CHAPTER TWENTY: Target Audience

Foster jumped to avoid the Emperor's axe. It was said that Caligula's magical weapon was a gift from Bacchus, the same god that cursed him with insanity. The Mad Emperor swung, wild and reckless, which gave him the opportunity to smash the vase over his head. Caligula fell, still alive, but without his consciousness, and Foster ran through the corridors, past the famed Roman wall art and the fountains. He had to make his escape now—It could already be too late for Jenna. Sweet Jenna, held captive at the temple of Vesta. If she was thrown into the everlasting fires of legend, it would be too late for him as well. Too late for the future, their present, and every good thing that Caligula thought he could reverse.

It seemed like yesterday that Foster Grant had been tossing around a baseball with his brothers, compared to now. Now he was thrown into this mess, trying to save the world and the potential love-of-his-life. "Some people were just born to be like the heroes of old…"

He never liked prophecies, anyway.

Arthur looked through his latest chapter, clicked the 'save' button and shut off his laptop. He couldn't believe how much he'd written in his time of grief.

Since he started his story in Italy, he had written over 200 pages of material. It was the middle of March, and he hadn't spoken to Alfred since the end of February. Writing helped him put his mind in fantasy, to get away from his problems. He had luckily received a job in a bookstore, and had enough money to pay his rent for some time. The majority of his focus was on his book. Saving the World Book 1: Time Machines and Crazy Emperors was coming along nicely. His publisher thought so, too. Once he was confident that his novel was actually happening and well written, he contacted some old friends from his university times. One of them, an older publisher, was more than delighted that Arthur took up writing again, and agrees to take a look at it. He loved what he saw, and was helping Arthur tie up all the loose ends of his story and finalize everything. He said that it could be published by next year.

As much as Arthur used his writing to distract himself from his life, he still couldn't help but wonder how things were for Alfred. He would do well in ways that Arthur never could in his position. He also thought that it was unfair that he disappeared. Arthur realized that in hindsight, it wasn't the best of things to do. Alfred probably thought that he couldn't take the grief and ran off, or something. He felt pathetic even thinking about it.

But unfortunately, Arthur thought about everything Alfred-centric all too much. He still had very strong feelings for the man, and half of the time, he went over all the ways he could have reacted to Francis' big mouth. It could have been so much different it he had pulled his head out of his ass. If Alfred had really pretended all the way to Italy, he wouldn't have been so hurt by Arthur's behavior. Now that he thought about it enough, it all seemed clear that Alfred had been honest to him since his plan to lie began.

But he was gone from Alfred's life. Nothing would change that. Arthur quit his job and wrote a book, which was different, but still okay. Alfred never wanted to see him again anyway. He made that point quite clear.

Maybe it would do some good if Arthur did go away. He could move back home to London, or even to Rome.

Authors can work from anywhere, right? Why did he have to stay in New York? He walked over to the curtains that had kept him in the dark and threw them open, to see the lights of the city skyline all around. New York was a steel-and-glass Toyland, made for every one and no one and millions of people in between. He didn't feel like he belonged here anymore, not with all the memories he wanted to forget.

The Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Center.

Hot Chocolate and Tea in the Café.

New Years' Eve, New Years' Day, and the hours in between. That's when he told me he loved me. I said it back. I meant it. He meant it.

We fought over what kinds of advertisements we preferred. I liked subliminal, he was always bold and direct.

Every train of thought stopped as his eyes met the billboard on the opposite building. It was lit up, all in white with bold, black lettering.

"Arthur,

Don't give up on me. I should have never given up on you. Call me."

There was no name on the billboard and no phone number, but Arthur knew whom to call. He regained his composure, not because he had been tearing up a little, nope. And he dialed.

After 3 of the longest rings in the history of the telephone, a sleepy voice answered on the other side of the line.

"mm… 'lo?" It registered to Arthur then that it was after 3:00 in the morning, but it was a Friday. Alfred could sleep in tomorrow.

"Alfred." He didn't really know what he was planning to say.

"Arthur!" There was a thumping noise on the phone that sounded like Alfred had fallen out of bed, but Arthur chose not to comment.

"That would be me." He sounded so happy to see him. Arthur wiped away some more emotional not-tears from his face.

"I can't believe it. You- you saw it?"

"Of course I did, it was all in black in white. I- I can't do this over the phone, Alfred." He needed to see him, needed to talk to him face to face.

"I'll be there. As soon as I can! I'll leave now!"

"It's the middle of the night, don't be ridiculous!"

"No! If I don't say it now I never will. I'll be there."

He didn't wait for the okay, just hung up and started to get dressed, Arthur imagined.

He was a bit stunned that the previous conversation had happened at all, let alone that Alfred was coming over to speak with him. The thought made him do all sorts of silly things, like check his hair and his breath, and what he was wearing. Once he deemed himself presentable, he started to tidy up, a nervous habit that kept him calm. He wasn't used to now knowing the outcome of things.

Alfred rang the buzzer. He allowed him to be brought up the lift and into his flat, and when he opened the door, he could see how Alfred got to his home so impossibly fast.

His clothes didn't match—a purple t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, which were frayed at the bottom, covered him up. He had an old bomber-jacket on over his shirt. His glasses were crooked on his face and his hair was standing up at strange angles. He was panting as if he'd run the entire way here, which Arthur thought he might have. He was a right mess.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" This was no time for tea.

"Sure, that would be great." Alfred took a seat on Arthur's couch as Arthur made him the sweet drink. They didn't make small talk. It was just a bit too awkward for that.

When the drinks were poured and the two sat, sipping on the couch, Alfred moved to speak.

"Wait!" Arthur interrupted. "I just wanted to say something. It was wrong of me to not listen to you in Italy. I was drunk and hurt and I didn't know what to do. So if you don't mind, can we start from the beginning? I'm ready to listen."

Alfred nodded, and then began.

He told his story in absolute detail, surprisingly well for a man who had been drooling on a pillow not 30 minutes before. He explained it all, and when Arthur had a question, he answered, completely and honestly.

It made sense. Arthur knew how one could go from loathing to love—it had happened to him as well.

In the end, Alfred was surprisingly honest.

"I am sorry that I lied to you. No one deserves that, especially not you. But if I had the chance to do it all over again, I would still do it. Not so I could hurt you. If I never did it, I wouldn't have gotten to date you. I wouldn't have fallen in love or spent any time with you. And I wouldn't be sitting here, asking you to take me back, if you'll have me."

He looked so sincere, so honest in that moment that Arthur doubted that he could say no, even if he had wanted to. He didn't want to.

Somehow he found himself in the arms of Alfred Jones, whose grip was strong on him as he whispered "yes."

They were very close, so when Alfred whispered, "I love you," Arthur heard and responded right back.

"I love you too, my love. I love you too."

And just for one second, they kissed. It wasn't sexy, not hot or messy, just a plain peck on the lips. It was the kind of kiss that held magic, and made you feel like all the terrible things in the world were made a little better than before.

In the dark hours of the morning, they talked about everything and nothing, from Alfred's promotion to Arthur's book deal, and when the sun rose in the east they were asleep in their rightful place in each other's arms.

…

It was easy to wake up next to Alfred Jones. He was holding him tight to his chest in sleep, and it was so wonderful that Arthur had to kiss him to wake him up.

They stayed in bed all day, and talked some more. Soon, the conversation got back to Sunflowers Inc.

"You know, it's ironic that I tried so hard to get you fired. In the end, I was the one who left."

"Yeah, but you did it for a good cause."

"Honestly, I'm surprised that I didn't get replaced earlier—you have always seemed to succeed in business."

"Earlier? Nah, I wasn't really trying."

THE END.

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR FAVS, FOLLOWS, AND REVIEWS.

It really means a lot to me! This is my first everything. My first story, my first chaptered story, my first lemon. This was my baby and I'm so glad you all like it. :D

Epilogue Soon!

Love,

Manda