The Whistling Kettle

War

"You could have told me."

"I didn't even know myself until three days ago."

The radio was still on...who had left that on?

"Still, you could have...could have said something."

"I...I just wanted to have a few, peaceful days with you." Alfred said, his voice soft, apologetic as the other paced about the room, "Arthur, Im sorry-"

"Sorry?" Arthur spat, his words laced with enough despair to make Alfred flinch, "Sorry is something you say when you've stepped on someone's foot, o-or when you've...you've..."

He hadn't ever felt a pain like this. He should have prepared himself for it, he should have known what was coming. The moment he'd met the American, he knew he wouldn't, couldn't stay. And yet, it was all so soon, everything came rushing at him like a flash of light. His heart ached, and the pain was so intense it made him naucious. Somewhere in his clouded mind, he registered the sound of the American standing, but the footsteps that followed closer didnt quite make through.

The moment he felt the warm hand on his own, Arthur jerked away, slapping it off of him as he backed into the table.

"Go." He said, his voice shaking, his heart hammering and shattering all at the same time.

Alfred's eyes went wide, "Go?" He was silent for a moment, before, "No, no Im not going anywhere. Im not letting this be our goodbye, Im not-"

"Go!" Arthur said again, this time looking up at the other. The tears in his eyes made the other freeze in his attempt to reach out to him. Alfred hadn't ever seen Arthur cry..Granted, they had only been in each other's company for a short time, but he had never thought Arthur would shed a tear over this.

"Alright.." The American finally said, after the weight of the silence had finally rested on their shoulders, "I'll go..."

Arthur closed his eyes, causing the tears in them to fall down his cheeks as Alfred grabbed his leather bomber jacket from the chair. The radio crackled with some old, war-time song that someone, somewhere had probably written in hopes that it would take the peoples' minds away from the cruel reality of the world.

Alfred stopped at the door, looked back once, the words hanging on his lips, before he turned and walked out of the small London home.

The song ended, and the radio came to frizzy life with the voice of a man no one had ever seen.

"Its a beautiful day, on this morning of February 4th, 1943..."