"Hey, Artie?"
"Hm?"
"I love you."
"Likewise."
"...Aren't you ever gonna say it back?"
Arthur slumped down into his chair, head in hands. Alfred F. Jones, his American boyfriend, had just stormed out of the apartment after an argument, leaving it feeling rather large, empty, and quiet.
It was an argument over the stupidest of things. Honestly, who cared if Arthur had never uttered the words 'I love you'?
Alfred did, apparently. And to an extent, so did Arthur.
The first time Alfred had declared his love was five months ago, after four months of dating. They had just come back from dinner at a swish restaurant, and after a round of sweet sex Alfred had blurted it out – 'I think I love you'. He'd blushed, laid his head on Arthur's chest so that they weren't maintaining eye contact, then said in a bit of a whisper, 'Actually, I definitely love you'. Arthur remembered feeling like he was higher than Cloud Nine, a giddy sensation arising within him and his heart pounding a million beats per minute. He didn't like to admit it, but he was fairly certain he had abandonment issues (probably due to his past relationships), and hearing Alfred proclaim his love had given him full assurance that Alfred was the one.
At that point, Arthur definitely loved Alfred too. He was happiest when with him, not to mention he felt safe and secure, even when they were doing completely wild activities such as skydiving and bungee-jumping. However, he just couldn't say it. The words got stuck in his throat every time he tried to say them, he choked on them, his lips refused to allow them to form. He wanted so badly to say it, but failed whenever he tried. And so he only said words akin to 'likewise' in response to Alfred's frequent declarations of love. He felt terrible whenever he did so, for Alfred's sunny disposition would always become slightly clouded, but what could he do? Alfred had seemed to understand, until now.
"Why do I need to say it back? I'm sure you understand what I mean perfectly."
"I DO, but it'd still be nice to hear you say it."
"It'd be nice to hear me say a lot of things, but I won't say them, will I?"
"Come on! What's so bad about saying 'I love you'?!"
"Nothing's BAD about saying it, I just don't want to!"
"...You don't want to?"
"Exactly. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish this embroidery."
"Say it."
"For God's sake Alfred!"
"Say it!"
"No, alright?"
"Just say it, PLEASE! It's not HARD!"
"It is bloody well hard, I'll have you know!"
"It's not hard to say the truth, Arthur! Unless it's-"
"You know perfectly well that it's the truth, Alfred, so don't even go there."
"Then SAY IT!"
"Life's not Hollywood, Alfred! We don't need to give extravagant declarations of love in order to show that it's there!"
"Come on, just SAY it! For me, then! Say it for the Hollywood sap who's stuck by you!"
"You don't get to order me to say anything, git. I don't want to say it, so get that through your thick skull."
"...Fine. Later, loser."
"WHERE are you going?"
"Takin' a walk. Love ya. Even if you don't return the feeling."
Arthur would never forget that expression Alfred had. Disappointment, sadness, anger, all in one. Tears had welled up in his blue eyes.
The first time either of them had made the other cry.
He willed himself not to burst into tears, but it was hard. They'd argued before, but never to the extent that either of them had walked out. The last time he'd had a partner walk out on him, they'd split up the next day. The time before that, his partner had cheated on him. And the first time it happened, he'd never seen the man again. He'd never loved any of them the way he loved Alfred, but it had still hurt.
A wave of panic crashed down on him. What if Alfred did the same?
No, Alfred couldn't possibly leave him. He'd said 'I love you', for crying out loud! And even when walking out he'd reiterated it! There was no way Alfred would break up with him.
Right?
Horrible, terrible images flashed through his mind; Alfred chatting up some bloke at the pub, taking him to a sleazy motel, hands that caressed Arthur's body tugging at the other man's belt instead; Alfred deleting all the sneaky pictures he'd taken of Arthur and sending him a break-up text; Alfred never contacting him again; the worst image, however, had to be that awful, ghastly one where Alfred, in his anger and despair, ran out onto the road without looking both left and right and was thrown into the air like a rag doll by a speeding car, dead before he hit the ground.
And that was the image that wouldn't leave his mind.
Taken over by an overwhelming sense of fear, he reached for his phone and brought up Alfred's number.
-Alfred?
-Are you there?
He waited with bated breath, his heart in his mouth. Deep down he knew it was stupid to be worrying like this, but there was a minute chance of his imagination becoming reality.
"Come on, reply..." he willed. Arthur didn't have an iPhone, meaning that he didn't know whether Alfred was typing or not, so he just hoped against hope that Alfred was either typing, or hadn't checked his phone.
Suddenly, his notification tone rang out and the screen lit up, informing him that Alfred had responded. Relief washed all over him. Alfred was safe. He opened the text.
-Yeah
His heart sank a little. None of those blasted emoticons or developed replies characteristic of Alfred.
-Good. Don't die.
Alfred's response came a couple of seconds later, like he was eagerly awaiting each text too.
-Er what
-You heard me. Don't bloody die.
-Hella random much
-Out of context, more like.
-Can i get context
-Wait im suppoed t b mad at u
-Its hard
-How dya doit
Arthur was trying to respond with 'Look, I'm sorry, come back home and we'll make up, how about that? I'll take you to McDonalds too, if you want.', but his insistence at texting with brilliant spelling, grammar, and diction meant Alfred could get his texts in much quicker.
-Ok imma stop txtinf now
-Off to b mad
-Love ya bye
Arthur quickly pressed send, hoping that Alfred wouldn't be able to resist texting him back, but it was no use. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen, and before he knew it he'd been staring at the screen for half an hour.
He wasn't texting back.
Slumping back down into his chair, he was mildly surprised to find that his cheeks were wet with tears. Fuck, that's not supposed to happen. He furiously wiped them away then glared at his phone. Just who the hell did Alfred think he was, reducing him to blasted tears?
But I made him cry first. Isn't payback grand?
God, Arthur's anger wasn't even justified. It was confusing, sitting there seething and upset when he had no cause to be. He was the one who refused to tell Alfred that he loved him. Alfred made sure that he said the three words at least once each day, usually accompanied by a sweet, chaste kiss. He had every right to be irritated with Arthur, even if Arthur hated it. Stupid Hollywood sap.
"That's it!" Arthur cried out loud, struck by an insane yet brilliant idea. If he wants a Hollywood declaration, he'll get a Hollywood declaration! The idea was cheesy, over-the-top, and stupid, just how Alfred liked it.
He jumped out of his chair, strode out of the living room, snatched his keys up, exited his apartment and slammed the door shut a little too hard, got the lift down, marched through the doors, unlocked his sleek black car, and drove. It was late (the time had just gone nine), but he figured Tesco would be open – if the superstore upheld its Open 24/7 policy, that is. He was also incredibly lucky that Valentines Day had been a week ago; there would've been no chance of finding these decorations had it been any other time of the year.
Arthur looked around the room, satisfied. Helium heart balloons were dotted around his living room, all bearing some variation of the three words Arthur had such trouble saying. He'd pinned up banners reading 'I love you' over the sofa and television, and had sprinkled pink confetti hearts everywhere (some had got stuck in his hair, much to his chagrin). On the dinner table he'd put a candelabra with new red candles, and laid out the table in a manner fit for the Queen.
It made him cringe, but so did Hollywood.
The oven pinged, and Arthur checked out his lamb roast. He frowned; the instructions had said to roast it for an hour after lowering the temperature, but it looked far too raw – he wouldn't be surprised if it started bleating right there. Furthermore, the potatoes looked undercooked. Honestly, he thought, shoving the cookbook back into his cupboard irritably, who on Earth allowed this travesty to be published?
Letting it cook for a while longer, Arthur went back into the living room and collapsed on the sofa, exhausted. Decorating was no small feat, and it turned out that Tesco hadn't had any Valentines Day decorations, meaning that he'd had to go drive to every other store until he finally found some. Cooking also took effort, although he didn't dislike it. No, the most exhausting thing of that night was being distressed. The number of times he'd checked his phone in the vain hope that Alfred had tried to contact him was innumerable, and each time had left him a little bit sadder.
Arthur checked the clock – it was midnight. And Alfred still wasn't back.
Suppressing the rising paranoia, he busied himself by going over what he'd say to Alfred. First came the apology, of course. Then came the explanation for why he had so much trouble saying the words. And then, finally, he'd say it.
Simple. Theoretically.
Time ticked on, and there was still no sign of Alfred. All he could do was hope that Alfred was planning on coming home and remaining his boyfriend.
He switched the television on and searched through the channels whilst he waited. He flicked past hospital dramas, crime shows, teleshopping, bad films, all of which Arthur abhorred. Not bothered enough to put a film in himself, he just kept it on a Hollywood romance. If he remembered correctly, Alfred and himself had seen it before. They'd been huddled on the sofa sharing a blanket and popcorn, Alfred resting his head on Arthur's shoulder and periodically lifting it to give Arthur an affronted look as Arthur delivered his scathing commentary on the vapid film. And now, as he watched the movie by himself, it was just as dull and uninteresting.
So dull, in fact, that he could feel his eyes closing. No, stay awake, idiot. He tried to force his eyes open, but they kept battling against him until he finally surrendered to the call of slumber.
Alfred had better be here when I wake up.
"Artie?"
Something was shaking him.
"Artie, I'm back."
This something sounded nice, if irritating. He tried to push it away, but he was too sleepy to put any sort of effort into it.
"I brought McDonalds, if you haven't eaten."
The thing shaking him sounded familiar. The accent, there was something about the accent. It didn't sound English. More like...
"...Alfred?"
"Yep, it's me." Alfred chuckled. His eyes were shut and he was groggy, but he sensed Alfred was close.
Wait.
Alfred was back.
All exhaustion forgotten, he shot up so he was standing and pulled Alfred into a crushing hug, arms wrapped tightly around his body. Relief flooded through his veins as Alfred reciprocated, lacking none of the usual warmth.
"Thank God," Arthur breathed. He then kissed him hard, keeping their bodies pressed together and swaying on the spot. Alfred tasted of salt and ketchup, weirdly enough, but Arthur didn't care and just kept kissing him, loving the feel of Alfred's lips on his, loving how they moved against his in such a way that turned him to jelly, loving how Alfred kissed him with such devotion and love – loving Alfred.
"Hah," Alfred said once they broke apart for air, "Missed me?"
"No shit, Sherlock," Arthur replied snippily. Now that the relief and joy of Alfred's return had sunk in, he was left with the anger of Alfred's departure. "You can't just walk out on me!"
"I brought McDonalds back, so it doesn't matter, eh?" Alfred said, grinning nervously. "Though it does smell like you've cooked dinner..."
Arthur blanched. "Shit, the dinner."
He took out the charred lamb roast whilst Alfred wafted away the smoke, and set the burnt dinner down onto the countertop. Alfred gave a low whistle.
"How long did ya leave that in?"
"What time is it?"
"Half two."
"Three hours! I knew I shouldn't have slept," Arthur said bitterly.
"Hey, cheer up, it's just as burnt as all your other stuff!" Alfred teased, grinning when Arthur shoved him.
"Shut up, I'm still mad at you."
"Yeah, about that – how do you even do the angry thing? I tried, and all that ended up happening was me hiding out in McDonalds crying my eyes out wanting to come back. I got free food though, so that's something. I guess I was angry at you, but not in the way that you do it... You get angry," Alfred said, laughing slightly.
"You were crying?" Arthur said, stricken.
"Crap. Er, maybe?" Alfred answered sheepishly.
"Because of me."
"I guess..." Alfred sounded rather reluctant to admit it. Arthur sighed. What was he doing, being angry at Alfred?
"Sorry," Arthur murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of Alfred's face. "I'm not a very decent person, am I?"
"No, you are," Alfred said immediately. Arthur smiled.
"Rhetorical question, Alfred. Anyway, you shouldn't be trying to make me feel better – I should be working to make you okay."
"Is that what all those decorations were about?"
"Um," Arthur said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "Yeah. Cringey Hollywood crap and all."
"Wait, what? Hollywood?" Alfred looked rather confused.
"Yeah, Hollywood. I thought I'd do something Hollywood-style for you, but the dinner screwed up and I slept, so I've forgotten my speech," Arthur said. "Apologies."
"Your... Speech?"
"I prepared a speech for when you came home. One with explanations and apologies and all that."
"Dude," Alfred said, shaking his head emphatically, "I don't want a speech. All I want is for you to say you love me, honestly and easily and stuff."
Alfred was looking at him with those big blue eyes Arthur adored so much - to this day he couldn't pinpoint what one shade of blue they were. He'd fallen for Alfred a year ago, and ever since then he'd had a fascination with shades of blue. Ever since then, Alfred's eyes had held all the stars of the universe – the most beautiful, wondrous eyes he'd ever seen. His past boyfriends' eyes paled in comparison. Arthur had since grown to love every single part of Alfred, both physical and emotional. The way Alfred's hair caught the sunlight, how Alfred would always try to cheer him up if he was feeling down, Alfred's intoxicating, infectious laugh... He'd fallen in love with it all.
Just TELL him so!
"Alright," Arthur said, and took a deep breath. "I'll tell you."
Alfred F. Jones, the best boyfriend he'd ever had by far, was looking at him expectantly, a little encouraging smile on his face. Arthur fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, and forced himself to maintain eye contact. It'd be easier to turn away and mutter it, but after everything that had happened, saying it to Alfred's face was best.
"I," he swallowed, suddenly feeling very hot and slightly uncomfortable. Come on, spit it out! "Alfred, I – I lo –" Deep breath.
"I love you."
He barely had time to see Alfred's mouth stretch into a huge smile before he was being kissed like he'd never been kissed before. Fuelled by euphoria, Alfred and Arthur were kissing each other hard, Arthur's hands fisted in Alfred's hair and Alfred's arms pulled Arthur close until their bodies were flush against one another. He felt a wonderful dizzying sensation when Alfred parted his lips, eagerly parting his own. Their mouths moved together and tongues worked perfectly to make the other weak at the knees, serving another reminder as to how perfect they were for one another. As they kissed, three words were repeating over and over in his mind – I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.
After too short a time they were forced to break apart to breathe, but they stayed in the close embrace, Arthur now resting his head on Alfred's shoulder and Alfred resting his on Arthur's head. He still felt a little giddy, and... Oddly liberated? Like he'd been pulled out of the crushing depths of the ocean and could breathe freely again.
"See, it wasn't difficult!" Alfred said happily.
"No, I suppose not... It felt nice, actually," Arthur said. "I had so much trouble with it because... Well, I haven't said it before."
"Seriously?" He sounded surprised, for some reason. Arthur nodded.
"Well, yes. I can't even remember a time I said it before today, platonically or otherwise."
"But you've had loads of boyfriends before me!"
"Three hardly counts as loads, Alfred. Besides, I – I never loved them like I love you. They were fun for a while, but... I suppose they were right to leave me. I don't think they were as right for me as you are. Plus," he smiled a little, "Their departure meant your arrival. And I'd much rather have you, dear."
"You have no idea how happy I am right now, dude," Alfred said, and gently prised Arthur off him. "Like, seriously. Just wait here, alright? Or, er..." He looked around at the messy kitchen, "Go into the living room, actually."
Puzzled, Arthur asked, "What are you doing?"
Alfred was already hurrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs, but he excitedly yelled, "Something I've been waiting for this day to do!"
Thoroughly confused, Arthur made his way into the living room where all the sickening heart decorations were. Honestly, he thought, all this fuss and drama over three little simple words. He remembered the way Alfred's face lit up when he said 'I love you'. His smile grew wider and his eyes sparkled like they contained all the stars of the galaxies.
Alfred burst into the room with a huge grin on his face and his arms behind his back.
"What're you hiding?"
"You'll find out in a bit." Alfred winked. He shoved whatever was in his hands into his pocket and stepped closer to Arthur, put his hands on either side of his waist, thumbs gently stroking him.
"I've, er, kinda been waiting for you to say that. Since, like, three months ago. I didn't pressure you into saying it, did I?" he said, expression oddly solemn. Arthur shook his head firmly.
"Alfred, do you honestly think I'd do something I didn't want to just because you went out in a huff? I always wanted to say it, I just... Needed a little push, I guess," Arthur assured. Alfred gave a little relieved smile.
"Cool. 'Cause, y'know. I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and then in the afterlife too. We can ghost-kiss and haunt all those homophobes and stuff and just be that super-awesome couple that everyone's jelly over and, y'know, cool stuff like that."
"Why do you sound so nervous?" Arthur chuckled.
"You want that too, right?"
"Of course, love. I love you. And, for the record, I have a sneaky suspicion that one of my co-workers is envious of our relationship."
"Cool." Alfred closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if readying himself for something. Arthur's eyes widened and he held his breath as Alfred got down onto one knee and took out a small blue velvet box.
"Are you-"
He opened the box to reveal a beautiful silver ring with a sparkling gemstone in its centre – the exact colour of Alfred's eyes, he noted. Arthur stared at the ring, then at Alfred, not quite believing what he was seeing.
"Remember when we went to that big fancy mall three months ago – I went off to buy something and you bought your new headphones? Well, I bought this. I was – I was waiting for the day you'd say 'I love you' to propose, 'cause I wanted to make sure you loved me back, and, well," he gave a little nervous laugh, "You do."
Arthur was still speechless, so Alfred continued.
"I – I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Being with you, it's just... I'm the happiest when I'm with you. I know we haven't been dating for as long as other couples, and I totally understand if you say no, but I think we're both confident enough that no one's better for us than the other. I could list the reasons we're the best couple, but I'd be here a long time so I won't. But I will say that you're my favourite person, and I know you feel the same about me. So, I guess I should say the actual words.
"Arthur, will you marry me?"
Arthur was still in shock-mode. Was this happening? It had to be a dream, but there was no way it could be a dream, it was all too wonderfully real, too splendidly vivid. Alfred was actually proposing to him! Alfred actually wanted to spend his entire life with him!
"Those tears are happy tears, right?" Alfred said.
Alfred you fucking perfect idiot.
"Of course I bloody will!" Arthur cried, bending down himself to tackle Alfred into a gleeful hug. Alfred returned it with equal fervour and soon the two were on the floor, hugging and laughing for all they were worth. Arthur kissed him and knew that nobody else's lips were suited to him, nobody else could hold him like Alfred did, nobody else could make him feel like life was perfect.
"Let's put the ring on ya, then!" Alfred said, sitting up and picking up the small box. He took out the ring and slipped it onto Arthur's finger. Arthur held it out so that it sparkled in the light, loving the way it looked incredibly like Alfred's eyes (only Alfred's were prettier).
"It's beautiful."
"The jewel's that paraíba tourmaline you told me about once, d'ya remember? You said it looked exactly like my eyes."
Arthur blinked and peered at the stone. "Oh, so it is!"
"I thought I'd give you one that looked like my eyes, and I got one for myself that looked like yours. So, y'know, it's all that romantic 'we've always got a little part of the other with us' stuff."
"Where's yours?" Arthur wanted Alfred to wear his.
"Oh, it's, ah, gimme a second..." he foraged around in his pocket and extracted another box – green velvet this time.
"Here, let me put it on you," Arthur said eagerly. He took the box and opened it to see a silver band similar to his own, but with a shiny, smooth jade in the centre. Arthur's breath hitched.
"Do – do you truly think my eyes look this splendid?"
Alfred planted a chaste kiss on his lips and rested his forehead against Arthur's, looking directly into his eyes. "Well, I actually think your eyes are better, but this was the prettiest green gem I could find," he said softly.
"Honestly," he scoffed, trying to hide the fact that he felt all mushy and warm and fluttery inside. Hands shaking slightly, he took the delicate ring out of the box, held Alfred's hand in his own and slipped the ring onto his finger.
"Beautiful," Arthur murmured. He put his own ringed hand next to Alfred's, admiring them.
Engaged.
They were engaged.
Arthur looked up excitedly. "We're going to get married!"
"I know, right?!" Alfred squealed back. "We'll have to start handing out invites!"
"And choosing a cake!"
"And getting tuxes!"
"And finding a venue!"
"And planning the decorations!"
"Oh, decorations! We have to have a chandelier!"
"And a chocolate fountain!"
"What about an actual bloody huge fountain!"
"Ohmigod yes, and don't forget streamers!"
"Confetti!"
"Banners!"
"Orchestra!"
"Lava!"
Arthur spluttered. "Lava?!"
"I got really excited and said the first word that came to my head, don't blame me!" Alfred laughed.
"No but, making the floor lava would be rather hilarious, don't you think? And who else would be able to say that they got married on actual molten lava?" Arthur said, grinning.
"If you're suggesting that we get married in a volcano, then I am one-hundred-and-forty-seven percent behind you."
"Well, that's the venue sorted, then."
They looked at each other, and all of a sudden they were laughing until their sides hurt, laughing in the way that no one else could make them laugh. Alfred's obnoxious laugh was loud, raucous, and infectious – just the way Arthur liked it.
When they finally stopped laughing, Alfred leant against Arthur and gave a small, content sigh. Arthur responded by putting his arm around him and stroking his hair softly. He still couldn't believe his luck. He, Arthur Kirkland, was engaged to Alfred Foster Jones.
"Hey, Alfred?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I love you too, Artie."
A/N - Another random little oneshot because that's all I do these days for some reason. Blah.
Well, I hope you liked it! I've always thought Arthur would have trouble saying 'I love you', because to him that signifies that there'a no turning back, and it would also be him laying himself bare, without any walls to shield himself with. I could put it more eloquently, but I can't be bothered.
On a completely different note, my GCSE results come on the 24th. If they're good I might write a fic where Arthur and Alfred get hella awesome grades and are so bloody happy they vomit rainbows. If they're bad I'll retreat into a cave and die. Tch, I had a dream where all my grades were pretty good (mostly As with two Bs where I'm expecting them, and two A*s), but I got an A in History instead of an A*, and Dream Me started crying their eyes out. The funniest part? I don't even need History to do my chosen courses and career path.
I just really want that A*.
Well, that's all from me. Drop a review (PLEZ) and I'll see ya soon!