Alfred sat at home, absentmindedly humming Charles Brown's Please Come Home For Christmas. Arthur's cat, Marmalade. sat in his lap, mewling mournfully as Alfred stroked his back. His other cat, Hero, was hiding in a suitcase under the bed, avoiding the tension in the air.
With his free hand, he picked at the oversized sweater Arthur made for him seven Christmases ago, their first Christmas as a couple. It was a blazing shade of red, one that burnt your eyes if you looked at it too long, and Arthur had stitched 'Merry Christmas. Now stop touching my eyebrows you git' framed by holly garland on the chest. Alfred complained to no end, but both he and Arthur knew that he secretly loved the sweater. After all, it was warm and roomy and soft and made with love.
The room was still. Silent. The only sound was the occasion cry from Marmalade.
"I know, I know, I miss him too," Alfred said softly, sadly, after a particularly loud cry from his lap. He continued stroking the cat, ignoring how his vision was beginning to blur.
He tried to keep himself in the present, concentrated on reality. It was hard, harder than one could imagine, when there was nothing, no one to keep you grounded.
His head lolled to the side.
"Don't forget the gifts, love!"
"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart." Alfred winked at Arthur from across the room, where he was filling a box up with gifts, games and candy canes. Arthur was standing in the kitchen, watching his stew bubble in the pot. He could accept that he had little cooking ability, but his stews were to die for. Even the frog enjoyed his stew.
Arthur stirred the stew, ignoring the sounds of Alfred moving behind him, ignoring the crash of one of the cats tripping over a present under their tree. Arms wrapped around his waist from behind and Alfred nuzzled his neck.
"Ready to go, sweetheart?" Alfred laid a string of kisses along Arthur's jaw line.
Arthur placed a hand on Alfred's arm on his waist. "Just a moment." He scooped a spoonful of stew and held it out for Alfred to taste.
"Mmm, it's good." Alfred slipped the spoon out of Arthur's grasp to give himself more.
Arthur swatted his head lightly and shooed him out of the kitchen. "Save some for your family, you pig.
Alfred threw his head back and laughed, walking away to chase the cats out of the presents.
"Me-yoww!" Something sharp swiped across Alfred's collarbone, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Alfred's hand rubbed the scratch on his collar, dull throbbing underneath his fingertips. He barely felt anything.
He looked down to find the previously docile cat now standing on his hind legs, forepaws pushing against Alfred's shoulders. Marmalade was giving him a disapproving look and hissing. Hero had come out of hiding and was swiping Alfred's legs. Hero was unnoticed.
Alfred blinked. When he refocused, he gently pushed Marmalade's paws off his shoulders, picked him up, and set him on the ground beside Hero.
With Alfred's lap now vacated, Hero jumped up and made himself comfortable on Alfred's stomach.
Alfred smiled weakly. "I can't win with you two, can I?"
He closed his eyes for a few moments, willing away the tears.
"Love, should you really be driving so fast?" Arthur clasped his hands together nervously. "The snow is quite thick and the roads haven't been shovelled."
Alfred, who was cheerfully singing along to We Wish You a Merry Christmas, stopped singing and reached across the centre console to entwine his fingers with Arthur's. "It's fine. We have snow tires. Don't worry, we won't get stuck or anything." He turned to Arthur to give him a relaxed grin.
Arthur smiled back, hiding his uneasiness, and squeezed Alfred's hand.
They drove along without a hitch, until they reached a bridge.
Alfred was calm when they skidded on the ice. He thought they would simply be thrown into the side rail. It would dent his car, but there would be no lasting harm. He ignored the blaring honks from the cars behind him. His car was big though, and tall, and they were only at the foot of the bridge where the railing was low. Too low.
Arthur whimpered when their car began to tip over, but Alfred squeezed his hand. It would be fine, their car would straighten itself soon enough. He was a physics major, after all, and they didn't hit the railing fast enough to go over. What Alfred didn't take into account were the other cars on the road.
The honking intensified when another car in a different lane skidded across the same patch of ice. Alfred didn't see anything but he felt it when the other car collided with them. Arthur saw it, though. He watched as the car raced towards them, a dark shadow, slipping closer and closer. And then it hit them.
The force tipped their precarious balance and sent them over the railing.
Alfred was still calm, thinking the snowbank would cushion their landing. It wouldn't be ideal, their car would be totalled, and they wouldn't make Mattie's Christmas party, but they'd be fine. Alfred was focused on Arthur, but Arthur was focused on something outside. Alfred couldn't see anything, and summed it up to the snow falling too thickly. But Arthur realized there was nothing to see, because they were falling down a hill.
They squeezed each others' hand, so tightly that their knuckles were as white as the snow surrounding them.
Alfred didn't know what was happening. They were still, and then they were moving. Too quickly. They were rolling down a hill, a steep hill. He heard the sound of breaking glass, crushed metal, and vaguely made out the sound of someone's screams. Was it coming from him? From Arthur? Or was it one of the spectators at the top of the bridge? Alfred didn't know; all he knew was that he was moving, moving too fast, moving down, that everything was spinning but he couldn't anything.
They stopped abruptly. There was a loud crash. It was an unpleasant sound. And they were upside down. Arthur's side was crushed against a tree trunk; a stray branch had found its way into the car, blocking what little vision Alfred had. His glasses were gone.
"Artie, you okay?" Alfred asked, breathless. The air had been knocked out of him.
There was no response.
"Artie?" Alfred was still holding Arthur's hand, clinging on for dear life. But Arthur's hand was limp. Alfred shook their hands, but there was no response. It was silent except for the sound of his breathing, his harsh, heavy breaths.
Alfred released Arthur's hand. It fell, slumped against an unmoving leg.
"Artie!" Alfred reached over to shake Arthur. Arthur's head lolled around weakly, but there was otherwise no reaction.
Alfred felt warmth on his hand and pulled back. In the dim light, he realized it was blood, recognized the metallic scent of blood.
Behind them, the stew they had placed in the backseat had tipped over, contents spilt everywhere. Everything was coated in a red sheen.
Alfred snapped into reality.
His cats were pawing at his legs, but to no avail. After all, he couldn't feel his legs. They were paralysed, just as his entire life was.
Alfred lifted himself into his wheelchair, and rolled into his room. He crawled into bed, to Arthur's side of the bed. Arthur's scent had long faded but if Alfred tried hard enough, he could imagine Arthur's smell, pretend Arthur was only on a short trip.
Tears trickled out of his eyes, pained wails escaped his throat. Marmalade and Hero had joined him on the bed. Hero nestled into the folds of the blanket. Marmalade had squeezed himself under Alfred's Christmas sweater. After all, this was the closest any of them could get to Arthur.
The deep snowdrifts leading up to Arthur's grave disagreed with Alfred's wheelchair.
"Artie, sweetheart," Alfred cried into the blanket, "please come home for Christmas. Please. I love you."
It had been a year.
A year without Arthur.
Merry Christmas.
This was written for libbubbles on Tumblr for the 2015 USUK secret santa.
I'm so sorry this is angst.