TITLE: His Dearest (Part 2, Chapter 4)
GENRE: Romance/Angst
PAIRING(S): USUK, some America + Belarus friendship (you'll see why)
RATINGS/WARNINGS: T; OOCness (especially America)
SUMMARY: Alfred, juggling with academics and internship and being the best of his batch, had remotely less time with Arthur. It went on for two months. Arthur decided to break up with him.

Disclaimer: I don't own APH, I am just a student nurse, and these ideas from Med School are what I gathered from the interns in the hospitals I serve. I'm sorry, I hope I did the prompt some justice!

A/N: I'm sorry for the lateness. I can't express how OTL I feel right now.

Thank you, once again, for the alerts, reviews, favorites, PMs! I hope I won't disappoint you! :D


Alfred was getting anxious. He had been sitting in Arthur's well-worn couch for thirty minutes already. He couldn't decide if he wanted to face Arthur now or to prolong their inevitable meeting. He had been sitting still during the first five minutes he had entered Arthur's room. But then the jitters had started to show, and he had been wringing his hands together, wiping the sweaty palms against his pants, and he had been pacing for twenty minutes already. He decided to just sit and take deep breaths to calm himself. He needed to be calm when he faced Arthur. He needed to be rational and he must not lose his composure. How could Arthur want him back when he became a crying mess? Certainly Arthur wouldn't like to have a boyfriend who cried too much.

Despite the cool environment outside, Alfred found himself sweating. He was wiping his face with his white handkerchief, which had been soaked already. He kept on running his hands on his hair, which made it messier, and the stubborn lump of hair he tried so hard to tame was back, standing proudly.

Alfred wouldn't look around Arthur's apartment. He didn't want to see any trace of evidence that Arthur was over him. He didn't want to see his pictures missing from the photo albums and frames Arthur proudly displayed in his hall. He didn't want to see the rejection reflected in Arthur's home. So he just zeroed in a particular pattern in the floor of Arthur's living room.

He was still hoping that Arthur would want him back.

Although Alfred wanted to remain calm when he faced Arthur, his heartbeat just didn't want him to. It kept on racing, going lub-dub on him that he could actually see his chest jerking minutely with each beat. His hands that he had just wiped the sweat off were shaking slightly, from the excitement of seeing Arthur again after four weeks, and from the anticipation of either the second best day of his life or the worst heartbreak yet.

Alfred took in a deep breath.

When he heard the floor outside creak and muffled footsteps coming near the door, he felt his heart work overtime.

When he heard the doorknob twist open, he looked up; and seeing Arthur Kirkland step inside his home, still as beautiful as he remembered, his eyes still as green as emeralds, Alfred F. Jones knew his heart ceased beating entirely.

His life, his happiness, was up to this meeting. His everything was up to Arthur Kirkland.

It seemed that Arthur didn't notice Alfred sitting in the couch yet. Alfred noticed that his movements were sluggish, his shoulders sagged, and as Arthur leant against the main door, Alfred had seen the crestfallen expression on his dearest Arthur's face. He couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to hold Arthur against his chest, he wanted to make Arthur smile, he wanted to say that everything would be all right. But then maybe Arthur was over him. Maybe Arthur didn't want him anymore.

Yet he couldn't just accept that without a fight.


Alfred found himself staring at the smaller man's frame, relishing the fact that what he was seeing now was the real Arthur, not just the pictures stored in his phone, not just the minimal photos Arthur had on his Facebook. What he was seeing was Arthur in flesh, and he felt his cheeks warm and the excitement run in his blood with the familiarity of seeing Arthur again.

Oh, how he wanted Arthur. So much that he desired to wrap his arms around him, to feel his warmth again, to inhale his scent that distinctly belonged to Arthur, his dearest, his everything.

But there was still the pain that lingered in his heart. The why of their parting. He didn't understand why Arthur wanted him away, when they loved each other so much. He couldn't comprehend Arthur's decision to separate, when they could have talked about it.

But then, Alfred thought despairingly, he was the one who was too afraid to face Arthur. He was the one who didn't want to be rejected. He was the one who just accepted what Arthur said to him (just leave, Alfred) without having to know what really happened between them or to explain his side.

Now, though, he was there, in Arthur's flat, ready to face his dearest, to ask for his love to come back to his life.

Alfred noticed Arthur raise his head and their eyes met. The blue-eyed man saw the changes of the shorter man's expression – a surprised expression that wasn't there before settled on his face, his green eyes widened and it seemed that they were red and puffy. His posture also changed from dejected to rigid and alert.

Alfred slowly rose from his seat on the couch, and with deliberate caution, walked towards Arthur, whose stance had now become defensive. They both stared at each other, blue clashing with green, and the only sounds heard in the silence of the room were their breathing.

Arthur was the first to break away from the stare. He looked down on the floor, staring intently at the tiled patterns. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice raspy and breaking at the end of the question.

Alfred was surprised to hear Arthur's voice. It wasn't like the voice on Arthur's voicemail. This time, it was real. Arthur's voice. He hadn't heard it for four weeks, and now he was listening to that accented voice he loved so much… He was momentarily overwhelmed with his feelings, the longing that it evoked within him, that he hadn't answer Arthur's question fast enough.

"Leave, Alfred," Arthur's defeated voice floated into Alfred's ears and he knew he couldn't stop the shocked expression that crossed his face. How? How could Arthur say that… after all this time? How could he say such a hurtful thing, asking him to leave, again? Had Arthur really moved on? Had Arthur really got over him?

"W-wait, Arthur!" Alfred was aware how pathetic he sounded, his voice pitiful, but he couldn't care any less, when his heart and his life were on the line.

Arthur's facial features were suppressing the fleeting hurt that crossed in his face. But he just insisted on what he stated earlier, "No, Alfred. Leave, please."

The sudden feeling of sheer desperation course through Alfred's veins, and the fear of losing Arthur for real was something he was not ready to face, not at that moment, not ever.

Alfred grabbed Arthur's shoulders, wanting to shake him out of the resistance that stubbornly clung to the shorter man. For a passing moment, he took pleasure on the fact that he was touching Arthur again, that he was feeling Arthur – the flesh on his shoulders; underneath his palms were the real thing, not just the memories that he kept on visiting for the last month – those miserable days of being in a state of both pain and numbness.

Yet he really couldn't hurt Arthur. He couldn't even afford to shake him. All Alfred could do was to grasp Arthur's shoulders and bow his head in utter heartbreak. It was so hard to look into Arthur's very green eyes – the green eyes that haunted him in his sleep, the very green eyes that he kept on seeing everywhere, that particular shade that he longed to glimpse.

He knew Arthur wasn't looking at his miserable form. His head was turned to another direction, to a wall decorated with his own cross-stitches along with those framed photographs.

Alfred looked up to Arthur, his expressive blue eyes begging, pleading with Arthur to consider them again. His pride was no longer in the equation. He didn't care how low he would stoop in asking for Arthur to become his boyfriend again. His heart could not ache more than it already had.

"Arthur, I… I still don't understand why you want me out of your life," Alfred's voice broke, and he sucked a breath when he said those words. It felt so real now, to have that line spoke out loud. He searched for something in Arthur's green eyes, wanting to see some hope for the two of them. Arthur's eyes still were impassive. Alfred felt his own courage dwindle, but he carried on.

"I love you, Arthur. And you love me," Alfred saw something flicker in those eyes, and he went on. "I can't focus without you here with me. I want you back, Arthur. Artie. I want you back in my life…" Everything he said here was true. He had seen how he had dealt that one month with the knowledge that Arthur's no longer his. And everything hurt. His studies, his clinical performance, his heart…

Everything hurt.

"… If you allow me."

Even though Alfred wanted Arthur back, he still couldn't do it unless Arthur allowed him. Alfred's everything was at stake here. All that Alfred valued was in Arthur's hands. It was all up to him. Arthur had the final say in this.

Alfred ran his hands down to Arthur's upper arm and squeezed them, wanting to say It's all up to you to Arthur. He then pulled Arthur onto his chest, feeling the slighter form of his… ex-boyfriend? Boyfriend? in his arms. He unconsciously sighed, savoring the tiny comfort of Arthur in his embrace had brought. But then he sobered up immediately, recalled that this touch he was experiencing was temporary, and if he didn't do this begging right, it would be the last chance he could ever have Arthur again.

Alfred nudged the glasses towards his forehead as he pressed his eyes onto Arthur's shoulder, wanting to stop the tears from leaking. He didn't want to imagine the days ahead of him without Arthur. He had tried to deny it. He had tried to move on. He had tried to do well in school. But he couldn't. Not without talking to Arthur. Not without Arthur's explanation. Not without giving up his pride and pleading for Arthur to come back to him.

He had already experienced what it was without Arthur in his life. And it was horrible. He was like a living dead. The hollow feeling in his chest was too much to bear that he couldn't even function properly. He was breaking, and the only one who could stop the further shattering of his being was his green-eyed, ill-tempered, adorable, dearest Arthur.

While he was trying – and failing – to suppress the tears falling from his eyes, he didn't notice that Arthur's eyes were slowly watering; the deadpan expression they held were melting into swirls of intense grief and anguish. Alfred didn't see the conflict in Arthur's face. He just clung onto Arthur, holding him tight; locking the feeling of Arthur in his arms to memory, if he ended this meeting empty-handed.

Alfred failed to see Arthur's arms rising from his sides. But they didn't return Alfred's embrace. It seemed that Arthur was hesitant; he was indecisive on where to place his arms. Instead of hugging Alfred back, he grasped Alfred's upper arms and eased them away from his person.

Sky blue eyes widened as he felt Arthur gently push him away. Alfred snapped his head to look into Arthur and he saw deep sadness etched on his face. He felt his heart breaking once again. He felt the feared rejection creep into his veins and settled nicely into his heart; the weight of the implication of Arthur's silence was making his head spin. He searched into Arthur's eyes, silently begging, inwardly dreading the outcome of this visit – of Arthur's words, of the inevitable heartbreak he would experience once he gave Arthur up.

Was it worth it to fight for Arthur when Arthur himself didn't want to? Was all this begging for Arthur to come back to him for nothing? Was he just forcing himself on Arthur? Wouldn't it be better if he gave up?

He felt his hands go slack with the sudden realization. He should be considerate of Arthur's needs. Arthur didn't want him anymore. He clearly said it. Maybe he should just give up.

"Alfred, I think what we need is space –"

He was really considering on giving up when he heard Arthur say that; it made him turn his train of thought into a complete opposite direction, and something in his miserable state of mind snapped.

"NO!" he exclaimed, his heart rate increasing with the new information he just heard. A mantra of no, no, no, Arthur, no, it can't be, no more looped in his head. Alfred was gripped by a new kind of desperation he hadn't felt before.

"No, no, no, Arthur!" Arthur asking for space was like a door being closed to him forever, a door that was locked, barricaded – absolutely inaccessible. And he couldn't accept that. His heart wouldn't allow him.

"Not space, we don't need space anymore, Arthur! We have space for one month already!" he didn't know what he was saying anymore. He himself was shocked by the heartbreak Arthur's seemingly final words brought him.

"Arthur, Artie – please don't do this, don't break my heart, please listen to me!" It was a new level of begging for Alfred. He hadn't said please in this whole madness yet and here he was, kicking and smashing his almost non-existent pride to have Arthur to listen to him.

Alfred, at that precise moment, had a very life-altering realization. And with that realization, he hoped against hope that he could finally convince Arthur his sincerity to fix whatever mistakes he did.

"I can no longer go on without you!" he almost screamed at Arthur, fresh tears present on his blue eyes. Everything hurt. The truth of his epiphany, of the impending loss, of the 'what ifs' and 'should haves'.

"I managed to perform well in Med School because I knew – with all my heart – that you were here beside me!" he exclaimed, his throat becoming painful with the emotions he was feeling. He swallowed, preparing to exert more of his voice. "I managed to keep going to school and to duty despite the limited sleep and ridiculous exams because I knew you were mine and that you loved me and that you understood!" His face was a mess, snot and tears mixing, but he didn't care. The only one he cared for was the person in front of him – the stubborn, unrelenting, lovable Arthur Kirkland who he still loved, despite all the pain he felt.

"I can cut off my study time and visit you more. We can have all the dates you want," he added, looking at Arthur's pained facial features, not knowing if what he was seeing was something he could base his optimism for or something that could douse whatever flame of hope had flickered within him.

Arthur was still silent. Alfred finally sobbed. His cries echoed in the silence of Arthur's house. No longer could he take the hopelessness of this reconciliation. Or whatever it should have been. He gasped out, "I will quit Med School for you Arthur… Please make my heart whole again."

He reached out for Arthur and wept on his shoulders. Arthur, despite being his greatest heartache, brought him a certain kind of comfort that no one else could provide. The shorter blonde, still speechless, had just allowed him. But the tears that were pooling in the corner of Arthur's eyes finally started to fall.

Alfred felt arms wrap around him, clutching the back of his jacket with fisted hands. A mixture of despair and bliss washed over him, and a small part of him was honestly happy that Arthur hugged him back. The positive side of him was pulsating with happiness, while the negative side of him was chiding on his childish efforts, that Arthur was just doing this because he pitied him.

That snapped him back to his wretched reality.

Alfred mumbled broken words of I'm sorry, Forgive me, I won't hurt you again, I'm sorry Artie over and over again while pressing his very wet eyes against Arthur's equally wet shoulder. He was aware that his voice was dripping with pure misery and anguish, but he didn't care one bit about it. He clung onto Arthur like a little child would to his favorite stuffed toy – wanting, needing the comfort that his metaphorical stuffed toy could give.

He was leaning onto Arthur too much that Arthur could no longer support both of them. Arthur's knees gave out and they sank ungracefully on the floor, still holding onto each other.

Arthur was cradling Alfred's head to his chest, petting his hair, wiping the tears with his left thumb while his own face was blotched with his own flushed cheeks and tear stains. Alfred heard Arthur whisper I'm sorry repeatedly, and he squeezed Arthur tighter, closer to him, his heart still undecided whether to soar in love and happiness or to fall and shatter into irretrievable pieces.

They held each other, seeking the serenity that only the two of them could provide to each other.

When they had relatively calmed down, they awkwardly parted from the other's person. Alfred stared at the floor, his vision getting out of focus, his mind spinning in unwanted thoughts as he waited for Arthur to say something. Anything at all.

Arthur was looking at the other side of the room, Alfred could tell. He had this particular habit of looking at walls when the atmosphere was getting tense, or when he had nothing to say – which made Alfred's heart quiver in both anticipation and dread for whatever words that would spill from Arthur's tongue.

Everything was up to his dearest.

A minute had passed before Arthur slowly, gently cupped Alfred's cheeks in his hands, tilting his head up. He stared into the emerald green eyes that he loved so much, and he saw something in those pools that made the dying ember of hope within him glimmer. But he didn't want to hope anymore.

His chest tightened.

Arthur began to open his mouth.

This was it.

Alfred wanted to close his eyes to brace himself.

But he couldn't.

"Alfred, I – "

Alfred could hear more than see Arthur taking a deep breath. Was this how anticipatory grieving done? What Arthur would say could be likened to a doctor giving his patient the diagnosis for a terminal illness. It might be good or bad news. Oh, the irony of his comparison. Alfred couldn't even dare to hope anymore.

" – I love you."

And Alfred's senses zeroed into those three words uttered by Arthur, going in a loop in his head, and he wouldn't believe any of it. It might be just a figment of his hyperactive imagination. He could be that desperate to trick himself into hearing those three words he wanted the most from the person kneeling in front of him, cupping his face and… crying?

Arthur was crying. After they had calmed down, Alfred was expecting that Arthur wouldn't shed tears anymore. But he was. Weeping.

"I forgive you, and I'm also sorry, so sorry for what I've done to you, for not trusting you, for not being understanding – " Alfred tried to cut him off with an "Art –" but Arthur continued without missing a beat, his eyes staring straight into Alfred's cerulean irises.

"I want to start again," one of his hands went down to reach for Alfred's larger hand, feeling the palm with his fingertips, and sliding them to clasp onto Alfred's hand. He squeezed it. Alfred's eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat.

"No, I want to continue where we've left. Because I really regret… what I've done." After his declaration, Arthur became embarrassed and looked away.

Seeing that simple, familiar reaction made Alfred's heart swell with hope and happiness, and he was getting very emotional again (for an entirely different reason) that he tugged Arthur's hand towards him and gave Arthur a very big bear hug. He peppered Arthur's face with light kisses, saying, "It's alright, babe – Artie, thank you so much for giving me another chance to show you how much I love you."

He then sought Arthur's plumped lips, missing the feel of the softness against his own sensitive lips, rubbing them together and nipping on the lower lip. Alfred was generally enjoying Arthur, his taste, his presence, the feel of his body against his own, his warmth, the notion that they were together again (hopefully for a very long time), the reality that his dearest was back on his life – his life was finally perfect.

Alfred was so lost in the ecstatic feeling that he didn't hear Arthur speak. Only when Arthur pushed his chest away he realized he was speaking to him. He cocked his head to one side in a gesture to go on.

The shorter man blushed, his face getting pink making his swollen lips more attractive. Alfred mentally drooled. He couldn't deny that he was happy. That he made the right decision to talk to Arthur.

Arthur cleared his throat, "Ah, Alfred… I also have another thing to say…" Alfred gave him a curious look and Arthur's face became redder. How cute!

"T-there's nothing g-going on between you and Natalya, right?" he stammered, his embarrassment evidently increasing. Alfred just stared at him for a few moments, incomprehensive. He somehow couldn't understand why Arthur asked that question.

"I know it was a foolish thing to ask!" he exclaimed, ducking his head in shame and covering his face. That brought Alfred back from his musings. He reached over and pried Arthur's hands off his face and bringing them near to him. One by one, he kissed each finger pad and replied, "No, there's nothing going on between us."

He set the first hand lower and gave it a soft squeeze. He moved to the other hand, still maintaining eye contact with Arthur, and continued his kissing trek.

"You're the only one I want. I need. I love," Alfred sealed his statement with a kiss on Arthur's lips.

He touched Arthur's cheek with his hand and ran his thumb over the bony prominence, feeling the soft flesh underneath his finger pad. He gazed into Arthur and finally said, "Allow me to make up for you."

Arthur finally gave that happy smile of his, a small twitch of the edge of his lips which gave him a soft look, his eyes still slightly wet, and leaned into Alfred's kiss.


They were found later cuddling in bed, Alfred kissing the shorter man's neck as he ran his fingers on the inside of Arthur's shirt.

Alfred really missed doing these sweet, intimate touches to Arthur. He vowed he would make up for what he had lacked before.

"I'm glad I didn't ask for that key when we last saw each other," he heard Arthur sigh. He looked up and saw the happy expression on his lover's face. He grinned at his statement.

"Me too, Artie," he kissed on the collar bone in front of him. Arthur breathed an exhale.

Arthur then pushed Alfred away gently, and fixed his shirt that the taller man had crumpled. He sat up, which Alfred followed suit. Arthur then looked at him and said, "Alfred, you don't have to quit Med School. It has always been your dream to become a doctor."

Alfred couldn't suppress the sadness that crossed his face as he replied, "But you're more important, Arthur."

"This decision of quitting school won't make both of us happy, Alfred. I couldn't afford to make you more miserable than I have already caused," at this, Arthur looked away. Alfred knew that expression that betrayed his guilt. And he couldn't stand to see Arthur make such a face.

"If you want, Arthur, I will still continue going to Med School," he whispered to Arthur, kissing him on the cheek.

Arthur nodded meekly and said, "It's not just because I want it, Alfred, but because you want it also. Remember that it has always been your dream. I want you to be happy with what you do, not just with me, all right?" He then shuffled nearer to Alfred and timidly hugged him.

Alfred almost melted at the affection his dear Arthur was showering him. "Okay, I promise."

He was so happy. Gratitude was bubbling all over him. Everything was just perfect.


Natalya saw Alfred F. Jones on school the following day. She noticed that he was bringing a small box with a ribbon laced around it. He was walking towards her.

She gave a wry smile as he sheepishly handed over the pink box, an act of gratitude, which she accepted without complaint. She knew what the content of the box was, anyway.

"I take it that you're very happy right now," she said to him. She saw the pink cheeks and slightly red-rimmed eyes behind the lenses. A lot of crying had happened, she thought.

"Yeah…" he replied lamely, which she could understand, given that he might have experienced one of the worst and greatest days of his life yesterday. And considering the refrigerated box on her hands, she could deduce that yesterday was a success on his part.

Natalya gave Alfred her rare smile. She was indeed happy for him. That, and he could finally focus on doing better in the clinical area because she couldn't have her teammate blunder any more in both study and duty.

She looked at Alfred's radiant face, which obviously spelled 'gotten laid'. And down to the box that clearly held Chocolate Caramel cake, her most favorite dessert.

Natalya smiled again. Yes, all was well indeed.


WOW! I can't believe it's over... Guuuhhh! I think this is the end for His Dearest. Though I have plans to give a little bit of enlightenment on why Arthur is insecure of Natalya.

But still! Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, favorites, PMs! They all make me happy!

To be honest, though, this chapter is so hard to write. The amount of angst is just... too much! It really makes me sad! I really thank briaranise for pushing me to finish this!

Thank you, once again for your patience.

Review if you like!