Sibling!Hetalia x Sibling!Reader (one-shots)

2p!France

You Can At Least Try

(Human A.U.)

Background: Reader is a senior in high school and Francois is already an adult

Angst

Reader's POV:

I clutch tightly onto my clarinet, making sure not to bend any of the keys. My parents arguments are loud downstairs and I can't focus on the paper. I look over my clarinet. Francois bought it for me five years ago for Christmas with the money he managed to scrape together. It's not the best, but still pretty good. I decide to end my practice early as my parent's yells get louder. I put away my clarinet, properly cleaning it before stuffing it into it's case. I hear my door open and close. Francois stands beside me, cigarette in hand. I glare at the cancer stick.

"What did I say about smoking near me." He grunts and rolls his eyes. He takes one more drag from it before dropping it to the floor and stomping on it, putting it out. "You may not care about your own lungs, but I would still like mine thank you very much."

"No problem." My glare hardens at him. I put my clarinet and music into my closet, away from where my parents can accidentally damage it.

"What do you want anyway." A loud slam is heard from outside and the fighting is no more. I guess one of them finally had enough and left. Francois just watches me as I walk around the room. He messes around with his hair, clearly tired.

"I just wanted to tell ya I won't be home this week. You can stay over at my house so you're not around Ma and Pa for a while. Take a break from their stupidity or something." His voice is scratchy and dull, making me wonder if he was hungover. I brighten up at the thought of being away from this hell hole. It's not the first time we've done this, I'll usually stay at his place when he's away. But when the words "this week" processes in my head, I frown.

I looked into his eyes, hoping he knows I'm pissed off. "This week? But my concert is at the end of the week. I have a solo for a whole piece. You said you'd be there, for once in your life, you would be there for me." I could feel my heartbeat speed up. He loudly sighs, clearly not wanting to deal with me. "This is my last concert!"

"Calm down. I never said how long this week. I should be back by the end of the week and in time for your concert." We stare at each other, his tired eyes never leaving my own angered ones. I relax after a bit, but still hold my skepticism.

"You promise?" He freezes on those words, not moving a muscle, not even blinking. I sigh at his response and walk to my bed, sitting down. He's never attended anything of mine- not my parent-teacher conferences when my actual parents didn't want to attend, not my award ceremonies, not my concerts. Why did I expect this to be any different. I place my head in my hands and hold back my anger. "Get out. I'll be at your house tonight but right now I want to be alone."

It's silent, no noise coming out from either of us. I know he's still there, I can still smell the smoke coming off him.

"I promise." The door opens and closes, his footsteps outside my room signalling he had left. I take in a shaky breath and wipe my hand over my face. I can feel my eyes burn but I refuse to cry. I stand up and grab a bag to stuff some clothes in. My movements are slow and my hands are slightly shaky. My eyes burn more with each piece of clothing I pack.

He said 'I promise.' The last time I've heard him say that was when I was nine. When I entered junior high he told me that promises are dumb, and no one is entitled to do anything. But he still said 'I promise.'

I ignore the background noise, the flutes and horns blending together as I just focus on myself. I watch the conductor, making sure I'm keeping time, but I still keep to myself, the song following my lead. I look out into the audience, my fingers and air stream moving from muscle memory, my body doing everything on it's own from how many times I practiced. We're nearing the end of the piece, but I still glance around the theatre, hoping to see him. I could feel my breath slightly slow down but suck it up and keep going, not wanting to mess up. 

I can see my friends who were there to cheer me on. Some of them ready to scream my name once the piece ends. I can see some of my teachers there, supporting the entire band. I can see people who look like him, their blonde hair making me second guess myself. But in the end it's never him. 

Someone quietly walks in, his long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, some sunglasses covering his eyes. His chin has some stubble on it. I can feel myself fill with relief, watching the man sit near in the front. But as he takes of his glasses, I can see the color blue reflect from his eyes and all my relief is suddenly dread.

I glance around the room one more time before focusing entirely on my music. I can feel my vision get slightly blurry from the tears wanting to escape. I rely on my muscle memory once again to lead the way. I almost mess up the last note, but catch myself before doing it, steadying my air stream to make the note last and sound beautiful. As I let the note go, the audience is completely silent, watching and waiting. I remove the clarinet from my mouth slowly, wanting the note to ring out still. Just as I take a breath in, the crowd claps and I stand up to bow. I force on a smile as the some of the crowd cheers. Me and the director signal to the band. They all stand up and take a bow themselves. Some tears fall from my eyes as I look out into the crowd again.

I'm sitting on the couch in my parent's home, clarinet case in my arms. My eyes feel heavy, and all I want to do is scream. I hear the front door lock jiggle before the door opens and closes. I feel him sit down next to me, the smell of alcohol fills the room, telling me he was drinking. I narrow my eyes and glare at my clarinet case that held my clarinet and supplies. I refuse to look at him. The silence between us fills me with anxiety and anger.

"Why weren't you at my house?" I can feel my eyes water. I turn my body away from him, bringing the clarinet case into a hug.

"Mom and Dad sent me a text saying they wouldn't be home for the weekend. Something about an extended date. They're probably at some love hotel having sex instead of solving their problems." It's a bit hard for me to talk to him, the lump in my throat trying to stop the words from coming out.

"How was your concert?"

"Why should it matter to you."

The room fills with silence again. I hear him shuffle for a bit before the smell of smoke and tobacco fills my nose. I look at him, the sight of seeing him smoke finally breaks me. I stand up, trying to steady my breath as the tears fall down. He looks away, his blonde hair covering his eyes.

"You don't even care, do you? Is this your way of saying I don't fucking matter to you." I glare at the cigarette in his hand and let out a loud yell, throwing the clarinet to the floor and clenching my hands into fists. "I spent years trying to get your attention. I spent years trying to impress you as my brother. I spent years trying to get close to the only fucking family I have. 

When you gave me the clarinet, I thought that was your way of saying you were going to try from then on, try to be the brother I need. But instead you gave me false hope. You moved out leaving me here, alone, with those stupid fucking monsters we call parents. No, not monsters, they're worse. They don't even bother to interact with us in any way. I thought you would be different since you understood what it's like living with them. But you fucking didn't!

Was the clarinet your way of saying goodbye to me? Did you know that if you gave it to me I would be distracted with something that wasn't you? Did you think that I would leave you alone if you gave it to me? Well I don't want it anymore." 

I kick the clarinet towards him. It lands right in front of his feet, but he doesn't even move his head to look at it. He continues to smoke his cigarette. I let out another yell and clutch my head, slightly sobbing. "I just wanted my brother for one night, but I guess even that's too much for you to handle. I don't want your stupid clarinet anymore. I don't want your fucking attention anymore. I don't want you as my brother anymore!" 

I grab the T.V. remote from nearby and chuck it at his head. He doesn't even react when it hits him. I fall to the floor and let out silent sobs. I watch as he finally stands up. My tears increase as he simply grabs the clarinet and heads to the door. He doesn't even look at me before he leaves.

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1645 words

Published August 29, 2020

September 6, 2020 Edit: I wrote a book based on this one-shot! I'd appreciate it if y'all check it out. But I understand if ya don't, since it is a slowburn and will be a long book. Thanks anyway!