Monday

With his heart thumping like a drum, Alfred Jones steadily rode on his skateboard. His teeth chattered, for even though the early morning air was crisp, frosty, and cool, he'd traded in his usual casual attire for something more admirable: a prim white button-down short-sleeved shirt; the best pair of blue jean shorts he could find, which came down to his knees; and his black dress shoes, only reserved for special occasions. Because this was a special occasion. Today was the big day.

He was sure his hair looked a mess, though, so as he got closer to the skate park he brushed it back with his hands; he tried to tame down his stubborn cowlick but couldn't manage. He growled a bit in frustration. Agggh... I hate my hair... Once he saw the park come into view, he straightened his glasses, brushed down his shirt, and slowed his pace.

He parked his board, and wandered around for a bit. At each empty corner that aching feeling in his chest grew deeper and deeper until it reached his groin. He furrowed his brows a bit nervously. Isn't he coming? He hung his head in shame, and began to crouch to sit on the ground when—

"Alfred? That you?"

The teen snapped his head toward the voice. He saw Ivan; the boy was crouched down against a ramp, back pressed against it, knees hugging his chest. He was smiling. And waving. And his cheeks were a shade of pink that reminded Alfred of cotton candy.

He looked adorable.

Upon closer inspection, Alfred could see a piece of paper in Ivan's hands, which were trembling a bit. The American boy planted a seat next to his friend, their knees pressed together just slightly. "Hey," Alfred tried to say, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, and then tried again. "Hey," he repeated. "What's up?"

"Nothin'," Ivan chirped out, quickly. He hung his head down and played with his fingers a bit.

Wow. This was getting...awkward. Just say it, Alfred urged himself, just tell him! But he felt that that would make things even more awkward. No...no Alfred. You gotta lay it on slowly. Just start talking casual. The boy criss-crossed his knees and chewed his bottom lip, searching his fired-up mind for something to say. "Did you have a good morning?" he finally came up with.

Ivan looked at him, flashing his cute little closed-mouth grin. He nodded. As he did so his pink round cheeks bobbled a bit.

He's like a little kid... Alfred realized. He smiled back. "That's good."

"What about you?"

Alfred heaved a sigh. "Alright, I guess. Mom and I kinda got in a fight, though."

Ivan's smile dissipated a little. "...Oh? What about?"

The American boy sighed again, curling his knees close to his chest. "I don't know—something stupid. About me coming here." He bowed his head, allowing his deepest thoughts to consume him; they just came out. "I probably disappoint her so much."

He heard the sound of Ivan swallowing. "Why do you say that?" he asked softly.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders in shame. His lower forehead felt light and hazy, the way it did before you began to cry. "Because—" he took a deep breath, "—I don't know. I always get in trouble. I always talk back to her and never do what I'm told. A few days ago I hit her."

Alfred looked up again at Ivan, who was sitting completely still, and whose eyes were wide. Of course they were—the boy would never even think of hitting his mother.

Ivan chewed his lip musingly. "That doesn't mean she thinks you're a disappointment," he said quietly.

Alfred felt himself get angry; his face was getting red. "Yeah it does. She hates me. You wouldn't know how that feels," he spat out.

Just a mere week ago Ivan would've cowered in fear at Alfred's harsh tone—knowing what he would be about to get. But there was something else in Alfred's voice. Helplessness. Loneliness. A need for compassion. Alfred was sick of being the bad boy, the one who never got afraid. Because he was afraid. And hurt. And self-conscious (Ivan previously would've never believed that in a million years). Ivan did what he thought right—he scooted closer to Alfred, and gingerly put an arm around his shoulder.

The bigger boy swallowed. He really didn't know what to say to comfort Alfred—he wished he'd had more friends. But he tried. "Hey..." Ivan said. He felt Alfred's body relax—was that a good sign?

"You know..." he continued quietly, "sometimes I feel those things about myself, too."

Alfred looked up, tear-stricken and eyes red-rimmed. His baby blues narrowed into slits as he regarded Ivan skeptically. "Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

Ivan nodded, and looked down as if ashamed. Alfred put his head down, feeling shame, too. He chuckled bitterly. "I guess that makes both of us, then," he said grimly.

He looked again at the picture in Ivan's hands. Wiping his humiliating tears from his eyes, he pointed at it. "What's that?"

Ivan hunched down a little bit, refusing to make eye contact with Alfred. He bit his lip. "Um..." he mumbled, flustered, face red.

"It's okay, dude," Alfred said gently. He gingerly took the picture from Ivan's hands. What he saw made his heart skip a beat.

It was a drawing of a slender boy with hair so golden it looked dyed, or false; his eyes were a perfect sky blue, hiding behind thin glasses. The boy was winking and smirking charmingly, and the picture was framed by carefully drawn yellow stars.

"Did you make this? Is this...supposed to be me?" Alfred could barely find the strength to choke out. Ivan nodded rapidly, face now beet red.

"Ivan, it's—" the American boy was really, truly speechless. For once. He felt honored, and a bit embarrassed. Gingerly he touched his shaggy, messy dirty-blonde hair. Did it really look as gorgeous, as perfectly sunlit golden, as the boy's in the drawing? Were his eyes truly that deep of an ocean blue? They must have been, for that drawing was of him. Given to him by Ivan.

Alfred could have screamed the joy he felt.

"Wow," Alfred muttered. He touched his lips with the tips of his fingers, and then let his hand rest on his chest in a heartfelt way. His solemn, sad mood had totally been erased. "Thank you! So much! I love this!"

Ivan mumbled something, to which Alfred didn't catch at first. The smaller boy lifted his head. "Mm?" he said, cocking a thin brow.

"Look on the back."

Hands trembling like mad, he did so, most tenderly and gingerly.

In big, bold, red letters, framed by a red heart, was the one phrase Alfred hadn't even known he'd been dying to hear:

I LOVE YOU, ALFRED JONES

A gush of wind seemed to steal Alfred's breath right from his lungs. Lips suddenly wet, he looked up at Ivan. Alfred didn't think he'd ever seen anybody's face look so red. Ivan still had his head down slightly, but the smaller boy could see clearly that he was smiling.

Alfred didn't know what to say. What could he say? He stole my thunder, Alfred couldn't help but think harshly; he was the one that was supposed to break the bombshell. But it had been Ivan. Yet—Alfred felt his chest lift, and he replied, in a shaky tone: "I love you, too." His voice didn't even sound like his own—he could feel it.

For some reason Ivan didn't even feel all that shocked—overly happy, yes, and still a bit embarrassed, but not surprised that Alfred liked him back. He resisted the urge to lick his dry lips, feeling that would make him look stupid, and instead pursed his lips tightly and awkwardly rubbed at his nose.

Then—it just happened. Alfred didn't know how; it started with him intensely searching Ivan's face, admiring his beautiful features, until his gaze fixed upon his lips. Then the teen slowly scooched closer to Ivan, until their knees were touching and he could feel how warm the bigger boy's body was. Their faces became closer and closer, and they wordlessly locked lips.

It wasn't anything intense, at all, but fireworks shot up in both of the teens' frantic heads. Mostly the kiss was just experimental—how they liked this feeling, how they liked this new idea. It only lasted for a few seconds until they pulled away slowly, simultaneously.

Alfred was the first one to break the sort of awkward silence; Ivan watched him blink rapidly, cheeks flushed pink. Then he began to chuckle, and smile. As he did so, the sun shone on him in an almost God-like way; the light catching on him made his eyes a lighter blue, and made his teeth glow, and made his hair into a mass of molten gold, as if he were sporting an angel's halo. He looked beautiful. Not just handsome, but drop-dead gorgeous.

"Come here, you fucking idiot!" Alfred nearly screamed, catching Ivan off guard. He wrapped his arms around the boy's large chest and buried him in the biggest bear hug he'd ever received. Then once again he smacked him on the lips. Ivan looked up, startled at the harsh words that spewed from Alfred's mouth—but as he looked in his face, he was smiling and laughing like crazy. Was this his way of showing bliss?

"We're such nerds," Alfred said again, quieter this time. He released Ivan from his death grip, but still had his hands around his arms lightly. He looked from Ivan, to the picture, then back again.

The two sat in silence for a minute; it was borderline awkward, but there was something there to make it happy silence. Maybe it was both their smiles, or their jubilant, pink faces, or the way their shoulders and thighs were touching as they sat beside one another.

Eventually, the two got up and began to walk around the skatepark, talking and laughing. They went by the lake, which seemed to be ten times more beautiful and mystical than it naturally was.

After nearly an hour of pure glee, Alfred sadly said that he had to leave. "Goodbye, dude," he told Ivan. He hesitated a bit, before sealing another wet kiss on the Russian boy's round cheek, making him blush. "Today was awesome," he added, almost breathlessly.

Ivan swallowed. He'd had a wonderful morning; his heart was still pounding and his hair was sweaty and sticking up from the rush and excitement. "Me, too," he spat out, before realizing that was an inappropriate answer. Alfred just threw his head back and laughed, while Ivan grew red. "Um, I mean...yeah, today was awesome." And it had been.

Alfred smiled one last time, and turned to leave. He grabbed his skateboard and hopped on. Ivan still had one nagging question, though. "Hey, Alfred?"

"Hm?" The boy turned his head, pursing his lips attentively.

Ivan began to twiddle with his thumbs. "Are we...? Does this mean we're...?" He wanted to say dating, but only then did he realize that that was probably a stupid question; you just don't ask people that. (even if you did lock lips with them like three times that day...)

Alfred, once again, laughed vigorously. "Of course, ding-dong!" he said playfully. Then he turned his head around, shaking it. "God, such a dork. 'Are we dating?'" But he was smiling. "Hey...Ivan?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure you get your ass to school today." And with that he took off. Ivan admired the way he rode; he seemed to become one with the wind as he glided by. Ivan saw his caricature of Alfred tucked in the latter's back pocket protectively. This comforted him.

Once the boy was out of view, Ivan took a shaky, deep breath, and held his chin up high. He'd never been in a relationship before. It felt...nice, to be loved and cared about by someone other than his family. Or, at least...Alfred did love him, right? The Russian looked down at himself self-consciously. Well...Alfred did say he loved him—and boyfriends were supposed to love you, right? Wasn't that, like, their job?

Ivan sighed again, and looked down at his attire; gray sweatshirt (mainly to cover his bulk, his stomach and his arms, features of his body he was particularly self-conscious of), baggy jeans, beat-up tennis shoes. He came across as so plain, while Alfred had dressed so nicely. He wondered what the boy thought about him, particularly his looks. To him, Alfred was one of the most beautiful people he'd ever seen. So how could he compare? He gingerly and musingly touched his cheek.

Well...I mean...Alfred must think I'm pretty great if he wants to date me... This made Ivan feel better. He hoped he could be good enough for Alfred. He had to be the best for Alfred. Better than Kiku. Hell, even better than his own sister possibly could've been. Nothing less than the best would do.

Ivan picked up his book bag, which he'd hidden near a skating ramp. He was going to school, two hours late.

••••••••

Wednesday

Ivan's head was pressed against a cold locker. He felt numb below his shoulders, though it was a good kind of numb—with only the occasional prickling feeling of butterflies swarming in his stomach interrupting the numbness.

He was waiting for Alfred. The boy's suspension was now over; today he was supposed to come back to school.

Ivan had spent the previous evening with Alfred, and it had been the best in a long time. It had started out awkwardly at first, no doubt, but it had eventually evolved into a very nice, sweet time. Ivan sighed. He hoped their relationship would grow to be like that all the time—minus the awkwardness.

Just when he was about to give up and go to first period, he saw him. Bounding down the long corridor, his cowlick bobbing as he walked. It wasn't long before Alfred's eyes caught on him—once they did, he smiled.

Alfred strutted over towards his locker, where Ivan had been laying his head. He hurriedly opened it, shoved his book bag in there, and got out the stuff he needed. Ivan watched gingerly as he did so.

He then began to walk. Ivan froze, not knowing whether to follow him or what. Alfred quickly snapped his head back, and smiled—oh gosh, that smile.

"What're you doing, doofus? Come on! Don't just stand there."

Ivan was snapped out of his frozen state, and meekly grinned back. He jogged to keep up with Alfred. The way he did so reminded the latter of a cute, innocent puppy, loyal to its owner.

"You're so damn adorable," Alfred muttered. He contemplated reaching out and ruffling his thick hair, but decided against it. He could already feel people staring, harshly and curiously, at him and Ivan.

The two walked in silence for a few moments. Ivan couldn't help but feel so big and gangly next to his small boyfriend. Alfred moved with such confidence, such composure, that Ivan felt awkward and inferior just standing by him. Just mere weeks ago this would have intimidated the hell out of him—but today, he felt admiration for his former bully. Ivan usually kept his shoulders slumped and his chin down when he walked—a bad habit—but today he felt confident enough to stand tall like Alfred, so he did so.

Alfred felt surprised when he felt his hand being grasped—when he glanced up he saw Ivan smiling at him. He then looked back down at their hands, which were now intertwined. He gazed around the hallway self-consciously, and looked at...the stares. Alfred knew what they were all thinking—shock, and maybe asking themselves if this were a joke. Alfred Jones? And Ivan Braginsky? The kid he'd been picking on since grade school? Holding hands in the hallways. Some faces he recognized, but most he didn't. He saw Gilbert—scowling. He saw Antonio—mouth agape, he looked dumbfounded. Yao—the Chinese boy was biting hard on his lip, twirling his ponytail with his fingers, with cuts on his face; the cuts Alfred had given him. And his nose looked lopsided too. Good grief. And finally—Kiku. Alfred had to hold his breath as he looked at him, the way a person would respectfully hold their breath as they were driving past a cemetery. But to his surprise, the small boy was smiling. Brown eyes big and wide, he flashed the two a slight, closed-lip grin as they walked by. Was this Kiku's way of calling a truce? Of saying he was glad that his ex had moved on? Alfred didn't know, but when he looked once more at Ivan he was reminded that the past was the past—and the only place to look was to the future.

Alfred turned his head—and faced forward. Forgetting the stares, forgetting what people thought, for perhaps the first time in his life. All that mattered in the end was his happiness—he knew that now. Because without happiness, nothing else would follow. He was happy. He was happy with Ivan. And no one was going to take that from him—he would make sure of it.

••••••••

Epilogue

Alfred set his tray down at the table that started it all. Across from Ivan, of course. No conversation was held for the first few moments—but that was okay. He felt content just being with the Russian boy, to feel his presence.

Their relationship had evolved a lot since those first few days, for the better. They told each other everything now; all their hopes and aspirations, all their dreams and goals, all their problems and issues. Nothing was a secret between them anymore.

Alfred's friends had eventually even grown to accept Ivan a bit. Though they were all on good terms once again, at lunch, Alfred still chose to sit with Ivan. Each and every day.

"Ivan?"

The teen gazed his head up, his beautiful violet eyes meeting Alfred's blue ones.

"You haven't said you loved me today yet."

Ivan smiled. "I love you."

Alfred grinned in return. "There we go."

Ivan giggled at his boyfriend's silliness, a giggle that made Alfred's heart drop, made his legs go weak.

It was crazy to think that their sitting at lunch together had started out as a punishment. A punishment. Alfred couldn't believe that now. He couldn't believe that there had actually been a time where he couldn't stand to be in Ivan's presence. He remembered jumping up out of his seat, on that day of the fight, and arguing with Mr. Green. Calling Ivan a loser. He remembered hating that first day at lunch. He remembered wanting to run from this very table as fast as he could, and just leave, because he couldn't stand Ivan.

Not too long ago, Alfred had had regrets about choosing the lunch punishment over the suspension. Now he had no doubts. Looking at Ivan's round face, his big eyes, his waved hair, and his stylishly long nose reminded him that he'd made the right choice. For once in his life he didn't make a mistake.

"I love you," Alfred said quietly.

Ivan looked up again, and grinned meekly. "You've already said that today."

Alfred smirked. "I know. Just wanted to make sure you heard me."

Ivan snorted. "Weirdo."

"I'm the weirdo, huh?" Alfred chuckled, reaching over to hit Ivan on the shoulder playfully. The two shared a good laugh.

Alfred sat back down and sighed. Yes, he'd made the right choice. He was happier than he'd ever been.

Even things that didn't glitter were gold.

~The End~

••••••••

Soooo...there it is! The end of the fricking story—FINALLY.

Honestly, I'm so glad I'm done with it now. Don't get me wrong, I loved writing this story. But to be honest I've had bad writer's block for the past couple weeks—every few days I would only write like a couple paragraphs of the story. This made me feel awful, one because in the beginning I would write new chapters every few days. I dunno. The later chapters were longer, though, so I guess that's my excuse, right?...

Another thing, sorry if the scene with Alfred and Ivan at the skate park was kinda...I dunno. Forced, I guess. I didn't mean for it to be like that. Very rarely do I write romantic scenes like that, and I kinda suck at it, so oh well. I do like the epilogue though. Cute little Ivan :)

Hopefully now that this story's over with, I can take a short break and focus on other things. Thank you all so much for being supportive. I've gotten extremely good feedback on this story and honestly I'm super surprised at that. I didn't expect this story to be so well-liked. Again, thank you for being supportive and enjoying my content—it really lifts me up. I might write some more RusAme in the future, who knows :)

Farewell! Have a WONDERFUL day! :)