He sat, a cup of tea warming his palm. "We need to talk," he had said quietly, crossing his legs at the calf. He watched Alfred come out from the bedroom to sit beside him upon their couch.

"Yeah?.. What's up, Artie?" he said with a faint smile, which Arthur saw through immediately. He was scared, wasn't he? Of course. Arthur was scared too.

"Are we okay?" Arthur asked, catching a glimpse of Alfred's faltering expression as he looked over his cup.

"What? Hahah.." Alfred mumbled.

"You know what I'm talking about." He put his cup down, and rested his hands on his legs. "How we fight. And how we yell."

"It's healthy, right," Alfred uttered sarcastically. "Mm.. To be honest, it really hurts, Arthur."

"As much as I want to stop, I cannot," Arthur murmured. "My temper is near uncontrollable."

"Can I just ask that if you're gonna start yelling, you leave the room?" Alfred asked, clearly apprehensive of speaking his mind. "You scare me, y'know."

"Because you can't handle an argument?" he grunted, narrowing his eyes. "Please, you're such a child."

"That's another thing I hate," Alfred whimpered. "You're always condescending and you don't treat me as your equal. You think I'm just a helpless little kid, don't you!"

"I have to," Arthur snapped, accidentally raising his voice. "You're only nineteen, Alfred."

"Oh, what a big deal!" Alfred huffed, throwing his hands up in irritation. "You're only four years older than me!"

"Four years is plenty!" Arthur growled.

Alfred grit his teeth. "It's nothing! You just use my age as an excuse to act all high and mighty all the time!" He paused, only to take a breath. "We're toxic, Arthur, don't you get it?!"

"We aren't!" Arthur spat, although he knew his words were lies.

He and Alfred were poison, if anything. Alfred's infectious happiness wormed its way into Arthur's head, turned to venom, and shot right back at him. They were dysfunctional, hiding insecurities and faults behind smiles and kisses. There was still the heavy feeling of love in both of their hearts, despite the hardships and flaws. The two of them grew silent after that, and Alfred got to his feet.

"I'm going out," Alfred said quietly, shrugging on his bomber jacket from the couch.

"Where could you possibly be going?" Arthur grunted, narrowing his eyes at the American. "It's almost ten in the evening."

"Out," Alfred huffed, trying to keep his voice from cracking as it kept threatening to do.

"It's snowing!" Arthur continued to argue.

"I'm going out, okay?!" barked Alfred, practically running to the door. As he left, Arthur pelted his teacup at the door, watching it shatter and spill.

Alfred hiccupped and cried as he stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping on multiple occasions. Arthur was right. Of course he was. He always was. Arthur was right; he was just a dumb American with a hero complex and a plastered smile. He was too happy all the time, he was too immature. He was imperfect, flawed from head to toe. There was nothing to like about him, was there? Arthur was right.

He pushed open the door to the street, running out of the apartment building and bolting down the dark street. He had no destination or objective, all he knew was that he wanted to get away. As Alfred's stamina faded, he found himself tripping and crashing down a frosted alley, skidding to a halt only as he hit the wall. Slowly, he sat up, and hugged his knees to his chest. He was freezing, yet the coldest part of his body had to have been his breaking heart. Alfred sat there, shivering, feeling the salty tears start to freeze up on his cheeks.

After perhaps half an hour, Arthur finally pulled himself out of his angsted stupor and began to fret about Alfred. It was cold enough in their heated apartment, and the streets were surely even chillier. He pulled his peacoat over his shoulders, and pathetically headed down the stairs. The footprints in the snow dusted street were covered or stomped over, although a set of heavy trails caught Arthur's eye.

He followed them, shivering from the cold air nipping at his exposed cheeks. The tracks eventually turned to skids, and Arthur was jogging after them at this point. At the end of the trail, he found him. Sitting there, shivering and shuddering, sat Alfred, hugging his knees and still letting out weak sobs.

"Alfred!" Arthur whimpered, crouching beside him and putting his hands on the man's shoulders. "Alfred, are you alright?"

Alfred looked up, thoughts only oh, it's you. "No," he whimpered. "I'm fucking cold." Not even pausing to think about it, Arthur shed his coat and put it around Alfred's shoulders. "I'm sorry for the things I said, Alfred. I didn't mean it, I-"

"It's 'kay," Alfred gave a shaky smile. "I'm used to it."

Arthur flinched at the comment, but decided to reflect over what a horrible person he was later. "Come on, Alfred," he murmured softly. "I'll put the kettle on, we can have some tea and warm up." He hummed nervously, and helped the American to his feet. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah.." Alfred trailed off, clinging to his boyfriend and trembling. He didn't forgive or believe Arthur, but he may as well say so to stop their relationship from shattering like thin ice underfoot. "I love you, Arthur."

"Mm," Arthur started to walk, Alfred in tow. "I love you too."

whoa boy angsty usuk :')