A/N: Hey guys, long time no see! So, because I got so many requests, I wrote a conclusion for ya'll. I guess you'll have to see how it ends. (:
Warnings: Angst and fluff
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of it's characters.
Arthur sat on his hardwood floor, staring at the door ten minutes after Alfred had left through it.
I should have told him… this has been going on for far too long… He thought, hanging his head, but I can't. He'd loathe me.
His head snapped up when the doorbell rang, and his heart leapt into his throat. Was Alfred back so soon?
He scrambled to the door, smoothing down his clothes before swinging it open. Arthur was sadly disappointed by the Frenchman that stood on his step instead.
"Arthur, mon cher! Ca va?" Francis cooed, grinning as he strode past Arthur into the entryway.
Arthur scoffed and shut the door, turning away from his guest with a frown.
"What do you want, frog? I'm not in the mood to play your games."
Arthur marched into the kitchen without waiting for an answer, Francis trailing behind him.
"Tea?" He asked, automatically getting two cups from the cupboard. "Ah, oui, mon ami! Mais-"
"English, frog," Arthur growled, putting the kettle on.
"But of course, Angleterre," Francis said with a sly smile. Arthur shot him a pointed look, and Francis' smile faded seeing Arthur's slightly red and blotchy face.
"Arthur, is everything alright? Have you been… crying?"
Arthur tensed, but otherwise remained composed.
"What are you talking about?" He mumbled, turning to pull out tea bags.
Francis sighed and stepped closer, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "It's Amerique, non?"
Arthur froze.
With another sigh, Francis turned his friend to face him, "You just need to tell him, Angleterre! What is it that stops you?"
Arthur stared, wide eyed, up at Francis before shaking his head. He tried to swat away the hands holding him, but Francis held firm.
"Mon dieu, he feels the same way! What do you have to worry about?"
Arthur glared back. "Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.
"I speak no lies, Arthur. It's not just me that says so! The sexual tension is so thick; I daresay it could be cut with a butter knife!"
"Tension, certainly," Arthur muttered, "But not what you're implying."
Francis scoffed. "No, it is definitely sexual tension. It could be nothing else! He holds no grudges against you."
"But that's just it!" Arthur shouted, backing away from Francis, "he does! Our… relationship is so strained because he still doesn't forgive me! If I said anything… he'd hate me. It'd break any bond I've managed to form and-and the rejection… it would ruin me!"
Arthur's voice broke as tears began to form in his eyes. He leaned heavily on the counter, looking pointedly at the floor.
Francis gave his friend a sympathetic smile, shaking his head.
"It's not him that hasn't forgiven; it's you who hasn't forgotten. He is ready to move on from the past. Alfred has already forgiven you, Arthur… you just haven't been paying attention. Perhaps it is you that needs to read the atmosphere?"
Arthur looked up with watery green eyes, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
Francis smiled again, "I'm completely certain of all this, mon cher," he said softly, "now go see him."
Alfred frowned at the mess he had yet to clean as he swept up the rubble.
Boxes were stacked precariously to clear the floor, and several towers had already fallen over, creating a bigger mess.
Alfred sighed. I need a better cleaning strategy, he thought, running a sticky hand through his hair.
The doorbell rang, and Alfred jumped, dropping his broom and causing another tower to topple.
"Damn it…" he cursed, puffing his cheeks in a pout. The doorbell rang again, and Alfred ran upstairs, leaving the door slightly ajar, grumbling to himself all the while.
He was quite surprised to find Arthur, hunched over and panting for breath, on his doorstep.
"Uhhm… Artie?"
Arthur held up a finger, silently asking for a moment. Alfred snickered, but obliged, opening the door wider to allow him inside.
"How 'bout you come in? I'll getcha' a glass of water of something," he said, already heading to the kitchen.
Alfred filled a glass to the rim with cool tap water, and turned as Arthur walked in.
"Here," Alfred said, holding out the glass. Arthur reached to take it, but stopped short, his jaw dropping.
"A-Alfred, you look bloody awful!"
Alfred frowned. "Gee, thanks, Arthur," he mumbled, thrusting the glass into Arthur's hands.
Arthur scrambled to put the cup down, and rushed after Alfred, who had retreated to the adjacent room in a huff.
"Not like that, you git! Have you looked in the mirror? You're… bleeding everywhere? What the bloody hell did you get yourself into? Did you trip or… something?" Arthur's eyes were wide with concern, but Alfred brushed it off as nothing more than surprise. Arthur hated him, he didn't care.
Alfred discovered he was, in fact, bleeding, as he checked himself over. The glass and porcelain he had been breaking must have cut him without him noticing.
"Yeah, I musta' tripped or something," Alfred repeated absently, his fingers brushing against a bloody clump of hair he had made when running his hands through it in frustration.
"Must have? You don't remember, Alfred?" Arthur's eyebrows were furrowed and his lips downturned, but his green eyes shone with alarm and suspicion.
"Huh?" Alfred's attention came back to Arthur, who raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.
"Alfred, what aren't you telling me?"
Alfred hesitated, then laughed – a little too loudly, Arthur noted.
"Nothing, Artie, nothing at all! How 'bout you? Why're you here? I was just at your house."
At this, Arthur flushed a deep red, "O-oh. There's simply something I'd like to discuss with you, Alfred," he mumbled, looking away.
Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "That so…? Hmm, sounds boring, hold on."
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Alfred had walked to the bathroom, turning the faucet on full blast. He made to sit on one of the plush couches, but he jumped up when a loud crash came from the basement.
"Alfred, was that you…?" Arthur asked, inching towards the door to the basement.
"Was what me?" Alfred replied several moments later, emerging from the bathroom, the blood mostly cleaned off.
"That crash! I think it came from downstairs, but…" Arthur slowly shifted his gaze from the door to Alfred.
Alfred's lips twitched into a frown for a second before he laughed – again, too loudly.
"Oh, who knows? It don't matter! What did you wanna' talk about, Artie?" Alfred shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing down the stairs next to him then back to Arthur with a nervous grin.
Another crash sounded from the basement, and Alfred visibly flinched as Arthur strode past him to the stairs.
"Arthur, wait!" Alfred cried, bolting after him. Alfred reached out just as Arthur came to the door, but Arthur barreled through, stopping only a few feet inside.
Alfred sighed and shuffled in next to Arthur, eyes downcast, his feet brushing aside the rubble that still littered the floor; broken picture frames and old porcelain tea sets among the mess.
There were several moments of thick silence, Alfred seeing Arthur tense from the corner of his eye.
"Alfred… what is this?" Arthur asked, his voice even and coldly indifferent.
Alfred bit his lip, fidgeting under the stern gaze he felt burning into his skull.
"Alfred," Arthur called again. Alfred looked into that stare, his heart leaping into his throat as a wave of nostalgia hit him.
For a second, he felt like a child again – when he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders, when things were happy… when he still had Arthur's love, he realizes as he looked back – but only for a second. Reality hit: everything was very different now – he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Arthur's heart was no longer his.
Through Arthur's indifference, there was concern in his eyes, and Alfred couldn't bear to look. Arthur would be disgusted if he knew the truth, and any reluctant kindness he received from the man would be gone.
Alfred shrugged and looked down at his toes, "Nothing, I'm just… cleaning up," He tried plastering on a smile, and Arthur's frown deepened.
"Really? Seems to me that you were making more of a mess."
Arthur moved around the room, and, picking up a shard of a familiar tea set, looked back at Alfred with an eyebrow raised. Alfred saw the hurt and confusion reflected in those emerald depths, and looked away with a shake of his head.
Arthur frowned at Alfred, who had wrapped his arms around himself in obvious discomfort. Arthur swallowed, asking the question he had never dared ask, "Alfred… do you hate me?"
Alfred's head snapped up, and he stared wide-eyed at Arthur, whose face was composed with careful indifference.
"You think that's why I did this? Because I hate you?"
Arthur scoffed. "I have yet to come to another logical solution," Arthur snapped, his tone daring Alfred to contradict him.
"It's the complete opposite, I…"
Arthur stared back blankly.
Alfred shook his head, "You don't get it. You never understand why I do the things I do! I thought if anyone could see it, it would be you…" Alfred's voice cracked, his blue eyes rimmed with tears. He bit his lip and looked away.
Arthur's gaze softened, and he felt his bitterness leaving him, replaced by confusion. Damn those beautiful blue eyes. He still couldn't stand to see Alfred cry.
"What is it you don't think I understand, Alfred?" Arthur asked, stepping closer to him, "Because I notice more than you think."
Alfred glanced up momentarily when he felt Arthur lay his hands on his arms, thumbs rubbing soothing circles, wishing he could just pull the man into his arms, but knowing he couldn't.
Arthur took a deep breath and continued, "First, I've noticed half of your smiles are faked for the sake of others, and you're not always happy. Next, you're not as dumb as you make yourself out to be – for some reason you pretend to be completely daft," Arthur paused at Alfred's lack of response.
It was time to get his attention.
"I've noticed that… you aren't invincible, but you carry on like there's not a care in the world because you're a 'hero.' You keep your problems to yourself, always hiding behind jokes and laughter. You're always putting others first, no matter what you're going through, and you're always trying so hard to be the best you can be. You've done so much for all of us, whether we'd like to admit it or not, a-and you still get shit for your mistakes! You take it all in stride, pretending it doesn't get to you but it does! You're hurt, but you don't say anything… not even to the people that love you most."
Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, staring into watery eyes bluer than the sky.
They were so close.
Then Alfred backed away, his eyes hardening into cold cobalt.
"You're right. I'm not invincible, and I do get hurt, but do you know what hurts me most? You. You hate me, you said so yourself. So stop lying to me, Arthur."
Arthur felt his jaw drop, and tears sting his eyes, "No, Alfred, it's not like that, I-"
"You what?" Alfred interrupted, "You care? Bullshit."
Arthur blinked rapidly, backing away as Alfred stalked closer.
"You know it hurts me, but you still say it. You still tell me you hate me. But you know what, Arthur? I'm glad you're at least being honest with me. You know why I did this? Because I can't stand to be reminded of you and how much you hate me. I can't stand knowing that we'll never be happy again, because I fucked everything up. I can't stand thinking about how much I love you, and how wrong and disgusting you'll think that is. You're driving me insane, Arthur. These things gave me hope of something that I know will never be possible every time I looked at them, so I destroyed them. Every last memory and every last bit of hope."
Arthur was backed against a wall, Alfred inches in front of him, intense cobalt eyes locked onto emerald. Warm, quick breaths ghosted over Arthur's cheeks, and he shuddered, his heart aching to just reach out…
Alfred's eyes suddenly lost their vigor, and he backed away with his head hung and shoulders slumped.
"Are you satisfied, Arthur?" he whispered hoarsely, not daring to look up.
"I am," Arthur replied quietly, stepping closer.
Alfred raised his head, and warm lips were suddenly pressed against his. Alfred stiffened in shock, but Arthur only moved closer, wrapping an arm around Alfred's waist and a hand coming up to tangle in the blond hair at the base of his skull, his lips coaxing Alfred's into responding.
Alfred shuddered, his mind reeling. Hesitantly, his arms wound around Arthur's trim waist, and he sighed in bliss as he pushed back against Arthur's lips. Arthur pulled him closer, his tongue flicking out to probe at Alfred's bottom lip.
Arthur's back met the cool wall, and Alfred's tongue slipped past his lips, both men sighing when their tongues met.
"I love you, Alfred," Arthur gasped as they pulled away for air.
Alfred's lips were on his again, and he shivered, his hands moving to Alfred's face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
"I love you so much," Arthur mumbled again when Alfred's lips trailed along his jaw to the spot just behind his ear.
Alfred pulled away a few inches until he came into Arthur's view with a small smile and a murmured, "I love you, too."
A genuine smile.
Arthur felt himself smiling back as he saw what was brimming in Alfred's eyes, something that Alfred had lost so long ago.
Hope.