It was dusk. The sun was sinking slowly below the horizon, shadows casting longingly across the street corners. Houses were lit up in anticipation of the day, crowds gathered in each house. Laughter spilled out from the doorways, smiles and joy radiating through the buildings.
Outside, it was silent. Except for the panting of a lone individual, speeding through the streets as though he was running away from an imponderable doom. His jacket, undone in the summer night, flapped a little behind him as his steps hit the pavement. Alfred could barely see clearly through his glasses, which were sliding down his nose in his haste.
He hadn’t been aware of what he’d done after that door had closed on him. He’d felt he stood there for the longest time, staring as though he expected Arthur to open the door and appear completely fine, and start laughing in his face that he fell for it.
But he didn’t, and it wasn’t till he heard another sob did he react.
He ran.
Coward.
Shaking his head free, he blindly turned a corner, heading back to the one place he didn’t want to be. Home.
Arthur couldn’t have been in the pain that he seemed to be, could he? It made no sense whatsoever what he just saw. Why would he even be like that? On his birthday, no less?....
Was this … his fault?...
He was probably over thinking things. Alfred tended to avoid doing that, for this very reason. What was the use?
Well, seeing Arthur like that was more than enough, he supposed.
He flurried around a corner, a car driving by in silent wonder at the abruptness of this lone individual.
The house at the end of the street was lit up; light flooding out into the street. There was the hustle and soft beat of music playing from it. It was full of inhabitants, no doubt causing amazing havoc with drinking games and raiding the fridge. Alfred suddenly felt sick at the thought of confronting them all. Why did this have to happen to him on today of all days? All he wanted to do was burst into the room, hurl himself up to his bedroom and hide under his bed covers and pretend that all he had seen hadn’t ever happened and continue his life on as normal, because while Alfred could act superbly well…
When something shocked him beyond belief, it showed.
The gate was kicked open with a harsh creek, the sounds and laughter getting louder as his scuffed trainers approached the door. Every year, the nations gathered round to Alfred’s and had a party, mainly because he invited just about everyone. As much as most countries disagreed with other or ganged up against one another most of the time, the truth was that if there was a gathering and it had alcohol and music and others were going to be there, you could guarantee there’d be a party.
The door slammed loudly in the kitchen with a loud bang, and the countries gathered in there exclaimed a roar of laughter.
It shattered with the same punch.
The whole room fell silent in an echo. The rest of the room seem to shimmer in the same way, the nations crawling through to see what had caused the break in mood.
Alfred stood there, his pants heavy with the strain. While everyone stared at him in shock, it wasn't the door that had rooted everyone in place.
It was his expression. A permanent plaster of fear fed his face, his lip quivering. His glasses were slid halfway down his nose, but he made no motion to move them back into place. But the worst thing, Matthew found himself noting, was his eyes. He’d lost that dazzling confidence they usually held, something that he hadn’t seen happen in about ten years.
His hand trembled, and the door was thrust shut again. Alfred stared, towards particular nations.
“... Arthur...”
He stumbled forward, eyes still wide, and sunk into a chair. Francis, with a resigned sigh, placed his drink down and approached the nation, kneeling to his level.
Weep, Little Lion Man 3a/?
Outside, it was silent. Except for the panting of a lone individual, speeding through the streets as though he was running away from an imponderable doom. His jacket, undone in the summer night, flapped a little behind him as his steps hit the pavement. Alfred could barely see clearly through his glasses, which were sliding down his nose in his haste.
He hadn’t been aware of what he’d done after that door had closed on him. He’d felt he stood there for the longest time, staring as though he expected Arthur to open the door and appear completely fine, and start laughing in his face that he fell for it.
But he didn’t, and it wasn’t till he heard another sob did he react.
He ran.
Coward.
Shaking his head free, he blindly turned a corner, heading back to the one place he didn’t want to be. Home.
Arthur couldn’t have been in the pain that he seemed to be, could he? It made no sense whatsoever what he just saw. Why would he even be like that? On his birthday, no less?....
Was this … his fault?...
He was probably over thinking things. Alfred tended to avoid doing that, for this very reason. What was the use?
Well, seeing Arthur like that was more than enough, he supposed.
He flurried around a corner, a car driving by in silent wonder at the abruptness of this lone individual.
The house at the end of the street was lit up; light flooding out into the street. There was the hustle and soft beat of music playing from it. It was full of inhabitants, no doubt causing amazing havoc with drinking games and raiding the fridge. Alfred suddenly felt sick at the thought of confronting them all. Why did this have to happen to him on today of all days? All he wanted to do was burst into the room, hurl himself up to his bedroom and hide under his bed covers and pretend that all he had seen hadn’t ever happened and continue his life on as normal, because while Alfred could act superbly well…
When something shocked him beyond belief, it showed.
The gate was kicked open with a harsh creek, the sounds and laughter getting louder as his scuffed trainers approached the door. Every year, the nations gathered round to Alfred’s and had a party, mainly because he invited just about everyone. As much as most countries disagreed with other or ganged up against one another most of the time, the truth was that if there was a gathering and it had alcohol and music and others were going to be there, you could guarantee there’d be a party.
The door slammed loudly in the kitchen with a loud bang, and the countries gathered in there exclaimed a roar of laughter.
It shattered with the same punch.
The whole room fell silent in an echo. The rest of the room seem to shimmer in the same way, the nations crawling through to see what had caused the break in mood.
Alfred stood there, his pants heavy with the strain. While everyone stared at him in shock, it wasn't the door that had rooted everyone in place.
It was his expression. A permanent plaster of fear fed his face, his lip quivering. His glasses were slid halfway down his nose, but he made no motion to move them back into place. But the worst thing, Matthew found himself noting, was his eyes. He’d lost that dazzling confidence they usually held, something that he hadn’t seen happen in about ten years.
His hand trembled, and the door was thrust shut again. Alfred stared, towards particular nations.
“... Arthur...”
He stumbled forward, eyes still wide, and sunk into a chair. Francis, with a resigned sigh, placed his drink down and approached the nation, kneeling to his level.
“America, what is it?”