uelle [hetalia x reader]

dreamscape [america x reader]

strange maze, what is this place?

He was a terrible sleeper, you had noted. Even though the bubbly blonde had seemed the type to completely pass out and sleep through anything, after three years as his girlfriend, you had learned about Alfred's erratic sleeping habits.

He suffered from nightmares and that was only when he was able to get to sleep. More often than not, he'd try not to wake you up much to your annoyance.

"Alfred, I don't mind. Honestly."

"Yeah, but I do. It's my problem, I can deal with it."

i hear voices over my shoulder,
nothing's making sense at all

»»»

wonder, why do we race?
when everyday we're runnin' in circles,

Another night and Alfred was shook from the lead jacket that were his dreams, only to not be able to get any sleep for the rest of that night. He had resorted to staring at the dark ceiling, mind much too awake to get any sort of rest.

such a funny way to fall.

Honestly, it was kind of dumb, he thought to himself during one of his bouts of insomnia. The great hero, life deteriorating around him just because of something as stupid as sleep. He should be able to do this, but instead he lay awake night after night, wondering what horror his dreams would lead him to this time.

»»»

tried to open up my eyes,

He was taken back, back to that time. Red and blue on a battlefield, one broken and the other scared, numb to the world around him.

No. No, he couldn't go back. He whispered until he realized he was screaming, and the world was a jumble of white and the thin film of sleep, [f/n]'s gentle hands stroking his hair and the scattering of stars that you could see if you tried hard enough, shimmer-sleeping on the horizon.
But once more, Alfred's disconnected mind pushed the worried [h/c] girl away. She mumbled something, and rolled over to sleep.
Logical Alfred made an appearance heartbeats later, realizing his mistake moments later.
Sleep was not in the cards for him that night.

i'm hopin' for a chance to make it alright

»»»

when i wake up, the dream isn't done

The morning was cloudy, sunlight siphoning in-between lanky strips of cotton.
Strangely, [f/n] wasn't dozing beside him. She didn't have work that day, did she? Maybe she was planning something! A surprise. He bet she was downstairs, waiting for him with breakfast or even a cake.
Buoyed by this delight, he skidded downstairs only to find their small eating area empty except for a plate of food and a folded note.

Worry setting in, he crossed the room quickly, unfolding the note.

Al,
I wish you wouldn't keep pushing me away. I want you to be happy. That's all I can ever do for you.
I guess I couldn't do much for you. I know you weren't going to be saved once I started dating you, Al, but I just wish I could have helped more.

I'm sorry.
-[f/n]

The once-happy blonde sank into a chair. He could hardly bring himself to move. His excitement extinguished, he put his head into his arms, and it wasn't long before Alfred, the 'hero' was sobbing uncontrollably.

i wanna see your face,
and know i made it home

»»»

A few years later, Alfred had picked himself up as best he could, having found a new escape, an outlet.
Painting.
He would spend hours after work relishing in the colour and smoothness of his paintbrush as it glided along the canvas gently, swirling along and blending into so many reds, greens, blues.

He painted whatever sprung into his mind, but mostly he painted flowers. Elegant roses, soft pastel tulips, lucid-candy-coloured orchids that looked positively ethereal.
He had painted the state flower for all fifty of his states and had covered his walls in a practically a bouquet of the delicate looking blooms.
The occasional guest would compliment, and sometimes even ask to buy.
Alfred could hardly complain, but the ache in his heart kept him awake at night. His new pills were okay, but nothing could beat [f/n].
So he immersed himself in paintings and smudges of red and blue.

i am still painting flowers for you

»»»

It felt like that day so many years ago, like a punch to the stomach. As he watched [f/n] walking into the bakery, hands laced with another man.
He hardly noticed him as Alfred fought to breathe, before weakly smiling and boxing up their order.
It was only til then that [f/n] blinked in surprise.
"Alfred? Oh gosh, it's been years!-"
"Have a nice day"
His voice came out strangled, and her face fell, but something told him she knew.

As the happy couple left the bakery, Alfred had to leave to throw up in the backroom.
He thought he was over her. But all it took was one blow, and he snapped like a matchstick.

»»»

show my cards, gave you my heart, wish we could start all over.

As she left the bakery, tears formed in her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she sighed. How could he still have that effect on her?
"Babe? Are you okay?"
She smiled weakly.
"Never better."

»»»

i wanna see your face,
and know i made it home

He gaped at the splatter of black paint in front of him. He had spent hours on the painting and yet his movements had become detached once more, and now inky black paint smeared his once-beautiful canvas.
Sighing, he could only paint over it. Just as he wished he could have done when he lost [f/n].

i am still painting flowers for you.

--
request for @TheDangerWolf
had a lot of fun with this one lmao
you wanted angst well here u go
i kind of twisted the concept bc i suck at following rules rip

anyways im super tired now i gotta sleep ugh
goodnight kiddos stay spooky

xx crescent