Author's Note: I haven't written fic in years, so I'm not exactly sure what I'm expecting out of this. Point to be taken: America is just so adorable that he encourages me to write fluff for him on his birthday. What a hero. Anyway, here goes!
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It had been a rather uneventful day for a birthday, regardless of the amount of activity that Alfred had been doing to keep himself entertained. He was vacationing at Arthur's house and everything smelled of his childhood, a nice touch of nostalgia in the air and an interesting place to spend his birthday. He'd gotten himself a healthy stack of burgers for lunch after waking up rather late (giving himself the freedom that morning to sleep in), and had spent quite a bit of his afternoon playing around outside with two of the neighborhood's dogs --a favorite activity of his. One of them reminded him an awful lot of Matthew, its shy silences but eagerness to participate; while the other had hints of Arthur; reluctant to listen to him when he wanted attention and much more amused by its own devices. Nonetheless it had been a nice, sunny and productive day, and Alfred was doing a good job of keeping himself distracted.
However, keeping himself distracted would have been entirely unnecessary if not for the looming worry that was stalking around in the back of his mind. Alfred wasn't one to let anyone forget his birthday; surely many of the other nations were all-too aware of today's date after enough overzealous reminders. And that was fine -- Alfred had gotten enough attention, presents and birthday wishes as he could ever have hoped for from the nations he considered his friends. He'd even received a package blossoming with more pasta than it could handle from a nation that he didn't necessarily consider a close friend, as well as a short and concise 'Happy Birthday' card from Ludwig; there was no doubt it had been a suggestion of Feliciano's to give it to him, though whether or not it was suggestion or force that compelled the gesture was up for debate.
No, today had been as good as any birthday, if but for one very unusual thing: Arthur had yet to acknowledge Alfred's birthday at all. Though the likelihood that Arthur had forgotten his birthday was incredibly slim, Alfred couldn't help but think that it was still an unfortunate possibility. He couldn't help that it hurt his feelings that the nation who'd raised him hadn't felt it appropriate to recognize his birthday, and there was a nagging suspicion in his mind that he had done something to upset him and that perhaps that was the meaning for the cold shoulder. So, on Alfred went to keeping himself extra busy on his birthday; extra distracted from the sinking feeling in his stomach that Arthur was intentionally forgetting the occasion. Truth be told, Alfred wanted to confront him about it, but was entirely unsure how to do so -- it seemed like such an easy thing to remember; it just could not be an accident.
Alfred sat, now, outside in a small backyard of Arthur's. The dogs he'd been playing with had already gone home, wherever their home might be, and had left him alone with his thoughts. He rubbed his wrists subconsciously, knees pulled up toward his chest. It was a lovely summer day, and though the sun beat down quite heavily on Alfred's back and made his forehead shimmer with sweat he refused to remove his thick leather jacket -- no, he was much too attached to it. That jacket shared every birthday with him, and he was not going to take it off just because it was mildly toasty outside. Besides, there was enough of a soft breeze to keep the heat from becoming too much to bear, and he ran a gloved hand through his hair and sighed. He tried to remember: what were his latest interactions with Arthur? What could he possibly have done?
He thought back to about a month ago; they'd gotten into another one of their arguments during a particularly important meeting of the allies, but it wasn't any more exaggerated than their usual arguments and it always ended amicably. They'd bump shoulders in the hallway afterward, both in front of a small breakfast buffet that was usually laid out to keep everyone awake during those meetings. Arthur would be refilling his cup of tea, while Alfred would be reaching over him to grab the little cream packets for his coffee without thinking twice about the rudeness of the gesture. Arthur would ignore it, having given up on attempting to correct the little things about Alfred's behavior and instead letting a rare smile curve over his lips. Then Alfred would apologize: a haphazardly placed mumble of, "Sorry about earlier," that could have gone completely unheard if not for Arthur expecting it. His smile would grow, but only for a second. He'd forgive him, apologize himself, and they'd go their separate directions.
Had he remembered to apologize after their last spat? Alfred wondered. Of course he had! There was never a time that he walked away and left animosity in the air; not intentionally, anyway. Alfred sighed and bowed his head, his fingers clasping together in the dark leather of his gloves. He couldn't put a finger on it at all. He couldn't locate any time, any fight, any harsh words or accidental blunders that would have put a rift between them (however small) that he wouldn't have remembered. He lifted his head again and watched the sky for a brief moment. It was gorgeous. The temperature was just right, the wind was smooth and the air smelled so clean -- and it was his birthday. There was no use moping. After all, Alfred wasn't one to spend too much time getting caught up in could-haves or should-haves; he didn't make a habit of worrying, and today was certainly not the day to do so. So, he picked himself up, brushed the grass off of the back of his legs and clapped his leather-clad hands together. If Arthur wasn't going to remember his birthday, well, then, so be it. Alfred would make him remember!
With a determined gait, Alfred began making his way up the small hill of grass and toward the main garden of Arthur's home. He would find the Englishman, hunt him down in his house, and demand for him to tell him what today's date was. Surely that would make some sort of lightbulb light up in his head. He would have to remember once the date was recited: "Why, it's July 4th," he would say. "Oh no! It's your birthday! I am so sorry that I forgot!" Yes, that is exactly what would happen. When Alfred made it to the steps he hopped quickly up them, skipping a few in his determination and pushing open the back door. He looked around, surveying his surroundings in case Arthur was somewhere close -- when he didn't see him, he moved further into the house and began his search.
Up and down hallways, through darkened corridors and behind each and every closed door, Alfred made a point of searching the large house. It seemed all of the rooms were empty; he was running out of places to search. This was certainly odd, he thought. Arthur is always somewhere in his house. It occurred to Alfred then that he hadn't seen the man all day. He'd gone and entertained himself since he'd woken up and hadn't ever run into Arthur in or outside of the house. It was when Alfred pushed the door open to Arthur's study and found even that room empty -- Arthur's favorite place to hide out and unwind -- that Alfred became concerned. Was Arthur even home? He wouldn't have left him alone here without telling him if he was leaving, would he? That haunting feeling that he must have done something wrong was creeping back up to him, slithering its way through his body and settling itself in his stomach, manifesting an unpleasant anxiety that Alfred had been so sure he'd gotten rid of. Where had he gone?...
As his worry began to engulf him once more, Alfred's search became more and more pointless and he lost his hope that the other man was even home. He sulked down the main hallway of the large home, stuffing his hands in his pockets and watching each step he took on the hardwood floors with his head held low and his eyes facing the floor. He looked up when he heard a soft sound coming from behind a door he'd passed -- a sound that was quickly hushed, then followed by precise footsteps. The banquet hall! Alfred stared at the door for a moment, surprised that he had completely forgotten to check the banquet hall in all of his worry. Though it was an unusual place to find someone hiding out, it didn't seem so unusual when the rest of the home was completely empty. Alfred took a few steps forward and pressed an ear against the door: more footsteps, but there were no other sounds. He tried the doorknob, then, letting himself into the quite massive room and looking around.
Much to Alfred's dismay, the room was empty. Empty all but for a large cake that sat unattended in the center of the long table, a small, wrapped box beside it and two unlit candles. Now, there was no way that these things had come out of nowhere, and Alfred took a few more steps toward the table to get a closer look. He was sure he'd heard footsteps --
Just as he'd nearly completed his thought, he felt the familiar feel of warm arms wrapping themselves around his middle and squeezing. A familiar scent filled his nose when a face nestled itself just below his left ear and the soft press of lips against his sensitive neck made Alfred shiver. "Arthur," he breathed, realization hitting him all-too quickly. "Mmn."
Arthur smiled behind his back, not letting him go just yet and giving him one more gentle squeeze. "Happy birthday, Alfred. You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"
Alfred didn't have the heart to answer that question -- part of him was annoyed, displeased with how terrified he'd felt and how much anxiety had wrought hell upon his body in the time he'd spent wondering what he'd done wrong and why Arthur was gone. But it was so outweighed by the flutter in his stomach now, the draw of Arthur's warm body pulling Alfred to lean back into him and lay his own hands over Arthur's and squeeze. "Of course I didn't think you'd forget," he managed, giving one last look to the cake and present in front of him before closing his eyes to relax himself into the moment. "Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence."
Pulling back from Alfred's body, Arthur rounded him and smiled, planting a soft kiss on his jaw that was followed by a light nibble. "Well, aren't you going to open your present? You always wanted to get to your presents first." Arthur asked, gesturing with one hand to the box on the table sitting so nicely in front of what looked to be a quite delicious chocolate cake.
"Y-Yeah, yeah..." Alfred replied, taking a step toward the table. He picked up the box and smiled; he'd never known so much relief, so much appreciation, and so much worry all in one day. It was incredibly exhausting. He tossed the box lightly between both hands and turned to look at Arthur, who was watching his face, waiting for him to open it, looking uncharacteristically eager. Alfred leaned down and kissed his forehead, a large grin forming on his face. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
That was the first time Alfred managed to wait patiently to open his birthday gift -- after all, he had a perfectly good present standing right in front of him to unwrap in the bedroom.
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End.