Alfred and Arthur met when they were the awkward age of twelve. Arthur was already more mature than Alfred, but he only seemed more so than the other children their age because he was a foreigner. The other preteens thought him exotic, this English immigrant who had already traveled so much of Europe. Arthur loved to boast of his travels. And Alfred was his biggest fan. He had heard of the strange newcomer and wanted nothing more than to meet him, ask him all about England and Europe, and see if they could be friends.

The first day they met, Alfred clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder. He scared the young boy enough to make him shriek so his voice cracked; an unfortunate side effect of puberty. He pushed away, horrified at the contact. Others around him saw this as a chance to poke fun at his unusual behavior.

"What's the matter? Don't like being touched?" the children teased.

And that was the day Arthur lost his popularity.

When they were thirteen, Alfred knocked Arthur's elbow on accident while they were in line in the cafeteria during lunch one day. It startled Arthur so much he dropped his plate of food. The teenagers laughed until Arthur began to cry, retreating from the mocking jeers. Alfred watched Arthur run from the room.

"Good job, Alfred," a girl scolded. "You made him cry."

"No, that's awesome," a boy said proudly, as if he had done the unintentional act.

But Alfred didn't like to upset Arthur, and he certainly didn't mean to. So he tried to make it up to Arthur, but he only made it worse.

He found Arthur at his locker and tapped his arm. It was enough to send Arthur into fits, earning concerned looks from students and more fodder to use for his bullies.

"I hate you, Alfred Jones!" Arthur yelled.

For the remainder of the year, Arthur avoided Alfred like the plague. Alfred, feeling horrible enough as it was, didn't try to pursue anymore attempts at apologizing. He just assumed it was safest to keep as far enough distance from the boy.

At fourteen, Alfred was pimply and gangly. No one liked him. Arthur heard he got picked on, but what did he care? That boy was a nuisance. Arthur continued to keep his distance from everyone. He found solace in the library, using books as a means to protect himself from any stray hands.

But at fifteen, his parents thought it was high time he outgrew his fear. They took him to counseling. He began to wear gloves at all times. They forced him into drastic exercises that made him endure physical touches from strangers and pushed him to the limit. He stopped showing any skin save for his face. His father called him a child. His mother stopped paying him attention.

The other teenager thought him odd and continued their tirade of teasing. Many calling him a queer Euro fag, although this question of his sexuality connecting to his phobia never truly added up in Arthur's mind. Soon, the teenagers made bets on who could rip Arthur's gloves off the fastest and who could make him cry the easiest by taking away his protective thick jacket.

And Alfred? He was none the wiser. He thought that since it had been a year since he and Arthur had spoken, maybe Arthur didn't hate him anymore. He appeared at Arthur's locker, but didn't touch him. Arthur looked at him cautiously. The American was holding a box that looked an awful lot like a birthday present.

"Happy birthday!" Alfred exclaimed.

"It was last week," Arthur said flatly.

Alfred's smiled faltered, but he thrust the gift into his hands. "Well, belated!"

Arthur didn't want it. He wanted to refuse the boy's gift, and ultimately his friendship. But he hadn't received a gift from any of his schoolmates before. He didn't get much of anything from his own family either. At most, his mother had remembered a card and his dad tossed a gift card his way. But this was an actual gift, a present.

"Thank you," Arthur murmured as he accepted it. He held it close to his chest, staring at the bright colors and the puffy ribbon, thinking of how Alfred had thought of him all the while as he wrapped it. It made his face turn red.

"So you don't hate me?" Alfred asked. Arthur shook his head, making Alfred smile. "Good! I like you!"

Arthur was aghast at the declaration. People just don't like Arthur. He wasn't one to be liked. He had a "strange" phobia against being touched and kept his distance from everyone. He wasn't even someone to be remembered by his own family, cast aside like some alien. Maybe he really was an alien. There certainly were days when he felt horribly disconnected from humanity and wondered if he wasn't meant to be normal.

Unfortunately, Alfred's good intentions were taken the wrong way by eavesdroppers who took his casual words too far. They took it and spread it around, and before afternoon it was "common knowledge" that Alfred and Arthur were gay for each other.

And that was the end of Arthur's life.

"Gay! Fag! Homo!" shouted the boys.

They kept jeering Arthur until he cried, stealing his gloves and flushing them down the toilet. Luckily, it clogged and Arthur was able to retrieve his prized possessions without them being damaged. Alfred, feeling guilty for how far his words had gotten out of hand, ducked out of Arthur's life for a time in hopes the rumors would die down. He was getting picked on too, but it was much harder when he was growing so much taller and bigger, whereas Arthur was still quite scrawny.

Arthur begged his parents to let him change schools. His father thought it was good for him, saying how it built character and prepared Arthur for the real world where such "idiotic" fears were not treated kindly, and the subject was promptly dropped.

Sixteen started out as if it would shape into the worst year of Arthur's life. He lost his solitude in the library as the bullies would follow him there, picking on him until the librarian was forced to kick them all out. They would chase him to the bathrooms, locking him in a stall until it was well past the final bell for class.

Then came P.E. The boys crept close to Arthur when he changed, threatening to touch his semi-nude skin. Arthur would shriek and scramble away into a private stall to finish his change, only adding fuel to the fire. Other students would look on and roll their eyes, obviously outgrowing this horrible idea of bullying and torturing the same boy over and over again for years. Many times they would call out the other teens and make them stop, but more often than not, they ignored everything around them, thinking that it was best to stay out of it. No one wanted to help Arthur even though many felt pity for him.

One day the boys were to play touch football. Arthur thought he would die. He begged to be kept out, but the teacher said he had sat out of too many other sports to be getting any sort of physical education. If he wanted to pass this class, he had to play. The teens that normally ganged up on Arthur dismissed the rules and charged at him.

They were promptly tackled to the ground by a much larger opponent. Alfred stood up and smiled triumphantly at Arthur. "Don't worry," he said. "You're safe."

Arthur heard the giggles and whispers from others of "saved by his boyfriend", and he stormed from the field much like he had when he ran from the cafeteria all those years ago. This time, however, Alfred chased after him.

"Wait! Arthur! Please!" Alfred started. He didn't catch up to Arthur until they had made it back to the locker room. "Please! This has all been a misunderstanding! All of it! Since we met you've misunderstood me! I just want to be your friend!"

"Go away," Arthur sobbed. He collapsed on the bench in front of his gym locker. He was so tired, so worn out, and so ready to just give it all up. What did he have to live for?

Come to school, get teased and mocked and hated for being different, and then left alone when he went home. Then he repeated it, going through the same motions, day in and day out. He could feel his spirit fading and his heart withering up and dying.

But a part of him didn't want to just die. A part wanted someone to reach out and help him, to see him, and to be there for him.

"Just hear me out," Alfred pleaded, startling Arthur from his suicidal thoughts. "It got all out of hand. I only meant I like you as a friend. It was everyone else who took it too far. I just…"

Alfred looked just as defeated Arthur. He wasn't picked on much anymore, save for the occasional jabs at his sexuality, but Alfred always shrugged them off. He always seemed so much stronger, always with that bright smile and carefree attitude. But looking at him now, he seemed worn down. Did he feel the same as Arthur?

Just maybe he was lonely too.

"I want to be your friend. I have since we met, but you've always hated me. I somehow keep ruining your life. I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you that. You can keep hating me, but just know that I never meant to harm you… I just though you should know I never hated you…"

"I don't want pity," Arthur hissed.

"I don't pity you," Alfred said tiredly. "Honest."

Arthur said nothing in return, but his demeanor changed. Alfred came when no one else had, protected him and seemed to genuinely care for him. "A friend, huh?" He noticed Alfred lifted his head in hope. "I've never had one before. I hope I don't mess it up."

And that was when Arthur saw Alfred smile for the first time.

The rest of his sixteenth year was a good one.

Seventeen was an even better year. Alfred's friendship gave Arthur that much needed confidence boost. He ignored all the bullying around him and found ways to avoid the boys that stole his gloves. Over time, they lessened when Arthur no longer gave them the satisfaction of a reaction, and it simmered down to a few hisses of him being gay, but that was easy to dismiss.

Alfred never touched Arthur, but he got the distinct impression that he did. The way he would look at Arthur, his slight lean towards him, or how he'd pause in his motions as if remembering Arthur's rule and then retracting his hand sheepishly all made Arthur stare at him curiously. What was it like to want to touch someone, he wondered. Surely he had never felt such a desire before, but now, seeing Alfred's awkward attempts to touch him made Arthur feel rather guilty.

During lunch, the two would meet at the back of the school under a tree. It was a quiet place Arthur had claimed back in his freshman year of school. He preferred it to the noisy cafeteria inside. But he found he actually enjoyed it when there was company present.

Today, Alfred asked an important question. "Why don't you like people touching you?"

Arthur shrugged. "I can't say, really. I have never seen the appeal in it. It looks too invasive and I've never thought the idea of invading another person's space to the point of contact was something to think of as intimate. I don't even touch my parents."

"Have you tried counseling?" Alfred asked.

"Yes," Arthur replied, biting into his sandwich. "They all tried horrible experiments and exercises on me. Many days I thought I would die. They just don't understand… No one does… I don't want them touching me…"

Alfred stared at Arthur, quiet for a moment. "Maybe it's 'cause ya don't like any of them so you see no reason to want them to touch you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur muttered. "I like my family…well enough…"

But did he? Between his controlling and verbally abusive father and his detached mother, there was really nothing much to like. They had turned a blind eye to Arthur's plight, instead of accepting that it was a part of him and offering any form of comfort or support. They still thought him childish and his actions were simply a ploy for their attention they refused to give. During therapy, they would hold him down, telling him to be normal, and forcing him further away from them. The distance was so great now. Had he ever hugged his parents once in his entire life?

"Does it…feel strange?" Arthur asked, referring to touching in general.

"To touch someone?" Alfred shrugged. "Not really."

Arthur stared at the grass creeping up through the cracks in the cement. Slowly, he removed his glove. The cold air felt odd to his warm hand, so used to being covered by cotton. Beside him he could tell Alfred was watching him.

Then, Arthur touched Alfred's hand.

When high school ended, Alfred worried he'd have to leave Arthur forever and they'd never stay in contact. Arthur was stronger now, and he smiled at Alfred, promising that it would never come to pass; they'd always be friends. Their colleges were only two hours apart. Since that day at lunch where Arthur had touched Alfred, Arthur had tried only a handful more times to touch Alfred. Every time was short, ending with Arthur snatching his hand back almost as if he were in pain. Alfred had never pushed him to touch more, and gave him praise instead. Still, Alfred was forbidden from touching back.

At the graduation ceremony, Alfred sought Arthur out. He held out his diploma for Arthur to shake, a practice they had come up with in place of a handshake or a hug. No one had said farewell to Arthur, and Arthur didn't feel the need to say good-bye to anyone either. No one really cared; no one but Alfred. And he was all that mattered.

Alfred was popular. At eighteen he had filled out nicely. His broad shoulders and muscled arms and pecs had girls swooning; his smile and blue eyes twinkling make them weak in the knees. Arthur realized he was still a runt. All of his running had done nothing for his body. Suddenly feeling quite small, Arthur began to retreat. But Alfred broke the barrier like always and grabbed Arthur by the hand.

Arthur didn't scream or cry as he would have in the past, but he did jump. Alfred leaned over and kissed Arthur on the cheek quickly. There was no reaction. Arthur hardly noticed that Alfred was now holding his hand. He just stared and wondered how come his face so hot.

That was the day Arthur felt his heart thaw.

The college years were hard on Arthur, but he knew long ago that nothing was easy. Luckily the hardest part was missing Alfred and focusing on his schoolwork. Long gone were the days of hiding in a bathroom stall. Most students on his campus could care less he had a phobia, while others tried to reach out to help him.

Usually Arthur would count down the minutes until he could see Alfred next. They spent every other weekend together, and Arthur found himself in a strange predicament every time. When it was time for Alfred to go, Arthur waited for something. Something from Alfred. But it never came. He wasn't sure what he wanted when Alfred was present, but it was only after he left that his hands tingled at not having felt his skin.

He had never pinned for another person's touch before, but more often than not he imagined Alfred's hand on his, his lips on his cheek again. Only once did he imagine a kiss on his lips, but it felt too repulsive to even his mind that he never thought it up again.

But Alfred had needs. He could only be patient for so long. He probably had a girlfriend and touched her with no restraint. With a normal girl, he didn't have to worry about boundaries or stupid phobias. Arthur only held him back.

One day fall day, Alfred came to visit. He was wearing a Letterman's jacket. The Quarterback. Of course. They sat in Arthur's dorm- a single, as it had been all of Arthur's college life. Alfred tired of video games, and nothing was interesting on television. Instead, Arthur came up with something else.

"May I touch you?" After all this time, it was still odd to ask. He always asked every time, despite knowing that Alfred would never object.

Even now, just as in high school, Alfred would quietly put his hand out and not move or even breath, waiting for that moment to just touch Arthur. To share in that space. Arthur never looked at him as he did so. They treated it as if it were the most delicate of situations, and to Alfred, it was.

Surprisingly, it wasn't to Arthur anymore. Alfred brought out another first in his life. He pulled his gloves off quickly and slapped his hand down on Alfred's. It startled them both as they were so used to this process starting out slow and ending quickly. But Arthur was starved for physical contact, and all he wanted was Alfred's.

This time, Arthur looked at Alfred. Had he always blushed when he touched him? Did he always stare their joined hands, nibbling on his lower lip? Arthur wondered this, and really wondered of so many other things. Why was it warm and so perfect? How come it felt good? Why did he not pull away? What did Alfred see in him?

"Arthur?" Alfred whispered, fearful this could all be destroyed. Always one to rush into his sentences, he was carefully picking at the right word, letter by letter, as it rushed about in his head. "You remember when I said I liked you?"

Arthur nodded, his voice coming out dry. "You said it was a misunderstanding."

"It was," Alfred said, stressing the past tense. "But…"

Alfred's fingers closed around Arthur's, but not enough to trap him. Arthur's heart sped up. He didn't pull away. He didn't want to. Normally he would feel stressed or scared of such a physically demanding situation, but Alfred's very presence calmed him. He leaned into the touch.

"That's…not how it is now…," Alfred finished.

"What…is it now…?" Arthur breathed.

"…Can I touch you?"

Arthur merely nodded his approval rather than speak it. He waited and then Alfred's lips were upon his.

And that was the day Arthur fell in love.

Hoshiko2's cents: So I don't know much about this phobia, and I apologize if I didn't do a good enough job, but I know some people who have this actual condition. One in particular is an old friend of mine and she did used to wear gloves constantly and never let me touch her. I did a few times on accident, and she cried and was teased often for being a baby, but she's better now. I got to hug her for the first time two years ago, but that was still with a lot of clothes on. Still, I'm proud of her and anyone else who feel they can feel comfortable being so close to other people.

By the way, the phobia of being touched is aphephobia. It has a lot of other names, but that's the one I've heard the most.