By: Natilie Sawada
More uber short Us/Uk angst-ish fluffies.
Warning thingies: Mentions of romantic relationships. Use of human names.
"Oh, where did the blue skies go?
And why is it raining so?
It's so cold
Why does it always rain on me?"
-Why Does it Always Rain On Me
It's raining today, Arthur thinks as he lifts the tea pot off the stove, pouring the hot liquid into an awaiting cup. It's raining again today. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. He drops a tea bag into the mug and leans on the kitchen counter.
It's always raining in England.
After a moment Arthur grips his mug tighter as he tries to coax the comforting heat into seeping into his numb fingers. He can't remember the last time his fingers weren't cold, the last time he went outside without an umbrella and knee-high boots.
He can't remember the last time he saw Alfred.
It has been months, maybe years, he can't remember. They've talked, yes, in passing. They've sent treaties and tariff agreements and financial information back and forth…but it's been ages since Alfred has actually been there with him.
But life seems to go on and this dismal little world keeps spinning them around and around and around and yet, constantly moving, Arthur is still so far so far so far away from him. An entire bloody ocean and it's much too damn far.
He feels as if his vest and shirt and tie and hair are drenched with the dreaded rain, soaking and chilling him, dragging down his very being, making each step a heavy, sloshing, soppy, mess as he battles to keep moving.
God, would it feel good to just be dry again, Arthur thinks. To be warm and outside and feel the wind again.
He remembers tracing the lines of Alfred's thighs lightly with his fingertips, marveling at how warm and steep they were.
"Grand Canyon," Alfred had whispered, air gushing along Arthur's cheeks like a canyon breeze and his stomach had flipped.
He remembers running his lips along the small bumps of Alfred's spine, how hot and steep and solid they were against Arthur's own softness.
"Your mountains are beautiful," he'd whispered. He had felt Alfred chuckle as the vibrations reverberated through his chest.
He misses the Alfred's sunny California beaches, his sunny Florida coasts, his sunny Iowa corn fields, his sunny Michigan forests, his sunny Nevada deserts, his sunny face, his sunny smile.
God, Arthur misses the sun.
And oh God, oh God he misses Alfred.
He picks up his mug to take a drink of the tea, but its gone cold and sour.
There's an ocean between us now, Arthur thinks. A bloody ocean of cold water in the sea and now in the sky. Cold, cold water always between us. He inhales and exhales slowly, trying to clear his mind, setting his mug down on the table and walks.
And regardless of the rain and the gloom, he walks towards the entry hall.
He tugs on his boots, grabs his umbrella and opens the front door barely daring to hope that maybe it won't rain tomorrow.
Reviews will give you lovely British smooches from Iggy~
…or a basket of fish and chips, whatever he's in the mood for. XD