Title – My Heart Is Ever
Rating – T (almost M?)
Pairing(s) – USxUKxUS
Genres – Friendship, romance, hurt/comfort, angst
Warnings – Personified countries; homosexuality; hints of self-harm, neglect, abuse; frequent quotes; lime (not quite sex, but hinting at it...)
x. This is a Christmas present for my America, I apologise if I'm confusing you. XD; I appear to be adopting Japan's tendancy to hedge a lot. I was trying to explain myself in this little comment, but as I've said, I'm terrible at speaking truthfully. And writing, it seems. Therefore, due to my lack of ability to be straightforward and honest, I'll get on with the story. :) By the way, the title spurns from a play entitled
x.
The shrill ring of the bell screeched throughout the school, and I jumped in my seat, surprised by the grating sound that seemed to last forever. I grimaced, digging my nails into his wooden desk. I loathed the sound of the bell. It was such an atrocious noise. An atrocious noise that signalled it was time for my next class. God, I hated the school bell.
Unperturbed by the my pessimism, the other students emitted cheers and sighs of relief, glad to be leaving their Maths class. I had to admit, it was very boring, and the teacher did nothing to remedy that. She was an elderly lady with the bad habit of clearing her throat every few minutes, her voice was soft and hoarse and you had to learn forwards to catch anything she said. Needless to say, Maths was not my best subject. In fact, I would probably go so far as to say it was... my worst.
But I would never admit it to anyone but myself. In my head. I was barely scraping a pass in the class as it was, however... At some point, I would probably have to ask someone for help, even if it meant brutally decapitating my pride (of which I had a lot).
I sighed, mind plagued by troubled thoughts, but I refused to think of anything aside from school. If I began to contemplate over problems outside of education, I would be unable to focus on school at all, and I couldn't do that. I already had so much to do, especially being the student body president. (Head boy, I had originally dubbed muself as, much to the confusion of the other students. I was accustomed to the British schooling system and we didn't refer to leaders as presidents, okay? Why was it such a difficult concept to grasp?)
That reminds me, I thought, grabbing my books and sliding his notes into the appropriate pages, I have to arrange a bleeding Christmas party... I scowled, brows furrowing and teeth digging into my lower lip as I hugged my books to my chest, absently bidding farewell to my elderly Maths teacher and departing from the class. I licked my abused lips, tasting coppery blood from where my teeth had bitten into the vulnerable flesh, and allowed myself to drift into my own world as I glided through the hallways, having memorised my way to Biology. I don't know how to organise a bloody fucking party of all things! Francis, Gilbert and Antonio were primarily in charge of the last one, whatever that was for. I don't know what to do... I frowned worriedly, staring down at my scratched and dirty shoes. (They were old and I couldn't afford new ones, okay?) Everyone's going to hate me even more if I ruin this...
I was abruptly torn out of my reverie as I collided with something solid. Pushed by the force, I stumbled back, books flying out of my hold as I fell. I stiffened, prepared to hit my head hard, but found myself stopping suddenly. Hastily, I attempted to regain my footing, finding myself in a less than vertical position. Eyes fluttering open, I allowed the haze to dissolve, and found myself staring into shocked azure eyes.
"Ah..." one of us gasped, but I couldn't be sure who. I felt my heartbeat increase tenfold, eyes widening as the blood rushed to my face and I suddenly felt lightheaded. Swallowing, I opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut when I finally registered the snickers and whispers surrounding us. Tensing up, my face flushed even deeper and I clenched my eyes shut, shoving my saviour (What kind of a word was that?) away and stumbling backwards again. The sniggers evolved into hearty laughter and I ducked my head, hair cascading in front of my face to hide my eyes, and I quickly grabbed his books.
This is humiliating, I thought, blinking away the stinging sensation lingering in my eyes as I shakily grabbed at my things, my shaking hands unable to grasp all of the papers and I almost wanted to cry. Why were they all laughing? Why wasn't anyone helping—?
A slightly bigger hand ghosted over my own, warm fingertips brushing over my trembling ones, and I froze. Then, my papers were scooped up in one fluid movement, held up in front of me. I looked up through my bangs, eyeing the American warily, as if waiting for him to drop them again. After a moment's hesitation, I lifted his hand and snatched them away, stuffing them urgently into my Biology book, not caring that most of them were for Maths.
"You got a C on one of your tests?" the other boy suddenly enquired, voice lower than usual. I glanced up again, scowling at the younger student, cheeks flushing deeper in embarrassment. I averted my gaze, tightening my grip on my book, not looking back up when the other spoke again. "No, I don't— I didn't mean to offend you or anything. I was... I was just surprised." I glanced up again, frowning in puzzlement as the American scratched his head sheepishly. "It's just 'cause you seem to be good at everything..."
What? I blinked, finally looking up properly, eyes wide in disbelief. Did he just say something nice to me...? The American looked at me again, and I hastily covered up my bewilderment with a glare. Then again, this kid is nice to everyone... Idiot. I turned away, staring fixedly at the off-white wall. "I'm not," I muttered bitterly, "obviously."
There was a pause, and I didn't know what to make of it. Perhaps Alfred (Don't get him wrong, I only knew his name because he was an insufferable prat for whom I frequently had to issue slips for.) felt awkward and didn't know how to respond to what I'd said. I hoped he wouldn't try to convince me otherwise. It just aggravated me when people put on false smiles and insisted that you were talented or something. I bet they just laughed at me afterwards. I refused to believe their words.
"Well, we all have our downfalls," Alfred said. My eyes snapped back over to him and he offered an amiable smile, heaving himself up and offering a hand. I turned my head away again, standing by myself and shuffling awkwardly. Would it be right to just leave? I wouldn't want to be seen as impolite, but— "If it bothers you so much, you could get a tutor."
I blinked in surprise, looking back at him again. Damn it, he must have had his own gravitational pull. Metaphorically, of course. He may stuff his face with greasy burgers often, but he wasn't fat at all. Must have a fantastic metabolism, I pondered, my eyes ghosting over his build. Looks like the perfect "jock", so to speak. I wonder if he's on any sports teams... Urgh, I don't care. I shouldn't care. I don't. I shook off my thoughts. I shouldn't digress so much. "There's no one willing to tutor me," I mumbled, looking down at the floor again, embarrassment rising once more. "B-besides, I'm fine by myself. I just need to revise more," I added defensively.
He smiled again, and my scowl deepened. Why was he smiling at me? "Studying doesn't do any good if you don't understand it." He laughed softly, outstretching a hand as if to hit me, but I didn't flinch. His hand came to rest on my head, and I blinked again, blushing brightly as he ruffled my hair.
Don't touch me."Hey, we're in the same class together next, aren't we?" he suddenly said, then patted me roughly on the shoulder. I held back a noise of discomfort. His hands are so powerful... He beamed at me. "C'mon, let's go. We're gonna be—"
The bell rang.
I was late.
x.Biology wasn't my favourite subject by any standards. The people in my class were immature about various topics (God, why did they teach us sexual education? By the way everyone talked about such... acts, it was obvious they had a fairy fucking great idea about it. Um, I know about it, but it's not like I— I'm not the sort of person— I'm a bloody virgin although I hate that word and I hate how there's a stigma about it nowadays as if you're weird if you've not pounded someone into a mattress.) and we were often put into pairs for projects. Needless to say, I loathe Biology class. Whenever we're expected to work together, I remain seated, hoping to be allowed to work by myself, but then the teacher separates people who are in a group of three and puts one of them with me and they make a big show of rolling their eyes and sighing and I always end up doing the work.
My Biology teacher must have repressed sexual desires because he somehow links everything to sex. It's so embarrassing. I often find myself burying my face in my hands and drowning out the giggles and crude jokes.
Stupid teenagers.
The lesson went by as slowly as usual, full of note-taking and innuendoes. Alfred and I were given a warning, but he appeared unperturbed by it whilst I was guiltily fiddling with my sleeves and staring at the floor, only raising my head when the American had the audacity to interrupt the teacher. He didn't get in trouble for it though. Damn charismatic American. Not that I personally thought that he had charisma. I could see why some would find him charming – well, those who shared analgous social standing to him, at least – but I found him to just be a rebellious runt who used ingraciating lexis to get out of trouble.
Brat.
But, damn it, no matter how hard I scrutinised him and pondered over him, I couldn't dislike him. He was loud, obnoxious, arrogant, good at fucking everything (English perhaps being an exception) and just... he seemed perfect. Too good to be true despite his flaws. But he seemed to try and hide all of his flaws, and that was something that annoyed me about him the most. I caught glimpses of him on the way to school, shoulders hunched and eyes tired, but as soon as he noticed someone, he brightened with what I could easily see was false happiness, and slowed his strangely swift pace. Was he trying to get away from something...?
He was enigmatic in his own infuriating way. I found myself enthralled by his disguised sense of mystery, but I refused to pursue it. I didn't want to appear interested in such a foolish boy—not that I was interested in him. And I don't mean interested in the sense of... of attraction. I mean literal intrigue; the desire to know. But wisdom trumps knowledge, and I found myself lingering within my thoughts rather than taking action.
"...Kirkland? Arthur Kirkland?"
I glanced up quickly, dropping my pen and then scrambling for it. It rolled off of my desk and I got up to retrieve it, expertly stepping over someone's outstretched foot (Really, that was the oldest trick in the book.) and leaning down to grab my pen before scurrying back to my seat in the back corner, leaning against the cold window. I tried to ignore all of the cruel laughter and words I couldn't hear and murmured softly, "Sorry, sir," I offered a small apologetic smile, "could you repeat that?"
Stupid Alfred. If he hadn't have been distracting me, that embarrassment could have been avoided.
Idiot.
x."Hey, you all right?"
I didn't turn away from the window. "I'm fine, thank you," I answered shortly, scratching my arm beneath my desk and willing Alfred to go away and leave me alone.
"You seemed pretty out of it during the lesson," he insisted, and I heard the tell-tale screech of a chair being pulled out. He sat down at the desk in front of me, backwards in the plastic chair, and I offered him a small scowl before turning to look out of the window again.
"It's going to rain," I murmured, nails digging deeper into my skin and catching on it. I sucked in a breath, and he glanced at me.
"Damn," he said. "I was gonna play football today too..."
"Football?" I enquired, turning to him again, before raising a brow. "Or American football?"
His lips twitched and his eyes lit up slightly, evidently amused. "Heh. The latter," he agreed amiably, tone slightly teasing. "Your football is called so—"
"Don't even try telling me what it's called," I snapped, increasing the speed of the scratches on my arm unconsciously. "America just stole our language and, no, they did not improve on it. They butchered it." I huffed, sticking my nose up slightly. "It's football. Not soccer."
Silence again. It was disconcerting, really. I expected Alfred to be the type to never allow silence to fill the atmosphere. I didn't like it. Please talk, I begged internally, clenching my fists. It's too quiet. Please say something. I don't like the silence—
"You're kinda cute, y'know," he said suddenly, and I breathed a sigh of relief before tensing.
I sputtered before scowling, staring wide-eyed at him and – He has a nice smile – blushing. "I'm not cute," I muttered darkly, averting my gaze because I didn't want to see his smile. It made me feel... strange. It wasn't right. "You're just an idiot."
He chuckled softly, evidently not too offended by my pathetic insults. "The idiot who's volunteering to help you with Math."
I froze, not taking my eyes off of the window. The clouds were grey, looming ominously above the city, creeping slowly towards the school and they looked almost sinister as they loitered in the sky. "The weather man didn't forecast this," I breathed softly, my breath fogging up the class in front of me. I resisted the urge to draw something on the thin veil of condensation lining the corners of the window.
Alfred tilted his head, obviously befuddled by my response. "Well... you can't predict everything," he ventured. "Besides, it'd be a pretty boring life if you were prepared for everything, don't you think?" I turned to him and he smiled. Why didn't he smile at anyone else like that? "Then there'd be no surprises and no pleasant feelings when someone did something unexpected."
I stared at him for a moment longer than necessary and then dropped my gaze to my hands, unwinding them and looking at the deep crescent shapes my nails had formed in my palms. One was bleeding slightly, but not much. "I suppose," I agreed reluctantly, the wheels in my head turning as his reply formulated properly. He can be strangely... deep. With words such as those, it can't be a one time moment of insight. "Although, if you can anticipate what's to come, you'll never be disappointed. If you've no expectations, you won't be let down. Subsequently, everything will remain constant." I sighed softly, the sound escaping my lips before I could reign it back in.
"Ever heard the phrase, 'You can't have a rainbow without a little rain'?" There was a smile in his voice, but he sounded melancholic.
I looked up, not bothering to fake a smile. "But you can't have it without sunshine either..."
x.I never really had friends. Not proper ones, at least. Although I'm not entirely sure what a "proper" friend is. From what I've read – although perhaps what I've read is too optimistic and provides false hope – friends are people who are loyal, compassionate, truthful and spend time with you. You generally share similar characteristics with them and you can form "private jokes". Your friendship grows over time and you become closer. But none of my friends have ever been human, if that's the case. I've formed friendships with stray cats, going so far as to keep one at home – Nobody noticed. Or, if they did, they didn't care – along with creatures that most would peg as "imaginary". But I didn't care. What mattered was that I could see them and they could see me and they liked me.
I'd confided in my siblings about it once, but most of them laughed whilst one just scoffed, rolled his eyes, and hit me over the head. I went after him, there was a scuffle, but they found it easy enough to pin me down, mess around with me and then grow tired of me and leave. They always left. Everyone got bored or angry and disappeared. I hated being alone. I hated the silence. I can't stand silence...
That was the only reason I went to the cafeteria during break – to be surrounded by noise. It all faded into aggravating white noise and everything just buzzed but at least I could hear something other than nothing. When I'm alone and it's quiet because my parents are god knows where and my brothers are always somewhere else, I can hear my heart beat and I can feel my pulse and I want it to stop because that's a noise I can't stand. So I stick my battered earphones in (The left one is broken.) and try to drown out the silence with random notes. I listen to the notes more than the lyrics. A boy in my music class, Roderich, I told him that and he seemed interested. He taught me piano after school and in our spare time, but he's still better than I am. We occasionally attend concerts together and he invites me to his and, although they're small-scale, I'm still always eager to go.
I digress... I've never really had friends and so, therefore, I usually just sit alone near a window. No day is an exception. Besides, no one would ever attempt to remedy it. Everyone sees me as a loser and a loner, simple as that. Sure, I fill in slips when their uniform is incorrect or if I perceive something is off with them, but I've no authority to be a threat. Plus I just wouldn't abuse my power. I'd tried that in the past and... it just ended up landing me here: alone, huddled in the darkest corner I can find, telling myself it's only so many hours before I can sleep.
I never ate during school. I didn't bring in a lunch because it was just too heavy, and during the day I didn't feel like eating anyway. All of the people made me feel somewhat sick. (I'm not a psychotic sociopath, I simply dislike people. With vigour.)
I looked up from the table—covered in crumbs and liquid and it was disgusting—to see Alfred entering the cafeteria, head bowed and hair shielding his eyes. I swallowed, clenching my fists under the table, and watched him. Why did he always look so tormented? I didn't like it. I didn't want it. He was supposed to be a predictable, two-dimensional adolescent who's good at American football and is terrible at most reputable lessons, but he's not. He's brilliant at sports and doesn't even cheat and he upholds good sportsmanship (unless it's against a Russian boy with whom he seems to share a rivalry); he's the top in his class for Chemistry and fantastic at Physics and Maths (It surprised me. He doesn't seem like the logical type. He seems more artsy, somehow; someone who can see past abstract pieces. But he is logical, in his own way.); he has so many people surrounding him, smiling and laughing (but it forces me to question who his true friends are.); he just seems... surreal.
I didn't like it. I didn't like how I spent hours analysing his behaviour and trying to pinpoint his personality, predict his actions and expect his words. I could never do it. He always surprised me and it was disconcerting. I'm usually so good at understanding people...
Sky blue eyes flickered up and drifted over the cafeteria, finally resting on me. I stiffened, hoping that he hadn't noticed me staring, but he probably did because he smiled at me (but it was somehow poignant). I immediately glowered back before turning away abruptly, wallowing in my humiliation. Damn him.x.AP English flew by as quickly as usual, although I suppose that's because I enjoyed that subject. I spared an extra couple of minutes analysing the last part of the Act (We were doing Othello at present. Thankfully, I'd read it before and so I understood most of it by now.), scribbling notes that I dubbed as messy, before I put it away and departed from the classroom, bidding my teacher a polite goodbye.
"Hey."
I didn't look up. "Alfred," I murmured, pausing.
"Ain't you gonna ask me why I'm here?" he asked curiously.
"It isn't any of my business," I replied, staring down at the floor determinedly. "Besides, it's not as if I care what you do. It's your life."
Another pause. It was discerning. Whenever he was silent I wanted to turn around and grab his shoulders and shake him and beg please say something— "You're right," he said, voice strangely light. He sounded deep in thought, and I glanced warily at him, tilting my head when I found him gazing up at the ceiling.
"I find it's easier to contemplate," I began, and he looked at me, so I turned away again, "if you look outside of a window." I turned away, gripping my bag tighter. "It's no use looking up if your view is going to be blocked." I began to walk away, my footsteps somehow too quiet in the empty corridor.
"It's also no use hiding your beautiful eyes when someone might wanna look at them."
I froze. Wh-what...?
"Oh, and Arthur? Please eat something today."
I felt myself shaking.
x.Finally, the day was over. My thoughts would no longer be dominated by the countdown of how many hours were left, but I was fairly sure that Alfred would now reign over my mind. Idiot...
I gazed out the window, torn between a sense of longing and dread. I both loved and loathed the outside; the freedom of the sky and the burden of loss that came with it. It was raining, and rain always made me feel... lost. As if some sort of ghost was loitering beneath the rain, masking its tears with raindrops. Rain was camoflauge, another deceptive mask. I hate them... but they're so useful."Ah, so you showed up!"
I found myself turning, eyes clashing with bright blue ones that were much nicer than the grey sky. "I never break promises," I replied quietly.
The returned smile was dejected. I frowned. Don't smile like that when you obviously don't feel like it. "Never say never," he responded, voice quiet. I turned away from him. "So... you wanna get on with the Math?"
My shoulders slumped, somehow disappointed. I had no idea why. "Of course."
Approximately an hour later—obviously neither of us were in a hurry to get home—I was staring tiredly at the papers full of maths equations strewn across the desk. I had to admit, I had understood a good portion of what he had taught (I never thought I'd use that verb when thinking of him. Then again, I never thought I'd be thinking about him. As much as I do.) and now I could revise it without going in circles. Endless bloody circles.
"Hey," he said suddenly, tone slightly stern but very soft. I looked at him. "Didn't I tell you not to hide your eyes?"
It was rhetorical, but I couldn't hold myself back. "I refuse to do so when the person who told me that is exceedingly hypocritical and is hiding more of himself than simply his eyes." I slammed my books into my bag and stood abruptly, chair screeching backwards. He hadn't responded, but I paused by the door. "Do you have an umbrella?" I grumbled.
"Eh...? Yeah, I do..."
"Good," I snapped, and I left hastily. It's not that I care. It would simply do no good if he got sick. Only because he's my Maths tutor. It would just be unfortunate. No, no, not unfortunate, per say. Just... just..."Do you have one?"
I almost let out an unmanly sound. "I—" I turned, frowning at him. "I'll be fine."
He raised an eyebrow before glancing pointedly out the window. "Then why'd you ask if I had one?" He sounded both irritated and teasing.
I flushed, lowering my eyes again. "It would be..." Think of an appropriate adjective! "...I mean, it would simply be... a-annoying. If you got sick. Because I need your— Th-that is to say, because you..."
He sidled up beside me, smile softening and eyes glittering with something I couldn't fathom. He weaved an arm around my shoulders and drew me close, and I stiffened under his touch. Warm... "I'll go with you," he proposed, and I found myself leaning into him slightly.
It was freezing cold and the rain was cascading heavily, the large droplets falling through the air like a barrage of bullets. I grimaced as the chilly air hit my face. It felt like being slapped. "If the Titanic were personified, I'm betting it would feel like this."
He chuckled, the sound slightly shakey. He was cold. "C'mon," he said, "Let's get going. You're probably cold."
"Yes, I am." I scowled at him. "And so are you. Why won't you just admit it?"
His stare was disconcerting but I fought not to look away. Eventually, he sighed, parting his lips and murmuring a quiet, "Fine." His brows furrowed together and I briefly considered if I was rubbing off on him. At least he doesn't have my ugly eyebrows. "I'm cold. Pleased?"
"Yes," I replied, shrugging his arm off of me and then moving to grab his hand.
"Arthur...?"
"I-it might make you feel warmer," I explained, blushing bright red. Fucking circulation. "I can help you too."
Silence. And then, "Thank you, Arthur."
x."How far do you live?"
"I live on your street," I told him, glancing through the umbrella. It was transparent. I'd asked him why and he said it was because he could see what was going on. Then he added something about being a hero. Idiot. He was an idiotic hero, if one at all.
"Really?" He sounded surprised. "I never knew..."
"There was no reason for you to know," I offered, wondering why he sounded disillusioned. "We aren't friends."
He didn't respond for a while, and I thought I'd made him feel better. Why I cared, I had no idea. Not that I did care. He was just an experiment. An investigation. (...A person. One I felt... strange things for.) "We aren't?"
I paused, and he stopped with me. I moved my gaze from the sky to his face, childlike in its bewilderment but somehow mature. I couldn't place it. "I didn't think so..." I ventured, becoming defensive. What if he says he wants to be and then laughs? Nobody wants to be my friend. What's he planning?"Oh." Why did he sound so sad? "Then... can we become friends? I mean, I know it doesn't happen instantly and you have to form a bond unconsciously, but... can we? I just—"
"You're rambling," I said, amused. But I smiled slightly, hoping I didn't look stupid. "But... if that's what you want... I'd like that." I flushed and averted my gaze. "I mean..."
"You're rambling," he murmured, cackling when I scowled, but then he grinned. "Y'know, you should smile more often, too. It suits you."
I blushed brightly and glared just to spite him. "And you should smile when you want to, not when you feel you have to."
I did it again. Caught him off guard. I'm glad the shock was mutual.
x.We walked home together in the rain, his umbrella eventually being wrung inside out by the strong gusts of wind that shoved us back forcefully. We were soaked by cars speeding past, rushing through deep puddles on the side of the road and splattering the murky water all over us.
We laughed and proceded to run through puddles on the way home, throwing jibes and unintelligent jokes and silly puns until we reached my door. We were panting after our mad dash through the rain, chests heaving from the effort and our breaths visible in the cold night air.
He raised a hand, carefully brushing the side of my face. His fingers hovered above my lips before trailing down my jaw and my neck. (I blamed my shudder on the temperature.) "You had a leaf in your hair," he breathed, deep blue gaze boring intensely into mine, and I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. (Did he want to suffocate me? Because that's what he was doing...)
"Goodnight, Alfred," I whispered. "Goodnight. Parting is such sweet sorrow."
He smiled. "That I shall say goodnight 'til it be tomorrow." (1) x.
x.My alarm woke me up, as usual. It was loud and it always succeeded in dragging me out of my slumber. Then again, I had never been a heavy sleeper. I was always on guard for noise.
It's raining again, I realised as the sound of daggers stabbing at my windows. I sighed, lowering my head and allowing my hair (Too long. I'd have to have it cut soon.) to fall like curtains before my eyes.
I dragged myself out of bed, bumps rising on my skin as the cold air came in contact with my skin. I shuddered, rubbing my arms, and entered the bathroom. The shower was freezing, but it was a regular occurrance. Father forgot to pay the bills again.
Why did I dream about him? I wondered, staring at my hands. My eyes travelled over my exposed flesh; my hands, my arms, my torso, my legs. Scars were littered all over my arms, vertical and horizontal, and I grimaced. Why don't my scars ever appear in my dreams? I smiled wryly. No amount of cold water could wash away the history.
It's been two months.
x."Mornin', Arthur."
"Good morning, Alfred." I looked up as he sat down and we exchanged fleeting smiles. "How are you?"
"All right, thanks," he replied, but I belatedly noted the bruise on his cheek and the cut on his lip. I frowned, and he obviously noticed. But he didn't address it. "How about you?"
"What happened?" I demanded, leaning forward and raising my hand to brush it against the purple stain on his cheek, wincing with sympathy. "Was it Braginski?" He didn't answer. "If so, I can—"
"It wasn't Braginski," he interrupted, voice icy and his eyes even darker. I stiffened but I didn't draw back. He glared at me and I refrained from recoiling, instead shuffling closer.
"Then who was it, Alfred?" I prompted, surprising myself with how gentle I sounded.
He appeared conflicted for a moment, just a moment, and then he averted his gaze, raising his own hand to push mine away. "Just one of the guys during a game," he said.
We both knew he was lying.
x.I expected him to withdraw from me after that strange... occurrance. But instead, he had to surprise me by doing the complete opposite. He materialised by my side during lunch, ripping his sandwich in half and threatening to force feed me if I didn't eat it. We partnered up in Biology and did a presentation together and nobody laughed at me. I ranted about Othello and he listened even though he probably didn't understand a word I said. He insisted on playing a question game to get to know each other and he made a joke about polar bears to "break the ice". (Yes, exactly.)
All of the lessons blurred together, the time ebbing away, the clock ticking relentlessly, tauntingly in my ears. I rubbed my hands together, sparing glances at my watch and then back at my notes and realised I'd scribbled Alfred over something about Othello that I hadn't really processed. I flushed deeply and scribbled it out, black ink smudging the paper and I cursed softly, frowning at the ink staining my hand. I'm so stupid.
And yet, even with that self-deprecating thought, I found myself rushing to our meeting area as soon as the bell went off. I walked as speedily as possible (I look weird when I run.) towards the exit of the school, unsure as to why my heartbeat was echoing in my ears and I had broken into a run as I got outside. I dashed over to the football (It wasn't football. It wasn't.) field, prepared to call out for Alfred, but stopped immediately upon what I laid my eyes upon when I arrived.
A... a girl had her arms around Alfred and they were... kissing.
They were kissing.
Alfred was kissing someone.
I didn't know what I felt. I don't know why I reacted how I did or why I just... stopped when I saw it. I should have been happy for him. I shouldn't have been astonished or... betrayed. Boys were meant to kiss girls. And it made sense that people were attracted to Alfred. That girls were attracted to Alfred. After all, he was... he was amazing. Unfortunately. He was the personification of freedom, aspiration, hope...
It's no wonder he wouldn't want to be with someone like me. I'm a restraining cage who holds you back from flying, I'm an ocean that keeps you far from land so you won't slip away. I'm needy and yet I push people away. I'm a foolish freak who doesn't understand his own feelings—
I swerved around, biting my lip hard and choking back the strange painful sensation that had arisen in my throat. In anger, I tossed my Maths book to the ground and stormed off, conflicted between being loud enough for Alfred to hear me (and come after me... Would he? No. No, don't be stupid, Arthur.) and trying to be as quiet as possible (That's a first.) to avoid the humiliation and the weird feelings.
I hate feelings.My vision was blurred, but I blamed the rain.
He's kissing someone in the rain. A perfect romantic moment. One that I'll never achieve. I shut my eyes, hating the hot, stinging sensation. I hate feelings.x.I got home, and one of my brothers (I couldn't tell who. I never looked at them anymore. Not their faces, at least. Just their feet. Because I couldn't stand their smirks or hollow eyes.) shoved a bottle of something into my arms before yanking my hair and pushing me into my room, belatedly muttering something about being away for the night and mother and father wouldn't be home.
"Nothing new," I whispered at the closed door, a hysterical laugh emitting from my throat, and I downed the alcohol.
Drown me, intoxication.
x.I take it back. It's no longer been two months. Relapse, rewind. It's been half an hour.
x.I coughed into my fist as I tugged open my rusty locker, grimacing at the leftovers on my palm. Pulling a handkerchief from my pocket, I wiped off my repulsive emissions and stuffed it back in. I sniffed roughly, the sharp inhale forcing another series of painfully hoarse coughs to rise from my throat. I revelled in the sound and recoiled from the sensation.
"I found your Math book."
I pointedly refused to look up from the immaculate insides of my locker. "Thank you," I muttered quietly, holding out a hand to grab it, but he pulled it away. I turned to him, frustrated, and glared. "Would you please—"
"Why'd you disappear?" he demanded, his own eyes narrowed behind his glinting glasses. He leaned over me and, despite the height difference being minimal, his extended build somehow intimidated me a little. Where did he learn to make himself look so big? Football? (Not football.) "If you Math book was there, why weren't you?" He sounded furious. I couldn't tell why. It wasn't like I'd personally betrayed him by running off. He was the one who—
"I..." I began, swallowing and forcing myself not to look away. I winced at his icy glare. You're sunshine, not rain. Stop looking so cold... "I didn't feel well..." I fibbed weakly, and suddenly I didn't. I wasn't sick yesterday, but today I was (Bloody rain.) and his odd behaviour was disconcerting and bewildering and I didn't like it when things changed. I felt dizzy. And he was moving even closer and I found myself being pinned roughly against the lockers, wincing as my head collided roughly with the metal, and praying to whatever god there may or may not be that he couldn't hear my heartbeat. Is it fear or—?
"Excuses," he spat, looking positively livid, and it... it frightened me. A bit. His blue eyes were darker than usual, lacking their usual hint of a smile, but at least...
"You aren't wearing a mask," I whispered, and he stilled. I scrutinised him and smiled. "You aren't pretending right now. Thank you for trusting me enough to drop the act."
His eyes widened suddenly, and the colour rushed back to them. He gasped, swallowed thickly, and then opened and closed his mouth, evidently speechless. As if he had just woken up from a nightmare. "I—" His eyes darted around nervously, finally settling on the floor. "I'm—"
"Don't," I murmured, weaving my fingers under his chin and tilting his head up. He gazed at me forlornly, regretful eyes examining my face worriedly. "I'm fine."
His frown deepened, jaw tightened, eyes flashed and he grabbed my arm, pinning it to the locker behind me. "Liar," he muttered, leaning closer to me. "You don't even notice it but you're wearing a mask too. But it's just so sickeningly perfect that you can't even see it yourself." His growl reverberted in his throat and I could feel the vibrations of the sound waves against my torso, his hot breath against my neck. I squirmed, closing my eyes. Now there's suddenly too much sound... "Why'd you leave?"
I prayed I wasn't trembling again. I wouldn't cry because I did that last night and I was still tired. Stupid emotions. Stupid thoughts. I was becoming confused. Too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much—
"You kissed someone," I breathed against his neck, wondering when I'd stumbled forwards to lean on him. He was warm. I buried my face into his shoulder. "I couldn't..."
"Arthur?"
I couldn't see something that made time stop.x.Darkness. Just darkness. I couldn't hear anything. I felt sick. "Someone?" I asked, but no sound left my parted lips. Instead, red liquid seeped out, slipping down my skin and colliding with the black floor underneath. The floor rippled, expanding, and then fell apart beneath me. "Someone!" I cried again, but I couldn't hear myself. My siblings' backs were turned to me, my parents having already disappeared. Vague grey silhouettes of people I knew were floating, the evanescence of their shadows lingering before vanishing before my eyes. My siblings' green eyes dulled and they faded into the greyscale background, not hearing my pleas for them to see me. Hear me. "Someone, please..." I breathed as everything began to blur together, any lingering colours becoming fogged, fading into black. Then, suddenly, a flash of blue; a voice I could not determine; a hand reaching out for mine
I gasped awake, lurching forwards and clutching onto whatever solidity my fingers could grasp. I whispered indeterminate words that weaved together and stuck in my throat. "Someone, someone, please—"
"Arthur," another voice murmured, warm breath ghosting over my ear and I could hear it again. "I'm here, it's okay. Calm down."
Don't go, I wanted to say, but somehow I couldn't. Instead, pulled away from the warmth and stared down at my lap, but I couldn't detach my trembling hands from their shirt. They would disappear if I did that.
"Arthur?"
I swallowed. I want to hear but I don't want to hear you. But I do. I'm just—
"Are..." He trailed off, obviously realising that his question was absurd and I wouldn't answer it truthfully anyway. "What happened?" he enquired instead, and I could feel his hands drifting over my back in what should have been a soothing manner, but it just made a strange ache settle in my stomach and butterflies erupt inside of me.
"I—" I began before halting again. I what? What could I possibly—? How could I tell him what had happened? He'd know I'm a freak... He'd leave. "Bad dream," I settled on instead, ducking my head further.
"Obviously," he snorted, unperturbed by any offense he could induce. But I liked that. He didn't try to spare people's feelings by offering false words unlike countless others. Even though he was terrible at reading the atmosphere, he wasn't as oblivious as I had initially thought. "You'll probably feel better if you talk about it." A pause, rustling, and I was pulled closer, my head resting against his shoulder. I blushed darkly, tightening my grip on his shirt. "You don't ever talk about what's bothering you."
"How... How would you know?" I was forced to question.
He faltered, coughing nervously to the side before burying his face into my hair. "I... I've watched... you." He paused again before huffing. "Now I sound like a stalker. I'm not, I swear! I just... You enthral me. I mean..."
"I must be rubbing off on you," I said, raising my head to glance coyly at him. "I never thought you'd utilise the word enthral." His cheeks burned and I couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Alfred."
"'S no problem," he said, and then opened his mouth to add something, but I beat him to it.
"I know, heroism and all that."
He pouted. "Well, that totally ruins the moment."
"There was a moment?" I raised my eyebrows, blinking in bewilderment when his feigned sulking evaporated and he appeared stern and serious. "Alfred...?"
"Arthur, I... I didn't like her. That girl," he clarified.
I frowned, wanting to avert my eyes but something prevented me from doing so. Perhaps it was the rare (Or maybe it was not so rare as I had initially thought.) severity lingering in the marine depths or the questionable sombre expression on his face... And why the bloody hell were my thoughts so comparable to a Jane Austen narrative? As if I'd wear a corset.
...The dresses, however—
"Why do you feel compelled to inform me regarding your feelings towards that—" bloody bitch... "—girl?" I forced out, the simple one-syllable word sounding and tasting like poison on my tongue. I tried not to gag but I couldn't stop myself from grimacing in distaste.
His grip on my shoulders tightened considerably and he glared. I tried not to wince at the pressure of his fingers digging into my skin because last night I'd— "Because you're obviously upset at me for it for whatever reason!" he exclaimed furiously.
"Whatever reason?" I repeated incredulously, gritting my teeth and tearing myself out of his grip, not caring about the burning sensation coursing through my arms. "You clueless idiot!"
"Clueless?" His glare deepened and he clenched his fists. "Well excuse me for not understanding Arthur-speak—"
"It's called English, you bloody wanker! You'd know that if you weren't failing it!"
"Oh, so you wanna play it that way, huh? You're the one who begged me for help in Math, and I graciously—"
"Begged?" I screeched angrily, raising my head to return his scowl with vigour. "You fucking volunteered, you—"
"Don't even think about trying to insult me, Arthur! Words have lost all meaning to me! Wanna get through to me? Take a lesson from my fucking dad and—"
Everything stopped. His eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed, turmoil evident in his torn expression, and suddenly all the anger melted into something else that I was reluctant to identify. My glare softened into a frown, empathetic rather than sympathetic, and I lifted a hand to brush against the prominent bruise on his cheek. "Your father did this." I wasn't asking, and he wasn't answering.
"I suspect you're gonna report it," he muttered, turning away from me and clenching his jaw, fury and fear clashing in his open eyes.
"I suspect you're going to ask me not to," I replied softly. He didn't look at me. "Alfred," I murmured, tone reprimanding. "Wh—"
"I don't know why I haven't told anyone!" he exploded, rounding on me and pinning me back down. I returned his daunted stare with an apathetic gaze. "I guess - I guess maybe it's 'cause even though I'm strong and I could break your arm right now if I wanted to, I'm still fucking petrified of that - that man and I can't do anything about it! I hear his voice and I freeze and I feel weak and pathetic! He raises his fist and I flinch like I did when I was fucking five! I—"
"Would be better off informing someone," I finished quietly, my voice having some kind of effect on the atmosphere. His face was grave and torn and I couldn't help but feel for him, but I forced myself to remain stoic. "If appropriate authority figures have knowledge of it, then they can address the issue and take him away. You and your brother will no longer have to bear with the burden of feeling terrified whenever you enter your house."
He flinched perceptibly when I mentioned his brother. I knew that his bloody martyr complex would be the undoing of him, but if I could be the one to have that power then at least he wouldn't fall apart. I wish I knew why I want Alfred to remain as he is. Perhaps it's because... I'm so pathetic. I'm so broken and I don't know how to put myself back together. I don't want him to be like me. I couldn't stand loving someone who was similar to myself. I'd hate that person."I... Arthur, I can't..."
"Can't?" I repeated softly, rubbing his cheeks gently with my fingertips. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "Or you won't?"
The clock stopped ticking, stuck on 11:11, but it was in the morning. I thought that time had stopped again and everything would turn dark, and I stiffened in preparation, but then I felt Alfred move, arms no longer pinning my stinging wrists to the thin bed and instead trailing hesitantly down my side, and his lips brushed over mine. I didn't know whether to lean forwards or sink backwards, and so I just stayed where I was, immobilised by the paralysing feelings streaming through my body like electricity. He was so warm, and even his shuddering lips increased the temperature of my body, so I pulled him down on me with his shirt. It was clumsy and inexperienced, not what I'd expected of the promising young athlete who had an obsession with science and stargazing. (I found this out when he showed me a notebook. He did it in his spare time and he promised that we would go out one night and he'd show me the constellations and we would drink hot chocolate and he'd even eat my horrendous scones—I promptly punched him and said I'd never bring him a snack again. He seemed delighted.)
I wish that Alfred would... love... m—My eyes fluttered open and his did at the same time. Finally, the requirement for oxygen became apparent, and we pulled away, gasping and shuddering and wondering what it would be like if—
I wish for Alfred's safety and contentment..."If you can kiss an uptight Brit with a worrying addiction for Shakespeare and botany and Harry Potter, why can't you muster up the courage to tell someone about your father?" I abandoned the shy, sputtering voice inside of my head telling me to shove him away and shout meaningless insults, and instead pulled him closer, resting our foreheads together and inwardly sticking my tongue out at the voice. "I believe in you."
He closed his eyes and sighed. I wove my arms around his shoulders, awkwardly embracing him. He writhed in my arms, moving downwards and resting his head on my shoulder. "Bravery," he whispered ruefully, "is being the only one who knows you're afraid." (2)I rolled my eyes. "There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come—the readiness is all. Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows what is't to leave betimes, let be." (3) None could rival me in Shakespeare!
He raised his head slightly to stare at me. "Jeez, Arthur," he said, a small, teasing smile brightening his otherwise pallid face. "That's a mouthful."
"I'll refrain from sinking to your level of immaturity and pointing out the innuendo in that."
x.The sky was blue again. I wondered if it reflect Alfred's state of being as it was often stormy when he was dejected or irritable. Recently, he's been more jubilant than he previously had been. Well, cheery disposition aside, he appeared truly content, not just the false mask he feigned to placate others. He seemed to have dropped the act around me for the most part, and since our... er... randezvous in the infirmary, he had only pretended again. "I didn't want to upset you," he had explained when I'd found out, and I hit him before storming off. Nonetheless, after he told me to meet him after school in the near by park, I verbally berated him and then he pulled me onto his lap and swung. I wasn't one for heights, but he loved them, so I didn't object until he threatened to swing us over the top. One day, I was going to shove him in water and show him my bloody swimming skills so maybe— Actually, he'd probably make a blasted Disney reference and have me kiss him on the sand. (Not that I'd mind as much as I would pretend to, but...)
Friday today, I thought, blinking slowly as the clouds drifted overhead. I yawned, drowsy because I'd stayed up late talking to Alfred. Thankfully, there were only a couple of hours of school left and Alfred was coming over to my house to spend the weekend because my parents weren't home ("Are they ever?" he had joked when I told him, and I just forced a smile.) and I also told him he could invite his brother but he seemed reluctant. I couldn't fathom why, but before I could pursue it he had left for Art with a fleeting what I hoped was a joke about me modelling for him at some point in the future.
We always met here, the roof of the school, enclosed by a chainlink fence that rattled and clinked with every slight breeze. Nonetheless, I found the sound to be substancially relaxing, and eventually I found myself slipping from leaning against it to lying on the concrete floor, stretching like a languid feline. I placed an arm over my forehead, slightly blocking the blinding sunshine from burning my retinas, and allowed my eyes to flutter shut.
"You'll get burned lyin' in the sun like that."
I didn't open my eyes, simply humming in response as chapped lips sought mine, fitting together like loose-fitting puzzle pieces, and we parted our lips at the same time. His tongue glided over my teeth and, annoyed by the lax attitude, I took over, lazily slipping my tongue over his and huffing tiredly when he pulled away. He licked his lips and grinned, and I blamed my blush on the heat.
"You'll just have to shade me then," I murmured in response after a pregnant pause. He leaned down again, littering kisses down my exposed neck and skillfully unbuttoning my shirt. His breath ghosted over my collarbone before his tongue slid lightly across it, then his teeth grazed against the spot softly. I shuddered slightly, heartbeat palpitating swiftly in my chest. He smirked, and I was sure he heard it. I huffed at him. At least I managed to leave that dark mark on his neck yesterday. I paused before my lips twitched, suppressing a low chuckle. Heh, dark mark.
"Mmm," he hummed against my neck. "Wouldn't want my lover to be tainted by the sun."
"I wouldn't call it tainted," I replied thoughtfully, stifling gasps behind my hand. "I-I'd say reluctantly blessed. Nn..." I thread my fingers through his hair as he trailed butterfly kisses down my torso, fingertips gliding over my abdomen and I squirmed. "That tickles," I murmured sulkily.
"I know." His hands stroked my thighs, one running down and the other running up and he weaved one arm under my shoulders, tilting my head up and meeting my lips again. "Let's call it payback for last night," he whispered, nipping at my lips before trailing down to my neck again. He seemed to have a thing for my neck. It was slightly worrying.
"You deserved to be shoved off the sofa," I insisted, but he dismissed my words in favour of lifting my arm, lips brushing over my hand before pressing urgently, fervently, but softly against the scars on my arm. I softened, feeling my lips turn up into a smile against my will. He was too sweet sometimes. Idiot. "Idiot..." He was an idiot. I needed some new insults. "Arrant knave."
"Now, dear," he chastised with a teasing smirk, "it's hardly the time to be reciting Shakespeare."
I returned the smirk with one of my own, eyeslids fluttering down to half-mast as I regarded him imperiously. "You didn't complain about it last time... Ah!" I gasped as he pressed his hips ferociously against my own as his teeth sunk into my collarbone. His fleeting blush had been worth it though.
"If you don't want me to recite Monty Python next time," he murmured as he licked apologetically at the new love bite on my neck (Fuck, it'd be there for ages—), "then you better behave."
"You like it when I don't behave though," I mumbled, arching my back and exposing my neck more. "I thought that was why you bought me that pirate outfit. And the police officer one. And— actually, the angel one is less rebellious and more subservient, but..."
"You're one to talk," he returned, breathing in deeply against my jaw. So I'd worn his cologne today. And his shirt. It couldn't be that... er... Well, it couldn't be so promiscuous that he lost all of his inhibitions. "Makin' me dress like a cowboy so often..."
I felt my face heat up considerably, and he chuckled softly. I bet even my neck was red. "I— Th-that's just—"
Ignoring my sputtering, he intertwined his fingers with mine, once more lifting my arm and smiling down at me, pride shining in his expression. I just averted my eyes guiltily, swallowing a sudden lump in my throat. "I'm proud of you," he mumbled. He'd said that every day that I didn't do it, and I eventually found myself putting down the knives and razors just to hear those words. I flushed deeper, hating that I felt so pleased to hear those words, and shut my eyes. "It's been six months, hasn't it?"
"I broke my record," I choked out, and I felt him smile into our next kiss.
"And it's been a year since he got..."
"What he deserved," I finished for him, opening my stinging eyes to meet watery blue ones. He blinked away the tears and I brushed away the one stray tear that escaped. I smiled up at him, and he returned it, upraising the hair that had fallen in front of my eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered.
I smiled. "Thou hast given so much to me, give one thing more - a grateful heart; not thankful when it pleaseth me, as if thy blessings had spare days, but such a heart whose pulse may be thy praise..." (4) x.
"All right, class, you're dismissed," I said, but it was pointless; most of them had already filtered out of the room. Ungrateful little brats. No appreciation for Shakespeare.
"Hola, mi amor!" an enthusiastic voice greeted brightly, and I rubbed my forehead irritably.
"Alfred, don't speak Spanish."
"But I took the classes just to romance you," he replied, grinning instead of pouting as he usually did when I berated him. I didn't like how confident he was. Well, I did. But I would hardly admit such a thing. So I rolled my eyes and shook my head, feigning exasperation, but I leaned against him when he materialised behind me, resting his head on my shoulder and skimming over my scribbled notes. "Teachin' Shakespeare, huh? Which play?"
"They wanted to do Romeo and Juliet because it's 'the easiest'," I replied, lip curling in disgust. "That may be due to the media's fascination with adolescent love stories ending in tragedy. You know, I think they conveniently forget that part." I rolled my eyes. "Anyway, of course I rejected their proposals. So we're doing MacBeth." I grinned evilly, sniggering.
He leaned down and I tilted my head so that our lips met. "You're so evil." He chuckled against my neck, hand sneaking up to tug at my tie. I batted it away.
"What on earth do you think you're doing? We're in a high school."
"But we've done it before... On my desk, and against your chalkboard, and..."
I silenced him with a defeated but willing kiss. "All right," I grumbled sulkily, turning so that I could return the hug. "I get it. We're sex maniacs."
He laughed breathlessly as I tugged at his shirt. "Well, when you put it that way... we have done it in some crazy places."
"I recall that you had created a list," I mumbled against his neck as I was half lifted, half shoved onto my desk. Our lips met, hungry and longing as if it was our first time kissing. "How far - ah... How far have we got? On the list, I mean," I enquired as my blazer was pushed off of my shoulders, tossed onto the floor, and my shirt slipping down my arms. "Nn..."
"Still got plenty to go," he whispered hotly against my shoulder, nipping at it, and I forced him back into my chair, straddling his hips and biting his lips before opening mine invitingly. "I—" He was cut off by his own stifled moan as our lips collided, moulding together. "Does this count... as doing it on furniture?"
"But furniture has sub-catergories, does it not?" I murmured questioningly, kissing him again, deeply, needily, readily, before pulling back for air. I was gripping his shoulders like a lifeline and he was grasping onto my hips, pulling me forwards so that our bodies were flush together. He rubbed our noses together and smiled, honest and loving rather than sultry. I flushed, surprised by the affection I saw in his blue depths, and those neverending butterflies making me feel lightheaded. "Alfred..."
"Arthur..." He tightened his hold on me and, with his strength, it was almost constricting. I was worried about suffocating, as I always did when I was engulfed by his being, but I knew that he would never allow me to drown in my own mind again. His lips were on my neck and we could both feel my increased pulse. He smiled. "I'm proud of you, Arthur." His fingers trailed over the scars on my arm, tough feather-light, before grasping my hand tightly. I'm here, I felt his actions say, and I squeezed back; As am I; always. "I love you."
I met his eyes and smiled back. Both of us were smiling, eyes open, masks off and acting over. "I love you too, Alfred..." I closed my eyes and hummed against his neck, letting out a shakey sigh as he kissed the endless scars. He looked back at me, and I smiled, reassurring. "How far that little candle throws its beams... So shines a good deed in a naughty world." (5) x. (1) Romeo and Juliet. Need I say more? (2) Originated from Franklin P. Jones. Heh, Jones. Um, anyway. He was an American author and businessman who lived during the 1800s to 1900s. I find myself disagreeing with many of his quotes although I do find them interesting. (3) Shakespeare. This line was spoken by Hamlet to Horatio in Act 5, Scene 2. (I've just finished studying it and I'm slightly obsessed with it. I'm even writing a monologue for one of the characters~) In any case, it was really the line "There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow" that caught my attention what with the tendancy to compare Alfred with birds. It's a fairly religious reference, I believe, as "providence" refers to divine intervention by God. I also found this explanation if anyone is interested: (4) George Herbert, a Welsh man and an early seventeenth century poet. Basically, Arthur's using the poetic quote to display his gratitude. He doesn't like to do things the easy way, eccentric Brit that he is. /self-deprecation (5) Finally, I had to end with more Shakespeare because I am a literary nerd. Please excuse my frequent quote abuse and how Arthur reflects it. However, I had to utilise this quote, what with how often I... compare... my America... to being... um... my... light... - ... I-I'll be going now. I hope this wasn't too boring. It's too rushed, I am aware, but any longer and I doubt I'd have stopped. It had to be completed as hastily as possible, evidently prior to the 25th. Or 24th... My America's returning on the 24th but I'm not sure if she'll have access to the Internet then or not. Mouuu, just because my mail system is absolutely shite doesn't mean Nn, I'm sorry if this is unclear at all... It's really just for my America, so the hints of deeper meanings may only be evident to her... Even so, I do hope you enjoyed it, despite how long-winded it is. Even though it seems rushed to me. It's the time skips... Ahh, I'll stop identifying the flaws and making it worse. x.o; The first time skip isn't too long, only a few months; Alfred reported his father's abusive tendancies and Arthur went with him for support. The second time skip is a few years down the line with Arthur being a teacher, hehe. Evidently, they're in a relationship. Originally, I was going to have France/Canada as a side pairing, but it seems I became too focused on America and England. As usual. ./.; Happy holidays. :) xoxo (Oh, and do not fear! I am working on my other fics, particularly Tengoku ni Ochiru and Ab Imo Pectore, so I'll be updating those soon, especially TnO as it's almost reached it's finale. Almost. A few more chapters. Long chapters. Eheh. But I also have more ideas, courtesy of poetry and quotes and other things I've read. Please be patient! Thank you very much. And now I shall return to lurking in the USxUK kink meme on LJ. I've never requested or filled anything becauseIdon'tknowhow but I read a lot there. - ...My author's comments are always way too long. I can't imagine many people reading them. They must be boring. Geh, I'm making it worse! (I'm just lonely because Ameri... ...Goodbye.)