Hetalia: A Fandom Anthology [WARNING: YAOI]

4. Sticky Fingers [ FrCan WARNING: Angst-y ]

Okay, so this is reaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyy sad for Canada. I wanna hug him now. I made him get rejected TWICE!! That hurts like a mo'fo. Poor Canada, maple... DDD:> Stupid America. Stupid France! ;^; I made myself sad.

So I really need to make happy stories. The next one up is happy. Promis.

Theme Song: Prodigal - OneRepublic

Link to pic if fails to show: http://media.photobucket.com/image/hetalia%20france%20canada/surrealistic/hetalia/francecanada7.jpg?o=20 

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Forget?

"Sorry, I didn't mean it to come out like that," he bit the inside of his cheek as he touseled the familiar blonde lochs that were shrugging down behind the familiar aviator jacket with the 50 on the back. How many times had I hidden behind that number? Behind Alfred's shadow.

He wants me to...

"Look, it wasn't serious or anything. I don't..."

forget?

"...like you."

I hissed in through my teeth as I held my chest. Alfred looked indifferent, maybe a little nervous as he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. Just as I was about to speak up Al's phone buzzed in his back pocket. He flipped it open and tried to hide the smile that was so clearly there. It was Arthur.

All he did was nag-nag-nag and yet he kept going back to that pansy. Then again, I didn't have much more of a spine than he did. What did he even see in him? That bitter, British, blonde bit'! Of course I won't swear. I'm above swearing unlike him. That five-line-thick-eyebrowed arse.

What?

"Hey, I gotta hike it," Al waved as he turned. "Frickin' hell. Why's it so cold up here anyway? Start a fire or turn up the heat," he nodded. "I mean, I'm the hero and it should be my job, but this is your place." He called as he hopped on his motorcycle. "Not mine."

I watched that man, that idiot! drive off into the endless night of my home. It was sunny where he lived. That's probably why he left. It's warm there and the sun comes out all the time and up here... up here it's cold and sad. It's bitter and dark and cold and Alfred is the very opposite of this place. Of my heart.

So... why him and... not me?

That night as I was sitting out in front of the fire in my living room the usual tapping on the door called me to answer it. As usual it was Milischki my post dog with the mail. "Merci, Mili," I bent down and kissed his nose. French. My blood language and yet so distant in my memories.

I could probably tell you that I was abandoned somewhere in this icy hell without care or concern. I was abandoned, rather, forgotten, somewhere where the sun used to rise and fall but slowly, as I started to walk farther north, I discovered that I didn't have to see the sun. That I didn't have to be reminded of that one man that I could never really tell you about. The one that taught me French. The only one to ever care about me.

"Bon soir, Matteiu," that man waved as he walked up behidn Milischki.

"Bon... soir, Francis," I looked to the side.

"Red eyes so early? Shot down, non?" He brushed my bangs to the side as he caressed my cheek gently. I shivered as I felt that familiar heat fill my cheeks. That warm, sticky, fluid touch of his bothered me to no end and I just wanted to smack it away but I wasn't quite sure I was capable. That lively hand had raised me and taught me how to live and be happy. I couldn't smack that tender touch.

I remember thinking for the first time in my life that I didn't deserve that gentle kiss on each cheek as a 'hello'. How broken I was when I collapsed over into the seven foot tall snow bank and cried myself to sleep until I was sitting in a frozen throne of my own tears and heat. That's what a terrible person I made myself to be. So ugly and worthless that I could sit on a throne of tears just to disappear from my caretaker's view. From that loving touch's reach.

I can still tell you the hurt look on his face as he bent down on his knees and pryed my body from the icy impression and held me tightly in his arms. I was twelve and I was never more mad at myself in my life. I truly considered just disappearing into the ice. No one noticed me anyways so why did I even bother going to school? Why did I bother? Because those arms told me that it was better to make them notice you at least once a day than never at all.

"You little child, you fickle boy," the arms' voice trembled as they embraced me tightly. "Never do that. Never."

"No... one... noti...ced..." I whispered, hands trembling from the cold. The arms opened his jacket and forced me into his warm chest. I shuddered at the lively feeling.

"Noticing somezhing is zhe least of a person's problems. If zhey cannot clearly see what a talent you have for art zhen it's zheir problems for missing out," he held my head like a mother through a dark night. I began to shake, arms trembling as I wrapped them around the arms' body. For the first time I could bring myself to say his name and I bawled my eyes out trying. "Francis."

I'd never felt so needed, so valuable to the world, and so loved.

And yet...

"What's zhe matter? It looked like you have been crying," he reached out. I flinched, scooting away.

I can't bring myself to say it.

"It's nothing."

"It's surely not nozhing."

Even though I write it...

"Really, it's nothing. How's Joan?"

"She's as radiant as a flower. Love is surely a beautiful zhing, mon cheri."

Even though I paint it and draw it...

"Good, good," I lied with a straight face. "Any news?"

"Ah! Right! I have fabulous news!" What?

"And?"

Even though I cry over it...

"Joan is pregnant!"

I can never to bring myself to tell you that it wasn't Alfred I was in love with.

"Ah... c-con... gradulations," I laughed nervously as I hugged him tightly. Probably be the last time I'd get that chance. That woman had always wriggled in between us and demanded a kiss, a touch, or a dance with Francis. "Really."

I was always...

"Thank you. She's really the love of my life."

"Well I'm glad to hear it." No I'm not. "You can finally have a good life with her." Finally?

...madly in love with you.