Alfred was Alfred and Arthur was Arthur. That was how it should have been. Alfred was a football star at MIT and well known through campus to be the all around nice guy. Arthur wasn't the punk of campus, but he was well known for having a rotten reputation. Their worlds should have never collided. And they never would have, had Alfred and his friends come five minutes later.

They were to play a game in a short while. Alfred, already in his full attire, led his team mates out to get some fresh air before the game started. However, while out there, Alfred saw something he wasn't meant to see.

A small group of men were kicking and throwing punches at what looked to be a small girl. Alfred, his heart lighting up in fierce protection for someone innocent, rushed over, ignoring the calls of his friends. As he got closer he saw that it was just Arthur Kirkland, and he remembered the rumors that the boy was a punk because his family had rejected his coming out. Gay and a punk or not, it was wrong of Arthur to be beaten so mercilessly without help.

"Stop!" Alfred called. He pulled aside the first man, but a fist was thrown in his direction.

Dodging a few punches, Alfred managed to push them away from Arthur long enough so that he could get between them. He stood with fists clenched at his side and a rare, cold and intimidating stare piercing the punks.

"Back the fuck off!" Alfred growled.

Just when the men started to come for more, shouting curses and throwing threats Alfred's way, his team mates jumped by his side. They threatened right back, and finally the other men left.

One of Alfred's friends turned, patting him on the shoulder. "Coach would've killed you if you busted up your arm. We need you to throw."

"There are more important things," Alfred said with a furtive glare before turning to offer a hand to Arthur.

He had never laid eyes on Arthur before, and Arthur had not on him. But they stared at each other for that moment without a word. There was a look of unspoken gratitude in Arthur's eyes that searched to see if Alfred only felt pity for someone like him. It wasn't there. He didn't see the punk, didn't see the outcast. He saw a hurt man that had been on the wrong side of an unfair fight.

In the other's eyes, however, there was a look of almost disgust. They didn't care for Arthur and certainly didn't want their quarterback touching hands with such a disgrace of a man. Arthur sneered at them, taking Alfred's hands just to make them glare at him more. It was sick of him to get such a rise from upsetting people that had such impatience for him.

Then there was Alfred. He wasn't the same. He could be trusted, somewhat.

"Thank you," Arthur murmured.

"You okay? You should get your arm looked at." Alfred leaned in close to inspect his wounds, frowning at what he saw. "Your lips bleeding, an' ya got a nasty bruise on your cheek."

Arthur shrugged it all off, despite the fact his arm did hurt quite a lot. He wasn't about to show such weakness. "It's nothing to concern yourself with. You should go before your children get jealous."

"Huh?" Alfred tilted his head at the insult, having it go right over his head.

The other men bristled and pulled Alfred back. "C'mon. We have to go. He's fine."

"What? But…" Alfred kept looking back towards Arthur, unsure if he should stay or if he should go.

"Listen to your children. Run along now." Arthur couldn't help but tease Alfred. Had he been without his friends, perhaps he'd have been much more grateful. He didn't even thank him.

So he watched him go, thinking that was the end of their interaction. So why did he stay around? Why did he watch the game from behind the fence? Why did he wait until all the other players exited the locker room until he approached Alfred, the last one out?

"Ah, hello," Arthur started, feeling horribly awkward and not at all comfortable. He felt indebted, however, and he hated to feel like he owed someone something. Especially when he didn't know if and when or how he'd be able to repay the debt. "I wanted to…thank you. I didn't get to earlier…"

"It's cool," Alfred replied with a wave of his hand. "I figured you were still upset from getting beaten up. Your lip isn't bleeding anymore, but you still look bad. Did you get someone to look at your arm?"

Arthur blushed slightly at the mention of his failure to protect himself, and retreated from Alfred's inquisitive look. "I-I'll be fine. Listen, you…you helped me out back there and I feel I must do something to repay you. I-is there anything you need? Perhaps help on your homework or some other nonsense? I refuse to dress up as anything, though."

Alfred laughed, his head tilting back and his shoulders shaking. Arthur couldn't recall the last time he had made someone laugh that hard, or just see someone really laugh. So many fake people in this school made him sick, and he wondered if his education was worth putting up with all of this. If there were more people like this Alfred fellow, then maybe.

"Dude, you don't have to do anything!" Alfred said, having finally calmed down. He put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, smiling reassuringly. "Really. Protecting someone isn't about wanting anything back in return. It's just a nice gesture because, well… I don't let anyone get hurt when I'm around."

Arthur almost believed him. Oh he wanted to. And maybe one day he could. But right then, at that moment of having been pushed down for being him, he didn't believe a word. "Tsh. That's too sentimental and naïve a thought to have. People don't act like that."

"Well maybe they should. Maybe even you should." Arthur looked at Alfred with a raised eyebrow.

"And then what? What do I get in return?" Arthur snarled. "People pushing me to the ground, kicking and punching? Calling me a homo and a punk and that I should go back home because I'm not wanted here? Things like that?"

Alfred frowned. "But that's not your fault. If someone has a problem with you, then they need to change, not you. Besides, it's not like you've done anything wrong. I don't believe those rumors."

At this, Arthur smirked, even though it all hurt so deeply inside him. "You mean that I set the principal's car on fire? Or that I brought a knife to my roommate's flat and stabbed him in his sleep?"

"Well, yeah. That and that you killed the last guy who called you gay."

"I am," Arthur said quickly. Here was a test. It was unfair and Arthur knew it. He shouldn't be treating the man who saved him in such a way, but it was too easy. Too easy to trust him and have him be like all the rest.

"What? Gay? Okay."

He said it so easily, it didn't connect with Arthur right away. He didn't believe him again, but those eyes. Again those so true eyes. They didn't lie. They couldn't. They didn't give him pity, and right now they're not judging. They're not angry and disgusted, or confused and upset. They were just there, accepting.

Arthur felt his heart tighten. He stepped back. He was in unknown waters, unsure of how to proceed next. It was a delicate situation should he insult and upset the one person who didn't toss him aside.

"Y-you say it so casually…"

"Well, my brother's gay. And I've questioned myself a few times."

Arthur snapped his head up to stare at Alfred in fear. "Don't say that too loud or else your team might hear you."

"They wouldn't do a thing," Alfred said, a little too smugly. "Didn't you know, I'm the star quarterback? They need me. We can take it this year if I stay in good shape."

"Ah, yes. How foolish of me. I thought you would say they would accept you."

For a moment, Alfred was silent. He stared at Arthur with unreadable eyes. Briefly, Arthur wondered just how much Alfred could read of his eyes. He averted them, and then Alfred started talking again.

"You know, for someone who hates to be judged, you seem to do that a lot with me and my friends. We're not all bad jocks like on television. You shouldn't think that just because we're big guys, we don't sometimes get curious about other bodies or have a heart and reach out to those that are different from us. One guy on the team has an autistic cousin, but some people think he's stupid and call him retarded. He hates it.

A few other guys got here by scholarship and people joke that they're rich pansies or riding by on their parents money, but some of them don't even talk to their parents anymore. They have terrible relations with them. Never got along well with them. I have a gay brother, but everyone thinks I won't stand up for homosexuals or even join to be an Ally. People look at us like they do you and shut us out of having feelings."

"But no one would even dare think of punching you," Arthur grumbled. He hadn't lifted his head to look at Alfred yet.

"Yeah they do," Alfred laughed. His laugh was different. Arthur didn't like that one. He gripped his fists, blaming himself for Alfred's mood turning sour.

He turned to leave. "I should go. Thank you again."

"Hey, wait," Alfred blurted out. He grabbed for Arthur. "Wait, come on. I'm really worried about your injuries. If you won't let me take you to get it looked at, will you at least let me take you somewhere else to just relax?"

Arthur still couldn't face Alfred. "You said I didn't have to do anything…"

"I'm not demanding, I'm asking." He sounded annoyed. Arthur was getting upset. "Please?"

"Why…?"

Alfred shrugged, but Arthur couldn't see him. "Because I wanna talk with you more. I think we should get to know each other."

Finally, painstakingly so, Arthur turned around. "Why would you want to know me…?"

"Because I don't believe in rumors. I believe in good people." Alfred wasn't mad like Arthur had thought. He wasn't blaming Arthur; he wasn't offended or infuriated as he should have been. "And you seem like a good guy. Isn't that why you're trying to leave? Because you think I shouldn't know someone like you?"

Arthur frowned. "Why the hell are you so smart?"

Alfred laughed. "Because, believe it or not, that same gay brother of mine, was just like you. C'mon, we really should talk."

Arthur hesitated, but then relaxed enough to turn to fully face Alfred. "Let me introduce myself. I may be a punk, but I do have some manners." He ignored Alfred's chuckles, telling himself to not blush. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Alfred Jones," Alfred said, shaking Arthur's hand.

Hoshiko2's cents: This was written for my pal, ahro, over at tumblr. She does art requests on Mondays and Wednesdays and one day I put in mine of America protecting a hurt/defeated England. The picture she drew (seen here: ahro[dot]tumblr[dot]com /post/ 14429185152/ usuk-stand-up-request-was-i-have-a-weak-spot ) was so inspiring, I had to draw it. Please follow her, if you have a tumblr. She's a very talented young lady. She's also the author of Quartering Acts, if anyone reads that amazing story.