It was something Alfred wanted to do on a whim, really. It was a totally random decision. Well...ok, maybe not exactly random. Maybe Alfred was missing someone who he was too nervous to call. Maybe the glaring light from his phone and the pictures he'd taken years ago were just making him emotional. God, he missed that smile. And that face. And that laugh. It made him lonely and before he knew it, he had gone on a vicious search through his apartment for a flimsy photograph that he probably misplaced a long time ago. Or did he?
Regardless of what made Alfred want to revisit his childhood home, it had happened and he was determined to get there. So determined in fact, that he called in sick to work with plans on using his vacation days just for this escapade. One flat tire, an hour-long walk, and three bus tickets later, Alfred made it. Or at least what was left.
Of course, things looked worse than they used to. Eight years could do that to a place. What used to be the picturesque clipped lawn was now overgrown and shaggy with weeds. The paint on the stereotypical white picket fence was nonexistent, replaced by the bared skin of old rotting wood. The usual ivy-covered gate was bare too, the plants long dead. The silver hinges had even rusted beyond repair. As Alfred gently undid the latch, the entire frame collapsed. The clang against the damaged concrete sent a shudder down Alfred's spine. He breathed slowly to convince himself he wasn't frightened of what would lay ahead. He needed to do this. But he was scared. He would always be scared. With a deep breath, Alfred stepped over the broken bits of the gate into what remained of the garden. The rust crunched feebly against his sneakers.
The flowers his mother had so lovingly planted had long withered. Daffodils, buttercups, narcissus, and morning glories, they were all reduced to nothing. All that remained were the weeds that had no doubt strangled out the beauty of the flowers. His mother would have been so disappointed by the disarray of things had she been here. Alfred remembered how she used to whisper her love to each plant before gently patting down stray roots. In reverie, he leaned down to their dried corpses and listened, hoping to hear a trace of her. Nothing. They too had forgotten her voice.
"Alfred Jones? Is that you?" a distant voice asked.
Alfred quickly stood up, the voice registering in some distant part of his memory. It terrified him how much he needed to hear it and how fast it made his heart race.
"Art?" He turned around and half expected it to be a figment of his imagination. Sure enough though, there Arthur was in all his messy-haired glory, hopping over the fence and closing the distance between them.
"Who else?" Arthur said. And he smiled at Alfred like it was easy. And maybe it had been easy. "I hope you weren't expecting anything different after all these years."
"I wasn't expecting anything actually," Alfred said. He lied. Even though he hadn't called, sent a text, hell, even emailed in years, there was still a small voice in the back of his head that asked about Arthur. And now here he was, breathing the same air and talking faster than Alfred could think of things to say. They promised to meet again and start a relationship once they "had everything together" and finished graduate school, but then they didn't. No big deal. It wasn't like he stayed up all night waiting and hoping that maybe Arthur would send him a message out of the blue at some late ass time. It wasn't like he laid awake at night wondering what Arthur was doing and if he was happy. That would be clingy. Besides, all the high school sweethearts he knew had broken up years ago and he was just as okay with it as they were. Wasn't he?
Arthur brought him out of his introspection with a start. "Really? With your ego, I would have thought you'd be expecting a parade on your first day home. College has humbled you."
"And college made you an even bigger ass than before, Art." He meant to be snarky like they used to be but instead it just made him smile. He couldn't really help it, being around Art kind of just did that to a person. And it made him feel like home. "Not that I expected you to be any different," Alfred said. "How'd you know I was even coming home?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Because you're the only one who would ever try to open a gate rusted to hell. And you're the only person I know who tweets his every move like some fucking autobiography."
"You follow my Twitter?" Alfred asked. If he had known that, he would have made more of an attempt to post normal things. Like pictures of food. Or whatever it is that didn't make him sound sad and alone.
"Hardly," Arthur laughed. "I just happened to see your latest one about visiting and I was in the neighborhood-anyway, now that I'm here, what are you doing back? I thought you swore off this place for life," Arthur said.
"I did," Alfred started, "and I don't plan on coming back, but…"
"But?"
Alfred looked to the cracked cement. How was he supposed to explain this to Arthur? How could he tell him that he still thought about how nice his hair looked in the sunlight? How could he tell him that he thought about all the flirtatious insults they threw at each other? How could he tell him that he still reread their text messages when he was having a bad day? God, Alfred still loved him. Hell, he couldn't even change his Facebook status from 'it's complicated' to 'single'. Not that he could stand being "single" anyways. His mornings were half-empty and any attempts at making things more lively just ended with him thinking about Arthur and his life and how perfect it must be without him if he wouldn't even call. Maybe Arthur just forgot. Maybe he didn't-
"But what, Alfred?" Arthur asked again.
Alfred flushed, trying to think of an excuse. "I dunno. I guess I was just homesick." Technically not a lie. "I was gonna look for a picture, I left it when I moved out and never came back for it." Sort of the truth.
Arthur quirked his brow and said, "Is that so? Alfred, I swear to God if it's some Pokemon card that you left and we're crushed by rubble I'm going to-".
"What? No! It's actually important."
Arthur seemed pleased by his response. "Well. No time like the present. Care to journey in first?"
"You're staying?" Alfred felt his throat tighten.
"Why wouldn't I?" he said. "Besides, I would never forgive myself if you were splattered by a crumbling pillar."
"Aw, that's cute," Alfred said. "I'm almost touched."
Arthur laughed. "Altruism is my middle name after all."
"What happened to grumpy Art who hated waking up before lunch?"
"I guess I grew up," Arthur said, already stepping inside the house.
Hopefully not grown up enough to outgrow Alfred, or so Alfred hoped.
Alfred took longer to follow than he should have, not because he was having second thoughts about the whole thing. And definitely not because a tiny voice in the back of his head was screaming that the house could be haunted.
God was it damp. Luckily, things inside seemed unscathed save for a heavy layer of dust. The zigzag floorboards creaked disapprovingly as they ventured another foot further. Alfred pulled Arthur back by the collar of his shirt and told him to "hold on". He fumbled with his phone for a few moments, eventually turning on the flashlight. "Can't have you falling under floorboards," Alfred winked. Arthur rolled his eyes and lightly shoved him toward the center of the room.
"You wish."
The minute Arthur said it, a disapproving groan came from the house. Alfred thought it sounded like the growl of a monster, almost making him feel like he was in the jaws of some terrible sleeping beast.
"Why did you stay away again?" Arthur said, sounding less courageous in the dim light.
"We had water damage…"
And then the floor collapsed.
Luckily enough, they were left unscathed in the depths of Alfred's house. They were surrounded in rubble and debris, but still unscathed. That didn't stop the shaking.
"Are you alright?" Alfred asked. He didn't know what else to say.
"Yea, I'm fine. As fine as I can be falling a few fucking feet," Arthur said. He sounded grumpy. Good. He could do grumpy Arthur.
"I think I dropped my phone," Alfred said hesitantly.
"Well that's just fucking peachy isn't it?"
"I can go look for-"
"No, it's fine, I have mine. I think." A bright flash a little while later confirmed it. "Fuck, it's close to dying."
Now that they were closer and had a light, Alfred could see how much Arthur hadn't changed. He still had that small scar over his eye from the time they both tried surfing. His hair still looked like a bird's nest and his eyes were still bright and gentle, even now. Alfred wasn't sure why, but he leaned in just a tad and before he could tell himself to stop, he kissed Arthur. And Arthur kissed back.
When Alfred pulled away, Arthur said: "Why?".
"I...I don't know," Alfred said. "I guess it all depends on what you're asking about."
"I didn't know what to say when I saw you today," Arthur admitted. "I didn't know if I should, or if it was even worth bringing up us."
"I actually thought you forgot about me," Alfred said. Arthur laughed at him, though it sounded broken and dry.
"Forget? You've plagued me for twelve years and you'd think I'd just forget? Alfred. You meant everything to me," he said.
"Why didn't you call? I was always there."
"Why didn't you call? Weren't you lonely?" He had been. Terribly.
"...I don't know. I guess I was afraid you changed."
"And give up on your annoying ass? Never." Arthur gave Alfred a tight hug, almost like he was trying to prove what he said was true. It stole the breath he was holding and made him feel safe. It made him feel alive.
"You just had to ask, silly. I was always waiting. Even if I told myself I wasn't, deep down I knew I was," Arthur said.
"But do you really want to wait with me at the bottom of this stinky house until we die?" Alfred teased.
"Only if it's with you," Arthur said.
"I mean really, we need to get out," Alfred said, this time in a more serious tone.
"Well whatever we do, we need to do it soon. My cell is going to die," he said. Sure enough, it was at one percent.
Suddenly, Alfred had an idea. He squirmed out of Arthur's bone-crushing hug and asked for Arthur's phone. He typed in a number and handed the phone back.
"What are you doing?" Arthur asked.
"Just call this number," he said.
As he did, a distant gaudy ringtone sounded in the distance followed by a few flashes. Alfred ran towards it and secured his phone just as Arthur's died.
"You know, if that hadn't worked, we could have been stuck down here indefinitely all because you wanted to give me your number," Arthur said.
"But my plans always work," Alfred said with a grin.
"Even this one?"
"Yes, even this one."
It took an embarrassing phone call, three rope ladders, and four officers to pull them from the gaping hole. Definitely a day for the scrapbook in Alfred's mind.
"What were you even looking for?" Arthur asked once they were in the safety of Arthur's car. He was thankful for the warmth and that what they said in the depths of the floorboards wasn't meaningless.
"A picture of us on our first date. I think my mom took it before we left for the movie." The thought of it brought back the nostalgia of awkward hand-holding and messy kisses. Ah, young romance.
Arthur sighed, and it was still the same lovingly exasperated sigh. "Al, I took that picture. And it was with my cell, not a camera."
"Oh god please send that to me, I miss seeing your adorable little tween punk phase."
Arthur groaned. "I thought we weren't going to talk about that anymore!" he said, trying not to laugh at the memory. Alfred happened to have a rather interesting choice in clothes back in the day. Arthur called it a "bat lost in a highlighter store". There was even a few pictures of them at prom and then pictures of them ditching prom to build sandcastles at ten at night. They ended up looking through entire photo albums, teasing each other over little things until it felt just like before.
"Hey, I'm glad you were there," Alfred said.
"Me too, you wouldn't have survived a minute without me."
"I honestly don't know how I did."
And they wouldn't have to survive another lonely minute ever again.