A/N: Tentaively titled "Just a novella" bc I literally named this as I went along writing. I'm inherently lazy. I'll call this the "I'm my brother's ghostwriter because I want to be and I'm cool with it until one of my books gets a movie adaptation and it turns out that my celebrity crush gets to play as the main character and holy shit I could meet them until I find out that I'm not technically involved with the book so I'm not allowed to meet them and I'm crying" AU.
tbh I'm not used to this kind of writing, in like, ever, so I have no idea if I'll ever bother writing a second part (a.k.a. the legit closure) but we'll see. Also I think my sister said I went too far with this au for reasons I'm embarrassed to say bc I'm easily pushed around by family critics.
Warnings for Alfred's broken heart and prolly Matthew's imminent death at the hands of his crazy twin.
Starring
Alfred as the ghost writer
Matthew as the poor guy that pushed into a lot of stuff he doesn't deserve and
Arthur as mr. perfect
"Hi, I'm Catherine. My friends call me Erin. Big fan."
Alfred smiles at the sight of yet another one, shaking hands eagerly and handing her book to be signed.
"I like your new book, squealed when it got the first place in my local bookstore's best sellers but Swan's Song will always have a special place in my heart." She says, as her name is being written in sharp cursive. Alfred's ears perk up at his fan's comment, wanted to ask for more about it but their time together is limited. He had to take care of a couple more before they can call the book signing over.
Not that Alfred minds, really. Who doesn't like fans?
"It was the first book from yours that I read, see? And it really changed me as a kid back then so after that I went after the rest of yours," she started ranting, Alfred turning his ears to the side to better hear her, heart beating fast and mind afloat in joy. He loves it when people show their love for his work. He's also quite proud of how Swan's song ended up. It's one of the first books he got published that won tons of awards.
"And now here we are!" She breathes out, nervously, lips pulled into a tight grin. Cannot place the happiness in seeing and being able to talk to her favourite author, in the flesh, it seems.
She gets a delighted nod of the head and a thank you for her continued support, at which she nods at enthusiastically, holding the signed book close to her chest-to her heart-as she does so.
"I always will!" She says, before Alfred had to raise his hand, calling for her attention from the booth, to say, "Time's up!" Smiling.
She nods and waves at the booth and finally leaves for good. Another one was quick to replace her once Alfred gives the sign that it's alright to approach now. They've got two minutes tops before they got to move.
Matthew was good with people, that's all Alfred's got to say. He can easily make small conversations, make them talk about Alfred's books and reply just as well like he was the one who actually wrote them and went through Alfred's struggles as a writer.
Oh yeah, had he mentioned that before?
He's ghost-writing for his brother Matthew Williams; going under the pseudonym John Foster, a name Alfred came up for himself when he started writing.
It wasn't like he hates his job. In fact, he likes it. He loves it.
The privacy, that is.
It took a while before he got his brother to play along: to submit the manuscripts himself to big-ass publishers and get them published for real and claim the copyrights for himself because Alfred trusts Matthew with a bunch of things and that Matthew is more likeable than him, anyway.
Looking at it now, Alfred smiling when another fan yet again talks about his books, more than happy to engage with his brother about some of them and asking something about certain characters, Alfred can say that he was right.
This is a perfect set-up.
When Matthew was done dealing with the last fan, bidding them a farewell and a safe trip home, Alfred signals for the rest of the staff, calling it a day. Matthew sighs in relief, slouching into his seat once the last fan leaves through the door and out of sight. It had been a busy day, people entering the bookstore more frequently than they usually do for the book-signing event and to get a glimpse of a celebrity.
Alfred smiles, giving his brother a gentle smack to the back for the job well-done. Matthew smiles at him in return, happily accepting the cold bottle of water he was handed with, the one on his table had long gone warm.
He chuckles when Alfred handed him a dry towel to wipe the sweat on his forehead. It had been warm, despite the AC in the building.
"Thanks, Mom." He says. Alfred grins.
"Anything for Mr Foster." Matthew's face reddens, still uncomfortable with taking credit that wasn't meant for him. Alfred bites the inside of his cheek, feeling somewhat guilty for the weight he put on his brother and gives him a gentle pat to the back for it.
"Your brother is gonna make the interns lose their jobs, you know," Sam says, as he slowly approaches the two. He looks more amused than annoyed, eyeing the busy interns as they clean up the mess they made in the bookstore, now that the event is over.
"They're interns, not my Mom," Matthew replies, biting the side of his cheek, trying not to laugh when Alfred smacks him upside the head. "They're supposed to be keeping the line in check and the schedule followed to a tee." Alfred adds.
Sam blinks, "Wow, you guys sure do that 'finishing each other's sentences' a lot, huh?" He whistles lowly. The twins will never cease to amaze him, is what he always says.
"Aren't you busy with your family farm back at home?" He turns to Alfred.
"Nah, it can survive for a day without me in it, I think."
"Hm, fair enough, I guess." Sam shrugs, pulling out a small notepad from his back pocket as he does so. He flips it open, the pages worn out from all the flipping and writing he does on it.
"Let's see," he mumbles, "Oh right!" he exclaims his eyes skim through a page, reading his messy notes before he finally turns to look at Matthew.
"Forget me not," he starts, "gets a movie adaptation!" Alfred jumps, eyes wide.
"What? Really! Holy shit!" He exclaims, feeling his entire body shake, his blood boiling. He never had a movie adaptation before.
Matthew throws a quick glance at Alfred, stiffening when Alfred suddenly grabs his shoulders and started shaking him. "Hear that, Matt? We're getting a movie!"
"O-oh, yeah!" He says, wide-eyed but for a different reason.
Alfred gets a strange look from Sam. "You're one hell of a supportive brother, aren't you?"
"Are you kidding? Forget me not was the best thing Matt has ever written, man! Who wouldn't be happy for that?" The best thing he ever wrote, more like. Then "Wait," Alfred says, excitement running through his veins. "Who's going to play as Joseph?"
"Yeah, I was about to get there," Sam says. He nods to the twins before showing them his notes, a finger pointing at the messy scribble in the lowermost right corner of the pad, his handwriting smaller and messier. It says,
"Arthur Kirkland."
"Holy-fucking-crap." Alfred breathes out.
Arthur Kirkland. British, sexy as hell and his favourite actor. Also british. And cute.
His celebrity crush will be playing as the character that Alfred designed based on said crush.
It's a dream come true.
He grabs for his brother's shoulders again, shaking him harder than last time, "Ow, goddamnit, Alfred, it hurts!"
"Don't slap me in case I wake up from a dream! I think I'm gonna die!" He screams at his brother's face, at which he gets slapped for, the force harder than Alfred had expected and crumples to the ground, leaving him into a sobbing mess on the floor. They're sobs of joy.
He's gonna meet Arthur Kirkland.
"What do you mean I can't meet Arthur Kirkland?" He exclaims voice hoarser than he had expected but too angry to care.
It just wasn't fair that the guy who doesn't give a shit for Arthur will get to shake hands and talk to him when Alfred-who owned every poster and bought every magazine he was featured in-can't.
Matthew-the dickbag-had the gall to sigh and look sympathetic. "I'm really sorry but Sam said that the crew is really careful about having leaks."
"Why the fuck would I do something so stupid?" He's a writer for god's sake. Who doesn't know about that any better than him?
"I know, I know," Alfred opens his mouth, about to ask, "then why won't they let me?" but Matthew was quick to interrupt, "I'm the writer here, remember?" He begins, looking away as he sighs tiredly, a hand absently running through his long hair. "You're just my brother that I let tag along because you're my," he raises his hands, making quotation marks with his fingers in the air, "number one fan."
Alfred blinks and Matthew looks at him humourlessly. He deadpans to Alfred, "Who thought making your twin 'take the spotlight' was a good idea again?"
"Fuck!"
"Thought so."
Today's the big day.
Matt is officially invited into the best thing ever and the funny thing is that he doesn't even deserve the credit to get him there. Alfred does.
Then again, remembering Matt's words that night before, he deserved it for being a dick.
In Alfred's defense, anyone other than Matt wouldn't mind getting pushed into the spot light to be admired and amazed at by people every time Alfred publishes something that ends up being a top bestseller.
He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.
He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He nH
He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He nH He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He nH He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He nH He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He nH He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He nH He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He nH He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He nH
Now that the thought returned to his mind he couldn't stop thinking about it anymore.
He felt himself in the brink of crying, tears prickling the backs of his eyes, his jaw tightening as he takes a crude bite at the handful of popcorn he pops into his mouth, accidentally nipping at the tips of his fingers. Must've bitten a knuckle. Must've hurt. Who cares, he's not meeting Arthur Kirkland.
What's the point of life, really. He thinks bitterly. He lifts his head towards the ceiling and blinks. Kind of surprised that tears actually leaked out, even though it was just a little bit.
He hears Arthur-currently playing as a fictional character-say something that he knows by heart. He loved this movie. His favourite of Arthur's so far, in his years as a demented fan.
He looks just in time Arthur presses two fingers on his ears, listening in on a phone call of his current target.
Alfred's eyes light up along the metaphorical light bulb on the side of his head-dings and all.
He silently pulls out his phone, sliding and tapping until he comes across Matt's contact and presses call. He pauses the movie and presses the phone speaker to his ear.
He listens.
For a few seconds, he hears Matt's phone ring, but that's fine, he's not worried because waiting for a bit more his work isn't in vain when it suddenly picks up and he hears no annoyed voice of his brother being exasperated and tired of his "whining".
Instead, he hears muffled noises. As usual, Matt's phone is in his pocket and set to silent mode, meaning he accidentally pressed the answer button.
The universe is still aligned for Alfred to meet his crush after all.
He increases his phone's audio to maximum, sets it to loudspeaker and presses it harder to his ear, to better hear if Matt has already made contact, the dick.
It takes him a while to adjust to the noises, hears a ton of shouts of mumblings and "cuts!" until he hears a couple more of shuffling of fabric that he assumes was from Matt moving again and he hopes quietly that it wouldn't accidentally make Matt's phone to end the call.
He feels his entire being go completely still when he makes out the muffled yet recognisable accent.
Like, he'll be the last person on earth to not know when it's Arthur Kirkland speaking on the other end of the line-muffled or not.
For some strange reason, Matt speaks louder than he thought he was capable of, making everything they say very comprehensible so he thinks whatever the fuck he may do to Matt later is logical and totally not based on something that has no context at all.
"—big fan! I was hoping you aren't free tonight, I want to talk to you about some of your best works over dinner."
That's a fucking date right? And after he waits with bated breath, blood cold and boiling hot at the same time from nerves and jealousy he hears his brother shuffle again before saying a meek yes.
Then again, it's Matt, for god's sake. Maybe he's just being a demented fanboy, like the usual. It's Matt, his logical side of the brain says again, trying its hardest to just not drive all the way to the venue and punch the living daylights out of his brother.
Calm the fuck down, he says to himself. He listens, closing his eyes and breathing in and out slowly, if not shaking.
Then he fucking cracks when he hears Arthur's voice, amused as he laughs-and goddamn if that aint't the nicest sound he had ever heard because for once it wasn't from acting.
"It's a date."
Yep, Matt's dead.
E/N: Some important notes:
Alfred's pseudonym is J. Foster and anyone not UK, Canada, or US mentioned in this fic are OCs.
May or may not get a sequel. Depends on the popular demand, really.He nH