Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Copyrights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.
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The Runaway.

Alfred painstakingly kept his eyes glued to the even concrete sidewalk that would inevitably lead to his home, attempting to resist the urge to hop onto the dirt trail that he would pass in a few paces that would take him to the taboo lake. I don't get what's so wrong with that lake. Maybe it's poisoned? …I'll have to ask Dad about it tonight. His arm rose as blueberry eyes flitted to the analog wristwatch coiled around his left wrist. Dad won't be home for a whole half hour. I could go to the lake and then run home with time to spare! He won't ever find out I was even there.

An impish grin spread across his face as mischief stirred like a bundle of butterflies in his stomach. He bounded off of the sidewalk and onto the forbidden dirt trail, breaking into a manic dash as electric adrenaline surged through his veins. He truly hated to disobey his father, but this was something that seemed to call to him; some quality or other that haunted the lake had perpetually lured him to its edge every afternoon after school for the past two years. He shook his head, jarring the faint conscience in the back of his mind that echoed his father's warnings about the body of water as he gradually slowed to a stop, his feet now planted firmly upon the damp sand.

He peered over the calm water, his iceberg eyes bulging as he noticed that the blonde boy from yesterday had once again appeared today, sitting in a crouch beside the shore. Alfred noticed that the boy wore glasses almost identical to his own and cradled a fuzzy teddy-polar bear in his lap. "Hey!" Alfred shouted, waving his arms to catch the other boy's attention. "Are you the same boy that was here yesterday?"

The anonymous child stood up, meekly clutching the bear against his chest. One hand rose and waved in greeting before his voice spiked in reply, "Oui, I was! You're the boy from yesterday?"

"Yeah! What's your name?" Alfred asked, having to focus on the other's words more than usual because of the airy, eloquent quality that distinguished his voice.

"Matthew! What's yours?"

"Alfred!"

"It's very nice to meet you, Alfred!" He could almost hear the amiable smile that undoubtedly stretched across Matthew's face in his tone.

"You too Matthew! Look, I have to get going now since I need to get home before my dad! He told me not to go near this lake yesterday because he hates it or something, so if he catches me here again I can pretty much say goodbye to ever going outside again! I'll come here again when I can though. We should hang out sometime, you seem cool!" A fleeting, amused chuckle resonated in Alfred's throat, punctuating his hasty explanation.

"Okay, that sounds like fun! I hope you don't get in trouble, go before it's too late!" Matthew hollered back, raising his hand once more in a farewell wave.

"Thanks! Seeya around!" Alfred called, returning the wave before he pivoted about face and bolted off of the shore, up the dirt path and back onto the sidewalk, reaching his house in a matter of five minutes.

A heavy, relieved sigh escaped him as he leapt up the porch steps, eyeing the vacant driveway that his father's car usually occupied. A party erupted in his mind as he keyed the front door, crossing the threshold and immediately slipping out of his beat-up canvas sneakers, depositing them by the door before sliding the forest-green backpack off of his back and slinging it onto the living room's beige sofa. His stomach grumbled in protest as the adrenaline that had spiked his blood just a few moments ago began to ebb away; before settling down to a formidable pile of homework, he strutted into the kitchen and yanked the fridge door open, appraising the contents for a few moments. He snatched a crimson can of cola and a bag of green grapes off the second shelf before nudging the door shut with his hip, popping the tab on the top of his can and stealing a swig of sweet, caramelized liquid. An audible creak that signaled the front door opening reverberated through the whole first story of the quaint house as Alfred stepped into the foyer to welcome his parent home. He must've got off early, he's not supposed to be here for another ten minutes.

Arthur waltzed through the door, closing it on his way across the threshold as he dropped a copper-hued suitcase on the table that had been designated for mail years ago. An ardent smile ghosted across his thin lips as his harlequin-green eyes met Alfred's clarion cerulean. "Afternoon, my boy," he acknowledged the shorter, pride coloring his tone as he curled an arm around his son, squeezing him for just a moment.

"Hey, Dad," Alfred returned, embracing his father, "there's something I need to talk to you about, but you have to promise not to get mad at me."

One thick brow arched suspiciously as Arthur made his way over to the couch, taking a seat beside Alfred's backpack. "Alright then, I promise I won't get angry. Did you get in trouble at school again?"

The citrine-haired boy shook his head, his cowlick bouncing comically with the movement as he placed his soda and grapes beside his father's briefcase. "It's nothing like that. It's more like, I have something I need to ask you about but it's about something that you don't like. I don't really understand why you don't like this thing, either, and that's why I'm asking."

Arthur's brow furrowed reflexively, his luminescent eyes seeming to lose their luster as he processed his son's vague statements. "Is this about that damned lake?" he asked bluntly, arms folding across his chest.

Alfred's eyes snapped abruptly to his sock feet, apparently scrutinizing each and every individual fiber that concealed his toes. His hands clasped behind his back as he discovered his voice, which had found a cozy hiding spot somewhere in between his epiglottis and uvula. "Y-Yes… b-but you promised not to get mad, so… you can't get mad at me for just asking! I d-don't really get why you hate that lake so much."

He chanced a glance up at his father, noticing the tight rigidity that the man's jaw had developed in the span of time he had spent gazing at the ground. Arthur opened his mouth and appeared as if he were about to spit venom before shutting it, fingers digging into the skin of his arm as he grappled for composure. "You could get hurt," he managed stiffly, fidgeting slightly in his seat.

"Is that the only reason, Dad? I really like to go to that lake, you know, it's like a really awesome thinking spot," Alfred remarked as his hands unclenched, returning to his sides; newfound determination gamboled within his cornflower irises, aurora lights seeming to flash across his eyes. "I'm not a baby anymore, I won't get hurt!"

"You don't know that!" Arthur roared, hopping to his feet as his arms uncurled, hands balling instantly into fists. "I forbade you from going anywhere near that lake, Alfred! Can't you listen to me just this once and heed my words?"

Furious tears welled behind Alfred's eyes as all of the muscles in his jaw tightened. "You said you wouldn't get mad. You promised, and you couldn't even do that for me. I don't get why you're so worked up over this stupid lake, but whatever! It's obvious I won't ever get the real answer out of you, Dad! You'll just get mad at me again!"

Alfred flew toward the stairs, taking the stout flight two at a time before Arthur could react. His pinched expression broke as his son bellowed, "And leave me alone!" before slamming the door to his bedroom, his words dripping with naïve vehemence. He let himself fall to his knees, his head dropping into his hands. "What the hell have I done…? Why couldn't I have remained calm…?"

As if in reply, the repressed image of a man with wavy blonde hair and the clearest, sky-blue eyes surfaced in his mind; Arthur jerked his head back and forth, struggling to regain his composure as he stood to his feet once again, his polished shoes dragging against the floor as he retreated into the studious confines of his office. He shut the door but left it open a tiny crack, in case Alfred decided to call for him, as he jerked his swivel chair out and perched in it, slumping against its sienna leather. A million self-defeating thoughts whipped through his mind as he flicked on the nearby miniature office lamp, arching over the tidy stack of paperwork that made itself at home in the middle of his desk. He let his work envelope him until he felt as if the scene that had exploded in the center of his living room earlier that day had happened decades ago, quelling the acrimonious storm in his head and alerting him to the shameful beat of his heart. I need to go apologize. Poor Alfred… I'm the worst father that has ever walked this earth.

He switched off the desk light as he withdrew from his office, forcing himself not to run as he composedly ascended the stairs, a hand carding through his aureolin hair. He gulped down the nervous lump that had lodged itself in his throat as he halted for a moment at the door that separated him from his son. He breathed deep as he pushed the door open. "Alfred, I'm sor—"

The fingers of frenzied panic massaged Arthur's spine, suffusing through all of the nerve connections in his body and numbing his limbs as his eyes swept over the still room, his apology meeting its demise on his tongue. The blonde boy in which he had invested the essence of his life and love had vanished from the room, leaving only a suggestive open window and an unmade bed in his abbreviated wake. "No, no no no, this can't be happening," Arthur mumbled to himself as he darted over to the window, his periphery tilting down to find an immense string of linens tied together, akin to the type of stunt that would only be demonstrated in movies, dangling safely to the grass below. "No…. He… he ran away…."

To be continued.