Title: A Night of Sin
Summary: Alfred overtakes Arthur one night while he is drunk, but Arthur doesn't seem to remember a thing. When will the guilt be enough for the secret to come out? USXUK
Rating: T for teen
Disclaimer: Who doesn't own Hetalia? Me, Myself, and I. :D
A/N : You guys DEFINITELY reviewed enough, so I felt so bad for not continuing that I picked up the story again.
Sorry if it sucks.
And I'm sorry for taking so long to continue with this story. I feel so bad, but I promise I'll try to update as soon as I can. It's asap, 'kay baby? 8] That means it's at the top of my list (behind school, of course).
Well, here it is, and I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter Two: The Absolute Pain Guilt Brings
Arthur woke up and things felt oddly painful.
There was a crick in his neck, a burning sensation in his muscles, and his back hurt.
His head…oh God.
A hand was brought to the source of throbbing, his body curling under the pain as his eyes shut tight to block any source of light. Obviously something had gotten out of hand last night. Not surprising enough, he didn't remember anything as usual.
It wasn't supposed to turn out that way at all…
Or was it really?
Why did he drink so much?
Itself was a controversial question.
At times, he simply went to the bar, forgot how many drinks he had, and then it turned out to be a full fledged drinking session. Other times were simply needed to satiate his desires for the familiar liquid. Certainly, even though he couldn't remember anything from the pub, he knew exactly the reason why he had drank so much last night. Painful thoughts that were suddenly in his head were avoided, making the throbbing pain worse.
The sad attempts to forget certain memories from the past by over intoxication may have been the secret reason to why he drank so much, but when the memories would disappear altogether was a question he constantly asked himself. At what point would he drink enough to where he would forget everything? Never…probably. Always, they were past memories of a certain blonde haired tall nation. He helplessly wanted to let the past go at times, but something in the back of his head clung to it all desperately. He may have thought they were gone when they got blurry, but he always knew they would be there. Never was he able to look at that American without recalling something, and at the right time, memories always came back to bother him. A simple business relationship was never enough; a simple friendship was out of the question.
He had stuck himself in a rut of questionable qualities with no way out. So, when they saw each other, war always ensued. Whether it was the provocative statements Arthur used at times or whether it was Alfred's downright obnoxiousness that had started it all was not known. It would never really be known.
Ugh…thinking about this stuff too early in the morning with this sort of migraine did not work out well.
Arthur sat there for a moment, his eyes adjusting as he surveyed the room, finding it way too bright for his tastes. He just wanted to die right now. Taking in more than needed last night had caused its obvious effects. Then again, there were effects he knew for certain never usually took place while he was drunk. He never cared that he didn't remember things before, but after feeling his body and looking over himself a bit, he realized it was a tad odd.
The searing pain in his muscles here was new, as well as the soreness of his back. And bruises? He never ever remembered bruises.
His wrist was noticed and examined as he poked a darkened bruise on it, almost wincing in pain a little. Where had he acquired such a nasty bruise? Maybe he was kicked out of the pub last night? That would make sense if they were to drag him out by force, case being he refused to leave or drank too much. Though…he knew the bartender well enough and was pretty friendly with him.
Without further thought because his head hurt too much, his hands removed the covers on his body to get up, discovering the wrinkled mess called clothing that clung to him. Wow, he must have really gotten wasted. His clothes were so very wrinkled. More than usual, it had seemed.
Trying to remember what happened still wasn't a thing he wanted to worry about, but now he was a little weirded out. Ah, maybe he had a tussle with someone? That would explain the bruises, and fighting was often expected at pubs. He must have pissed someone off enough to where he got into a fight.
From the looks of it, he had lost it pretty badly. That wasn't to good for dignity, but at least he didn't remember, neither did it occur strange to him that even if he had lost a fight, he somehow ended back in his bedroom. A few shivers emitted from the small frame as a wave of nausea came, then passed a little while later. Sometime, someday, he promised himself he would stop drinking.
Sitting up in bed, he ran his hands through his greasy hair while noting he had to take a shower. He should probably get ready for the day now, or at least attempt to through the pain. The clock was glimpsed at before cold, hard realization set in.
Today was the meeting, wasn't it?
Well, that was absolutely great. And the meeting was at America's place too…"Oh bollocks…" A few profanities were also added to that as he tried to act alert. How could he have forgotten? This was the only important meeting that he absolutely had to attend in a long while. Everyone would be there…Did he not think of this last night when he had headed to the pub? Sure, he felt pretty down or whatever, but still. Still what? He had too much time to think with on his hands. Last night, he just seemed to cave in to his problems. Problems? He didn't have problems, did he? Shaking his head, he stood up and staggered a bit, feeling weaker than normal.
And then all to quickly he had stumbled to the bathroom.
Why did he have to feel so bad today of all days? Why did he have to drink so much? Why did he have to get into a fight? He knew he probably looked as if he were in a fight too. Not that he cared about the American seeing him this way or anything…He did have a respectable reputation though and had to look presentable at the meeting, so this was not good. He should have thought a little more, although the head pain wasn't helping that all too much.
When the bathroom was reached, he caught a look in the mirror. His lips were a little red and puffy, but oddly enough, the rest of his face was fine. He must have gotten punched in the face if his lips were slightly split like that…. yet why didn't he have any bruises on his cheeks, then? Or why weren't his gums bleeding? Only his lips were red…Odd. Lots of things seemed to be off this morning. Connecting two and two had never happened. Leaving the idea ignored, the regular daily routine had ensued. He shook his head as he hurried to the shower, washing away all worries beneath the warm, reassuring water.
"Mon Arthur! You look horrible!" a French man exclaimed, dragging out the last word in an almost obnoxious accent.
So, apparently the shower hadn't washed away everything from last night. Bruises still remained on his body, and later on he had found an odd one on his shoulder too, but that was easily covered up by his shirt and jacket. Where the bruises had come from, he still mused over that fact. Of course they could be covered up under the clothes, but where they were on his body just seemed strange. Sadly, though, the bags under his eyes could not be concealed. He could not hide how tired he was.
The meeting room Arthur was now in was already filled when he came in late, and some nations were staring at him as if he were actually in a fight last night, or that he had just gotten a serious lack of sleep. Matthew just have him an odd look when he entered, Yao asked him a question that he ignored, and...
Francis already managed to piss him off.
"And you look so much bloody better yourself," Arthur muttered in response, running a hand through his slightly unruly hair.
Francis noticed his tired look and the pissy way he was acting, instantly assuming that he had done something last night or had gotten drunk. "Ahh, indulge yourself last night, my coquin one? With whom, may I ask? Or did you have another pity party?" he teased, a small smile playing on his lips.
His mind coming up with a blank to the insult, he instantly grew more defensive. "Bugger off, Francis," Arthur growled, his eyebrows furrowing as he half glared at Francis, feeling the urge to punch him right in the face. He did not need this right now.
Not so early in the morning.
Not after last night.
Not after all of the recent thoughts he had been having lately.
Not after all of the bothersome memories.
It was too much, and it just left him too tired for anything else. Resorting to drinking just seemed so much easier, but all it did was make things worse.
Despite that he was told to go away, the French man continued in his prodding and poking, wanting to gain some reaction from Arthur. He looked over the English man's features again, making it obvious that he was observing the tired Arthur. "I must say, that look suites you very well. Very sexy, non?" The reply was sarcastic, and the smile Francis had turned to that of a smirk.
Too tired to even get angry or bother with a come back, the Briton's eyes surveyed the room again as his mind was deep in thought. Or was he looking for a certain blonde that still wasn't here? No, he wasn't...Everyone else in the room was waiting for the now late American to show up. How strange it was...Alfred may be loud and annoying, but never was he excessively late. Shouldn't the meeting have started already? Arthur himself was a few minutes late to the meeting, thinking he'd walk in and be embarrassed or something. Well, at least that hadn't happened. Eyebrow's still knitted together though as he subconsciously wondered as to where the nation to start things was.
Francis, observing the changing emotions on the Brit' s face quietly, became a tad curious with the last one that had appeared on his face. Ahh, England was so easy to read at times, just like an open book for anyone willing to look close enough. "Hmmm, Quel est le problème?" Francis asked, hating to be ignored. Arthur seemed like something was bothering him, which put Francis on a slightly more serious note.
England just shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, ignoring the French man's questions once more. He thought it was going successfully until he felt warmth next to him and a breath run down his neck.
"Je vais me déshabiller pour toi…That is, if you want," Francis suggested, a playful grin spreading across his lips as he tried to evoke any response from Arthur with 'his' methods. His methods being a simple two steps. One, pester them. Two, if one didn't work, ask them if they would like to see him strip and get information out of them with harassment. Two seemed to have a higher success rate, but of course that all depended on which nations he was bothering.
With Francis' suggestion, Arthur just gave a sharper glare, finding the attention highly unwanted. He did not have to deal with this today.
From the next seat over by Francis, a slightly invisible Matthew gave a look of desperation, obviously understanding the French man's words to Arthur. Francis caught this from the corner of his eye almost instantly and forgot the Brit's problems right away, whispering sweet nothings into the Canadian's ear as if it were a sign of forgiveness.
"J'ai envie de toi, mon amour." England could already hear the whispers Francis was giving Matthew, causing the Brit to roll his eyes, though Arthur was glad he was saved from the French man's pestering. Oh lord…what was Francis saying to Matthew now? At least the Canadian seemed happy enough - his whole face painted in a vibrant red. Francis simply took Matthew's lack of words as a yes to his advances, scooting his chair closer to the blushing blonde.
Arthur didn't want to look at it anymore. He couldn't look at it anymore. The small affections Francis openly showed towards Matthew gave him a feeling of uneasiness. Francis always seemed on such good terms with Matthew…while Alfred and he…
A frown was formed as he crossed his arms, restricting the air from getting to his already needy lungs. Why couldn't he breathe right? Ahh, he needed to calm down.
When would this stupid meeting start already?
"Mornin' everyone!" A high-pitched voiced that entered the room interrupted any side conversations as well as Arthur's thoughts. Arthur felt a pang go through his heart at the sound. His eyes allowed him to travel towards the source, a small shake coming from his frame before his eyes clashed with cerulean blue ones. Each nation looked away quickly, but the effects they had on each other were different.
Arthur felt…just a little weird by the look America gave him. His heart dropped and leapt at the same time, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, his hands felt a little too cold, and he had a hard time breathing regularly as his heart beat picked up pace. Damn, he needed to have this stuff checked out. Why did he feel worse than usual? Well, besides the pounding headache and slight nausea. Normally, he would of already came up with some sort of provocative statement to refute anything the American said, but his mind was coming up blank. He felt a little more uncomfortable then usual.. How strange.
Suddenly, almost right after looking at the American, a memory from last night was hooked and drawn in, allowing him a small sliver of a glimpse. Confusion spread across his face as he got a look of glasses and blonde hair in the memory. Was that real or made up? Did he dream that? Why was it so dark? He must have dreamed that...His head pained increased, causing him to bring a hand to rest on his forehead. Oh, he felt too terrible. He knew he shouldn't be over thinking, but it was vital that he pay attention to the meeting. Okay, maybe not really. Other nations, like North Italy, already occupied themselves with sleeping or bothering other nations. This would be a loud meeting today, wouldn't it? Everyone else seemed jumpy and energetic but him. He seemed to feel the bags under his eyes get heavier, his head drooping a little. He needed more sleep...
When Alfred's eyes clashed with the Brit's…he felt like he was going to die. All that flashed through his mind were memories of last night. Oh, the horrible, indecent memories. His knees grew weak as he stopped in his mid stride, almost tumbling over. Luckily he had caught himself, but that did not stop his clumsy thoughts. He was still distracted from reality. His mind replayed what he had seen with the Brit, the pit of his stomach feeling so empty and low, and yet he felt so nauseated.
Arthur seemed terrible..
Why did he look so horrible?
Oh, what had he done? What did he do?
Alfred felt the parasitical internal thing eat away at his insides. Was that a bruise he found on the Brit's wrists when he looked at him? He did that…
No…
He inflicted harm on Arthur.
It was his entire fault.
He couldn't do this today, no matter how much he wanted to fool himself that he could.
Still, he had to at least try with the meeting, right?
He had to try…
In his frozen state, Alfred's mind babbled, the words making themselves out of his mouth too. It wasn't really a good way to start a meeting, even if he was usually obnoxious and loud anyways.
"S-so…Umm…Yeah…The world! It's round, right? Oh, ha ha…Wait…never mind. We…Already established that, huh?" Alfred laughed and scratched his head, his hands desperately searching through some papers. Some dropped to the floor in his desperate struggle.
Well, someone was disorganized.
He could not be in the same room as Arthur.
It was too much.
Nations looked at America as if questioning his stupidity levels, but Russia was the first to respond, which almost instantly doused anyone else's thoughts over the matter. "Sleep in late, da? Will you finally become one with Russia? Will all finally become one with Russia?" A creepy smile spread across the man's face, causing different reactions from across the room. Some were disgusted out faces, some looks of fear, and others indifference.
America ignored Ivan's statement, eventually fishing out a paper he was looking for.
Finally, the meeting had officially started.
Of course, what they were talking about now was global warming, since they seemingly didn't have anything to discuss.
It had started with America opening the topic once again, and it was quite unsuccessful at that. It took him at least more than five minutes just to get one of his main points across, which he inevitably failed to do anyways. During his time to talk, he felt just so uncomfortable having all eyes on him, as if there was a hidden thing he should be owning up to.
Well, there was.
Alfred couldn't help that through one or two times in the speech, his eyes traveled towards England's, finding that when he did, he instantly lost his train of thought, if ever there was one.
Even if England didn't look his best today, Alfred couldn't help but to feel something deep within. Oh God, and he still had the thoughts that Arthur looked good after what he had done! His heart still leapt at the sight of him! What the hell was wrong with him? Dammit, look away! Why couldn't he? It was if a something forced his stare to stay fixated on Arthur, causing a sort of stage spotlight effect to take place. He felt as if he were unable to move. Guilt chewed him up and forced him to look at what he had done.
Arthur more or less stayed in tune with what Alfred was saying in the meeting, but all it did was make his head hurt more. One or two times he was tempted to say something, but when he opened his mouth to interject rudely on the American's idiocy, a flash of blue caught his eyes and a glimpse of a memory came to mind once more. Blinking, he tried hard to focus on the blurred image, but nothing came up. After that, no longer had he tried to say how stupid the American was.
It just felt so wrong with him being in here for some reason.
After Alfred had met eyes with the Brit the second time, his mind felt as if it had been wiped clean. "I propose we...um...drop more ice in the Artic Ocean! Yeah, that would work..." Even if Alfred was distressed, he seemed to be acting stupider today. Feeling nervous, he glanced over towards the Brit again, suffocation setting in.
Oh, yes, Arthur heard what he had said, but his tired self just didn't have the energy to respond to that in any way. He wasn't even looking in the direction of the American anymore.
He couldn't even give out the usual insults today.
Alfred almost hyperventilated, feeling more terrible then ever. Why was Arthur acting so weird? Was it all his fault? Did he know what Alfred did? A dizzy feeling set in as he felt as if he were going to pass out any second. He needed to get out from this meeting now.
An excuse was quickly thought of.
"Haha, I…ummm…need a hamburger! I ran out! Yeah! Be back in a sec! U-ummm, you talk, Germany! Yeah, yeah!"
With that, the door was opened and shut in two seconds flat.
Nations questioned his behavior and some even called him an idiot for leaving the meeting for a 'hamburger', but all thoughts of it were soon left. All besides Arthur, Francis and the invisible Matthew. Lithuania even held small worry, but that was forgotten once the booming voice of Germany filled the room.
Still, Francis suspected something was up. He had seen the looks between Alfred and Arthur and the almost apprehension in Alfred's eyes. Something had happened…Perhaps he would have to…ask about that later. This wasn't a thing he would pass up. After all, Arthur was a friend, despite their constant disputes.
Even if Francis had picked up on both nations' oddities, all Matthew had noticed was Alfred's weird behavior and nothing more. He was worried for his brother, wondering as to why he was acting stupider than usual. Matthew knew his brother could be smart when he wanted to, but that was just sad. Something about him was off...
Arthur, too, had wondered about the American. After Alfred had ran out unexpectedly, Arthur perked up a little, also having the small worry as to why he ran out like that. It wasn't like him at all...or was it really? Yeah, he would leave the meeting for a hamburger, wouldn't he? Arthur let the idea of worry drop just as soon as it had started.
Oh well.
The rest of the meeting had gone smoothly.
Well, sort of.
If you could call nations harassing each other, beating each other up, and having argumentative disputes good. When it was England's time to talk, he just said a few small things and let it go from there. His small exuberance over such matters was lost and he found his work to be all too unimportant today. That was a tad surprising and really lazy on his part.
He should have gotten with it, but his head had hurt so much...
And after Alfred had returned from his 'hamburger' break, Arthur's head hurt even more.
Despite this, he still got bits of his memory back randomly through the meeting, but it was nothing that made sense. He never ever got his memory back after excessive drinking nights, so why now? It was as if one had a dream, then woke up and couldn't remember it, but later if one saw something that reminded them of that dream, they would remember it suddenly.
Every time Arthur so much as glanced in Alfred's direction, he found his head ache get considerably worse as if it was trying to tell him something. He also noticed the way America seemed more tired than usual. Was Alfred over exerting himself too much? Was he getting enough sleep? Ah, why should Arthur care? In asking those questions, he was only being hypocritical. Arthur barely got any sleep as it is.
When the meeting had finally come to a close, Arthur gave once last flicked of the eyes in Alfred's direction. His eyes met the American's for once moment, his heart feeling as if it had turned to ice. That look? What was up with that look Alfred had in his eyes? Alfred had already all to quickly turned away when the Brit had noticed.
Arthur simply sat there for a moment in a dazed state, taking in the situation at hand. After looking into the American's eyes that last time, he had gained a little more memory. Or was it really memory? It was all too confusing. Maybe he had dreamed it, huh? What he had seen was that he was obviously in the pub last night, but that a certain blonde was sitting next to him, giving him an almost sympathetic smile. He must have dreamed it...
Why did he have the overwhelming feeling that it was real though?
Was he...actually there?
Nations trickled out of the room as he sat there, still immersed in his thinking. Suddenly remembering that the meeting was in fact over, he stood up quietly. As he gathered his paper work, a compelling feeling came over him. Once his hands absentmindedly put things away, he picked it all up and headed for the door. The only ones really left in the room now seemed to be Francis, Matthew and Alfred. The American was already quickly leaving once he had all of his things together, making it seem like he was in a hurry.
As Alfred started for the door before Arthur, the Brit sped up just a little for reasons unknown to himself. The English man's hand reached out without consent and rested on the taller nation's shoulder for a second before it pulled back quickly, leaving a slightly baffled Brit. Why did he want to talk to Alfred? About what? To confirm that stupid, wrong memory? Why would Alfred even want to visit him anyways? Sure, he did it from time to time, but it was very rare, even coveted and savored at the times when he popped up. Of course those feelings were hardly acknowledged though.
Alfred was a little more than surprised when he had felt that tap on his shoulder. The meeting had ended, he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, and he headed for the door as fast as his legs would carry him. Apparently, though, it was not quick enough...
He froze then and started to turn around stiffly. For almost the fourth or fifth time today, his eyes met those green ones. Oh Lord...Why?
What was Arthur doing? Why was he coming over here? Did he suspect something? He looked so bad. That was all Alfred's fault, wasn't it? He was crushed under the guilt's weight, having ever so sinful memories again. How horrible! Oh, how horrible. He would never be able to rid himself of them. His face grew slightly pale in knowing that. He still was not emotionally ready to face Arthur like this. Not at all. He felt as if he should just run now. He barely even noticed when Francis and Matthew had left the room, leaving the villain with the unknowing victim.
When his success in gaining the American's attention worked and Alfred had turned around, Arthur found he couldn't help himself now. He felt stupid enough as it was for even asking this question, but an invisible force seemed to compel him to talk to Alfred. The images of the blonde hair as well as darkness filled his head when he looked at Alfred. What did it all mean? It was so vague and was probably just his imagination. Besides this, he still felt the need to ask. There seemed to be a strange feeling as if Alfred had been there last night. What…what had he said? He could have said anything if Alfred was there. Anything…
Arthur glanced at the bruise on his wrist again…What if he had a fight with America? That would explain some things in the ways Alfred was acting.. Oh…a fight? He felt dreadful all of the sudden, though America didn't seem like he was hurt at all besides his weird behavior. What if he actually hated Arthur and was avoiding him? This thought choked him up, almost making him stop dead in his tracks. He couldn't hate Arthur, right? No, wait, he could. After all Arthur did to him…of course he could.
Words came out then, almost choked and restrained. What had he done last night? "Alfred…Were you… at the pub with me last night? I keep feeling like there should be something I need to remember…but I simply can't," he said quietly, his voice trailing off. Looking away, he held his hand to his head, the pounding feeling only increasing now. What a silly question to be asking. Of course Alfred wasn't there last night.. He hoped the American wouldn't laugh in his face or something.
Glancing back up towards the tall American, his eyes caught a look of horror on the man's face. What? Was there something wrong with the way he looked? Feeling self conscious, his eyes surveyed his clothes. Was this a joke of some sort? Oh, if it was, Arthur was so going to-
"No, Arthur…I was at home last night," Alfred lied simply.
And with that, Alfred was out of the meeting room and out of the building in less time than the unsuspecting Brit could even get one word out of his mouth. When Alfred finally got far enough, he almost broke down as he leaned against the closest tree.
Oh God.
What had he done?
That response was so forced. Surely Arthur would suspect something, right? Oh no…Deep down though, there was a nagging feeling that he wanted Arthur to know. No, the Brit needed to know. Texas was lifted as the bridge of his nose was pressed, trying to find any sort of relief. He shouldn't be having these sorts of problems now while still so young. Oh, and yet his chest hurt so bad.
No, this wasn't like the feeling of breaking a vase when one was little or telling a tiny white lie. As a child, guilt isn't something one thinks about or reflection on what one did. Consideration for other people doesn't come until later in life.
Despite this bubbling feeling for the truth to come out, there were some small whispers that only made him feel all the guiltier: Why did Arthur have to know? Why should Alfred care for what he did? Why did he do what he did?
Wait…
Why did he do what he did?
It came to him, then.
Why?
All he ever wanted was the recognition from his former caretaker. All he ever wanted was to be noticed, to be cared for… Arthur never paid attention to him and when he did, it seemed so forced and hateful.. Why did Arthur hate him so much? Why did he care if Arthur hated him so much?
Alfred caught some memories and drew them in; a smiling Arthur was recalled to the surface from when he was a child. He hadn't seen Arthur smile like that in years, and certainly not because of him. He was always so annoyed these days… Not fun at all. Alfred felt his teeth clench almost to the point where it hurt, as if all of his teeth would shatter under the extreme force. His eyes shut tighter, as if the world and all of its problems would disappear if he just stayed like this forever.
If only…
"Mon cher…is something wrong?" an oddly familiar voice asked. "You look awful."
Alfred gasped and jumped, scraping his skin against the bark of the tree as his muscles involuntarily tensed. Letting out a small string of profanities, his eyes wearily looked to whom had called him.
Francis?
A/N : H-haaa…yeah. So, I know it took me months to make another chapter, but it was worth it, right? (I'll shut up now). I can understand if you don't wanna review any more. D; But, yeah, I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as I have some of that precious time. Hey, look! I found some! Yaaay! Look forward to the next chapter, which is coming soon to a computer near you.
Translations:
Coquin – Naughty
Quel est le problème? – What's the problem?
Je vais me déshabiller pour toi – I'll strip for you.
J'ai envie de toi, mon amour – I want you, my love.
Mon cher – My dear.