The small silhouette was moving its way down the hallway, and from this distance it didn't even look like just twelve hours ago he'd been in absolute agony to the point he could barely walk.
This didn't make sense.
“---Arthur! Hey, Arthur!---”
His footsteps increased in pace down the hotel hallway, and he sought to catch up with the Briton. After sending everyone out yesterday, he had sat around all evening. He tried calling Arthur after getting over the initial shock out of everything that had been revealed to him, then somehow still managed to go find time to watch the fireworks from the hill (albeit rather miserably) and return home and leave more messages on Arthur's phone with no sleep till well past midnight.
Some birthday.
He knew Arthur had a flight later this evening. It made sense to why he returned home today rather than yesterday, though the American wasn't quite so sure he liked what he now knew.
The country in question passed through one of the fire doors, seeming completely oblivious to the call of his name.
Slamming the door back open as America passed through it, he growled.
“England!”
He turned around.
”America.”
“England.”
The room was stiff with smoke, and a bold tinge of alcohol. Arthur didn't even need to take two steps into the room before he felt his eyes sting slightly. Healing wounds became agitated in defence.
“So, I see you did it.”
“I did.”
England made his way further into the room, his jacket folded over one of his arms. He proceeded to place it over the back of a chair.
“I... have to admit. I didn't think you would go ahead with it. Even after everything.”
His blue eyes were hard to read at this point, but the scowl that formed on the other's lips was clear enough.
“Neither did I.”
As neutral as the Briton was keeping his expression, he could note how distressed America seemed. The tense, slight shaking of his hands, the strangled voice...
He sat himself down, and crossed his legs. It was probably a bad idea, as he winced. Leaning forward, he tried to get the other's gaze.
“Well, it's over.”
“Yeah.”
Arthur sighed.
“Alfred, you---”
“Shut up.”
He blinked. As arrogant as Alfred was, Arthur was not used to being plain told to 'shut up' by most people, much less him.
“...--”
“I dropped that bomb, it's over. He's surrendered. The war's over, and we can go back to peace now. I have to concentrate and make sure that Russia doesn't overtake Germany now.”
“Alfred--”
“So we don't need to talk about it any more, alright? It's gone. It's gone. I-I don't need to touch those things any more. They're gone.”
Arthur sighed, irritated.
“--What I was trying to say, is, are you alright? But I suppose you've answered me that. You know you didn't have to drop them. You still had that choice.”
“No... No I didn't.”
“...Why?”
There was silence. His lips were a thin line, and his arms folded. He seemed impatient.
“... Jesus Christ Arthur, answer me on thi--”
A heavy sigh cut him off.
“I have to do it. I don't have a choice, do I?”
“But you didn't tell me--”
“Why do I have to? I'm not the only one who has to go through this sort of pain. We all have to go through pain in general that is ours and ours alone only. That only is up to the bearer on how they handle it. Why should I have to tell you anything? I didn't tell anyone else. No doubt France or someone told you, which they would have just figured from simple logic. I never said a word to anyone.”
Weep, Little Lion Man 5a/6
The small silhouette was moving its way down the hallway, and from this distance it didn't even look like just twelve hours ago he'd been in absolute agony to the point he could barely walk.
This didn't make sense.
“---Arthur! Hey, Arthur!---”
His footsteps increased in pace down the hotel hallway, and he sought to catch up with the Briton. After sending everyone out yesterday, he had sat around all evening. He tried calling Arthur after getting over the initial shock out of everything that had been revealed to him, then somehow still managed to go find time to watch the fireworks from the hill (albeit rather miserably) and return home and leave more messages on Arthur's phone with no sleep till well past midnight.
Some birthday.
He knew Arthur had a flight later this evening. It made sense to why he returned home today rather than yesterday, though the American wasn't quite so sure he liked what he now knew.
The country in question passed through one of the fire doors, seeming completely oblivious to the call of his name.
Slamming the door back open as America passed through it, he growled.
“England!”
He turned around.
”America.”
“England.”
The room was stiff with smoke, and a bold tinge of alcohol. Arthur didn't even need to take two steps into the room before he felt his eyes sting slightly. Healing wounds became agitated in defence.
“So, I see you did it.”
“I did.”
England made his way further into the room, his jacket folded over one of his arms. He proceeded to place it over the back of a chair.
“I... have to admit. I didn't think you would go ahead with it. Even after everything.”
His blue eyes were hard to read at this point, but the scowl that formed on the other's lips was clear enough.
“Neither did I.”
As neutral as the Briton was keeping his expression, he could note how distressed America seemed. The tense, slight shaking of his hands, the strangled voice...
He sat himself down, and crossed his legs. It was probably a bad idea, as he winced. Leaning forward, he tried to get the other's gaze.
“Well, it's over.”
“Yeah.”
Arthur sighed.
“Alfred, you---”
“Shut up.”
He blinked. As arrogant as Alfred was, Arthur was not used to being plain told to 'shut up' by most people, much less him.
“...--”
“I dropped that bomb, it's over. He's surrendered. The war's over, and we can go back to peace now. I have to concentrate and make sure that Russia doesn't overtake Germany now.”
“Alfred--”
“So we don't need to talk about it any more, alright? It's gone. It's gone. I-I don't need to touch those things any more. They're gone.”
Arthur sighed, irritated.
“--What I was trying to say, is, are you alright? But I suppose you've answered me that. You know you didn't have to drop them. You still had that choice.”
“No... No I didn't.”
“...Why?”
There was silence. His lips were a thin line, and his arms folded. He seemed impatient.
“... Jesus Christ Arthur, answer me on thi--”
A heavy sigh cut him off.
“I have to do it. I don't have a choice, do I?”
“But you didn't tell me--”
“Why do I have to? I'm not the only one who has to go through this sort of pain. We all have to go through pain in general that is ours and ours alone only. That only is up to the bearer on how they handle it. Why should I have to tell you anything? I didn't tell anyone else. No doubt France or someone told you, which they would have just figured from simple logic. I never said a word to anyone.”