Colors

Arthur Kirkland's whole life has been filled with nothing but colors. Since a baby, all of his toys had consisted of nothing but his mother's various paintbrushes, color palettes and canvases.

His mother was a famous painter you see, the best in the world he would proudly brag. Naturally, like mother like son, he was good at painting too – a genius. A title his mother's art critique friends (and occasionally his older brothers too, when they aren't being such gits) fondly call him whenever they saw some of his paintings.

Too bad that's not what he wants to do though. Instead of painting a scene on canvas, he wants to paint one on stage. He wants to be an actor – a famous theater actor like two of his older brothers to be exact. A shame really it's a scene he could only paint vividly on canvas, something for his eyes and imagination only – along with millions of things he wanted to say yet can never do.

He's mute you see.

Sounds

Alfred Williams-Jones' whole life revolved around the various different tones of the world; both his parents spoiling him and his twin brother, taking them both along to their concerts. The various stages and opera houses around the world were his playground, the sounds reverberating his toys.

His father was an opera singer you see, always touring the world together with his pianist mother. Naturally, like his parents (and unlike his Twin, who was more in tuned to hockey), he was also a musical genius. At a young age he was already composing his own music, music that he sometimes performed for the crowd at his parents concerts.

He has already heard the various sounds the world can offer, the tones itself painting scene after scene on his head – scenes that he could only dream of seeing.

He's blind you see.

They first met when Alfred's family had stopped by London for a concert – just in time for one of Arthur's mother's gallery's opening. As their mothers had been longtime friends, naturally the famous family of musicians was invited as the guests of honor.

It was there that Arthur first saw the musician with his blinding smile brightening up the place even further and childish innocence radiating around him. But that wasn't the reason why the painter noticed the musician; it was actually his walking stick that caught his attention – along with the attention of his leg.

The painter crouched on the floor in pain as the blind man frantically waved a hand around him, no doubt trying to feel where the person he hit is.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Where are you? Can you please speak so that I'll know where you are? I'm actually blind." Despite the pain coursing through his body, Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes by what the blind man said. God knows how much he wanted to speak or even make a single sound, it's just he really can't.

So instead, he gently grabbed the flailing hand and brought the other down, guiding the hand to his leg and moved it up and down soothingly on the part where it got hit. He guessed that was probably what the other wanted and intended to do.

A relieved smile blossomed on the other's face and a chuckle followed it.

"You were down here, why couldn't you have said something?" Arthur had to stop himself from signing his hands when he remembered the other couldn't see him do it. A soundless sigh slipped passed his lips before he took the hand softly caressing his leg and opened the palms.

"What are you doing?" he could hear the other say in confusion before he wrote something on the palm.

"I'm sorry too, I'm mute that's why I couldn't say anything." The other's expression morphed into a horrified one and a flurry of apologies tumbled out of his lips. The painter could only amusedly raise an eyebrow at the man in front of him.

Having enough of the symphony of apologies, Arthur raised a hand to pat the other's head comfortingly as a sign to say it was okay.

The musician blushed and it was at this moment that Arthur also caught Alfred's attention.

"Hey Mum," Arthur wrote on his notepad, poking his mother on the side to get her attention. "Who was that person who earlier came with Uncle Rick and Aunt Anna? The blind one?" Alicia only blinked at her youngest son before abandoning her cooking for a while and gently hit the blond on the head.

"That's rude you know? You could have stopped at your Uncle's and Aunt's names." Arthur only huffed and hurriedly scribbled something again.

"But it's true!" Alicia only rolled her eyes and went back to her task of fixing dinner.

"Well that was Alfred, one of their sons. Be nice to him okay? Along with his twin brother. You will be seeing each other more often considering they are planning on staying here for quite a while. Now stop distracting me and go sit with your brothers!" The blond nodded and dragged himself to the living room, where the rest of his brothers was watching the telly, and sat himself beside their eldest brother who was busy reading another script. For a new play perhaps, Arthur could only stare at it longingly.

"So what was it about? I can hear Mum's screeching from over here." Alistair asked. The painter chuckled silently by what his brother said and signed a "Nothing."

(On another place, a blind musician was also asking his parents about the mute painter he managed to hit the leg with.)

They met again a week after the gallery's opening and at the Jones' concert. It was the family's last concert on England, after which they'll be taking a short break before continuing with their European tour. This time Arthur's family was the guests.

The painter first (and officially) met Matthew Williams-Jones then, when he was on his way towards the balcony that had been reserved for him (the rest of his brother's hadn't been able to come, seeing as that night Alistair and Seamus had a show while Dylan, who was quite a popular singer, wasn't even on the country – off to the Land of the Free for his American Tour.)

"It's nice to finally meet you," the timid boy said, extending a hand for Arthur to shake – to which he did, also offering a small smile to the other to convey he felt the same way, since he can't say that aloud.

Thankfully the younger boy understood, and returned the smile.

"Your seat is over there," Matthew pointed at a specific place behind him, "I hope you don't mind you'll have to share it with my brother. My parents hadn't expected it'll be a full house tonight."

Arthur waived a hand in the air as a sign that he didn't mind.

Mathew exhaled in relief and bid him goodbye after exchanging (a painfully awkward and difficult) small talk.

When the painter managed to arrive at the booth, he was surprised to find that Alfred was already there. According to the other's twin, there was a huge possibility that the musician won't be even there, and instead would be at backstage.

Oh well, might as well make his presence known.

A pat on the shoulders managed to surprise the blind man and he jumped a little on his seat, hand already frantically feeling around him. "Who's there?"

Arthur chuckled soundlessly before he squeezed the shoulder lightly and wrote on the other's back.

"The one you hit on the leg before." The blind man's face brightened up at that.

"Arthur right? Aunt Alicia's youngest son?" the painter stopped midway of his nod making it an awkward jerk of his head instead. Why does he always forget the other couldn't see him?

"Yes," he instead wrote on the other's back.

"I'm Alfred by the way." Arthur sat on the seat beside the blind man and took the other's arm to his hand, turning it upside down and wrote on the inside of the wrist.

"I know, I asked my Mum before." The musician chuckled for a little bit. The painter stared at him in confusion before writing a "What?" on the wrist. Alfred only shook his head and pointed at his own arm.

"It's nothing; it just tickles when you write there." Arthur nodded and rubbed the other's pulse point soothingly, a small gesture saying he was sorry. The blind man only grinned.

"It's okay really, it's my fault anyway I can't see you sign or write." The painter shook his head and gripped the arm a little tighter, a sort of punishment that the other even thought such a thing.

"It's no one's fault why we are like this," he started to write back on the wrist. "Not yours or mine or our parents or even God. We're just like this and instead of feeling down about it, we should just ignore everything and live as we wish." Alfred was silent for a moment before the corners of his twitched and it turned into a smile moments later. He grasped the other's hand that had been writing on his arm and gave it a small squeeze. Arthur smiled at him.

"You're right. You're quite optimistic about this despite your disposition." The painter only shrugged before taking his hand out of the other's grasp and wrote again on the wrist.

"I just realized really that if I continue to brood over it, then nothing good will ever come out of my life." The musician chuckled and they dropped the subject, instead talking about other things and learning more about each other.

At the end of the concert, and in the middle of their dinner, both Alfred and Arthur were promptly scolded by Alicia for not even paying attention to the concert and were instead giggling like school girls on their booth. Both Alfred's parents and Matthew on the other hand, only let it slide because they were glad Alfred was having fun with someone other than immediate family.

Both boys could only look bash with sheepish smiles on their faces.

The minute after the Jones' arrived from their dinner together with the Kirkland's; the blind man hurriedly ran to the piano room and locked himself inside. The rest of his family could only move around the house with smiles on their faces while listening to the different sounds coming out from the room.

He didn't leave the room until the next morning where Matthew had to literally drag him away from the grand piano and force feed him breakfast.

(At another place, we could see a famous theater actor trying – and failing – to pull his youngest brother out of his tight grip on the painting room's door.)

The next time they met was a few days after the concert and on Alfred and Matthew's 17th birthday. Their parents only held a small party at their rented house in London and invited some of their closest friends – ones the twins knew and were on talking basis with, although some of their friends from America flew by too.

During the whole event, both the painter and musician were stuck together like glue Matthew even jokingly remarked he and Arthur should change places, since it seemed like Alfred likes him more – in which Alfred agreed with, stating at least Arthur doesn't take advantage of his disability to steal his cake; which Matthew retaliated with and thus, an argument was born. The twins only dropped their argument when their mother threatened to withhold the cake from them if they didn't stop their childish squabble.

Arthur had only remained at the sidelines as an amused spectator.

The party had just ended and only the Jones' and Kirkland's were left at the formers house, cleaning along the party's remnants. Halfway through it, the musician noticed the painter wasn't by his side anymore.

"Arthur?" He called out, gaining the attention of his and the other's family.

"What's wrong Al?" His mother called out, leaving whatever it was she was doing and approached her son. Alfred grasped her arm.

"Mom, where's Arthur?" he could heard whispers being passed around but they were soft enough for him to catch anything.

Moments later, his mother left his side and a familiar presence replaced it. Before he could ask about the other's whereabouts, the painter took one of his hands and made it hold something. Based on what it felt, it was some kind of wood and it was really heavy - not to mention big.

"What is it?" He asked. In answer a hand took of his other and led it to go someplace on the big wood thing, towards where a paper was glued and something was written on brail on it.

Happy Birthday Alfred!

I hope you don't feel offended that I'm giving you a painting of you and your brother as a gift even though I know you'll never see this for your whole life. To be honest, I wanted to give you something else but I realized something I made myself would be better; unfortunately the only thing that I am very confident on is painting so I just decided to take a gamble on it. I'm not expecting you to love this or anything like that but if you could at least accept it that'll be enough for me.

Love Arthur.

A familiar hand was slowly snaking through his back and stopped on the middle. "I'm really sorry for this; if you want I can give you another one." It wrote. By this time Alfred was already fighting the huge smile that was threatening to split his face.

"Are you stupid? I'm honored to have probably the only portrait painting the famous Arthur made! I do remember you telling me you never paint people." His expression dropped a little and bright smile he held was replaced with a somber one. "It's such a shame really that I may never see this painting, I bet I look handsome here – well, much more than Mattie at least." He chuckled.

("Excuse you," the said person grumbled, holding unto his copy of the painting and admiring it. Alfred stuck his tongue out to him; to which Matthew returned. Too bad really his brother never saw it.)

The hand that was still sitting atop his holding the painting twitched for a little before it squeezed his in a comforting way. The hand on his back started writing again. "Yeah... and of course you look handsome here, I made sure to fix any kind of blemish you have. Be thankful that people who would be looking at this painting wouldn't need to bleach their eyes." He raised his other hand to hit the painter in the arm.

"Asshole! I'm not ugly." He shouted angrily but there was a wide smile on his face. He could feel the person beside him shaking a little – from laughter perhaps or chuckle he doesn't know, because he couldn't see it nor hear anything so he just decided to hit the other again on the arm.

"Finally a real smile, it certainly looks better on you." Arthur wrote on his back again. This managed to make him blush a little and a whispered "Jerk," slipped passed his lips that certainly the other didn't miss, if the reprimanding pinch on his other hand was to go by.

In the end, the two decided to sit as the painter brought the musician's hand over the painting, letting him feel the rough surface of the canvas as Arthur pointed out the places where the different parts on his face were painted at (and the places he "fixed.")

Unknown by the two, both of their families stood a little farther away from them, faces' depicting a different myriad of emotions.

The Kirkland's were in a bit chaotic situation since it took Alicia all of her strength to maintain the warning glare she sent to her older sons, who were observing Alfred and Arthur with hawk-like eyes waiting with bathed breath when the musician would make a false move so that they could pound him to the ground for "flirting" (if you could even call that flirting) with their precious baby brother. (Contrary to what Arthur believed, the real reason why no one would approach him was not because of his disability, but actually because he has three very active and aggressive watchdogs who is not below using underhanded tactics in ensuring that their precious baby brother stays pure – and also because they don't want the past to repeat itself.)

(A story for another time.)

The Jones' on the other hand, were looking at their son and his friend with pity. Because there was no telling where their slowly budding relationship was going at, especially by the way they see it they are already having a lot of difficulty communicating – with one who cannot speak and the other cannot see.

Matthew was the only exception who, unlike his parents, was actually glad about Arthur's presence in Alfred's life. For there was no doubt Alfred shined brighter at the presence of the painter. And for Matthew, there was nothing more important for him other than his twin brother's happiness (but the idiot doesn't really need to know that.)

Like the past few nights, after the Kirkland's left their house, Alfred once again locked himself inside the piano room. But unlike before, the blind man went out hours later clutching tightly on a tape recorder, a hopeful expression turned to his parents.

Both the musicians only looked at each other in resignation before Anna gently took the recorder and the family entered the music room.

(At another place, a painter was passed out on his own bed, chest rising up and down in time with his breaths as his body finally made up for the past sleepless nights.)

"Mum," Arthur knocked and signed, catching his mother's attention as Alicia momentarily paused from painting the way the light reflected from their window. The two of them were inside the painting room, the whole place bathed by the afternoon sunlight. "Alfred messaged me earlier, they just arrived from Austria and he wants me to drop by his house. Apparently he has something to tell and it'll be better in person."

A week after Alfred's birthday, the Jones' immediately flew towards Austria for the continuation of their European tour and stayed there for almost a month. Alfred, naturally, came with them, refusing Arthur's invitation to instead stay with the Kirkland's during the rest of his parents' tour, reasoning that he had something to do over there. Matthew also came with them only to ride a train from Austria going to Germany since a coach he knew, who was now coaching a German school's hockey team, invited him to watch their match.

The rejection made the painter sulk (but he'll tell you otherwise), and had ignored the blind musician for the first days since he left. Much to Arthur's annoyance, it only took him three days before he gave in to the younger man and answered the numerous messages and calls sent to him.

Never knew he'll say this but his brothers were right; seriously, he was too soft with the musician.

Alicia quieted, knowing already what the blind musician has to tell, having been already warned by the other's parents beforehand. To be honest she had no idea what to feel about it but it's not like there's anything she can do; in the end it'll be up to her son's decision.

Alicia turned back to her son, who remained standing on the doorway giving her an expectant look, and smiled. "Why not? Say hi to Rick and Anna for me." Arthur nodded, waving a hand at her in good bye and left the place.

Alicia was left at the room surrounded by various paintings – mostly of the blind musician made by the man who just left the room – feeling nervous for no reason. She has to commend the musician though, for having such confidence despite his disability. Now everything was up to Arthur's answer and whatever it is, Alicia swore she would support her son's decision.

Now it was up to her to make sure that none of Arthur's brothers would have knowledge of this encounter – only until it'll be too late for them to intervene.

To Arthur's utter confusion, the moment he arrived at the Jones' rented house, Matthew, Rick and Anna greeted him with an encouraging smile. After he was told where Alfred was and he relayed his Mum's message, the three left.

When he took a step inside the house, the piano's soft melody greeted him. Having figured it must be the work of the American man, he walked towards the music room with a small smile playing on his lips.

The other man was seated behind the grand piano, hands dancing along the soft keys and an uncertain smile on his lips. Although curious to why such a smile was on the other's lips, the painter leaned on the door and listened to the song for a while. It must have been a new one, because this was the first time he has heard of it – and this considering he has heard every piece the blind musician has composed, some on tape and others Alfred himself performing for him.

He waited until Alfred finished playing the last notes before making his presence known by knocking lightly on the door.

"Huh? Who's there?" The musician asked in surprise and curiosity. The painter stepped further into the room and placed a hand on the other's shoulder, squeezing it a little.

"Arthur?" his hand was immediately on the other's wrist, writing a "Yes" on it.

The smile was back on the musician's lips and it was brighter than before. "What took you so long?" The hand on the other's wrist moved to the back and wrote something on it.

"I was listening to your song, is it new?" He knows it's new but he still couldn't help but ask, so that the other would say the title. It was a beautiful piece.

To his surprise, a light shade of red dusted the musician's face as he mutely nodded. The painter was confused by the reaction, this was a first. Usually, when Arthur asked that question, the other then would ramble everything about the piece, using those music lingos that until this day he has a hard time understanding.

To be fair, Alfred also doesn't have any idea of the different painter's lingos he would use when he rambles about paintings.

He wrote on the other's back again. "What's wrong?" The other didn't answer. Instead, the blind man felt through the top of the piano before grasping unto a cassette (why a cassette you may ask? That's because Alfred was a huge retro dork. He actually prefers it when his music is recorded on vinyl rather than on CD's or digitally.) The painter only stared at what the other was doing in confusion before the cassette was handed on him.

"Is this for me?" He wrote again. The musician only mutely nodded. Bringing his gaze away from the suspiciously silent musician and to the cassette in his hands, he stared at the letters written on the blank white space. He could only blink at it.

Piano Sonata No. 3 - The Painter

When his hand landed again on the blind man's back, he could feel the other jump a little – ripping a soundless chuckle out of him.

"Is this a gift of sorts?" He wrote on the back. He got another soundless nod, this time the shade of red that earlier invaded the other's face darkened. Arthur amused himself at the fact the for once, Alfred was silent and he was the one doing all the talking – it certainly felt good. Considering Alfred sometimes overwhelms him by how much he talks. "What for?"

Arthur had to stop himself from laughing out loud. The poor musician just really looked adorably stupid with that red face and mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Seemingly had enough, the blind man roughly banged his hands against the piano's keyboard, releasing a loud broken sort of tone and ultimately surprising Arthur.

"I like you okay?" The other blurted out, catching the painter off guard yet again. "The cassette you're holding is my confession." The other offered his arm to him. "Three taps means yes and two means no."

He could do nothing but part his mouth and blink his eyes in surprise, standing rooted on his spot.

"Come on Artie, don't leave me hanging - it's just a yes or no." The musician pressed on. Arthur only stared at the offered arm like it was an alien. He was too flabbergasted to even scold the other for his use of that wretched name.

"...Did you leave already?" The other chocked after a few tense minutes of silence. The sad tone it held managed to snap the painter out of shock and stare at the man in front of him, frowning at the utterly broken expression the other had.

And he only managed to move his hand when Alfred started to sniff, grasping unto the other's arm and gripping it tightly. The other seemed surprised. Had he really thought the painter would leave him after that display of vulnerability? Arthur may be a tad bit sadistic (who wouldn't with brothers like his?) but he wasn't downright cruel.

"What is your answer?" The musician asked again in a meek voice so unlike the usual Alfred. Arthur's lips stretched into a bright smile, knowing and thanking the other couldn't see it, and tapped the arm twice.

He laughed soundlessly when he saw how the other's expression drastically changed for the worst before he tapped the arm once again and pulled the musician for a kiss.

Alfred was obviously surprised, because it took him quite a while to respond. And when he did, Arthur only silently hummed in contentment before deepening the kiss. When they pulled apart, the painter tapped the arm again thrice – just to be sure.

The musician squeaked in reply and pulled him in a bone crushing hug. "You fucking tease." The other hissed before burying his face at the juncture of the painter's neck.

The painter chuckled silently before wrapping his arms around the other, hand writing again on the back. "What did you expect?" Unintelligent murmurs were his only reply.

This decision of theirs would lead to a hard road, and not to mention something that may give them a lot of unnecessary pity from others, but they find themselves not caring for any of it. They may not be in love yet, but they obviously are at the right track.

Both of them silently came to a mutual understanding – and that's what matters really.

For Arthur was Alfred's eyes same with how Alfred was Arthur's voice.

A/N:

Alicia – Britannia

Alistair – Scotland

Seamus – North Ireland

Dylan – Wales

While America and Canada's parents are just some random people. They don't represent anyone notable from the anime.

Honestly it was only after I finished writing this and reread it again that I felt such shame, especially for the birthday scene. It was so awkward and fucking cheesy I can't! I planned to just scrape it off and replace it with something but decided against it since I didn't know what to replace it with in the first place.

Well, despite the fucking cheese and not to mention the general sucky-ness of this story, hopefully someone out there would still enjoy this.

Also, unlike their usual toxic relationship, the UK bro's here are quite close. That's because Britannia would beat their asses if they kept on fighting hahaha.

Now to make myself feel better I wrote an extra. It's your choice if you want to read it because it has nothing to do with the original story whatsoever (well not really, but it doesn't really give impact to the plot) but I just felt bad that the UK brother's barely had a role here (Matthew also but at least he had quite a few speaking lines.)

Thanks for reading until here!

Extra (Feat. The older Kirkland Brothers):

The bar was noisy, bars are always noisy, but that didn't faze the three young men sitting on the table at the corner of the bar with such intense faces. They were hidden over there – just the way they liked it. After all, all three of them are handsomely famous and has legions of hormonal women (and some men) as their fans. It wouldn't be good for them to be found.

Anyway, that wasn't really the reason why they were there. Oh no, far from it. They also weren't there to enjoy the booze.

They were there for a much more important reason, something that you'll need to discuss with alcohol over or you'll lose your mind, and it wasn't like they could discuss it at home at the presence of their rather scary mother.

"So that American wanker finally did it," Alistair commented, staring at his Bloody Mary with such intensity it was a surprise the glass hasn't cracked yet.

The table shook a little when Seamus slammed his beer glass. "I told you that kid was dangerous. After all, no matter what he says, Arthur is weak for those kind of smiles."

Normally all smiles, the Dylan sitting at the table right now was all frowns, gripping tightly to his shot glass. "Yes, yes we've already established that. The question now is: what are we going to do?"

"What can we do?" Seamus quipped, teeth gritted. "Mum already warned us. We can't touch the brat."

Dylan sighed. "Well at least, the little bugger is happy." He looked at their eldest, who was also something like their leader. "What do you think Alistair?"

The said man only glared at nothing. "If that American brat thinks he can date Artie without our approval he's got a thing coming."

"Fuck!" Seamus exclaimed, slamming a few pounds on the table. "We need to go. A group of girls saw me and immediately started squealing. I believe they're on their way here."

"Seamus you arsehole!" Alistair hissed as he hurriedly shrugged his coat on and struggled to squeeze himself out of the tight space between him, the table, and the wall.

"Hurry!" Dylan urged, pulling his older brother and dragging him away towards the backroom.

And that was how, once again, the three of them were running for their lives back home while a sizeable amount of women followed them for every step.

"Fuck now we'll have to wait for at least a month before returning to that bar." Alistair groaned.

"And their homemade beer was my favorite. Others are shite compared to theirs." Dylan pouted.

Seamus could do nothing but apologize the whole time they were running home.