Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: Onesided UKUS
Word Count: 491
It’s Friday night, and I find myself in your place again.
I don’t recall how I found the bar in the first place. It’s small, loud, and filled with the young sort of crowd who’s more interested in drinks with pornographic names than a solid pint of beer, and for a man just edging past thirty who only wants to sit and nurse his drink with little more than the company of his own thoughts, it’s a bloody terrible fit. I do remember stepping through the door, taking one slow look around the place, and then nearly turning on my heel then and there.
But that’s before I saw you.
You, right there on the end of the bar, your tie and waistcoat giving the bar a hint of the class that it so desperately needed. I would have dismissed you as just another patron if it wasn’t for the half apron tied neatly around your waist, and as I watched you longer, you began to wipe down the bar as if you’d done it a million times before. Oh, you were a lovely thing, with blond hair like burnished gold shining beneath the dim overhead light and a smile that made a man feel welcome. So what if your glasses sat a little crooked on your face, or if you had a few tufts of hair that seemed completely untameable? If anything it added to your charm.
That’s when I pulled out a bar stool and ordered my first drink, content for then to watch you.
I’ve been in Chicago for four months now, and while the rest of the week I yearn for my native England, on Fridays I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here. I don’t think you’ve noticed me, have you? I’m not sure if you would even if you weren’t constantly wrapped up in the care of the bar, polishing and scrubbing and keeping the place as neat as a pin. I know I’m not much to look at, and I’m probably ten years your senior.
Have our eyes even met?
I wish I at least knew your name.
It’s nearly midnight when I catch your gaze flicker towards the door and I know that it’s time for me to leave. I sigh, toss a couple of bills on the bar, and heave myself off of the stool so that I can slip away from the crowd and out of the door before your beautiful face twists in fear. Before you stumble back away from the door with your hands outstretched in a silent plea for mercy, just before the front of your waistcoat is shredded by invisible bullets and what remains of your apparition fades like mist on the wind. Just like every other Friday night. And I’m the only one who ever seems to notice.
How long have you been reliving that night, lad? What happened to you?
I only wish I knew.