A forshadowing to what we all know as "USUK." Arthur explains the kind of love he holds for Alfred.

Young Alfred sat in the study of his large New England home. The open window let cool instances of air blow in, gently pushing the fringe of his hair to his forehead, tickling his brow. The setting summer's sun shown in, giving the boy almost an angelic glow as he turned the pages of a dusty, sun-bleached, leather bound book. To a grown man, it would be easy to hold the book to his face, but to the boy, it proved difficult. So instead, he sat with his head bowed to read the book spread on his lap. He followed the too long sentences with his small, delicate finger, mumbling the words quietly to himself. His brow remained furrowed in either a lack of understanding, frustration, or a perfectly understandable combination of both. His scraped and bruised legs hung from the plush sofa, hardly reaching the elaborate area rug underneath.

Alfred looked up from the yellowed pages to listen to his front door close and the clacking of footsteps on the wood flooring. Slightly flustered, he rolled his pink lips inwards and faced the book again as the steps drew near, in an attempt to appear productive. The door opened gently, and in a smooth, gentle voice, a man called to the youth.

"Alfred?"

He stepped fully into the room, leaving to door ajar. Alfred could see the feet of his highly polished field boots make their way toward him. His eyes jumped frantically across the page from sentence to sentence, in an effort to suddenly read the entire book at once, though he wasn't sure exactly why he felt the need to consume so much useless knowledge so abruptly.

"Alfred," the man started in a reprimanding tone, coming to a halt in front of the boy. "It's rude not to acknowledge someone's presence when they enter a room."

Alfred slowly looked up through his parted hair that had fallen into his face. His thumbs gently taped to corners of the book.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland."

Above him, a slim, fair haired man smiled down at him, his gloved hands on his hips. The breeze from the window rolled down his loose, white cotton shirt as he raised a hand to wipe the trails of sweat off his neck and collar bone.

"I think I'll find room in my heart to forgive you this time, lad. After all, I can't be too mad. I admire a boy who studies."

A wave of relief washed over Alfred. He lifted his chin, now feeling less panicked that the other wasn't upset at him, and smiled back. The man stepped over and sat down next to the boy, removing his gloves and sitting them to the side. He threw an arm around Alfred, crossing his legs, and pulling the younger to his side.

"How are you? I hope you've eaten something today."

Alfred leaned his head against the shoulder of the other, nodding. The room no longer smelt like a tomb of dust and ancient things, but of horse and tobacco. He turned his head into the other's arm to inhale more of the smell he had begun to enjoy so much. The man laughed.

"What in God's name are you doing, boy?"

He raised a thick eyebrow, curious at Alfred's behaviour. Alfred looked up, grinning, the light catching his eyes just right so they let off a radiant sparkle.

"You smell good."

Taken aback by his answer, the man gave a humoured smile.

"You fancy the smell of sweat and horse?"

Not sure if he should be ashamed or smile too, Alfred merely nodded.

"I'm sorry, Mr.-"

"Ah ah, Master Alfred," the other hushed, "no need to apologize. That's you're opinion. Who am I to correct you? Besides, I rather smell good to you then no one at all."

He gave the boy a soft, reassuring smile before he reached out a slender hand and grasped the book resting on Alfred's lap.

"You haven't gotten very far, Alfred."

He frowned as he examined the progress made in the book.

"Are you alright, lad? You aren't talking very much. You're not ill, are you?"

The man set the book aside and pulled the youth's head toward him. He pressed his lips gently to the other's forehead. Alfred squirmed and pushed away.

"Ew! That's gross, Mr. Kirkland!"

Alfred sat back from his care taker, grinning deviously at him. The elder's green eyes widened at the child's sudden outburst. Both relieved and slightly flustered, the man closed his eyes, sighing, running his fingers back through his hair, the copious amounts sweat keeping it slicked back.

"I was only trying to feel for a fever, Alfred."

"You kissed me!"

"I did not."

The Englishman sighed once again, opening an eye to catch a glimpse of the giggling boy. Within seconds, any gentleman-like behaviour he would have enforced upon himself or any of his own children vanished as he playfully threw himself at Alfred. The boy laughed as he tried to push the man away. The elder growled and nipped lightly at the boy's face before pulling up his white blouse to blow a wet raspberry on the soft skinned belly. Alfred let out a squeal of laughter, throwing his head back and kicking his short legs uselessly.

"Ah! Mr. Kirkland! S-Stop!" He managed through his hysterics.

The man smirked down at the squirming boy before sitting up, ruffling the other's previously combed hair. The pleasure drained from Alfred's face as he reached up to feel his hair. The man noted the boy's distressed expression.

"What's wrong, lad? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Alfred stuck out his bottom lip, furrowing his brow in what appeared to be confusion.

:"Why did you mess up my hair when you always tell me not to mess it up?"

The Brit gave Alfred a warm smile.

"It's alright, Alfred. It's just you and I right now, and it's good to have some fun sometimes, yeah? But I can fix it if you'd like-"

"No! I like it like this."

The boy's usual canny, charismatic smirk appeared on his young face.

"Can I untuck my shirt too?"

The elder looked down at the excited boy, pondering weather or not to let him become so disheveled.

"Sure…just this once."

Alfred threw his arms around his guardian's neck before pulling his shirt tails rather violently out of his navy blue shorts. He skipped to the mirror, admiring his clothing with pride.

"Much better!"

He beamed at his superior who smiled back weakly.

"Just don't expect to be walking about like this, Alfred. It's not proper."

The boy ignored the other, running to hug him again.

"I love you!"

The Englishman was knocked back on the sofa from the force Alfred tackled him with.

"Ah! Do you?"

"Yes! With all my heart!"

The man hugged the youth back.

"That's a lot of heart, lad."

"I know. Mr. Kirkland?"

Alfred looked up at the man with a curious expression.

"Yes, lad?"

"Do you love me 'conditionally'?"

The other pulled the boy back to look at him fully, giving him an equally curious visage.

"What would make you say that?"

The boy shrugged.

"I don't know. I read it today. I didn't understand it."

The Brit pulled the other close to himself.

"Shall I explain it then?"

Alfred nodded.

"Well, boy, conditional love is when you truly love something, but if it changes, even in the slightest way, you may not love it anymore."

"Oh. So like your stew!"

The man paused.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you used to make it really good and I really, really liked it, but then you changed something and now it tastes gross and it's all mushy and I hate it."

He paused again.

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's icky."

The man coughed.

"Oh, well, similar to that maybe, yes…"

The boy shifted in the strong, sticky arms.

"So do you love me conditionally?"

"No, no, Alfred, not conditionally. I love you unconditionally."

"What's that mean?"

"That means that no matter what happens, no matter what you do, I could never stop loving you, even if I tried. You may not be perfect Alfred, and you're growing up, changing, and turning into a smart young man, but through that all, I'm not ever going to not love you."

"Really?"

"With all my heart."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Alfred grinned, squeezing the Englishman into a tight hug. The man smiled back, embracing the young boy in his arms, burying his face in the small shoulder.

By now, the sun had completely set. Lightning bugs hovered above the wild grasses and flowers as moths flapped around the glass incased candles in the room the two were in, loving the light until it burned them.

I can't decide if I should continue on this idea. PLEASE REVIEW. I'd LOVE to hear your opinions!