Fake (Hetalia: FrUkUs)

.33.

I drummed my fingers on my nightstand as I held my ringing phone to my ear. I glanced around my room. It was almost eleven, but I was alone. Chun-Yan had insisted on taking the dogs for a walk, also upon seeing all the Christmas decorations (we were setting up decorations tomorrow according to Arthur) and Ivan had gone with her.

"Hello?"

"Arthur, I need to ask a question."

"Goodmorning to you, too."

"Arthur, please," I begged. He seemed to notice my hurry.

"What is it?"

"Have you heard from Francis?" There was a clatter, what sounded like a chair hitting something, and something falling.

Arthur cursed. "No, why? Did something happen?"

"I don't know, but he won't answer my calls."

"Would you like me to call him?"

I thought about it and shook my head with a sigh. I began scratching at my arm as I stood up. "No, I'm going to head over to his place."

"Without forewarning?"

"It's not my fault he won't answer his phone."

"Alright, just, text me later then, okay? Tell me what's happening."

"Alright." I flinched as I opened some wounds on my arm. I had scratched to hard.

"And, Alfred, off topic, but would you mind if I brought Peter with tomorrow? It looks like Taika will be in the hospital longer than expected this time."

"Oh, I'm yeah he can come. Hell, tell him to bring some stuff and he can spend the night! It'll be like a big sleepover!"

He laughed, "He'll be happy to hear that. Poor lads been rather gloomy since yesterday." I was about to say goodbye when he continued, "Al?"

"Hm?" It was weird he'd use that nickname.

"Make sure Francis is okay, alright Love? I can't stand the thought of him being upset." I sighed.

"You and me both."

***

"Franics, it's me, can I come in?" I was standing outside his building, jumping in place. It was always snowing when I went to his place.

The door buzzed and I rushed in and up the steps to his door. I had a key, but held back and knocked. He answered after a few moments, and I suddenly realized I didn't have a real thing to say to him.

"Alfred? What are you doing here?" He cocked his head at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it again and scratched at my arm. I stopped though as it burned. I had thrown on a flannel shirt before leaving, and my jacket on top of that. It burned my arms to scratch or even rub at them.

"Can I come in?" I asked, "I'd like to talk to you."

He turned his eyes away and stepped back. "Of course." Not hostile, but his voice didn't hold the same welcoming warmth as always.

I walked in, removed my shoes and coat and sat on his couch. He took the chair across from me, and my heart beat quickened with worry. I knew it, something was wrong.

"Francis," I drew his gaze, " I- Is something wrong?"

He shook his head once before sighing, "I won't lie to you, Alfred. Yes, I am upset at the moment."

"Did I do something?" I began scratching my arm again, not caring about the warmth and burn it brought my arm. I wanted the feeling right now.

"In part, " He answered and I felt my fingers push harder, "but it is myself I am upset with for the most part."