I fail at being on time, not in real life for some reason, just online and stuff like that. I was suppose to have this up by Valentine's Day, but it didn't get really finished till like ten on Valentine's day and I wasn't up for proof reading it. The ending is rushed, but it's the best I could due with the deadline I missed horribly. I promise more stuff is coming I really do, I'm trying to work thinks out still in my schedule, but I don't see order coming until the summer -sigh-.
I don't own anything.
Valentine's Day was not one of Arthur's top holidays; well he didn't like many to begin with seeing as how America just seemed to have an endless amount. For as long as he had lived in the States, he would roll his eyes at the endless list of holidays it possessed. Americans seemed to like excuses to get days off and lie around and do nothing. Off course his father was a well respected Englishman and the American government almost seemed like it had no vacations to spear.
He had moved to the States when he was five or so and quickly became the new kid that talked funny and had giant eyebrows. He didn't have very many friends, and no matter how many times his Kindergarten teacher had urged him to do something with Alfred, the youngest kid in the class, he never could stand the kid. Alfred was young, too young it seemed sometimes, but there was some stupid rule and Alfred happened to make the loop hole, lucky him. Arthur had missed his old school system and old teachers, and he missed England as well.
Still he had no chose but to do what the class activities were, at least he could proudly say he had built the only successful leprechaun catcher. Still he did all the pointless things there was to do. The one he hated most was the Valentine box, it was just a shoebox wrapped in paper with a hole on top, and all he got was cheap meaningless cards.
Over the years, Alfred stalked in school it seemed, those meaningless cards dwindled down to one, and Arthur had no clue whom it was from. Whoever had the nerve to piss him off more on an already sour day always managed to write his name so straight and prefect. Even into high school the one ended up in his locker, almost placed with gentle care through out the years. It drove Arthur crazy, how could someone work so hard on his name and forget to fill in the "from:" side.
So Arthur was puzzled when he was drowning in disappointment this year. Senior year and no cheap card lying in his locker…or even anywhere near it. It was the end of the day, usually it had appeared by then, it was usually read and stuffed in his bag by then. Had this tradition…died off? His heart sank at the thought. Maybe that one act had made his day somewhat tolerable…and now it wasn't there.
Arthur was practically ripping the books out of his locker and shoving them in his bag, he didn't care if he didn't exactly need them that night. Within his angry stuffing there was almost a desperate attempt to find the card…maybe he just missed it?
No, he didn't miss it from the looks of it.
Huffing, he reached for his coat, sliding it on and making sure it was as warm as it could possibly get. Ripping his scarf off its hook, he rather angrily slammed in locker closed, making a few passing students to turn and look. His scarf cuddled around his neck, he grumbled into it, enough curses to make himself want to wash his mouth out with soup.
"Hmm~, is something bothering you, Arthur?" The smile within the French accented voice made Arthur want to punch his face in. Whipping around, Arthur landed a hearty stop on Francis's foot.
"Belt up, Frog." Arthur growled darkly as Francis struggled for his foot back, Arthur was in no rush to release the horrid thing. "I'm perfectly fine," Arthur forced out a corked grin.
"Oh, really?" Francis said raising a slender eyebrow.
"Yes, really."
"Well you could have fooled me, Angleterre." The Frenchman chuckled to himself, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had no amour. What as sad thing?" His foot was shown little mercy.
"Don't you have to shag someone or something?" Arthur retorted harshly.
"Why are you suggesting something?" Francis wiggling his eyebrows annoyingly.
Arthur sung around quickly and without warning. Hearing the very satisfying grunt, Arthur moved on down the hall. Yet Francis words took root in his head. He gripped the strap of his messenger bag, glaring at the tiled floor beneath his feet. Was he lonely? No, he was perfectly fine, there was no way he was lonely, love always seemed to be so overrated. That didn't mean he didn't want part of it,…it was just…just…no one seemed right. Yes that was it, no one was right for him…at least not in America, maybe someone in London, yes that sounded about right. Right, not perfect.
God, why was he getting like this? First a broken tradition on a sour day and now Francis had placed the lonely tree in his head. He pushed through the doors of the school, having the February snow and wind whip at his stature. His sigh was nothing more then a white puff. He hurried about the white layer of land, hearing it crunch under his weight.
"Hey, Arthur wait up—AHH!" Arthur turned to the sound of his name, just in time to see Alfred land with a thud on the icy ground. Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes, only Alfred would fall in weather he grew up in, but then again the boy had always been somewhat clumsy and physically awkward it seemed. He grew like a weed, in reality he was nothing but fine toned muscle, but he had little grace.
Arthur turned back to leave the school grounds, acting like he hadn't notice a thing. Alfred quickly rebounded back to his feet and scurried after the older teen, getting a head of the Brit and strolling backwards.
"Oh, who pissed you off today? Francis?...No wait he's always pissing you off...—"
"What do you want, git?" Arthur spat out angrily, not really meaning for his anger to lung to the younger teen, but the other took very little notice.
"You going to Francis' party tonight?" Alfred asked with a cheery tone, and Arthur's eyebrows drew into a dark shadow on his face.
"Like bloody hell, I would appear there, especially after last year." Arthur growled. According to story, and the hang over he had had the day after, Arthur got partially wasted. Alfred refused to tell him what had happened, even though Arthur knew all the possible events that could have lead them to waking up in the same bed.
A blush tinted his cheeks at the thought. He had never really looked at the American the same way after that. Always blushing and fumbling when the American was making any movement that could appear or end up into something they never were. Everyone knew Alfred hadn't touched any alcohol that night, and he poured all his drinks, never leaving his cup abandoned. Alfred would know, but the bastard played it off like he had no clue…like he too had something to mess up his memory.
"What the hell are you thinking about?" Alfred asked with a laugh, making Alfred blush more and hope something would cause the American to trip so he could find some sweet escape.
"Nothing!" Arthur snapped glaring at the snow with an even redder blush.
"You're cheeks are all red."
"Are you so idiotic you didn't notice the fact that it's cold outside?!"
"Yup, someone pissed you off."
"No one did, you wanker!"
"Who~?"
"I told you!"
"Do have gloves?" The sudden change of subject jolted Arthur out of his anger and shot him into confusion. Why in the world did Alfred want gloves?
"Yes, and may I ask why you want to know such a useless fact?"
"You should put them on, it will make you warmer." Arthur gave the blue eyed American a confused look, earning a cheery chuckle that blasted anyone out of a bad mood. "Just fish them out and put them on."
Arthur raised a large eyebrow, but knew the wind was leaking its way into his warm pockets, chilling them and his hands. With a sigh he did as he was told, as much as he hated too, Alfred was actually saying something that made sense and was somewhat a good use of common sense. Maybe Alfred hadn't been dropped as many times as Arthur had thought. Wiggling his fingers into one of his gloves and pulling it on firmly, Alfred took the opening and shoved his hand into the green eyed Brit's pockets.
Arthur yelped at the sudden pocket rape, whacking Alfred with his other glove without really thinking. Alfred's hands retreated quickly, fleeing back into his own pockets, leaving the Englishman feeling completely violated. A laugh sounded and Arthur glared at the American, did this man really have no respect what so ever. The gloves were pried off Arthur's hands and shoved back into his bag, his hands missing the warmth that lingered from the inside.
"You bloody git!" Arthur yelled, his hands in tight fists at his sides.
"You want to go bowling tonight?" Alfred asked like nothing was wrong.
"What?—NO! No, I don't want to go bowling, I have better things to do than hang out with a git like you!" Arthur snapped storming off sharply, not caring if he hurt Alfred or anything of the sort.
After a while of storming of with his hands at his sides in nothing more then an angry fist and the cold left to claim did them Arthur shove them back in the warm pockets of his coat. Something brushed his skin, but he figured it was some stupid tag that God wanted to use to angry him more.
He reached his house, opening the door and entering with a loud huff and darted of to his room. He ignored his mother's calls and questions from the downstairs level. He threw his bag on his bed and shoved his coat buttons out of their holes. Tearing his scarf off his neck and slamming that down on his bed.
Shoving his hands in his coat pockets, double checking to make sure there was nothing in there, nothing but the tag in his left pocket. Finding nothing he ripped the jacket off, his eye catching something fluttering to the ground. His green eyes widened.
Looking up at him from the floor was the very straight lines, in the prefect order, that spelled his name. There, staring at him, was the tradition he thought had been broken. With shaking hands, he reached for it, almost transfixed by the very object. Had it been in his jacket the whole time? His fingers eased the (stupid) little heart sticker from the end. His green eyes scanned the usual cheesy message of a child's confession of love intertwined with the theme of the damn paper.
Humoring his hope that maybe this year the secret giver would scribble their name down, he flipped to the "from:" side and the world stopped turning.
Thunder sounded down the stairs, and a booming door echoed about the house behind him. The icy ground yelled in protest as he shot through the forming layer on the sidewalk, some got revenge by causing him to slide on sharp turns. He shot past neighbors and confused business people, catch the questioning glance from the shop keepers as he stumbled past on the sharp turns he made. Why did that bastard have to live on the other side of town?
It all made since, he should have seen it early, but he didn't, he was to sour to. Alfred's father worked very closely with Arthur's in politics, they had had endless dinners with the other family, he had seen the models and plans. He knew Alfred's mother was an Architect, or was one. He knew she use to hand draw plans, he knew she used Lettering, and God damn it, Arthur knew Lettering was straight and perfect writing almost.
It wasn't hard for Alfred to learn it (How many times had he practiced?), it was there at the American's house. Arthur had even seen a few letters wiggle their way into Alfred's sloppy hand writing. Every year, Alfred had pleaded Arthur for his locker combination, sometimes he stole it from the Brit (Did he remember it long enough to write it down?). He had even seen the left over boxes in one of the closets (Were they specifically chosen each year?).
"Alfred!" The Briton yelled when he finally caught up to the younger teen, who turned to him rather slowly, like maybe he thought he was hearing things. Blue eyes fixed on Arthur, who was panting out white clouds of warm breath, despite how his cold lungs felt.
"Arthur what the hell are you doing?" Alfred shouted, rushing over to the smaller blonde, who was wearing nothing but a thin green sweater, and gasping for breath like he had ran miles endlessly. "Are you an idiot, Arthur?! It's thirty-eight degrees outside! And don't correct me, we're in America!" Alfred hissed, throwing his backpack on the ground, tearing at his scarf a bit.
"It was you the whole time," Arthur stated, his green eyes meeting the confusion of blue, "you've been the bloody bastard whose been giving me the bloody valentines." Alfred's cheeks dusted with a soft pink color at the statement.
"Well—I…It just—I mean…I thought…you liked getting them?" Alfred stumbled about his words like an idiot.
"I'm not a really a fan of them," Arthur said watching Alfred shift about uncomfortably, "but—"
"I mean…you just looked really happy when we got them in elementary school…and I liked it when you smiled, you never really do it often." Alfred rambled on uncomfortably, like he had been found out about something, a smile tugged at Arthur's lips. "I guess you just played along."
"For the most part," Arthur shivered out slightly, "But that's not th—"
"I'm an idiot, aren't I?"
"Alfred."
"I really can't read the atmosphere can I?"
"Alfred."
"I really should have taken your ramblings seriously."
"Alfred!"
"But I mean, you were drunk and I thought you were just talking aimless and two ideas were molding together and all that sh—"
"ALFRED! Belt up will you!" Arthur snapped loudly. "Will you let me finish?" The taller blonde gave a shocked nod. "I'm not a fan of the valentines, but I don't mind the ones you give me, you git."
A wind blow silence upon them and left Arthur shivering a bit, damn wind chill. Looking at Alfred, Arthur found him frozen, staring at the older like he had told him fairies existed (yup it was the same face). If Arthur wasn't as cold as he was he would have chuckled at the clueless look, the turning gears Alfred somehow managed to turn.
"But—"
Enough talking had been done, well it seemed that way to Arthur, for Alfred never really knew when to shut his trap. Arthur shut it for him, well more like made it stop working all together. When the American didn't respond as quickly as the Briton had thought (hoped), Arthur thought he had stopped the man from working all together. He pulled back blushing, like mad, feeling the cold embracing him tightly.
"Sorry…that was—" Arthur seemed for forget that Alfred was slow mentally sometimes. Arthur got his kiss back fully, gently pulling into the warmth. The cold wasn't bothering him so much any more, and for once Alfred was managing to not get on his nerves, Arthur didn't mind that really.
Alfred pulled away with a smile slapped on his face, and was wiggling his way out of his jacket, draping it over Arthur. "Come on, my house is closer." Alfred said, tugging the older blonde along with out much care to the world. It didn't take them long to get to Alfred's house at all, Arthur was happy for the warm that surround him upon entering. "Glad you decided to be my Valentine." Alfred smiled into Arthur's ear before darting off into the kitchen to make something warm.
Arthur could learn to like, if not love, Valentine's Day.
Okay so everyone pretend Valentine's Day was on Friday, cause that's how this works so XD.
Any way the ending is cheesy and forced and I feel terrible for that happening, but I tired I really did to make it not seem that way. I just love a rambling Alfred. Oh and about the rule thing, mention in the beginning with Alfred being the youngest in the class. I know where I live if you were born before September you can go into school and a younger age (I can't and it sucks cause I'm the oldest out of all of my friends). I don't know if that applies everywhere in the United States, but that's how it is where I live.
Please RxR