It was raining quite heavily when Alfred F. Jones first met the man that, as cliché as it might sound, would change his life forever.
They met at the New York train station on a Friday, seven p.m. sharp.
The man, sitting on one of the benches alone, was staring off into the distance. There was a backpack and a suitcase sitting on the floor beside him, something fitting for a long and faraway trip. He was wearing a dark green coat, the color that Alfred would find later matched his eyes perfectly. The sound of heavy rain outside was muffled by another noise coming from the chattering crowds of people surrounding them, but the man seemed undisturbed by it all, eyes boring off still, as if he's not quite there.
Alfred had some reasons that made him approach the other male then. Those reasons had their own levels of importance, and at that moment Alfred wasn't quite sure which that eventually made him decide to take the steps to shorten the distance between the two of them.
Maybe because he looked so lonely. Maybe because he looked like he needed a hug or two.
Maybe because he looked so beautiful like that.
(Or, maybe it's because of the other end of the vibrant red string circling in his own ring finger circled on the stranger's.)
It was a strange feeling. Alfred felt like there was an intangible force that was drawing him in to the man. It's a funny, strange feeling that told him something important was going to happen.
"Hello," Alfred had started, a tentative smile playing on his lips, eyes fixed curiously on the red string connecting the both of them. "Can I sit here?"
The other male looked a little bit shaken before looking up, as if Alfred's voice had pulled him back from his stupor. A brief moment later, a pair of the greenest eyes Alfred had ever seen were staring right into his cerulean ones. For a moment there Alfred was stunned. The man had a blond hair, sticking in all directions, and an impressive pair of bushy eyebrows. He would look like a mess if he were someone else, but that look, despite the messiness of it all, somehow fitted him perfectly.
"Oh." Was his first word — if it could be counted as a word at all. His voice was deeper than Alfred had originally thought, but it still sounded nice. Really nice. "You can," the man replied, and with the slightest hint of smile, "and you may."
The man, Alfred had found then, had a rather tantalizing British accent.
Grinning, Alfred took a seat beside the smaller man. "Thanks."
He simply nodded, a thin smile on his lips as he tore his gaze away from the American and back to faraway land Alfred couldn't see.
Alfred eyed the string, that he had found out at the age of ten visible only to him, carefully. He clenched his fist slowly and saw the string between them tugged. He smiled.
"So," Alfred began carefully, trying his best to sound casual. "Where are you going?"
The man blinked and glanced at Alfred. He was wearing a pensive look, his rather prominent eyebrows slightly knitted. After a moment of hesitation, he finally answered. "I…" he hestitated. "I still don't know, actually."
Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? How could you not know?" He tilted his head slightly to his left. "You've got your ticket, right?"
The man was silent for a while then, looking away. It's as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. Alfred took that moment to study the other's face. The other male couldn't be much older than himself at the age of twenty-one; perhaps two years or three. There was a mix of emotions in his green eyes, too many for him to pick just one. It kind of amazed him how those eyes could hold so many emotions all at once and remained as stunning.
"My train is leaving in two hours," Alfred heard himself saying, filling the gaps of silence that he felt had stretched far too long. "I'm going home. To D. C."
"I see." The other replied curtly, emotionless.
"Yeah." Alfred nodded absentmindedly.
More silence fell upon them, until the man finally spoke again.
"I just want to go away. I don't care where."
Alfred glanced at him. "Oh? And why is that?"
He inhaled rather shakily, and Alfred could see a sheen of tears in his eyes. The sight strangely made his heart clenched. His voice was thick when he replied. "I'm tired."
A group of people laughing passed in front of them, the sound of people chattering was getting noisier, but it seemed like all Alfred could hear and see was the man with the greenest eyes and only him; that it's as if there was an invisible bubble wrapping their space, safe and away from their surrounding. The world was so full of life and yet there the man sat beside him, looking like his life had been taken away from him by force.
"I'm really tired." The man repeated. "And I don't even know why I'm talking to you," he continued, shaking his head, a small chuckle escaped his lips. "But I guess it's okay because we would never meet again." He smiled slightly as he gazed at Alfred, green eyes warm. "I don't even know your name."
"I'm Alfred." Alfred responded almost immediately, without thinking. "Alfred F. Jones."
The man looked rather taken aback by that, his eyes wavering a little bit. Alfred could see the other male wasn't expecting that response. Perhaps he thought it would be better to continue this conversation wrapped in the secure blanket of anonymity. A name would linger in your mind, if only for a little while, and sometimes for far too long. Alfred was certain then, that if he found out the other's name later, it would be the latter for him. After all, he wanted a name to go by those captivating green eyes, those beautiful subtle smiles, and the vulnerability matching a crystal glass.
"You shouldn't go around giving strangers your full name," the man finally responded wryly, although the corners of his lips tugged upwards ever so slightly. Alfred wondered how beautiful the other's full, sincere, heartful smiles were if these subtle smiles were already breathtaking.
"Let's not be strangers then," Alfred shrugged. He smiled. "You already know my name. What's yours?"
After a moment of hesitation came an answer. "George."
"George?" Alfred repeated, frowning slightly. "I see…"
The man, George, raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong?"
"No, it's not that…" Alfred waved his hand dismissively. "You just… how should I say this. You don't look like a George."
George blinked. "I don't look like a George?"
Alfred could feel some heat creeping up to his cheeks. "Ye… yeah, well. But maybe it's because I haven't met that many Georges to begin with, ha ha," he said shyly as he scratched the back of his neck, an old habit of his when he's nervous or embarrassed. He could only hope his blush wasn't really obvious.
"Oh really," George said, a small quirk on the corners his lips. "Well, who do you think I look like?"
Alfred squinted his eyes slightly, bringing his hand up to rub his chin slowly in a pose of a mock-contemplation. "Well," he drawled. "I'd say you look like a William, or a James. But now that I think about it, you don't fit William and James perfectly either…" He raised an eyebrow. "Now that I think about it, you kinda look like a Harry. But…" He paused and shook his head. "No. You remind me of someone, but I can't remember his name; it's the name of that epic legendary ancient English king dude…"
"So you're saying I look like a king," George concluded, a wry smile on his lips.
Alfred grinned. "A king that I can't remember the name of."
"Git," George sighed, shaking his head. Then he smiled a little. "Well, I'm actually kind of glad that you think I don't look like a George, though."
"What? Why? Isn't that a bad thing?" Alfred pouted. "Actually, now I feel horrible. I'm sorry, George! Maybe it's because I don't know you well yet, maybe when I do I'd think you're totally George."
"Maybe," George nodded absentmindedly, the smile faltering on his lips. "Maybe."
Silence. Alfred noticed that the string's color is growing more vibrant by each second.
"So." Alfred started again as a smile played on his own lips, blue eyes eyeing the other hopefully, silently encouraging the other to start the conversation. George didn't seem to talk much, Alfred noted, but Alfred was persistent. He was curious. The man sitting beside him seemed to be the opposite of him and so far Alfred couldn't see the reason why they're connected together by the string. He liked the way George looked, sure, a little bit too much even, but there must be something more than that, right? Alfred had never considered himself as a superficial person…
"So," George responded finally, successfully cutting Alfred's straying train of thoughts. "You're going home, huh? You seem so excited. Have someone special to wait for you at home?" He asked, a small teasing smile on his lips as he glanced at the American.
"Nah," Alfred waved his hand dismissively. "I've got no one. I'm here to visit my twin bro because I got kinda lonely. My bro has a boyfriend to wait for him. Lucky bastard," he mumbled. "His annoying self-proclaimed Prussian boyfriend basically kicked me out early so they could, uh, do some stuff. So here I am two hours early."
"I see."
"Yeah, so. It gets kinda lonely sometimes, y'know. Living alone and all that…"
"I bet it's still better than living with a long-time lover you cared so much about and to be betrayed later."
Alfred opened his mouth to reply only to shut it a little later as a realization dawned upon him. Is that what happened to you? Alfred wondered, but thought better not to ask. "Yeah, I guess," he said quietly instead. "That's a dick move."
George didn't respond and looked away. For a second there Alfred could see the tears on the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall any moment then. Out of the blue, Alfred had the urge to reach out and thumb those tears away. He wanted to pull the other male close into his arms, closer to his heart. It was truly an alien feeling to him. He didn't like how George looked like he was about to break from the slightest touch. Alfred decided that he hated whoever or whatever had made George like this. George said he wanted to leave, that he was tired, that he was…
Alfred gazed at him, thoughts shattered as he realized a fact.
George was still here.
"But you still care," Alfred blurted out before he could stop himself.
George turned his attention back to Alfred, visibly startled. His eyebrows eventually knitted together in a frown. "I beg your pardon?"
Alfred clenched his hands. "How long have you been waiting here at this station, George?"
George widened his eyes. "What does that have to do with anything—"
"You want them to find you, don't you?" Alfred cut in sharply, slightly harsher than he had intended. "You're waiting for them still. Even after what they have done to you."
"I…" George choked, speechless. He looked like he was about to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. It's as if saying those words would physically hurt him. Alfred noticed how he trembled slightly and a wave of guilt came crashing into him.
"I'm sorry," Alfred apologized quietly.
"No, don't," George shook his head. "You're right. I'm a fool. I don't even know what I'm trying to achieve here— sitting here for hours alone with my whole life as I knew it packed into these," he gestured to his suitcase and bag, "I don't even know if he even bothers to look for me." He paused and took a deep breath shakily. "I'm an idiot."
"Don't say that," Alfred frowned.
"We're both fools," George went on. "He's a fool for not being brave enough to tell me what he used to feel for me is no more, and I'm a fool for staying and letting him hurt me like this even when I knew," he blinked and a drop of tear fell from the corner of his glistening eyes. "And it hurts. It hurts so much."
"Then leave." Alfred heard himself saying. George stared at him, eyes widened slightly, as if he wasn't expecting such answer. And maybe he really didn't. Even Alfred himself was a bit surprised at his own answer. It sounded too bold, too hopeful; too much giving him away.
"You don't have to stay. You're here now, aren't you?" Alfred offered him a small smile after a brief moment. "You've chosen to leave. Then leave. Just leave. You don't deserve to be treated like that. You'll find someone else that will treat you right."
I'm right here, Alfred lowered his gaze to the red string connecting them. If only he could see…
George's silence made Alfred looked back up. There was hesitance in his eyes, as vivid as the existence of the dazzling red string to Alfred.
"You still love him." Alfred concluded out loud. George was still unresponsive. Alfred bit his lip. "Would you go back to him if he asks you to?"
George took a deep breath and exhaled. He looked defeated. "I've known him for a long time," he said softly. "He always looks for things in all the wrong places. Maybe that's why I'm still here. Maybe I'm waiting for him to stop going to those wrong places and find me."
"But what if you're one of those wrong places?" At the dejected look George shot him, Alfred quickly added, "It doesn't necessarily mean that you're wrong, God, no. It only means that he's not meant for you just like how you're not meant for him."
"I…" George paused. "I haven't thought about that." He finally admitted.
"Well, now maybe you should." Alfred smiled warmly. "You deserve someone much better. Someone who appreciates you, loves you, and would never betray you. Someone who would protect you and not hurt you."
"Do you often do this? To random people?" George blurted out. He looked embarrassed by his own question a little later, judging from the blush that began dusting his pale cheeks.
Alfred blinked. "No."
"Then why?"
Why me?, those green eyes asked wordlessly.
"I…" Alfred faltered. "I don't know how to..." He bit his lip, unsure. "Do you… "
George stared at him. His expression was unreadable. "Do I what?"
"Do you ever feel — "
"Arthur!"
George turned his attention to someone behind Alfred immediately; to the source of the voice. Alfred could see his expression morphed into the one he had put on earlier; the blank, impenetrable mask.
"Arthur, I'm glad," the new stranger, now crouching in front of them, said as he tried to even his breathing again. The stranger had a long, shoulder-length silky blond hair tied in a loose ponytail. He was tall, but not as tall as Alfred was, and when he finally looked up to gaze at George, Alfred could see his tired blue eyes. He was sweating, or maybe it was the rain, and looked as if he had just ran kilometers to get here. The red string circling his ring finger stretched far, Alfred noticed, away toward someone at a place he couldn't see.
"Let's go home, mon cher," the stranger said, pleaded, after he had composed himself; hand stretched toward George. "Arthur. Please."
Arthur? Alfred wondered as he stared at a bewildered George in question. Arthur… "AH! George, that's it! That's the name of the epic king I told you about, it's Arthur!" Alfred beamed proudly. The bright smile eventually faltered as Alfred realized two dazed pairs of eyes were on him. "Er," Alfred said dumbly before he realized something. "George? Why is he calling you Arthur?"
"George?" The stranger frowned, as if Alfred had just said that Earth was actually a rectangle. He then averted his attention back to George. "What the hell is he talking about, mon cher?"
"Francis," George (Arthur?) said to the stranger wryly, deliberately ignoring both his question and Alfred. "Go home. It's …" he paused, slightly choked up. "It's over. I'm not coming back."
Oh, Alfred finally realized. This must be…
"What are you talking about, mon cher?" The stranger, Francis, widened his eyes. There were hurt and disbelief in those blue eyes. "It's not over, non, let's go home and I'll fix this, okay? I'll—"
"No, Francis," George shook his head, voice breaking, hands reaching up to cover his ears. "Stop it. I don't want to hear it. Stop."
"— do this right this time, give me a chance, s'il vous plait? I'll—"
"I've given you bloody chances!" George cut sharply, startling both Alfred and the stranger, Francis. "Too many chances! And what have you done?" George choked, "to me?
Francis shook his head quickly. "I… it was a mistake, Arthur, désolé, mon cher, please let me fix this, je promets… Je le jure devant Dieu…"
"Et pourtant, comme un fou," George whispered, sharp green eyes glaring at Francis. "Je t'aimais toujours."
Francis looked shocked at hearing the words. Alfred, not understanding French, could only stare at George-whose-name-is-most-likely-not-George-but-Arthur, mouth gaping slightly.
"Dude," Alfred finally said to Francis when the two of them didn't show a sign to say anything soon. "He's not coming back with you. Respect that and do what he said: go home."
Francis stared at Alfred blankly before averting his gaze back to George, eyes softened. "J'ai besoin de toi, Arthur, je veux être avec toi pour toujours… Je t'aime. Je t'aimerai toujours."
"You should go, Francis." George replied simply, voice slightly breaking. He looked so tired, defeated, broken. Alfred frowned. He didn't like the sight at all and he felt a bubble of anger rising inside him as he glared at Francis, as if the Frenchman had personally offended him.
"Es-tu sur?" Francis asked warily, blue eyes fixed on George's green. "Do you really want this?"
George nodded. "Yes. I do."
"See? George's not coming back with you. You've fucked up big time, man. George deserves better. It's your loss," Alfred said coldly before he could stop it. It's just beyond him how anyone could hurt someone like George. Sure, Alfred might only know him for a little more than an hour, but he knew George was kind, caring, loyal, beautiful… If George were his, Alfred would —
If George were his…
Alfred glanced at the string between him and George and looked up, averting his gaze to the pair of confused green eyes that rendered him speechless, lost in those pool of green that Fate had promised to be his and his only.
"I still don't understand why this stranger keeps calling you George," Francis smiled at George, snapping Alfred out of his thoughts. "But Arthur, I mean every word I said. I will let you go, if that's what you wish. I might not deserve your forgiveness, but I will ask for it still. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Je t'attendrai, mon cher."
In one split moment Alfred could see Francis was going to take George's hand in his, as if to kiss it (at how natural it was Alfred guessed it was merely out of habit more than anything else), before George flinched and looked away, putting his hand away from the Frenchman's reach. Francis, realizing this one second later, pulled away immediately and took a step back.
"Prends soin de toi… à la prochaine, mon cher." Francis said softly before nodding for the last time to George, frowned slightly at Alfred, and finally turned on his heels to leave.
"Wow." Alfred said after some moments, gazing at the other male. George still looked broken, but visibly better, even if it's just a little bit. Alfred wanted to say something, anything, to comfort the other male but found himself unable to. So his brain decided to say the first thing that passed in his mind at that moment. "You can speak French."
George stared at him. His green eyes were still glassy. As if he had just registered what Alfred just said in his mind, he blinked. "Out of all the things you could have said, you picked that?"
"It's cool," Alfred grinned sheepishly. It then faltered as he remembered an important question. "So… Are you George or Arthur?"
George let out a shaky sigh. "Does it matter?"
"Hey, identity's important!" Alfred pouted. "Do you want me to call you George for the rest of your life, like, I know you're as cute and adorable like that baby Prince George from your country but I don't think—"
"You…" George frowned. "You think I'm… cute?"
Alfred blushed, realizing his slip-up two seconds too late. He bowed his head, embarrassed, the next words came out as a mere whisper. "Can we pretend I didn't say anything?"
George shook his head slightly in a weird mix of mild amusement and embarrassement. He then cleared his throat. "Er, yeah, I… My name is actually Arthur."
"Arthur." Alfred — grateful that his faux pas was to be overlooked at least for the time being — repeated, as if he were tasting the name on his tongue. "Arthur."
George — no, Arthur — widened his eyes for a split second before stuttering, red dusting on his cheeks. "Stop saying it like that."
Alfred, realizing something, looked up and smirked, eyes widened in a feigned innocence. "Like what, Arthur?"
"Oh, sod off."
Alfred simply laughed as Arthur looked away, avoiding his gaze. A moment later, an announcement that passengers going to Washington D. C. at nine p. m. should board the train now was heard.
"You should come to D. C." Alfred suddenly said before he realized it. It was as if something had forced the words out of him, immediately, that those words had to come out at that exact moment even before Alfred realized it.
Arthur looked at him, dumbfounded. "What?"
"You should come to D. C.," Alfred repeated, smiling, and stood up. "There's another train departing in thirty minutes. You can still purchase the ticket now, I think. The train isn't usually full at that hour."
Arthur blinked. "Why would I do that?"
"Because," Alfred breathed. His heart was racing faster. How should he explain this? How should he explained that Fate had brought them together and they were bound to find each other again sooner or later anyway? Alfred searched into those bright, perplexed green orbs for an answer and found none and yet at the same time, in a sense, everything. "Because this is crazy and I don't know how to say this without sounding like a mad man and I don't want to force you or anything and I —"
"Alfred," Arthur cut in softly, reaching out his hand to take Alfred's in his gently. "You're shaking."
Alfred eyed their interlocking hands and stopped. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"It's okay. Take a deep breath now." Arthur smiled as Alfred obeyed. "There, all good?"
Alfred mirrored the other's smile. "Yeah."
"Now let's try again. You were saying?"
"Remember what we talked about earlier, about going to the wrong places and stuff?"
At Arthur's nod, he continued. "What if I said you've come so close to the right one, right now?"
Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean, Alfred?"
Taking a deep breath, Alfred continued, face schooling a serious expression. "What if I said you're staring straight at the right one right now?"
"I…" Arthur faltered, visibly taken aback.
"I don't expect you to understand it now, Arthur, but believe me, we will meet again. Sooner or later. I can explain it to you but I've got no time. Here," Alfred produced a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and struggled a bit before finding a pen inside his backpack. After he had done scribbling something, he handed the paper to Arthur. "Come meet me. I will wait for you. If you get on the next train you would be able to find me at the D. C. station. If for some reason I'm not there or you can't find me, give me a call. I will explain everything. Trust me on this, Arthur. Please." Alfred said softly.
Arthur stared at the paper containing Alfred's number in a messy, childish handwriting with a slight frown. The boarding call for Alfred's train could be heard again then and when he looked back up, Alfred was suddenly so, so close.
"Can I hug you?" Alfred asked sheepishly, blue eyes glimmering with hope.
"It's may I," Arthur answered wryly after a moment and looked away, cheeks tingling pink slightly, but got up from the bench anyway. "And yes, you may."
Alfred beamed and closed the distance between them. He pulled the shorter man close, inhaling the sweet scent of his promised soul mate. He could feel their hearts beat together in rhythm and fluttered his eyes shut. They stayed like that for a moment. Maybe only a few seconds had passed, a few minutes, a few hours, or even a few lifetimes. All Alfred wished for was, at the moment, to stay like that forever. He wanted to hold Arthur forever and protect him from all harms. To make him happy and loved the way he deserved.
"You're going to miss your train," Arthur murmured softly, breaking the silence.
Alfred sighed, burying his face deeper into the crook of the other's warm neck. "I'll see you soon?" He whispered.
He could feel Arthur nodded ever so slightly and he felt a smile blooming on his lips. He lingered for a little bit more and pulled away. He brought their hands together and gazed at the beautifully connected red strings between them. To him, it was beautiful. It was perfect.
"I guess this is it." Alfred smiled as he gazed at those beautiful green eyes once more. "I have to go. I will be waiting for you."
Arthur nodded, his eyes looked as if they were a moment away from brimming with tears again. Alfred gave the other's hands a comforting squeeze and eventually managed to steal a kiss on Arthur's forehead. He smiled smugly before stepping back, bowing slightly, and ran off happily to board his train, leaving Arthur there starstruck, with Alfred's heart in his hand.
"Do you believe in soul mates?"
Arthur looks up from his book and finds Peter, his dear, ten-year-old son, standing in front of him. He is wearing a slight frown, blue eyes filled with worry and a hint of sadness.
Arthur smiles, puts his book away on the small table beside him and gestures for his son to come closer. "I do," he answers as he takes Peter's smaller hands in his. He takes a good look on his son's face and suddenly realizes how much his son has grown. "And why did you ask that now, poppet? Is there anything bothering you?"
"Yes, father," Peter answers, words slightly quivering, tainted with sadness.
"Would you care to tell me what happened?" Arthur inquires softly.
Peter nods, his gaze dropping to the carpeted floor of their living room. "I think I love Wy."
"Wy?" Arthur repeats, quirking an eyebrow.
"She's my classmate at school and she's so beautiful and father," Peter looks up, eyes widening slightly as he fights back the tears. "I think I love her."
Arthur widens his eyes at the ten year-old confession, slightly shocked, but he quickly regains his composure and smiles. "Isn't that good, then? Falling in love is not a bad thing, Peter, " he says, giving Peter's hand a comforting squeeze. "It's alright to fall in love, even though you're probably still a little too young. Is that what's bothering you? That you're still too young?"
Peter shakes his head. "No, father. That's not it."
"Then what is it?"
"She already loves someone else."
"Oh darling," Arthur sighs as tears finally rolls down the boy's cheeks. "Come here."
Peter obeys and Arthur gathers him into his arms, soothing the boy, murmuring comforting words in his ears softly. Peter is already calming down when they hear the front door being opened, followed by impatient footsteps.
"THE HERO HAS ARRI— Peter?" The intruder, Alfred, stops his loud announcement suddenly as his gaze falls upon the crying boy in Arthur's arms. He frowns. "Arthur, what happened? Is Peter sick?"
Arthur shakes his head wordlessly as he sends the taller man a warning look to not say anything stupid. Alfred approaches the boy and crouches down, gently placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's wrong, Peter?"
Peter looks up and averts his gaze to Alfred, eyes red from crying. "Dad," he hiccups. "Dad." He repeats and opens his arms, silently demanding to be hugged by the concerned American.
Alfred takes his son into his arms immediately while shooting Arthur a questioning look. Arthur, instead of answering Alfred's wordless question, rubs Peter's shaking back gently. "Why don't you tell daddy, poppet? I'm sure he wants to know too and is eager to help you."
"Yeah, Peter! Daddy will totally help you! So tell me, what happened?"
Peter pulls away slightly from Alfred's arms and stared at his Dad with wide, glassy blue eyes. "I think I'm in love with Wy but she already loves someone else," Peter says, the words coming out trembled.
Alfred raises his eyebrows. "Wy? Wy, the lovely little girl I saw you with when I picked you up from school the other day?"
"Y… yes, dad. That's Wy."
Alfred's mouth forms an o as he shoots Arthur a look. Arthur returns it with a quirked eyebrow and gets his answer as Alfred beams smugly.
"You know what, son," Alfred says, smiling widely, his hand gripping Peter's arms gently. "You don't have to worry about that. You love her, that's fine. If she still loves someone else at the moment, that's also fine. Some people tend to visit all the wrong places before they finally arrive at the right one." He gives Arthur a soft smile at this.
"And it's okay. It will take time, but don't give up, okay? I think you two would make a cute couple. Maybe not now," Alfred says firmly. "But in a few years, when you're both adults and have finished your studies well. Like father and daddy. Okay?"
Peter nods slightly, burying his face back into the crook of his dad's neck. Alfred takes him back in his arms, sighing fondly. "She also loves you, you know." Alfred says smoothly. "She just doesn't know it yet."
A smile blooms on Arthur's lips as he's watching the sight in front of him. Life feels so perfect at the moment, like this, with his little family in their little sanctuary. It's been ten years since he and Alfred first met at that train station, seven years since their beautiful wedding, and five years since they decided to adopt Peter.
That fateful day, Arthur did take the next train departing for Washington D. C. He was still feeling dazed then, even when he was on board the train, the wrinkled paper held tightly in his hand. It could be a terrible decision, he had thought then. After all he barely knew Alfred, and he had just had a terrible break up with Francis, the man whom he had loved so dearly for many years.
But he felt something when Alfred pulled him into his arms. It was an unexplainable feeling. He only recognized the feeling from what he had used to feel whenever Francis took him into his embrace, only with the sensation magnified. It was strange how he could feel something like that with someone who was practically a stranger to him.
Perhaps it was curiosity that first pulled Arthur to Alfred. After all, he didn't really have anywhere else to go to, and that feeling, that sensation, was refusing to go away even when Alfred had pulled away and left. He decided there and then he had to at least know why, and purchased the ticket that would take him to Alfred.
Alfred, true to his words, was waiting for him when he arrived in D. C., with a wide smile on his face and a bag of fast food in hand. He looked overjoyed seeing Arthur again and immediately crushed the Englishman in a hug before apologizing later, smile still intact. He had offered Arthur one of the burgers which the latter took gratefully.
Alfred had taken him to his apartment, which was surprisingly tidy. They decided to do all the talking the next day and went straight to sleep, backs on each other in Alfred's bed. Arthur had refused to let Alfred sleep on the couch and vice versa. They were too tired to argue and it was getting too late anyway. They then agreed to share the bed.
Arthur woke up the next morning and found himself securely wrapped in the taller's arms, his own arms embracing the other comfortably. He immediately disentangled himself from the other, face flushing red. Alfred groaned in response, cracking one bleary eye open. Realizing what had just happened, he scurried away in reflex and fell from the bed with a loud thud.
Groaning, Alfred tried to sit back up and heard a snort. He averted his gaze to the Englishman to find him starting to laugh.
Pain forgotten, Alfred felt a smile blooming on his lips and before he knew it, he was laughing along.
Alfred began to introduce himself properly during the breakfast. He then continued to explain more detailed things about him, including his ability to see the red strings connecting people to their soul mates.
Arthur was skeptical at first, but couldn't find any reason why Alfred would lie to him as he got to know the younger man better. Alfred seemed genuine, but it wasn't enough for him at the moment. So he had asked Alfred to give some time and decided to go back to England for some time. To think everything through. Alfred understood and respected his decision and with that, Arthur flew back to London and didn't return until two whole months later.
He appeared in front of Alfred's doorstep in a cold December evening, two days before Christmas, with his whole life packed into suitcases and a backpack.
Alfred opened the door and stared right into Arthur's green eyes in a surprise.
I… I'm back, were Arthur's first words.
Alfred didn't know why tears fell from the corners from his eyes then, but as he pulled Arthur in, even closer to his heart, and replied with a choked Welcome home, he thought it didn't really matter.
He was there, with Arthur in his arms, and that was what really did matter.
"…thur?"
Arthur snaps back from his thoughts and finds Alfred and Peter both eyeing him curiously. "Huh?" is his dazed reply.
"We were asking if we should have dinner now but you kinda spaced out…" Alfred explains. "Are you okay?"
Arthur blinks. "Oh," he says dumbly. "Er, yeah. Right. I'm alright and yes we can have dinner now. Peter, would you be a good boy and set out the plates?"
Peter beams and nods, running off towards the kitchen, leaving both his parents alone.
"Arthur," Alfred shortens the distance between them and takes his lover in a comforting embrace. "Are you really okay? Is something bothering you?"
Arthur shakes his head. "I'm alright, love. I was just reminded of our first meeting."
Pulling away, Alfred smiles. "Huh. Are you worried about Peter?"
"Aren't you?" Arthur asks back, huffing.
"Yeah, but he'll be alright. Wy is his soul mate, y'know. I saw it with my own eyes the other day," Alfred grins and Arthur can't help but to smile back.
"That's good, then, I suppose." The Englishman says softly.
"Just stop worrying, Arthur. He will be fine," Alfred squeezes the other's hand reassuringly. "We will be fine."
As he gazes into those cerulean eyes, Arthur finds himself believing the words the younger has said. He has trusted Alfred since that cold December evening and found himself loved and mostly happy ever since, much more than he had felt before they met. He is willing to believe that they're going to be fine because after all, he and Alfred will try their hardest to make it come true.
"I love you so much," Arthur whispers as he leans in to press his lips on his lover's. "I love you so, so much."
"And I you," Alfred replies softly, words ghosting over Arthur's lips. "Forever. God, Arthur, I love you too."
Their kiss deepens, lips touching, hands caressing and eventually wandering, north and south, south, south —
"FATHER, DAD, I'M HUNGRY! LET'S EAT ALREADY!"
Alfred and Arthur fell to the floor, startled, Alfred on top of a groaning Arthur.
"YES PETER, ONE SECOND!" Alfred shouts back, shaking his head in disbelief of what just happened. Arthur pushes his lover off him none too gently and facepalms.
"I think we should go," Alfred smiles sheepishly.
"You think?" Arthur sighs, shaking his head. "Let's go, I'm starving anyway."
"We'll continue that later?" Alfred pouts.
Sighing, Arthur leans in and gives the taller man a peck. "Later," he agrees and makes his way towards the dining room, followed by the man who has his whole heart for him too keep.
Hello! This is my first hetalia fic and is about my otp in hetalia which is usuk. I hope you all enjoyed reading this piece as much as I enjoyed writing this. I'm sorry I forgot to add the translations for the French used in this fic when I first posted this, so here's the translations (might be inaccurate):
mon cher = my dear
s'il vous plait = please
désolé = sorry
je promets… Je le jure devant Dieu… = I promise... I swear to God...
Et pourtant, comme un fou, Je t'aimais toujours. = And yet, like a fool, I still loved you.
J'ai besoin de toi, Arthur, je veux être avec toi pour toujours… Je t'aime. Je t'aimerai toujours = I need you, Arthur, I want to be with you forever... I love you. I always will.
Es-tu sur = Are you sure?
Je t'attendrai = I will be waiting for you.
Prends soin de toi... à la prochaine = take care... see you next time.
Thank you for reading, I hope you all liked it!