Etched Memories

Morning

Arthur Kirkland groaned, hastily burying himself under his heavy green duvet once again, hiding from the sound of the rain.
He knew what today was. He always knew. Refusing to check his screeching digital clock on the table beside him, he smacked at it absently, unable to give a care in the world when it toppled onto the carpeted floor with a clunk. Mentally cursing himself for not cancelling his alarm the night before, Arthur turned his back on his window.
God, he just wanted to melt into his surroundings, bury himself in blankets with a cup of tea and, as silly as it sounded, just have today to feel as utterly awful as he wanted.

His telephone began to ring.
“Fuck off.’’ he grumbled quietly, ignoring the shrill noise as he pulled a pillow over his face, the feeling of dread settling in his stomach. The Fourth of July. ‘Bloody brilliant’ he grunted into the fabric. The Briton sniffed, sinking into his bed further, trying to dissapear off the face of the earth, or at least trying to hide from the memories that sprung so vividly to mind from the year of 1776.

The persistent ringing started again. Although it was a welcome distraction from his thoughts it irked him nonetheless. Arthur ignored it. It was only on the third time when he hauled himself out of bed, shivering and scowling as he stalked over to the phone, picking it up with a curt :
“What?”
He ran his hand through blonde sleep tousled hair, only making it messier; not that he cared today.

“Angleterre are you around today?”
The voice sounded concerned but as usual, upbeat.

Arthur clicked his tongue in irritation after recognising the voice.
"Francis you know full fucking well what day it is and you should know me well enough by now to realise that I fully intend on staying indoors and alone all day. I don't want to see anyone.”

Lies.

“Non, Arthur, I know… Can I at least come over? You dont sound great…”

“Since when did you care about my bloody wellbeing?”

He slammed the phone back into its holder, biting his lip as the slight guilt twisted in his gut. Francis knew how he would be feeling today, he was almost half the reason he felt this way. Arthur moved back towards his bed, eyebrows furrowed as he curled up again, knowing the frenchman would most likely show up at his house anyway.

Around half an hour later, his doorbell rang.
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~An angsty start to this ;) ~
~hope you enjoyed!~