Twenty-three year old Arthur Kirkland grinned broadly as his eyes fell on a particular home. It was still here, after all these years, it was still here! He almost couldn't contain his excitement.
It had been eight years; eight long, aggravatingly long years since he'd been here. Eight years ago, he'd been living happily in this house at the ripe, young age of sixteen. But, about a year later, he'd moved away to London where he'd been born. It wasn't as if it angered him, but he had a connection with this house, and it was good to see it still intact. And for sale no less! He would soon be in his old home once more.
This town held so many memories for him, both fond and not. So many things had changed in eight years, but yet some remained the same. The little bakery was still in business, and the little toy store too, though, now the little library had been torn down. But even in that perk of melancholy, one thing lit up his return; the old playground was present in its old spot on the edge of town. He loved that little playground dearly; for his most fond memoirs were held there.
Remembrance of two boys clouded his head, playing on the swing together, sharing secrets untold by everyone else, two little boys, making fortresses of sand and stone, two little boys sitting on the jungle gym, one sobbing from the death of his mother, the other comforting, and two boys running, tackling one another in a burst of cheer and laughter.
Arthur smiled lightly, those were the days where he knew how to laugh and be carefree. Those were the days when there was no worry of bills and life. Those were the days in which he really knew how to cherish every moment he had.
Still, there left the hanging suspense of what had happened to that little boy. He frowned, searching through every crevice of his mind to learn the truth. He knew something had happened to him, yet…he couldn't even recall the face or name of him. It was like at every photo he looked at, he could only remember his face, and the other was blank.
After musing old thoughts, he'd called up and discussed about buying the house. He was overjoyed when he heard the price of the place. It was so affordable; it was almost to great to be true. He couldn't wait to get settled in. He came in the next day and signed all the papers necessary and put down a payment on it, and it was as good as his. His things were sent over, and he began to unpack.
Old books and antiques from home were placed on dusted shelves and stands alike. Furniture he knew and loved were placed and moved. Sweeping and renovations were completed, and before Arthur knew it, he felt just cozy.
During the events of the day, Arthur sat down with a warm cup of Earl Grey tea while sitting down on his favorite chair to read one of his favorite books. He flipped on a lamp to see in the now darkened house. He had been reading for about ten minutes when the light suddenly flipped off. Arthur stared at the lamp in confusion. He waited a moment before turning it back on. He stared, and nodded in satisfaction as it stayed lit and he continued. Again, however, the lights were flipped off. Arthur let out a small groan of irritation before switching it back into it's working mode. His eyes left the object again to continue with the words on the pages when yet again it became dark.
"Bloody hell!" he screamed, aggravated.
Without another thought, he set the book down in the chair and trudged up the stairs, tired and ready to sleep away his frustration.
Arthur brushed his teeth, and dawned his pajamas and curled up into his bed. He pulled the comfortable, familiar sheets overtop him, and before he knew it, he had drifted off into a wispy, dreamful sleep.
He awoke later, but not to the morning gleam. A loud clatter was heard downstairs, and Arthur's eyes shot up instantly, alert and alarmed. He sat up and strained to hear for another sound, but heard nothing. The Brit pulled back the covers and took a deep breath before stepping onto the cool wooden floor.
Arthur sprinted skillfully down the stairs in haste, grabbing the closest thing near him to defend himself if the need arises. An umbrella happened to be that thing. He clenched its handle tightly, and headed towards the kitchen. Easing the door open, his emerald eyes scanned the surroundings and saw nothing. He frowned, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Carefully, he stepped in, and saw the source of the noise.
Pots and pans were strewn about the floor, toppled over as if they were picked threw. Arthur knelt down and set his makeshift weapon beside him, lifting one of the cooking wares into his hands. He set it back onto the counter along with the others. Who would break into his house to toss his utensils everywhere? Unless they were looking for something, but what could they be looking for in a kitchen?
Wary still, Arthur proceeded to the dining area. His eyes darted around, and saw nothing. Not even a sign that someone had been there. The Brit sighed, lowering the umbrella. It was probably just an accident. Even so, he continued to the halls.
Barren walls were all he saw, so after making it to the end, he turned around. Maybe he was just tired, he concluded. Or rather, he was being too cautious. Though, it irked him. What had caused them to fall? His question was answered upon return to the dining room.
There, now, at the table, sat a boy. His hair was a pale, golden color, with a piece sticking straight out from the rest. His eyes were a sparkling hue of cerulean, and his skin was a warm, tan color. But yet there was something odd about him. He looked to be translucent, see through. He drummed his fingers in a rhythmic pattern on the table. He couldn't have been older than fifteen or sixteen.
Arthur stared at him blankly, words failing him. The boy didn't notice him at first, but after the Brit dropped his umbrella, he looked up, shocked.
They held eye contact, green clashing with blue. One pair of eyes held confusion and bewilderment, and the other held fear and wonder.
"C-can you see me…?" the boy mumbled, breaking the awkward silence.
"A-am I not supposed to?" Arthur replied, unsure.
"N-no…"
"So…what do you want me to do?"
"Um…"
The boy paused, and swallowed, "Pretend you didn't see me…?"
"Not a chance."
The boy pouted, "You're a jerk."
"And you're an intruder. Get out of my house before I call the police!"
The boy looked offended. He puffed out his cheeks and glared.
"Your house? I don't think so!"
Arthur was appalled at this boy's behavior, "I think so! I legally bought this house yesterday!"
He frowned, face falling, "W…what?"
"I recently moved in here. I bought the house yesterday."
He looked shocked, and sad.
"No way…no way…"
Arthur frowned, "Was this house important to you?"
"I…I don't know. I've…I've always felt connected to this house. It's like…it feels like I used to come here a lot."
"Used to?"
The blond pursed his lips, "Come on, you can't tell me you actually think I'm alive!"
"Well to be completely honest-"
"Wow dude, that's just sad."
"Get. Out."
"Excuse me?"
Arthur put his hands on his hips, his eyebrows furrowed into an irritated scowl.
"Listen here lad, I don't care if you're dead or alive. I want you out of my house this very second!" he commanded.
The boy wore an expression of sadness, as he looked down.
"I…I can't leave. I can't move on just yet…I can't," he murmured helplessly.
"Why? Young man, what is keeping you here?"
Then the boy gazed him straight in the eyes, sullen and heartbroken. Confusion mixed with anger and discomfort.
"A long time ago…I made a promise to someone…someone I hold very near and dear to my heart. Yet…I can't…I can't remember the promise I made. And I can't pass on until I apologize for breaking that promise. I can't even remember the boy I made it to. I'm tied to this house and I don't know why. And I can't help but wonder, was this his house? Or is it mine? Are there clues in this house that will lead me to him? I just…don't know."
Arthur felt his heart sink. He looked…as if he were in so much pain. Whether it is from breaking a promise or from his binding to the Earth, he wasn't sure. He couldn't just…kick him out could he?
"Now…listen. If that's really how it is then…well…I guess I don't mind you staying here…"
His face lit up, "Really?"
"Yes, however, I have a question. Was it you who turned off my lamp and threw out my cooking ware?"
"Ha…funny story about that. You see, the lamp made me angry so I kept shutting it off, and the pots? Um…well I was hoping I would find something that would help me remember in there, but when it clattered really loud I ran because I didn't want you to come down. But it looks like you did anyway…"
"Indeed…" Arthur stated, but then added, "Now what's your name? I can't just keep calling you 'boy' or 'lad'."
"Oh! It's Alfred!" Alfred smiled warmly.
"Alfred…" the Brit tested it out on his tongue. Why did it feel so familiar to him?
"What about you dude?"
"Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."
Alfred stifled a giggle, "That sounds so old."
The older blond frowned in annoyance.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of my name, Alfred."
"How about I call you Artie? That doesn't sound so old."
"Absolutely not. Now, I'm going to return to bed. If I hear any more noise…" he threatened before turning around.
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry."
Arthur sighed and walked back up the stairs. So this was why no one wanted the house. There was an obnoxious American ghost haunting the place. Though, he couldn't really be angry with him honestly. After all, it's not his fault he can't remember. Still, he slid under the covers of his bed, but nothing could erase the familiar connection he felt with him.
Maybe that's why he had dreams about the friend he couldn't remember
No, this isn't the new promised story. The new promised story will be a Germany X Italy. This is a story I'll be re-updating when time allows. Formerly titled "Don't Forget"
-IchigoMelon