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azureetherTitle: The Words to Say // [FF.net link]
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13
Characters, Pairings: America/England
Words: 1,353
Summary: England becomes distant with America, after some words he didn't really mean. Not being able to say what he really feels, England finds himself unable to fix things either...
Notes: Inspired in Backstreet Boys' Inconsolable. Beware of depressive character, and (more than possible) OOCness. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
strawberryburst for beta-ing ♥
Rain was falling in London. What an irony. The sky seemed to like mocking him this way, always bringing rain on his worst moments. He remembered: the muddy trenches during the Great War, America claiming his Independence, and...now.
An irony, indeed.
This was what England thought as he closed the front door behind him. It was a common ocurrence for him, since rain was so usual in London, to rush to his place looking for protection and the pleasant warmth of those walls. But this time, those walls felt like an unknown and menacing place. For once, he would rather stay outside, hoping that rain could sweep away the pain he kept inside.
All because he had been unable to say some simple words.
Now that he thought about it, it had been such a stupid and improper thing to say. But he never imagined America could get so affected just by his words. America was always so oblivious and carefree, after all! Bickering had been a constant in their lives, and England dared to believe they were already prepared for everything. Never could he have imagined America being so hurt, but truth be told, England had gone too far this time.
“A mistake. That's what I'm for you, England? A disappointment, something you regret? Well, I'm afraid I'm not the angel you once thought I was anymore! I grew up, if you haven't realized. I'm sorry I can't live up to your expectations!” America had said, eyes filled with a chilling anger.
It had been just a harsh sentence made out of badly-controled anger, and England had regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. How could America -- his dearest America, he corrected himself -- be a disappointment? He could certainly be a nuisance with his ridiculous ideas. But his cheerful, dreamer and courageous being was truly a beam of light in England's life, and in all honesty, to say he didn't felt proud of America was a really cheap lie. Yes, he was proud and hopelessly in love of that grown-up kid with a shining smile.
But it was already done, and if America's look could be taken as a sign, his uproar wouldn't be taken lightly.
America had turned back, leaving England behind. He knew he had to say something, but his lips were suddenly unable to form any word, and his body stubbornly refused to move. Time stood still as England saw America's broad back going away, while an invisible hand was stopping him from breathing.
Just like that time.
The scene kept replaying over and over in England's mind, as he tried to sleep with no luck. He found himself imagining how things would have been if he just had said something, and if fate were to bring America back to him in that moment, he knew for sure what he would say. And he kept silently screaming those words of regret that would never reach America's ears.
I'm sorry.
I want you.
Come back...
----------------------------------------------
Over the next few days, America would be unnaturally stoic. But his wavering eyes betrayed him, showing how much his situation with England pained him. Still, England remained utterly oblivious, and every time he had the chance to say something to America he would ruin it by saying some angry and superficial words.
"You wanted to say something?" America would say with a cold voice. Oh, if England could only see the hopeful look in his eyes...
"Yes, I..." England would stutter. I've missed you. I'm sorry. "I... I just can't believe you keep saying such stupid things during meetings! No wonder no one takes you seriously!"
And America would go away, leaving England secretly praying for him to turn back.
At night, England would find himself staring idly at his cell phone. He had dialed America's number so many times he could already do it with his eyes closed, but still, he was unable to make the call. Maybe because he feared ruining it again, or maybe because he still couldn't find the right words to say, the words needed for America to come back.
"Cher Angleterre, you look terrible! Not that it's strange, as you've always been far from reaching my beauty, but... you look like you haven't sleep in weeks! You've had some very exciting nights with America, I take?" France asked one day.
"Sod off, stupid frog. What I do with my private time is none of your concern. And why would I be interested in that bloody idiot?" England huffed. France didn't need to know England was barely sleeping or eating at all, much less about his issue with America. At least, that's what he thought. As if it wasn't obvious to everyone that something was wrong between them.
The pressure was becoming too much, it was just a matter of time before he collapsed. And during the next meeting, when he was heading through a lonely hallway, his legs suddenly felt very weak. He made an effort to lean against the wall, his vision blurring and his head starting to spin. The last thing he knew, he was falling, only to be caught by strong arms. His eyes could weakly see a dim glittering of glasses.
And then, his world went black, as his mind quietly shouted.
I'm sorry.
I want you.
Come back...
----------------------------------------------
England found himself waking up in his own bedroom, noticing there was a comfortable weight at his side. For a moment, he thought his mind was playing a bad trick with him.
America -- his America -- was looking at him with a sad and worried face.
"A-America?"
"Why, England... " America mumbled, eyes down, a serious look on his face. "Why are you doing this to yourself? How could you allow this to happen?"
I'm sorry. Let's start again. "W-Why should you worry about my welfare? I can look after myself; I don't need you around telling me what to do, thank you. Why would I even miss you---"
"England... shut up."
England now found himself suddenly crushed by America's embrace. He stubbornly struggled, trying to free himself. "Let me go, you twat! I don't want you here, you hear me?"
"No, I won't waste another day." America strenghtened his grip. "It's killing me too, England, you know? To be without you, to see you like this... I've really missed you, and I won't be letting you go."
"You... you missed me?" England's voice wavered, already feeling tears threatening to fall.
"More than you could imagine."
It was too much for England. At this, he returned the embrace, burying his head in America's chest, thick tears already soaking his shirt. "I'm.. I'm sorry..."
But America hushed him, slowly rocking him while softly caressing his back. England's mind kept shouting apologetic words until his crying had been reduced to a silent sobbing. Then he sat up, an ashamed look on his face as America looked him with curiosity.
“England...?”
“You’ve never been a dissappointment,” England stated. “Y-you make me proud, and happy, and... and I...”
"Aw, England!” America grinned sheepishly, already blushing, and he silenced England’s stammering by placing his lips over his. England suddenly felt more comfortable expressing himself in this way, and he returned the kiss with unusual eagerness.
When they broke off, and England whispered a breathless I love you, America’s heart swell with joy. It didn’t sound insecure anymore; England’s voice was now so full of conviction that America couldn’t even think England was saying anything other than the truth. But it didn’t matter anymore; for America, England’s confident lips felt better than a hundred I love yous.
Perhaps saying those three words from the beginning would have saved them a lot of trouble. But both of them were sure now: sometimes, words weren't needed at all. Because words could be misleading, and because there weren't enough words to express such strong feelings.
Finally, exhaustion and slumber fell over England, and soon, he was in a peaceful sleep surrounded by America’s embrace, while their hearts' beating kept whispering.
I'm home.
Welcome back...
----------------------------------------------
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13
Characters, Pairings: America/England
Words: 1,353
Summary: England becomes distant with America, after some words he didn't really mean. Not being able to say what he really feels, England finds himself unable to fix things either...
Notes: Inspired in Backstreet Boys' Inconsolable. Beware of depressive character, and (more than possible) OOCness. Thanks to
strawberryburst for beta-ing ♥ Rain was falling in London. What an irony. The sky seemed to like mocking him this way, always bringing rain on his worst moments. He remembered: the muddy trenches during the Great War, America claiming his Independence, and...now.
An irony, indeed.
This was what England thought as he closed the front door behind him. It was a common ocurrence for him, since rain was so usual in London, to rush to his place looking for protection and the pleasant warmth of those walls. But this time, those walls felt like an unknown and menacing place. For once, he would rather stay outside, hoping that rain could sweep away the pain he kept inside.
All because he had been unable to say some simple words.
Now that he thought about it, it had been such a stupid and improper thing to say. But he never imagined America could get so affected just by his words. America was always so oblivious and carefree, after all! Bickering had been a constant in their lives, and England dared to believe they were already prepared for everything. Never could he have imagined America being so hurt, but truth be told, England had gone too far this time.
“A mistake. That's what I'm for you, England? A disappointment, something you regret? Well, I'm afraid I'm not the angel you once thought I was anymore! I grew up, if you haven't realized. I'm sorry I can't live up to your expectations!” America had said, eyes filled with a chilling anger.
It had been just a harsh sentence made out of badly-controled anger, and England had regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. How could America -- his dearest America, he corrected himself -- be a disappointment? He could certainly be a nuisance with his ridiculous ideas. But his cheerful, dreamer and courageous being was truly a beam of light in England's life, and in all honesty, to say he didn't felt proud of America was a really cheap lie. Yes, he was proud and hopelessly in love of that grown-up kid with a shining smile.
But it was already done, and if America's look could be taken as a sign, his uproar wouldn't be taken lightly.
America had turned back, leaving England behind. He knew he had to say something, but his lips were suddenly unable to form any word, and his body stubbornly refused to move. Time stood still as England saw America's broad back going away, while an invisible hand was stopping him from breathing.
Just like that time.
The scene kept replaying over and over in England's mind, as he tried to sleep with no luck. He found himself imagining how things would have been if he just had said something, and if fate were to bring America back to him in that moment, he knew for sure what he would say. And he kept silently screaming those words of regret that would never reach America's ears.
I'm sorry.
I want you.
Come back...
----------------------------------------------
Over the next few days, America would be unnaturally stoic. But his wavering eyes betrayed him, showing how much his situation with England pained him. Still, England remained utterly oblivious, and every time he had the chance to say something to America he would ruin it by saying some angry and superficial words.
"You wanted to say something?" America would say with a cold voice. Oh, if England could only see the hopeful look in his eyes...
"Yes, I..." England would stutter. I've missed you. I'm sorry. "I... I just can't believe you keep saying such stupid things during meetings! No wonder no one takes you seriously!"
And America would go away, leaving England secretly praying for him to turn back.
At night, England would find himself staring idly at his cell phone. He had dialed America's number so many times he could already do it with his eyes closed, but still, he was unable to make the call. Maybe because he feared ruining it again, or maybe because he still couldn't find the right words to say, the words needed for America to come back.
"Cher Angleterre, you look terrible! Not that it's strange, as you've always been far from reaching my beauty, but... you look like you haven't sleep in weeks! You've had some very exciting nights with America, I take?" France asked one day.
"Sod off, stupid frog. What I do with my private time is none of your concern. And why would I be interested in that bloody idiot?" England huffed. France didn't need to know England was barely sleeping or eating at all, much less about his issue with America. At least, that's what he thought. As if it wasn't obvious to everyone that something was wrong between them.
The pressure was becoming too much, it was just a matter of time before he collapsed. And during the next meeting, when he was heading through a lonely hallway, his legs suddenly felt very weak. He made an effort to lean against the wall, his vision blurring and his head starting to spin. The last thing he knew, he was falling, only to be caught by strong arms. His eyes could weakly see a dim glittering of glasses.
And then, his world went black, as his mind quietly shouted.
I'm sorry.
I want you.
Come back...
----------------------------------------------
England found himself waking up in his own bedroom, noticing there was a comfortable weight at his side. For a moment, he thought his mind was playing a bad trick with him.
America -- his America -- was looking at him with a sad and worried face.
"A-America?"
"Why, England... " America mumbled, eyes down, a serious look on his face. "Why are you doing this to yourself? How could you allow this to happen?"
I'm sorry. Let's start again. "W-Why should you worry about my welfare? I can look after myself; I don't need you around telling me what to do, thank you. Why would I even miss you---"
"England... shut up."
England now found himself suddenly crushed by America's embrace. He stubbornly struggled, trying to free himself. "Let me go, you twat! I don't want you here, you hear me?"
"No, I won't waste another day." America strenghtened his grip. "It's killing me too, England, you know? To be without you, to see you like this... I've really missed you, and I won't be letting you go."
"You... you missed me?" England's voice wavered, already feeling tears threatening to fall.
"More than you could imagine."
It was too much for England. At this, he returned the embrace, burying his head in America's chest, thick tears already soaking his shirt. "I'm.. I'm sorry..."
But America hushed him, slowly rocking him while softly caressing his back. England's mind kept shouting apologetic words until his crying had been reduced to a silent sobbing. Then he sat up, an ashamed look on his face as America looked him with curiosity.
“England...?”
“You’ve never been a dissappointment,” England stated. “Y-you make me proud, and happy, and... and I...”
"Aw, England!” America grinned sheepishly, already blushing, and he silenced England’s stammering by placing his lips over his. England suddenly felt more comfortable expressing himself in this way, and he returned the kiss with unusual eagerness.
When they broke off, and England whispered a breathless I love you, America’s heart swell with joy. It didn’t sound insecure anymore; England’s voice was now so full of conviction that America couldn’t even think England was saying anything other than the truth. But it didn’t matter anymore; for America, England’s confident lips felt better than a hundred I love yous.
Perhaps saying those three words from the beginning would have saved them a lot of trouble. But both of them were sure now: sometimes, words weren't needed at all. Because words could be misleading, and because there weren't enough words to express such strong feelings.
Finally, exhaustion and slumber fell over England, and soon, he was in a peaceful sleep surrounded by America’s embrace, while their hearts' beating kept whispering.
I'm home.
Welcome back...
----------------------------------------------
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 01:37 am (UTC)Not to nitpick but...I'm going to nitpick. Mind crediting this account, not the other one? XD;;
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Date: 2010-03-20 02:38 pm (UTC)You're allowed to nitpick 8D My mistake, I got confused \orz
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Date: 2010-03-19 04:20 am (UTC)Keep up the wonderful work!
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Date: 2010-03-20 02:55 pm (UTC)I'll do my best, thanks a lot! :)
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Date: 2010-03-19 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-20 03:04 pm (UTC)