A/N: Hello! This is just a small story I wrote while I should be sleeping, and turns out I really liked the result, so I'm posting it here as well! I'm still kinda insecure about my English in this one tbh, but I'm nevertheless proud of the plot and I hope to keep improving! I hope you enjoy this! :D

Dear Alfred,

I thought I was over you. It's been two years, so that was the logical answer, but… no. I'm still not bloody over you. I was on my car today, on my way home after a stressful day of work, and the traffic was hell like it always is, and I turned on the radio as I always do, and it was supposed to be just one more plain day of my plain life; I was supposed to go home and roll eyes at my stupid Italian neighbor and his even more stupid Spanish girlfriend, take a shower and make myself some tea and go to bed early and then, Alfred, then that annoying song started playing on the radio.

Yes, that one song that you knew I hated and even then you would start singing loudly to me when you knew I was feeling upset. Fuck, I still hate that song, I swear, so I obviously turned off the radio, but the damage was already made. I remembered it's been exactly two years since I last saw you, and it… Well, I'm not going to say that it made my heart ache nor anyway but it did… make me realized that, great!, I'm still not over you.

In fact, I miss you.

Fuck.

…You know what? It's been two years and I bet you probably won't read this anyway so I'll just… I will just say what I haven't told anybody – ever – in those two years, not even that beardy, stupid frog that likes to lie to the world that we're friends (which, of course, is not true).

I miss you so much.

I miss our time together. You know, our movie nights, our raining Sundays in which we'd turn off our phones, cook our meals and just sit on your sofa and play videogames – I miss your childish face when I'd beat you up on them and you'd say, "That's totally unfair, you distracted me with your cursing and your huge eyebrows", and I'd pretend I was mad at you.

I miss the way you laughed and your silly ways to tell stories, moving your hands in front of you, making all those faces and trying to fake those accents. I always rolled my eyes, but it was really funny.

I miss the way you always tried to cheer me up and even go drinking with me when you saw I was really down and stressed – Francis used to tell me he hated those times because you wouldn't shut up and it annoyed him to no end, which was a huge plus.

And more importantly, I guess, I miss the way you'd hold my hand or hug me tightly and tell me with a stupidly stunning smile that you were so happy to have me; I miss the way it made me feel. I…

Where did it all go?

Our time together lasted only one year, and yet I can't really remember how I lived before I decided to enter that stupid game store to buy a game to my godson and met you.

You changed me, Alfred. You changed me so much and in so many ways and I never could have seen you, smiling and stupid, coming to cause such a hurricane inside of myself and put everything in all the most wrong but strangely right places.

How the fuck did you do that?

How the fuck did you take an unhappy, grumpy, plain man like me, who basically went to work, pubs and home and made him happy, a bit less grumpy, aware of his own patterned sides and managed to drag him to all sort of places like parks, movie theaters and museums? Seriously, how did you do it, because I still don't quite understand?

Anyhow, I'm… glad you did it, because I even got a promotion last year. My boss also said, "It's good to see you're wittier and less rude."

I only kind of wish you were with me to see all that. And I also only kind of wish that I didn't wish it at all, because it's terrible. Bollocks, I hate to feel this way, and it's all your bloody fault.

Speaking of faults, it's also your fault that my godson and I are now on good terms and he even asks me to sleep over at my place from time to time. He also misses you. Peter loved your games recommendations and presents on his birthdays. At his last birthday, though, when I had to tell him that you were not coming, he was really upset and said, "But Al promised we were friends and also he'd borrow me his mature games when I'm older!"

But you know how kids are, and after a few minutes he was saying things like, "Next time we see each other I'll make him give me lots of games to make up for this!". Kids…

Kids love you, don't they? You're childishly funny, you're always smiling or grinning and basically only play videogames and read comic books, of course they love you.

Remember that one time we went to McDonalds and you asked for a happy meal because you read wanted that stupid toy? Remember how a few people gave you long looks that you only noticed because I told you so, and you replied with a, "They're probably just jealous of my Mario." And laughed it off?

Remember how that was our third date and when we were on my car later that evening in front of your building and you had just invited me to go inside and watch some movie with you I just kind of kissed you? Hah, right after I had put my hand on your thigh you pushed me and looked me with such a flushed, confused and scared face. We stood in silence for a few seconds before you confuse me with your, "Fuck. Fuck, I'm so sorry, shit I should… I should have told you sooner but I didn't… fuck, I fucked up, ugh."

And I had to ask, "Wait, you're not gay?! What the fuck, were you messing with me all this time? You little bastard!"

It's so funny to think of it all now, I guess. I can just almost – but not really – see your face again while you awkwardly tried to explain what was going on to me. You told me you were asexual. And I had no idea what it was, so you had to explain and I made all the wrong questions which made you look so hurt and lost. It was news to me.

But I guess you had already somehow found your way inside of me, you idiot, because I asked for more information and eventually it was midnight and I was sitting on your sofa listening to your talking about lots of things that I had no idea that existed until then and you… You looked really excited to share that knowledge, and somehow also a bit uncertain, like you were afraid I'd say, "Shut up, it's bullshit" like you told me afterwards that some people had already said to you.

But I didn't. I just listened and tried not to forget the words to google them when I got home. And you were… you sounded so excitedly relieved when I called the next day to say I'd still want to go out with you even thought we'd not be having sex anytime soon – if at all.

And I can't – believe me, I've tried – forget the way you eventually, when we met again, hugged me tightly and murmured, "I'm so glad… I was afraid I had messed everything up again. I like you, Arthur. I really do."

Your words were so soft and genuine. I confess I often stop what I'm doing to think, hey, how did Alfred's voice sounded like? Because I'm starting to forget, and it's… Maybe that's why I wrote those words down on a notebook, because I already lost their sound, I don't want to forget their exact shape.

You know, I used to screw around a lot. Sometimes Francis and I would even bet to see who could get into more pants in a month (the bastard would usually win, but that's not the point…) and I used to enjoy it. It was fun for a while. But then I started to long for a relationship, even thought Francis would call it "boring" or make ugly faces at me (which was always easy for him, since he's already got an ugly face). And I told you, right, that I had been in two before I met you. The first one was atrocious because, well, it wasn't only my fault, but I have to admit I had no idea what to do. The second one was a bit better but ended because the lying arsehole cheated on me, I punched him in the face a few times, etc.

And then there were you. It was all so different from the start and, honestly, I still don't know why I did go to a date at Burger King, but I'm glad I did because… Because you respected my personal space (compared to others, that is), you didn't keep trying to whisper sexy stuff in my ear or touch me in public places – and when you did touch me that day it was on my arm, to pull me back so I wouldn't be hit by some brats that were running at the food court.

You were loud, yes, and extremely energetic and, hell, you talked way too much and I swear I felt like telling you to shut up at least five times but… I didn't. Because you looked so cute talking, I guess, and you wouldn't stop smiling and had that determined expression while talking about freedom that I guess… No, I definitely didn't fell for you at that, but, well, anyway it made a good impression, I suppose.

Anyway.

Ah. All those things make me smile. Those were good times. I've… been in another couple of relationships since I last saw you but… They didn't work out – I really tried, ok, but they wouldn't cooperate. It's just… I got used to be with you, to watch movies and cuddle with you; I got used to your sweet kisses and all that ridiculously nice forehead touching you liked so much that when I lost it all… I just…

I…

I still am not over the fact that you left me. And, you know, sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night and can't make myself go to sleep again I feel… I feel like I never will – and it's so scary. It's so – freaking – scary and I bloody hate you for this, ok, I really, really do.

The biggest problem is that I stupidly still love you. I still love the smell of coffee in the morning, over sized t-shirts, playing videogames and going to car sales only to look around and daydream (but in silence) about buying them. I still love you and I can't see a way to stop it because, fuck, I feel you in myself – in those parts that you helped me find out, like my liking for horror literature, drawing, making costumes for Halloween and having a cat.

And unfortunately all those things are a constant reminder of you – a reminder that I try so hard to pretend is not there but that today I realized I still am terrible at doing.

I'm so fucking not over you, Alfred F. Jones.

And I'm so sorry for this letter, it's just that, hey, I'm a human too, alright, and I have feelings too, so sometimes it's just… it's hard to pretend that I absolutely couldn't care less about you all the time!

That's all.

Sincerely,

Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur left the letter at Alfred's gravestone and did his best to keep a straight face as he walked away.