I.

Arthur's cheek is still stinging when Alasdair leans in and brushes their lips together. It could barely be called a kiss considering how brief it is; nevertheless it leaves Arthur reeling, makes him gasp. "You're an idiot," Alasdair mumbles and presses his lips to Arthur's again and again, his large hands move up to cup Arthur's jaw and tilt it and - oh. It is soft and unexpected and Arthur can't help the weak noise of surprise slipping past his lips.

It is a lot more simple than it should be after that, answering his kisses. Arthur moves his arms up around Alasdair's neck, loses himself in the sensation of Alasdair's lips over his, their fight completely forgotten. This is right, he thinks. Of course this is what was going to happen all along. Everything else can wait.

II.

"Good morning to you too, arse." Arthur huffs as he pulls the curtains away from the window, ignoring Alasdair's muttering from behind him. He knows now that Alasdair barks worse than he bites and only getting an 'arse' when he is forcibly woken before eight o'clock in the morning is a win.

"You were the one who asked me to wake you up, remember?" Alasdair groans and buries his head in the pillow. Arthur can't help his lips quirking into a smile as he turns around and climbs back into bed, dropping a kiss to Alasdair's freckled shoulder. "Don't be like that, I made breakfast." A muffled 'oh god' is heard from inside the pillow and Arthur smiles wider. It's disgusting, really, how giddy and happy he feels right now. Another kiss lands on Alasdair's warm skin before he slaps the Scot's back. "Come on, get up now."

III.

"Shut up," is gasped against Arthur's lips, breathed against the damp skin on his neck, whispered again and again until he is shaking with emotion, head tilted back while Alasdair kisses him stupid. His fingers are in Arthur's hair, pulling just hard enough to make it painful. "Don't talk to me about trust, Arthur."

Of course not.

IV.

They haven't touched each other for weeks when Arthur slips into Alasdair's lap and lets his head drop forward onto his shoulder. His chest aches with the familiar warmth. They are both too stubborn and they both have left too many things unsaid to start apologising now, but it is a start. When Arthur presses his lips to Alasdair's neck the Scot only lets out a quiet sigh, and maybe they will be okay after all. Maybe they can fix this.

Arthur brushes his lips along Alasdair's jaw and when the heavy feeling in his chest threatens to choke him he tilts his head up to capture Alasdair's mouth instead. When he captures the Scot's bottom lip between his teeth he feels a pair of arms circle around his back and it almost hurts to feel this much, this intensely. They kiss like it's the first time all over again, slow and languid; when Arthur's lips part Alasdair slips his tongue inside and makes him come apart.

When the morning comes they will be back to bickering and hurting and talking in circles around each other, but at least they can have this.

V.

"I'm going, Arthur." The telltale sound of Alasdair's backpack being zipped makes Arthur's fists clench.

"Bloody eager to get rid of me, aren't we?" In the short silence following his words Arthur knows he has struck a nerve and when Alasdair steps out of their bedroom his eyes are almost black with fury.

"Don't you dare. I tried to make this work. I tried my goddamned hardest!" Arthur swallows and glares at him - tries to think of anything but mornings spent in bed, promises kissed between shoulder blades, names breathed out, the sting of a slap, Alasdair, Alasdair, Alasdair. It hurts too much if he does.

"Well, not hard enough apparently." Ah. Anger, his ever-present companion and loyal companion. Arthur regrets the words even before he speaks them, but he keeps his head up anyway. Alasdair lost the right to his emotions the moment he quietly said 'this isn't working, Arthur', the very second Arthur could read the rejection in his face.

God, it hurts.

"Fuck you," Alasdair says, almost tiredly. "I wish I never fell in love with you, you absolute piece of shit."

Love doesn't fit us, Arthur thinks bitterly. Love is made for those who has the sense to appreciate it, for people who don't end up choking one another just by being in the same room too long.

He steps aside and lets Alasdair leave.