Hallo there, it's Rika, back from the dead, posting the first chapter of her latest, and in my opinion, my greatest writing yet. I really hope you like this one. It was based on a real event! But yeah. I'm sorry for not posting in a few weeks. My netbook, where I write, was infected with a virus, and I could not access the internet. I promise that this one, which in total, should be over 15,000 words (this is the shortest chapter), will be posted, one update a week over 3 weeks. In the next two weeks, I should have a new one shot up and the last and long procrastinated final chapter of Charleston Chew. Read, and review, Hetalia does not belong to me, the views and opinions here belong to me and my twisted mind alone-

Alfred: Shut the hell up and get on with the hero-tastic story!

Arthur: *smacks Alfred* Don't be rude!

Anywayz. BoyxBoy, and that's all. Enjoy!

A Picture and a Heart:

Somewhere in London, a very frustrated Brit slammed his fist against the redwood desktop, disrupting the silence in his quiet, lonely office. He'd been trying as hard he possibly could to try and finish the mile-high stack of paperwork his boss had given him earlier that day, but a person could do monotonous things for so long before snapping. Although Arthur could usually work well through the night and into the morning, today his patience had begun to wear thin before half the day was over, and that his mind kept wandering through his most painful memories, prodding at his most recent wounds and prying old ones open once again, didn't help him in the least.

"I CAN'T DO THIS!" He finally screamed, voice echoing throughout his empty home as if trying to taunt him. Hearing the echo come back to him, sounding just like it had many, many years to the day ago, so broken, so weak, and so frustrated with himself, Arthur snapped and Tears blurred his vision. They fell one at time from his bowed head and on to the papers he had worked so hard on, leaving large stains.

Arthur watched as the letters that he had written in such agonizingly neat penmanship began to bleed, leaving little streams of ink down the paper. There was no way he could give such a mess to his boss. He had rendered his hours of hard work useless. Completely fed up with offending inanimate objects, Arthur cleared his desk with a mighty sweep of his arm. Pens, pencils, books, a favored desktop lamp, and various other items one might find on a desk belonging to an excessively organized man clattered to the floor as the ruined papers fluttered down to join them.

Arthur backed away from the mess, wondering how he'd lost control so easily, how he'd fallen so far from the person who he had been. Cool it with the contractions. They're unprofessional. Arthur sat down numbly, and though he did not sob, fat tears continued to stream from his eyes and pattering onto the floor. Or some variation of the like. When he turned his head and looked at the chaos at the foot of his desk he spotted his calendar lying open on floor. His eyes were immediately drawn to the date he had circled in both red and blue…of course, red and blue, but no white, because today was the 4th of July, of all days.

But it wasn't as if Arthur hadn't known that; in fact he knew all too well that today was his former lover and colony's birthday. He also knew full well that said man was all the way across the ocean and would be just finishing serving a disgustingly enormous arrangement of barbequed foods as a late lunch in his North Carolina home where he held his annual party with the other nations. Arthur couldn't help but to chuckle though his tears as he drew an image of the boisterous blonde (who he had once called his) on the inside eyelids. The sketch faithfully depicted Alfred's vivaciousness; in Arthur's he was animatedly explaining how he loved North Carolina because they were the Tar Heel state and because they had been the unwilling heroes of the south during his Civil War, but it couldn't capture half of the brilliance in his smile. Nothing could.

Except one thing, the thought of which caused Arthur to leap to his feet and scan his desktop with a sudden urgency, eyes widening and jaw dropping when he remembered that he had just rendered it completely bare. Arthur dropped to his knees in a panic and began fumble through the disarray he had created on the floor. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief when his hands ran over the smooth, familiar surface of the only picture frame he had ever kept on his desk, and he ran his hand over its back as he had nearly every day since he'd turned it face down. He had long since found that he didn't quite have strength to burn the bloody thing as he probably should have.

With trembling hands, Arthur picked the frame up. Alfred had given to him on his birthday several years ago and although the frame may have been somewhat old the picture in it was quite recent, seeing as Arthur had refused to use it until he'd captured the most perfect of all picture perfect moments to put in it. He had done just that exactly one year ago to the day, at Alfred's last birthday party.

The magnificent frame was put to shame by the beauty of the snapshot of Alfred. He was smiling as he made the victory 'V' with one hand. He held a sparkler in the other and his baby blues seemed to glow as he gazed upward at the exploding fireworks display. Arthur had been lucky enough to turn, his camera ready and waiting in hand, as the first few fireworks squealed loudly through the night sky. Just as Arthur had snapped the picture, a pair of fireworks from somewhere in the distance exploded behind Alfred, creating a truly perfect picture of his ex-lover and the only true replication of that smile.

To see Alfred looking so absolutely breathtaking felt like a punch in Arthur's gut. How he longed to see Alfred look at him with those love in those iridescent blue once more, to hear his voice telling him how much loved him again and again (and again) as they made love. When Arthur crossed trembling arms over his stomach he wished more than anything that it was Alfred holding him, but none of those things were going to happen, and Arthur knew it. He knew that he'd lost that, lost Alfred, forever, and that it was entirely his fault.

Clutching the picture in one hand, Arthur forced himself onto his feet and towards the door, stumbling as he went. He dragged himself his down the hall and into his room, struggling to his reach his goal of the bed.

Eventually, he succeeded and managed to throw himself down on the mattress. He stared at the picture and tried to make himself that he was back in that scene paused beneath the glass. The moment after Alfred had caught him taking the picture he had pulled Arthur to his chest with those strong, tan arms…Arthur was jolted from his imagination when was then he saw a long, spindly crack running from the upper right corner of the frame and across Alfred's chest, passing right over his heart.

"M-my… frame…" he whispered. "I-its broken…" Arthur clutched he cracked frame tightly to his chest; after all, it was what he had left of that Alfred who had loved him with all his heart and whom he loved just the same. That fragment of paused time, the captured light of Alfred's smile…it was what kept Arthur alive, kept him at company through the seemingly endless lonely nights and days he suffered.

Although it had been more than six months since Alfred had left him, to Arthur it seemed a decade, and as he lay crumpled around the precious shattered picture frame, he couldn't stop himself from remembering that day.

Although Arthur huffed quietly when he heard the doorbell ring and wondered who the hell felt the need to drop by unannounced whilst he was smack-dap in the middle of the best part of his book, he allowed the more gentlemanly side of him to shine through and called, "Coming!" as he ran down the stairs and into dimly lit hallway that lead to his front door.

"Hello?" He said so as if he was asking a question as he opened the door. He smiled brightly when found a soaking wet Alfred standing in his door way. Though Arthur complained about it all the time, he secretly loved when his lover dropped his home unexpected and wanting to spend the week or the weekend, whichever came first, there with him.

He looked for Alfred's bag on his stoop, wanting to grab it for him and escort him inside and out of the freezing rain which pounded relentlessly on his roof and his America, and was surprised and slightly alarmed when the obnoxious stars-and-stripes duffel bag was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey…" Alfred greeted him, shifting uncomfortably as Arthur turned his attention back to him.

Arthur looked up into Alfred's eyes. They were a dazzling blue even in the dreary darkness of the storm but Arthur could tell that Alfred was worried by the way his gaze softened when their eyes met. However, there was something off about the way the American looked at him then. It reminded him of the last time they'd made love, when he had gazed up into Alfred's eyes just as he was about to penetrate him that last time and seen a man who longed to be somewhere else, someone who was trapped and therefore not his lover.

The thought that perhaps Alfred had fallen out of love with him crossed his mind, but he didn't want to believe it and chose to pretend that it couldn't be, wouldn't be, wasn't, possible.

"What's up, Alfie?" asked Arthur, folding his arms across his chest as he shivered, whether from the brief flash of pain that flickered across the American's face or the icy rain he would never be sure.

"No, I'm not going to war Arthur." It was Arthur's turn to display the briefest moment of pain on his face. Alfred had used his real name, something he never did. "But I want to talk to you…" Alfred took a sudden interest in Arthur's welcome mat.

"Alright," said Arthur, not wanting to believe that he knew where this was going. "Come inside and we can talk. You'll catch a cold if you stay out here for too much longer." Arthur stepped to the side, offering his home to Alfred.

"No." Alfred answered too quickly, bringing his eyes up to look into Arthur's. "It would be better if we talked out here." Arthur pretended once again not notice the pleading look Alfred was giving him that seem to beg him not to make this harder than it already was.

"But-!"

"Please." Alfred cut Arthur off firmly, a determined look set deep in his eyes. Almost unconsciously Arthur grabbed the steam punk locket he wore under his clothes, wondering if Alfred was wearing the other half of the set he'd bought for the two of them.

It took all Arthur had to close the door, and he still hated the quiet click that shut him off from his only route of escape. He turned quietly to face the heartbreak he knew was coming, never letting go of the necklace around his neck, hoping that somehow, if he squeezed that metal heart long enough, hard enough, what he knew was about to happen…wouldn't.

"Alfred… what's wrong?" Arthur watched as his lover tripped over his tongue as he tried to start his goodbye. After a minute or two of stumbling over the words to say, he fell quiet and Arthur watched, still as a statue, as Alfred turned and crossed the space to the porch swing in which they had spent many a happy afternoon and sat down. The chains squealed as the seat shifted slightly under his weight. Alfred took Texas off his face and rubbed his eyes before putting them back on and looking sadly at Arthur over the rims.

"I can't be with you anymore Arthur…" He said apologetically, his eyes begging for him to understand.

"Why?" Arthur's voice was barely above a whisper. His tears stung as they pooled along his eyelashes and he turned his head away from Alfred, not wanting him to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had hurt him once again.

"God, Arthur I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" Alfred apologized again and again and with every passing word that fell off the his tongue more hurt and anger boiled within Arthur, accumulating in his stomach until he snapped.

"Why!" He shouted, turning back towards him, letting warm tears stream down his face. He didn't care that Alfred saw anymore. He just wanted an answer.

"I think… I think I love someone more than you…" This answer cut Arthur worse than any fist, blade or bullet he had encountered in all his long history of war. All he could was look at Alfred, trying to process what he'd just been told.

"Arthur…?" the tall man asked tentatively when the silence had stretched on far enough.

"W-what?" managed Arthur, breathlessly.

"Well, you know how they say you only really fall in love once?"

"No…"

"Well… they do. And I fell in love with someone before I fell in love with you. And I think I love that person more than I love you… I'm sorry." Alfred explained, as if Arthur were a child.

"W-what did I… what did I do Alfred?" Arthur was already wondering what had gone wrong. Just a few months ago everything had been absolutely amazing between them and he couldn't help but blame himself, insecurity being a bad habit he couldn't quite shake.

"Nothing. It's not you, Arthur, it's me. I just can't love you with all my heart anymore. I just don't love you the way you deserve to be loved." Alfred's voice was forced and broken and tears glistened in his eyes, but Arthur couldn't help but wonder if his tears were a product of his heart breaking from the truth in his words, or if Alfred only felt bad because he had to watch the heart break he had caused.

"Bull shit…" Arthur whispered as he covered his face with his hands.

"What?" Alfred hadn't heard the words Arthur had mumbled into his sweater.

"Bull shit!" He was yelling now.

"What!" Alfred asked incredulously, almost as if he'd been slapped. "Do you think I didn't try Arthur? Do you think I wanted to break your heart! Do you think I want to love him!"

Oh. Right. The other man. Arthur had been so caught up in blaming himself for everything that was happening that he had totally forgotten to inquire as to the identity of the person who had stolen Alfred away from him.

"Who?" Arthur looked up from his hands.

"I can't tell you." Spoken all too quickly.

"Who is it, Alfred? I think I deserve to know who you've been imagining every time we made love." This was a demand. Arthur needed to know who needed a good beating.

"I never imagined anyone else while I was in bed with you!" Alfred was both trying to defend himself and desperately trying to change the subject.

"I'm not stupid, you git. I saw those looks in your eye. You looked like you wished I was someone else." Arthur was blatant and the jig was up for Alfred. All the puzzle pieces fit now and Arthur could see the whole picture and once again demanded, words choppy, "Who. Is. It?"

Defeat swirled in Alfred's eyes. "Well, it's…it's Mattie," he whispered, probably hoping that Arthur wouldn't hear him over the pounding rain. No use - Arthur heard every syllable, each one like a fresh knife in his heart.

"Mattie?" Arthur's face fell when he realized that he couldn't kill Mattie, who had never done anything to him but be kind and mild and unobtrusive.

Alfred nodded, tears now streaming down his face. "I'm- I'm sorry. I really do love you Iggy, I just- I don't love you enough. Someday, somebody will love you right…" He placed a gentle kiss on Arthur's cheek before standing up, sending Arthur scrambling after him. Arthur knew that pain was written all over his face but he couldn't stop it. His entire being was begging for Alfred to stay.

Alfred merely reached around his neck and under his shirt, rummaging around for a moment before he procured a familiar worn iron chain with big loops. So then…he was wearing it. Arthur's heart swelled as he instinctively reached up grabbed the matching heart that hung from his own neck. He thought of all little scars they had on their chests and necks from where the tiny, ornate, sharp gears that decorated the necklaces had scratched them.

Alfred pulled the chain from around his neck and took one of Arthur's hands in his own. "This doesn't belong to me anymore, Arthur," he said, slowly placing the necklace in Arthur's palm before forcing his fingers closed.

"No… I-I don't want it. I gave it to you, you wanker," insulted Arthur weakly, shaking his head slowly. These necklaces were what kept them together when they were an ocean away from each other. Alfred's taking the necklace out of his life was analogous to taking Arthur out of his life.

"I'll see you at the next world meeting." Alfred turned and waved once, only barely flinching when Arthur screamed after him.

"YOU LIAR! YOU NEVER LOVED ME!" He wanted Alfred to stop, to turn around and tell him he was wrong…to prove that he loved him. But Alfred only kept walking, leaving him Arthur to suffer on his own while he went to tell Mattie that they could live happily ever after.

On the inside of his lids Arthur compared the image of Alfred walking away from him and that of his eyes sparkling and his lips moving as he told Arthur he loved him. He could see that smile that he gave him when he was really, really happy. The one it seemed nothing could capture…yes, that smile was precious. But the once thing perhaps more precious, and that Arthur would never have again, was the sound of that voice the world glow as Alfred told Arthur that he loved him.

Buuuuzzzzzzz… Arthur's pillow started vibrating, almost scaring the bland out of his food. ALMOST. Buuuuuzzzzzzz…

"Shut uppp…" Arthur had finally run out of tears, but was his eyes were sore and his head was pounding, and therefore he most certainly didn't want to answer the cell phone which had interrupted his thoughts of Alfred. Unfortunately, by the fifth ring Arthur had begun to realize that whoever was incessantly calling him wouldn't stop until they heard his actual voice. So he rolled over, forcing his eyes open to look at his clock while he searched blindly for his cell. The numbers on his clock hurt his eyes but he kept glaring at them until he could make out the time.

After two more rings, Arthur could finally tell that it was 11:11 pm and gave a little smile as he recalled how every time Alfred saw the turn to those numbers, his face would light up and he'd yell 'Make a wish Artie, Make a wish, quick!'. Arthur bit his bottom lip and screwed his eyes shut and made a silent wish.

When Arthur finally managed to get a hold of his phone he put it to his ear, pushing the talk button with his thumb as he did so. "Hello?" He flinched when he heard how gruff his voice was and the pain that radiated from his raw throat.

"Quoi?" Oh no. Arthur groaned. Francis was the last person he wanted to talk to at the moment. "You don't sound like Arthur. Did he finally get laid!"

"No! God shut up about the whole 'getting laid' thing frog face, cause it won't bloody happen, and you know it! Now what did you call for, you git? It's damned 11:15 over here!" Francis had been invited, along with every other nation besides himself, to Alfred's birthday party. And, ignoring Arthur's pleas and threats, he had decided to go and enjoy himself in North Carolina.

"I was wondering why you aren't here, mon aime solitaire?" Francis mocked.

"I don't think a certain someone would want to see me and I don't want to see him." Lies. Arthur would love nothing more than to see Alfred. Francis knew that, but being his best, and basically only, friend, he didn't call him on it.

"Ahhhh…it's okay. If it makes you feel any better, I don't think he's with Mathieu." Francis informed him. The frog had always loved to gossip, and for once in his life, Arthur wanted him to continue.

"Really?" He couldn't keep the shock and…was that a hint of delight? from his voice.

"Oui. They've not touched once. And Alfred's being very quiet… he seems upset, especially when he's around all the couples, hon hon hon…" Francis chuckled just imagining Arthur, just as upset as any one man could be, now elated by knowing that his one true desire was potentially available.

"Mmmmm…" Arthur hummed happily into the phone as he held his picture in the air above his face. I like that image very much.

"You're looking at the picture, aren't you, Angleterre?" Francis asked. Really, it was scary how well he knew Arthur. Thousands of years of history can do that to you.

"Yeah…" Arthur knew lying was pointless. "Heh. Remember the last time you saw that picture?"

"Oui…" sighed Francis through the phone. "As though it were yesterday, mon amie"

Francis gave an overly dramatic happy sigh as he entered the office. It was the day after Alfred had left and Arthur had called Francis almost immediately afterwards, needing someone to help keep his fragile sanity intact.

"What are you looking at Angleterre?" asked Francis, throwing his arms around Arthur's neck. He peered over his shoulder to inspect what he was looking at so lovingly. He recognized the frame - a gift from Amérique, non? - and saw that, apparently, Arthur had finally found the perfect picture for it, though all he could really see of it was a corner the color of a dark night sky and a tan hand making a peace sign.

"Who is that?" He asked, using one hand to draw the frame closer.

"It's the best picture I own of A-Alfred…" Arthur told him, the sad smile on his face widening. What a strange juxtaposition; Francis could see tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

"Ahhhh…" Francis hummed knowingly. "No offense, Angleterre, but you let that face break your heart?" He was serious. It wasn't that Alfred was bad looking, no…he was just very… childlike. He saw Arthur grow somber looking down at the picture he'd snapped just a few months ago. Francis hated to admit it, but he wished Alfred hadn't fallen for Mathieu and broken Arthur's heart. Deep down Francis wanted his best friend to happy, and Arthur had never been happier than when he was by the foolish American's side.

"So it goes in the burn pile, oui?" Francis tried to lift the frame from England's hands. Abruptly, Arthur's grip went dead tight and his eyes flew wide open with fear. Francis released the frame and watched his friend gradually relax, though he still clutched the frame to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Francis. I just… can't let go of this yet." England apologized and Francis ran his hands sensually over Arthur's chest in an effort to annoy the all-too-conservative (in his opinion) man. Halfway down his shirtfront, one of Francis's hands caught on something sharp.

"Ow…" he whined, cradling his pricked hand. "What in the hell are you wearing under there Angleterre?"

"Apparently my necklace doubles as anti- Francis wear!" Arthur chuckled as he pulled a heart shaped amulet from under his shirt, holding it away from his chest to stare at it. Instantly he looked as if he was far away, which scared Francis – he had never seen his friend like this.

'This is serious…' He thought to himself. 'Il aime vraiment…'

"Oui. I do remember. That idiot necklace of yours. You still won't tell me where you hid it," Francis's playful tone abruptly dropped to a hiss. "Oh shit. Arthur, be absolutely silent!" he whispered urgently. "You'll find out why soon."

Oui: Yes (apparently it's not spelt wi…)

Mon amie: My friend

Mon amie solitaire: My lonely friend

Angleterre: England

Quoi: What *Thankies to Alex for helping me with meh French. Stupid google translator!*

Amérique: America