As usual, A/N at bottom. Enjoy!

The bell rang, small children shooting up out of their seats to run out of the classroom, much to the dismay of their teacher. What was once a room full of boundless chatter and energy became silent and dull in a matter of a few seconds. Where the chairs had been filled with elementary students, their tiny backpacks hanging off the backs by the straps, there was nothing on them now except air and dust. Well, all but one.

A runt of a boy sat at his desk, his feet just barely skimming the hard tile floor. His eyes focused on the paper, staring at it, never taking them off of it as if it would somehow morph the ink into the one thing he wished.
This could not be happening. How could he have let this happen? He had done everything he could and had worked so hard, only to receive that. It was official. Arthur Kirkland was worthless.

The door opened once more, a familiar squeak sounding as the hinges turned, and his teacher stepped inside. Upon seeing him, she made a surprised noise, her heels clicking to a halt. She smiled that pearly white smile of hers, the very one that would make pure sugar cringe of sweetness overload.

"Oh, Arthur sweety, I didn't know you were still here. Did you need- oh, wait- Ar!"

Almost immediately after she said his name, Arthur push his chair back, hopping to his feet. He grabbed his backpack, which he loved with its forest green base and green and pink trim, no matter what his foolish peers teased, slung it over his shoulders, and stalked out of the classroom. Arthur made sure to firmly shut the door, slowing the teacher down a small bit should she choose to follow, but was careful not to slam it, as he didn't want too bad of a scolding. Goodness only knows what he's going to be getting from his from his mother.

He still clutched the paper, his tiny hands crinkling the edges. He was half tempted to rip it up into tiny pieces, throw it into the trash can, and be done with it. But if he were to come back without having it signed, or worse, not having it at all, he didn't want to think of the consequences. Walking down the hallway, tears beginning to slowly roll down his face, he knew he should put it in his backpack. In a folder, somewhere where it wouldn't be ruined, but he just couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off it. The very thing that would ruin his life, if it hadn't already.

Arthur's shoulders shook, a strange feeling flaring up between his shoulder blades as the walls began to close in on him. The colorful posters and models that lined them coming closer and closer. Arthur started to run, his shoes squeaking against the polished white tile. He didn't care if he was breaking one of the rules, that he might fall, that the hall monitors in the bright neon yellow vests were yelling for him to stop and walk. He had to get out.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks, blurring his vision. The soft pounding in his temples was a telltale sign that headache was coming. Arthur turned the corner, bumping into someone but quickly pushing past without saying a word. He couldn't understand the shout from behind him even if he wanted to.
He pushed himself towards the metal double doors, moving faster. Faster. Faster. When he reached them, he shoved them open with all his strength, causing them to open with a bang.

He stopped for just a second, breathing in the air, taking in that familiar smell. It was his home. Not of the one in America, but the one he had abandoned in England. It was the smell of rain.

Arthur didn't give the thought even a second longer, though, picking up his legs in a slow jog, then gaining speed. His shoes thumped down the concrete trail leading out of the school grounds, his backpack weighing down his shoulders and noisily bouncing up and down with each step.

The trees danced with the wind, branches swinging to and fro. Stray leaves on the ground flew, tumbling over and over. The flowers softly fluttered, colorful petals beckoning for just anyone to come near. Arthur could feel his hair being pushed up, but he ignored it all. His hair, the trees, the leaves, the flowers, everything. He kept on running, focused on getting as far from the school as he could. Everything passed by him in a blur.

Eventually, when the sharp burn in his lungs and the soft pricks of pain in his legs won over, the clomps on the ground quickly whittled down to easy, quiet steps. Arthur stopped, leaning to rest his hands against his knees as tried to catch his breath. The paper, now as wrinkled as a dress shirt fresh out of the dryer, hung limply down his calf.

He raised his head, staring at his destination. The park ahead of him was empty, to the point where a tumbleweed could've comically drifted by, the children who would've normally been there gone to avoid the rain. Arthur and his brothers occasionally came, the football field being up to their standards and usually filled with half-decent players.

A black metal bench sat next to a tall tree, and Arthur stepped up to it.
Sweeping off the dead leaves and everything else that often came with Autumn, Arthur sat in the middle, shivering at the cold, before laying his backpack to his left. He lifted the paper up, examining the crinkles with a scowl, and then pressed it against his thigh in attempt to smoothen it.

He glared at the paper. He certainly couldn't go home now. His mother, consumed with the shame she would feel of raising a child, only for them to get a-

Arthur shook his head, his brain rattling, trying to clear away the invasive thought. His mother would understand, right? She wouldn't just throw him out of the house, onto the streets, would she? his mother loved him, said so every day when he left the house for school and before bed, so surely she wouldn't disown him? And even if she did, his father and his brothers would defend and protect him, right? Even if they did mercilessly tease him.

Tears tracked down his cheeks, blurring his vision. Arthur clenched his hands into fists. No. She can't. But why wouldn't she? It's not like his mother didn't have four other sons, what was losing one? The youngest, no less? It's not as if they would-

"Hey, are you okay?"

Arthur snapped his head up, focusing on the interruption standing in front of him. He inwardly scolded himself. he hadn't even heard anyone walk up to him.
There, not even five feet ahead was Alfred F. Jones, who was kicking down the stand of the worn, rusty thing he affectionately called a bike. The very same Alfred F. Jones who was in his class, and was friends with the fools who could get rumors spreading. Especially if they were about Arthur.

He quickly rubbed the tears away from his eyes, trying to be as discreet as possible, wincing at the sting from doing it too harshly, but ignoring it all the same. He straightened his back and raised his chin. Anything to look confident and not as if he had just been five seconds away from bursting into relentless sobs. Arthur had a reputation to uphold, and he wouldn't let it be sullied by tears. No matter the situation.

Clearing his throat and tensing his shoulders, he narrowed his eyes, saying, "What do you want, Jones?" Arthur spat out the other boy's name as if it were the worst of insults.

He knew his mother would scold him if she heard him speaking in such a rude manner and make him apologize on the spot. But he didn't care. She wouldn't consider him her son soon enough, anyways. He sniffled at the thought.

Alfred's eyes widened, his mouth gaping just a tiny bit before snapping shut. He leaned back against his bike, pursing his lips and lowering his brow. His arms crossed, which only seemed to complete the image.

"Well," he started, the stupid twang that helped fuel many of Arthur's headaches following, "I was askin' if you were alright, since you seemed to not be, but I guess if you're just gonna be mean about it..." He trailed off, ending the last part with a pout as if Arthur were just some uncooperative friend he had to persuade.

The two watched each other, Arthur wishing the entire time that Alfred would just hop up on that rusty piece of junk of his and ride off, just so that he might have the chance to cry about his failure in peace. But the idiot just stood there, an insufferable grin eventually replacing the pout on that dumb face.

After what seemed to be like an hour- though he knew that it was barely even a minute, Arthur slid back down on the metal bench, letting his head hang. He didn't remember when he had stood. It could have been before or after their staring match. Maybe during.

He sighed, shoving his fingers through his hair, pushing through a tangle, before resting his hand on his knee. Even if Alfred told everyone in the grade, it wouldn't make a difference. Arthur shouldn't even bother caring anymore.
"My parents... they're- they're going to disown me." Heat rose in his cheeks at admitting it, and he wondered what Alfred would say in response to it.

A small silence blanketed the two, Arthur not bothering to look up to see the boy's expression. Alfred stood fully, moving to sit next to him. He kicked a rock, and when he spoke, his voice was- for probably the first time in Arthur had known him- soft and quiet. "Y'know Art, for bein' the smartest kid in the class, you sure are mighty stupid."

Arthur snapped his head up, pushing back against his backpack. His shoulders tensed up and up as if he were a wind-up toy. He pressed the paper against his chest, folding his pale arms to cover it.

"Wh-what's that supposed to mean," he shouted.

Alfred groaned, twisting himself to face Arthur. "You're parents can't just disown ya and kick ya out! That's why they have Child Protection Services or somethin' like that."

He looked towards Arthur's chest, a hint of mischief in his eyes as they narrowed. Alfred cocked his head to the side before- "What are ya even goin' on about, anyways..." He grabbed Arthur's wrist, moving it easily as he yelped in surprise. Alfred yanked the other arm back, snatching the paper, before quickly turning his back away, facing the tree. He snickered as Arthur's attempts to reclaim the paper were blocked.

"Give it back to me, you fool!" Arthur shouted repeatedly, twisting and folding his arms to get it back, only to fail at each and every try. After the fifth failure, he slumped back in defeat, tears welling in his eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time as he pondered his doom.

Being the stupid, foolish chatterbox that he was, Alfred could easily go back to school the next day and blab about the current incident. Then he would surely be ruined. Bloody Francis would be the smartest in the class, and all his classmates would chant at him during recess with their "innocent" malice how "Arthur Kirkland is a loser" and-

It was a clear image in his mind. Arthur could see exactly how it would play out. The teachers wouldn't even bother if someone were to beat him up. Maybe they would laugh and point. Gossip to each other about "Oh, do you know what that boy got as a grade?" And when they were being interrogated about his cuts and bruises, they would only feign ignorance. It was their word against his, after all.

And it would happen, he knew it would. All because one Alfred F. Jones couldn't keep to himself. All because Alfred couldn't just-

A choking sound interrupted his thoughts. Arthur froze, turning his hand to look at Alfred. The boy was gawking at him, a hand clamped over his mouth, a look pure of wonder reflecting from his eyes.

"Woah... you got a B? And the rest As?"

Arthur flinched, turning into his shoulder to shield his face. He hadn't said it aloud, and now that he was actually hearing it, he felt even worse. Alfred just had to rub it in. He probably- no, definitely- enjoyed it, too.
"I-"
"Wow... you're really smart, aren'tcha?"

He scrunched his face up a tiny bit, blinking in confusion. First, he was being called stupid, and now smart? And why was Alfred complimenting him? Was he keeping his marbles together, or had one slipped away? A B was a B. It wasn't an A, which was the ideal grade, not at all.

"I mean, you're doin' much better than I am. And that's for the entire year!"
Alfred stood, stepping over to his bike to pick up a Captain America themed backpack on the ground. He lifted it, setting it on the bench, and unzipped the zipper quickly. Arthur watched as he dug through the backpack, pulling out folders and notebooks with unfamiliar symbols and characters on them. He only knew that it was Captain America sewn onto the back from Alfred boasting about it a couple weeks before.

Eventually, Alfred reached the desired folder, Arthur taking note of the red and orange robot on the cover as he pulled it out. Opening it, he took out a white paper, nearly identical to Arthur's save for the words printed and the smoothness of it.

Alfred held it out, Arthur snatching it from his hands and scanning it. He surprised himself by how eager he was to see how Alfred might have done better than him. But Arthur was shocked to see a mixture of As and Bs and even a couple of-

Arthur pushed the paper from his face. he looked at Alfred, lifting an eyebrow. The boy was unsuspecting, grinning at Arthur with unbarred pride.

"You're in an AP class, yet you have a C?"

Alfred's grin dropped, his face slowly scrunching up in confusion. He took the paper back from Arthur, flipping it towards him, leaning in as he read. Then, a bright smile burst and he flung his arms up to the sky in victory.

"Yes!" he yelled to the clouds. He let out a whoop and slowly stepped back a few steps before stopping. "I got a C in English!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, watching intently as Alfred celebrated. He was in this predicament for a B. If he had earned a C, he didn't dare think about what he would do. But here Alfred was, yelling and jumping around like a fool, a smile on his face nonetheless. How could he possibly be proud of himself?

The arms raised into the air had frozen, staying up where the were a few seconds before finally falling. The cries of joy had ceased, and Arthur wondered what was wrong. What he had done wrong.

Alfred slowly turned back towards him, a faint rosy blush on his cheeks.
"Well, ya see, I'm no good at English. Math n' science are more of my things. So my mom said that if I passed, I could join the baseball team for the year. And I passed it!" He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, making an uneasy, yet happy smile.

The blood started to rush away from Arthur's cheeks. He flattened his lips, covering his mouth so he won't say or do anything else stupid. Had he actually said that aloud? To Alfred's face? He couldn't believe himself. Sure, the boy annoyed him at times, was loud and obnoxious with his friends, and overall gave Arthur a headache almost every day, but that didn't mean he had to mortify him.

Alfred laughed, a softer one than Arthur was used to, which eased his nerves a little. "Anyways, so ya see, Arthur, people are at what they're good at, and not at what they're not. A B doesn't mean anythin' about ya, and I would tell you the same if you got a U." Arthur shivered at the last part.

While Alfred's words were most likely said to be comforting, it only helped in making Arthur tense, which seemed to be the most common thing for him today. Why couldn't Alfred just realize that sure, it was okay for him to get grades like that, but not Arthur? His parents and his teacher counted on him, they had told him that, and that's exactly what he told Alfred.

But the boy just wouldn't listen. Having put away his report card and returning Arthur's, Alfred set his hands to his hips, cocking them to the side, and raised an eyebrow with a skeptical expression on his face.

"They're countin' on ya? That's a pile of bologna if I've ever seen one. Arthur, ain't no one in this entire world countin' on ya to get straight As."

"Y-yes they are. In fact, my mother told me just this morning- yes, this morning, 'I do hope you get a good grade, dear. You're so smart.' She said it!"

"Just because she told ya to get good grades doesn't mean that ya need to work yourself to death. Or that she's going to disown you if ya don't. A B is good too, ya know."

"But it's not good enough for her. Not good enough for me. Plus, how would you know-"

A very wet, very real plock interrupted his sentence. A speck of water hit his nose, deforming into a tiny stream to run down. He looked up, Alfred following his gaze.

The clouds that were white and fluffy earlier were now dark and angry swirls. A heaviness cast over everything, the park, the streets running alongside it, even the two boys. Rumbling thunder sounded in the distance, like an army marching in for battle. A strong, yet gentle wind flew, the nearby swing set softly squeaking as it was pushed back and forth.

Alfred sighed in defeat, lifting his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He kicked up the stop on his bike, setting his hands the guarded bars. He looked at Arthur expectantly, but the boy just stayed seated, still staring at the sky.
"Arthur."

He slowly lowered his head and turned towards Alfred.

"Just go home. Stayin' out here you'll only get drenched.

Arthur shook his head, returning his gaze to the clouds. "I told you I can't. Once she sees it, she'll just send me out."

"Why can't you get it through that thick skull of yours-" Alfred groaned, rotating around in a circle. Huffing out air, he put two fingers to the bridge of his nose, something Arthur had only seen adults do. "Just- look- if she does kick you out, which I doubt, then you can live with me. Promise. Can we just get out of here? It's gonna start rainin', and I don't wanna get wet."

Arthur nodded, standing. he grabbed his green backpack and starting walking. Alfred quickly caught up, and the two walked to Arthur's house, Alfred wheeling his bike along the way with them. He didn't even have it in him to comment on the annoying squeaking.

When they had finally reached a familiar- well, at least to Arthur- mint green house with a white fence and beautiful flowers lining the hard concrete sidewalk, the sky had long since stood down and poured buckets after buckets. The two were, as Alfred had worried, soaked to the bone. Even when they had practically run as fast as the could the last several hundred feet.

Arthur's mother blanched at the sight of the two boys, their clothes dripping with water, and refused to let Alfred leave back into the rain, no matter how much he had protested. He stayed anyways, having been promised dinner and a phone call to his mother.

The time eventually came for Arthur to show his family his report card. His hands trembled as he offered it, shoulders tense and ready to flee. And while he had expected lots of yelling, looks of disappointment and disgust, what had come instead were supportive smiles and congratulations. Even a few scowls of jealousy. Alfred didn't even need to say it, the "I told you so" hanging in the air between them.

If he were to be honest, Arthur didn't know if Alfred was suddenly his friend, or if this could all reset come the next day. Though, as Alfred looked at him, smile on his face after a particularly amusing conversation, he sincerely hoped that it wasn't the latter.

While this was supposed to be a small and fun thing for me to do when I got bored, "It's Okay" turned out to be the longest fic I've written. Which I am quite pleased about.

Thank you for reading this, I sincerely hope you enjoyed. If you see any characters in here that may be OOC, please tell me. I believe I've characterized them well, but you never know. Also, I tried to put a bit more thoughts and stuff in here. Is it good, and should I continue? Or did I break the flow by doing it?

Once again, thank you for reading this, I hope you have a fantastic morning, day, and evening!