paintings in acrylic. I was… so proud of my little nephew. Even at that young of an age, he was such a good artist; he even got paid for commissions. I started funding for his lessons and materials, and I brought him all over the place so he can look at art museums. He looked so happy in the art museums. And soon enough, I realised that he only waited for my visits so he can go to those expensive and high end art exhibits he normally wouldn't get to go. He wanted to be an artist so badly—it didn't matter which medium he would go in—painting, sketching, photography, sculpting, pottery, graphic design—it all didn't matter. He even promised me that he was going to be rich and famous one day, like Da Vinci, so then he can pay back all the money I ended up spending on him. But I didn't care. I even helped fund his expensive art school education. But then… But then I ended up taking his dreams away."

Romulus' voice began to crack, but Arthur didn't say a word to disturb him.

"I was helping him move into the dormitories. We packed everything up, and I decided that I was going to drive, while he sat in shotgun. The school was a way's away, and I wasn't paying attention, and I was tailgating some poor guy in front of me, and he began to slow down, but I didn't slow down with him, and we collided. Francis got terrible whiplash, and the windshield shattered. Some of the glass went into his eyes and the items in the back seat had given him blunt force trauma, completely messing up the brain's mechanism for sight. The doctors said that it was impossible for Francis to see again. They even said it was lucky that we didn't need to pay more to replace his eyes with glass ones…"

The insides of Arthur's chest clenched, and he slowly got up. Romulus didn't notice, and he continued with his story in a small whisper.

"After that, he dropped out of art school. He got an education degree instead, and told me that if he couldn't be a famous artist, then he could teach students to be famous artists instead…"

Arthur didn't say a word as he left the office, letting Romulus mutter to himself through bottled tears. The last thing he heard as he closed the door behind him was, "I took away his dreams… His beautiful dreams… And his future along with it."