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Literature Text
He chews on his lip, waiting for someone to come out of the room. He's leaning against the brick wall outside the entrance to the emergency room, occasionally adjusting his tie. Finally, someone familiar exits. It's Kiku.
Finally.
He didn't seem that hurt at first glance. In fact, he just looked ashamed--not angry at him, but defeated. His pride was at stake. In fact, it had been destroyed. They were both standing there, feeling ridiculous. Four days ago had suddenly turned into years.
There is nothing like a sword fight to make two people instant old friends.
Alfred had led the attack, as usual. Kiku had pulled out his thin katana instinctively, hoping to only use it for defense, but was ignored, to Arthur's annoyance. He knew Kiku was a powerful nation, and he knew he could easily defeat if it wasn't for his mellow nature.
It had been a sick coincidence the two were skilled fencers. All they had to do was simply pretend they were fighting, and so they did, until Kiku could hear allies cheering him on.
Arthur remembered shoving the stinging wounds reaching to his wrists to the most distant corner of his mind before giving his weapon a final artless stroke through the air before dropping it to the sand and running away.
The total damage was mainly some scars on the Englishman's hands, which would fade away over a few weeks. Kiku, however, was worse off--there was a deeper cut across his arm which would probably leave a mark for most of his life.
It's still quiet between as the scene replays through his head, watching a few other patients pass by, some he recognizes. They healed along with him. Why wouldn't the tension between them go away, to?
Finally, he lets out a sigh and starts speaking.
"Look, this is my fault, okay?"
A pathetic excuse to say he was sorry. Kiku is still silent, and Arthur moves back in fear that something, in those six apologetic words, sounded wrong. It took him a moment to realize that this was usually what Kiku usually did--he analyzed the situation for several minutes before speaking, and even then he said very little.
He could see his face crack into a grimace before his head snapped back up. For once, he seemed tense, as if he hadn't fully thought over what he was going to say at first.
"Your fault? I don't think so. If we just had stayed there, nothing would have happened." His voice was hushed, but it had an angry tone in it.
"You had to do something, you know."
Silence again.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. What else was there to say? That was a conversation killer. Even Kiku felt a bit annoyed at that reply--he felt forced to throw the blame back to himself again. He didn't really want to, either, knowing it was the blond Englishman's fault after all, so he took another long moment to think. Then:
"Fine. You're right. I'll be on my way now."
He turns on one heel to walk away, feeling satisfied, but he knew he couldn't end anything like that. So he stood there, trying to sum up some real parting words, before Arthur steps behind him. His hand reaches to grasp his wrist, preventing him from moving.
"I mean, you don't have to go if you don't want to...We could..." He's faintly aware he is rambling as his hand slides down to weave his fingers with Kiku's, unaware of what's going on. His face turns a crimson red, but he doesn't let go.
"I suppose I could use some company."
Finally.
He didn't seem that hurt at first glance. In fact, he just looked ashamed--not angry at him, but defeated. His pride was at stake. In fact, it had been destroyed. They were both standing there, feeling ridiculous. Four days ago had suddenly turned into years.
There is nothing like a sword fight to make two people instant old friends.
Alfred had led the attack, as usual. Kiku had pulled out his thin katana instinctively, hoping to only use it for defense, but was ignored, to Arthur's annoyance. He knew Kiku was a powerful nation, and he knew he could easily defeat if it wasn't for his mellow nature.
It had been a sick coincidence the two were skilled fencers. All they had to do was simply pretend they were fighting, and so they did, until Kiku could hear allies cheering him on.
Arthur remembered shoving the stinging wounds reaching to his wrists to the most distant corner of his mind before giving his weapon a final artless stroke through the air before dropping it to the sand and running away.
The total damage was mainly some scars on the Englishman's hands, which would fade away over a few weeks. Kiku, however, was worse off--there was a deeper cut across his arm which would probably leave a mark for most of his life.
It's still quiet between as the scene replays through his head, watching a few other patients pass by, some he recognizes. They healed along with him. Why wouldn't the tension between them go away, to?
Finally, he lets out a sigh and starts speaking.
"Look, this is my fault, okay?"
A pathetic excuse to say he was sorry. Kiku is still silent, and Arthur moves back in fear that something, in those six apologetic words, sounded wrong. It took him a moment to realize that this was usually what Kiku usually did--he analyzed the situation for several minutes before speaking, and even then he said very little.
He could see his face crack into a grimace before his head snapped back up. For once, he seemed tense, as if he hadn't fully thought over what he was going to say at first.
"Your fault? I don't think so. If we just had stayed there, nothing would have happened." His voice was hushed, but it had an angry tone in it.
"You had to do something, you know."
Silence again.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. What else was there to say? That was a conversation killer. Even Kiku felt a bit annoyed at that reply--he felt forced to throw the blame back to himself again. He didn't really want to, either, knowing it was the blond Englishman's fault after all, so he took another long moment to think. Then:
"Fine. You're right. I'll be on my way now."
He turns on one heel to walk away, feeling satisfied, but he knew he couldn't end anything like that. So he stood there, trying to sum up some real parting words, before Arthur steps behind him. His hand reaches to grasp his wrist, preventing him from moving.
"I mean, you don't have to go if you don't want to...We could..." He's faintly aware he is rambling as his hand slides down to weave his fingers with Kiku's, unaware of what's going on. His face turns a crimson red, but he doesn't let go.
"I suppose I could use some company."
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I'm re-posting this so I can get your attention again. :'D
Modified because I read over it today and thought it was purely awful. <3
By the way, some retard on FanFiction sent me some hate mail, so I will give you a brief disclaimer/rant.
DEAR SASUSAKUKAWAIIPANTS2001 OR WHATEVER YOU'RE CALLED:
IT'S ROMANCE, THERE IS NO SEX, STOP BEING HOMOPHOBIC, ETC, ETC.
Modified because I read over it today and thought it was purely awful. <3
By the way, some retard on FanFiction sent me some hate mail, so I will give you a brief disclaimer/rant.
DEAR SASUSAKUKAWAIIPANTS2001 OR WHATEVER YOU'RE CALLED:
IT'S ROMANCE, THERE IS NO SEX, STOP BEING HOMOPHOBIC, ETC, ETC.
© 2009 - 2024 Monteil4
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i love it