Signature Books Romance

by Koshka Rayn

Arthur Kirkland always said that his true (and only) love would always be literature, and he believed it too, until one cold winter day when a young man walked into his bookstore and changed everything. (IceUK)

Arthur Kirkland always said that his true (and only) love would always be literature.

And he believed it too, until one cold winter day when a young man walked into his bookstore and changed everything.

Arthur looked up as the bell to the front door of his shop rang noisily, announcing a visitor. Perhaps even a customer. "Hello?"

It was a young male, about eighteen or twenty, with raggedly short white-blonde hair and startling blue-gray eyes. He wore red skinny jeans, a studded belt, high-tops, a blue t-shirt with skulls on it, and a plain gray over-sized sweatshirt.

Arthur sighed. The boy was probably looking for the video game store down the street. They always were… It seemed like no one who dressed that modern read anymore. Excepting, of course, for himself. Just because he didn't always dress like the punk he truly was at heart didn't mean he never did.

"Hello, my name is Arthur Kirkland; welcome to Signature Books. How may I help you?"

"My name is Emil," the other blonde said, stepping up to the counter. "I was wondering if…"

Here it comes. Where's the whatever?

"…You had any Liza Marklund?" Emil finished. "My brother's husband's birthday is a few days away, and Marklund is one of his favorite authors." He had a slightly rough accent, suggesting his native language was perhaps of Germanic or Russian origin. Or perhaps Scandinavian even; they had their similarities.

"Of course," Arthur nodded, pleased the man was in the right place, and hopped down off his barstool. "Right this way please."

Emil seemed only marginally shocked that the blonde had suddenly shrank three inches. He shrugged it off and followed obediently.

Crouching down, Arthur pointed out the row of Liza Marklund books. "Here we are; I make sure to keep some on hand at all times."

Nodding, Emil murmured a soft 'thank you.'

"You're welcome," Arthur stood, brushing off his knees. "I'll be at the front desk for when you're ready, alright?"

"Alright," Emil nodded, smiling faintly. The Englishman was just so adorable.

Arthur smiled and scurried back off to his desk, hopping onto his patted stool and trying to look busy. He had important people coming over sometime later and he wanted to present a 'proper' image.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur looked up from his book curiously, "yes?"

It was that important business person, coming to conduct some productivity survey or something equally ridiculous.

"Ah, hello," he smiled, sure it fell more than a little flat. "How may I help you, ma'am?"

The mousy-brunette woman pushed her black glasses up her nose. "Yes, hello. How many customers have you had so far today?"

"Five," Arthur said simply, thinking of the handsome young male still wandering around the store. "Twelve if you count the people coming in to buy a drink."

She nodded and made a mark on her clipboard. "How many people many customers would you say you get on a daily basis?"

"Perhaps twenty or so," Arthur drawled, "more on weekends."

The woman nodded, clicking her pen decisively, and walked away, opening her umbrella against the rain.

Emil, walking by the counter on his way to the other side of the store, paused. "You sell coffee here too?" The stack of books in his hands was six-books high.

"Yes," Arthur nodded, "would you like some?"

"No, no thank you," Emil shook his head. "But…do you have any hot cocoa?"

"Of course," Arthur smiled.

"Could I have some of that?"

"Of course, follow me," Arthur hopped down from his stool and walked over to a bar counter. He picked up a white ceramic mug and filled it with steaming milk, stirring in high-quality Brazilian cocoa powder. Holding the spoon out for Emil to taste, he asked, "is that good?"

Emil licked the spoon thoughtfully, careful not to burn his tongue. "Yes, that's just perfect." Shifting the stack of books from one arm to the other, the ice-blonde pulled his wallet -printed with the Icelandic flag- and asked, "how much do I owe you?"

"Two dollars and seventy-five cents," Arthur responded easily, stirring himself a cup of Earl Gray.

"Oh, okay," Emil nodded, handing over three ones. "That's pretty cheep."

Smiling absently, Arthur handed him the cup and a quarter, "Thanks for your patronage. Enjoy!"

Yawning, Arthur glanced at his watch sleepily. It was almost seven, nearly an hour after he normally closed up shop. He stood up and stretched luxuriously, back popping. Huffing, he walked over to the front door, a soft groan leaving his lips. Flipping the sign over from 'Open' to 'Closed', Arthur mumbled, "Time to shut down…"

First, though, he had to do a quick circle to make sure no one else was left.

He came upon a certain slim, pale blonde young man sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a book intently.

Arthur cleared his throat softly, clasping his hands behind his back.

Emil's head jerked up, blinking confusedly. "E-eh…?"

"Sorry, luv," Arthur apologized, "but I'm closing down."

Jumping up, Emil scurried to pick up the books scattered nearby. "Sorry, so sorry! I didn't mean to stay so long!"

"It's alright," Arthur laughed lightly, "do you have everything you need?" He led them back over to the cash register.

"Yes," Emil nodded, "thank you…"

"It's nothing," Arthur rang the books up swiftly, with the ease of long practice. He waved farewell as Emil, paid-for books in hand, left. "Goodbye, come again soon!"

"I plan on it," Emil laughed lightly, pulling his hood up against the rain.

It was Saturday; the last day he had to work before his day off Sunday.

He came to work wearing his favorite pair of semi-shredded skinny jeans, a t-shirt from that concert he'd gone to last Sunday, and his worn-out converse printed with the British flag.

Happily tapping his hot pink ball-bearing against the back of his teeth, glad beyond words to have it back where it belonged, he sketched away. He also wondered if he'd see that Icelandic kid again. He really was rather cute…

"Ah, hello…?"

Speak of the devil…

"Hello," Arthur waved, setting his pencil aside. "Welcome back!"

"I almost thought I'd gotten the wrong place," Emil pushed the door farther open, stepping inside. "You look quite a bit different than from what I remember; confused me for a moment."

"Oh, yes," Arthur laughed lightly, "you caught me on a day when some ridiculous survey people were coming in. I do try to make a point to look like a proper stuffy old bookshop owner whenever officials come around. They are people who rely a lot on looks, you know, and one must keep up appearances." He winked, "as well as the family tradition."

Emil laughed; he liked this guy. Exactly his type of humor.

"Anyway," Arthur waved one hand, leaning forward. "What can I help you with, dove?"

"I read on your sign that you accept trade-ins for credit?" Emil lifted a canvas bag.

"That would be correct," Arthur beckoned him over, having Emil set the bag on the desk.

"They're all in English because I didn't know if you would accept Icelandic," Emil said, watching Arthur's graceful hands examine the books tenderly.

"I do," Arthur nodded, "I'll accept any book, as long as it's in good condition." Setting down the last book, Arthur remarked, "Speaking of condition, these are all absolutely splendid. How did you keep them so neat?"

"Tender loving care," Emil smiled, "and my brother-in-law Matthias isn't allowed to touch any of them."

Arthur laughed, "I'll bet… How does…fifty quid sound?"

"Sounds perfect," Emil nodded slightly. He could get a lot more books with fifty pound.

"Alrighty," Arthur grabbed an index card from under the counter. "I'll just need your name -first and last- and phone number, if you please?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," he nodded. "My name is Emil Steilsson, spelled E-M-I-L S-T-E-I-L-S-S-O-N."

"Thanks," Arthur smiled lightly, swinging his feet. He always had been terrible at spelling names.

~/\~

Arthur poked his head around a bookshelf and spied just the white-blonde he was looking for, reading contentedly stretched out on the floor between two bookshelves, feet crossed in the air. He coughed softly, hating to disturb.

"Hm?" Emil blinked up at him, vaguely startled. "Yes?"

"I'm going out for lunch," Arthur said, leaning against the shelf. "Would you like me to lock you in here for a half hour whilst I eat, or would you like some lunch too?"

"I'd best eat," Emil sighed softly, popping up. He dusted off his front, saying, "thanks for telling me…" And then he paused, blushing a little bit. "Ah… actually, I'm kinda new to London -well, England in general- and I was wondering… do you know any good places for lunch?"

Arthur's lips curled up in a soft smile, "how new is new, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Well… You know that day I first showed up here? That…was my first day."

"So, four days?" That really wasn't long enough to even come close to knowing much of anything at all. "Damn," Arthur whistled lightly. "Yeah, I know this little Spanish-Italian-German place that's just down the way. I was planning on going there; would you care to join me?"

Emil blushed even darker, "If, uh, if you don't mind…sir…"

"Please, dove, just Arthur," he took Emil's wrist and tugged him to the door. "Sir just makes me feel old, and I'll have you know I'm not a day over twenty-something." He handed Emil an umbrella from the coat closet, grabbed one for himself, and headed out the door.

"What's this for?" Emil asked curiously, holding up the umbrella. "It hasn't rained all day."

"This is England, remember?" Pausing on the doorstep, Arthur tucked the ivory-handled object under his arm to light a cigarette. "The weather can change at the drop of a hat." He looked Emil up and down, cigarette dangling from his lip, and decided something was missing. Say, a coat? "Aren't you cold?"

"No," Emil shook his head. "This is normal Icelandic spring weather -on a good day. On a bed day… well, it's best to just not get out of bed. And don't you know that smoking will kill you?"

"Yes," Arthur exhaled luxuriously, "and I've cut back quite a bit. I only smoke when I walk to work, when I walk to lunch, and when I walk home again." He paused thoughtfully, "assuming that I remember to go home," he continued walking, "or bother."

"You walk to work?" Emil blinked at him. The nearest residential district was at least a few miles away, but maybe Arthur had found a closer place…? "How far?"

"As the crow flies? Three miles," Arthur shrugged. "Maybe a forty-five minute walk, if it's raining. No biggie."

"Why not just get a car and drive?" Emil asked incredulously. He himself was much more economical (and poor as dirt) and rode his 30-year-old bicycle everywhere. "Or, better yet, take a bus."

Arthur shuddered, muscles clenching. "Ah, I'd…rather not. To cut it short, I suffer from acute autonomophobia."

Humming thoughtfully, Emil said, "Oh, alright, that does make sense."

Nodding, Arthur pushed open the door of a smaller, not particularly busy café. "I wonder who's in today…"

"Hola~" a brilliantly smiling caramel-skinned male practically danced by.

"Hello, Antonio," Arthur smiled pleasantly.

The Spaniard grinned, "have a seat anywhere, amigos, and I'll be right with you~!"

"You know him?" Emil asked, trotting after Arthur.

"Yes," Arthur hopped up onto a high chair at a high table at a place he obviously went to a lot. "We dated, oh, what was it? Freshman year of high school?"

Emil blinked at the other blonde, "date…ed?"

"Mhm," Arthur nodded, tapping his fingers against the laminated menu. "Do you have a problem with going to lunch with a bisexual male?"

"N-no," Emil shook his head, looking down at the menu. "Not…not at all…"

Arthur raised one eyebrow and leaned forward, brushing Emil's hair out of his eyes.

The pale blonde jerked back, blushing hotly.

Chuckling lightly, Arthur dropped his hand and sat back. "I thought so. You're of a…homosexual variety as well, aren't you, luv?"

Grumbling quietly, Emil stared out the window. "Eh…uh…yeah… I am…"

Arthur smiled kindly, "it's alright, dove. In case you haven't noticed, so is everyone else here."

Emil jerked his head up, staring around.

In the far corner were two girls sharing a milkshake and exchanging kisses. At the bar counter a pair of brunette teenage boys holding hands under the counter and talking lowly.

Arthur was right-there was not a single straight couple in the entire place.

"Told you so," Arthur said softly as Antonio glided up.

"Hola amigos," Antonio said brightly. "I know what you want, Arthur, but what would your handsome boy-toy like?"

Emil turned a bright red and closed up, while Arthur laughed amusedly.

"What would you like, ducky?" Arthur asked, tapping the back of Emil's hand. "Other than, of course, a hot chocolate?"

Emil muttered his order and Antonio smiled, laughed, and practically skipped away.

"You didn't correct him…" Emil mumbled , looking up at Arthur through thick black eyelashes.

"He's just teasing, hun," Arthur laughed, patting the back of Emil's hand. "He does that to everybody."

"But but but…why didn't you correct him?" Emil pouted.

"You can correct him when he comes back," Arthur smirked.

"I will," Emil said, full of determination.

Antonio slipped up and set down the drinks, tossed a wink at Emil, and skipped away again.

"An…" Emil watched Antonio go with his mouth open, then sighed, turning back to his drink. "And there's a heart in my hot cocoa…"

"Yes, he does that sometimes," Arthur took a hesitant sip of his tea, not wanting to burn his tongue.

"Who?" Emil asked, staring at the perfectly shaped cream heart. There was no way Antonio had had the time to make the figure.

"Another one of my exes, Romano Vargas," Arthur shrugged, stirring his tea with a small silver spoon. "We dated, let's see, my junior year, his freshman? Yes, that sounds about right."

Emil blinked at the Englishman. He himself hadn't dated anybody in awhile. Not since he was in Iceland, anyway… "Tell me, Arthur, exactly how old are you, anyway?"

"Hm…" Arthur pursed his lips thoughtfully. Just how old was he again? "Tonio!"

"Sí?"

"How old am I?"

"Veinticuatro, same as me and Gilly and Franny~"

"Thank you, Antonio," Arthur called back.

"De nada~!"

"There you are," Arthur said, turning back to Emil with a smug smirk playing on his lips. "Twenty-four."

Emil stared at him, "How do you not know how old you are? And who's Gilly and Franny?"

"Ages never bothered me," Arthur shrugged, "and Gilly and Franny -Gilbert and Francis- are Antonio's best friends from high school. Francis is male, by the way, but one of the most effeminate men you could ever meet."

"It's a kind-of convoluted circle," Antonio said, setting down a huge plate of warm and melty pecan wheels. "I'll explain it, sí?"

Okay, so. Franny and Gilly and I were close friends in high school. The 'Bad Touch Trio,' if you will. I dated Arthur Freshman year, and Franny dated him senior.

Gilbert thought he was straight at the time, so he dated only girls. Whatever.

Gilbert's younger brother, Ludwig, and I are dating a set of twins. I'm dating Romano -another of Arthur's exes- and Ludwig is dating Feliciano. A very gay little ray of rainbow sunshine, if you ask me.

Pequeño Franny has been totally whipped by Vash Zwingly, the founder of our high school's self-defense club/class/thing.

And…Gilbert is now married to one of Arthur's younger brothers -who is ironically Francis's half brother- who's slightly older brother is dating the former foreign-exchange student. Who is also one of my exes. He's from Japan and his accent is muy adorable~!

"Did you follow?" Antonio asked, looking at Emil with his bright emerald eyes.

"Yeah…except for, um, how is Francis related to Arthur's younger brother?" Emil stared between the two.

"They have the same father," Arthur shrugged. "Francis and I are in fact not related in any way, thank god."

"…Ah…" Emil nodded slowly. "I think I get it mostly now…?"

"Ah, bueno!" Antonio clapped his hands happily. "Where did you go to school, hermano?"

"Iceland," Emil said softly, uncomfortable with the Spaniard's scrutiny. "And then America… I graduated from a school in Maine three years ago." Best to just shorten it. He'd also gone to school in Germany, Russia, Canada, New York, and Oregon.

"Oh, so you're the same age as mi Lovi?" Antonio asked, eyes bright. Emil looked closer to sixteen than twenty-anything. "He's veintiuno~"

"…Eh?" Emil blinked at him. "Of my nine languages, neither Spanish nor Italian are a part of them."

"Ah, such a shame," Antonio shook his head. "But, twenty one, sí?"

"Yes…" Emil nodded slowly, blushing.

Laughing, Antonio danced away. He really should have been working, not gossiping.

Emil slumped and sipped his hot chocolate -utterly delicious.

Watching him absently, Arthur murmured something under his breath, sipping his tea languidly.

"Did you say something?" Emil glanced at him curiously over the rim of his cup.

"What? I just said…" Arthur hesitated uncharacteristically, staring intently at his gently steaming tea. "That…you have very pretty eyes, Emil. They're very expressive."

"I-what?" Emil stared at him, wide-eyed. "I have pretty eyes? You must be colorblind; no I don't. My eyes are a funny color. You have pretty eyes."

"No, no, silly boy," Arthur shook his head, ears turning pink. "There's nothing special about my eyes-they're just a boring green. You have eyes like… like a twilight sky after a storm."

Emil stared at him, blushing hard. "Very…poetic…"

Mumbling something under his breath, Arthur swirled around the last dregs of tea in his cup. His whole face was tinged pink.

"How did you learn so many languages?" Arthur asked, shelving books next to Emil. "Nine, you said?"

"Yes," Emil nodded. "English, Icelandic, Norwegian, Swedish, Finnish, Dutch, Russian, German, and French."

Arthur paused a moment to stare in total shock at the slim young man sitting innocently on the ground a few feet away. "Holy…" Sure, nine, but seriously -nine? Who honestly knows nine languages?

"The Scandinavian languages have a lot of similarities, plus I've been speaking them since I was really young, as well as having many similarities to Russian and German," Emil shrugged , looking up at Arthur. "Practice made for ease of learning."

"Ah…" Arthur nodded slowly. "What was your hardest language to learn?"

"English, by far," Emil said decisively. "No doubt about it."

"Really?" Arthur cocked his head to the side, pulling the shoulder of his loose, thin boat-neck sweatshirt back up his shoulder. "I find English rather easy."

"What's your first language?" Emil asked flatly.

"English, of course," Arthur shrugged, and the neck of his sweatshirt slipped back down. "I'm a born and bred English Gentleman, what else would it be?"

"My first language was Icelandic," Emil laughed lightly. "I promise you there's a decided difference between the two."

"I'll bet," Arthur nodded, adjusting his undershirt.

"You have no idea," Emil smirked.

Arthur blinked at him. "That's very…rough…"

Emil knew the other was being nice. "It does sound like the speaker is trying not to choke." He gathered up his books and stood, following Arthur to the cash register.

"Leaving so soon?" Arthur asked, ringing up Emil's purchases. "You normally don't leave until I do."

"I've got work tonight," Emil shrugged, "and my shift starts at six. And you look very nice today, Arthur. Got a date?" His eyes twinkled.

Arthur blushed, peering at him from under a fringe of stylishly raggedly cut hair. "No, I'm just going out tonight."

"Oh?" Emil cocked his head to the side. "Have fun and stay safe, alright?"

"Of course," Arthur laughed lightly. He was always safe; silly dear. "See you later, Emil~!"

"Is that…" Emil stared at the slightly more than barely intoxicated blonde male grinding against an equally sloshed brunette in time with the music. "Arthur?"

The blonde twisted his head to the side, flipping a lock of hair out of his face, revealing that yes, it indeed was Arthur Kirkland, owner and only employee at Signature Bookshop; new & used.

Emil hummed thoughtfully, crossing his arms and leaning against a wall. He'd have to keep an eye on Arthur; didn't want him to get drugged and raped, now, would we?

Out of the corner of his eye he spied two muscle-bound men yelling soundlessly (one couldn't hear anything over the pounding throb of the music) and pointing accusing fingers.

Sighing tonelessly, he went over to break up the potential fight. It was his job as a bouncer, after all.

Emil pulled his dark blue beanie down farther over his ears, wishing it weren't quite so cold and maybe it could stop raining. For once. He swung a leg over his brand new 10-speed city bike and pedaled slowly down the sidewalk.

Only a mile-ish until he got home.

A few paces down the sidewalk tipped a drunk blonde, shivering in the rain.

"Oh," Emil cocked his head to the side. It was Arthur.

The Englishman slid sideways and fell onto the road, sending up a spray of water. He just lay there on his back, giggling madly.

Emil hopped off the bike and helped him stand. "Arthur? Are you alright?"

"Who… whooo ahr yooo?" Arthur asked, taking Emil by the cheeks. "Do I know you?" He pulled off Emil's hat and pushed his hand through his hair. "Ooh, Emil! How simply marvelous to see you here!" Pulling Emil closer, Arthur planted a huge kiss right on his lips.

Emil stared at the blonde in shock, mouth open and about to respond, then shook his head. "You know, you're drunk, never mind…"

Arthur giggled, leaning into Emil. "Take me home, love? Please?"

"On the bike," Emil pointed to the contraption, and Arthur obediently swung his leg over the seat. Emil stood on the pedals, knees bent slightly, with Arthur's arms wrapped tightly around his waist and his face tucked against his back.

"Where are we going ducky?" Arthur asked, fingers wiggling through the gaps between the buttons on Emil's shirt.

"Somewhere safe," Emil responded simply, wiping some of the water off his face. Stupid rain.

Fifteen minutes later found Emil carrying an unconscious Arthur into his bathroom, stripping him beyond his black and white plaid briefs, drying him off, putting some dry clothes on him, and tucking him into his own bed.

Emil climbed into the shower, trying to heat up his body so he didn't feel like a cold brick anymore. The hot water relaxed his sore muscles, running over the bruises and occasional cut -the hazards of one of his jobs. That and, Arthur, while he was a little guy, wasn't particularly easy to heft up three levels of stairs like a dead weight -as well as a bike.

Climbing out, he slipped on a pair of navy blue cotton pajama pants and climbed into bed beside Arthur. "Thank god for splurging on king-sized beds," Emil mused, curling up and pulling out a book.

~/\~

Arthur woke up confused. He wasn't sore, so if he'd had sex he hadn't bottomed. The bed smelled nice so he wasn't in some fourth-rate motel. He smelled-

He smelled food?

Where the hell was he?

Arthur climbed out of bed and padded out of the room, where he came upon the sight of a certain white-blonde Scandinavian male making breakfast.

With no shirt on.

And the window wide open.

"Ah-uh-eh-Emil…?"

The blonde turned and waved with his metal spatula. "Good morning, Arthur. I trust you slept well?"

"Uh, yes, thank you," Arthur nodded slightly, shuffling his feet shyly. "Might I ask… how did I end up here…?"

"I picked you up off the street," Emil said simply, "I didn't want you to get hit by a car."

"Oh…" Arthur looked down, willing his feet to stop moving. It wasn't going too well. "Thank you…"

"You're welcome," Emil shrugged, neatly flipping a flat pancake. "Now, please, sit down. Your twitching is…" he tweaked his head to the side, "twitchy."

"My twitching is twitchy," Arthur stared at him, shuffling over to a chair at a small table. IKEA, probably.

"Yes, your twitching is twitchy," Emil nodded, setting down a plate of perfectly golden-brown pancakes, a jar of honey, and a glass bottle of 100% pure maple syrup imported directly from Canada. "Pancakes; I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," Arthur shook his head, cutting the stack into neat triangles. "My younger brother, Matthew, always made pancakes, and not just for breakfast. Probably still does, now that I think about it. I just haven't seen him in awhile."

"Why not?" Emil asked curiously, sipping on what was undoubtedly a cup of hot chocolate. He did understand not seeing family for long periods of time.

"He lives in Canada," Arthur shrugged. "He's the one that's married to Gilbert, by the way."

Emil paused, "oh? Hm… Oh, how odd, I knew a Matthew in Canada. I wonder what the chances of that are?"

Arthur shrugged; his mouth was too full to bother with an answer.

Rolling his eyes, Emil chuckled faintly. "Don't choke."

"How did you bring me here, anyway?" Arthur asked curiously, sipping a cup of tea. Not Earl Gray, but still tea.

Emil pointed to the bike leaning against the wall against the door.

Arthur stared between the two in total and utter shock. "You-you mean I actually rode the bike?"

"Technically," Emil corrected lightly, "you sat there and I pedaled. But, yes," he nodded, "you rode the bike."

"I…I…" Arthur gaped. "I haven't ridden a bike since I was thirteen years old! How did you manage…?"

"To get you on?" Emil completed the sentence easily, and Arthur nodded. "Simple: you were totally sloshed and I told you to get on. I thought you were going to crush my ribs for the first bit, but after you passed out it was okay."

Arthur was pale as milk. "Oh r-really now…?"

"Ja," Emil nodded simply. He wondered if Arthur was going to pass out, like he looked like he would. He hoped not; he didn't want sticky tea all over his floor. Oh, and an unconscious Arthur would be bad too.

"O-oh…" Arthur gulped. Gripping the cup with trembling hands, he tried desperately to calm himself. He told himself to not think of cars, or bikes, willed himself to not think of the 'accident' where his father had plowed him over with the car and then laughed at him and called him an idiot. Bastard.

A faint ding thrummed in Emil's ears, and he walked to the tiny bathroom, pulling Arthur along behind him. "Here," he said, handing the Englishman a towel and razor. "Shower, shave, whatever. Your clothes are in the dryer. You're not allowed to come out until you're happy, clean, and calm. Got that?"

"Y-yeah…" Arthur nodded slowly.

"Good," Emil closed the door behind himself as he walked out of the bathroom.

An hour later found Arthur walking out of the bathroom with smooth legs and clean, fluffy hair.

It also found Emil stretched out in the tiny gap between the front door and the kitchen bar counter, red and black plaid skinny jeans zipped -but not buttoned- and black polo t-shirt pulled only halfway down his smoothly muscled stomach. One hand was on his chest, the other above his head. His mouth was slightly open and he whistled faintly as he breathed.

Arthur giggled, crouching next to Emil's head. The faint thought of, is his skin really as soft as it looks? floated through his head and, before he could stop himself, his fingertips were stroking the soft and smooth cheek of the Scandinavian.

Emil hummed softly, turning towards him, and Arthur snapped back. Was he waking up? God, that would be embarrassing.

No, not yet…

Arthur leaned closer, noting how Emil's long eyelashes -pale as dawn- curved elegantly against his cheekbones. His lips, a perfectly pale pink, formed a beautiful cupids bow. His eyebrows were pale golden arches.

"So pretty," Arthur sighed wistfully. "I'll bet the Frog would love to paint him."

Emil rolled over onto his side, hand resting on Arthur's knee, and his eyes drifted slowly open.

"Good morning," Arthur smiled faintly, scooting backwards, and Emil's hand slid off his leg. He kinda missed it. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Ugh," Emil stretched cat-like, back popping. "Got home around three, went to sleep around five, woke up around seven thirty…" He huffed slightly, rolling his shoulders awkwardly against the hard ground.

"Two-and-a-half hours?" Arthur stared at him, "Really?"

"Oh yeah," Emil nodded. He tucked his hands under his head, watching Arthur watch him. "That's how much I normally get. Except on Sundays; then I sleep for about eighteen hours. I'm used to it."

"Why?" Arthur exclaimed, shocked.

"I work from 8:30AM to 3PM every other day, and from 6PM to 3-4AM with the French school schedule."

"…What?" Arthur blinked at him.

"Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and a half-day Saturday," Emil listed easily, stretching. He contemplated buttoning his pants.

"Why?" Arthur cocked his head to the side. Emil was going to make himself sick, and he told him so. He poked the Incelander's bellybutton to accentuate his point.

"So I can afford food, shelter, and books," Emil giggled faintly. His stomach was ticklish. "We should probably get you home, Arthur, don't you think?"

"Ah…" Arthur nodded slowly, watching Emil stand. "Probably…"

The next day, while shelving a stack of traded-in books, Arthur thought about Emil (who was on the next aisle over, helping a young woman find a book by Charles Dickens).

He seriously didn't think either working or sleeping in patterns like his were healthy.

Maybe he could…

Yes! That would be perfect!

~/\~

"Emil, I have a question for you."

The paler blonde wrinkled his brow in confusion, but trotted obediently over. "Yes?"

"How much do you make with your day job?" Arthur asked intently.

"…Why?" Emil eyed the Briton suspiciously.

"Just answer the question, please," Arthur insisted.

"Ten an hour," Emil replied, "why?"

"And your night job?"

"Twelve, with PI comp," Emil crossed his arms, leaning against a bookshelf. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just trying to figure out how much it may take to compensate you, salary-wise," Arthur mused thoughtfully, tapping his lip. "I was thinking… would twenty per hour work for you? Of course, you'll be able to take as many vacation days as you like, and you'll be able to read all the books you want…"

"Wait-wait-wait," Emil stared at him. "Excuse me? Did you just say what I think you said?"

"That I want to hire you?" Arthur blinked innocently at him, shifting the stack of books in his arms. "That's exactly right."

"Wh-what brought this about?" Emil was incredulous. He'd love to work in a bookstore! Duh!

"You obviously need a better quality of sleep," Arthur brushed Emil's hair out of his eyes tenderly. "Two or three hours a day is not enough to function properly."

"But I function just fine…" Emil forced himself to suppress a yawn. It would do no good to Arthur's ego if his point was proven right then.

"I found you passed out on the floor with your pants unbuttoned and your shirt hiked up," Arthur said flatly, putting his free hand on his hip. "That is not 'functioning properly' in any sense of the word."

Emil mumbled abashedly, ducking his head and looking away guiltily. "Okay, so…?"

"So…will you please accept?" Arthur was almost begging, in his gentlemanly fashion. He gently touched the back of Emil's hand, as if trying to coerce him with soft pressure.

"Ngh…fine…" Emil sighed, nodding. "I'll have to put in my resignation at the club…and bar…" He made a very fine bartender, though, and he did like mixing drinks, so he would miss that.

"Good!" Arthur nodded determinedly. "Not to pressure you, dove, but it's not healthy to work in nightclubs when you're young."

Emil cocked an eyebrow haughtily, "I'm twenty-one, thank you very much."

"Really?" A mischievous glint twinkled in Arthur's eyes. "Could have fooled me, luv."

"Meh," Emil wrinkled his nose, "Speak for yourself."

~/\~

Arthur cursed under his breath, glaring at the brown leather-backed book resting precariously on the very, very top shelf. "Emil, would you be a doll and fetch me the stepladder, please?"

Emil walked over, a faint smirk tugging on his lips. Placing his long fingered hands on Arthur's hips, the strong Viking-child easily lifted the light Briton to where he could grab the book.

Turning a bright red, Arthur snatched the volume, hugging it close to his chest as Emil set him gently down.

And then he promptly whacked the Icelandian with the book, spluttering furiously. "What the bloody hell was that for, wanker? You could have just grabbed the bloomin' stepladder!"

"I know," Emil smirked, brushing Arthur's choppy hair out of his eyes. "But what fun would that be, luv?" He turned away, leaving a silently shocked (and heavily blushing) Englishman behind.

"Hey, Arthur?" Emil stuck his head in the door, looking for the petite blonde. The blonde should have been there -the door was unlocked. "Arthur?"

Wait…was that a shoe?

Emil eyes the blue, white and red object peeking out from behind the desk worriedly. "Um…are…you okay…?"

No response.

He circled around the desk warily. It would suck if his new boss got kissed. He'd miss him, even if he did barely know him.

"You down there?" Emil crouched down and sighed in relief. "Oh, jeeze, Arthur…"

The slim English gentleman was snoozing under the counter, curled up on his side on a pillow and blanket like a small dog. A half-empty wine bottle sat nearby, the cork missing. He clutched a hard-back book tightly to his chest, a contented smile on his lips.

"You're so adorable," Emil smiled, gently brushing Arthur's hair from his face, before switching off the over-head lamp. He leaned over the blonde, hesitating, before finally giving into his want. He pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to Arthur's temple, sweeping a thumb over his delightfully comical eyebrows, before pulling back. Time to get on with life.

Arthur groaned softly, slowly returning to life. He sat up, rubbing his aching back -oh, for spending nights on floors- and came face to face with- well, more like face to crotch.

He blinked at the crotch of a pair of black and white zebra-striped skinny jeans. Hm… he mused thoughtfully. Nice size.

"What the hell," he groaned, hanging his head. He should not be thinking that about his employee. "Stupid sexy Scandinavians."

"You say something?" Emil leaned down, blinking innocently at Arthur. "Sexy Scandinavians? Oh, I know." He grinned impishly, ruffling the blonde's hair. "I'm a very sexy Viking."

"…Bah…" Arthur mumbled, crossing his arms tightly. "What time is it, Viking?"

"Oh, almost noon I think," Emil shrugged, straightening.

Arthur was left to glare at a (distinctly uncaring) crotch. "Bastard…" Wait… "Noon?!" He jerked up, slamming his head on the underside of the counter. He head something up top rattle, but didn't care. He cursed furiously, pushing past Emil's shapely legs. "What the hell didn't you wake me up, you useless-!" He caught sight of a vaguely amused Ludwig standing near the cash register, waiting with infinite impatience to be rung up. "Ah… um, hello… Ludwig…"

"Hallo," Ludwig nodded pleasantly. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, thank you, I slept quite well," Arthur straightened proudly, drawing up to his full height -he still wouldn't even come up to Ludwig's chin. And then he turned, walking away, fully aware of his terrible bed-head and distinct lack of shirt.

At least he'd kept his pants on -he had a sometimes bothersome habit of stripping in his sleep.

Emil whistled appreciatively, making Arthur hunch his shoulders in embarrassment. "Nice tat, Arthur."

"I did not expect you to be the tattoo type," Ludwig mused.

"Hush!" Arthur hissed, glaring at them both. His tattoo was of a teacup and saucer printed with the British flag, with a small male bathing in the overflowing cup of tea. The character's clothes -a fine suit- were tossed recklessly nearby, a gold-topped cane leaning against the cup with a top-hat right close.

"It suits you," Emil smiled sincerely, a soft blush dusting his cheeks.

"Erm…thanks…" Arthur looked away, face heating up.

Ludwig smirked, looking away. Those two… so dense. It reminded him of Matthew and Gilbert. Or Antonio and Romano.

It had become near ritual for the two blondes to walk to the café down the street together, every day but Sunday, for lunch. And even then still most Sundays. They would always sit together, nearly always order the same thing, and talk quietly together. And, occasionally, not so quietly. Such as when Arthur and Emil were comparing their favorite authors.

On this day, Feliciano leaned against Ludwig, hand tucked deeply into his partner's back pocket. "Do you-a think they've realized it-a yet?"

"That zhey have fallen in love?" Ludwig stroked Feliciano's side, making the other shiver and sigh contentedly. "Nein, I think not."

"Ah, sí, Iyagree," Feliciano nodded. "They're both a bit dense. Kinda like fratello!"

"…Ja…" Ludwig nodded slightly. Some other Italians were a bit dense as well. But…he would never say that aloud.

~/\~

"Oi! Artie!"

Said blonde jerked up, spinning to face the door just in time to be attacked by a hugely grinning blonde.

"Heya bro, long time no see!" Alfred F Jones ruffled his elder half-sibling's hair.

"Uft, yes, hello, Alfred," Arthur groaned, trying to wriggle from the American's strong grip. "Please…let go? I need to…breathe…" Were those black spots dancing before his eyes? Why yes, yes they were.

"Oh, yeah, right, sorry dude!" Alfred laughed, releasing Arthur and giving him a bit of a once-over half-assed straightening. "Got a little carried away."

"At least you didn't break any of my ribs," Arthur huffed, fixing his hair. Well, as much as he could, his hair being the ridiculous birds nest it was. "Anyway, why are you here?"

"Mattie and I thought we'd stop by," Alfred shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning against a bookshelf. "Gil wanted to see Ludwig and the rest of the BTT, and Kiku-Chan wanted to explore London. He's never been, you see."

"Lovely," Arthur slouched, "make sure you take him to the Briton's Mug. It's a nice club on West Southies." Emil had worked there.

"The Britons Mug?" Alfred cocked his name to the side, committing the name to memory. "Cool, I'll remember that. And, hey, where's Mattie…?" He looked around, finally spying his younger brother flipping through a thick red book with gold lettering. Karma something? Kama something? "Oi, Mattie!"

"Hm?" The Canadian looked up and put the book back before trotting over. "Hello Arthur," he embraced his elder half-brother and kissed his cheeks. "How have you been?"

"Quite good, thank you," Arthur smiled smugly. "At least one of you remembered the manners I taught you."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms, "I do too have manners…"

"I have yet to see you demonstrate them," Arthur laughed, only slightly mockingly. "Not since you lived with me, anyway."

"Hey, Arthur," Emil began, appearing from between two bookshelves, a few thick tomes in his hands. Upon catching sight of the tree blondes, he turned right around, wanting to disappear back into the shelves. "N-never mind… I can see you're busy."

"Emil?" Matthew questioned doubtfully, watching the pale young man try to slip away.

"Uh, yeah…?" he glanced back over his shoulder. "Matthew?"

"Oui!" Mathew laughed, eyes lighting up. "Emil, bonjour, mon ami!"

"Bonjour," Emil shuffled shyly back, hiding behind the books.

"I missed you," Matthew smiled, giving the Scandinavian a hug and a kiss on the forehead. "How have you been?"

"Tres bien," Emil smiled shyly, blushing a teensy bit.

Alfred and Arthur stared between the two, both utterly confused.

"You two know each other?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"Oui," Matthew nodded.

"He taught me French," Emil said softly, tracing small circles on the cover of his book. "In exchange for me teaching him Russian."

"Da," Matthew smirked at his clearly disapproving older brother.

"Stupid commies…" Alfred muttered darkly, crossing his arms and pouting.

Matthew jumped, patting his behind for his vibrating cell phone. "Oh, hey, Gil says that we need to hurry up and grab the angry British dude and get to the café." His cell vibrated again, "and the Icelandic fellow too."

"Cool!" Alfred laughed, grabbing Emil's wrist and pulling him out the door. "To infinity and beyond!"

"…What?" Arthur stared after them confusedly.

"Don't ask," Matthew sighed, shaking his head. "Come on, let's hurry, before your boyfriend gets too badly scarred."

"B-boyfriend?" Arthur yelped as he was dragged out the door.

"Well duh," Matthew rolled his eyes. "If Feli or Antonio can notice you like this guy, you're giving off some serious vibes. And if you're not dating, you should be."

Arthur stared at him with his mouth open.

Emil sat at the table with his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He could feel Arthur casting occasional glances at him, he didn't know why, and it was making him nervous.

Feliciano, sitting on his other side, leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "Calm down Emil, sí? It's okay. Arthur just likes you, ve~"

Unable to function for a long moment, it took a bit for Emil to recover and shoot a sharp glare to Feliciano, who was once again chattering aimlessly to anyone and everyone around him. He glanced cautiously at Arthur, and was caught in a vibrant green gaze. He gulped.

Arthur stared at Emil thoughtfully, considering Matthew's words. He did like him. Liked him a lot, in fact. But, did he like him enough to date him?

Yes, yes he did.

He smiled languidly, content, stretching and pushing back his chair. "Emil, may I speak with you a moment?"

"Uh, yeah, s-sure," Emil followed his boss away, casting a longing glance back to the table.

Once in a private place, Arthur turned toward Emil, gently stroking his hair from his face. "Emil…"

"J-ja…?" Emil asked guardedly.

"What would you do if I said I liked you?" Chewing his lip nervously, Arthur twirled a lock of Emil's hair around his pointer finger.

"Well," Emil's face was heating up, "that depends. Do you?"

"Yes," Arthur murmured softly, straightening Emil's shirt collar.

Smiling happily, Emil gently pushed Arthur's face up and kissed him lightly. "Then," he murmured softly, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist. "I would say… I like you too. One could almost say I love you."

Arthur melted; how was it that Emil knew just what to say to make him bloom?

A slim Japanese man slid back into place beside Alfred and gently tapped his arm.

"Did they…?" Alfred put his hand on Kiku's knee, eyes wide.

Kiku nodded, drawing circles on the back of Alfred's hand with his thumb.

"Awesome!" Alfred pumped his fist.

"Someone say my name?" Gilbert suddenly tuned in to their conversation.

"Artie and Emil got together," Alfred cackled secretively, eyes glinting. "Did you get a picture? I hope you got a picture. Please say you got a picture!"

"Hai."

"Sweet~!" Alfred wriggled excitedly.

"Really?" Francis leaned forward eagerly. "Ohon, it took 'im long enough, non?"

"Ah-ha, sí!" Antonio laughed. "If I could notice it then their attraction was muy obvious!"

"Got that right," Romano muttered, rolling his eyes.

"It took you like six months to get Antonio's attention, didn't it, fratello?" Feliciano radiated pure innocence, swinging his legs happily.

"Sh-shut up, bastard!" Romano yelped, turning brilliant red.

"Oh, mi tomate," Antonio cooed, pressing Romano's head to his chest. "I did not know you pined for me for so long!"

"I did not pine," Romano snapped irritably, bright red and limp as a rag doll. He would kill Antonio later, of course. Maybe. If he felt like it. Yeah, it was probably never going to happen.

Ludwig smiled faintly. Romano was ridiculous. He patted the head of the brunette leaning against his side gently. Ah, how he adored his little Italian.

Settling back in his chair, Francis took the hand of the slim, short blonde next to him. "Ah, mon petit cher…je'taime."

"Je'taime aussi," Vash muttered, rubbing circles on the back of the Frenchman's hand. "Bel, I'm going to take a short walk."

"Okay," Francis nodded slightly, kissing Vash's cheek and letting him go. "Hurry back darling~ I miss you every second you're away!"

Vash rolled his eyes, stroking his fingertips across the back of his lover's neck. "Ja, ja. Work on your patience, my love." And he was gone, out the door.

Francis sighed wistfully, watching him go.

Arthur and Emil walked back into the room, holding hands and looking decidedly more ruffled.

Giggling faintly, Matthew looked away. Alfred, however, burst out laughing, eyes scrunching happily.

"What?" Arthur snapped, sitting down in a huff.

"Immaguess and say you ain't single anymore," Alfred grinned, eyes bright. Ah, it was so much fun to tease people, especially Arthur, since he was so easy to rile up.

"Aren't, not ain't, you insufferable idiot," Arthur huffed, rolling his eyes. "You aren't single anymore, I am not single anymore. Ain't is not a word!"

Emil coughed faintly, nudging Arthur's arm. "Do you realize what you just said?"

"Yes!" Arthur proclaimed, jumping to his feet. His eyes blazed with a vibrant fire. "I do realize exactly what I just said!"

Alfred roared with laughter.

"Ohonhonhon," Francis laughed delicately, clapping his hands. "Tres magnifique!"

"Bueno, muy bueno~!" Antonio was practically dancing in his chair with pure delight.

Emil stared around, then said softly, almost to himself, "What peculiar people…"

"You have no idea," Feliciano whispered to him. "Just wait till the holidays~!"

~/EPILOGUE\~

Emil stared out the window, watching the cars on the street below pass by. He sighed.

"What's wrong, love?" Arthur asked curiously, putting a gentle hand on Emil's shoulder.

"This is the longest I've stayed in one spot," Emil said softly, pulling Arthur down onto his lap. "It's…odd. I'm so used to wandering around…"

Arthur hummed thoughtfully, nestling under Emil's chin. He fiddled with the other's chain necklace. He still loved the feeling of Emil's bare skin. "You miss your family?"

"I…yes…" Emil nodded slowly, stroking Arthur's bare thigh. His fingers crept up under the gold-blonde's rainbow-striped boxers. "Even Lukas, though he is annoying."

"I thought so," Arthur laughed lightly, kissing Emil's neck. "I hope you don't mind, I arranged for them to come down for the holidays."

"O-oh?" Emil's eyebrows rose. "All of them?"

"Mhm," Arthur nodded, drawing circles on Emil's chest with his fingers. "I think Feliciano and Timo could be really good friends."

"I definitely agree with you on that," Emil smirked softly. "And I can see Ludwig getting along well with Berwald."

"And Alfred, Gilbert and Matthias would be 'awesome' together," Emil laughed.

Arthur groaned softly, "oh, god, I forgot about them… they're probably going to burn my house down…"

"We can beat them if they do," Emil laughed, rubbing Arthur's back. "Thank you, Arthur. Love."

"You're welcome," Arthur smiled up at him, eyes closed in happiness. "Oh, and, they're going to be here in three days."

Emil laughed, pulling Arthur up into a deep kiss. "I love you, Arthur."

The blonde wriggled happily, "I love you too!" He almost felt like Feliciano -was a random 've' going to slip out of his mouth? No, he wasn't that weird. Emil was the only one who made him feel this happy -happy enough to float away- and and Emil was the only one who was ever going to make him feel that way. Of that, Arthur was sure.

Emil pulled Arthur tight to his chest, laughing lightly. "You're so adorable, luv…"

"Nii~" Arthur smiled, wrapping his arms around Emil's neck. "Thank you~ Now kiss me again!"

"So demanding," Emil rolled his eyes, but bent down to give Arthur a kiss anyway.