I'm sorry it keeps getting more angsty than fluff. I just love bittersweet moments... I'm such a fag.
Arthur wasn't depressed, nor was he an alcoholic. Really. Sometimes the house just felt too empty and he'd try to cheer up. But drinking alone never brought a smile to his lips. It only left him unable to hold back the tears that gathered up whenever he was reminded of that one day. When his most precious person left him.
"America you bastard" he groaned, the glass of rum slipping from his hand and leaving stains on the carpet. Good thing it had been nearly emptied, but honestly he couldn't care less. His head was starting to ache from the alcohol, or perhaps it was from the pathetic sobbing. He wanted to sleep; get off the couch and slink to his room. But his body wouldn't move. He was too tired. However he was soon forced to get up. The doorbell rang, not just once, but repeatedly seeing as he ignored the first five times. He slowly sat up and tried to rub away the wetness on his cheeks before shuffling towards the door. His legs felt weak like on a newborn calf and it didn't take more than a few steps before he stumbled forward. He ended up sprawled on the floor, without enough strength left to get back up, but it didn't matter. He shouldn't let anyone see him like this anyway. The tears began streaming down his cheeks once more. He was a bloody mess.
Arthur didn't budge when he heard the door open. His heart seemed to skip a beat as light steps moved towards him before a small hand was placed on his shoulder. However that little joy quickly faded when he remembered that America's steps were heavy now, and his hands were big and rough.
"You jerk!" a familiar voice grumbled, a young island once known as Roughs Tower "I told you I'd come visit today and you greet me like this!?"
Arthur looked up at the kid and frowned in confusion. He couldn't recall it. Thinking back he was able to remember something about a phone call earlier that week. Nothing about planning to visit, but Peter talked fast, or perhaps he wasn't even trying to pay attention.
"I'm sorry Peter..."
"Sealand! Don't address me like I was a mere human!"
"Sealand" Arthur sighed and hid his face again "I'm not well. You'll have to come back some other day-Ow!". He cringed when the younger one smacked the back of his head. "Bloody hell! What are you-" he started, but paused when he glanced up and saw Peter glaring at him. Oh he had seen him angry before. The brat would pout, yell, frown or bawl, but never like this, a glare so intense and filled with disappointment it made him feel like he was the one being a child.
"You think I'm gonna leave you alone when you're like this?"
He almost laughed when the kid tried to pull him up. Peter always overestimated his own strength. Eventually he got up on his own and shuffled back to the couch, laying down with his face against a cushion. "I'll be fine. Don't cause a goddamn ruckus" he groaned, wanting to be left alone.
"You were crying." Peter stated.
"It's none of your business!"
"It's 'cause of America right? You always talk about him when you drink!"
Arthur didn't reply, too tired to argue. Despite his odd sense of logic the boy wasn't easy to fool.
"I'm not like that bastard you know" Peter said quietly. Arthur felt a little puzzled. He never knew his little brother could be soft-spoken. Always so loud and careless. Only 12 and already more rude than America had ever been. He would obviously grow up to be the same. No. Worse. He had never seen that the kid could be kind and caring. When Sealand ran to him with a smile on his face he would only hear the word jerk and be sure that he had lost the respect of another one of his brothers.
"I'm gonna be independent too," Peter continues "but I'll still rely on you and stuff... brothers should support each other! Besides you'd be lonely if I never came to visit you right?"
Arthur could have said a lot of things to hurt the child's feelings. And most of the time he would have, because why should he show an ungrateful brat affection. However his answer was simple.