'And, just like that, in an instant, Arthur's life was over.' Arthur accidentally ruins his fiancé's beloved bomber jacket.

[Code Red]

3 July 20XX

"I can't believe I have to go to work the day before my birthday!"

"Don't whine. You should be thankful you have such a well-paying position in this economy at all! And, don't forget who got you this job!" Arthur Kirkland rolled his eyes as his dramatic fiancé plopped across him on the couch, pouting childishly up at him.

"But, Artie!"

"Shut it. And why aren't you wearing matching socks?" He poked the whining man's cheek. "I even laid some out for you!"

"But those socks are so itchy."

"I'm positively aching for your plight," he muttered dryly, flipping the page of his novel tersely. Then, realizing his fiancé was looking far too smug with himself, added, "That was sarcasm, Alfred."

"You're so mean! I swear you act like my mother!"

"You certainly didn't think I was acting motherly last night, now, were you?"

Alfred choked on air; cheeks red and blotchy. "W-well, that's… you were… pretty generous…" he whispered while Arthur smirked, returning his attention back to his book. Alfred flicked the cover. "Yanno… we could re-enact some of that action right about now."

"Go to work, Alfred."

Alfred groaned, kicking his feet like a kid denied dessert. "It's not fair!"

"Life's unfair."

"You're just a cynical old man."

"I'm only four years older than you, you twit."

Alfred smiled. "That's still older than me!"

"You're the one that decided to shack up with me."

"And I wouldn't trade this for the world," Alfred said sweetly with a charismatic grin that almost sent Arthur's will to hell, but he kept strong.

"You're a git," he said quickly, "and you're not swaying me so easily. You'll be late at this rate, Al. Get to work or, so help me, I will cancel our reservation at the Cheesecake Factory tomorrow."

"NO!" Alfred shouted too quickly, sitting up with an alarmed expression on his face. "No, I'm going!" Arthur watched in amusement as his fiancé burst to life and ran at inhuman speeds to change his socks, straighten his tie, and slip on his shoes. "See, I'm going!"

Arthur smiled, pleased, until Alfred's hand reached for the monstrosity on the coat hook. "STOP!" he shouted, rising to his feet and pointing accusingly at the wide-eyed American. "Absolutely not!"

"What? Why?" Alfred pouted again, hand still lingering above the old, worn, and filthy leather jacket with a matter fur collar and faded air bomber patches. It was Alfred's prized possession; something he loved almost as much – if not more – than Arthur himself. Several times Arthur had caught Alfred just admiring the jacket itself while on its favoured hook, and Arthur heard the riveting tale about how Alfred's grandfather – ace pilot in WWII – saved that jacket from his burning plane after it had been shot down (but not without taking a few German planes with him) and had given it to Alfred's father who in turn passed it along to him when he graduated high school. Arthur often felt like he was in competition with the blasted, disgusting thing. It was musty and smelt awful. He hated it, but Alfred insisted on wearing the damned garment every day of his life.

"It's good luck," Alfred had told him. It was jacket he'd been wearing when he met Arthur, after all. It was the jacket he'd been wearing when he caught a fly ball during the baseball game they'd gone to on their first date. It was the jacket he'd been wearing when Arthur agreed to marry him on their trip to London to visit Arthur's family for Christmas.

As pathetic as it was to be jealous of an inanimate object, Arthur had overlooked the jacket since it made Alfred so happy. But, a line had to be drawn as some point, and wearing a nasty, disgusting, musky, worn jacket that a sweaty man wore seventy years ago while shooting at Germans to a very prestigious company meeting full of rich, snobbish CEOs was far past the line.

It wasn't as if Arthur didn't appreciate its value, however. Alfred's grandfather had been a real hero, and probably one of the nicest men Arthur had ever met, but Alfred had idolized him and tried very hard to follow in his footsteps. The 'hero act' had quickly lost its novelty on Arthur, and now the jacket that was gathering dust and dirt had grown to become the thing Arthur blamed all their relationship problems on. He simply lost his patience with the whole situation.

"Alfred, you cannot wear that to work. It's not appropriate," Arthur said softly, feeling his conscience twist at the near-heartbroken look that overcame his fiancé. "People won't take you seriously."

"Why don't you have to go?" Alfred sighed. "You're a big shot, too, aren't you?"

"Different departments, love," Arthur said apologetically. He heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Look, I know how much the bloody thing means to you so… so if you don't wear it today… I'll… let you wear to dinner tomorrow. No arguments."

"Really?" Only Alfred could look so excited that stars were practically bursting from his eyes. "You mean it, Artie?"

"Yes, yes." Arthur waved dismissively. "You have my word."

"You're the freaking best!" Alfred sang and suddenly Arthur found himself being pulled into a tight, rib-splitting hug. Alfred quickly pushed a kiss to Arthur's dazed lips, winked, and ran for the door. "Gotta go, love ya, later gator!" he called as he darted out and let the door click closed behind him.

Arthur blinked at the wall for a few moments before clearing his throat and deciding to go tend to his garden while he had free time. He was the head of the financial department so no one minded it much when he didn't come in for a day or two. Things had been going well and there were a dozen people in his charge that were more than capable of handling all the paperwork and such.

As he slipped on his gardening gloves and set out a bowl of food for the cats – wherever they may be snoozing – to find later, he decided that his lover's strange love for strange things was nothing new. In fact, Alfred loved a lot of things that Arthur considered odd or unnecessary. To him, fast food was better than a five-star meal, comic books beat out any classic novel, and aliens most certainly existed behind locked doors in Area 51.

He smiled fondly to himself. Yes, his fiancé was a dork, but he was also sweet and too optimistic for his own good. He treated Arthur like a prince – even if he intentionally pissed Arthur off every now and again for a laugh – and put his entire heart into everything.

He eyed the dingy jacket hanging limply on the hook with a thoughtful frown. Sure, he hated the thing, but maybe if he cleaned it up a bit it would be tolerable at the least. Alfred may even explode from excitement if Arthur handed him his cherished coat looking as though it was manufactured yesterday.

"Oh, Arthur, you did this for me?" Alfred's voice floated around in Arthur's head. "I'm the luckiest guy in the whole world! You're my hero!"

Lost daydreaming about the improbability of ever hearing that sentiment, he barely noticed it when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, smiling when it was from the idiot himself.

Heya, baaabe! ;DDD I just made it to the office and your assistant asked if he's invited to the wedding. How do I let him down easy?

Arthur grinned, only wishing that he could be there to see the frog's distraught face when he was denied the access to an open bar and single women. He typed back a response quickly.

Of course, they both knew that, when it came time to send out invitations, Francis Bonnefoy would be on one of the envelopes. As much as Arthur loathed to admit it, Arthur and Alfred simply would not be getting married if not for that frog's intervention.

Feeling far too happy whenever Alfred mentioned the wedding, he decided that cleaning up the jacket would be a nice little birthday surprise. He slowly lifted the heavy coat from the hook and sniffed it curiously. He immediately grimaced and held it away from himself. It smelt like mould and ketchup and old cologne and dirt. It was revolting, but there was an underlying scent of Alfred that made Arthur's chest squeeze up. Fresh air and that axe spray he was so fond of and coffee.

First thing was first; he needed to wash the thing. He knew better than to just throw such a delicate antique into the washing machine, so he would just scrub the collar and fur lining by hand and wipe down the leather carefully. He trotted into the kitchen, pleased to see two cats sharing the food. Hero (imagine who named him), was wolfing down each morsel while Merlin tried in vain to push the Maine Coon out of the way.

Arthur hummed to himself as he cleaned, wincing as the water swirling around the drain turned brown from the filth draining out of the fur. Alfred actually wore this thing? Arthur was doing a favour to everyone by washing it.

Pleased with himself, he turned off the water and went to go dry the jacket with a spring in his steps. He opened a drawer to put away the sponge and closed it with his hip, unaware that a bit of the leather was caught in it as he began to walk away.

Riiip.

Arthur instantly froze in his tracks, his ears ringing with the echoes of the noise.

"No."

Slowly, he turned back around, feeling something akin to dread. For a moment, he breathed a little sigh of relief when the jacket seemed intact. That was when he saw it. Still hanging from the drawer was the entire left arm of Alfred's most beloved, treasured, and prized possession.

"Oh, God, no," he choked out. Lost in shock, he moved forward and gingerly extracted the arm, feeling as if he had just hurt a living thing. He had just ruined his fiancé's bomber jacket. The day before his birthday. "Bollocks."

He could fix it. He knew how to sew. He could stitch it back up in no time at all and Alfred would never ever have to know. It was perfect. He was a genius.

He made a frantic dash to his sewing kit – thanking the universe that Alfred's constant teasing hadn't caused Arthur to throw it away. He stitched the arm back on in record time, doing his damnedest to keep it as neat and small as possible. There was still a noticeable seam along the arm, and Arthur could only pray that Alfred's oblivious nature would shine through. Admiring his handiwork, he resolved to just put the coat back on the hook and deny ever having touched it. "Serves me right for wanting to do something nice," he muttered to no one.

He left the coat alone and tried his best to go back to his novel.

When he happened to glance back over at the thing, he noticed something rather… unusual. His heart fell to his stomach.

The fur lining… the faux collar… it was turning a nasty grey.

"No!"

He was nearing tears by the time he reached the coat rack, hands touching the damp fur tentatively. How in the bloody hell had he managed to turn it white?! Trying hard not to panic, he ran back into the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of soap he'd used. It was a small bottle of normal dish soap. It was berry flavoured, for God's sake! Harmless! Then, he found a loose piece of tape resting on the bottom of the drawer. He felt sick as he peeled it off and saw, sprawled in Alfred's messy chicken-scratch writing,

Arthur! The bleach bottle was leaking so I put some of it in this empty bottle!

"What kind of idiot puts bleach in an empty soap bottle?!" Arthur fumed, throwing the bottle back into the drawer angrily. What was he supposed to do!? Alfred would be home in a few hours. He may not have noticed a little seam in the arm, but Arthur was pretty sure he would notice that the collar had gone from deep black to a murky white. "Idiot!" he hissed, not knowing if he was talking about Alfred or himself.

He thought long and hard about a quick fix. There had to be a way.

"SPRAYPAINT!" he shouted suddenly, startling his poor cats. He could buy black paint. It would work for now. It had to!

Arthur made a run to the store, nearly attacking the clerk in his desperate search for a can of black paint. He probably gave the clerk more money than he needed to and didn't even bother to wait for the change. He was on a one-track mission.

It was a Code Red situation – one that would determine the course of his life.

Alfred rarely became angry, but when he did…

While they were dating in college, Alfred had once punched out a Russian exchange student for getting a little 'too handsy' with Arthur. Another time, he actually tackeled Francis to the floor for making a drunken remark about Arthur's sexuality. What would he do to someone that had destroyed something precious to him?

When he made it back to the apartment, he opened the can at once. He didn't lay out any newspapers to catch any messes. He was in too much of a hurry.

He shook the can, reminded of his high school days when he would sneak out to spray profanities on the school football stadium. He wasn't particular proud of his rebellious past, but Alfred had found it immensely appealing. "Artie was a punk," he'd tell their friends. "He has a tattoo and everything, but only I get to see it, if you know what I mean!" He once mentioned the tattoo to Arthur's boss and Arthur had to wallow in embarrassment as he explained that it was in no way in as personal of a place as Alfred insinuated.

He pushed down on the nozzle, but the damn thing was jammed. He hissed in irritation, fiddling with the top and sporadically shaking it until his patience snapped and he hit the can off of the table. Suddenly, all at once, the whole can burst and black, thin paint splattered all across the back of the fine leather, completely obscuring the white number '50' on the back. "NO!" Arthur cried, rushing for a rag.

He tried, and failed, to wipe it all off. It just smeared and turned into a bigger mess. To make matters worse, the arm fell off again when he lifted it.

Frustrated, frightened tears sprung to his eyes. It was ruined. It was absolutely ruined.

And, just like that, in an instant, Arthur's life was over. Alfred was going to be heartbroken. How was Arthur supposed to face those sad baby blue eyes and that distraught expression? It was going to tear Arthur apart. He was going to tear Arthur apart.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

Alfred would hate him after this. What about their wedding? He would count his lucky stars if Alfred even looked at him again. What was he supposed to do?!

Hide it, Arthur thought quickly. Hide it and deny, deny, deny.

Bomber jacket? That old thing? Haven't seen it. Are you sure you didn't take it with you to work after all? Perhaps you left it on the tube. Yes, that could work. Of course, knowing Alfred he would rush out and search each and every corner of the city. Arthur couldn't do that to him. Despite his best efforts, he was in love with the American. He would just have to find a way to fix it before Alfred got home. There was always a solution to every problem if one thought long enough.

Arthur's phone buzzed, alerting him to another text.

Heya, my sexy husband-to-be!Arthur gulped, his guilt-ridden gut churning. Meeting let out early so Imma grab us some grub and be home soon ;) Movie night! Prepare yourself! :*

"Bloody hell, I'm dead," Arthur gasped, collapsing back onto the couch. He stared at the stained, torn, and bleached bomber jacket in disbelief. In a few hours, he had managed to dig his own grave. Alfred would never, ever forgive him.

He didn't know how long he lay there, despairing and self-pitying, but he heard the all-too-familiar sound of Alfred letting himself into the house, whistling a merry tune to himself. In a moment of sheer panic, Arthur shot to his feet and managed to stuff the jacket underneath the couch cushion just before Alfred himself walked into the room, holding bags of takeout.

"Hey, babe!" Alfred grinned. His tie was crooked and loose. His shoes were nowhere to be found. His jacket was draped across his arm. All the gel in his hair had been rubbed off. He was just bursting with attractiveness. He set the bags on the coffee table and pushed a kiss to Arthur's forehead. "What'chu do all day?"

"Oh, um, I…" He looked around desperately and noticed a bit of the jacket was peeking through the crack between the cushions. He gasped and sat down quickly, covering it from the other man's view. "N-nothing. I didn't do anything!"

Alfred sighed. "Lucky! I had to talk to, like, ten different people about stuff we all already knew! I couldn't even understand what this one Chinese guy was saying!"

"Sounds awful," Arthur said quickly.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You okay? You seem… tense."

Arthur let out a nervous chuckle that was on its way to becoming a sob. "O-oh, you know how I get when I haven't had my tea yet! All jitters!"

"You're such a junkie!" Alfred laughed, plopping down beside him and nuzzling his shoulder lovingly. "Anyways, I'm glad to be home. I missed you a lot today for some reason, even though I was only gone for a few hours."

"R-really?" Arthur winced.

"Yeah." Alfred peppered a kiss to Arthur's neck. "After I told Francis to snuff it, I couldn't stop thinking about the wedding. Can you picture us as husbands yet?"

At this rate, Arthur couldn't even picture himself alive in the next hour. "N-not quite."

Alfred pushed another quick peck to Arthur's cheek before standing back up and stretching languidly. "Anyways, you get my text? I brought home some pizza and was thinking we could just hang out and watch romcoms like we did in college."

Arthur managed a shaky smile. "And you call me sentimental…"

Alfred stuck his tongue out childishly. "Whatever, old man. I'm gonna get the heck out of this suit and then we're gonna act like teenagers for a night on the couch."

"This couch?" Arthur squeaked. The couch that's become the grave for your prized possession?

Alfred gave him a weird look. "Duh, that couch. Did you buy an invisible one while I was out or something?" Arthur just laughed weakly. "Actually, that would be pretty cool. Imagine all the people we could freak out by sitting on thin air!"

If Arthur heard Alfred's incessant rambling, it didn't register. He was already thinking of his next move. Where could he hide it? It had to be a place Alfred would never, ever look. Arthur's locker at the gym was too far away so he would have to do the next best thing. Arthur's sweater drawer. Alfred wouldn't go near the collection of 'old man' clothing for anything. As soon as he heard the bathroom door click shut, he sprang into action. Grabbing all the evidence, he tiptoed into the bedroom – making as little as noise as possible while still rushing – and stuffed the thing in the drawer. Why did he feel as though he was disposing of a body? Unfortunately for him, Alfred waltzed into the bedroom just as Arthur was closing the drawer.

"What's up?" Alfred asked.

Arthur choked on a squeak and spun around, hastily slamming the drawer shut with his hip. "O-oh, just putting away some laundry." He laughed too loudly to be convincing and Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Laundry, hm? I don't remember any sweaters being in the laundry bin. Oh." A coy smile spread across Alfred's face. "I get it now."

"Get what?" Arthur was almost sweating by then. He gulped as Alfred inched closer, looking like a little kid about to dive into a pool during adult swim. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Alfred's wolfish grin grew. "You're hiding my present in there, aren't you?"

"P-present?" Arthur blanched.

"Aw, Artie!" Alfred laughed. "You know you didn't have to get me anything! But the gig is up! Lemme see!"

"Al, no," Arthur started but Alfred cut across him.

"You can't hide it from me!" Alfred chuckled. Arthur tried desperately to stop his fiancé from opening the drawer, but of course he thought it was all a game and Arthur was being difficult. "So, once again the hero must face-off against his greatest enemy! How will the brave and handsome hero defeat the grumpy-face Brit this time?"

"Alfred, really, don't –!" Alfred ignored him, spinning them around far too quickly for Arthur's brain to comprehend and ripping the drawer open with the force of a firecracker. Arthur gasped and scrambled to push the American out of the way, but it was too late.

The damage had been done.

Alfred silently pulled out the ruined leather jacket, his face unreadable in the lowlight. "What…?" he trailed off, voice wavering. "What's this?"

Arthur bit his lower lip. "Oh, God, Al. I'm so, so sorry! I tried to have it cleaned but it just ended up getting ruined. I was going to have it fixed professionally before you found out but…"

"What did you do to it?!" Alfred demanded angrily, looking up at Arthur with cold blue eyes.

"I… I…!" Arthur teared up. He couldn't help himself. He hated the way Alfred was glaring at him. He couldn't take it. "I'm so sorry, Alfred! I don't know how you could ever forgive me but it was an accident! I'll understand if you want space, I just… I…"

Alfred let out a heavy exhale that hurt to hear. Arthur flinched when he lifted his arm, but Alfred only pulled him into a careful hug. "I can't stay mad at you when you look so upset like that. Jeez, Artie."

Arthur buried his face in Alfred's shoulder. "You're… not angry?"

"Hell yeah I'm angry!" Alfred huffed but rubbed soothingly at Arthur's back. "But… I know you. I know you didn't do this out of spite or whatever. So, I forgive you."

"You still want to get married?"

Alfred snorted. "Just how much did you work yourself up while I was at work? Of course I still want to marry you!"

Arthur sighed and hid his face again. "I'm so sorry, Al."

"Yeah, yeah," Alfred muttered. "You're lucky I love you."

Arthur let out a strained laugh. "I know." Suddenly, Alfred pulled back and punched Arthur, hard, in the shoulder. Arthur hissed, clutching it tentatively. "Bloody fuck!" he cried.

"That's for bleaching the fur, asshole!"

All things considered, Arthur figured he got off easy, but right then he could only focus on the sure-to-be-bruise that was forming on his shoulder. "Fuck."

…

The next day, Arthur treaded on eggshells around Alfred all morning. He brought Alfred breakfast in bed, not even pretending that he had been the one to make it. Their neighbours were quite friendly people. And, although Alfred smiled and thanked him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, Arthur knew he was still upset over the loss of his jacket. His smile wasn't as bright and, while they were getting ready, Arthur caught him staring blankly at the empty hook by the door.

It hung over their heads the entire day.

When Matthew, Gilbert, Kiku, and Francis came over for a small party, Alfred did his best to look cheerful. He hugged his brother, gave Gilbert a high five and Kiku an awkward hug before chatting away about videogames, and even shook Francis's hand with a careful smile on his face. Arthur, too caught up in his own guilt, hung back from the others. When Alfred's parents arrived, they greeted Arthur warmly but Mrs. Jones had been able to pick up that something was wrong immediately.

"Did you two get into a fight?" she asked in the privacy of the kitchen, but Arthur just shook his head.

"Not quite," he admitted. He'd always liked Alfred's mother. She had accepted Alfred and Arthur immediately, and she always brewed tea for his visits. "I… I may have done something bad."

Mrs. Jones frowned. "Like what?"

"I… the jacket…" he mumbled, but Mrs. Jones got the gist of it.

"Ah," she said with a nod. "That would do it."

"I'm blood terrified," Arthur said. "He said he forgave me but…"

"Oh, sweetie, don't let it worry you. Al's not the type to hold a grudge. He loves you."

He looked over to where Alfred was talking quite seriously with Francis and Kiku, like they were actually talking about business and adult-things and not superheroes. Arthur smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Jones."

"How many times to have I to tell you to call me Mom?"

Arthur's cheeks turned pink.

That night, Alfred took forever to get ready. Usually, it was reversed, with Alfred standing by the door while Arthur fretted over what to wear and smoothing down his eyebrows. "Al, honestly, I'm sure you look bloody ravishing, but we're going to miss our reservation."

"I'm coming!" Alfred's voice drifted from upstairs. Arthur rolled his eyes as he heard Alfred run down the steps like a train and bound into sight with a huge, bright smile on his energetic face. Arthur was stunned by his appearance. He looked back to normal, at least. Then it struck him.

Alfred was wearing his bomber jacket.

It looked absolutely perfect.

"H-how did you…?"

"Francis said he could make it look like nothing happened," Alfred shrugged. "He actually has a pretty good eye for this kind of thing. He did it earlier today while you were starting a sewing circle with my mom."

Arthur blushed. Damn that frog. "I wasn't starting a sewing circle, you git! We were having a pleasant conversation!"

"Yanno, I think it's cute how well you get along with Mom." Alfred grinned, stepping over to rub Arthur's arms. "You two are like a match made in heaven."

Arthur rolled his eyes, again. "Unfortunately, there's one little problem with that theory."

"Oh? And that is?"

"You, you insufferable git."

Alfred smiled even wider while Arthur ran his hands all over Alfred's repaired jacket. It looked exactly as it had – dirty, mouldy, torn, and battered. Arthur could smell the faded leather and mildew and the faint scent of burgers. He'd never been happier to have that scent in his nose. "So, you ready to go or are you gonna start crying on me like a ninny?"

Arthur shook his head with an exasperated smile. "Arse," he said fondly as their fingers laced together. "Happy Birthday."

Alfred kissed his forehead. "You've said that already."

"And I'll say it again if I want!"

Alfred laughed as they walked out the door.

Dinner went off without a hitch. They laughed and teased and flirted like they had when they were dating, only, this time, Arthur had a shining silver band on his left ring-finger, a promise that they would have many more nights like this one, a lifetime full of them.

And, at the end of the night, when Alfred blanketed his bomber jacket over Arthur's shoulders and looked completely overjoyed to have his two favourite things together, Arthur didn't even care about the smell or the fact that it was July and far too hot to be wearing the damn thing. He drew it closer to him and leaned into Alfred as they walked, far too happy with the way things were.

"So… just how scared were you when you dyed the fur white?" Alfred asked with a teasing tone to his voice. Arthur smacked his arm. He laughed. "Okay, okay! I'm just joking, sheesh! But… since you're so guilty and all…" Arthur raised an eyebrow at the suggestive peak to Alfred's voice. Oh, yes, Arthur would willingly compensate Alfred for the damage. Far too willingly. "Does that mean I get to wear the jacket to the wedding?"

Arthur visibly deflated and shoved Alfred off of him. "Absolutely not, you stupid prat!"

Alfred's laughter would make him deaf one day, but, tonight, when it was accompanied by that silly smile and his arm wrapping around Arthur's shoulders, it became all he could hear.

A/N: I know I have a crap ton of other stories going on but this idea wouldn't leave me alone and it's a certain nation's birthday so what the hell! Anyways, hope you enjoyed! And, Happy Birthday, America! :3

And, guys, can I just point out that Hurricane Arthur has hit the US on Independence Day?! What are the chances?