Chapter 5

Arthur showed up abruptly at Alfred's door one afternoon a few days later. Alfred blinked at him in surprise. "Aren't you supposed to be working?" he blurted out.

"Day off. May I come in?" Arthur demanded.

"Yeah, of course." Alfred let him inside.

Arthur looked around the apartment with a calculating gaze. "Roommate in?"

"No, he's got class until 4. Why?"

Arthur made a little humming noise in his throat and then turned around. He looped one arm around Alfred's neck, buried his other hand in Alfred's hair, and dragged him down for a kiss. Alfred made a muffled noise of surprise but quickly gave into the kiss. When they parted, Alfred looked at Arthur with half-glazed eyes. Arthur raised an eyebrow delicately. "Well?"

Maybe it was a little sudden, but if Arthur wanted him, he certainly wasn't complaining. Alfred smirked, kissed Arthur solidly, and began to work on the first of the buttons of his shirt.

By the time they got to Alfred's bedroom, they were in varying states of undress. The rest of their clothing was the work of seconds. When Alfred threw Arthur on the bed and began to lick and kiss his way across his torso, however, Arthur put a hand in his hair and said, "Wait." Alfred looked up in surprise. Arthur frowned slightly, as if he were thinking very hard about something. "I want to go more slowly."

"Alright," Alfred said, a bit surprised. Slow was usually the last thing Arthur wanted. He placed a slow kiss to the inside of Arthur's knee.

Arthur's leg jerked a little. "No. I want to be in control."

Alfred pouted a little just for show, but he was honestly curious. "Okay, whatever you want." He crawled up the bed until he was lying flush with Arthur. Arthur smiled softly at him and touched his hair.

"You asked if I write poems about people." Alfred nodded, not seeing how this was relevant. "I do, but I often have a hard time putting it into words." Alfred opened his mouth to ask him what he meant, but Arthur put a finger on his lips to shush him. "I would like to try to show you." Alfred looked at him with those honest, trusting blue eyes of his and nodded. Arthur drew his finger away, pushed Alfred onto his back, and sat up.

Arthur picked up one of Alfred's hands. He didn't know why, but he loved Alfred's hands. Every vein, every tendon seemed to be in just the right place. His fingernails were always slightly rough from being chewed, and elegant would hardly ever be a word to describe his hands, but Arthur loved them anyway. He flipped Alfred's hand over and stroked a finger across his palm. He pressed his fingertip against one of Alfred's; there were slight calluses there, Arthur could feel them. His fingers ghosted back over Alfred's hand until he found the right place to start. "Do you see this place here, where your thumb meets your hand?" Alfred frowned a little but nodded. Arthur let his finger rest there. "I could write an entire poem about this place." Alfred snorted. Arthur looked at him and calmly raised an eyebrow. He dropped Alfred's hand and leaned close to his face. He ran his finger quickly along the space just under Alfred's eyebrow. "This here? One of the loveliest places of your body."

Alfred looked up at him incredulously. "You have to be joking."

"No," Arthur said firmly, "I am not. Do you want to know why you can't see it? Because you see yourself everyday." Arthur placed a kiss in the hollow of Alfred's throat. Alfred squirmed a little underneath him. Arthur nipped the place. Alfred made a strange, strangled noise and his head fell back. Arthur immediately kissed his throat, sucking in some places, until he reached the underside of Alfred's jaw. He nipped the skin gently and Alfred let out a quiet whine. Arthur sat back with a satisfied smile on his face. "Do you understand now?" he asked.

Alfred looked up at him, disappointed and pleading. "No," he said pitifully.

Arthur sighed and swung a leg over Alfred, straddling him. He settled himself comfortably on Alfred's thighs and leaned over him. "It means," Arthur said, and planted a kiss on Alfred's sternum, "That there is no part of you," a kiss to the place where his abs first faintly showed themselves, "That I do not love." His last one was on his bellybutton. He looked up at Alfred. Alfred was straining to look at him. Conflicting emotions were swimming in his eyes. Arthur tried to pretend all he could see was lust, that none of it was the absolute devotion that hurt him to see. "I want every single part of you," Arthur whispered, and placed a kiss to the inside of Alfred's thigh.

Alfred shuddered as Arthur laved an even more sensitive area. He had gone hard a long time ago, and as embarrassing as it was, Arthur's speech had made him even harder. He knew what Arthur was trying to say. It hurt him that Arthur couldn't just say it aloud, but Alfred couldn't blame him. So when Arthur had feathered him with kisses and sucked him close to completion, Alfred dragged Arthur up to his level and held him there. Arthur looked at him with a confused frown. Alfred wanted to tell him, but it was so difficult. Arthur made everything difficult. Alfred was pretty sure he had realized something about Arthur pretty recently, but he wasn't sure what it was, and Arthur was looking at him with those beautiful green eyes, and Alfred didn't know what to say. "No," Alfred growled, and pushed Arthur down beneath him. Arthur made a noise of protest but Alfred shook his head. "You – you had a chance to say what you wanted to say. Can I have one, too?" Arthur blinked at him and nodded.

Alfred's hands trembled as he ran his fingers through Arthur's hair. He kissed him fiercely. It wasn't any different from any time before, but it was. How did I just realize this? Alfred wondered. Arthur had always been beautiful, but God.

Arthur was a little more accommodating than usual. He let his limbs slide comfortably around Alfred's and let them get tangled up in each other like they usually only were afterward. When Alfred went in, he tried to be twice as gentle as usual, and Arthur smiled up at him lazily. Arthur was so hot and tight it made Alfred tingle all over. He pushed in, and out, and Arthur bit his lip but Alfred didn't because he hated it when Arthur wouldn't make noise, so he made enough noise for both of them. Arthur let a little cry slip at some point and Alfred shuddered. He came twice as quickly as usual, and when Arthur came he really did cry out. They tangled their limbs together and lay there, sticky and damp, for so long Arthur fell asleep. When he woke up, Alfred was still stroking his hair gently. Arthur smiled.

It was when they were dressing, slowly, one item at a time, that Arthur spoke. "I lost my job."

Alfred turned from his place on the bed and looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"I lost my job. That's why I've been so tired. I took the nightshift one on full time." Arthur smiled faintly and pulled his shirt over his head. "Just thought you should know."

Alfred took one of Arthur's hands and pulled him close to him. "Arthur! You didn't tell me all this time?" He looked confused and hurt. "When did you lose it?"

Arthur shrugged as best he could with Alfred holding one of his arms hostage. "Week after we got back from Liz and Roderich's wedding."

Alfred made a small noise and scooted closer to Arthur. He kissed him. "You should have told me." He gathered Arthur into his arms. "Don't you trust me?"

Arthur let his cheek rest on Alfred's shoulder. He ran a finger down Alfred's leg, resting on the whole in the knee of his jeans. He picked a little at the fraying edges. "I'm trying. That's why I'm telling you now, you know."

"That's all I ask," Alfred replied quietly.

A few days later, Arthur showed up on Alfred's doorstep. He smiled slightly. "By the way, the other day I forgot to mention that I'm being evicted tomorrow at noon. I'm trying to see if I can stay with an old friend, but our relationship has been a little, ah, complicated in the past. Would I be able to stay here for the next few days while I sort things out?"

Alfred nearly had a heart attack. "You what? I thought you lost your job super recently! How did this happen?"

Arthur made a derisive noise and flapped his hand. "I've been behind on the rent. It's over now, anyway. Do you have room for my belongings? I'm afraid they don't all fit in my car."

"Arthur," Alfred exclaimed, still caught up on the main issue at hand, "You don't need to call some random friend. I can put you up for more than a few nights. Do you want to move in with me?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to pause. "Pardon?"

"I have the room! Toris has been wanting to move in with Felix for forever –"

"Alfred," Arthur said warningly. "I would really appreciate this as a favor, but moving in with you–"

"Oh, I should go find Toris," Alfred said, completely ignoring what Arthur had just said. He disappeared inside, leaving Arthur standing outside the open door and rather confused. After a few minutes, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He looked around. Alfred's living room was somewhat different than the last time he had seen it. There was now a typewriter sitting on the coffee table with paper scattered around it. Before he had a chance to see what was written on the paper, however, Alfred reappeared with Toris in tow.

"See?" Alfred said as he pointed at Arthur, as if his presence there explained everything.

Toris looked at Arthur dubiously. "Are – are you sure?" he asked.

Arthur realized that Toris was talking to him. "Am I sure about what?" Arthur asked, looking between Alfred and his roommate.

Toris came over to him. "If you can't pay the rent, Alfred will pay all of it," Toris said earnestly. "Please be sure to pay him back. He's very forgetful, but he's also too generous."

Arthur blinked. "No, I can pay the rent." Probably.

Toris looked relieved. "That's good, then. I'll call Felix and get him to help me pack. I'll be out of here by the end of tomorrow." Toris walked back towards where Arthur assumed his bedroom was.

"Wait," Arthur said, now utterly confused. "Who's Felix?"

"My boyfriend."

"His boyfriend," Alfred said at the same time. "He's been wanting to move in with him, and I keep telling him he should–" Here Alfred rolled his eyes, "But he wouldn't until I got someone to replace him and pay his half of the rent."

"Oh," said Arthur.

Alfred came over and slapped Arthur on the back. He grinned. "So, what do you say? Wanna live with me?"

"I–" Arthur rubbed his temples. "Alfred, do you have any idea how idiotic this is? Really, I'm sure my friend has room for me–"

"But I'm you're boyfriend," Alfred pointed out. He took Arthur's hands. "If it really isn't working out, you can call your friend. But can we try?"

"My work schedule–" Arthur tried.

"Not a problem. I adjust super easily to stuff like that and I sleep more soundly than anyone else I know."

Arthur couldn't help a smile. Alfred was too enthusiastic about everything, too hopeful – almost exactly the opposite of Arthur, and yet somehow they had made it work this far. "I suppose. But please tell your roommate to not do anything on my account," he said as Alfred whooped happily.

"Too late," Alfred said with a grin. "Think of it as doing him a favor."

"But–"

"Where's your stuff?" Alfred interrupted.

Arthur sighed. "Some of it's in my car. Most of it's still in my flat in boxes."

"You boxed it already? Artie." Alfred took him by the shoulders. "You should have told me. I would have helped you."

"Well, now you can help me carry it up and down all those godforsaken stairs," he muttered. He blushed a little and looked away from Alfred.

Alfred pecked him on the lips, surprising Arthur into looking at him. "I forgive you," Alfred said. "Now let's go get them boxes, yeah?"

It was over an hour later when they finished moving all of Arthur's boxes into what was very soon to be their flat. Arthur didn't have that many boxes, really, but his car couldn't carry very many of them and Alfred kept disrupting their progress by trying to see what was inside the boxes as he moved them. Their contents varied, but they were mostly old books and trinkets, some of which Alfred would not have expected Arthur to have. There were little lacquered boxes and chipped teacups and saucers and even a tiny porcelain unicorn. Alfred seemed to want to spend all day going through Arthur's stuff, but Arthur informed him sharply that he wasn't going to see any more of it until it had been unpacked. By the time they were done, however, it was dinnertime, and then Arthur had to leave for work, so no unpacking was done. Arthur promised to return in the morning – and no, he assured Alfred with a sigh when he asked, he wasn't going anywhere.

Arthur came in the next morning while Alfred and Toris were eating breakfast. He looked exhausted and didn't say a word, just grabbed a piece of bread and headed for Alfred's bed. When Alfred went to check on him later, he found him sprawled on top of the covers with the half-eaten piece of bread beside him. Alfred kissed him on the cheek and went to class.

When Alfred came home, he found a note from Toris and an envelope on the kitchen table. It said that he was officially moved out, but he would of course check in on Alfred every now and then, and the money in the envelope was his half of the rent for the rest of the month. Alfred left the note on the table and went in search of Arthur.

Arthur's voice floated to him out of his bedroom. He seemed to be talking on the phone. "No, Francis," he was saying, "I told you, I haven't gone around the bend! I am perfectly sane. Yes, he's very sweet. Of course I'd rather live with him than you, frog," he snapped. Alfred pushed open the door and peeked inside. Arthur was sitting on the bed with his phone pressed to his ear. He glanced at Alfred and gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement. "Do you think I have savings?" There was a pause. "Yes, thanks all the same. I hope to not speak to you again soon." Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed the Off button violently. Alfred got the feeling that he was the sort of person who was more suited to the type of phone that one could hang up by slamming it down decisively. "Hello," Arthur said.

Alfred grinned. "Hello. Who was that?"

Arthur ran his fingers through his already messy hair. "Francis. Old friend. Was going to stay with him before . . ." He gestured at the room and the apartment at large. He smiled a little. "I still haven't thanked you for this, have I? I appreciate it. You have no idea how little I was looking forward to living with the frog."

Alfred grinned and sat down next to him on the bed. "You're welcome. Did you see Toris moved out?"

Arthur nodded distractedly. "He said goodbye when he left. Nice . . . boyfriend he has."

Alfred chuckled. "I know, hard to tell, right? But you know what that means?" Arthur turned curious green eyes on him. "This place is all ours." Alfred leaned over and kissed him sweetly.

When they parted, Arthur was smiling slightly. As he looked into Alfred's eyes, however, his smile faded. "Alfred . . ."

"Slow as molasses, I swear," Alfred said with an innocent grin. "If you want to move out, just say it. No hard feelings."

Arthur frowned a little. "Just . . . don't be unreasonable."

"Don't be in love, you mean," Alfred said, but before Arthur could say anything, Alfred had tackled him with a kiss. Later, he would deny saying anything at all.

It took them a few days to fall into a routine. Alfred tried to convince Arthur to quit working altogether until he could find a job that didn't insist he work the night shift, but Arthur would hear none of it. It was strange, only sleeping together once or twice a week, but it worked. They still ate two meals together, though not the same food. When Arthur got home from work and would want something resembling dinner, Alfred would just be getting up and making himself breakfast. Arthur would nap while Alfred did his homework and was at school, and when he got home the sound of the door would wake him and he'd give Alfred a good-afternoon kiss. He'd nap again, and then he would get up while Alfred prepared dinner. Arthur would be out the door before Alfred got in bed. Alfred hated to see him go, but on the weekends he would watch Arthur sleep and then stay late up into the night with Arthur while he was wide awake. It was a kind of bliss, dysfunctional as it was. Still, the boxes remained unpacked in the living room. Eventually they moved some of them to Toris's old room. Alfred talked about turning it into a temporary study.

Arthur still didn't seem to quite feel at home.

One day after Alfred had gone off to class, Arthur found he was not tired. He knew he should sleep, but he also knew he wouldn't, so he decided to go through some of his boxes and see if he could find a book to read. He doubted the particular book he was looking for would be in the boxes in the living room, so he went into Toris's old room and looked around.

He hadn't been in that room since they had moved some of the boxes into it. He was surprised to see Alfred's typewriter sitting on the bed. A stack of paper sat next to it. Arthur thumbed through it curiously, but it was all blank. He tried to shrug off his curiosity and knelt down to look through one of his boxes. Something caught his eye: there was an open box under the bed. He pulled it out and peered inside. It was full of typewritten pages.

Arthur pulled out the top page. It was a dialogue of some kind, though it seemed to be in the middle of some story. Perhaps it was part of one Alfred's works-in-progress, he mused, for the characters did not have names. They were denoted only by the letters A and E. He skimmed it.

A
I mean, something's clearly bugging you, right? Maybe it's a big deal, maybe it's not, I don't know – but just tell me about it.

E
Nonsense. I have enough to worry about as it is.

A
Exactly, so just tell me, okay?

He put the paper down and looked through the rest of the box. Much of it was the same – no visible title, no page number, and only the A and E. One page a few sheets down caught his eye.

E
You can't help me.

A
Of course I can.

E
No, you can't.

A
Look, I can, so stop being such an ass about it. I get it, okay? I get that you're depressed, and that this is hard for you, and all that, because I've been there. But the harder you make this for us, the harder you make it for yourself.

Arthur stopped reading and sat back on his heels with a sigh. Didn't that sound familiar. He looked at the box full of papers and wondered how long they had been accumulating. He knew better than anyone what it was like to write a diary in a way you hoped was opaque, but was really transparent as glass. If Alfred bothered to read his notebook of poems for what it was . . . He shook his head. Wasn't that what their relationship was about now? Letting the other person in? Maybe he shouldn't let the idea of Alfred seeing his thoughts scare him so much.

He went quickly through the rest of the box, reading little of it; he felt too much like he was intruding. Down at the bottom, though, the scripts began to read more like invented dramas and less like reflections on actual events in Alfred's life. He finally found a page of dialogue that switched out the letters A and E for something more descriptive.

AMERICA
I thought you were going to leave.

ENGLAND [snorts]
You did?

AMERICA
Arthur . . . please. We have something.

ENGLAND
Don't be such a damned romantic. [Throws another shirt in the suitcase] Everyone has something. That's why we were together. Unfortunately for you, that isn't why I'm leaving.

AMERICA
Were?

ENGLAND
[Looks at him]

Arthur traced his finger down the page, lingering on Alfred's slip. His mouth quirked into a smile. So Alfred had codenamed him England. Wasn't that sweet.

When Alfred came home from school, he found Arthur in the living room with boxes scattered about him. Most of them were open. Books littered the floor. Arthur looked up and smiled. "I thought I'd unpack."

Alfred's heart fluttered with joy. "Really?" he asked, for a moment too happy to notice that Arthur really should have been sleeping.

"Yes," Arthur said. He pointed to some papers on the couch. "I found those, too. I believe they're yours."

Alfred went over to them curiously. He picked one up and immediately turned pink. His eyes darted between Arthur and the paper. "You read this?"

Arthur smiled that same lazy smile. "Yes, I did. I think your dialogue is quite wonderful, actually. It's what you're best at." He went back to sorting out the contents of his box. "It's quite good that you've chosen to go into the movie business. It's so difficult to find nice dialogue on the telly these days." Alfred stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if Arthur was just toying with him. Arthur glanced up at him. "Oh, don't worry. I know I'm 'England,' as you so flatteringly named me."

Alfred jumped back visibly. "Oh?" he asked nervously.

Arthur reached over and patted his foot. "Calm down, love. I really do find it flattering. A whole country, compared to me? It's quite the compliment. Nearly poetic, in fact. And really, I don't mind in the least that you'd write down things like that." Arthur hesitated. "I know what it's like, trying to work out things like that in your head."

"Oh," said Alfred, and he sat down on the couch. He picked up the papers in a pile and looked through them without really seeing them. When he looked up, he saw Arthur watching him quietly.

"Here," Arthur said. He pulled a notebook out of the pocket of the jacket hung over a chair. He held it out to Alfred. "Read it. Half of it's about you, anyway."

Alfred took the notebook and stared at it. "But . . . these are your poems."

"Yes. I pried into your stuff, so now it's your turn." Arthur went back to busily unpacking. "It's finished, anyway. The notebook. I filled in the last page this morning."

Alfred laughed a little in relief. "You really did. You finished it."

Arthur smiled. "You didn't think I was lying when I said that I'd let you read my poems when they were finished, did you?"

Alfred grinned. "Maybe a little."

Arthur shook his head. "To think I thought our relationship was built on trust."

That hit a little too close to home for both of them, but Alfred leaned over and kissed Arthur anyway. He touched Arthur's chin and Arthur looked up with a slight smile. "Thank you," Alfred said.

"You're welcome," Arthur said, and when Alfred brushed his hair away from his face, he didn't flinch away.

With Arthur's belongings unpacked, the flat immediately became "theirs." There was no more talk of the future because there didn't need to be. They were both dreamers, but shared dreams like that didn't need to expressed aloud. It was funny, though, how the moments would hit them as they saw little pieces of that unrealized dream being brought to life.

It was seeing Arthur barefooted in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a shirt, that made Alfred realize Arthur was really his. Perhaps it seemed strange, but Alfred had never really seen Arthur's bare feet before. If he wasn't wearing shoes he was wearing socks, and if he wasn't wearing socks . . . well, then he was naked and Alfred had better things to be paying attention to. To see Arthur standing there with a cup of tea in his hands like that – it was as though Arthur had come home.

"Hey, beautiful," Alfred said. Arthur turned with a slightly surprised quirk of his eyebrows, but Alfred quickly wrapped his arms around him (Arthur barely had enough time to hold the tea out of harm's way) and buried his face in the crook of his neck. He breathed in deeply.

"Good morning," Arthur returned, sounding amused.

"I love you so, so much."

He could feel Arthur's smile as he pressed a little kiss to the top of Alfred's head. "You too, love."

It took time for Arthur to find a new job, and more time for him to consider trying to publish his poems again. He sent a series of them to several publishing houses, and eventually he got a letter back. Alfred graduated and got a boring job while he sent off his scripts, and eventually he got letters back of his own – most of which were a bit less congratulatory than Arthur's, to his dismay. At each rejection, Arthur would give him a kiss, until finally Alfred landed his dream job. They moved, of course, because their dreams came true in big cities, not in little rundown villages no one had every heard of. But they always moved back, back to the countryside with its green hills, because they could commute, of course, and they both still had a fondness for little stone bridges and gentle streams. After all, that was where their imaginations were at their wildest, and where they had fallen in love.