They say that the saddest people smile the brightest, and Alfred could atest to that truth.
Having as long of a life as his, it was to be expected that you outlived your loved ones, and a little piece of you died with them.
No matter how many friends he made, in the end, Alfred was all alone.
He longed for many people: his parents, close friends, and he missed his brother dearly. But the one he missed most of all was Arthur.
Arthur was incredible. Arthur was wonderful. Arthur was everything. Alfred loved him more than anything, and would gladly give up his immortality for him. As long as Arthur was there, with his rare smile and his hugs and his kisses, he was happy.
which is why every time Arthur died, it broke Alfred a little more.
Over and over again they met, and over and over again they fell in love, and over and over again Alfred watched the love of his life grow older, and over and over again Alfred's heart shattered as Arthur took his last breath of that life.
The 23-year period between Arthur being born and the time they would meet were the loneliest periods of his life, and Alfred seemed to spend them in a mournful haze. The first year was always the hardest. Everyday in that interim, Alfred visited the wall.
The wall was a quasi-shrine dedicated to Arthur. Mostly it was made up if pictures of him, taken to preserve those memories, and ease his loneliness. There were a few items as well, mostly things Arthur gave him, such as his collection of Shakespeare plays or a well-worn sweatervest. Scattered among that were pictures of the two of them together, but right smack in the center was Alfred's most treasured picture: It was taken during the summertime, and if Alfred remembered correctly, one of their happiest summers. They were smiling, even laughing, with their foreheads touching. Everytime Alfred saw that picture, his sadness eased just a bit, and it never failed to bring a smile to his face, however sad or small.
Usually, however, the wall just brought back memories. Alfred has known so many Arthurs, each slightly different from the others and "modern" to that time period. When Arthur was a pirate, they traveled the world and had adventures on the Britannia Angel. They complained about the brutal work conditions during the Industrial Revolution. They fussed and worried about each other during the world wars. Nowadays, Arthur was as fussy, grumpy, cute, and as bad at cooking as ever, just now with a phone, computer, and a car.
Alfred ruffled his hands through his hair. If Arthur was here he'd smack him and tell him not to be so grumpy, but there would be that look of concern that betrayed his true sense of worry for the other blond. Living as long as he has, Alfred sometimes got caught in his thoughts. The scope of it all hit him, his loneliness caught up with him, and he'd sink into a depression. After all, everything was always in motion, and Alfred seemed to always stay still. He had experienced so much loss and so much pain that he didn't know how much more he could take, didn't know many more times he could lose Arthur. At times, he didn't see the purpose of continuing to find him. In the end, he always ended up like this, alone as always so why even bother with the heartbreak?
And what really sucked was that no matter what, he couldn't tell anyone about his "condition." Not only would it put a burden on relationships, possibly ruining them, the people would find out, and then came the questions and the anger and all that drama. It was hard enough finding a way to bypass licence renewals!
Usually, Alfred filled him time with photography, traveling, and scrapbooking. It was his way to keep up with the world, and gave him something new to share with Arthur the next time he met him. He even bookmarked places he would like to visit with him, the list growing steadily longer. It was nice to have something to look forward to.
While others might view it as odd, Alfred found himself taking to Arthur in the interims. He mostly talked to a prized photo of him; smiling, a rare occurrence, during a bright sunny day. Alfred took out his scrapbook.
"Hey Artie! I haven't shown you the book in a while! Hehe." Alfred pointed at a picture. "Took a trip to England a while back, you know, just to reminisce." And remember you. "I'm always amazed by the scenery. The countryside is so pretty. No wonder you were so fond of it." Alfred chuckled. Arthur was always bragging about the English countryside, saying that the America 'had nothing on those those good ol' golden ridges!' He was always trying to get them to go there, and Alfred had to admit, Arthur had a point. Some of the views were breathtaking in a nostalgic sense. "I also visited the Eiffel Tower. It's been a while since I've last seen her." The Brit had a distaste for all things French, and definitely would've scoffed at Alfred for going to the 'country of frogs'. Alfred sighed and closed his scrapbook, staring longingly at the picture of his beloved. Soon my dear. We'll meet again soon, I promiseā¦.
