A/N: I apologize ahead of time for the extremely late update! I am very sorry about that! However, there is a reason. Due to a recent stroke of luck and a good interview, I am now going to school and I am employed. Because of this, I will be far busier than I have been, and I simply do not have the time for weekly updates anymore. I apologize but the updates will now be somewhere around one to two chapters per month, maybe three depending on how busy I am.

Arthur didn't know how, but once again, Francis was at his house instead of Alfred. It wasn't as common for Alfred to visit over winter break in the past, but he had still been invited, and yet turned Arthur down.

"Alfred, my parents are going to Bristol and have spared me the absolute joy of accompanying them and greeting my lovely cousins, I wouldn't mind if you visited at some point," he said, as he and Alfred walked to the American's truck.

While he was still obviously upset with Arthur, and maybe upset with himself, too, Alfred still gave Arthur rides home after their continued study sessions. It was the last day of school before break, and everyone got out early. Even Penny, but she had plans with some of her friends, so Alfred was stuck with Arthur.

"That's great, Arthur," Alfred said. He tried to smile. Arthur frowned. He had never seen something so fake and gut-wrenching before in his life. "I'll think about it, okay?"

Arthur nodded, but didn't say anything more. The car ride to their houses was tense, what with the lack of music and both obviously avoiding eye contact with the other. Arthur pined for the months before when they had started to become so much closer, despite Arthur being as stubborn as he possibly could about everything.

"Not until you join me and you're in a better mood!" Alfred yelled as he turned up the song. He was being as annoying as he possibly could, but it also had some sort of stupid charm to it that made it hard for Arthur to not smile. He rolled down the truck windows, and began wailing like an injured cat out of the window at all passers by. Arthur tried to bury himself into the collar of his sweater, his face and neck beet red. "Their shadows searching, in the NIIIIIIIIIIGHT!"

Three days after break had started, and Arthur's parents were across the Atlantic Ocean, he paid Alfred a visit. It was something he rarely did, despite the two of them being so close. Close in both literal and figurative terms. The air was cold and crisp, but he sacrificed the safety of his nose and ears knowing that Alfred wouldn't turn him out and leave him on the doorstep.

An unfamiliar car was in the Jones' driveway, and Arthur's heart sank. He had no idea if Penny drove, or what kind of car she had if she did drive, but what else was he supposed to assume? He could practically hear the two of them laughing at some dumb joke Alfred's father had made, while Alfred's mother made them a treat of some sort.

He didn't back away from his mission, though, and strode up to Alfred's front door with as much pride as he could muster. It was a hard thing to do, in very thin clothes in the dead of winter and it took all of his willpower to not begin shivering. He knocked on the door, and Alfred was there a few seconds later. A huge grin was splayed across his lips, and Arthur could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. When was the last time Alfred had smiled at him like that?

"Hey, Artie!" he cheered, and pulled Arthur into his house. "We were all just about to watch a bunch of movies Penny hasn't seen, and my mom made too much food, even though there's really no such thing, it'd be great if you stayed!"

Arthur couldn't tell if he was dreaming or not. Yes, Penny was there, but Alfred wasn't mad at him. He seemed just like his usual self. "What movies?" he asked.

"Oh, a bunch! Indiana Jones, Men In Black, Lord of the Rings," he continued listing movies, while Arthur took off his shoes.

"Aren't you mad at me?" Arthur asked. He didn't even mean to ask it, and Alfred instantly fell silent.

Within a couple of seconds he seemed so serious. "Yes," Alfred said, "I was mad at you." Arthur frowned, that wasn't what he had wanted to hear. "But I was a jerk, and it wasn't fair."

"You're being so wise," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow. "What's gotten into you?"

"Artie, please," Alfred said, his tone bordering on annoyance. Arthur's frown impossibly deepened. "Just let me talk, okay?"

"Fine," Arthur growled.

"I was mad at you for being mad at me and for being mad at Penny, and I didn't get why you were mad, but we were really making you into a third wheel," Alfred said. Arthur could have laughed at how mild Alfred was making everything sound. "But I promise I won't do that to you again, okay?"

"Okay," Arthur said. A small smile was threatening to break his façade as Alfred began grinning again, and dragged him into to room where the Jones family kept their tv and all of their dvds.

It was just like when they were little, Alfred's father was in his usual spot on a reclining chair, a cup of some sort of soda on the table to his left. Alfred's mother was setting out plates of snacks for everyone, ever the kind and thoughtful grandmotherly type of woman. The only thing that was out-of-place was Penny. She was snuggled up in Alfred's jacket. Arthur felt a dagger of jealously pierce his heart. That jacket was given to Alfred by his grandfather, and he never let anybody touch it. Yet there Penny was, looking quite content with herself.

Alfred flopped down right next to her, and pulled her close. Arthur sat down as far as he could from them while still being on the same couch. Arthur gave Penny a polite smile, and she returned the gesture.

.

"How did I end up spending Christmas like this?" Arthur groaned. He was stretched out on his bed back at his house, a week after the movies. Francis was equally as relaxed as he was, however his chosen perch was Arthur, rather than the bed or the floor.

"Are you complaining?" Francis asked. He adjusted himself, centering all of his weight on Arthur's stomach and generally being as annoying as possible.

Arthur groaned, and rubbed at his eyes. "You're lucky you brought booze or I would have kicked your ass right back out onto the street."

Francis laughed and crossed his legs. "You would never do something so cruel, Arthur. You try to be like a porcupine but really you are like a little hedgehog. Far less threatening far more cuddly."

Arthur tried to give Francis the best glare he could muster. With all the alcohol in his blood, his face felt like a too-warm pile of clay that doesn't do anything it's supposed to do. "I'm not like either of those, Francis, you're just a drunk asshole."

"Ah, Arthur," Francis sighed, "but so are you."

"I'm not drunk!" he snapped.

"Cher, you take one sip of wine and you're passed out and in a loincloth. We've nearly had three bottles of wine, there is no doubt that you're drunk."

Arthur groaned again. He knew he was drunk, he just didn't want to say it. He also knew that the hangovers the both of them were going to have once they woke were going to be the worst hangovers they had ever experienced. At least neither of them had puked.

"We have not even had dinner yet," Francis muttered. It was close to eleven. Arthur wondered what Alfred was doing.

"I'll get something," Arthur said. Francis rolled his eyes as Arthur managed to struggle from underneath him, one hand against the wall to balance himself.

"Try not to die," he called as Arthur turned out of his room and into the hallway. He sighed and adjusted himself so he was lying the proper way on Arthur's bed. His room was a disaster of posters and good grades he had achieved and pictures from when he was younger, but it had a sense of charm to it. A charm that, through the clutter and the mile-high stacks of books, was so very Arthur.

Arthur, almost to the front door of his house, wasn't sure what foot he was moving or how far away the ground was from him. He couldn't see straight anymore, and everything was turning into a giant congealed mass of things that always seemed to be just out of his reach. Was the door always so far away?

He didn't bother to put shoes or a jacket on, figuring that in the short walk to Alfred's house he would be fine. There was a light dusting of snow everywhere, barely enough to coat all of the grass, but each step felt like walking through a field of broken bottles. Each step brought him further away from Alfred's house, even though he knew he was approaching it at a fast pace.

He had thought everything was so far away, but suddenly he was at Alfred's door, knocking furiously against the wood paneling. Surely everyone was asleep, but he needed to see Alfred. He didn't even know if his fist was making contact with the door, but he continued the familiar motion.

"Arthur, what the fuck?"

Alfred was in front of him, in his pajamas and looking ruffled. Arthur was amazed that he had been asleep so early on a holiday. Though, the Jones tradition was to wake up early Christmas morning and make breakfast together. Arthur had only joined them in their tradition once, and it was one of the happiest days of his life. Everything had gone right that day, even though Alfred and Arthur had been young and weren't able to cook.

Tradition.

Tradition.

Tradition.

It laughed at him like a hyena, reminded him of how Alfred had gotten mad at him and left him feeling like a piece of shit. Hot tears were in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks.

"Screw your damned tradition," he hissed. His throat felt tight, and he wiped at the liquid pouring from his eyes.

Alfred had his hands on either side of Arthur's face in an instant, looking into his hazy jade eyes with worry. "Arthur, what's wrong?" He moved one hand to press it to Arthur's forehead. He didn't feel sick.

"You were mad at me," Arthur said, the ends of his words falling short.

"Are you drunk?!" Alfred snapped. Arthur shook his head, but he could hear Alfred groaning. "You're drunk, and you come over here at eleven, are you serious?"

Arthur shook his head again, but he knew the truth. Yes, he was drunk. Yes, he had blundered to Alfred's house like a lost child. Yes, he was a shitty friend. The tears wouldn't stop. If anything, they got worse as time passed.

Alfred sighed, and looped one of Arthur's arms around his shoulders. "Come on, let's get you into bed," Alfred said.

Arthur didn't struggle, instead clinging to Alfred's warmth. He couldn't feel his feet anymore, and his face felt like it was being stabbed with millions of tiny needles over and over again. He couldn't even imagine how ridiculous he looked, stumbling and red-faced and slurring.

"You love Penny more than me," Arthur muttered.

"What did you say?" Alfred asked.

"Penny, you're always with her..."

"Arthur," Alfred had to suppress a laugh, "we're dating."

"But I'm your best friend!" Arthur snapped. He shot Alfred a teary-eyed glare. "You're supposed to be with me all of the time."

"Arthur, calm down, you're drunk," Alfred said. He was afraid of what would happen if Arthur said something he didn't mean when he was intoxicated. It wasn't exactly rare for him to do so, and ended up with Alfred knowing a lot of things he really didn't need to know. More often than not, Arthur did mean what he said, but he was always too embarrassed to ever say anything about it.

"Who's more important to you?" Arthur asked. He was starting to slip out of Alfred's grip and towards the ground that looked so far away. The white grass was sinking below his feet, pulling him into some sort of pit that he would never be able to get out of once he was in it. The thought scared him. He looked up at Alfred. His eyes were so blue, it looked unnatural. Arthur had never seen such blue eyes.

"Artie, please, you're both equally important to me," Alfred said. All Arthur could see were his eyes, his lips, both so warm and inviting. "Don't make me say something that will get you upset again, and you're drunk so no matter what I say you'll get upset."

Arthur couldn't look away from his eyes, couldn't break the gaze. His body moved without his consent, his hands in Alfred's butterscotch locks, his smaller frame pressed against Alfred's larger, warmer body, his lips against Alfred's.

Alfred didn't recoil, so Arthur kept kissing him, kept searching for more more more. More of Alfred, more of his blue eyes. Only after he realized that Alfred wasn't reacting did he pull away. His blue eyes were full of pity. Arthur hated the look he had on his face.

"Please, don't leave me again," Arthur whispered. He couldn't be sure if Alfred had understood or even heard him, couldn't be sure if he had even said the words. "-love you..."

"Arthur," Alfred said, his voice like a summer breeze on a rainy day, "you're drunk..."

.

"Arthur?" His voice sounded so far away, like something Arthur could never reach. "Arthur, cher, I've made you tea. Heaven knows how much pain you're in right now."

"I would have been better if you had kept your mouth shut," Arthur hissed. He couldn't trouble himself to sit up, and to the right of him he could hear a cup being set down.

"Mm, of course. It has nothing to do with how much alcohol you'd had."

"What time is it?" he groaned.

"Around four pm," Francis said.

Arthur shot up in an instant, but the sudden pounding behind his eyes made him lie back down. "You're not serious are you?"

"Oh, I am completely serious," Francis laughed. "That was quite the stunt you pulled last night. Wandering out on your own, no shoes, no coat, what if you had passed out and died, Arthur? It was thirty degrees last night when you went out, that was the stupidest thing I've ever seen someone do."

"Please, shut up, Francis," Arthur grumbled. Each sound was like a knife through his brain.

"No, I'm not done yet. You decide worrying me isn't enough, and burden Alfred as well. He's still here, you know."

Arthur shot up again, setting aside the pain for as long as he could to open his eyes. "What?" he snapped.

Francis laughed. "I'm kidding, cher. What would you have done if I hadn't been lying about that?"

Arthur curled his nose. "Tactful as ever, Francis."

Francis gave him a wink. "You know you love me," Francis said. "But allow me to continue. You bother Alfred, drag him back here, fall all over him, kiss him, practically confess your love to him, and then pass out in his arms." Arthur couldn't have blushed more. "Poor dear, he tries to carry you inside on his own, and barely manages to get you to the couch before turning all flustered and leaving as quickly as he could."

"I don't remember any of it," Arthur grumbled. "I hate when you let me get drunk."

"Arthur, it is not my sworn responsibility to keep you from drinking yourself silly," Francis said. "You're old enough to manage yourself."

Arthur hated when Francis was right. "What do I do about Alfred?" he asked.

"That's not my problem, Arthur," Francis said.

"At least give me some sort of advice!" Arthur snapped. The volume of his own words had him reeling, he felt sick.

"All I can give you in the form of advice is to figure it out on your own, Arthur. I cannot be your babysitter forever."

Francis was standing up, his coat draped over his arm. "While you do not have family here currently, I do, and they do expect me home to help make dinner." He had a soft smile on his face with one eyebrow raised, per usual.

"Of course," Arthur said. He sat up properly and took the mug of tea that had been set in front of him. "Merry Christmas, Francis."

"Merry Christmas."