Sorry, My Boyfriend is Just Kind Of Old-Fashioned [Hetalia England x reader]

Chapter 18- End

And so, he waited. Seven years, and— as predicted— the Empire lost and the war was over.

America was born.

Other countries too.

Arthur heard of his mother's death, and his father's. He should have been by their side, he cursed, looking at his reflection in the forest pond— in the forest full of bluebells where he now lived— had lived for how many years? He should have been there. Not this ageless abomination.

People got busier and busier. The air, thicker. The fashions, changing, when he occasionally popped into town to get supplies. Mass-produced. Factories. Calls for another war. Bombings, over his London. Flags of red, black and fear.

Arthur, in his bed of bluebells in the middle of the woods, started dreaming. He's not sure if it was the burden of solitude or if something more was amiss.

The nukes were dropped.

The War ended.

Another war began.

And another.

Night after night, year after year, century after century-- Arthur felt it on his skin when he fell asleep alone in the woods— the weight of what the voice had said. The weight of a country. Worries and wounds and feelings of all its people, at once. He felt the sounds of every sob and the joy of every kiss and the pain of every loss. At once. It was anguish. This was the price of an eternal country, clinging onto humanity.

He began to understand what the voice had meant now, calling him "England."

It was incredibly lonely.

The Cold War. The moon landing. The Internet invented-- no longer a magical machine. Arthur grew to learn everything that confused him when he had first met (Name). He bobbed in and out of society, taking note of the changing times and mannerisms, but never daring to connect with anyone. Friendship had an expiration date.

And then— he had the date and place marked on his calendar for 300 years or so now—London district, Borough of Queensbury, 2014. It was the one thing that kept him going. But, when Arthur tried to travel to where he had disappeared in 2014, he was certain the cruel hand of fate was trying to keep the current him from being present at the incident. Collisions on the M25, tube station delays— and before he knew it— he had missed his one window, his one chance.

Despair.

Darkness for a year or so. Or ten. What was it to him? Did the voice lie? Was he cursed to live in loneliness for all eternity? Was he really like that thing? Eternal? Inhuman? He was starting to feel like it. He felt less and less and less. No one left alive to care about. No one to meet in the future. Did (Name) even know he existed? Could she still care? If he sought her out, would she remember him— had they even met in this timeline?

Arthur wandered around London aimlessly, the ghost of the very nation he embodied. Some told supernatural stories about a young man with green eyes and tatty clothes, who haunted the tube at the hour just before its close.

Then, one day— he saw her.

Or— it had to be her— time had passed— she was so grown up now! She seemed a lot more mature, but happy. Content. At peace.

Beautiful as ever.

She opens her eyes.

Yes, sun. She smiles and radiates it back.

He considered not tapping on her shoulder at all. Perhaps, Arthur thought, she had a boyfriend. Perhaps he should not meddle in the affairs of humans any more— he would only cause harm. Don't test fate. For once the endless white of infinity seemed so appealing— eternity. No pain. God, he had had a lot of it. To risk it again? Maybe it was time to let go— accept his role as England, and fully join the voice. Lose this puppet's body. Human and nation— how hard it was to cling onto both! It would be nice, after all this, he thought, not to feel. It would be a relief.

But— in the end— as all humans do— he faltered. He was selfish. With that one last gulp of greed or was it desire or was it curiosity or was it just boredom or exasperation, he gave it one last shot. Nothing more to lose. He taps on her shoulder.

A finger on her shoulder, causing her to drop her bag. How odd. The train jostles. Maybe that's why. She reaches down for it and looks back up.

She thinks she needs to take her medications again.

Hello, (Name)." Arthur says weakly. "Do you remember me?

The train jostles as she drops her bag. White as a sheet, she lets out a scream and the other tube passengers begin staring. She crawls towards him. She drags her hands over his face.

Real.

Arthur.

Real.

"How-- how did you--?"

"I waited. A long time." He laughs sadly at the understatement of that sentence.

Everyone is staring now, some taking videos to put on social media.

"I--" Is this real? She wonders if she had forgotten to take her medications-- she had been good for so long--

He embraces her and lets out a faint sob.

"Oh... (Name)!"

He was definitely real. Her Arthur. She cries into his shoulder.

"Oh come on now, you're not that depressed to see me, are you? Gotten ugly have I?"

She could punch him and kiss him at the same time, but mostly, she just holds him.

This can't be happening.

Shaking, he takes her hand in his, kneeling down, kissing it. Those green eyes look up at her-- clouded and tired-- like clouds on the brink of rain-- but still-- they were the same-- they had never lost the hope that humans have.

They spill.

"C-Come, love-- let's get off at the next stop," he sniffs, wiping at the tears.

"I-I've heard there's a lovely place-- that does t-tea.. You and I love, we've got an awful lot of catching up to do, haven't we?"

THE END