Alfred woke with a start. It was a beautiful day. Last night might have started out badly, but he and Arthur kissed and that meant they were dating, right?

He looked over at the sleeping Englishman, who tossed and turned fitfully. Alfred would bring him on a real date. He just had to get everything ready.

He had it all planned out: he would go get a nice haircut – he hadn't had one in months – rent a nice tuxedo, make reservations for the best restaurant he could afford, and he would buy Arthur some lilies. The little dude needed some; it would brighten up his dull apartment a bit. Alfred hurried out the door with a spring in his step and a goofy smile on his face.

. . . . .

Arthur grumbled when he was thrown harshly into consciousness, the sunlight burning his eyes and making him cringe. He had a splitting headache. Just how much did he drink last night? More than he ever would again in one sitting, that was for sure. He spent the morning in a haze, more asleep than awake, and had to fiddle around his own apartment for the longest time, having forgotten where his coffee was. He really only had it to cure hangovers as quickly as possible.

Halfway through taking bitter sips of the stuff – Arthur never particularly enjoyed the beverage at all – he remembered all of the events that had taken place the night before. He winced at the most humiliating parts, wanting to crawl back into bed and stay there for about ten years. He wished he hadn't gone to the stupid party, hadn't gotten tipsy, hadn't run into Alistair, gotten drunk, and walked in on those two and cursed out the Scotsman. That man was an idiot, an arsehole, a conniving shithead with no interest in anybody's feelings but his own.

Arthur kept repeating those names in his head but they weren't making him feel any better. In any case, Alistair probably thought the same of him at that point. Both of them looked as though they only wanted a quick lay. The two of them sure did know how to royally muss things up, didn't they? Two halves of a same, unstable, moronic whole.

Once finished with his coffee, Arthur pulled out his phone and stared at the screen. Sighing to himself, he nodded. He had to do this.

The Englishman typed in the number that was all too familiar. He and Alistair had exchanged numbers for one reason or another years ago while they were still in high school, but neither of them had called the other. Arthur had unintentionally memorized it by punching it in multiple times but never pushing the 'call' button.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves (and hoping it would somehow help his headache), Arthur pressed the green button in the shape of a telephone receiver and held the mobile up to his ear. Alistair didn't pick up. He either recognized the number or was blocking everyone out.

Arthur called again. And again. And again.

Finally, he got the Scotsman to pick up the damn phone. It must have been windy wherever he was.

"What do you want?"

"Where are you?"

"Who wants to know?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. Who else?

He heard the redhead sigh on the other line. "Yeah. I know. Will you stop calling me?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Why should I give a shit?" His voice was bitter.

"I'll only keep calling until you agree to it, I swear I will."

There was a sigh followed by a long pause.

"I'm out by the soccer field. Y'know, where we'd play ball after school? Or at least I would, you would always sit at home and read books."

"Why are you over near the highschool, pedophile?"

Alistair was not in the mood to joke. "I'm not into the kiddies, you idiot. Besides, it's the weekend. No kids are at school. It just… helps me to clear my head sometimes. I used to come here a lot after practice."

"Wait there." Arthur grabbed a hoodie and hurried downtown.

. . . . .

Once he found the Scotsman the blonde stopped, hands in pockets, and spoke tentatively. He was nervous about where the conversation might end, given the other's volatile temper and his own lack of patience.

"How's things?"

Alistair only responded by turning slightly to face him and staring hard, a controlled rage showing through his eyes. Arthur could feel himself getting defensive. The redhead was the one caught in a compromising position, right? Why should he be so pissy? He was the one who wanted a shag, not Arthur.

Well, to be fair, they both had ended up in pretty compromising positions.

The Englishman took a deep breath and banished all other thoughts from his mind. He sat on the grass and when he couldn't find the words he wanted to say, he settled for a rather simple statement.

"I'm confused."

Alistair joined him on the grass. "So am I."

"And angry."

"You're always angry."

"No, seriously."

"Well then, we're on the same page. Hallelujah."

"Don't get snippy with me, you git."

The other remained quiet, which surprised him.

"So if you were trying to…" Arthur swallowed before continuing. "with me, then why…?"

The redhead turned to look at him with intensity in his bright eyes. For a moment, it almost seemed as though he was going to grab Arthur. "I was looking for you. I was waiting all night, Artie. I was ready, and you should have been, too."

The Englishman quickly felt his irritation escalate into something he had trouble controlling. "So I worry my arse off thinking about it, and you're off finding somebody to replace me."

"You missed your chance fucking overthinking everything."

"Well you don't bloody think at all!" His voice was rising dangerously. He paused, realizing how loud he was becoming. He lowered his voice before speaking again.

"You just don't think about how anyone else feels, do you?"

"That's where you're wrong, Arthur."

The blonde paused a moment, almost shocked. That was the first time he had ever heard Alistair refer to him using his actual name. Soon, he recovered his composure. "Oh? How am I wrong, then?"

"I practically had to beat girls off me with a stick in high school. I held off on dating because I couldn't tell if you wanted me or not."

"Okay, I'm sure they did. Tell me, did Elizaveta just beg you to dance with her?"

"She almost did, yeah."

"That's horse crap and you know it."

"You wish it was. She wanted to make Gilbert jealous and she went for me because he and I were close. And it worked. And she was happy."

Arthur felt his throat tighten. "You were supposed to be with me."

"You were gone. You just disappeared. I couldn't find you. You wandered off and I couldn't find you, and then you got all pissy because I wouldn't wallow in self-pity like you and Dylan do all of the damn time."

"Don't drag Dylan into this. He has nothing to do with it."

"No, he had a huge crush on that Canadian kid. Still does. Never would lift a finger to do anything about it. You're the same way, expecting everyone else to do the work for you, princess."

"Because we're considerate—"

Alistair's eyes narrowed and there was a deadly edge to his voice. "That's bullshit. He is, but you're not. You just trick yourself into thinking you are as an excuse to sit and do nothing."

"It's better than just doing whatever the fuck you want and screwing with other people's feelings!" Arthur sensed himself giving way to his emotions and made a concerted effort to calm himself down. Alistair appeared to be doing the same thing.

"You keep vanishing. Running away. If only you'd stand your ground, maybe things'd change."

The blonde sighed deeply. He wanted to make this work. More than anything he'd ever wanted before. The desire to fix their relationship clawed at his heart, filling him with an exhausted need. He pinched the bridge of his nose before talking. "I waited for you. For four years. You left. I didn't realize you would come back. I was thrown. I didn't know what to do when I saw you last night."

Casually, Alistair replied as if it were the simplest solution in the world. "You shouldn't have waited."

"I wouldn't have waited if there hadn't been so many mixed signals confusing the slime out of me."

"I could have handled it better, I know. But I was a kid. I didn't know what to do. I tried talking to Da about my feelings, but he only looked disgusted. Matthias and the others weren't much help, either. On top of that, I was failing nearly everything by thinking about you and only you in every class. Highschool was shit."

The Englishman's voice softened, a light blush showing on his skin. "So you had a lot going on."

Not responding, the redhead stared into the distance. He didn't want to be having this conversation.

Arthur began to laugh at the irony of it all. How a couple of impulse decisions and miscommunications could leave you in a very unpleasant situation. The other seemed to relax at his inane giggling. "I'm so funny I can make you laugh without having to move," Alistair smirked.

"No, I'm pretty sure only your face can do that."

"You're such a comedian."

"I'm better than you."

"You wish you were."

The two looked at each other, seriously at first, but once they began making faces at each other the laughter came effortlessly, easily, readily. The weight of the world had somehow disappeared, leaving both of them a complete mess. Arthur hadn't felt so happy in such a long time. He felt like a kid again.

Alistair had fallen back into the grass in a fit of giggles. He now sat straight up, looking at the blonde with an intense look that Arthur could not read. He had a sudden urge to look somewhere else, anywhere else, but he kept looking back into those beautiful eyes. With his heart pulsing, he felt himself leaning closer. Alistair grinned and in one fluid motion leaned forward and gently put his hands on the other's face. Arthur immediately wrapped his arms around the other's neck, never having known how badly he wanted this until that very moment.