Alfred hovers in the doorway. "We're going now."

"I'll watch you on the news."

"Or, ya know," Alfred shifts to his other leg, "you could just come and watch me in person."

Arthur tightens his grip on his book. They've had this conversation before.

"You don't have to make a speech or even stand up there with us," Alfred says hurriedly. "You could be one of the crowd hiding off to the side or something."

"I don't want to go."

Alfred plays with the buckle of his costume. He looks like a giant child playing dress up – overly patriotic with his bright red, white and blue and topped off with the shiny Vargas logo engraved into his chest plate. He says he wears it to remind humans that he is on their side but Arthur fancies that he likes pretending to be one of the flashy superheroes in the comics he adores.

"I know you're scared but I..." Alfred rubs the back of his neck, "I kind of am too but I know I would be brave if you were there with me."

Arthur lowers his book slowly. "I can't Alfred, I'm sorry."

"This is important. This is about fighting for mutant rights. You should be there."

"There'll be more than enough of us there. My being there won't make a difference."

"It'll make a difference to me."

Arthur clenches his hands into fists. He wants to scream at Alfred, to make him understand why he can't go, why it would be best for him to stay at home; instead he holds his emotions in check and keeps his face blank.

"You can cover up your skin and hide in the back."

The earnest look on Alfred's face hurts Arthur to look at.

"Next time, maybe..." he mumbles non-committally.

"Weren't you the one who told me I was a joke, that I was a disappointment to our race? You told me to to do something important and now that I am you're hiding in your room?" Alfred slams the side of his hand into the door frame. The wood cracks down the length of the frame almost to the base.

Arthur lowers his gaze, ignoring his instincts to yell at Alfred for his impulsive action, or to do something as equally impulsive like crossing the room and cupping that lovely face in his palms.

"God dammit," Alfred mutters, dropping his hands, his cheeks flushed red.

"You're going to be late. You should get going."

"...Yeah." Alfred remains in the doorway.

"They'll be waiting for-"

Alfred crosses the room and throws his arms around Arthur.

"Don't!" Arthur shouts as he struggles in the too tight grip. "Get off me!"

"No," Alfred says, pulling Arthur close to his chest. He inhales Arthur's scent – grass and earth from gardening all afternoon – and draws it deep into his lungs. "I'm not letting go until I get a hug."

Arthur flails and swears and curses Alfred's ancestors, but each action only widens Alfred's grin. It had been too long since Arthur had overreacted to Alfred, too long since he'd flipped out when Alfred mussed his matted hair or flung Arthur across his shoulder. This is the Arthur he loves and misses.

Arthur runs out of stream mid profanity and slumps into Alfred's hold. After a moment he places cautious hands on Alfred's back. Then fingers curl and dig into Alfred's stupid clothes and tug their bodies close.

"I guess I can come with you," Arthur mutters into Alfred's neck. "If it'll stop your whining."

Alfred smiles into Arthur's hair. "It will."

#

"Hey," Alfred said and dropped down onto the chair opposite Arthur.

The Brit looked up from his food and thick eyebrows came together. "What are you doing?"

"Thought we could have lunch together."

The frown deepened. "Did Francis put you up to this?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because you and I haven't spoken in the month you've been here and unless you've lost a bet I can't see why you're sitting at my table."

Alfred broke out into that wide smile of his. "Chillax dude, I didn't lose a bet. Just thought you might be lonely sitting here all by yourself."

"I prefer solitude."

"But you're always alone."

Arthur gave him a look. "Yes, as I mentioned I prefer it that way."

"Doesn't that make you lonely though?"

"There's a difference between alone and lonely."

"Yeah I know, but..." Alfred trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck absent-mindedly. He hadn't expected Arthur to be so hostile; rather Alfred thought he'd be grateful to have company for once.

Arthur stared at him. "You should go back and sit with your friends before they think you've abandoned them, or worse, try to join us."

Alfred chuckled, before fading to nervous laughter when Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not joking," he said. "I want you to leave this table."

"Urm, right." Alfred stood up but hesitated. "But, ya know, if you ever get lonely or whatever you can talk to me. I'm always around if you need me."

"Because you're the hero," Arthur said, pushing his food away. "Because as soon as there's a crisis you have to come running to save the day." Arthur stood up and leant forward with his palms on the table. "I am not in need of a hero, Jones, and I am not in need of you. Don't bother me again."