When they were young he watched him save lives. He watched him as he shone and he wanted to be like that so badly. They grew up on a small street in a medium sized town, the satellite of a big city where crime ran wild, rampant on the streets, in the offices, and vigilantes grew until the media said they were superheroes when times were good and they were useless when times were bad. The street was quiet, it ran house after quaint house down one side and down the other, few children but many older couples who watched from their porches in the amber summer light. It was always rain in the city, but here the weather mellowed into a syrupy sepia that left a beautiful nostalgia running all over everything like rivers of fond memories. Arthur was older by a three months, but he never once felt it because Alfred just shone right over barriers, over lines and anything that separated you from his smile. From the time that they had met, before they could even talk, Arthur had wanted to follow Alfred. And, as he grew older, he realized this meant he like Alfred, and that they should be friends.
Their parents had also been friends from the time they were little, living next to each other in butter yellow and blue houses with a picket fence each, the Jones' yard covered in hydrangea and Gerber daisies of all colors where the Kirkland's was bordered with brilliant roses. Many a backyard barbeque and dinner party had shoved Arthur and Alfred together, the shining golden boy tugging the slightly grumpy sandy blonde behind him on all sorts of adventures. When they were in elementary school together, Alfred shoved the bullies away and grinned at him, that silly smile, all missing teeth and charm, and shared his cookies. In junior high, he ignored the girls' starting sighs and signed up for the local football team (really it was soccer but since Arthur called it footy Alfred did too), throwing thumbs ups to the fold out chair on the side of the field where Arthur sat reading a book and drinking tea from a thermos every practice. When they got to high school, he was on the school team as a starting goalie (so he could 'save the day'- "See, get it Artie, I'm being all heroic and stuff all the time now!"), and every girl wanted him.
They wanted the way he would pull open doors for Arthur and the way he carried his books because 'Arthur looked tired today' and the way that he smiled that sweet, silly, heroic smile at him. And Arthur didn't realize for a long time that Alfred had spent their entire high school career treating him like a girlfriend. He didn't realize that it was odd Alfred would give up a night out with his teammates to sit down, curl an arm around his shoulders, and watch "A Room with a View" (Arthur's favorite movie), that Alfred would bring Arthur his favorite yellow roses on the first day of spring when they began carrying them at the local flower shop, that normal people didn't get a heart full of their favorite toffee candy for Valentines from Alfred F. Jones, Golden Boy Officíal.
It was a semester into their second year of college, when Alfred's quiet twin brother Matthew looked over the rim of his tea cup whilst they were studying for a bio test together and said, "What are you and Alfred doing for your anniversary this year?" that Arthur realized quite how oblivious he'd been all those years.
"What?" he asked dumbfoundedly. Matthew just stared, setting his cup down and shoving his papers into a folder.
"That hoser," he swore, fumbling for his phone in his voluminous hoodie pocket. Arthur set his own cup down.
"What? Wait, Matthew, what is it? What are you talking about?" Matthew slammed his hands flat on the table.
"Let me get this straight- you and Alfred are not in a committed romantic relationship." Arthur shook his head slowly.
"Not that I know of." Matthew threw his head back and laughed sarcastically.
"That's the key, Arthur- not that you know of." He sat back down, grimacing. "Arthur, everyone thinks you and Alfred have been going out since forever." Arthur gaped, his mouth opening and closing silently.
"S-since forever?" he asked. Matthew nodded.
"Since at least seventh grade." Arthur sat back, laughing a little, shocked.
"Bloody hell..." He blinked a little. "And Alfred just let them think that?" Matthew giggled a bit hysterically.
"Alfred perpetuated it, in fact. Why else do you think you got all those flowers, those chocolates, those sweet notes taped to your locker, the homemade cookies at lunch, the doors held open?" He shook his head. "The list goes on and on, Arthur. The two of you have been acting like a couple for seven whole years now, and you haven't even been aware of it."
"Wait a second," he said suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. "Does that mean Alfred doesn't actually find the story Lucy Honeychurch and George the pinnacle of romantic epics?" Matthew laughed.
"He actually prefers Leia and Han Solo, sorry," he confessed. "But he loved the way you would hold the pillow tight to your chest during the last scene of A Room with a View and make, and I quote, 'adorable little faces and just coo like it was the cutest scene ever'." Arthur just sat there in disbelief.
"The- the nerve of that man, thinking that some- some trumped up space pilot could ever be more romantic that George, I just-" Matthew held his hand out.
"Arthur. The point of this is that everyone, including our parents, think that you're in a relationship with Alfred, and you had no clue. The point is, what are you going to do?" He blinked, wide eyed.
He rather liked the flowers. He rather liked the candy. And he found Alfred's courtesy and holding doors open, carrying books and groceries and bringing him tea at the bookshop where he worked very dashing and charming. So he came to a debated conclusion.
"Nothing. I'm not going to do anything."
This may or may not continue. I'm trying to get past a writer's block for Break the Sky so I thought I'd write up a little thing I thought of. If I do continue this AU (if enough people like it) it will be M-rated, possibly with smut included. So yeah. =u=
~MM