I would honestly have to say that this is more of a UkUs than a UsUk, since Alfred is droopy in this. . . Well, this is only the first chapter. That took me a week to write, with being creative, and school, and such. . . But yeah, I hope you guys like it! Please fav, follow, and comment!

Alfred

Arthur

Sometimes, it's okay if you get upset. It's alright to cry, to weep, to be sorrowful. It's not a bad feeling, yet it's not always a great one. It's not always great to cry out of sadness, for that means something sorrowful has happened. For that means that something had gone wrong instead of right. For that means that something may have just changed your life.

Though, none of that sadness should stop you from moving on in life. You show keep going. You must stay strong. Giving up right away may only lead to further regret, and that is just the opposite of what you need. Completely.

Take for example. If I lost a loved one. Maybe even a husband or wife, the thing wrong to do? Sit in the corner of your room and cry about it, making a scene. The correct thing to do? Get out and meet new people. And that is just the key. People. Just when you think you've had enough of them, you really can't live without meeting new ones. It's just a necessity. And if you don't, you live in your closet, living only off of your fantasies and bitter tears.

In case you are not receiving the message, I'll say it again:

Don't give up on life. Not yet

There's still something to live for. There always is. And don't you forget that. There's no need to leave this Earth so soon. Come. Stay for a while. And while you're at it, make yourself comfortable. Take your time and settle in. And whatever you do, make sure the main thing is the simplest; meet someone new. . .

I have been living like this, in a state of utter sadness, ever since my brother died. He was the closest person to me, and he just up and went like that. He got into a car accident. I should have gone with him. It should have been me to lose control and crash the car. See, I was staying with him in Canada for a bit, since I got a year off from college. Now, you know that Canada is snowy, cold, and icy, correct? Well, exactly. He slid across the ice and ran into a phone poll. . . And sad thing was, that was a main street. And it still looking like Jack Frost had a horrible cold. . .

After that, I was too heartbroken to stay any longer. I took the money he had left for me, gathered up a few of his things, then headed back home to America. Staying in my own home didn't help, either. Just made it worse. As I looked out into the backyard, pictures of Matthew and I running through the grass, playing tag flashed through my mind. So, because of that, I packed my bags and took a trip to England for a couple weeks. I don't recall any bad memories there that would upset me. Though, when I get back, I would have to start making arrangements for Matthews funeral. . . I just, need to escape from that for now. . . I, I just can't stand to even think about it. . .

I looked around the airport, then decided just to sit down with my luggage. I had just arrived in England and was waiting for my cab to show up holding a name with my sign. Of course, it was late. . . So I just waited. And waited. And waited. . .

Maybe about twenty-five minutes went by before I finally heard my name being called. I turned around and saw a man in a black suit and hat holding up a sign that read "Alfred F. Jones" in big black print, standing next to an old fashioned black cab. I stand up, grabbing a hold of my large suitcase and small duffle bag. I make my way over to the cab. As I near, the man notices me.

"Are you Alfred?" The man asks in this deep, thick, British accent that for some reason seems to make my wanna punch a pole. . . Though, I just nod politely. He smiled back and rushes forward to take my bags. He grabs a hold of them then puts them in the trunk. He then opened the back door for me, and I duck in, careful not to hit my head, being so tall.

"Thank you, sir." I say, grabbing a hold of my luggage once again. But this time, in front of the hotel. The driver stands in front of the cab door. I just then realize something. "Uhm. . ." I said, reaching into my pocket. I pull out four American dollar bills. "I'm really sorry, sir. I haven't converted yet. . ." I say shyly. He reaches out and takes the money anyways, a smile upon his face.

"Thanks alright, sir! Take care!" He says as he starts around to his door. I call back a "You too!" before turning around and walking into the fancy hotel I had booked myself in. I entered, checked in, then went up to elevator to my room, key card in hand. I swiped it across the door, then opened it, lugging my stuff in behind me awkwardly. The room was beautiful. So was the view, I noticed. And it smelled so. . . so. . . fresh. . . A hard scent to explain. It just smelled, fresh. . . Yesh. . .

I threw my stuff on one bed and myself on the other, sighing into the freshly washed sheets. They even felt soft. . . I picked my head up and looked at the clock on the nightstand, then the one on my watch. Totally having forgotten about the time change, I set it to the correct British time. Currently, it was 18:01, or 6:01 PM. Meaning that it was time to go out for dinner. I would have ordered something to my room, but I had flying fever. I needed the fresh air. . . I picked myself up and put back on my jacket. Even though it was spring time, the heavy rainfall made it chilly. I stuffed my wallet into my back pocket then set out.

"Thank you. . ." I murmured to the waitress as she set my Beef, the potatoes and broccoli on the side. Ugh, what have I don't to myself?! Letting myself eat so healthy like this! Well, I'd better start now before I become too depressed and put on some weight. . . Cautiously, I picked up my fork and knife, but a bit off the beef, then stuck it into my mouth. As soon as I bit down on it, seasoned juices flowed through my mouth like a river of happiness. It was. . . Delicious!

All of a sudden, I heard the front door's bell ring. Multiple times, actually. I also heard many feet scuffling in, rubbing their feets on the mats. I turned around to look at the commotion, but something outside had caught my eye. Actually, something that even I could barely see. . . Rain. And boy was it coming down hard . . That's probably why everyone was coming in so suddenly. I sighed to myself. I knew I would have to go out there at some point. . .

I took a mental deep breath and stood, staring out the glass door to the restaurant. I had to leave. Though it was still pouring. . . I need to. . .

I pray to myself that there is no thunder before pushing open the door and running out. Within seconds, I am soaked to the bone, like in those weird music videos where it is barely raining, and they look like they have been swimming in a lake. Though, this was reality. I keep my head down and walk forward quickly, occasionally bringing my eyes up to look at what's in front of me so I don't run into something or someone.

After about ten minutes of not knowing where I am going, I decide enough is enough. I make a sharp right into a little doorway. By that point, I am slightly panting. I turn around to look at the door and where I am at. The sign on the door reads A Midsummer Night's Dream! Showing today at 7:30!

I look down at my watch and notice that it is exactly 7:30 PM. And I thought, why not? I don't even know where I am to be going, so a little Shakespeare couldn't hurt, right? So I enter the building, running a hand through my soaked hair. I walked up to the front desk, bought myself a ticket, then made my way to the seating. I decided rather to sit in the back, so that I could slip out if I got bored or tired.

"These things seem small and undistinguishable,

Like far-off mountains turned into clouds."

"Methinks I see these things with parted eye,

When everything seems double."

"So Methinks;

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,

Mine own, and not mine own."

Unconsciously, I yawn. I love Shakespeare to death, but I am also deathly tired. I decide it's time to go home, raining or not. Even though the play in less than an hour or so to be finished. Quietly, I stand up from my chair and sneak around back, trying to remember the way in which I came from. Finally, I found it, seeing the glass doors up ahead. Yes, it was still raining, but-

"Where do you think you are going?" A loud whisper was heard above the shouting actors in the background. Nervously, I slowly turn around to be met face-to-face with an angry Brit. He had messy blond hair and these crazy thick eyebrows. And even though he was short, he looked like he could stab someone in the heart if he wanted it. And that look in his eyes made me believe that were his intentions with me.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm just, really tired and decided it would be a good time to-"

"To what? To head out to the bar and get drunk with some sluts, rather to stay here and appreciate the work of Shakespeare?!" He whisper-yelled at me. I shook my head.

"Not at all, sir," Yes, sir. He actually did look a bit older than I. . . "I, am just tired and would like to get back to my hotel before the rain gets worse." I explain, my voice trying to keep soft. Trying not to crack or waver.

"That's preposterous!" Preposterous? "There is never getting tired of Shakespeare! Plus, the rain shall just get worse no matter what happens!" He complained back, his tone getting sharper by each word.

"Look, sir. If I could just go now. . ." I said softly. God, I felt like I was about to shit my pants, that's how nervous I was. This guy looked really scary. . .

"Oh, sure. And while you're at it, why don't you take the heart and soul of William Shakespeare and throw it on the side of the rode!" And with that, he angrily stomped off, towards what I assumed to be backstage.

"Shit. . ." I mumbled to myself. I had left too late, and was now stuck, sitting on a bench covered by a metal roof. The rain had gotten so bad, that now, I could barely see a couple feet in front of me. Considering the fact that it was also pitch black. . . And now, I'm even more tired than before. Like one of those school morning when you really don't want to go to school, but you do anyways, and you end up falling asleep in every single class of the day. Exactly like that. . .

My eyes kept drooping closed. I fought to keep them open, but this was a fight that I just could not win. . .

"Bloody rain. . . Causing me to have to go home late. Bloody England. Being an ass and causing these storms. . ." I mumbled to myself as I trudged along the sidewalk, umbrella blocking the drizzle of rain still falling from the sky.

"I hate having to go home late. I always feel like I am being stalked on my way ho-" I pause my sentence, along with my feet. To my right, sitting on, or more as laying, a bench, asleep, is that guy I had yelled at earlier. Though, now, he looked so vulnerable. . . And slightly adorable. . . No. No. I certainly did NOT just think that. . . Though, he did. He very much did look vulnerable. . . And I knew that he was far too vulnerable, as of the moment, to just sit out here and sleep on that bench, where thieves in the night could come and molest him. . .

I sighed softly to myself before putting down the umbrella and approaching the man. He was definitely passed out. . . It actually looked a bit, cute? I'm not sure how to describe it. . .

With yet another soft sigh, a bent down to the man's level. Mentally preparing myself for what could happen, I placed a hand on his shoulder and began to lightly shake him.

"Excuse me, Mr." I started, "Could you wake up, please?" I said softly. Within another couple of seconds, he sleepily let out a groan. And soon enough, his eyes slowly opened, as if adjusting to the bright, reflecting light of snow on a winter day. He looked at me with dull eyes, like he had been stoned. But he was not. I could tell. . .

"Come on, sir. Let's get you up. . . I'm taking you back to my house. . ."I explained softly in my heavy British accent. He looked like he heard what I said, but didn't exactly process it. I brought myself to my feet and grabbed a hold of the man's arms, hauling him up to his feet, also. He just stood there, head drooping own, eyes half closed.

I slung one of his arms over my shoulder and began to drag the man down the road.

"Bloody hell, he's heavy. . ." I complained to myself, panting as I stood in front of the man sleeping on my couch. But there wa just one thing that really bothered me. That he was snoring. And not just that it is very annoying to those who have to be kept up by it. It's the fact that you know it hurts. Strains the throat. And I felt bad about that. . .

I bent down in front of his, shaking his shoulder. Just like I did about ten minutes ago.

"Hey," I started, seeing that his eyes were opening. "You're snoring. Do you wanna go lay in my bed?" I asked him. I knew that not only would it help reduce his snoring by laying on his back, but it would also be a lot more comfortable.

Not even responding to my question, the man sat up then let me help him stand to his feet. I walked him, slowly, to my room. And he literally did a head dive into my bed. I sighed, watching him instantly fall back asleep. I closed the door halfway before heading back out to the living room to get some sleep myself.