Arthur knew that there was always someone, somewhere out there that was made specifically for someone else.
Now, he wasn't sure if it was a passionate romance, a comforting personality, or just someone who shared similar interests with them. He just knew that since he was small, something inside him acknowledged that for every life that came onto the earth, that life left with its matching puzzle piece. Sort of like Noah's Ark.
…Okay, it was essentially nothing like Noah's Ark.
But that still never changed anything. Arthur had the impression that this person was like all those laughably unrealistic movies. You know, the ones with the world's perfect people sparking attraction and falling madly in love or the equivalent. The media gloried in those movies to the point that Arthur had begun to believe it to be true. Not that he wanted one; it seemed like too much of a hassle and too predictable. Real life had to be like a giant chick flick; that's all there had been to it.
Yeah…Not. At. All.
It was virtually nothing like a chick flick. It was nothing like those movies with instant feelings and compromises and sweet little actions that pulled at the audience's heart strings. That was a bullshit fantasy world. Arthur Kirkland had no idea that the real thing was nothing but a ball of pain and tears and anger and misunderstandings only to be triumphed over if both parties wished to put it past them and come to an agreement.
And that was a big if.
It was really nothing like the movies at all.
"Whose bloody brilliant idea was this?" Arthur grumbled as he looked over the table to see he'd knocked the candles over again for the millionth time. A small chuckle to his left made Arthur narrow his eyes at the smiling Spaniard leaning against the wood, his brown eyes dancing with interest.
"Yours, actually," he admitted. Arthur straightened and huffed, dropping the rag to unbutton his cuffs and roll up his button up shirt's sleeves.
"You don't say." With that, he ran a hand over his forehead and looked up at the elegant stained glass windows high above the altar. He let his eyes run over the pictures of apostles and Mother Mary, something welling deep inside his gut uncomfortably. This place sort of creeped him out. He didn't know why his simpleton neighbor owned such an old and frightening church. It probably had something to do with his overly religious housemates.
"Really, you don't have to clean, Arthur," Antonio told him matter of factly. He hoisted himself up onto the table and watched the brooding Briton continue to slowly wipe the dust off the tabletop, glancing away nervously from the large windows above. "I won't hold it against you."
"Like I care what you think," scoffed Arthur, refusing to look at the dark skinned man eyeing him warily. "I just don't want to give you any reason to hold what you did over my head. God knows you'll continue bringing it up."
"I won't," chirped Antonio, looking honestly, well, honest. "I helped you out all those months because I know you were in a kind of bad place for a while. I mean, I know it was reasonable, after what happened to–"
"You don't have to say it," Arthur snapped quickly, sharp eyes flashing dangerously making Antonio jump. He held up his hands defensively making Arthur back down and sigh. "It's not like I didn't appreciate what you and those Italian doppelgangers did for me. Because I did appreciate it." Arthur griped and gripped the rag harder. "But I have a conscience too, no matter how small. So if you don't mind, shut your flapping jaw and let me pay you back in peace."
He bumped the table corner on accident, the tall candlesticks falling over the side once more with a 'clang.'
"Fucking hell!"
Antonio laughed, though it came out a bit uncertain, as he watched Arthur grumble and slam the candles back onto the offering table. He hopped down and brushed off his pants. "You shouldn't cuss in a church."
"You shouldn't keep condoms in your desk drawer," Arthur countered defensively.
"I told you already. Francis came over here the other week and put them there."
Brushing the dust off the rest of the table, Arthur rolled his eyes. "I believe that's a sin as well to be his friend."
Antonio muttered something in exhausted Spanish, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He gave Arthur a quick, reassuring pat on the shoulder before making his way down the pews, his shoes echoing in the massively tall building. "I'll leave you to tidy this place up then. You can go home whenever you like. I won't hold it against you."
"Would you stop saying that?" Arthur muttered in annoyance under his breath. He only then relaxed when he heard the large doors to the front of the church shut, leaving him alone in the hollow, empty room. Shoulders slumping, Arthur ran his hands wearily over his face, taking a long inhale.
It seemed that no matter where he went or who he was with, his mind kept going back to that incident six months ago. Arthur glanced towards his coat piled on the pulpit in a messy heap, so unlike him. He caught a glimpse of his wallet, knowing he had a picture of his youngest brother tucked safely inside.
Peter.
He growled and clenched his fingers until his knuckles turned white. Arthur hadn't been able to leave that picture at home. He carried it with him everywhere like a curse. He didn't feel like he'd made any progress to recover and move past that in the slightest, no matter how much Antonio reassured him.
"Damn Spaniard," Arthur grumbled and vigorously went back to cleaning. Yes, part of the reason he was in this church to clean was to pay back Antonio for taking care of him after the accident and Peter had passed. He was in a dark place and wouldn't leave his house for months. And yet, the major reason he had offered to clean the large building twice a week was to get his mind off the smiling face of the picture in his wallet. If he was too busy cleaning, he wouldn't have time to be upset.
An hour into his work, Arthur had heard the creaking of the doors behind him. He didn't bother turning around, too busy wiping down the windows. Arthur felt his skin crawl; it was like he could feel the painting's eyes watching him wherever he went.
"Did you forget something again?" Arthur asked, not really needing to raise his voice; the echo carried it away just as easily. Arthur paused when he didn't receive an answer. He felt something rumbling lowly in his chest in irritation. "Well?" he asked, turning around with a glare before stopping altogether.
It wasn't Antonio at all. It wasn't anyone Arthur was familiar with, actually.
A blonde boy, probably no older than high school, sat in the second bench from the front on the left. He looked somewhat nervous, or was that confusion? Arthur slackened under the perplexed gaze from the boy's blue eyes behind his glasses. He set his mouth in a line and met the boy's gaze.
"What are you doing here?"
The boy fiddled with his backpack as he set it down beside him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know there was going to be someone in here."
His voice sounded smooth to Arthur's ears making him unconsciously relax at the sound. "Are you allowed in here?" Arthur asked blandly, leaning his shoulder against the wall with a bored stare. Stupid Antonio. Why didn't he tell him people were allowed to come inside? He didn't want to see people.
The boy looked positively nervous as he gripped at his backpack and looked away. He stood up, nearly making a spectacle as he almost fell over the next row of benches, and put on a wavering smile as Arthur raised an eyebrow. "U-usually. Nobody's kicked me out so far. It's not – I-I mean, I didn't know someone else would be here. I'm sorry, I should've knocked or something. I'll leave. Sorry to bother you!"
Arthur didn't even bat an eyelash as he watched the train wreck that was the boy's vocabulary as he stumbled over his words and made for the doors. He slipped and let out a surprised shout, catching himself on a bench.
"I mopped the floor," Arthur said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The blonde's face caught fire as he quickly nodded and left the building, the doors slamming behind him.
Arthur ran his tongue over his teeth and curiously let his eyes linger to where the boy's back disappeared. He didn't know what to make of it, so he simply shrugged off the experience and went back to cleaning.
Odd.
The next time Arthur had come back to the church to clean, he wasn't as surprised when that boy made his way back in hesitantly through the doors. Arthur briefly glanced at him, crossing his leg over the other as he sat on the stage, before continuing his regular task. The boy quietly made his way back towards the second bench on the left, taking a seat unsurely.
"Oh! I forgot to tell you, didn't I? That's just Alfred. Don't worry about him. He comes in every afternoon. Just let him do his thing; he won't bother you."
Arthur scraped out the wax from the bottom of a candle holder and remembered back to what Antonio had said when he recalled the earlier experience in the week. He didn't really care one way or another if there was a person in here. As long as they didn't interfere with his cleaning then he would be fine.
It was silent for a long while, the absence of noise seeming that much more prominent now that he was aware there was another person here. Arthur chanced a glance up to see Alfred with a frown on his face as he stared down at his feet. For a minute, Arthur thought he was perhaps texting, but the more he looked, he could just tell that Alfred was staring at the ground.
What an odd way to spend his afternoon, Arthur thought absentmindedly. Most high school kids didn't go near a church, let alone spend their free time in it, looking at the floor to boot!
"You're not in trouble, boy," Arthur thought aloud. He blinked in surprise, the sentence leaving his lips without his control. Alfred's head snapped up at the sound, curious, round eyes looking at Arthur intently. It was unnerving enough to make the Briton flinch.
"O-oh. No, I wasn't thinking about–" Alfred started but stopped. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know," he settled on.
The room was enveloped in that uncomfortable, suffocating fog once more.
Arthur resumed his task, brushing off a few crumbs of red wax from his black dress pants. He made it down to three candles before the urge to glance up and see if Alfred was even still there nagged at the base of his skull. Conceding, worn down green eyes peered up past a fringe of messy bangs to blink at the blonde who sat hunched over, eyes to the floor and looking absolutely terrified.
Arthur craned his neck in slight interest, before it dissolved back into the normal black hole that settled in his stomach. "Do you ask permission to come in here?" Arthur asked mildly, rolling the curved spoon against his palm. Alfred peeked up at him, neck still nestled against his collarbone. He shook his head quickly, looking away.
Silence.
Boy, what a real chatty fellow, Arthur thought sardonically. He inspected his fingernails to see remnants from the waxy candles under his nails. He scowled distastefully. A voice echoed up and Arthur's ears caught it, looking over his nails to see Alfred in a different position, body tilted more to get a better look at a painting across the room. He frowned softly.
"Nobody's usually in here. Sometimes there's someone putting out books or something, but they don't talk to me. I just figured I was allowed to stay if I wanted. Or at least until they kicked me out," Alfred spoke, more so to himself than Arthur.
Arthur hummed in response. "Honestly, that's no way to act. For all you know, you're trespassing. I could call the authorities on you if I wanted."
Alfred looked at him in disbelief, not expecting such a threat to be thrown at him. Upon seeing Alfred's distressed appearance, Arthur rolled his eyes and flicked some wax from his nail with his thumb. "It was a joke, lad."
"…I knew that."
Arthur firmly gripped his spoon and went back to cleaning the holsters, trying his hardest to get every last drop off of the old and flawed metal.
"Do you work here?"
Arthur glanced up briefly to see Alfred looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. His fingers were gripping the bench in front of him as he watched Arthur dig out wax in a sudden bizarre curiosity. It set Arthur's stomach on edge.
"No," he put simply.
"Oh. I figured as much since you don't have a uniform…Would a church even give someone working for them a uniform?"
"I haven't a clue," Arthur muttered, moving onto another candle slot. Two more to go.
Alfred leaned back against his seat, flopping his arms lazily beside him as he glanced up the tall columns to the pointed ceiling above. "So if you don't work here, then what are you doing here?"
"Cleaning," he answered without skipping a beat.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because I want to."
"You want to?" Alfred blurted, looking absolutely alarmed. Arthur winced at how loud the boy was, scowling in Alfred's direction. Stupid boy didn't even flinch. "Why the heck would you want to clean this place? It's huge!" To prove his point, he threw his arms out for affect.
"I'm quite aware of that. Now would you kindly lower your voice?" Arthur ordered with a frown. It may have sounded like a request, but his tone specifically made it clear that it was a demand. He suddenly regretted getting this chap's vocal chords going. Who knew he was a babbler?
Alfred bit his lip before he absentmindedly started to fiddle with the fur lining the top of his brown jacket's hood. He lolled his head to the side before peering up at Arthur who was scrubbing off the holder with a cloth. "So?"
Arthur didn't bother looking up. "So what?"
"So why do you want to clean this place? Did you buy it or something?" Alfred asked sincerely.
"No."
"You're just a neat freak?"
"No."
Alfred pursed his lips and furrowed his brow in thought, looking up, before snapping his fingers. "You snuck in here too!"
"Unlike you, I have permission to be here," Arthur scoffed, setting the golden metal down atop the stage with the rest of them. He brushed the wax chips onto a napkin in a large pile before standing up. Arthur collected the large holders into his arms, the metal clacking together as he carried them over to the table in the front of the room.
"So why are you randomly cleaning all of the sudden?" Alfred asked, tapping his feet impatiently against the hard floor.
"Would you like me to ask why you're in here?" Arthur retaliated, annoyance starting to set in. Only five minutes and this Alfred boy was pestering him as much as Peter had done. He scowled. At least Peter dressed properly and was polite for the most part and knew when to shut up. Alfred just hid behind those big doe eyes of his with a goofy looking smile.
Alfred's smile dropped and he looked horrified, quickly recovering and shaking his head.
Arthur snorted, setting down the last of the metal. "I thought so."
Arthur resumed setting up the candle holders, starting to stick new, unopened candles into them from tallest to shortest, Alfred watching him all the while. He had the slight urge to tell him to leave, his magnetic (did he just seriously describe anything on a young boy as magnetic?) blue eyes unnerving Arthur to no end. He was worse than the paintings for crying out loud.
"Did you walk here?"
Arthur felt the muscles in his shoulders twitch before he let out a harsh breath from his lips. "Why?" he asked, back still to the boy with a thousand questions.
"Well, there's no cars out in the parking lot and stuff. Unless you took the bus or something. But if you did, then you'd have to catch it pretty quick. It leaves in twenty minutes," Alfred offered helpfully, a small smile gracing his lips. He watched as Arthur continued stacking candles in silence.
"Thank you for that, but I didn't take the bus," Arthur said, looking over his shoulder tastelessly. "You don't need to concern yourself with my transportation system. I'll do the same and not even cast a thought for yours."
Arthur felt somewhat guilty for the brief flash of disappointment that twinged on Alfred's face. But the guilt faded just as fast as Alfred's displeasure, smile plastering back on his lips. "That's cool. I was just trying to make small talk. I'm Alfred, by the way."
"I don't remember asking, but it's nice to meet you Alfred," Arthur said, trying to seem as disinterested as possible. Not to be rude or anything, but under the given circumstances, he couldn't bring himself to care about one measly conversation with a boy he didn't want to get to know.
Alfred rocked forward on his heels. "What's your–"
"Alright. That's enough of that; let me cut you off right there. I have a lot of work to do, Alfred. And it's not that I don't find this conversation flattering, what with you trying to get to know me and all, but if I must voice my disinterest in the whole thing, then I will. Please desist talking and do whatever it is you came in here to do."
Arthur exhaled and went back to fixing the candles.
Alfred didn't make a peep after that; merely hearing the rustling of fabrics as the boy shifted about on the bench to get comfortable. The next glimpse the Briton got of the blonde, he was back in the same position as the moment he entered the building; shoulders down, frown set, and a hardened look as he focused intently on the floor.
Arthur silently wondered what he was looking at to make him look so helpless.
"Hey, unibrow!"
The Englishman jumped in surprise, hand flailing almost comically so he wouldn't drop his cigarette. He turned to have his eyes dart to a figure making their way towards him, eyes alight with mirth as they recognized his two massive eyebrows.
Alfred.
Arthur cringed but placidly rotated back to resting his back against the front of the gothic church and blew a puff from his cancer stick into the cold air. When Alfred approached, enough so that Arthur could smell the sweet, sugary scent clinging to his clothing, he frowned properly at him. "What did you say?"
Alfred snickered sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "Well, I didn't really catch your name the last couple of times, and since you made it real clear last time that you didn't want to tell me your name, I figured I'd just call you unibrow. Is that okay?"
His response was a thick, burning puff of smoke in his face. Alfred squinted his eyes and coughed, jerking his head away to rub at his face. Arthur rested his cigarette against his lips and watched Alfred gag for a few more seconds before he straightened up and took another inhale.
Alfred blinked away the smoke, adjusting the glasses on his face, and focused back on the irritated looking man in front of him. "So that's a yes then?"
Another cloud of smoke hit his face. Alfred choked and took a few steps back, waving his arms. "Stop doing that!"
Arthur let out a lone, darkly amused chuckle and held his cigarette back to his lips with two fingers. He looked out across the parking lot to the other buildings lined down the street. People were on bicycles and in cars, moving around so fast it looked like they would be late if they just stopped for one second. Arthur rested his shoulder blades against the rough, old structure of the church. Something so massive and architecturally ancient must've stood out like a sore thumb in this fast-paced city.
He silently wondered why nobody stopped to even glance at it.
"I apologize. That was rude of me," Arthur said once Alfred stopped wheezing away the smoke. The young American just blinked a few times before smiling a strained smile, looking somewhat annoyed below the surface as well.
"Don't worry about it. That only burned just a little."
"Mm," Arthur hummed as he took another puff from his fag. With his hand so close to his face, he could smell the chemicals he'd used to clean inside today. It had only been his third day trying to make a piece of shit look like a sparkling diamond and he'd barely made a dent.
"You know those things taste like shit, right?"
Arthur snorted, running his tongue over his teeth. He didn't mind so much. A bad taste in his mouth took his mind away from bad places he didn't need to focus on anymore. It was a good distracter, hence the reason why he'd taken up smoking recently to begin with.
Alfred tilted his head to the side and shifted his feet, kicking distractedly at a rock in the grass. "I guess some people like eating shit," he muttered. Arthur's eye zipped to his, taking a hefty inhale from his cigarette. Alfred flinched, sticking his hands out and scuttling around Arthur for the doors.
"Alright, alright. I'm going inside now." Alfred grabbed at the door, unnerved by Arthur's eyes following him, the silent threat lingering in the air that Arthur would blow something in his face again. But before Alfred could open the doors, Arthur looked away and exhaled.
"Benches are wet."
Alfred looked over his shoulder, confused. "Huh?"
Another exhale, this time with smoke rings. "Benches are wet. They're drying."
Alfred paused a long moment, fingers flexing over the large handle of the door as he watched Arthur enjoy his cigarette. He shifted his weight to rest on his other foot, unsure of how to react to that. He very well couldn't go inside and sit down; not when the seats were drying. But that was the whole reason why he'd come. So…what did that leave him with now?
Alfred let go of the door and slumped back against it, mimicking Arthur. He looked up at the clouded sky and sighed. "Why are the benches wet?" he asked patiently.
"I scrubbed them," Arthur replied, coughing into his hand. Man, these things sucked. He vaguely heard a small groan of unhappiness before Alfred was silent.
"How long will it take for them to dry?"
"I've been out here an hour."
The childish whine that Alfred emitted almost made Arthur's mouth pull in a smile. This boy may have looked like a young adult, but there were a lot of aspects Arthur was starting to notice that were more similar to a child. He unconsciously relaxed his tense posture. Being around adults was still awkward and hard for him; but being around children, much like he had missed when Peter passed, made him feel comforted and relaxed.
Arthur peeked over from the corner of his eye to see Alfred pouting, lower lip stuck out as he kicked dejectedly at where the grass met the cement path. Arthur actually had to bite his cigarette to keep himself from smiling as that familiar cloud of warmth that he'd thought died off so many months ago resurfaced and slid through the cracks in his chest.
"You may as well go home. I don't think you'll be able to go in today even if the benches weren't wet. I have to air it out later to get rid of the chemicals," Arthur instructed, shutting his eyes and crossing his arms loosely.
Alfred peered over hesitantly at the standoffish Briton breathing evenly in a reserved manner. "Yeah, I guess…" He huffed. "But I came all the way out here. Seems like kind of a waste of effort."
Arthur remained silent as he mulled the boy's words over in his head. "What are you saying?" he asked cautiously.
Alfred shrugged when under the scrutinous gaze beside him. "I don't know. Maybe I could just, you know, if it's not a big deal, stay out here or something?" Alfred laughed nervously when Arthur's eyes narrowed sharply, a stream of gray smoke pouring from his lips like steam from a manhole on a cold New England night. "Or I could leave."
Arthur pursed his lips and resumed looking at the traffic driving by on the busy and blaring street. Yes, he liked that idea better. It involved less talking and more brooding.
Alfred glanced back at the church dejectedly, feeling a little antsy about not being able to go inside, before he dug around in his pockets. "Fuck – stupid phone," Alfred huffed, trying to move it out of the way to count a few bills in his jeans. He stuffed his cell phone back into his pocket and folded the money into the other. "I guess I could go down Fourth Street and get a bite to eat or something." Alfred patted at his growling stomach in reassurance before pushing off the building.
"I guess I'll see you later," he smiled uncertainly, not really knowing when or how long Arthur visited the church to clean. He waved and began to make for the parking lot. "Have fun, uh, smoking."
Arthur balanced his cigarette on his lips as Alfred stuffed his hands into his pockets and slumped forward, slowly making his way to the streets. Perhaps it was the 'kicked puppy' look Alfred sported, or perhaps it was the fact that Peter's favorite park was on two blocks over from Fourth Street and that was where the car accident happened, but Arthur felt something in his chest (his heart maybe?) tighten nervously and his palms sweat. He shifted, wiping his sweaty hands against his pants before chewing at his lip.
With an annoyed growl, Arthur pushed off the wall rather harshly and quickly caught up to Alfred, grabbing the boy harshly around the hips and swirling him around. Alfred made a noise of surprise as he regained composure on unsteady feet, staring at Arthur in confusion as he was now facing the church.
"Traffic is bad in the afternoon," Arthur explained gruffly.
Alfred blinked, bewildered, before looking around, almost as if hoping to see Arthur's point to his random comment floating in the air. "And?"
Arthur put his cigarette out on his shoe. "There are a lot of people on Fourth Street this time of day." Arthur snarled lowly in his chest when seeing blue eyes blink in perplexity at him. "Just take a seat!" he ordered, pointing back towards the church that was now behind him.
Alfred jumped before hesitantly making his way back towards the large building. He rested his back against the front before sliding down, watching Arthur do the same in a matter of seconds. He pulled his knees up, hands fisting at the material, as they let the silence envelope them again.
After a minute, Alfred felt his constant need to either be moving or talking resurface. He looked over in uncertainty at the glowering Briton, Arthur staring out at the honking cars and taxis with a sense of disgust. Alfred crinkled his nose at the face Arthur was making. Only a moment ago he looked as if he had no preference to what Alfred or anyone else did.
Alfred rested his chin in his palm and smiled in relief, looking out into the parking lot. "This is boring."
"You're the one who wanted to come here."
"Yeah, I guess so. But I also said I could leave if you wanted me to."
"And I said shut up and sit down."
Alfred sighed, wondering if all adults were this impossible. He chuckled to himself. "At least you're not smoking anymore–" he said, turning to look at Arthur in relief, not much liking the smell of cigarettes. He balked when seeing the Englishman light up another stick, roughly digging his palm into his tired eyes. He groaned.
"What was that?" Arthur asked distantly.
"Nothing. Never mind," Alfred breathed. And here he'd hoped that was Arthur's last one. "So…" he pattered awkwardly, patting at his knees. "Traffic's bad, huh?"
"Dreadful," Arthur drawled, breathing out toxic smoke all the while. He could practically feel the filth he was putting into his lungs. The more the merrier.
"Hm. That sucks. Traffic's always bad in the city, though," Alfred reasoned.
"All the more reason to stay put."
Alfred watched Arthur silently with interest as the small Briton with scraggly sandy-blonde hair gently rested his cigarette against his lips, tongue darting out ever so slightly occasionally to keep it from falling. Being this close and not in the dull light of the church, Alfred could see that Arthur was old. Well, not old old, but he was older than him. Not quite thirty and engulfed in a career, yet not quite twenty and still in college. Perhaps it was the angry creases between his eyebrows or the scowl lines marking his face that made him look so worn down and bitter and just plain old.
"What's your name again?"
Arthur paused, looking over at Alfred, his green eyes locking with amused blue. He scowled. "Is that really important?"
Alfred shrugged. "Well, I've seen you a couple times now, and with the way you're sticking around to tidy up this place, I can almost assume I'll see you again."
Arthur smirked a smug little smile, it being more of a lip twitch, and snorted. "Can you really?"
"I think so," admitted Alfred honestly.
Arthur removed his cigarette from his lips with a twirl of his wrist. "If you can guess it, then I'll tell you." The immature frown at this made Arthur laugh, cheeks feeling tight as he hadn't felt a real smile pulling at his face in a long while. He almost forgot how fun it was to smile; only at the right person, of course.
"That's no fair. There's gotta be, like, a million names out there or somethin'."
"Or my parent's could have named me something unfortunate like Superman or grapefruit," Arthur muttered, taking away any and all hope Alfred had for finding out his name.
"You're horrible," Alfred joked, stretching his legs out with a sigh.
"Not even close, but good guess, though." Arthur smiled offhandedly when Alfred punched him softly on the shoulder.
As they sat outside waiting for the benches to dry, Alfred guessing names from 'Robert' to 'Charlotte,' Arthur realized something very different about the boy beside him. He was the same as a child, yet the same as an adult. Talking to Alfred relaxed him like being around children did, yet he still felt like he was interacting with someone who functioned properly in society. It was like killing two birds with one stone.
Alfred may have been the key to slowly recovering from seclusion.
But that was a big maybe.
"Hey, Arthur."
Arthur stopped sewing the loose edges from the cloth commandments on the wall enough to look up in mild surprise at the grinning American leaning against the second bench from the front on the left. Alfred grinned to himself, setting his backpack down and ignoring the throbbing of his feet at his usual walk from the school to the church. "That's your name, isn't it? Arthur?"
By the silence Arthur was retaining, Alfred's cheeks glossed over with red and his nose wrinkled in confidence. "I knew it."
"How did you find that out?" Arthur asked, continuing with his task of carefully inserting the needle in and out of the fabric.
"I just asked someone in here the other day. I figured if you were working in here, some usher or something would know who you were," explained Alfred with a flick of his wrist. Arthur frowned, not liking the idea at all of Alfred prying into his personal affairs. There was just something sneaky about going behind his back to find things out about him.
"Was this fellow idiotic looking beyond all reason with a face that looks tempting to slap?" Arthur asked, jaw set as he imagined all the different scenarios where he would kill Antonio and his big, fat blabbermouth.
Alfred tilted his head and shook it slowly. "Nooo. It was some angry guy with a really hard to understand accent. He called you – what was it – fairy bastard or something."
"Did he appear constipated?"
Alfred nodded, eyes alight with eager recognition. "Yeah!"
Arthur hummed, carefully watching his fingers. "I think I have a clue to who this is." Unfortunately for him, he couldn't even dream of hitting Lovino or his brother. Aside from the fact that he may be charged with child abuse, Antonio would never let him get away with laying a finger on either of his two roommates.
"So what do I get?"
Upon the entertainment in Alfred's voice, Arthur had no choice but to look up. "Excuse me?"
"What do I get? I guessed your name." Alfred swayed on his feet, hands resting on the bench in front of him.
"Nothing. You cheated," Arthur stated simply.
"But I guessed right yesterday!"
Alfred was rewarded with a bored visage. "You did not."
Alfred nodded fervently. "I did. I said Artie."
"Ah, but that's not my name," Arthur breathed, finishing his stitch.
"It's the same thing."
"It isn't. I have neither an i nor an e in my name. Hence, your presumption was deemed impractically incorrect." He ignored the frown Alfred sported as he uncrossed his leg and walked back over to the wall, climbing atop his stepladder to hand the cloth back on its hook.
"Man, you're a stickler," Alfred finally grumbled, running a hand through his damp hair. It had started sprinkling halfway over to the church. Alfred got to his feet and walked down the aisle, pivoting his feet at the last minute to walk over to the organ.
"Don't touch that," Arthur instructed without even turning around. He already knew where Alfred was going.
"Touch what?" Alfred asked, voice dripping with false innocence. Arthur sighed irritably and stepped down from his ladder, turning to look at the young American seat himself in front of the large instrument, cracking his fingers experimentally.
"I think I can safely assume that you are the type of person to break everything you touch. I don't want to find an excuse to tell anyone why I let some strange boy waltz in and destroy a very ancient instrument."
"I know how to play," Alfred waved him off easily making Arthur blink curiously before narrowing his eyes.
"I don't believe you."
"I do. Cross my heart and hope to–" he stopped, nervously glancing at a painting of Jesus staring down at him with glossed over eyes. Alfred's throat constricted nervously before he looked away, his smile wavering. "I do."
Arthur casually made his way over to the stage and sat on the end of it, crossing his leg and watching Alfred with a sense of suspicion. "Well go on then. Play something."
Alfred licked his chapped lips before exhaling a large breath of air, dispelling his nerves. He lined his fingers up, glancing to see if he was at the proper places, before pressing down on the keys. A large, loud, and unbearably unholy sound tore at Arthur's eardrums, making him wince and clasp his hands to his ears. "Alright, off," he bit out in aggravation.
"Wait, wait. I'm just a little rusty. Let me–" Another wave of echoes bombarded Arthur's delicate ears much to his chagrin. He grit his teeth, the sound being amplified due to the architecture of the building.
"Enough!"
"Hold on, I really do know how!" Alfred looked somewhat panicked as he saw Arthur starting to stand, possibly about ready to yank him off the piano bench. Alfred quickly aligned his fingers once more and pressed. Arthur stopped when hearing a rusty yet familiar melody start to take hold of the air around him. He paused, watching Alfred look at the keys in concentration.
So he did know how to play. "I'll be damned," Arthur muttered, rocking back on his heels to sit back down. He watched in morbid fascination as Alfred got progressively better. The tune was still a little bit off, but it was distinctly the sound of "Take me out to the ballgame."
"See?" Alfred asked, not looking up at Arthur. He was too busy trying to keep the tune going.
Arthur didn't say anything, merely watching as Alfred surprised him yet again with a seemingly random ability. What an odd child, knowing how to play the organ.
"A-and cracker jack…I don't care if – wait – care if I ever get back," Alfred sung in synch with his song. Arthur felt something start to turn mushy as a small chip was formed in the thawing of his bitter and agonized heart. There was something enthralling about this scene before him; Arthur wasn't quite sure what though.
"You're terrible," Arthur announced.
Alfred balked, glancing up at Arthur and momentarily ruining the tune from the song. "I'd like to see you do better."
"I can't," admitted Arthur truthfully.
"Well then stop complaining. Take me out to the baaaallgame, take me out to the croooowd," Alfred sung animatedly, laughter bubbling at his words all the while. Arthur covered his mouth with his hand and rested the weight of his head against his hand, his elbow resting against his knee. He couldn't smile at that. He couldn't smile at something so juvenile and stupid. And yet behind the shield of his hand, he did.
"Come on, Arthur. Sing," Alfred instructed.
Arthur shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know the words."
Alfred snorted in disbelief. "I don't believe you. Everyone knows this song. Crackerjack! I don't care if I ever get back!"
"I'm not singing."
Alfred grinned at him making the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck stand up. "I won't stop until you sing."
"I won't."
"Let me root, root, root for the home team."
Arthur sighed, not believing that he was actually going to do this. "If they don't win it's a shame," he said, not sung. But the look on Alfred's face at his participance made his hatred for the organ temporarily stall. "For it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the–" Arthur stopped, his voice the only thing echoing above in the air. He cast curious eyes towards Alfred who was staring down at the keyboard with pause.
Arthur shifted somewhat in embarrassment. "Why'd you stop?"
Alfred stilled, glancing up and away quickly from the glass windows staring at him. He felt his palms beginning to sweat. "I think I forgot the rest," he laughed, though the sound came out more as a choked sound in the back of his throat.
Arthur uncrossed his legs, disentangling himself from his spot on the stage as he stood up. How could Alfred forget the rest? It was the same string of tunes from the first part of the chorus. Arthur moved forward, hand resting against the offering table as words died on his tongue. He looked up at the eerie glass paintings looking down at them, something caught in his throat as well. His hip hit the table, candles toppling over the side and onto the floor with a noisy clatter.
The sudden tension was torn like paper.
Immediately, Alfred was on his feet and gathering his backpack, making for the door.
"I think I'm just going to go home. I forgot about something that I had to do today."
Arthur let his eyes follow after him in confusion. "A-alright."
"Bye," Alfred muttered quickly, sounding almost afraid that he wouldn't get the sound out. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, unsure of what it was exactly, before the doors slammed, leaving him alone in the large, dull building.
Arthur couldn't quite grasp what had just happened. All he knew was that it was probably best Alfred had left. He had been distracted the last few times he'd seen the boy and had a lot of work to do.
Still, that pressure remained in the pit of his stomach as he continued sewing, swearing that something was watching him in there.
It had been nearly three months since Arthur had started to clean Antonio's church twice a week. And every time he'd come in, Alfred would show up around 3:15 with his backpack and sit in his seat on the second bench from the front on the left. He didn't know why Alfred always sat there and never cared to ask. It was just a seat anyway.
Most times Alfred would try and talk to him, and most times Arthur would listen. It was never anything really punctual or intelligent, but it was enough to keep a bit of Arthur's attention. Alfred rambled a lot and talked about his school and his brother and his favorite games and sports. Arthur would silently clean, throwing in a smartass comment every now and then, but meaning no real personal harm.
Alfred seemed to be the only exception, crossing the bounds of both child and adult. If it had been any other person, Arthur presumed, he wouldn't have been as kind as he had been. At least Alfred distracted him a lot more than working could ever do.
And yet, there were also those days where Alfred would not talk. He would simply sit down in the pews and stare at his feet, looking absolutely petrified. He wouldn't talk, he wouldn't move, he wouldn't even say hello. He would just take a seat and mutter something under his breath, squeezing at the material of his jeans for dear life.
And then there was this. Something that far exceeded cheerful, relaxing Alfred and silent, withdrawn Alfred. It was on this very rainy afternoon that Arthur knew there was something deeply bothering Alfred, enough to make him sit in a church every moment he got.
It had been silently pouring outside, the rain tapping against the windows like a ghost trying to get someone's attention. Arthur still felt at his hair with a frown to feel that it was still a little wet. It had been nearly an hour since he walked from his apartment to the church and he still felt cold and wet.
Arthur put down his broom and let his eyes roam over the building. It was starting to look nice. Well, nicer than it had been. He had really spruced the place up a lot. Arthur then looked over to his right to see Alfred, the boy looking almost peaceful as his chest rose and fell softly. The blonde looked terrible when he'd walked in this past week. He wore purple bags under his eyes. Alfred had reassured him that he had just been struggling with a little bit of insomnia due to tests.
Arthur paid no heed. He knew the feeling.
And so he let Alfred catch up on a few moments of sleep while he cleaned. But after a few minutes, Arthur found himself itching and feeling uncomfortable in the silence. He had grown accustomed to noises in the church, but with Alfred asleep, he felt antsy.
Slowly, memories of Peter had started popping up, worming their way into his thoughts even now. Arthur let out a shaky breath and ran his hands over his face. He thought he was getting better at this. Apparently not. He still felt a wall of festering pain under the thin sheet of warm Alfred had been helping resurface.
In the end Alfred wasn't enough to keep Peter at bay.
Arthur ran his finger over the picture in his wallet, eyes looking lost as he bit at his lip. Why couldn't he just get past this like a normal person? Arthur frowned bitterly. He didn't know how much longer he could stand living with these thoughts.
As if suddenly expressing Arthur's fears and anger, a scream thundered through the church. Arthur nearly dropped his wallet, eyes darting up with a thudding heart as he sought out the source of the terrified sound. In an instant, he skidded to a halt and stood over Alfred as the boy flailed, throat being put to the limit as more helpless, frightened sounds flew from his lips.
Arthur grasped onto Alfred's shoulders quickly, shaking him as easily as he could. "Alfred. Alfred, wake up."
Blue eyes flew open, as wide as dinner plates as Alfred stopped screaming. His mouth opened slightly, chest heaving as quickly as if he'd just run a marathon. Arthur felt his fingers flex over the damp material of Alfred's jacket as he watched the boy's murky vision slowly rise higher until he was staring at the stain glass paintings. He froze immediately.
"Alfred?" Arthur asked uncertainly, brow pulling together before a knee was jammed into his stomach in a frantic move to get away. Arthur grit his teeth and gasped, pain radiating down to his toes as he crumpled over, glaring and trying his best to watch Alfred.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorrysorrysorrysorry," Alfred screamed, covering his face with his arms as lightening flashed in the sky, making it look as if the holy picture's eyes flashed with something dangerous. Alfred's face sank, looking horrified.
"Alfred – Alfred stop," Arthur commanded, trying to get back on his feet to move down the narrow aisle easier. "You're awake. Stop screaming!"
Alfred kicked his way until his back rested at the end of the bench, body trembling as he never let his eyes drift away from the painted ones above him. "I can't get it off. It won't come off. I can't, I can't. I'm sorry. Really, I am. Please believe me. I didn't mean to! I really am sorry."
Arthur grabbed at Alfred's hands, stopping him from the incessant rubbing against his pants and shirt, and tried to calm him down. He'd never seen anyone look so frightened. "Listen to me. There's nothing there. Look – there's nothing on your hands, Alfred. You're fine."
Alfred shook his head, weakly tugging at his arms to snatch them back. Arthur gave him a rough shake, Alfred's eyes finally zipping down to the pointed stare he was receiving. "Look."
Slowly, after gulping down a greedy amount of air, Alfred hesitantly looked at his hands. He blinked, eyes trying to adjust to the light of the room as he turned the shaking palms over, getting a better look. He continued to look at his hands, Arthur waiting patiently until recognition seeped in and Alfred started to relax in his hold.
"Th-there's nothing there," he murmured, as if just seeing it wouldn't make it true. Arthur nodded, his nerves all out of whack, the sound of Alfred's apologies running like an alarming loop in his mind.
"No, there isn't."
Alfred let out a trembling sigh and slumped forward, his head pressing against Arthur's chest. The Briton stiffened for a moment, debating whether or not to push Alfred away, when he heard the muffled sound of sniffles. Instinctively, he coiled his arms around Alfred's broad back and pulled him to him.
"There's nothing there," Alfred repeated, almost as if he didn't believe it.
Arthur rested his chin in Alfred's hair, shutting his eyes and just breathing. Alfred always smelled like a bakery. "No. You're fine, see? A little wet, but fine."
Alfred nodded, fingers curling against Arthur's sweater vest as if just letting go would make him tumble into the darkness and never climb out. Arthur tightened his grip, feeling as though the same would happen. So he wasn't the only one being eaten up by grief. Alfred used the church as a distraction as well.
From what, Arthur did not know.
He simply sat there on the bench, rocking back and forth calmly, unsure of the meaning behind Alfred's words as the boy choked on a sob and pressed his face desperately into Arthur's chest.
"Three strikes, I'm out."
Author's Notes: "Take me out to the ballgame" belongs to Jack Norworth. Sorry for the cliffhanger. You're free to speculate on whatever direction you think this story is going in. Sorry for another AU two-shot angst fest. It might be my last one for a while. I'm not really sure, though.
Sorry for any mistakes, also. I will try to get around to fixing them.