Arthur hadn't lied - he came back after two hours, which was short for him. He smiled weakly at Alfred, who was sat in the recliner watching baseball, as he took his coat off.

"Sorry about before," he apologized. Alfred grinned, determined to keep the mood light.

"Don't worry about it - let's just forget it happened, right?"

Alfred stood up, still smiling. Arthur's expression was nothing but relief - he must have been thinking Alfred was going to hate him.

"Come here." Alfred held his arms open, and Arthur gladly embraced Alfred, holding him tight.

"I really am sorry." Arthur's voice was weak, and Alfred squeezed him.

"Hey, it's fine. Seriously, don't think about it." He pulled out of the hug and kissed Arthur on the nose, laughing.

"Gerroff!" Arthur hit Alfred playfully, rubbing his nose.

Alfred raised an eyebrow - Arthur always spoke properly, unless...

"You've been drinking." It wasn't a question, and Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"So?"

"Nothing - it just sounded like you had, and I wanted to make sure."

"Riiight..." Arthur went into the kitchen then, probably to make some tea.

"D'ya think you can get me a coffee?" Called Alfred.

"'Kay."

And he was back to distancing himself. Great. Alfred's heart sank as he sat back down on the armchair. His eyes slid back to the television, but he wasn't paying attention to what was actually going on.

Should he ask Arthur what was bothering him? But he knew that already, didn't he? So there was no point - was there?

Alfred shook his head. No, it was better just to keep cheery, and try to take whatever it was off Arthur's mind.

Alfred took his coffee from Arthur when it was made.

"Thanks, Artie!" Arthur glared. "Uh, sorry - Arthur."

"Hm. You're welcome." Alfred grinned, and received a small smile back, much to his delight. He put the coffee on the fireplace to cool, and sat on the sofa next to Arthur. He slid an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, and kissed the top of his ear. Arthur couldn't help but smile faintly.

So cute, thought Alfred. He chuckled quietly and ran his fingers through Arthur's hair.

"How're you feeling?" He murmured, as he kissed Arthur's cheek.

"Erm... I..." Alfred grinned as he saw the Englishman's cheeks turn dark red. "I don't know... I can't feel my legs, but I think that's good."

Alfred laughed. "Well, if that's the case, then I suppose I'll just have to carry you upstairs, won't I?"

"What? You're not bloody carrying me anywhere!" Snapped Arthur hotly. Alfred raised his eyebrows, and used a finger to bring Arthur's face around to look at him. His eyes were so green...

"Why're you blushing? We're alone."

"I know that," shot the Brit quickly, frowning. Alfred held his face still.

"C'mon Artie-"

"Arthur."

"Arthur, then. Calm down, everything's fine. We're the only two here, no one can see us. I swear on my life." Alfred crossed his heart - an old habit, just to show he meant the promise. Arthur exhaled, and rolled his eyes.

"Corny git," he muttered. Alfred laughed, before he leaned forward slowly, his own sparkling blue eyes assessing every movement and expression Arthur made, before kissing him. Softly, gently. He cupped Arthur's cheek with one hand, their breathing becoming uneven.

Arthur kissed back fiercely - it must be the drink, Alfred thought, as Arthur locked his arms around his lover's neck. Alfred moved his mouth down to Arthur's throat, planting small kisses everywhere he could reach.

"How much alcohol did you have?" He breathed, half laughing.

"Not alot. Only a pint. About."

Well, at least that wasn't enough to make him hate everything.

Alfred kissed Arthur's lips again, shortly this time, before pulling away ever so slightly, so their foreheads were still touching, and their arms were still around each other. The tea and coffee stood where they were, forgotten.

"What are you thinking about?" Asked Alfred. Arthur furrowed his dark eyebrows.

"Strange question..." He muttered. "Well, right now I'm thinking that I want you. You and nothing else. I don't want to think about anything else right now."

Alfred sensed that Arthur was getting himself worked up again, so he stroked his cheek with a thumb. "Shh. You don't have to think about anything else. I'm not." Alfred kept his voice gentle, but he was sure Arthur could hear the longing there.

And so the next hours unfolded before them..

That afternoon, they were still on the sofa, Arthur resting his head on Alfred's bare chest, falling in and out of consciousness. But Alfred was wide awake, thinking everything over, both the past, and recent events.

He thought of Arthur. Beautiful, amazing, frustrating Arthur. He knew he wouldn't make as much effort for him if he didn't love him so much. He was a little ashamed of this, but he knew it was true. In his eyes, Arthur was the most beautiful person the Earth had ever created. He was far from perfect, but Alfred didn't care. Didn't care about any obstacles the world threw at them, didn't care that Arthur relied on him more than he ever let on, didn't care that he hardly spoke to his own family anymore, because they disapproved of Arthur. He had expected them to be worried, but not to cut him off completely. Of course, they were kind at first, but then after finding out about Arthur's... situation, they backed away. Or rather, ran away. Never to be seen again.

Alfred just couldn't understand how people could do that. If Arthur was some sort of drunken, drug-taking sex obsessed freak, then he could understand it, but he wasn't any of those. He was extremely fragile, though he covered it up as best he could.

When Arthur was six, he had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, then when he was fourteen, the doctors had confirmed that he was also suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder, or, as it was more well-known as, Multiple-Personality Disorder - luckily, these weren't severe cases, but they were still pretty serious. He only had one alter that both him and Alfred were aware of, but he hadn't come out for at least five years. Arthur took his medication everyday though, so they were both glad that he seemed to be getting a little better. He still had mood swings and anxiety, but Alfred had practiced patience, and was used to it by now.

Alfred also thought about the news, how the police had no leads, how Arthur had been acting very strange lately, since he'd first heard about the murders...

No, Alfred told himself firmly. Arthur has nothing to do with the murders. He's just scared. And why wouldn't he be? No one knows who will be next.

But maybe he knows something.

Alfred made a mental note to learn to control his thoughts. Of course Arthur didn't know anything about the murders! How could he? No, Alfred refused to think those thoughts. They were unhealthy, and just not right - Arthur would never kill someone. Sure, he had a temper, mood swings, and wouldn't hesitate to swear at someone if they annoyed him, but he would never kill innocent people for no reason. Heck, he wouldn't kill anyone full stop, reason or not, innocent or not. It just wasn't him.

But as Alfred looked down at Arthur's peaceful face - so utterly adorable when he was sleeping - he couldn't stop a flutter of doubt, deep in the pit of his stomach.