On Better Terms

Epilogue

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

Alfred: Arthur, I... umm...

Arthur: What? What? Don't you dare corroborate with this story!

Alfred: But... I... ever since the Revolution, I've been...

Arthur: I'm not listening. Not listening!

Alfred: I've been filled with regret, Arthur... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I—

Arthur: NOT LISTENING. NOTLISTENINGNOTLISTENINGNOTL ISTENING!

Alfred: Arthur! Just let me say my apology...

Arthur: ... _ *just the slightest bit hopeful, in all honestly*

Alfred: I'm sorry that I... I...

Arthur: Yes...?

Alfred: That I've never... told you how ridiculous you looked in the 70's!

Arthur: ... YOU IDIOT!

Alfred: Hahahahaha you should see your face!

Francis: Were you expecting something else, mon cher?

Arthur: N-n-no! What kind of evil thoughts are you—? ARGH.

Francis: I can give you what no other man can... Even Alfred.

Alfred: I don't know, Francis. Have you ever experienced me in full?

Francis: I wouldn't be averse to finding out...

Arthur: SHUT UP. ALL OF YOU. I can't—I'm leaving!

Arthur looked at the clock, anticipating 5:30 like he did everyday with such intensity that he seemed to be waiting for the prime minister himself to come walking through the front door. Well, to Arthur, the man he was waiting for was far more important than the prime minister; the man was his lover, Alfred F. Jones. They had been lovers for four years already, and the light between them had never even dimmed. Every day that Arthur woke up to find Alfred's face snoring next to him was as unbelievable as the next. He found that it was pretty difficult to get out of bed in the morning these past years.

The Brit smiled as he observed the door, sipping his tea. They worked different hours, which meant that their time together usually came at night. Arthur left in the morning, after making a breakfast for Alfred that the former lawyer always tried his best to eat, but had never even made it halfway through before deciding it was best to hit the convenience store on the way to work.

Arthur was still a taxi driver. He found that he was actually pretty good at talking and listening to customers―a skill which he had developed from his days as a bartender. And his customers went to such interesting places that his work was always full of surprises every day. It also gave him a good chance to research places to go with Alfred and Peter while still getting paid for it.

Arthur would then get home at 3:00 and do his daily cleaning of the house. He'd gotten back into reading British classics, now that he had the time to do so. Like he had promised himself, he had bought a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets and had reread them. It was funny how much more Shakespeare made sense after living thirty-one years of his life.

Alfred, on the other hand, worked a regular 9-5 workday as a salesman, and he was quickly gaining popularity with the corporations. The good thing was that here in England, few people have heard about the famous lawyer Alfred F. Jones, which meant that Al could start fresh. He no longer wanted to be a lawyer; British laws were too stupid and crazy, he had said, though Arthur knew that Al still hurt about that custody lawsuit, and he would never allow himself that much power for destruction again.

Alfred made more money than Arthur, but neither of them seemed to mind. After all, Ivan got 70% of Arthur's paycheck, but none of Alfred's. It was a nice loophole when discovered, and Ivan seemed to have moved on to some other interests quickly, so the man didn't actually seem to care. Although he still cared enough that Arthur knew if he actually stopped working, Ivan would have his arse for it; thus it was nice to have found a job that he actually enjoyed.

When the clock struck 5:30, Arthur was practically quivering with anticipation. Today was the four year anniversary of the day they became a couple, which had been the day after Ivan had made that call to the hospital. Alfred had shooed Peter out of the room, who left with a knowing smile, pulled Arthur over, and gave him direct and earnest kiss. Then the former asked the now flustered Brit officially to be his boyfriend. No hesitation.

Arthur had stammered out something about Alfred being an idiot and how it was obvious he would have said yes anyways, so why ask? But inwardly, he had been wondering what would happen to them anyways, and was glad that Alfred not only had the same idea, but had taken the first move as well. Arthur sucked at that type of stuff.

For this special day, Arthur hadn't planned anything specific. He just wanted to savor it with the man he loved most―well, aside from Peter, but that was a different story. The kid was off at university having the time of his life. He occasionally called Arthur and Alfred to give them updates on his life, which involved a lot of partying and hanging out. Of course the kid―Arthur would never stop seeing his little brother as a kid―worked hard, but he definitely knew how to let loose―a trait he definitely didn't get from Arthur.

Peter had even gotten a girlfriend. She was a very soft spoken yet highly adorable girl (Arthur had only seen pictures) who hailed from Seychelles. Peter promised that some day he'd take her to visit, when he was more sure that Arthur and Alfred wouldn't scare her away with their lovey-dovey selves―and when Arthur would stop scaring Peter with the notion of a home-cooked dinner to welcome her.

Arthur finished his cup of tea and stood up to pour another one when he heard the lock click. He left the teacup forgotten on the counter as he dashed to the door. He wanted to greet Alfred straight off with a kiss, even though the idiot probably forgot what day it was.

Opening the door, the words "welcome home" almost made it out of his smiling mouth when he realized that it wasn't Alfred at the door, but just some taxi driver. Arthur's face fell. It wasn't somebody he knew from work, so who was the guy, and what was he doing here? And why wasn't Alfred home yet?

"Uh... hi," Arthur started, hoping that the disappointment didn't show through in his voice. "Can I... uh... help you?"

The taxi driver smiled slightly and asked, "Are you Arthur Kirkland?"

"... Yes." Arthur's heart was beating a bit fast. This seemed like something straight out of Ivan's playbook. The Russian had left them alone for a while, now. Was the agreement being reneged or something? God please don't let it be that. Especially today.

"Great!" the taxi driver replied. "I'm here with a message from one Alfred F. Jones." Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, though now his heart was beating quickly for another reason altogether. "He said..." The man pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and read it verbatim. "Arthur, I'm sorry I'm late. Something came up. But if you follow this nice taxi driver, he'll take you to me instead." The taxi driver chuckled sheepishly at having been called "nice."

Arthur was a bit sad and confused. It wasn't like he'd been planning anything anyways, but of all the days for Alfred to get held up at work, it had to be today? Couldn't the guy just push it off until tomorrow? Or had Alfred really forgotten...? Then man had never been good with days, after all. He could never remember that Independence Day wasn't celebrated with pride in England, for example.

The Brit sighed and grabbed his coat, a bit hurt that Alfred had forgotten. Peter had even given him a call about an hour ago to wish them a happy anniversary. How could the boy remember, even when this wasn't even his relationship? Sheesh. Well, at least he could spend it with Alfred, even if it was at work. Although there wasn't much one could do at work under others' watchful gazes.

The taxi driver was a bit bemused as to why Arthur suddenly looked so dejected. People usually don't invite others to their work when they were late; they usually just gave a call and apologized. So sending a cab to pick the other up was above and beyond the call of duty. What was there to be sad about? Customers could be so weird sometimes.

Arthur got into the back seat of the taxi as they drove off. He marked off the street names as he passed them, to try to distract himself from his sadness. He didn't have a right to be sad, and he knew it. Alfred was working hard to support them, and, luckily for them, the man was brilliant when it came to sales. Arthur knew that he was luckier than most to be in such a functioning and successful relationship as part of a gradually improving life. But part of him was still stubborn, and that part of him was a bit pissed that the idiot had forgotten.

They passed Dunham Road, which is where Arthur would have made a right turn had he himself been driving to Alfred's office. It was the fastest way, and there were no detour notices. Maybe this taxi driver was new.

"Turning back there would have been faster," Arthur voiced.

"Sir, I have directions from Mr. Jones himself. He said to make a left at Elmwood next."

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. Elmwood? That didn't make sense. That was in a completely different direction.

"Are you sure?"

"Yessir! Don't worry. We'll be there in a few minutes."

Arthur was completely perplexed. They were headed right into the main London area, though on the other side of the working districts from where Alfred's office building was. Had Alfred moved offices and not told Arthur? If that were the case, Arthur would be a bit more than just a little pissed and dejected.

When they turned on to Old Broad Street, Arthur was officially very confused, especially when they seemed to be nearing Tower 42. Alfred couldn't have moved to working in Tower 42. That would have been completely and utterly ridiculous, and knowing that loud mouth, there would have been no way he could have hid such exciting news from Arthur—right? Did they not have that sort of trust or something, especially after all that they've been through?

Arthur shook his head, clearing away the doubt. There was no question in his head that Alfred loved him... well, sort of. The man was just so brilliant and attractive that Arthur had always felt he never deserved Alfred. Alfred was the epitome of a caring (albeit obnoxious) gentleman. Arthur wasn't especially attractive or intelligent. He was just your average Brit—which he believed at least made him a whole step better than the average American, but that was another story all together. But Alfred was no average American. He was stunning and spectacular and all around wonderful. Thus, this wasn't the first time that Arthur had wondered why Alfred had settled for him when there were so many smarter and better men and women to choose from.

The taxi driver let Arthur off right in front of Tower 42 and said that the last bit of the instructions said for the Brit to go up to the twenty-fourth floor. That was it. Arthur tried to pay for the fare, but the taxi driver also informed him that that was already taken care of, with plenty left over, which he tried to give back to Arthur. The Brit chuckled and told the man to keep the change, remembering fondly of his first encounter with Alfred so long ago. The man hadn't changed much in some respects.

Arthur tentatively walked in to Tower 42. Luckily, his normal dress—consisting of a sweater, a dress shirt, a nice black wool jacket, and slacks—wasn't too informal, but he still felt completely underdressed when he saw the expensive Armani suits and blouses that everyone else in the building seemed to be wearing. Sheesh, was this building made of money or something? The only passengers Arthur had ever dropped off there were well off businessmen, smart looking business women, and a slew of people all with the same shrewd money-making look in their eyes. The Brit was completely out of place here.

Nevertheless, he did exactly what the note had told him to do, trusting in the fact that it would be Alfred, and not another of Ivan's devious plans. The man had left them alone long enough, and honestly, the note being from Alfred was a much more swallowable tale; Arthur didn't even want to think about the other possibility—and so, he didn't.

The Englishman took off his jacket and put it through the security checkpoint as he walked through the scanner. If nothing else, the fact that Tower 42 had a security checkpoint in the first place was a testament to just how much Arthur felt out of place. He had never been through any other security checkpoint (voluntarily) except for the ones at airports, and that was hardly a formal affair.

The Brit did as he was told and stood by the elevator, waiting for it to arrive. He didn't know what was on the twenty-fourth floor, but it was bound to be expensive, judging by the looks of everything else. To be honest, Arthur was a bit scared. Anyone else would have thought all of this fanfare was some sort of surprise celebration for their anniversary, but come on. This was Arthur. He was terrified that Alfred had finally realized just how much of a difference there was between them, and was breaking up with him or something. It wasn't that Arthur thought Alfred didn't love him; no, the love was plain enough. But sometimes love wasn't all it took, and there still needed to be some practicality. After all, who wanted to live life as the breadwinner for some decent looking, frumpy, of average intelligence man with overly large eyebrows and a terribly inability to even cook? Arthur wasn't good for much with his taxi driving job and his cleaning around at home. Alfred didn't even like tea that much either, very much preferring coke or coffee—with a cream and two sugars—to the mild tasting "stale" drink. Thus, there wasn't even much Arthur felt he could do for their relationship except keep the man's bed warm at night—but anyone could do that and so much more.

Arthur swallowed audibly as he got out of the elevator, everyone else having exited by the time he reached his floor. As he stepped out of the elevator, Arthur felt like he was in a different world. The whole floor was a restaurant, and all the people there made it seem like a black tie affair. Arthur's usually warm and nice slacks felt oddly uncomfortable at the moment. No one seemed to be paying him any attention, and he was glad for it... except for the one problem of not knowing what to do from then. He barely wanted to move, not wanting to attract any attention to himself—but standing in front of the elevator like a statue was bound to attract some gazes eventually as well.

Thus, the Brit walked up to who he assumed was the maitre d' and sheepishly played with the edge of his cardigan as he stammered out, "I... uhh... Alfred F. Jones told me to come here?" He knew it sounded stupid; he would be completely weirded out if someone came up to him at a restaurant he worked at and said that statement. It made Arthur seemed like he was lost in life or something. It was damn embarrassing.

The maitre d' seemed to know the name and her eyes lit up immediately. "This way please, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur was surprised. Dropping Alfred's name seemed to do something. In Alfred's previous rich life, such a fact would have been no surprise, but Alfred wasn't a top of the line lawyer at the moment, and his paycheck now hardly even came close to the one he once had. How did he manage to swing something at such a swanky place called—Arthur had read the name on the maitre d' stand—Rhodes Twenty Four. The name was one of those that sounded so vague that it actually sounded rich and famous, frequented only by superstars or something.

The Brit followed the maitre d' silently, past some curious eyes. Arthur knew it was probably because of the way he was dressed. He stuck out like a sore thumb. And if this was somehow, miraculously, Alfred's new "crowd," then it reminded Arthur all the more how much he didn't belong—here, or in any picture beside the handsome man. He wanted to belong, and when Alfred held him, he was in his most peaceful state. It was utter bliss. It was just that in the eyes of the public, which was important if Alfred were to rise up further and become more successful. Heck, even being in a gay relationship made that difficult in the corporate world, where people still expected you to have a wife to entertain guests. If it wasn't bad enough that Arthur was a man, he also couldn't cook and sucked at entertaining people "of higher stature" than him. Arthur had always had that complex.

Arthur was led into a room at the back to the left. The maitre d' held the door for him, then disappeared once he had entered. Arthur was in the process of taking off his coat when he realized just where he was. It was a small and cozy room, but it had plenty of space for one or two people. There was a round table to one side, with two chairs, and some candles casting a warm light across the rest of the space. Beside the table was another smaller one, on top of which sat an ice bucket cooling a bottle of red wine. The other side had a black, extremely comfortable looking couch, which faced the main centerpiece of it all: the window. The wall was completely glass, from top to bottom, and for good reason; the view out was spectacular. Arthur almost dropped his coat to the floor, and only caught himself enough to quickly hang it up before making brisk pace to the window.

Palms pressed against the clear, recently-polished glass, Arthur felt like a boy again. He remembered that regular sized windows used to look so vast from such a small perspective, and he used to be able to imagine himself standing on the sky when he was looking out from a high enough window. Such pleasures had disappeared ever since puberty, and he had missed those days. Thus, it was a highly pleasant surprise to be faced with a window so vast that he could experience the same feeling again. Alfred always knew what to do to make Arthur happy, even though Arthur had never told anyone about his window experiences.

The Brit didn't know how much time had passed as he stared out the window, speechless. The Gherkin stood out as usual, with its beautifully unique architecture; the other skyscrapers, scattered here and there, made the whole view so magical and royal, especially since everything else tended to be of a much lower height, with nothing much in between. Arthur had only seen London like this when he was looking out of a plane from Heathrow, and even then, Heathrow was too far out to see details like the Gherkin in its majestic beauty. The sun was just setting too, bathing the whole scene in a swarth of warm and rich pink and orange hues. Somewhere in his mind, the setting sun made Arthur guess that it was probably six.

The Brit was pulled out of his admiration and thoughts by the sound of the door clicking. He hadn't even remembered that he was in a foreign place, having been completely lost in the view. But now he was pulled back into reality, which was always worse than his dreams. In his dreams, Alfred could be proud to show him off, and he could boast about him to his colleagues. In reality, Arthur sometimes found himself wishing he was born a woman, or that society didn't have to care so much about how others lived their marriages and love lives. Heck, it was 2012, and gay marriage still wasn't legal in Great Britain? What made Britain so great then?—Because with its history, the reason definitely doesn't involve acceptance of social change.

Arthur didn't turn around, expecting it to be some waiter or something checking quickly if the room was occupied or something, then closing the door and being on his merry way. Thus, the Brit jumped when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry I'm late," a velvet voice spoke from behind him, sending shivers all the way down his body. Maybe all lawyers and ex-lawyers had that ability to make your hairs stand on end from just a few words. Maybe this was the secret to winning all those cases.

Arthur calmed down and crossed his own in mock frumpery. "At least half an hour late. And you dragged me all the way here to boot." The question was evident in Arthur's words: why?

Alfred ignored the silent question, and instead let go of Arthur's shoulder, much to the latter's disappointment. Arthur turned around to protest at the lack of even a decent hug, only being stopped mid-speech at the sight of his lover. There Alfred was before him, dressed in a full suit. We weren't talking just any old work suit; we were talking full vest and everything, looking like it came from Gieves & Hawkes itself. This was the whole shebang. It was something Arthur hadn't even known Alfred owned, which was a damn difficult feat to pull off, considering Arthur did all the laundry of the house.

"You thirsty?" Alfred asked, pouring Arthur and himself some wine. The decor of the room along with the setting on the table was pretty simple, which made it all the more grand when compared to the view. Nothing would take away from that view, not even the wine glasses.

"Uh... yeah," Arthur replied, not sure as to why Alfred was so dressed up, or why he was being so secretive about it all. The Brit walked over to the table and took a sip from his glass before asking, "So... what happened at work?" to make you late for our anniversary? Arthur wasn't angry, per se... He was just a bit testy, since the day was so special for him. Arthur treasured Alfred and Peter beyond anything else, and his whole life revolved around this handsome ex-lawyer. Every piece of laundry he lovingly folded, every touch he silently treasured, and every picture he carefully stowed away. It was amazing how much one person could dig himself into another's life, but Arthur didn't mind. Alfred was his everything, and that was all right by him.

"Nothing much," Alfred replied nonchalantly.

Arthur inwardly scowled. What type of a reply was that? If the guy was late, the least he could do is give a good reason for it—unless, of course, Alfred didn't remember, which seemed more and more likely at the moment. Arthur was very much confused, because the whole dinner and suit thing sure seemed like it was something important, but the way that Alfred was acting made it seem like any other day—if not even colder than usual.

Shit. Alfred wouldn't be going through all this, making Arthur comfortable and everything, just to break up, would he? Would he? Arthur didn't think so, but now that he saw the suit and the building and all that stuff, he realized that there was a lot Arthur still didn't know, like where did the money for this come from? It's true that Alfred dealt with their financials, but Arthur knew what Alfred's paycheck was, and with their grocery expenses and rent, etc., there was no way this was easily affordable.

The Brit opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Alfred's face lit up. "Ah, dinner!" he said, not with the bright boyishness that he usually greeted food, but with a sort of high-class British reserved sort of way, like an earl entertaining his guests. What was wrong with Alfred? The more Arthur saw Alfred, the more he worried that something was wrong. What happened to the vaguely boyish side that was part of the man's appeal? Where did that messy hair or loud laughter go? And most importantly, why hadn't Alfred kissed him yet?

All thoughts temporarily disappeared from his mind when he laid eyes on the food, though. He had seldom seen such magnificence before, especially when what he usually encountered everyday was his own cooking. As the waiter was setting dishes down on the table, he described each and every one with exquisite detail: there was the filo crusted lamb with the butter bean puree, the glazed lobster omelette thermidor, the slow cooked hake with the caviar butter sauce, and the pork loin with poached apple red wine glaze. Could you even poach an apple? Arthur sat down at the table without taking his eyes off the delicious affair. The waiter announced that dessert would be served after. God, there was still dessert! Arthur had never been to treat himself to lavish food, just because if money was going to be spent well, it would be spent at Claridge's for afternoon tea—which he had actually never done before, but it was on his bucket list, along with every other good tea place in England.

When the waiter departed, Alfred also sat down across from Arthur. The Brit was pulled back out of his food reverie by the sight of Alfred placing his napkin on his lap. What?! Such politeness and manners had never before been seen in the former lawyer; napkins had always ended up on the table in a wrinkled messy pile, or forgotten on the ground—if used at all in the first place.

"Alfred..." Arthur began, not sure where to go from here. What was he going to say? Why are you so polite all of a sudden? Yeah, like that was actually a valid complaint. It was just that Alfred was being so weird and so... untouchable. It was with a grim expression that Arthur realized Alfred was basically acting like he should, considering his looks, his former riches, and his high intelligence, especially when it came to the use of words. Maybe the man had finally realized that in this respect, they were completely incompatible. Arthur could not compare.

"Eat, Arthur. Food's getting cold." Alfred wasn't even looking up at Arthur as he said this, already cutting into a piece of lamb, and his voice seemed uncommonly removed. Arthur wanted to cry. Faced with such a rare opportunity to eat fabulous food and he wasn't even the slightest bit hungry. Nevertheless, Arthur quietly took some hake onto his own plate and began to eat, lamenting at the fact that his tongue couldn't taste the richness that was sure to be there. His mind was too preoccupied to have space for any external stimulants.

They ate their whole meal in silence, except for the one time Alfred asked Arthur if he wanted any more wine as he poured some more for himself. Arthur wanted to ask so many questions, like why Alfred was late, what was all of this about, why was Alfred being so cold—and, most importantly, was this the end? The Brit didn't even want to think about it, and this meal was sending mixed messages to him. Would Alfred spend so lavishly for Arthur if the man didn't love him and wanted to celebrate this special day in style? Alfred definitely remembered, right? This wasn't what they did every night, after all. But then again, Alfred was being so cold. No hugs, no kisses, and barely any glances either. Had they even made eye contact once this night?

What irked Arthur the most was how perfect Alfred looked though. This—finely tailored suits, a dinner in Tower 42 surrounded by beautiful scenery, lavish food—this was where Alfred belonged. The man looked so fitting and so in tune with his surroundings here, whereas Arthur was sure that he looked quiet off with his messy hair, average features, homely sweater, and clumsy actions. It wasn't that Arthur was bad at handling a fork and knife—in fact, by American standards, he was fantastic—but somehow, tonight, Alfred seemed so graceful that it made him pale in comparison. It was so different from the man's usual klutzy and obnoxious self that Arthur completely understood now that oft-written phrase "it was like he was somebody else." He just never thought that he would apply it with Alfred.

The waiter came back and served them their dessert, explaining everything just as he did with the main meal. Despite how delicious the toasted marshmallow meringue with strawberry compote looked, or how fascinating the concept of shortbread biscuits with real raspberries, white chocolate mousse, and raspberry ice cream seemed, Arthur still couldn't pull himself out of his slump. He barely tasted any of the dishes, glancing often in his lover's direction. Was he counting down the minutes until he could never use that word to reference Alfred ever again? He at least had to try. He had to fight for what he wanted.

"So... how was work?" He had to start somewhere.

"Interesting." Arthur waited for some followup, considering that Alfred usually rambled on and on with funny stories about coworkers and weird sales clients, but nothing else came. The ex-lawyer continued eating his strawberry compote with a look of great concentration, as if he were avoiding Arthur.

"Has Styles finally asked her out?"

"No."

"... How is Eileen's knee?"

"Better."

"Trip to Sussex?"

"Thursday."

Arthur inwardly growled. This was getting nowhere, and these one word replies were more annoying—and disheartening—than no reply at all. The Brit tried hard to think back about the past few days. Had he done something wrong that he hadn't realized, and now Alfred was harboring resentment for it? Alfred had seemed fine last night, ever present and skillful in bed, especially. Arthur colored at the memory; it seemed so long ago when faced with what had happened today so far.

The Brit felt terrible and so very sad. He didn't want to deal with this anymore. Why was Alfred dragging it out so much? Did he mean for this to be like the last meal before execution? Is this what prisoners on death row felt like? Arthur's expression darkened and he slammed his fist down on the table, his fork dropping to the floor. Alfred looked up, startled.

"Just do it already!" Arthur yelled out, looking down at his plate. Alfred noticed that Arthur was trembling, his cheeks wet with tears.

The ex-lawyer flushed red. How could Arthur know his plans? "What?" he dumbly asked, losing a bit of his posh air.

"If you're going to break up with me, don't draw it out! If you even love me at all, you should have the decency to do it quick."

"Break... up...?"

Arthur's head snapped up, making eye contact with Alfred for the first time that night. The former lawyer could see Arthur's bright green eyes shining with tears. As always, they were the most breathtaking and enrapturing eyes Alfred had ever had the pleasure to see—and somehow, he had been lucky enough to swing a situation in which he got to see them every day. Thus, it broke his heart to pieces to see the regular brightness clouded over with tears.

The former lawyer slowly stood up, looking down at the ground. "... We need to talk."

Arthur swallowed, gaze snapping back down to his plate. He didn't want to have a talk about this. He just wanted to get it over with and leave. They could sort out all the logistics later when things weren't happening so fast. Right now, Arthur didn't particularly have space of mind to think about who would live in the house, or how they would divide up the bank account, or how Arthur would continue to live without the most important man in his life.

"No. We don't," Arthur replied bitterly. "Have the balls to do it without idling. I expected better of—" His words were cut of by the feeling of soft... warm... lips. Alfred's. On his own. Together. Kissing. Arthur found himself staring directly into Alfred's piercing blue eyes, barely an inch apart.

Alfred didn't pull away, but he didn't advance the kiss either. He simply stood there, one hand holding the Brit's face as the other encircled the man's delicate waist. After a while, Arthur started to struggle. He felt too confused to enjoy the kiss like he should have, and tried to push himself away. Alfred let him go.

"Wha—?" Arthur started, his fingers on his lips. This wasn't the type of break up he wanted. Why the hell was Alfred being such an ass about it all? "You... you..."

Before Arthur could develop more rage, Alfred closed the distance between them and captured his lover's face in his hands. "Shh... Listen to me. Please." Arthur gave Alfred a wary look, but said nothing, giving silent permission for the man to continue. "Sit down," Alfred said, motioning to the couch. Arthur did so, not taking his eyes off of the handsome figure before him.

Alfred turned around and grabbed his glass of wine. He took a sip before sitting down himself in a chair across from Arthur. "It's almost eight years ago we met," Alfred began, his gaze directed at the ground between them. "Needless to say, we've been through a lot together." Arthur nodded a little, still not quite sure what was going on.

"I know I've let you down in the past—no. More than that. I've betrayed you... And you know that I regret that still, every day." Alfred grimaced a little at the memory. There was a good reason why he didn't go back into his old practice.

Arthur nodded again, giving Alfred a wary and bewildered look. This wasn't the speech that the Brit had expected.

"Remember when I asked you out, that I promised you I'd never hurt you again, and that I'd always protect you from harm whenever I could?" Arthur nodded again. That seemed to be all that he was good for at the moment, considering that he still didn't know where this was going. If this was a break-up speech, it was a damn good one so far. Then again, what did you expect from a former lawyer?

"I've been thinking lately that... umm... I haven't... I can't..." Arthur's grip tightened on the edge of the chair. Shit. Here it comes.

"I haven't shown you just how much I meant it when I said that I want to be with you... Forever." Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, his grip tensing and relaxing at once. His body was just as confused as his mind was, and his heart was beating faster than it had ever been before. The speed was probably a health hazard. What's happening...?

Alfred slipped down to one knee and pulled out a box from his pocket. His face was red and his eyes had taken on a slightly ashen tinge as he looked up at his lover. "Arthur Kirkland, will you be my husband?"

Arthur was speechless. Things were happening too fast, and he had been expecting something so different that it took him a while to register what he saw before him. A man—his man—was on his knees before him, holding out a box. Inside that box was a glimmering gold band with the name of Voltaire Diamonds tagged on the box. Arthur had heard the name before, and he was sure it was from magazine about some famous actor finally getting engaged. This was unreal.

"I... uh..." Say yes, you idiot. YES. Arthur of course wanted to accept. Every fiber of his meaning screamed for it, but his mind still had some fraction of logic left. Images of Alfred's poised and professional form flashed through the Brit's mind. Alfred was perfect—too perfect. Handsome beyond compare, with a great mind to match. The Brit's imagination ran wild to pictures of their future together, where they would be smiling together in wedding photos, laughing in their honeymoon, with expressions of two people so perfectly in love. It was beautiful.

"No," Arthur replied, fresh tears streaming down his face. He smiled sadly at Alfred. "No, I won't." The problem with those pictures was that they seemed so pitiful, one so handsome and successful, the other average at best. Arthur didn't want to tie Alfred to that.

Alfred was stricken. He had thought that it would work. Of course, he had his fears and doubts just like any person who had ever proposed, and thus he knew he had been acting weird, but he couldn't look Arthur in eye before, so worried was he. That was why he had tried so hard, and had worked even more lately, just so that he could hope to get that promotion that everyone had been talking about. Then he would finally feel comfortable enough with the idea of having Arthur depend on him for the rest of their lives. He thought that after four years of a successful relationship, he had had a chance. He had believed he had a shot... and now, he saw that he had been so unbelievably wrong.

Alfred slumped down on the ground. He leaned his forehead on his right hand, his heart feeling like it was being pierced over and over again by thousands of needles. He had miscalculated very badly, it seemed. Now what would happen of them?

"I'm... I'm sorry. I thought... maybe... I'm sorry." The former lawyer laughed a little hollow chuckle. "I'm an idiot. Forget that happened, please..." Well, this is awkward...

"I love you, you know," Arthur commented, gazing fondly at his lover. Alfred's gaze snapped up. That comment made no sense at a time like this.

"Then why won't you—?"

"Because... you..." Arthur let himself fall to Alfred's level, so that the both of them were kneeling on the ground. The Brit let out a sigh; he had never wanted to let any of this out, but he had to give Alfred a good reason. Arthur wanted them to be happy together, he really did. He just wasn't sure he could handle engagement, marriage, and then a divorce once Alfred realized his mistake.

"Look at you, Alfred. Look aroundyou. This is Tower 42, we're eating in Rhodes Twenty Four, and you're dressed up in a perfectly tailored suit. The way you've been acting today... it's confirmed a fear that I've had for a while..." Arthur trailed off, not sure how to continue.

"... Fear?"

"You're great, Alfred, but you're too great." Arthur had calmed down a bit ago, but was starting to cry again. It broke his heart to pieces to say this. He barely managed to choke out, "How am I going to deal with divorce when you realize that I'm not good enough for you?" Then Arthur crumbled into bawling. He had possessed this fear ever since Alfred had told him the truth in that hospital in what felt like decades ago; Arthur had been so self righteous and angry up until this point, and to realize that Alfred had experienced, in his opinion, so much worse than Arthur ever had, just for the Brit's sake... it hurt. But it hurt in a good way. Arthur knew that he was cared for to an extreme extent—but did he deserve that from someone so well rounded and perfect?

Arthur felt Alfred's arms suddenly and fiercely encircle him, pulling him close. Arthur shuddered at the sudden change in temperature, now very warm from body heat.

"Wha—?"

"You idiot. How could you even think about divorce?" Alfred uttered into the crook of Arthur's neck. "You... you're the handsomest man I've ever met... Remember when I first hired you as a driver? Your eyes, Arthur, your eyes... And everything else about you. The way you carry yourself, the strength of your willpower and heart, the care that you have for those you love... Can't you see that I came here today hopelessly in love, and I hope to leave happier, but whether that happens or not, I'll still be hopelessly in love? We've known each other for eight years, Art..."

Arthur hadn't settled whatsoever as all of those words rushed out of Alfred's lips. However, when the man had finally finished, Arthur tentatively brought up his hands to caress Alfred's back, feeling the soft fabric of the suit that was sure to be very expensive.

"But I'm... I have those stupid eyebrows, and my fashion sense has never existed, I can't cook, I... I'm not really good for anything but depending on you for everything..."

"... What if that's how I want it?"

"Why would you—?"

"Because it makes me feel like I'm doing something for you in the vague hope of expressing a small fraction of just how much I love you, Arthur. Every morning when I go to work, do you know how much my heart hurts? I miss you with the attraction of the earth forcibly pulled from its orbit around the sun, my love. Can you not see how much I think about you every second of my life? Why would I not want you to depend on me? If I am your man, you will look at no one else... and... you have no idea how happy that thought makes me."

Arthur couldn't believe that Alfred felt the same way. That yearning... the want to stay in bed despite needing to go to work, the restless waiting for Alfred to get back every day, the hours spent driving around half listening to customers half wondering what Alfred was doing at the moment... Arthur had thought that was all him. But Alfred seemed to feel that way too, which flooded him with relief and happiness.

"If anything, Art, I do not deserve to stand by you... That's why I try so hard every day... so that you may be proud when you declare that I am your love. That's why I've been working harder recently too, and I finally got that promotion to work here—"

"Promotion?"

"Yeah. I'm the head of my department now, can you believe it?" Alfred's voice held a small hint of thrill and excitement, but one could also hear the weariness of having worked so hard to get there. "That's why it's taken me so long to... um... propose. I wanted to make sure I had a stable position to take care of you and make you as happy as you deserve to be." Alfred's grip around Arthur tightened. "But... I'm sorry I misjudged the situation..." Alfred started to pull away. "Maybe after my next promotion, I'll try agai—"

"Yes," Arthur interrupted, murmuring into Alfred's neck, pulling the man closer than ever. Who cared if there were going to be atrocious wrinkles in that suit? Arthur was in love. "Yes, Alfred. I'll marry you. Yes, yes, yes!"

Alfred's eyes widened. Arthur continued before the other man could say anything, "And I'm sorry in advance if at the wedding, all your friends wonder why you're taking pictures with what looks to be the bartender, rather than anyone that could possibly compare to you, but... I love you. I love you so much."

Arthur was suddenly pulled into a very passionate kiss. He had been too focused on letting his emotions spill out that he hadn't even noticed Alfred shifting until the man's lips were on his. What followed for the next two minutes was pure heat, a buzzing electric energy passing back and forth between the two bodies. Alfred's tongue and gained entrance to Arthur's mouth, and once it was temporarily sated with exploring those reasons, it moved on to the man's neck, caressing that delicate line that was Arthur's collarbone.

The only thing that stopped Alfred from exploring further onwards and downwards was the box still in his left hand. Pulling back, much to Arthur's protests, the man held forth the ring. Arthur flushed a bright red as the ring was slipped onto his finger. It was a perfect fit.

"With this ring, Arthur, I renew that promise I made to you on that day. Stay by my side, and I promise I'll do everything I can to make you—and Peter—happy." Leaning in closer, Alfred's velvet voice whispered into Arthur's ear, "Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds, my dear. I'll always be there, through anything and everything."

Arthur was too flustered to think of any better reply than, "I... I didn't think you read Shakespeare."

"There are many things you still don't know about me, and I about you. But we have all the time in the world to learn." With that, Alfred captured Arthur's lips once again, and the night was lost to love.

"Where does that suit come from?" Arthur asked. They were back at home, cuddling in bed after a very fulfilling time spent exploring "things they did not know"—though honestly, Alfred should have known every nook and cranny of Arthur's body extremely well by now, and vice versa.

"What I was wearing today?"

"Yeah, I've never seen it, and I handle the dry cleaning of all your suits. Are you using it for an illicit affair?" Arthur smiled as he jokingly jabbed Alfred in the chest.

The former lawyer laughed. "I've been saving it for this occasion."

"For how long?"

"... It's embarrassi—"

"How long?"

"... Two years."

Arthur was floored. The man had been waiting two years to propose? Arthur hadn't even thought much about the idea of marriage between them, having been too caught up in the enchantment of every day life with this person before him. It melted his heart to hear that Alfred had been thinking about things so much and for so long.

"And why were you late? What important business meeting prevented you from seeing my beauteous face on our anniversary?"

Alfred's cheeks colored even more. "I... uh... wasn't. I've been... I didn't go to work today..."

"What?"

"Well, I couldn't handle the anxiety, and so I spent the day checking and rechecking all my plans. I was 'late' because I was standing outside the door, too fearful to go in... I mean, my greatest fear while standing outside that door had come to pass, so you can't blame me. You did reject me."

"... You're an idiot."

Alfred laughed that laugh which Arthur would never tire of hearing. "The same can be said about you."

"Well then, at least we're idiots together."

Alfred kissed Arthur gently, then wrapped his arms around the Brit's body.

"Forever."

Author's Comments:

Hey guys... It's finally over. It's done. The saga of three years. It's finished. Can you believe it? I barely can. I've been thinking about this storyline so much recently that... well, what will I think about now?

... I guess my next two fics! xD

I hope that you guys thought this was an appropriate ending note for this relationship. I tried my hand at a little fluff at the end, though I suck at writing fluff, so please don't hurt me. _

Also, sorry, but I have no idea what the floor of the Rhodes Twenty Four looks like. All I have is pictures and reviews, so pardon me if I get the details wrong. If anyone has ever been, please tell me how it is! I want to go some day! (Also, do look up Gieves & Hawkes suits if you haven't; they're delecta... bly expensive! But really, they're amazing).

I'll probably launch right into the next two fics (though I have to do some more research and planning for the Revolution fic before writing that, so most likely, the next thing you'll see from me is chapter one/prologue or something of the AU Victorian London fic).

Please let me know what you think, as always!

Love you guys!
Galythia