This too shall pass

"WHAT?!"

Like a frightened cat, Alfred's room shook at the four-letter treble.

"What's wrong, Artie?" Alfred bolted out of his bed and rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, forehead slightly creased with concern.

It was two in the morning and he'd been comfortably propped up in front of his laptop, earphones on as he nodded off at The Great Gatsby. Meanwhile, I dominated my habitual place in his study table, draining the third cup of tea he prepared for me that night while tensing and gawking at the implausible message flashing before me.

"Aside from the fact that you keep on insisting that blasted nickname?" I asked, not tearing my gaze away from the computer screen. "Ludwig wants me to rewrite everything I just sent him. Everything!"

Ludwig and I were partners for our research paper but he never asked me to do such thing after all those months that we had been working together. Everyone seemed to be on the verge of mental breakdown when it was only a few months left from graduation day.

Despite the horrid weather condition, I tramped my way from the other end of the street to Alfred's flat because my roommates had been acting like the intolerable brats that they were.

At least it was less nerve-racking, staying the night in Alfred's place. He knew my rules by heart whenever I would come over with a job to do. He would be in his own space, respecting mine, behaving himself and not sticking his nose into my business. Every time I came barging in with my workload at hand, I would apologize but he would always have that unclouded smile sketched in his face, offer me a cup of tea and tell me that it was alright, that what mattered more was my company. There were times that my heart sank with such incalculable sympathy coming from my younger significant other, like at this moment when I was a melting pot of runny nose, cough, headache and vexation.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Alfred yawned and cautiously took a sneak peek at my early morning frustration. "Why don't you try to get some rest for now?"

"I can't," I said plainly and began assaulting the keyboard for what it was worth. "It's due tomorrow at eleven a.m."

"But you're sick," he protested. The corners of his lips tightened with worry while his gaze landed on the quilted human burrito that was in front of him.

"But how else am I supposed to do this?" I asked, rhetorical. My voice was beginning to sound strange thanks to the cold. "It's either I'll finish this tonight or I won't submit anything at all."

He didn't say anything for a moment, just placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Let Ludwig do everything all by himself," he announced. I almost felt the light bulb appear above his head. "I bet he will, even if he gave you your own part. He's German, after all."

I raised an eyebrow and stopped typing. "And what do you mean by that?"

Alfred held his hands up in surrender. "I was just trying to be funny!" He said. "No need to get so worked up."

I sighed. "That's easy to say for someone who equates stress with not being able to beat his personal record on a video game overnight."

He would have lashed back me, I knew it, but he retorted with another yawn.

"Al?" I asked before he could think of a good comeback.

"Yeah?"

"You go to sleep. I'll finish this tonight," I said.

Alfred glanced at his Superman wall clock. "It's almost two thirty a.m."

"Or this morning, whatever!" I knew it wasn't his point but I really couldn't leave this unfinished tonight.

"But Artie…"

There came the misty eyes and the puppy dog pout – I could see him pulling the deceiving face out of the corner of my eye – but I refused the temptation so I kept my eyes fixed to my computer screen. Sorry, Al, but you can't keep waiting for me to sleep with you tonight.

"Just write whatever!" He flung his arms in the air to express his condemnation towards my work. "You'll be fine."

"As expected from a freewheeling creature."

"It's not like you'll face persecution by passing a horribly written paper."

"Maybe I will!"

"No, you won't…" After he let it sink in, he added, "But you'll probably upset Charles Dickens and Virginia Woolf and all the other British writers you admire so much."

I felt all the blood seep away from my system and no great author could ever possibly describe my utter mortification.

I looked Alfred in the eye and pointed at the pin-up-coated wall opposite me. "Face the wall and reflect about what you just did to me!"

He didn't object. My computer screen had my irrevocable attention as the obnoxious silence settled in, but it lasted after the clock's second arm ticked ten times.

I heard a jaded sigh.

"Alright. That was totally inappropriate and completely out of line."

I kept typing. Fingers on the keyboard, eyes on the screen.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be," I said, still not sparing him a glance.

"…Can I stop facing the wall now?"

My fingers were rendered lifeless on top of my keyboard. Sometimes I question myself for falling in love with this retarded git in the first place.

"You are insufferable," I said.

Alfred laughed and gave me that noteworthy look which he only gives me at rare occasions of catching me smile.

But before he could entirely steal my attention, I adjusted the quilt over my shoulders and proceeded with my task.

"This too shall pass," he said, retreating to his bed.

"What shall pass?"

"Your paper, your professors and their expectations, university life, everything will pass! And you'll be alright. Have a little faith, will you?"

"If you won't let me do my paper right now, I will fail while everything else will pass!"

"You're overthinking."

"You're oversimplifying things."

"Resting for a few hours won't hurt, especially when you're not feeling well at all."

For the umpteenth time that night I refrained from writing. My brain was already sending me signs that it couldn't go on anymore, that my fever was slowly devouring all my brain cells and like an idiot, I let my head fall and connect with the desk.

"You don't understand. This paper means everything to us," I said, incomprehensible with my mouth almost touching the wood. "I just want it to be perfect like how Ludwig and I planned it to be."

I had been writing this part for some time now and it frustrated every single nerve in me because I knew what I was capable of doing, I knew I could do a lot better, but the remaining parts of me wouldn't let it happen. To make me feel more terrible, my stupid brain reminded me of the promise I made to Alfred that I would let him take me out to dinner tonight, which never took place. I would have drained myself in the pool of infuriation but Alfred redeemed me.

"Why do you want it to be perfect? You tell me, I want to understand," Alfred said.

I took a deep breath and told him, "Explaining myself would never get my paper done."

"Neither does headdesking," he said and immediately added, "But here's the thing: life is full of imperfections and you don't have complete control of everything."

I knew Alfred was ready to reason with me or die trying when he dragged one of his plastic chairs and sat beside me. Stubborn as I was, I kept my head on the desk.

He tried to make me look at him but I closed my eyes. He ran his fingers through my hair as consolation while I imagined his introspective face. "In school, they ask you to create problems and make you solve them on your own. They give you rules with how to do things within a span of time. Solve your problems and make it before the time limit or chose not to comply with the regulations – it's all or nothing. But in the end, the paper will remain as a paper and grades will remain as numbers. What's more important is beyond that: knowing what you're capable of and using them to deal with real life."

"Real life's the bitch step mother of idealism," I responded.

Alfred chuckled. His fingers were slowly becoming hypnotically soothing and I was beginning to drift away. "In real life, you're graded with how you muddle through and no matter what happens you always find your way out."

When did he become so smart?

I wanted to know but I sat upright and asked him another question instead. "Do you think I'll do alright?"

He flashed my favorite crooked smile. "I think you'll do great. You're Arthur Kirkland after all!" He said. "But not without rest. Come on, I'll set the alarm early so you can have enough time to work on your paper."

Alfred helped me get up and climb into the bed which immediately consumed me like my unparalleled exhaustion. After he unplugged my laptop and switched off all the lights, he lay close to me and we snuggled under the duvet. His familiar scent and warmth sheltered me with perplexing comfort that I would never want to let go.

They always say that Alfred and I are the most equally verbal couple they have ever seen (they never really explain what they mean by that) but I think Alfred surpasses me when it comes to professing love and understanding through affectionate gestures.

"Don't forget to set the alarm, alright?" I said softly as I kissed his forehead.

He planted ticklish kisses on my neck and giggled. "I won't… set the alarm."

I punched him in the gut.

"Ow!" He exclaimed. "Alright, alright, I will!"

Alfred rummaged through the nightstand for his phone and showed me as he set the alarm, the discreet white glow washing our grinning faces. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me one last kiss.

"G'night, Al."

"Good night, Artie."

"That nickname won't pass, will it?"

"Nope. Never."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Another drabble from Tumblr dot com. This goes to everyone who's been stressed out with school. Always remember that your worth can't be measured by just numbers and rankings. Don't forget to take a break once in a while. You deserve it!

Reviews are loved. Have a nice day!