Chapter 3: Sometimes It Hurts More
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
A/N: Jesus I haven't updated this in a LONG time.
Growing distance from your explanations
We're getting deeper in this mess
Take careful contemplation
I'd rather be spitting blood
Than have this silence fuck me up
This separation, time and space between us
For some revelation
You didn't even care to discuss
I'd rather be black and blue
Than accept that you withdrew
~THE QUIET, Troye Sivan
Things progressed from there. Alfred found Jack at the college quickly, the guy even shared some of the biology classes that had been mandatory. It was weird, being close to this someone when he'd simply shut people out his entire life. But the Australian was different, because he made Alfred curious. He had a bandana wrapped around his wrist and a certain kind of pain in his eyes and, hell, Alfred didn't even care if this was just a consolation relationship. He didn't know for sure though, until the words left Jack's mouth, and even still Alfred knew he could probably never compete with whoever his Soulmate had been. Maybe a girl with long flowing hair and big, doe eyes or a boy with a roguish grin and a penchant for being sweet. Ivan had died before Alfred even met the guy, so what did he have to compare Jack off of? Nothing.
So he stayed at Jack's apartment, cause it was a hell of a lot nicer than the way Jack made it sound, and they learned about each other and grew together and tried to make things work. They spoke of their childhoods, and maybe a year into their relationship Alfred learned Jack's Soulmate's name. She had been called Emilie, and she had brown hair and hazel eyes and dark skin and a beautiful smile. Despite Alfred not understanding what those colors meant, not knowing what they looked like, Jack said they were gorgeous. She had been amazing in everything she did and she wanted to become a professional musician after she went to college. She played piano and saxophone, and she could really make beautiful songs come to life. She was the light of Jack's life, and she died at the age of 17.
Hearing the wistfulness in his apparent boyfriend's voice made Alfred's chest hurt. Not because Jack missed Emilie, no, he could never fault someone for missing a Soulmate that died too soon into their relationship. No, his chest hurt because he never even got to meet Ivan. He didn't know the Russian man, never would, and he didn't know what that pining felt like. Pining for blue eyes, or red hair, or tanned skin. Pining for features and a personality. After all, how could you want something you never knew? You couldn't.
Alfred felt a bit guilty, nowadays, as he has long since gotten over his bitter nature. He realizes now that Ivan deserved better. He deserved someone who would mourn their whole life for him, not someone who shacked up with the hot Australian down the street. Ivan deserved someone who knew his face, his full name, the color of his eyes and the texture of his hair. He deserved someone who would miss and mourn every detail every waking second. Just as Jack did for Emilie, but he'd said her dying wish for him was to move on. Find another who understood his pain, for he was too young to be saddled with that burden. Alfred wonders what Ivan would say to him, what he would've told him before he died. Would the man be upset he was trying to find another love? Or would he not want his Soulmate to be alone?
The first time they slept together wasn't magical, or beautiful, or any of that other bullshit people tried to cop all the time. It felt good, it was over pretty quick, and it was also the first time Alfred had ever seen Jack's mark. He knew her name, but he had never seen the delicate script that marked Jack's wrist. One thing confused him though; it was faded, or fading. The name that had once been a deep black, like it had been inked into his skin, was now fading into the shade of the man's skin. Disappearing, just as Emilie had. It confused Alfred because, when he took a shower afterwards while Jack slept in their bed, he took his bracelet off and looked at the Russian letters. Still dark as the night, staining his skin like a new tattoo.
It seemed as though his heart had been breaking since the day it was born, but that was the day it shattered. It lay at pieces around his, pricking his feet wherever Alfred was to walk, never repaired and never mended. It would hurt him, and it would hurt Jack too, eventually.
He was at the park when it happened. Sitting in the fresh air, feeling the sun on his skin, hearing people laugh and talk. It was a relief, especially after the last week. Jack had been increasingly busy with his life and trying to get a job, and Alfred was about to graduate and get his degree. They talked some, or rather yelled, about how everything was going to shit. Questions flew, wondering if this was a long-term relationship or if it was just a fling. It ended with Alfred storming to their bedroom, sitting with his back to the door and pretending not to cry while Jack pleaded with him from the other side.
The thoughts were swirling in his head as he mindlessly scrolled through his phone. He wasn't reading the article he had open, but thinking about his future and his job and Jack and enjoying the feel of the breeze on his skin. All of a sudden the warmth of the sun disappeared, and an icy cold feeling took over his body. It didn't hurt, no, but it was strange. He shivered, looking around and seeing if anyone else noticed. No one had, as they were still rushing around the park in shorts and tank tops. The greyscale of his vision was the same as ever, and Alfred couldn't tell what was so different all of a sudden. Gripping his arms, he noticed the cold was coming from his wrist. That was the coldest part of his body. He tore at his bracelet, the same one he had been wearing since high school, until it snapped. He rubbed at the mark, trying to heat himself some, and he looked up once more to catch a pair of violet eyes.
A man stood there, massive in height and long limbs and general lankiness. He was taller than Alfred could ever hope to be, that's for sure. Ashy blonde hair, flopping into his eyes ever so slightly. Pale skin, a severe contrast to Alfred's deep tan he had gotten from his mother and enhanced by all the days he spent in the sun. Violet eyes were the most prominent feature the man had, big and beautiful and currently the size of dinner plates as the two stared at each other. People around them notice and smiled, whispering and pointing and thinking how cute it was that they got to witness a Soulmate Reuniting. It was adorable, romantic, probably something they would think about for the rest of the day. It was a magical moment, apparently, seeing two people find their destined other half for the first time.
Because...that's what this was, right? Alfred could see now, actually see. He didn't have that shitty version of vision known as greyscale, no, he could see in color now. It had all shifted when he had seen the mans eyes, the bright violet color, and they say the color of your Soulmate's eyes will be the first and last color you ever see. All his life, ever since he was in grade school, he thought the man standing in front of him was dead. Already buried six feet under ground, someone Alfred would ever know or love or even care about. Yet here he was, looking at Alfred like the American was the prettiest thing he had seen all day. Alfred wanted to yell, tell him to take a picture because it'd last longer. He didn't though, because this was his Soulmate and he was expected to go and rush up to the man and kiss him and hug him and profess his undying love to him.
He didn't, though. Alfred F. Jones was a lot of things, and none of them was a cheater. He had a boyfriend, a boyfriend who was the one person capable of making him feel something akin to love. A boyfriend Alfred never, ever wanted to hurt. So he turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring the pain in his heart and the shocked gasps of by standers. Fuck it, Alfred had gone his entire life without Ivan, he could go the rest of it without him too. Because the American might of thought he wasn't bitter anymore, but he was, and deep down he hated Ivan. Hated him for causing Alfred all that pain, and now for waltzing into his life right when Alfred was beginning to be happy.
So when he walked in the door, and Jack looked up with guilty green eyes, and soft pink lips began to for apologies, Alfred grabbed him and pulled him into a deep kiss. It all ended with Alfred on Jack's lap on the couch, the Australian confused and surprised but very happy as he had expected his boyfriend to still be upset. The man still apologized in the afterglow, but Alfred waved him off easily and buried himself deeper into Jack's side.
Because green was a color Alfred could see now, and he decided he liked it much more than violet, anyways.
A/N: Oh shit.
Question of the Chapter: So what happens now?
