A/N AT TOP

Welcome to the end of His Frozen Fingertips. (I planned two more chapters but I changed the ending from what I planned so now it's one XD) I really really want to thank everyone for sticking around. I really sincerely thank everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed. Know that I read every single review more than once and smiled and laughed at a lot of them.

Special thanks to:

Alguien22792, Fezzes64, Elizabeta H. Austria, Dark Fenrir, Awesomepsyco, and CookieDoughIsDelicious

All of which have read and followed my story from when chapter one was posted.

Without further ado:

The Final Chapter of His Frozen Fingertips

There was a certain empty ring in the air, that much is certain. And just for a moment, Arthur's eyes had lightened up—just for a moment—before they returned dull. His thoughts had turned blank once more and he gazed emptily at the wall.

"Oh," he said lamely.

And Arthur looked back to the window. He hardly noticed when the man stood wordlessly and left again. People often left him like this, not that he had a clue why.

Arthur stood.

His bare feet touched the ground; it felt like thin ice. He wavered, just barely, and walked to the window. What a marvelous world was beyond the glass of which he could not touch. Standing was difficult and Arthur had to hold the window sill like a vice. He felt his heartbeat through his fingers and his toes as it thumped heavily.

He opened the window.

The fresh air came in and swept across his cheek bones, lifting a smile into his face. Arthur loved the nature outside; the trees. And the clouds swirled like dreams above him and he only wished to fly. The air outside was chilly and the air smelled like winter.

"Hey, Arthur," Antonio's voice was feeble and distant from the doorway.

Arthur turned his head to see him better. Every time he looked at him, remembered him a bit more.

"Hi," Arthur replied blandly and looked back to the window.

"How's it going?" Antonio asked in the voice of stale bread.

"Well."

It was such a wordless conversation. Antonio sat in a chair by the wall, staring at his hands with his shoulders slumped over. He didn't understand how life could fall apart so easily, so quickly. He didn't know what to do anymore; what to say to Arthur or whether he should still be disappointed when he said "Sorry, I don't remember that."

"It's for you," Antonio said softly, taking out a small box covered in wrapping paper. "You were stuck in here during Christmas a week ago. I figured you'd still want a present."

His face was somber and he held the present in the palm of his hand, looking at it somewhat intently. His gaze lifted to Arthur's by the window and Arthur turned.

"That's nice of you," he said and approached him. "You didn't have to."

Antonio smiled. "I wanted to."

Arthur took the box from his hand and looked it over as if it was a cookie he picked up from the floor that he'd dropped moments ago.

"Get better, okay?" Antonio requested softly.

Arthur nodded and looked up at him again. "I'll try."

Antonio stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. He nodded and turned away, towards the door, out the room, to the lobby and beyond.

Arthur turned as well and sat on his bed, looking at the gift in his hands. It was indeed small, fitting easily in the palm of his hand and nearly a perfect cube. The wrapping was messily done and tape was flung over the surface.

With a delicate hand, Arthur peeled back the paper, finding it hard to remove from all the tape. His movements became rougher and he tore the paper off. There was just a box beneath, white with a small cap on it. Curiouser, curiouser, Arthur took the lid off.

There was a mirror inside.

Just a mirror.

Arthur picked it up, holding it in his hand. It was just a small shard of a mirror. But on the bottom of the box, there was a sentence written with sharpie. Antonio didn't have the best hand writing, and Arthur strained to make out a G.

"Don't forget who you really are."

Arthur clicked play again.

"A-Arthur… This message… Is for Arthur."

He closed his eyes, listening to the man's electronic-laced voice. His fingers curled numbly around the recorder and he held it to his chest. He didn't understand how he could feel so connected with someone he doesn't even know.

"This is so cliché huh?"

"I suppose so," Arthur said softly. It was a bit cliché.

" I… Don't feel well."

"Get well, Alfred," Arthur responded. The name felt comfortable on his lips.

"I feel like I should have something important to say."

"This is important enough."

"I love you, okay?"

Arthur breathed in deeply, the words connecting in his mind.

"I love you, too," he whispered hoarsely.

He couldn't remember his face. He couldn't remember anything about him. His name sounded strange yet sounded so lovely. His voice sounded so foreign and yet so much like home. He couldn't remember much of him, but his eyes were crystal blue and his hand felt warmer than sun rays. His lips were softer than clouds.

He couldn't remember much of him, but there were few things he could remember. That he untied him from a flag pole—then the memory was gone—then they were talking under a tree—then the memory disappeared. Alfred bathed him—this was fuzzy and distorted. Alfred held him. Alfred kissed him.

He couldn't remember much of Alfred, he couldn't remember much at all. He remembered his heart felt on fire when Alfred neared him and the beat was faster and louder than that of thunder. He remembered how he felt so comfortable. He was so warm—and yet he was not.

He was frozen, frozen in time and in his heart. And Arthur shook his head, his body and arms. He wanted to scream but to do so would alert others. No, he could not. He had to endure it.

He could still feel his frozen fingertips curled around his arm in the moment of the fall.

"A-Arthur," the recording stuttered.

"Hi, Alfred," Arthur said, eyes slipped shut and the recorder box next to him on the pillow.

"I'm sorry about what… Happened here."

"No need to apologize, love, I'm at fault here."

"Please don't try this again."

"I wouldn't dare."

"I can't exactly… T-Talk to you right now."

"Of course you can. You are."

Alfred gasped in pain and coughed.

"Careful, dear," Arthur whispered inaudibly. "I don't want you hurt."

"Shit…"

"It's not polite to curse," Arthur reprimanded emptily.

"I can't… Think right now…"

"Do you ever, idiot?" the words came choked out and Arthur hid his face in his pillow, tears started to dampen the case. "H-How could you do something so stupid..?"

"I love you."

"You say that like we'll never see each other again," Arthur cried softly.

The allotted time for a message has expired. Please redial and call again.

"Don't go."

"I have to."

Arthur was discharged from the hospital the following day. The road home was a long one.

When he got home, his mom had treated him with the upmost elation. She grinned widely and opened her arms for an embrace in which he returned.

"I invited a few friends over for a small party," she said happily against his ear, still holding him. "A small celebration for you being home."

"Thank you," Arthur smiled back at her.

They finally separated and he looked around the house. He regained bits of his memory, and remembered the place only a little.

"Welcome back," came a rough response.

Arthur turned to see a small group of people. Antonio included, next to a man with blond hair that visited him once in the hospital. His name started with an F… Arthur recalled. There were two others with a same face but different expressions.

"I know you don't remember me, I don't fucking care," said one of the look-alikes as he turned and stomped off.

"Lovino! That's no way to greet Arthur!" Feliciano yelled after him before turning back to Arthur with a sigh. "Sorry. Welcome back! Meeting number two: initiate! I'm Feliciano!"

Arthur smiled. "Nice to 'meet' you," he laughed and shook his hand.

"Francis," said man stated plainly, staring down at the floor with his hands in his pockets.

"I remember," Arthur nodded. "Sort of, at least."

Francis glanced up at him, shocked at first. A smile curled into his face and he looked back down.

"That's good," he said softly, and happiness was evident in his voice.

"And of course I know Antonio's visited me for the last few… however long it was."

"Three months," called his mother from the kitchen. "Now come on, let's eat! I've made all kinds of food!"

Everyone ran to the table, looking excited for the feast and diving right in like it was a swimming pool on the first day of summer. They all exchanged conversation and a lot of questions were asked to Arthur, and he could answer most of them. The party had an upbeat mood despite the grim events that had come to pass and smiles were plastered to each face. (All but Lovino, but he never smiles—on the outside at least.)

Arthur looked down at his plate.

"Is that all you're eating?"

"I'm just not hungry."

"Eeeeat! Foooooood!"

"Alfred, stop it! You're getting sauce all over me!"

"At least you're eating now!"

Arthur set down his fork of loss of appetite.

"I'm going to bed early," he said softly and stood.

Arthur's mother looked up at him. "Are you sure? It's only eight."

"I'm sure. Good night."

He tried to move slowly to his bedroom, but all he wanted to do was run. He closed the door behind him and fell onto his bed. Out of everyone he couldn't remember… why couldn't Alfred be one of them?

"It'd be so much easier," Arthur cried into his pillow, "I-If I could just forget you.

"But I know that's impossible. I couldn't forget you, ever."

He took the recording from his bag, saved from the hospital room. He stared at it intently for just a second and hastily clicked play, shutting his eyes tightly.

"A-Arthur."

"Alfred…"

The days passed by timelessly. Every day was a routine and every minute was a schedule. It repeated; it was a cycle that grew too tedious. Graduation came and passed, and Arthur hardly blinked. Surrounded by so many smiles and congratulations, it was amazing how easily they bought his smile. He vaguely remembered a voice named Peter, but he hadn't come to encounter him which was strange seeing as he encountered everyone else.

He had gotten a driver's license and even his own car for his eighteenth birthday. He smiled and thanked his mother for getting it for him. He hardly recalled feeling much emotion and he often went out for drives when he couldn't think of anything else to do.

He thought of Alfred indefinitely.

He still could hardly remember his face, only fabrications of blue eyes and a messy blond mop for hair. A grin that challenged the light of stars.

And I do suppose that's how it happened.

Arthur was twenty-two, and now lived in an apartment somewhere who knows where. He was driving mindlessly, thinking, he thought so very often now. His eyes were dark and his face tired. His clothes smelled of cigarette smoke and he drove without paying much mind to the road.

He didn't know where he was driving, he just drove. He did this from time to time to clear his mind. The radio was playing softly, humming a tune he didn't care to place. He hardly listened anyways. It was just playing to block out thoughts.

The road was rugged and it stretched beyond the horizon. His eyes slipped shut. He didn't know how it happened, he just closed his eyes and fell onto the wheel. His head felt faint and heavy, his chest tightening and a strong pang running through him.

There was a honk and Arthur's eyes lifted only a bit to meet another car's headlights, swerving to the side and hitting the edge of his car. The other car rebounded, halting to a stop by the screeching of brakes. Arthur still hadn't taken his foot off the gas. His car spun and hit a tree on the side, Arthur's head bashing against the window.

His breathing was ragged and his eyes had started to blur. Black dots clouded his vision, fading into something new as he felt his heart beat grow slower, slower, slower. His body rested against the broken window and the tree.

He woke to a blinding light.

There was nothing at all in front of him. White everything. It was a soundless and spaceless room. Was this what death was like?

"No," he heard a voice behind him. "Just the greeting room."

Arthur turned around. His stomach felt uneasy—the voice was familiar.

"Hey, Arthur," Alfred smiled.

Arthur couldn't speak. It was like meeting him for the first time, yet it was like they were under the tree.

"Hi," he said breathlessly.

"You do remember me right?" Alfred laughed, nearing him. "Heard you lost half the junk up here." Alfred poked his forehead.

Arthur tentatively reached out and grabbed his shirt. It was colorless. It was real. He rushed forward and embraced him.

"Of course," he whispered.

"Damn, now you're older than me though. Sucks I'm still not legal to drink."

Arthur frowned. "So what?"

Alfred leaned down and kissed him chastely and Arthur felt his soul flutter. "So I'll have more stuff to catch up on, old man."

"I'm five years older—physically. That's hardly older," he murmured.

"Well neither of us are that physical now are we? "

Arthur looked up at him. He had an older body and yet Alfred was still taller than him.

"That's true," he agreed and he held onto him still, refusing to let go. "But what's after this? You said this was just the greeting room."

"Hardly a room," Alfred muttered glancing around. "It's like nothing. But you're right, we're not staying here. As for what's next, you'll just have to see for yourself."

Arthur nodded against his chest. He pulled back reluctantly and looked into the sea-blue eyes that had captured him for so long. An outstretched palm was offered to him and he took it with no hesitation.

"Ready?" Alfred asked.

Arthur nodded slowly. The light was creeping into the room now and a soft sound whistled under their feet. He looked up at his love's fading face and realized he was fading too. He gave his hand a squeeze.

"Ready," he smiled.