When did we get so close? When did it happen that you stayed the night, and we'd have breakfast in the morning over my small kitchen table? When did I awake to see your smile, but remember your morning breath and frizzy hair instead?
These thoughts arose in Alfred's mind during the day as he ate lunch at the university. He sat in his office, slowly chewing his sandwich as he stared at the window across from his desk. It was odd he was even thinking of these things in the first place. He was perfectly content to be in his relationship, and every day he felt himself falling deeper in love with Arthur.
They had been sleeping together for three months now, and Arthur was already starting to settle into Alfred's apartment, staying longer than just weekends sometimes. Lately Alfred toyed with the idea of just asking Arthur to stay for good. It would make it easier in hiding their relationship. Every morning Arthur would sneak out, making sure his clothes were not the same ones he had worn the previous day, and he walked to his car nonchalantly. His first night over, he had practically run from the apartment at the dawning of the new day, hoping no one saw him.
Their constant struggle to hide their relationship would sometimes slip, and Arthur panicked that someone knew. Alfred, however, was only hiding it for Arthur's sake. Personally, he didn't think most people in the town would notice, or care, or even raise a voice against it. These were small town people who wanted to keep to themselves, and most of them were heading to the college, or heading out of it. But Arthur was adamant in his decisions, saying that his reporter's nose had turned up how people really felt about queer people.
Alfred had once asked, "Do you think they'll run you out on a rail or something?"
And he'd laugh, but Arthur didn't think it was funny. He'd wring his hands and avert his eyes. He always skirted over the issue. He always would in the future too.
"They'd never take me seriously again…"
Alfred bit down on a pepper in his sandwich, and jerked his head back at the taste. He coughed and reached for his water quickly, when there was a knock at his door. He looked up to find Arthur standing in the doorway, smiling like a good reporter should.
"Oh, Mr. Kirkland," Alfred started. He took a sip of his water and brushed away the tears that had come to his eyes from the stinging spice. "Please have a seat."
Alfred gestured to the chair before his desk, to which Arthur took. He pulled out a notepad and a pencil, waiting until Alfred's secretary had closed the door. They had been doing this for two weeks now; Alfred's own little concoction in his mind as a way to see Arthur more during the day and to let them have lunch together. They pretended that Arthur was coming to Alfred for an interview for a special report in the paper about the university. So far, it had worked, and Arthur could relax during this small time with his lover.
Arthur pulled out his own prepared meal, not a sandwich, and started eating. "Anything interesting today, love?"
"No, not really," Alfred replied.
He thought of how routine everything had become. How he and Arthur just fit together. How those mundane rituals were their ways of showing each other their affections, even if there were better memories to dwell on. But, sometimes, the most normal of things are the things people remember the most.
Arthur would wake in the morning and brush his teeth, sharing the sink with Alfred or waiting for his turn with the toilet. Alfred would switch places after he was done with relieving himself, and then trudge down the hall to start on breakfast. If Arthur wasn't in a hurry, he'd come join Alfred at the stove and try to help him with the eggs or toast, but he'd end up being shooed to make coffee and tea. Sometimes he'd kiss Alfred's neck, and if he wasn't fully awake, he'd wrap his arms around Alfred's waist, leaning his entire body against Alfred's back as he rested the side of his face on Alfred's shoulder blade. They would stand there in the morning stillness, still in their underwear, or sometimes naked, enjoying their shared heartbeats.
They'd kiss and snuggle in bed, sometimes not making it all the way back to the bedroom and just taking up residence on the couch. Arthur would need a shave as his jaw was riddled with blonde fuzz that Alfred would stroke, thinking about Arthur with a beard. Then Arthur would comment on Alfred's own stubble, and they'd laugh.
Alfred would often think back to Arthur's fingers caressing up his forearm, how it would make the hairs on his arms stick up at just how good he was with ghosting his pads over Alfred's skin. How he'd close his eyes and smile, even when Alfred wasn't going to kiss him. The way the sunlight that filtered through the blinds caught the gold in his hair to make it look like a halo.
And then, Alfred asked, "Will you move in with me?"
At the time his heart had pounded, and he thought this was it. The next step in their relationship had been placed on the pedestal, and Arthur stared at it with wide eyes. For a moment, he looked at what had been offered, but then he took it with a smile and a simple "yes" that he sealed with a kiss and a hand lightly on Alfred's.
So then, how did this too become such a disturbed memory?
Hoshiko2's cents: Sorry for such a length between this chapter and the last. Yes, this is short, but I assure you the next chapter will not be, and it will also be more important.