This is based off of Iggycat's story Roses are Red ( s/7367225/1/Roses-Are-Red). I asked for permission from the author, and she/he said I could write a one-shot if I'd like. It's like a fanfic-ception! You see, because it's a fanfic for a fanfic? Ha?
I thank SadSassyFabulous, Otakuphiar, and Kyla of the Desert for helping me with the summary!
So here you go! They're in Middle School, so it will just be fluffy. Feel free to correct me if you notice any mistakes!
I looked up from my spot in Math class when I felt the sensation of eyes on my body.
Artie?
There the Brit was, hanging outside the classroom door and motioning with his hand. He seemed like he wanted me to join him. Wasn't he supposed to be in Science class? Nonetheless, I couldn't ignore my best friend!
"Mr. Karactaş?" I raised my hand high in the air, disrupting the teacher from his lesson on something—I wasn't listening.
He sighed. "Yes, Alfred?" The tall, Turkish man stared at me with his green eyes expectantly.
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
"Yes."
I smiled and pushed myself out of my seat. "What are you doing? Sit back down!" I blinked in slight annoyance. The teacher always pulled this whenever someone said "can" instead of "may". Apparently, "can" is like asking if you have to ability to, while "may" is asking if you can actually go to the bathroom. "May I go to the bathroom?"
The teacher nodded and I ran out of the classroom, my friends staring after me. Arthur shot me a rare smile that, for some reason, made me want to melt.
"I'm glad you came!" Artie grabbed my hand—why did my heart jump?—and dragged me to the bathroom.
"So, why did you drag me out of my oh-so-interesting Math lesson?" I asked, punching him playfully.
Arthur laughed his beautiful laugh. "I'm bored, of course. The thing we're learning in English is literally the same thing she's been struggling to teach the class since September! Really, it's very simple."
"What is that?" I pondered.
"Just about the different kinds of dashes—hyphens, em dashes, en dashes," Arthur listed them off. "They're all very simple. Well, to me, anyway."
"Ugh, I hate that lesson. I didn't understand it!"
"I could come over to your house, and I could teach you," England stared at me with his emerald green eyes.
"Y-yeah! That sounds great!" Why am I suddenly awkward around Arthur?
I walked into my room after having said hello to Mom, shutting the door. I hung up my usual bomber jacket on the doorknob before pressing my back against it and sliding down so that I was sitting. I looked around the room.
It was messy; I hated cleaning. Other than the miscellaneous clothing strewn on the red, white, and blue carpeted floor, there was a twin-sized bed, dresser, and desk. The pale blue bed sheets were not made, and a pillow was on the floor. The dresser had clothes in it, most of them washed and clean. I turned my head to stare at the desk. My action figures—not dolls—were propped up, standing tall and proud with the knowledge that their human counterparts have served justice in their fictional worlds.
My blue eyes lingered on them for longer than anything else in the room. Back in Third Grade, Arthur had given them to me as a present. I smiled as I remember tackling him to the floor while shouting my thanks. I had then written a thank you poem to him, but a bully who was two grades above us—his name was Francis—had started to tease us at the park. Arthur had unknowingly grabbed my poem as defense and hit Francis in the face with it after folding it into an airplane. As luck would have it, my thank you to Arthur crashed and sank in the lake.
I shook my head, got onto my hands and knees, and crawled over to my bed, groping out with my hands underneath it. Where was it? I breathed a sigh of relief when my hand made contact with a book.
I grabbed it and pulled it out, looking at its worn cover with nostalgia. It was from Third Grade; all of my poems to Arthur were concealed in this book. I flipped it open, smiling at my poem from Kindergarten.
Roses r red, vylets r blew, the first tyme we met, u tyd my shew.
"Arthur is right. My spelling used to suck," I told myself, wondering about him.
I don't understand what this is. Mom said that I might get worked up if I see a pretty girl, but the
only one I'd ever gotten like that over is Arthur! And Arthur's a guy! Maybe it's just a phrase or something; I could go talk to Mom.
"Yeah, she's real smart! She'll help me!" I nodded and pushed myself up from the carpet, yawning. I pushed the book back under the bed. I'm glad that I don't have homework today. "Mom!"
I ran into the kitchen, my blue eyes searching for the woman. The countertops gleamed; she must've cleaned them. The wooden cabinets were neatly closed, no doubt stacked with dishes inside. My barefoot feet didn't make a noise on the white and black tiles, and I called for Mom again.
"What's with all the yelling?" I had woken Mom up from a nap at the black table. Her head was lying on a Math textbook; she had fallen asleep studying for her Masters' degree in Math.
"I, uh, have a, um, question," I spoke, my face threatening to burn red.
"Yes, honey? What's wrong?" Mom sounded concerned by my sudden embarrassment. I was usually very loquacious.
"You know what you said earlier about that thing about girls?"
"Yeah . . . ."
"Well, I think there's something wrong!" Dang it, now she'll get the wrong idea! It's not a "wrong" thing; it's just a "weird" thing.
She blinked, confused. "What could be wrong about that? It's perfectly normal for kids your age! Don't feel bad about it!"
"No, it's not that. It's just, um . . . ," I was sweating. Spit it out, idiot! Just say that you might have these weird feelings for your best guy friend!
"Really, Alfred! Stop stalling and tell me or I'm going to go back to studying," she said with slight annoyance.
"I don't get all worked up about a girl, though. It's Arthur, I think. Maybe he's using some kind of magic that he likes to talk about, because sometimes I kept thinking of him as more than a friend, and I don't get it!" I talked as fast as possible, my cheeks turning pink. "Is it a phrase or something?"
"I . . . don't know. Tell me what happens." My mom looked unsure.
"You mean when I see him? Well, I keep on noticing how handsome he actually is, right? Behind those eyebrows and attitude, he's really a nice person. And then whenever he grabs my hand I get all blushy and happy like those couples in the movies! But he's a guy!" I inspected my foot bashfully.
"Oh . . . . Maybe you're homosexual, then . . . ," my Mom said quietly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I'd never heard the word before . . . . Oh, wait! I had! In Fifth Grade, Francis had visited our school with his Seventh Grader classmates on a field trip. He called us that when he saw Arthur and I holding hands. I didn't know what it meant, but Arthur got really worked up about it, blushing furiously and looking cute. Did I just call my best friend "cute"? I shook my head when I saw that Mom was about to answer.
"'Homo' means 'same'. You do know that heterosexual couples are female and male, right?"
I nodded, seeing where this was going.
"So, you might not be attracted to a girl, but a boy instead. It's perfectly okay to some people, but others will bully you horribly for it. So, let's keep this a secret between us, hmm?" She looked fine with it, though I was worried now.
"O-okay . . . ." I ran back to my room, shutting the door and jumping on my bed. Suddenly, everything I had felt for Arthur suddenly made a lot more sense. Is it possible that I like him? Like, like-like?
I blinked and decided that, yes, I was in love with my best guy friend. The British kid with an attitude and a love—I mean, obsession—with tea. The guy that I had been best friends with since Kindergarten. The male whom no one else liked.
I would continue to shove away my feelings until Tenth Grade.
As you will notice (if you've read Roses are Red—which you should, if you're desiring a confession), Alfred realizes his feelings before high school in this fic, unlike Iggycat's one. I'm glad this is up so soon; I've been planning to write it ever since I read that fanfiction.