Arthur peeked over the top of his novel for the hundredth time. Nearby, Alfred laid on Arthur's bed, the fifteen-year-old boy snoozing without a care in the world. It was fairly common for Alfred to come visit, hyped on too much sugar, video games, life, or whatever it was that made him prance around like spastic sunshine. No matter how abundant the energy seemed, even Alfred had limits, and so he would crash in bouts of random napping. Arthur didn't mind. He was used to it after all these years.

They became friends five years ago when Alfred and his family moved into the empty house next door. To this day, Arthur still couldn't reason why Alfred bothered with him that day. Arthur, being eight-years-old, had been sitting in his backyard amongst his mother's garden, reading as he was always inclined to do. Alfred, curious ten-year-old that he was, ventured over and offered friendship. Just like that. The suspicious boy thought the older was joking at first, perhaps teasing him. However, Alfred showed nothing but sincerity and continued hanging out with him.

And here they were today, spending a lazy summer afternoon in Arthur's bedroom while his mother was at work. The woman loved Alfred to pieces, like the other son she never had, and she would coo over the both of them.

"Oh Arthur, you follow that boy around like a little duckling."

"I do not! He's the one who follows me around! He's annoying, but someone has to make sure he doesn't do stupid things. He's lucky I put up with him."

"Say all you want dearest, but I know you downright fancy him."

"Mummy!"

The mere thought made the boy nearly groan aloud. If that wasn't bad enough, he did in fact like his best friend very much. Arthur couldn't pinpoint when it had started precisely, though he knew it was early on. Alfred wasn't much like anyone he'd encountered before. He was loud, spoke his mind far too freely, egotistical, and overdramatic about the simplest of things. Arthur often found himself rolling his eyes around Alfred, especially when he'd drag Arthur into stupid schemes.

He'd go along with him of course. Every time, without fail, if Alfred asked him something, he'd eventually give in. The blue-eyed blond had a way about him. No matter how many times Arthur would roll his eyes, he liked Alfred's laid-back attitude, how he wasn't afraid to say what he meant, how Alfred glowed with confidence and pride when he knew it was deserved, or how he brought life to even the simplest of things.

Call it a silly crush on the older boy next door if you want. Arthur… He really admired Alfred. He was many things Arthur wasn't and many things Arthur hadn't realized that he truly wanted in his life. And the way Alfred always came back, the way he declared so boldly his affections for Arthur, made him hope that his . . . adoration may be reciprocated to some extent.

That's why he couldn't help but keep glancing at Alfred's sleeping form. By this point, Arthur couldn't focus on the ghostly tales in his hand. No, rather than read, he glared with a pout at the pillow Alfred currently cuddled against and wished it was him instead.

I can't believe I'm jealous of a pillow. How petty, he thought, ashamed of himself. Alfred would probably laugh at him if he knew what was souring his mood. Knowing him, he wouldn't even read between the lines and realize that Arthur liked him. Alfred always was inept at picking up those kind of cues towards himself. Likewise, he always freely showered Arthur in hugs and the like, so he would just think that he had finally softened Arthur up and take it as a win. Come to think of it, Alfred might only like him as a little brother type. Arthur cringed at the thought.

Sitting his ignored book on the end table, Arthur mused moodily to himself for a while. Why couldn't Alfred be more perceptive? He would surely die if he outright told Alfred how he felt. It'd be easier if Alfred could interpret it himself and act on it. That way, if his reaction was positive, Arthur could affirm his feelings. And if Alfred didn't like the idea, didn't like him, then Arthur could pretend he didn't know what he was talking about and tell him that he was reading too far into things.

But . . . what if Alfred had already figured it out, didn't like him back, and just kept silent for his sake?

Arthur didn't know what to do if that was the case. The not knowing was killing him.

Perhaps Alfred liked him as well but feared telling him for similar reasons? Then again, why would he like a guy two years younger than him? He might still see Arthur as a kid.

Arthur sighed and stared some more at the pillow. Alfred had his arms wrapped around it, cuddling the pale blue thing to his body while snoring lightly. Arthur wondered how it would be for Alfred to hold him like that. Would he find snuggling with him weird?

He really shouldn't be thinking about this… Not with Alfred this close.

But then, why not? It's not like Alfred could sense his thoughts. No, he was blissfully unaware of him and the rest of the world. Considering how heavily he could sleep, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he didn't so much as twitch if Arthur happened to remove the pillow, perhaps even replace himself with it.

Wait…

Was he…?

Oh, he was.

He was actually considering it now.

Arthur eyed the pillow, poked it lightly as if that's all his intentions were. Alfred didn't stir, not that Arthur thought he would anyway. Really, what was he hoping to accomplish? Was he so petty over an inanimate object?

Fingering the corner of the pillow case, Arthur mused that he wouldn't have an excuse for removing it anyway and replacing himself with it. If Alfred woke up with Arthur cradled in his arms like a life-sized teddy bear, what could he say? Pretending to be asleep wouldn't work either. What would Arthur say to that either? "I decided to take a nap and happened to roll into your arms?"

…well, that was a little believable, wasn't it?

Before he had fully come to a decision, Arthur had started going about pulling the pillow away from Alfred's hold as carefully as possible. He went slow, holding Alfred's top arm so it wouldn't fall once he moved away its support. As expected, Alfred never showed any signs of consciousness.

Arthur moved the pillow to the side and looked back to Alfred's empty arms.

…now what? Just . . . shimmy his way in?

This is stupid, Arthur's logic reasoned.

But . . . I want to, Arthur's heart argued.

"Bugger all," Arthur's mouth whispered.

If he was going to do it, then he would do it already and stop dawdling. And if Alfred woke up, Arthur would just blame him snuggling up to Arthur to be his fault! This was Arthur's bed after all! He could nap here if he wanted. He couldn't help if the other boy happened to mistake him for a pillow.

Having come to a conclusion, Arthur maneuvered into his embrace. It took a minute of slow movement and soft touches, but all there was to it for the most part was getting his body to lay right beside Alfred's and sliding under his arm. Arthur's head half rested on the other arm's bicep, and he lay there stiffly in fear of the older boy waking up. Not the most comfortable position, but he did it! So there!

…oh god, he was so close. Like . . . Alfred's everywhere was close to Arthur's everything. Why did he do this again? Why did he have to be so impulsive? This was too much. This was—

Alfred's eyes opened.

Arthur didn't know his stomach could plummet at light speed.

His friend stared at him with droopy, blinking eyes as if he wasn't processing Arthur. He feared that any second they would shoot open fully in alarm and he would push Arthur off his own bed before storming out of his life forever.

He had to do something!

"Um . . . I was just—you were . . . I uh . . ." Arthur failed completely to come up with a good excuse. The threat of the end of their friendship loomed high over him and Alfred was still unbearably close. He was sure he had never experienced so much pressure in his life.

Arthur had expected him to be surprised, to shout at him, to say anything!

No. He just stared at him. It was Alfred's stare that made his pathetic attempts at communication curl up and die somewhere in his throat. Now he waited with baited breath for his demise.

Alfred's eyes gradually lowered closed again and there they remained.

Did… Was he going back to sleep? That was it?

Suddenly, all of Alfred moved at once. His arms wrapped more securely around Arthur and brought him closer. Arthur's face was brought to rest against a warm collarbone while Alfred nuzzled the top of his head, his breath rushing out with a sigh to tickle the choppy blond locks there. His legs too moved to be closer to Arthur, one of Alfred's ankles resting over his. Arthur stayed absolutely still until he felt Alfred's muscles relax, almost like consciousness was leaving his body.

Wait… Consciousness was leaving his body. He couldn't see his face, but Arthur presumed that Alfred was going back to sleep. He wasn't doing anything else. Just laying there, with Arthur in his arms, resting against him…

He . . . didn't mind?

Knowing him, he's probably too sleepy to be fully aware of what he's doing, Arthur thought with an eye-roll.

Nonetheless… He was here, and Alfred wasn't complaining.

Maybe he would take a nap after all, just to ensure his excuse for later.

Yep, Alfred's the older one in this, 'cause why not.

So, is this any good? I wrote this about a year ago and never intended to share it. Of course, it's been edited since then, but still, I dunno…