Summary: READ THE STORY. There is minor Fruk, main USUK, and lots of drama. No Fluff. I don't write that kind of stuff.

AN: This is a cardverse story, that should consist of a couple of chapters (I'm estimating 9 AT MOST). The rating may be subjected to change as the plot further developes because I will be including some mature scenes. As long as I'm the writer, you have my word for that. As for complaining about not liking FrUK, I'll just get my voice out now that I don't intend to villainize Francis for being Arthur's close acquaintance. I hate it when stories make a person appear unreasonably evil just because they are not part of the main pairing.

If you guys have any questions please message me about it and I will answer as quickly as possible. Merci!

If you enjoy this, then please do review. The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to update. I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

-Sherry Sun

Prologue ...

When Arthur was younger, he had a livelier imagination than most children of his age. He would see tiny pixies nestled amongst the branches of a birch tree, or dainty fairies floating atop the lily pads in the park pond. He could hear the whistling of water sprites as they mocked him from afar, and more oft than not would catch a garden gnome sneaking about his neighbour's yard-only to become stone still once they noticed him looking their way.

Now, all this was not a problem at all. In fact, the teachers adored him for it, intent with listening to his retelling of an encounter with so and so. This adoration, however, did not last for very long, and soon enough teachers and parents alike began to suspect his overly-animated mind.

"Perhaps you should focus more on your other subjects." Mr. Fritz, Arthur's then math teacher suggested. "Your English is definitely developed much beyond your age, but your mathematics could do with some attention."

Arthur hadn't agreed with what he was being asked to do, but did it anyway to avoid confrontation from his parents. He continued to demonstrate his well-rounded abilities and kept silent whenever he saw something moving from the corner of his eyes. This worked for a little while, until he met the Boy.

It had been an overcast, Autumn day, and 11-year-old Arthur was making his way home from an afternoon football practice. It was then, when the wind picked up its pace and rain began to dampen the streets, that he heard an odd noise from above.

"Yoohoo!"

Looking up, Arthur caught sight of a strange boy, dressed in a blue vest and fine breeches. From the extravagant frills of his sleeves, and the golden buttons lined along the clothing with not a single one of out of place, to the white, fur collar around the his neck, Arthur knew that the boy was not from his time. Either that, or someone had decided to pull a horrible prank on him.

The boy looked to be nowhere older than 9, and due to his attitude appeared even more childish. He was kicking his legs back and forth atop a dangerously delicate looking branch of a birch tree.

"Hey! What are you doing up there?" Arthur asked. "Get down at once! You can fall and hurt yourself!"

The boy continued to grin cheekily, and in spite of the warning picked up the pace of his kicking. "Fall? Kings don't fall, you know. Though of course you wouldn't, you're just a commoner."

"What in the world are you going on about?" Arthur said. The rain had begun to fall harder now, sounding angry against the pavement. "Look, I'm just trying to be a nice person. I don't want to be watching the telly tonight to see your body displayed on the news with a headline about how some little boy fell to his death from a tall tree."

"Telly?" the boy asked, a curious expression on his face. It disappeared in a matter of seconds, however, as he pointed a finger at Arthur's book bag. "What's in your pouch?"

"Books." Arthur replied. "Homework, the usual." He was starting to heat up, from frustration or anxiety, he couldn't tell. Then, an idea struck him. "Hey, what is your name?"

"My name?" the boy asked. He did something akin to an eye roll, which bugged Arthur immensely. He had half a mind to leave just then. "First, yours. As the future King of Spades, I command you."

"Why you-" Arthur huffed. He brought a hand to pinch his nose. "Fine. It's Arthur Kirkland, your majesty." he added, in a mocking tone. If the boy noticed, he chose to ignore it.

"Very well Arthur. My name is Alfred F Jones."

"Pleasure." Arthur muttered, unenthused. "Say, Alfred, how about you come down from that tree and I'll show you what's in my secret bag?"

Alfred's eyes immediately narrowed, suspicion piercing Arthur with an icy blue gaze. "You think I'm so easily fooled, Arthur Kirkland?"

"Beg pardon?"

"So who hired you to kidnap me? Was it the Kingdom of Hearts?"

"I'm sorry I don't quite get what you're trying to say." Arthur sighed. "Look just get down from that branch, okay? I don't care who you are, or where you're from, I just don't want you dead when I could have prevented it."

There was a long moment of silence. Arthur blinked rainwater from his eyes and pushed back his blond fringes. When he looked up to where Alfred was, the boy was gone.

The Briton rushed around the tree, in a frantic, confused search for the boy. He was nearly startled out of his soaked shirt, tripping over his cleats, when he heard a small voice from behind him.

"Will I see you again?"

Arthur groaned, picking himself up from a wet, grimy puddle. Alfred was standing before him, a sceptical, yet eager glimmer in his eyes.

"Bullocks! Would you stop popping about like that!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Can't keep up, old man?" Alfred snickered. Then, his face, like a traffic light, turned serious. His lips were a thin, tight line and his brows straight. Alfred extended a hand. "I hope to see you again, Sir Arthur Kirkland. I don't know if I can trust you just yet, but you don't seem to be the slimy, manipulative type."

"Well, excuse me, your Majesty. Now, if you'll be so kind, I have to go home." And with that, Arthur turned on his heel and began to stalk off. Halfway down the block, he dared to turn his head a little to look behind him.

Alfred was gone.

A week followed after the incident. Life went back to its normal routine. School, Football practice, homework, and sleep. Having been elected as the class president, Arthur found little time to do anything else but study and work, which left him isolated. Not that he minded. Being alone, was different from being lonely, he oft reminded himself. He liked to be left alone to write or read whenever he had a chance to. People generally avoided him, only asking him for help in homework or when they had questions needing to be answered.

One Friday afternoon, Arthur found himself lying spread-eagled on the grass in a small clearing by a park near his school. Before him, a large, leather bound book sat open. It was a book on magic, of folklore and ancient myths, that he had borrowed from the town's library. He was so intrigued that he completely shut off the world around him, unaware to the presence of someone who settled down beside him.

"What are you reading?"

Arthur, startled, looked up to see Alfred smiling down at him. "You!" he spluttered.

"Yes, me! Surely you remember, right?" Alfred leaned closer, eyeing the book. "What's this?"

Arthur abruptly shut the book. "There's something called respect, Alfred. Do you know what that is?"

"Of course I do!" Alfred argued, offended. "I practice it all the time!"

"Doesn't look it." Then, "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you." Alfred stated. It was a simple answer, too simple for the other's liking.

"People don't just see other people without a motive. You want something from me." Arthur bit out.

Alfred shook his head no, and looked at Arthur in the sincerest of ways. "No, you're wrong. People do see other people just for the sake of seeing them. That's what friends do."

"Oh, so now we're friends?" Arthur scoffed. Beside him, Alfred nodded. "You're sorely mistaken, Alfred. I am not your friend, and I certainly do not wish to be either."

"That's unfortunate." Alfred said. Arthur was about to tell him off, when Alfred continued. "That's unfortunate, because I want to be your friend. And nothing you say is going to change how I feel."

Arthur stood quickly, the heavy book clutched to his chest. He cast a cold glare at Alfred. "I don't care how you feel. I'll say this once, and only once; I do not desire your presence. I do not need a friend. I do not need anybody. Now leave me alone."

Alfred sat stone still. The blue jewel that secured his cravat glinted in the setting sun. He lifted a gloved hand, and patted the empty grass beside him. "You're lonely. You want a friend. You are just too stubborn to admit it. Come, sit."

"How dare you." Arthur seethed. He was too angry to move.

Alfred, with the body and nature of a boy years younger than Arthur, suddenly seemed much too old in that moment. There was a spark of something in his blue eyes, something that Arthur could almost understand. Once again, Alfred patted his hand to the grass. "Come."

"Being alone," Arthur whispered. "is different from being lonely."

"I know. Yet in the end, they are one and the same." Alfred took a deep breath. "I am alone. And I am lonely." He gave one final pat to the ground and looked away.

Wordlessly, Arthur settled down in the grass. They did not look at each other, only stared off at the horizon, where endless blue met a stream of gold.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock began to tick.

Lost in the Shuffle

... Part 1: Come Find Me, Where the Sky Meets Sea ...

Chapter 1

Arthur stumbled down the stairs, jerking the sleeves of his jacket on. His briefcase knocked against his hip as he floundered around his pockets for his key.

"Key, key, key, where are you.." he muttered.

"Looking for this?"

Arthur whipped around, and saw his string of keys dangling before his nose. "Where did you find that?" he demanded.

The man holding the key tucked a strand of shiny, golden hair behind his ear and gave Arthur a raised brow. "My dear sourcils, it was on the kitchen counter. I fear for your memory-it seems to be deteriorating at an alarming rate."

"Sod off," Arthur snatched his keys away, before uttering a small thanks.

"You are not having breakfast?"

"Do I look like I have the time to sit down for a cup of tea?" Arthur snapped. He was surprised, then, as a small, nameless green shopping bag was shoved into his hands.

"Just as well, I figured you'd be in a pissy mood." The Frenchman stepped back, and while the other was too flustered to move, straightened Arthur's tie. "And still so sloppy. You are going to kill someone with your habit of dress one day."

"Do be quiet." Arthur replied, though his words held no malice. He brought a careful hand to the other's fingers and pried them off his tie. "But thank you."

"Pas de probleme."

"We're just friends, Francis."

"Oui, I understand." Francis cast him an amused smile. "Unless you want something more."

The door to the flat was abruptly slammed in his face. Sighing, Francis, shook his head and went back to his spot on the kitchen table. He failed to notice the small, orange pill bottle sitting alone by the microwave.

Arthur was feeling on edge, as he tapped tucked his chin further into his red, burberry scarf-courtesy of Francis, who claimed it would help justify for his atrocious fashion sense. His coffee breaks consisted of the same routine; a brisk, fifteen minute walk outside of his office in the nearby park, accompanied by a cup of hot, green tea from the local Starbucks. Overpriced tea in an overrated city, Arthur thought as he gingerly took a sip to avoid scorching his tongue.

Central Park reminded him of his home back in Liverpool, where he visited Sefton Park for a nice, leisurely walk. That was all before he had moved to New York, on an adamant pursuit for a journalist career. It was in the first week that he had landed in America, lost and frazzled, that he bumped into an old secondary school acquaintance-Francis Bonnefoy, who had been in a hot pursuit of a career as well, for the fashion industry. After many persuasions and dinner dates, Arthur finally decided to give in and move into Francis' penthouse, insisting that he only did so in order to save money. It may have started out that way, but over the past year the 25 year old found himself warming up to his annoying flatmate. Not that he would ever admit it.

The strange, foreboding feeling continued to sit in Arthur's stomach, growing heavier by the minute. He didn't feel sick or tired, but very nervous. From the corner of his eyes, Arthur thought he caught a shadow by an oak tree to his right. When he stole a quick glance, he found there was nothing. It only made him feel more anxious, and he picked up his pace. By the time his break rolled to an end, he was already inside the building, leaning against the elevator wall and trying to slow his frantic heart. When he arrived on the 12th floor and began making his way back to his office, his heart nearly stopped when he spotted the man making his way towards him.

The stranger wore a sleek, navy suit, a black tie pinned neatly under his collar by a blue pin. His long legged strides seemed to make him float across the carpet of the corridor with heavy and rhythmic steps. Arthur found he was unable to stop himself from slowing down as the distance between them grew shorter and shorter.

Time seemed to slow to a stop. The stranger's eyes, a shocking blue, flashed from behind the sharp lenses of his glasses. He grabbed Arthur by the sleeve in a firm, but gentle grip, and pulled the Briton into an empty room a few feet away. It was not until the door clicked shut that Arthur seemed to snap back into his right mind.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked. His breathing was shallow, his pulse hammering.

"We haven't much time." The stranger's said, his voice soft and low. He leaned closer to Arthur. "Don't you remember me?"

"No. I do not recall having ever met you." Arthur replied. "If you do not explain yourself, you'll have to do so to my boss, or the security."

In a sudden movement to fast for Arthur to follow, he found his arms pinned to the wall by the man, who was now a hairs breadth away from him. Alarmed, Arthur struggled but the pressure only increased.

"What is my name?" the stranger asked, his tone almost desperate.

"To bloody hell if I know!" Arthur snapped, yanking his wrist free and shoving the other a good arms length from him. He backed up a few paces, ready to run. "Who the hell are you and what do you want from me?"

"They did this to you, didn't they?" the stranger said, his voice even lower than before. A cold glint appeared in his eyes. "Don't worry Arthur, I will save you. I'll make you remember everything. But first, you have to come with me." he extended a hand to Arthur. "Come."

"You're bloody off your rocker!" Arthur exploded. "I'll give you ten seconds to leave, or else-"

"Are you lonely Arthur?"

The question caught the Briton off guard. He blinked, narrowing his eyes. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"You once told me, that being alone, is different from being lonely." the man took a step forward. "But we both know that isn't quite true."

Arthur felt the wall hit his back, palms sweaty. "I don't know what you're talking about. Stop this nonsense at once!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. No matter what you say, it won't change my intentions. Now Arthur, come with me."

A silence swallowed the room. For a moment, Arthur froze in fear. Had he gone deaf? Then, he heard it, the ticking in the background. It was faint, barely audible, but there; it seemed to grow louder and louder as the man's hand came closer and closer.

The man slid his glasses off his face, and in that moment, Arthur felt his chest clench painfully. He couldn't breathe.

"Alfred?"

The ticking was right beside his ear now, pounding his brain. The stranger smiled, and clasped his large, roughened hands around Arthur's pale ones.

"Come."

Arthur woke in an unfamiliar room, the lights blinding and ceiling spinning. He groaned, closing his eyes. A shuffle from beside him cause him to jerk in surprise.

"Shh, Angleterre, it's me." A hand brushed his damp fringes from his forehead.

"Francis?"

"Yes, it's me, don't worry."

Arthur slowly cracked his eye open. "Where are we?"

"In the first aid room. Don't worry. You're going to be just fine."

"What happened?"

Francis sighed. His thumb traced circles on Arthur's shoulder blades. It created a comforting pattern. "You had a little episode back in the office. The ambulance came, and the paramedics had to sedate you for a while."

"Oh, no. Oh god, no."

"It's okay. Everything is fine."

Arthur was flushing. How could he? How could he break down in the public, like that? After he had gotten himself in such good control-he couldn't allow himself to relapse.

Then the scene came flooding back to his head. The tall, blond man. Piercing blue eyes. The scent of fresh rain and something slightly muskier. The ticking sound. Panic rose like bile in Arthur's throat as he lurched violently against the bed.

"Francis! Please, don't let him get me, he's going to get me!" Arthur yelled in a frenzy. He continued to thrash about as strong arms encircled him, jumbled french and english words coaxing him to calm down. "Don't let Alfred take me, please!"

The nurses came in, along with a doctor. Arthur, a shivering, shaking mess, clutched Francis' shirt for dear life and cried. All the while, the sound of a clock ticked in the background.

And that is all for now. I hope you thoroughly enjoyed this read, as much as I did writing it.

Reviews would be lovely!