[Fanfic] Fading [PrUK]
Jun. 12th, 2011 06:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: Fading
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairing: PrussiaxEngland
Rating/Warnings: U, character death.
Summary: Arthur reflects back on his time with Gilbert, after the ex-nation has passed on.
Arthur felt tears that he’d half expected but didn’t want stinging his eyes as he held the thing in his hand. An iron cross, the lettering and date on it clear as the day it had been made. He didn’t know why he’d kept it.
No, that was a lie.
Gilbert laughed as he ran out into the snow and held out his arms, spinning in a circle and promptly falling flat on his behind. At the door, Arthur covered a laugh with his hand and pretended not to notice as the Prussian nation got to his feet and brushed himself off, a faint limp in his step that quickly disappeared as he moved to the door and dragged Arthur, barefoot, out into the cold.
“Jesus Christ, it’s freezing out here!” Arthur protested, and Gilbert opened his coat, looking away red-faced as Arthur took the initiative and stepped inside it, ignoring the slow numbness creeping into his feet in favour of the sensation of the other’s heart beating against his…
He looked down at the cross, the metal cold but slowly warming against his skin. An uncomfortable lump formed in his throat and he closed his eyes for a moment, biting down hard on his lower lip. Shifting, he slumped forwards over the table and toyed with the thing, balancing it against the wood as if trying to make it stand up of its own accord. It didn’t feel as if it had been so long since it had happened. Gilbert had held on for so long despite the dissolution of his nation. So stubborn. So… strong. Arthur missed that strength. It had taken losing everything for Gilbert to realise that the only thing he’d ever wanted had been standing right in front of him the whole time.
“Erm, ja, uh, England, I vant- WANT to talk to ya about somethin’.” His accent had been heavier than usual as he spoke. Arthur had barely noticed him – the Prussian had waited until everyone else had left, until he had the man alone. Closing his briefcase, Arthur looked over at him, one thick eyebrow slightly raised.
“What is it?”
“I was wonderin’ if uh… If you wanted to… do somethin’.” The English nation would swear for years afterwards that he had never seen the other man so red. “Y’know. Somethin’ just you an’ me.”
“You…” Arthur had barely dared to believe what he thought he was being asked. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Ack…” Flustering, Gilbert choked on his words and clenched his fists by his sides. “Gott, don’t call it that. Jeez…”
Arthur had agreed, despite his better judgement, and it had turned out to be one of the best things he had ever done. Their first ‘date’ was awkward, rather unromantic, and he hadn’t expected a second one, so when he received a phone call from the man about a week later asking him out again he hadn’t known what to think. Again, he had agreed, and this time it seemed that Gilbert had taken some advice from somewhere because he had a far better idea of what he was doing, and had been rewarded by a kiss at the end of the night that had left him scarlet and spluttering on Arthur’s doorstep.
Over the next year it had continued, and it had been as if they were pretending that they didn’t know what they were doing. It caused whispers and smiles behind hands at world meetings (into which the ex-nation of Prussia was no longer permitted) when Arthur would pack up his things and join the white-haired man waiting for him outside the meeting room. Sometimes, they’d even hold hands, but neither of them would admit what the rest of the world was in a buzz about – they were dating. It gave Arthur a tingle of excitement just to think of it, like some kind of mortal teenager sneaking out to be with someone that their parents would disapprove of. Of all the nations in the world, Arthur was choosing to spend his time with one that could offer him nothing, and perhaps that was exactly why he was doing it.
He sighed and got to his feet, almost leaving the cross there on the table but picking it up at the last moment, setting it beside him on the counter as he made himself some tea. A pang shot through him as he, by force of habit, took down two cups and then slowly put one back, sluggishly, as if moving through treacle. He closed the cupboard door and felt a wave of something deep and painful wash through him, setting his back to the cabinets and sliding to the floor with the cross cradled in his hands as the water heated.
“I don’t want ta make any trouble for ya, right?” It had been a year and Gilbert was still twitchy about touching the Englishman for too long, so when he had come straight to Arthur and taken both of his hands he had known there was something serious about to be said. “I know what they’re all sayin’, an’ they’re probably right. I ain’t got nothin’ I can give to ya and-”
Arthur had stopped him there, a finger on his lips and a tiny smile on his face. He shook his head. “I really like you, Gilbert,” he said, and the other man flushed a rosy red. “I don’t care what they’re saying, or even if they’re right.”
Their first real kiss had followed that moment, bodies close and lips locked together, hands not quite managing to find a comfortable spot to rest until Arthur felt the back of his head cupped, one hand resting in the curve at the base of his spine, and his own hands had fallen into place at the other’s hips. Gilbert tasted, predictably, faintly of beer but he found he didn’t mind, and they parted blushing and slightly dizzy, far-too-idiotic grins plastered on both their faces.
“Vell,” Gilbert had said. “That vas- WAS... um.”
Arthur didn’t say anything, just kissed him again.
The kettle whistling startled him out of his thoughts and he heaved himself to his feet, feeling far too heavy with these memories as he made the tea and moved to the living room. He’d moved house not long after, hating how every room reminded him of the absent man and although this place was smaller and more awkward in every respect at least he wasn’t finding silvery hairs down the back of the sofa cushions or trapped between his bed sheets.
They’d known it would happen, eventually, but Gilbert had gone on for so long it was difficult to believe when it actually began to happen. It had started like a sickness, and he had shrugged it off easily, too easily, as some kind of mortal cold. It had got worse. Soon he could barely move without help. He would complain often that this was no way for a warrior to die, but Arthur had enjoyed the time it allowed them to spend together, even if he knew what the end would, inevitably, be.
The television had been on mute since he’d noticed that Gilbert had fallen asleep against his shoulder. He slipped his fingers into the gently twitching ones of his lover and squeezed softly, feeling the answering faint pressure. Something swelled in his chest and he turned his head to press a kiss to the untidy mop of white hair next to him.
“I love you,” he said quietly, the man beside him betraying his conscious state with a sudden start upon hearing those words. He lifted his head, his wine-red eyes widened and something in them that Arthur couldn’t read. The Prussian wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue, swallowed, and cleared his throat.
“I… I love you too, Arts.”
Arthur had been in love before but never like this. Every day was a gift as Gilbert became less and less able to do things for himself. It was painful to see him fade in such a way, but Arthur couldn’t admit it to himself. They had argued about it and it had been the first, and last time that Arthur would ever see Gilbert cry. He had stayed awake and held the man tightly as he slept that night, stroking his fingers through that fine, soft white hair.
His fingers trembled as he poured the tea for himself and lifted the cup to take a sip. The next morning had been the beginning of the worst day of his life. The day he’d lost the man he had given his heart to and sworn never to give it to another.
“Look here, you dozy git.” Gilbert’s eyes had been far too pale a shade of red as he’d pressed the cross into Arthur’s hand. His skin was cold and the expression on his face one of fear and quiet resignation. “You’re not going to die. Just… shut up. Shut up. I don’t want to hear you say it again.”
The teacup was set down with a clatter, the golden liquid spilling, ignored, over the rim and onto the coffee table. The wood was littered with such stains and Arthur ignored it as he cradled the iron cross in his hands again and smoothed his thumb over the metal. A tiny smile touched his lips and he glanced up to the fireplace, the mantle littered with photographs. Next to one silver frame a tiny yellow bird cheeped forlornly at him, before fluttering over and landing on top of his head, shuffling about in his hair before settling down. Arthur sat back and closed his eyes, willing away the lump in his throat and the heat behind his eyelids.
“I miss you…” he uttered softly, his voice cracking and sounding far too loud. “I miss you so much…”
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairing: PrussiaxEngland
Rating/Warnings: U, character death.
Summary: Arthur reflects back on his time with Gilbert, after the ex-nation has passed on.
*****
Arthur felt tears that he’d half expected but didn’t want stinging his eyes as he held the thing in his hand. An iron cross, the lettering and date on it clear as the day it had been made. He didn’t know why he’d kept it.
No, that was a lie.
Gilbert laughed as he ran out into the snow and held out his arms, spinning in a circle and promptly falling flat on his behind. At the door, Arthur covered a laugh with his hand and pretended not to notice as the Prussian nation got to his feet and brushed himself off, a faint limp in his step that quickly disappeared as he moved to the door and dragged Arthur, barefoot, out into the cold.
“Jesus Christ, it’s freezing out here!” Arthur protested, and Gilbert opened his coat, looking away red-faced as Arthur took the initiative and stepped inside it, ignoring the slow numbness creeping into his feet in favour of the sensation of the other’s heart beating against his…
He looked down at the cross, the metal cold but slowly warming against his skin. An uncomfortable lump formed in his throat and he closed his eyes for a moment, biting down hard on his lower lip. Shifting, he slumped forwards over the table and toyed with the thing, balancing it against the wood as if trying to make it stand up of its own accord. It didn’t feel as if it had been so long since it had happened. Gilbert had held on for so long despite the dissolution of his nation. So stubborn. So… strong. Arthur missed that strength. It had taken losing everything for Gilbert to realise that the only thing he’d ever wanted had been standing right in front of him the whole time.
“Erm, ja, uh, England, I vant- WANT to talk to ya about somethin’.” His accent had been heavier than usual as he spoke. Arthur had barely noticed him – the Prussian had waited until everyone else had left, until he had the man alone. Closing his briefcase, Arthur looked over at him, one thick eyebrow slightly raised.
“What is it?”
“I was wonderin’ if uh… If you wanted to… do somethin’.” The English nation would swear for years afterwards that he had never seen the other man so red. “Y’know. Somethin’ just you an’ me.”
“You…” Arthur had barely dared to believe what he thought he was being asked. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Ack…” Flustering, Gilbert choked on his words and clenched his fists by his sides. “Gott, don’t call it that. Jeez…”
Arthur had agreed, despite his better judgement, and it had turned out to be one of the best things he had ever done. Their first ‘date’ was awkward, rather unromantic, and he hadn’t expected a second one, so when he received a phone call from the man about a week later asking him out again he hadn’t known what to think. Again, he had agreed, and this time it seemed that Gilbert had taken some advice from somewhere because he had a far better idea of what he was doing, and had been rewarded by a kiss at the end of the night that had left him scarlet and spluttering on Arthur’s doorstep.
Over the next year it had continued, and it had been as if they were pretending that they didn’t know what they were doing. It caused whispers and smiles behind hands at world meetings (into which the ex-nation of Prussia was no longer permitted) when Arthur would pack up his things and join the white-haired man waiting for him outside the meeting room. Sometimes, they’d even hold hands, but neither of them would admit what the rest of the world was in a buzz about – they were dating. It gave Arthur a tingle of excitement just to think of it, like some kind of mortal teenager sneaking out to be with someone that their parents would disapprove of. Of all the nations in the world, Arthur was choosing to spend his time with one that could offer him nothing, and perhaps that was exactly why he was doing it.
He sighed and got to his feet, almost leaving the cross there on the table but picking it up at the last moment, setting it beside him on the counter as he made himself some tea. A pang shot through him as he, by force of habit, took down two cups and then slowly put one back, sluggishly, as if moving through treacle. He closed the cupboard door and felt a wave of something deep and painful wash through him, setting his back to the cabinets and sliding to the floor with the cross cradled in his hands as the water heated.
“I don’t want ta make any trouble for ya, right?” It had been a year and Gilbert was still twitchy about touching the Englishman for too long, so when he had come straight to Arthur and taken both of his hands he had known there was something serious about to be said. “I know what they’re all sayin’, an’ they’re probably right. I ain’t got nothin’ I can give to ya and-”
Arthur had stopped him there, a finger on his lips and a tiny smile on his face. He shook his head. “I really like you, Gilbert,” he said, and the other man flushed a rosy red. “I don’t care what they’re saying, or even if they’re right.”
Their first real kiss had followed that moment, bodies close and lips locked together, hands not quite managing to find a comfortable spot to rest until Arthur felt the back of his head cupped, one hand resting in the curve at the base of his spine, and his own hands had fallen into place at the other’s hips. Gilbert tasted, predictably, faintly of beer but he found he didn’t mind, and they parted blushing and slightly dizzy, far-too-idiotic grins plastered on both their faces.
“Vell,” Gilbert had said. “That vas- WAS... um.”
Arthur didn’t say anything, just kissed him again.
The kettle whistling startled him out of his thoughts and he heaved himself to his feet, feeling far too heavy with these memories as he made the tea and moved to the living room. He’d moved house not long after, hating how every room reminded him of the absent man and although this place was smaller and more awkward in every respect at least he wasn’t finding silvery hairs down the back of the sofa cushions or trapped between his bed sheets.
They’d known it would happen, eventually, but Gilbert had gone on for so long it was difficult to believe when it actually began to happen. It had started like a sickness, and he had shrugged it off easily, too easily, as some kind of mortal cold. It had got worse. Soon he could barely move without help. He would complain often that this was no way for a warrior to die, but Arthur had enjoyed the time it allowed them to spend together, even if he knew what the end would, inevitably, be.
The television had been on mute since he’d noticed that Gilbert had fallen asleep against his shoulder. He slipped his fingers into the gently twitching ones of his lover and squeezed softly, feeling the answering faint pressure. Something swelled in his chest and he turned his head to press a kiss to the untidy mop of white hair next to him.
“I love you,” he said quietly, the man beside him betraying his conscious state with a sudden start upon hearing those words. He lifted his head, his wine-red eyes widened and something in them that Arthur couldn’t read. The Prussian wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue, swallowed, and cleared his throat.
“I… I love you too, Arts.”
Arthur had been in love before but never like this. Every day was a gift as Gilbert became less and less able to do things for himself. It was painful to see him fade in such a way, but Arthur couldn’t admit it to himself. They had argued about it and it had been the first, and last time that Arthur would ever see Gilbert cry. He had stayed awake and held the man tightly as he slept that night, stroking his fingers through that fine, soft white hair.
His fingers trembled as he poured the tea for himself and lifted the cup to take a sip. The next morning had been the beginning of the worst day of his life. The day he’d lost the man he had given his heart to and sworn never to give it to another.
“Look here, you dozy git.” Gilbert’s eyes had been far too pale a shade of red as he’d pressed the cross into Arthur’s hand. His skin was cold and the expression on his face one of fear and quiet resignation. “You’re not going to die. Just… shut up. Shut up. I don’t want to hear you say it again.”
The teacup was set down with a clatter, the golden liquid spilling, ignored, over the rim and onto the coffee table. The wood was littered with such stains and Arthur ignored it as he cradled the iron cross in his hands again and smoothed his thumb over the metal. A tiny smile touched his lips and he glanced up to the fireplace, the mantle littered with photographs. Next to one silver frame a tiny yellow bird cheeped forlornly at him, before fluttering over and landing on top of his head, shuffling about in his hair before settling down. Arthur sat back and closed his eyes, willing away the lump in his throat and the heat behind his eyelids.
“I miss you…” he uttered softly, his voice cracking and sounding far too loud. “I miss you so much…”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-12 05:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-12 06:04 am (UTC)Oh man, appropriate icon. ;A;
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-12 10:21 am (UTC)I CRIED SO HARD.
HHHHHHHNNNNHHHKK.
;A;
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-12 04:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-17 08:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-17 08:20 am (UTC)/makes it worse.
;-;
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-17 09:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-17 09:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-17 09:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-17 09:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-17 09:45 pm (UTC)I'm glad it wouldn't leave you alone, because it came out so beautifully, and the angst is certainly something needed every now and again- especially with Prussia and England.