Memories In The Sun,

Chapter 5.

Alfred's blue eyes widened visibly, his fingers still curled up as if he were still holding the coat stand.

After the shock passed by him (well, mostly), he regained feeling of his muscles and he stood up fully, his eyes still as wide as they were moments before.

"A-Arthur?" He asked, uncertainly. Did he get the house right? He was in his house, right? I mean, no way would England have the same house as him, and same lock, and all those posters of Twilight! (He didn't like it, really!)

Arthur's eyes narrowed, and those humungous eyebrows made it seem as if he had no eyes at all. And as much as the situation was weird and unnerving, Alfred's mouth twitched for a few seconds before he laughed loudly, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"Don't laugh, you wanker!" Arthur frowned deeper, and stood up from the couch. His eyes smoldered even more and turned a dangerous toxic green.

Alfred stopped, blinking. He never saw Arthur like this unless the man was extremely serious or extremely pissed off. Most times both.

"Arthur? What's wrong?" Alfred asked tentatively. Something wasn't right. . . Had he done something to piss Arthur off? Well he always did, but not like this. Well ok yes he did that too, but that's not the point!

"Sit down." Arthur said, and sat back down. Alfred, in an amazing display of hesitancy - and was that fear? Arthur thought with a bit of amusement. - walked over to the couch and took a seat, his shoulders stiff and on guard.

Arthur took a deep breath, eyebrows still furrowed as he stared ahead and off into space. Alfred shifted, a bit uncomfortable. Was Arthur alright? He was acting a bit. . . Well, weirder than normal. He poked Arthur's side, blue eyes curious.

Arthur slapped Alfred's hand away, coming back to reality. Alfred retracted his hand, shaking it in the air from the slight stinging pain from the slap.

"Right. . . I'm not going to beat around the bush so," Arthur sighed, and his mouth twitched downward at Alfred's snicker to his sentence. "Did. . . Francis do anything to you?"

Alfred blinked, his laughter dying off. Arthur knew? He was honestly surprised, and even more surprised that he was surprised.

But then he remembered how Francis had acted, and he frowned himself. Although usually couples would tell their significant other where they were going, Francis didn't really. . . Seem, to do that.

Alfred bit the inside of his mouth, not sure whether he should tell the truth or not. He loved Arthur. A lot. Which is why he was so unsure.

He didn't want to hurt Arthur, in fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do. Mentally sighing, he knew that things probably wouldn't be the same forever, but for now he could give Arthur a little bit more time. . .

"No," He lied, hoping that the silence hadn't stretched out too long. His eyes scanned Arthur's, searching for something, anything, in case he gave himself away. Arthur's jaw clenched.

"Alfred, I already know what he is doing. So just tell me if he bloody touched you, you eejit."

Too shocked to laugh or tease at Arthur, Alfred's jaw slowly hit the ground and his mind reeled all over the place, his thoughts scattering like a dozen birds upon the sight of danger or an oncoming car.

Despite his anger and frustration, Arthur couldn't help but smirk at the other man's reaction.

Alfred's mind finally skidded to a halt and rewound, the words repeating over and over again like a broken record tape. It wasn't until a while after that he was sure that if he spoke it would be proper words and not that of a toddler's whose teeth were only starting to grow.

That didn't mean he was hesitant though.

"N-not really. . ." Alfred finally admitted, his eyes never leaving Arthur's face. It was no use lying to Arthur now.

Arthur sighed, leaning back further into the couch and looked away to the wall, his eyes becoming slightly sad.

"I see. Not surprising. . ."

Alfred stared at Arthur, now a bit sad himself. He didn't like seeing Arthur like this; it reminded him of the past. Of that. But there was one question he just had to ask, something he had to know.

It just simply nudged and whispered to him as he stared silently, urging him on, silent but powerful. And he gave in.

"Then. . . Why are you still with him if you know he's doing this to you?" Alfred asks, his voice low yet heard perfectly clear. He saw Arthur grow rigid, and the face grow a bit pained.

The moments passed on, the awkward silence settling over the room heavily. Neither of the men moved, staying as still as statues. But just as Alfred began to think that the idea to ask that was a bad one, Arthur broke the silence.

"Because I love him." Arthur's voice was unsteady, and broke at the end. Green eyes shook, and he closed them momentarily, drawing a few deep breaths as if to calm himself down.

Alfred, on the other hand, felt his already broken heart get stomped on, the pieces shattering to even smaller pieces. He wondered if he could repair it at all now. He knew that their relationship wouldn't, at least. Not that that helped.

"He's always with other people, smiling at them." Arthur continued, his eyes still closed. Alfred listened, although he didn't want to hear any more.

"When he looks at me, my heart races, but he'll never change." Arthur's voice was laced with regret, compassion, pain, and anger, all tied together messily yet perfectly.

"It hurts," He spoke. Alfred knew the pain. "It hurts a lot. But I still love him anyway."

Alfred knew he was being hypocritical; because he felt practically the same way that Arthur did, but he couldn't help but feel well, angry. How come Francis, and not him!?

"But how!? How could you love Francis, after, after all he did and does to you!?" Alfred yelled, running his hand through his hair.

At that moment, though, Alfred wondered if instead of talking about Arthur, he had been talking about himself instead.

Arthur's eyes turned a bit shiny, and he frowned deeper, his thin and slim figure shaking as he stared at the floor.

Is he. . .crying? Alfred wondered, a bit shocked and worried.

"Alfred, you prat! I'm not talking about bloody Francis! I'm talking about you, you git!" Arthur yelled, his voice a bit hysterical.

A few tears streamed down his face as those green eyes pinned Alfred to his spot and the words completely shocked him.

Not soon after, Arthur's eyes widened to the verge where he looked comical, apparently only just realized what he had said.

When he looks at me, my heart races.

Alfred's own heart raced, faster than a dozen horses, faster than Italy driving.

He'll never change.

So he wasn't talking about Francis and his flirting, but about me? Alfred was still unmoving, rooted to the ground as his mind raced through the previous confessions.

But I still love him anyway.

And at that moment, Alfred swore his heart burst out of his chest and soared to the heavens.

A blush rose to his face, the sentence repeating in his mind as a warm, bubbly feeling expanded within him and butterflies danced in his stomach.

But just as he was about to reply, Arthur bolted, slamming the door open and running out.

Alfred's sentence died on his lips, and he simply stared as the chill air from the night snuck in and wrapped around him, before he realized that the only thing keeping him rooted to the spot is himself.

And so he took after Arthur.

Jumping over the coat stand and planting his hand firmly against the door to keep it from closing on him, Alfred raced out the door, his breath coming out in white swirling masses due to the chilly night air.

He ran all the way to the end of the block before he stopped, his glasses fogged and lopsided as his breath came out ragged and uneven. His head snapped around every way that Arthur could have ran off to, but he found no trace of the Englishman.

Dropping his head to stare at the sidewalk and bracing his palms against his knees, he caught his breath as his mind was racing and his stomach doing flip flops.

A few minutes passed by before his breath returned to normal, and he stood up straight, fixing Texas and staring straight ahead as if Arthur would magically appear like that magic the man so strongly believed in.

Alfred turned around, and almost robotically, walked back to his house, dazed. He closed the door behind him, locking it, and returned to the couch, plopping down unceremoniously. He's silent, still staring ahead, eyes glazed over and muscles tense.

And then he breaks.

He cries - oh, how he cries - and his shoulders shake. His head is thrown back as laughter mixes with tears, the sound coming out broken yet renewed.

He lifts a hand up to place it over his eyes, the palm quickly becoming wet and the tears escaping from the slight blockade to run down his face, his chin, and drop onto his lap.

The tears stain it, making little dark circles in contrast of the original color. A sob escapes his lips and he shudders out a breath, his whole body shaking lightly.

As his body continues to be wracked with sobs and laughter, Alfred shakes his head, causing the tiny diamonds seeping from his eyes to fall and break everywhere.

He's not sure whether he should be happy, or whether he should be sad.

But damn it all, it's both.