Title : Forever & Always

Main pair(s) : US/UK [Alfred/Arthur]

Minor pair(s) : France/Canada [Francis/Matthew], Germany/Italy [Ludwig/Feliciano], Spain/Romano [Antonio/Lovino], Russia/China [Ivan/Yao], Greece/Japan [Heracles/Kiku]

Encounter

Well. This was quite disturbing.

There were too many piles of things! He couldn't bring all of them. His brows met in the middle of his forehead, his long fingers found its way to his golden tinted hair and ruffled the hair harshly. One strand of hair stayed stationary, seemingly defying gravity.

Alfred sighed again. He had five boxes in front of him; all of which were important. The American kept his gadgets such as laptop, flash drives, empty and old CDs and DVDs, his tablet, his computer software, and his iPad in the first box. The second one was filled with lots of design and photography magazines and some old 70s and 80s magazine that he got from the antique bookstore down the street. He gazed at the next box; it was a collection of his music. He collected rock & roll, instrumental music, pop, classic, and—much to his chagrin—some old music back in the 70s and 80s. He liked keeping old music because it reminded him of his parents back when they were still in America; plus the covers were one of his sources of inspiration.

The fourth box contained gifts from his watchers in dA. He also had a few posters of amazing deviations that he had found, a camera bag from one of his watchers; Lupina, a gothic themed calendar from Mizu89, meago's art book from the artist herself, a few other art books and illustrations collection, and some shirts he got from dA. He ruffled his golden strands, pulling some of it, and groaned in annoyance. The fifth—being the last—contained his scrapbooks and old photos of his family, friends, and himself back when he was a toddler. It was also filled with his photographs and photo books. The blond male wanted to publish the book, but resisted the urge. He promised his mother to stay hidden in the society; to just be a normal photographer and illustrator.

Alfred took a glance at the clock on his wall. It was forty-five past twelve in the afternoon. He raised his brow, as if he was forgetting something he should've done.

"Damn!" he hissed, quickly grabbing his bomber jacket and shoes. "I forgot about the interview!" The American male ran—or rather leapt—down the stairs, not forgetting to say goodbye to the old lady at the ground floor who owned the place, clambered onto his motorcycle and left a trail of grey puffy smoke as he rode down the street.

Living in England wasn't really that horrible. Of course the weather was sometimes a bother to him when he was in a hurry to reach his workplace, but except that, everything was absolutely nice.

He finally arrived at the headquarter of the company. The place was absolutely huge and sophisticated. The main building which was the tallest was covered with glassed windows that mirrored the view of the sky; in the middle were their logo and a large classic clock, tinted in bright tawny colour. There were another buildings too, but a little smaller than the first. The second building was on the right with the same design as the main building but a little smaller and it had no logo in the center. The third building was on the left side also with the same design like the second. The front yard was quite beautiful; Alfred adored the pristine colour of their fountain, the style was classy and medieval, adding this old, traditional look which was quite a fitting aura for a publishing company.

The American blond was strolling towards the main entrance when he spotted another figure walking out from the automatic glass door.

Their eyes met; deep sapphire orbs met vast emerald orbs. Both were stuck in their own world. Alfred felt his head spinning a little and his stomach twisted in a weird way. Despite his effort to tear the gaze, he couldn't. He was transfixed in those shiny green eyes. There were these unreadable emotions; fear, surprise, suspicion, and something that the American couldn't explain. Alfred F. Jones decided that he liked the colour of those eyes; they were alive and vivid, unlike any green shade he'd seen before. The American male also noticed the large, bushy eyebrows. The view made him chuckle silently and unconsciously, he leaned towards the shorter figure.

However, before the American spoke a word or opened his mouth the figure strode away swiftly, leaving a dazed American male to stare at the other's back and his ears which were turning into a vivid pink. It made his lips curl into a small smile.

Alfred walked inside towards the front desk. He smiled politely and asked about a guy named Hanatamago. The lady in the front desk giggled knowingly and stood up, leaving the American man. She went to the back and later arrived with another figure almost shorter than her; his eyes were bright aqua blue, hair tinted in an almost dirty blond with a white hat on, and the male was smiling tenderly.

"Why, hello!" a thick Finnish accent slipped from the male's lips. "You must be AwesomeHero50! Welcome to Művészet és Irodalom! I'm Tino Väinämöinen, your current boss! My pen name is Hanatamago! Nice to meet you!"

The American smiled brightly and shook the Finn's hand lightly in a friendly gesture. "Hello! My name is Alfred F. Jones! Digital artist at your service!"

The Finn made a gesture for Alfred to follow him to a small room where there was another figure. This time, the person was tall, well-built, and had this scary look planted on his face. It made his body rigid all of the sudden. Tino, noticing the sudden stiff movements coming from Alfred, smiled gently; assuring that the man across the room won't harm anyone.

Smiling nervously, the American defied his fears and sat facing the scary male. "This man," Tino patted the latter's shoulder gently. "Will be your second boss. His name is Berwarld Oxenstierna."

"H-hello," the American blond stretched his hand nervously, cursing mentally for stuttering in front of his new boss.

"H'llo. N'ce t' m't y', s'r Jon's." The male—who Alfred guessed was a Swede—responded to the hand and shook it lightly. Alfred noticed light sapphire orbs behind the glasses; this man almost looked like his uncle with that hair!

"Please, don't address me as 'sir' or whatsoever formal names!" the bubbly blond smiled, waving his hand slightly. "Just call me Alfred. I am your employee after all!"

The Finn smiled sweetly while the latter remained stone-faced. Tino began explaining about the book he'll be illustrating. He took the book and examined it. The cover was glossy; it showed a picture of a young girl with a long pale auburn hair riding a unicorn. The painting was dark, but it was absolutely bright at the same time. 'How peculiar,' he thought solemnly. 'I've never seen a painting like this for years. The last time I saw it was the time when my auntie sold it.' He smiled faintly, a nostalgic feeling from the past surfacing.

"What do you think about the painting, Alfred?" The Finn snapped him from his recollection.

"O-oh! Sorry. I was distracted," he smiled sheepishly. "I like the cover. The painting looks incredibly beautiful and gives you the shivers!" he pointed at the glossy cover. He paused for a moment to read the story's synopsis at the back. 'Dawn of Dreams,' he read it in his mind. The title was printed in large size—the font was probably Chopin Script, as he guessed it—and the artist was quite interested in the story despite the fact that he didn't really believe in fairies or other mystical creatures. "The story seems interesting. Who's the author?"

"Arthur Kirkland," Tino answered while taking a few pieces of paper from a blue folder. "This is his… um… mansion," the editor showed him a paper with photos of the house and the description. 'What the hell? This is where the author lives? He must be a good one! A bestselling author!' The digital artist perused the picture, imagining what it'll be like for him to live there. "And of course, being his illustrator, you'll be moving to his h—mansion permanently."

At the mention of permanent, the photographer's ears perked, eyes widened. "Really?"

"Well, of course! And besides, the place has some spare rooms. You don't have to worry. The whole household is very nice. Although," the Finn tapped his chin a few times, trying to remember something. "You probably have to be careful with a tall Russian guy named Ivan. He's pretty scary," then he showed another paper with a familiar figure. His blue eyes glued itself into the emerald orbs.

"It's… him…." He mumbled unconsciously.

"Oh?" Tino raised his brow. "You recognize him?"

"N-no," the blond illustrator mumbled. "I don't know who he is."

"H's Art'r K'rkl'nd, Alfr'd." The Swede fixed his thin glasses.

"H-he is?" the illustrator flushed slightly, pinkish hue adorning his cheeks transparently.

"Yes. He's been working with us for 2 years, and I must say, he's quite a sarcastic man!" the Finn chirped lightly, as if talking about a nearby clothes sale. "Just don't insult his cooking, Alfred. He's extremely touchy about the subject," the shorter pale blond male giggled before taking out a few keys. "This will be your entrance keys. Use the silver key to enter your room, while the gold one is for the front door. You use bronze to enter the back door in case the front door is locked. The black one is for the gate."

"Okay, then. When will I move?" The American illustrator eyed the keys, admiring their colours.

"I have no idea about that. You should probably call the house and ask if they still have some spare rooms available. After that, you can contact me and Berwarld. Here's our phone number." The Finn editor gave him a small piece of paper with numbers and names written in messy and hurried gesture.

"Okay! Thank you, Tino, Berwarld."

He reached his apartment and threw himself onto the bed. The American male slapped himself for doing something so stupid. Love at first sight? How preposterous! There is no such thing! But… if that kind of love never exists, then why did he ask for Arthur Kirkland's profile from Tino? 'It's curiosity. I'm just curious about the author. There's no infatuation there.' He reasoned in his mind.

It was true that when he met the British male earlier he felt this kind of warm, tingly spark in his chest, but he shrugged it off. On the other hand, he couldn't ignore how beautiful those India green orbs are. The illustrator couldn't forget those shiny eyes, the way it sparkled under the sun, and how it looked at him questioningly. Not to mention the thick eyebrows above it. The blond illustrator admitted that he was studying the author the first time. How small his jaw was, how his sandy hair ruffled softly from the breeze, how his cheeks flushed darkly, and how gentle those lips were. The last detail made him curious as to how it would feel like if he were to kiss the lithe British author.

'What the hell?' he thought blushing dark crimson. 'I'm straight! I like girls! Well, okay maybe not really…. But there's no way that I'll date that old author! He's—he's old!'

He kept giving himself reasons why he shouldn't date the author, but failed miserably until point number three. The photographer groaned lazily and stood up to reach his cell phone in his backpack and a paper of Arthur Kirkland's profile. Alfred skimmed the paper for the mansion's number and began pressing buttons.

Alfred kept waiting on the line. There's a few recurring beeps before someone picked the phone up on the other line and asked, "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Arthur Kirkland's residence?" The American illustrator dropped the piece of paper and pressed the loudspeaker button.

"Yes, it is. May I help you?" The thick British accent echoed through the room.

"Can I talk to him? This is an urgent matter." 'Well, not really.' He added silently in his mind.

"I am Arthur Kirkland. Who is this?"

Alfred's breath caught in his throat. He could felt his heart hammered in his chest, almost like exploding. "I-I'm Alfred F. Jones," he slapped himself mentally for stuttering twice. "Your illustrator?"

"Ah, yes. Someone has told me about you," the voice seemed to grow into a softer, warm tone. "I've spared you a room next to mine. When will you be moving?"

Ah, yes, of course. He had to organize those five boxes again and sort them out. Or maybe just tricked his motorcycle. The American illustrator smirked at the thought.

"I will be moving today, I think." Alfred answered, his index finger tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"So soon?" there was a silent pause and the taller male was about to retort something when the author responded, "Eh… uhm… I-I mean… it's okay. It doesn't really matter, though. Did Tino give you the directions?"

"Yes, he did. I'll be arriving at evening. I have to sort out my things," the blond illustrator ruffled his hair. "Oh, and would you mind helping me with my stuffs? I definitely can't carry them all."

The American could feel the smile from across the line. "Certainly."

Noticing the time, the author quickly shifted from his sleeping position and took his manuscript, ran downstairs, and muttered a quick, "I'm going out!"

The Brit strolled to the backyard to retrieve his lime green bicycle and cycled out from the large, elegant baroque mansion. Mornings were the time when he enjoyed cycling the most. The air was still fresh and cool, unlike the afternoons or evenings. Arthur noticed a few familiar people during his cycling to the company; he saw the little kids who usually play in the park, the old lady who sat on the bench in front of the flower shop, and a Scottish kid with carmine hair selling newspapers.

The British author stopped by a small shop where its window was always open in the morning and one of the employees will serve him a hot tea or vanilla steamer. Today he saw Leslie, the Norwegian woman, sitting near the window, staring absent-mindedly at the sky while blowing a trail of smoke from her lips. The tall, shiny blond woman noticed Arthur's presence, and served him a hot Chrysanthemum tea. The younger blond muttered a quiet thank you and took the carton glass away and left a few cents, waving a small goodbye at Leslie who smiled back and winked.

Arthur kept cycling through the streets and found a certain avenue he was looking for eventually. A grin was plastered on his face as he cycled faster towards the building where his imaginations were acceptable and society loved it so. When he saw the security in the main gate, he gave his usual smile and put his bike near the security post.

He ran inside the main building, not bothering to take the elevator and opted for a stairway. The sandy blond author preferred an exercise rather than being suffocated inside that small space. The short Brit finally reached the fifth floor where Estevan usually works. He found the Cuban male was reading a manuscript rather earnestly; he didn't have the heart to disturb the older man.

However, the dark skinned male did notice Arthur's presence and beckoned him to approach. "Arthur! Man, am I glad to see ya! I was wondering when you will come over. These manuscripts are getting boring!" The brunette male patted his back quite harshly, and he smiled nevertheless; the Cuban was his friend after all.

"And I saw you reading that manuscript pretty seriously," the author chuckled and placed his manuscript on top of his stationery drawer.

"Are you joking? I was practically glaring at the manuscript!" the reader laughed. "Anyways, have you met your illustrator?"

The blond Brit raised his thick eyebrow. "Illustrator? I've never heard of such thing."

"What?" this time, Estevan's brown eyes widened. "Didn't Franes—or whatever his name is—tell you anything?"

"Tell me what?" He questioned back, getting confused and a little panicked.

"Your bestselling book—Dawn of Dreams—is going to be illustrated! By this awesome guy," the older man sat down and clicked his pearl mouse a few times. "AwesomeHero50! He's just awesome. Berwarld even stared wide-eyed at this guy's page!"

Arthur didn't respond. He stared at the green page; especially at the illustrator favorite art entitled 'Soul Mate'. It was a picture of two males standing in a separate way; one was a bright blond man and the latter was a sandy blond. Both of their little fingers were linked with a glowing red string. Looking at the sandy blond figure, it reminded him of himself. A slight blush surfaced on his cheeks. His soul mate is a man? Could it be? Well, he had never found a decent girl to marry or date with. Maybe it's their personality? Or how they use so much makeup nowadays? But honestly, it would be really nice to settle down with someone. He was fine with both genders, though. It doesn't matter; as long as they could take care of each other.

After staring for quite a long time at the page, he left the floor. He met Michelle while the Seychellois was holding a few trays of coffee and offered him one. He rejected the offer softly and said he wasn't fond of the drink. Later, Arthur talked with the woman at the front desk. Arthur once had a crush on her but she seemed to be the independent type and a little bit self-centered. After sharing a few stories, he proceeded to walk out from the door and saw a pair of deep sapphire orbs.

The eyes reeled him in intensely. Those orbs were just… beautiful. It was tinted in sea blue, but there's a tint of the sky and freedom. It gave him the shivers. Where was this male from? He was probably not British or anywhere around Europe. His green orbs trailed towards the bright golden hair. It shone brightly under the sun and was almost like glowing. The author was interested in this one strand of hair that seemed to defy gravity. Then his eyes trailed back to those blue orbs again. Oh! The tall figure wore glasses! How did he miss that? Maybe it was the clear shade of blue he saw that made him miss the glasses.

Arthur noticed the taller male scooting closer to him and he swiftly strode away, feeling his cheeks heating. He kept walking towards his bike. The security questioned him if he was alright and not having any case of fever. "I'm alright. It's just a little bit warm today." He reasoned and cycled away, the face of the unknown man printed on his mind.

He jolted and sat up, cheeks flushing. The image of the anonymous male appeared again in his nap. This had been his second attempt at taking a nap without a disturbance. Apparently, his only disturbance was his overactive imagination. He had seen the male earlier this morning, secretly hoping that they would meet again. The male looked charming after a few curses and a few sentences of denials; he admitted it at the end.

The author looked down at his paper; messy handwritten words jumbled into sentences. Arthur reread his previous sentence to check if he wrote correctly before he drifted to sleep.

He slipped and predicted himself to fall from the cliff. All his efforts were terribly wasted. As he closed his eyes, he hoped for his faerie friends to be there and helped him.

However, he didn't fall, instead feeling a tight grip on his wrist, holding him in place. The unknown figure pulled him, making him to land onto the figure that he figured was a male. When he fluttered his eyes open, he was forced to meet a pair of bright blue orbs, glistening under the sunlight. Flushing at their current inappropriate position, he quickly scrambled away but was constrained to stay.

Flushing like he wrote so on the paper, he quickly scrawled random shapes to block the paragraphs, so people won't be able to read it. Pinching his nose in annoyance, the British blond sighed heavily and decided to just sleep his annoyance away. It probably wouldn't work, because every time he tried to go to sleep, he would dream of being with the unknown blonde. The feeling was frightening and exciting at the same time, but he was afraid. Afraid of the possibility that he will miss him and fall in love with him.

Arthur rolled on his bed and reached his cell phone. He skimmed through his contact list to find Tino's name and texted him about the illustrator. Grabbing his olive green iPod, he put the iPod into shuffle mode and began listening to the first song.

And the damn song was making him skip a beat.

It was Donovan's damn Sunshine Superman.

It wasn't literally romantic in some way, but still… it made him feel all tingly and giddy. He survived through the song and kept imagining what would be like for him to date the man. The author could only redden darkly and gritted his teeth in annoyance. For the umpteenth time that day.

A knock woke him from his contemplation and put his iPod away. He smiled at the Italian who opened the door; it was the sweet, innocent Feliciano Vargas. "Hello, Arthur, ve," he sang and waved his hand. "There's someone looking for you! He said that he's your illustrator?"

The British author promptly strode downstairs and found the white Canadian door open to reveal a familiar figure he met earlier.

Both of their eyes widened simultaneously. Alfred F. Jones was thinking that this wasn't even possible and Arthur Kirkland was thinking that this male couldn't be his illustrator. The British author involuntary slammed the door into the American's face, planting a confused look at Alfred's face. He clutched his shirt, closing his eyes, feeling the rapid heartbeat ramming his ribs. How…? He was wondering, thinking that this was a dream; a man that he had been thinking of all day was standing at the doorway with his charming smile.

After calming himself with a few breathing, he shakily opened the door; green orbs were looking away from the sapphire ones. Nevertheless of the author's weird behavior, Alfred smiled brightly. "Hello!" he greeted, stretching his arms. "You must be Arthur Kirkland! I'm Alfred F. Jones, your illustrator. Nice to meet you!"

Still avoiding eye contact with the latter, Arthur took his hand and shook it lightly, feeling the warmth spreading through his body. He tried to compose himself by coughing, but he felt it only worsen the awkward air. "'Ello. Yes, I'm Arthur Kirkland. A pleasure to meet you too, Alfred," the Briton smiled, red hues dusted his cheeks. "Oh! Let me help you with your stuff. You seem to be carrying a lot."

Alfred smiled at Arthur's attention and memory; he did say that he needed help with his stuff. He had five boxes to carry and he'd die if he had to carry it by himself. The author gestured him to follow to the living room and told him to wait there while he went to the kitchen. Alfred looked around the place and whistled silently at the view. It was all pure, pristine white. The design of the house was a mix of baroque medieval and minimalistic. It was a strange mix, but it was still beautiful.

His glassed cerulean orbs landed onto Arthur's figure. The blond male was carrying a set of tea. He put it down as he sat across Alfred and gracefully poured over the brown liquid. Alfred tried his best to not gag at the smell; it was utterly horrible.

"Have some tea. I trust that you must be exhausted after your journey, yes?" he smiled and slid the cup of tea. "Here's a Chamomile tea. It will make you relax."

With a nervous smile, the illustrator gulped down the tea. He felt his tongue burnt at the taste as well as the heat of the transparent brown liquid. Alfred couldn't handle things like this and he chocked and squirted the tea, unknown to him that the remains of the liquid that he squirted hit Arthur's face directly.

After nursing his tongue and looking at the sight before him, he laughed. Arthur suppressed his scowl as he heard the resounding glee. He angrily stood up while Alfred kept waving his hand repeating the word 'sorry' but his laughter still rang in the air. Feeling his patience shortening, he straddled the younger male's lap and pulling his collar repeatedly while cursing him in Gaelic. Even so the American illustrator still grinned widely and tried to muffle his laughter.

However, unknown to them both, ten pair of eyes were watching in a knowing smile at their faces.

A/N: This is beta-ed by MegaUnknownxx aka Lauren! Thank you, Lauren! The Donovan's Sunshine Superman still crack me every time I read it. XD Review please! :)