Arthur had been doing just fine without that asshole thank you very much. He had moved out and gotten his life in order. He had friends, a stable job, and he had even recently allowed his friends to convince him to put himself on a dating site, not that he thought it'd find him someone to spend the rest of his life with. But then he made the drastic mistake of checking his mail today.

And there it was, a bloody wedding invitation with his name on it.

Now, it might have been logical to just throw it away, show himself and that arrogant frog just how far he had moved on. Yes, looking back on his actions now that seems like it was the only logical thing he could have done.

Except he didn't throw the invitation away, instead he opened it. Arthur sat on his snow-white couch and opened the cream invitation. He slowly peeled away the envelope and withdrew from it the flimsy piece of paper that showed just how far along his ex had moved in his life.

Francis Bonnefoy and Jeanne Lucette humbly invite you to their wedding.

There it was, in cold blue cursive. Two years had passed and what had he done compared to this? His first love was getting married and wanted him to go. And while some may have went and smiled to show how far above it they were, or ignored the invitation, regretting the day that they ever set eyes on their ex, Arthur sat there and felt the same amount of pain as he did the first time he heard Francis say that he didn't love him in the same way as he used to.

So it was sitting there that something within Arthur broke (perhaps it was his sense of judgment). He picked up the paper before putting it in his jacket pocket and grabbed his car keys on the way out the door. He drove and drove and drove until he didn't know just where he was anymore and then he pulled into the first bar that he saw. He ignored the three idiots at the pool table talking about fireworks and brushed past the arrogant piano player, instead he made a b-line for bar and ordered one shot of whisky after another.

Arthur lost track of how many shots he had before the young man sat down next to him. He was too drunk to care why the man was there or what he looked like, only taking notice of him when he switched out Arthur's whiskey for a water.

"It's not good to drink that much alcohol in one sitting if you cannot handle it." The man said kindly.

"Well it's not good" Hiccup "to interfere" Hiccup "in other people's business." Hiccup. Arthur wished for the life of him that he would stop hiccupping, it made his finger waving a lot less threatening and much more like a drunk cliché. The large man laughed.

"Drink the water friend, you will feel much better."

"You don't look like any friend of mine." Arthur hiccupped again, feeling slightly dizzy as he stood.

"Of course, please sit and finish your drink." Arthur didn't know why he decided to do what he did after that, but at the moment it seemed like a good idea.

He reeled his arm back and punched the large man square in the jaw.

Only to be restrained and thrown out on his ass by security.

Now, any sane person would have gone home and eaten a tub of ice cream to drown their drunken heartache in food. But once again, Arthur made a choice which had no particular set of reasoning other than it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Arthur went to his friend's house, planning on going swimming in their pool, or perhaps crashing on their couch until his dizziness was gone. Not wanting to disturb the man this late at night though he decided against ringing the doorbell and decided that simply going through the back gate would be best for everyone involved. However, it was while he was desperately trying to crawl over the fence (because he forgot the password to unlock the gate) that the neighbors called the cops and he was driven away in a police car, sirens wailing at the highest volume, his friend answering the door dressed in a blue robe and mild agitation.

Which did nothing but increase his steadily rising foul mood.

Then he was given one phone call. Just one to use to arrange a ride home from this terrible nightmare that Arthur had placed himself in.

So he did what any drunk, heartbroken fool would do. He called his ex and cried into the voice mail that he was stranded at a police station with no ride home and no idea why he was calling a frog of all people and only when he was finally placed back in his holding cell did he immediately want to call back and apologize for everything he had said, but the guards simply ignored his irritated shouting.

After that life became less annoying, he had a cell to himself, he was less dizzy and his headache (which had formed when he fell over the fence shortly before the police showed up) was finally subsiding.

And then the idiot showed up. Some moron in a captain America t-shirt and blue jeans stumbled into the cell and walked straight (or in this case he walked crookedly as he obviously had had one too many drinks) to the bench. Without saying a word, the large man leaned on the cell wall and fell asleep. Sighing Arthur surreptitiously studied his new sleeping companion.

He was tall, much taller than Arthur, with a cowlick in his nearly perfect blond hair. He was tan, but not obnoxiously so (like many of the people in his school had). He had thin-rimmed glasses which Arthur had noticed outlined sapphire blue eyes when he was walking in.

He didn't think anyone could look this good sleeping, it simply wasn't fair that people like that existed (and more importantly that one was sleeping right next to him) after all he had been.

Annoyed, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Trying his best to ignore the world around him. Arthur was so absorbed in ignoring the cell and cellmate that he didn't notice the man was awake until he was one the other side of the cell muttering about a change of pace.

"I don't know how you could consider this a 'nice change of pace'." Arthur seethed. His headache worsening the more he talked.

"Sarcasm dude." The man gave a little half smile and Arthur looked away from him again, remembering all the things he had tried to drown in whisky just hours before hand.

"This hardly seems like the place for sarcasm seeing as we're locked in a prison cell, the guards are oblivious to everything and no matter how many fucking times I ask they won't let me call my transportation to ask them why the hell I'm still here." He was aware that none of what had happened was this man's fault, but dammit it felt good to vent at someone, anyone. After a moment the man responded with another smile.

"Wow, sounds like you have awful luck dude."

"Stop calling me that!" Arthur snapped at his newfound companion, watching the momentary shock before a confused look enveloped the other's face.

"You mean dude?"

"What else could I mean you bloody buffoon?" He watched conflicting emotions dance across the other's face before he walked across the small room and walked down on the cold metal bench.

"If you would tell me your name and I wouldn't have to call you that." He smiled innocently.

"Will you shut up if I do?" It felt like he was kicking a puppy by lashing out at this idiot, with his huge eyes and stupid cowlick he seemed almost too young to be drinking. Then again, maybe that was why he was in here.

"No promises man, just trying to make conversation that isn't insulting." Arthur took a deep breath, his headache pounding. But, after his rudeness to this poor man, the least he could do is give him his name.

"Arthur Kirkland, and you are?" If he was going to offer his name it only made sense that the other would as well.

"Arthur Jones, any idea what time it is Captain Kirk?" And there it was.

"Just after 3 am and never call me that again."

"Is Artie okay then?"

"If you have a death wish."

"What about Iggy?"

"How the bloody hell do you get Iggy from Arthur?" Arthur looked at the man-Alfred-confused and slightly irritated.

"I don't really, you just remind me of an igloo. Cold and imposing on the outside but I bet you're really warm on the inside." Arthur looked away from the moron; resenting the blush he could feel setting on.

He was tempted to ignore Alfred when he asked why he was in the cell, too many memories to divulge to someone he just met. Fighting against every bone that of his body that wanted to answer his questions as sarcastically as possible, he answered anyways. Arthur almost regretted how rude his out lash was afterwards. There was no proof that the person next to him was as stereotypical as those he had known personally in his life. He did his best not to listen to Alfred and his brother as the door to the cell opened and he could have sworn he heard someone sigh as the door to closed again. Probably the man that Alfred had called Matt, he seemed to be use to this type of situation.

But it wasn't twenty minutes afterwards that he forgot all that again as the door opened again with a face from the past.

"Hey Arthur, got your voicemail." He looked at him. The ex that broke his heart which, was the same one that that helped him through some of the hardest times in his life. The ex that forced him to make friends, the very ones that Arthur depended on when Francis left him. Arthur looked at his first love whom was getting married in three months and wanted his RSVP and did Arthur best to see a stranger. He really did. But all he could see was the person that he had always been there, only to leave him with his heart broken.

But he didn't say any of that; all he could do was choke out the one word that wouldn't give anything that he was thinking away.

"Frog."