A/N- Long ending chapter is long. And hard to write. Mostly the beginning and end. I thought about splitting it up, but it works better as one long chapter, I think. Enjoy!
Arthur personally thought the movie Alfred decided to watch was stupid.
That did not explain why he sat on the floor, about as fixated on the television as Alfred, but it was, in fact, a stupid movie. One of those new comedies with a brand of humor Arthur thought more or less crude but Alfred seemed to love.
Snapping out of—nothing, it was a stupid movie—he addressed Alfred. "Why are we watching this?"
"Because it's funny!" Alfred replied with all his usual cheer.
"Is it now." His attention went back to the screen. And, with the perfect timing Arthur was sure was people were only graced with in stories, something funny happened. It was one of the stupid jokes Arthur had dismissed as crude earlier on, but this time, a teenager despite his old-man-attitude, he couldn't help but laugh. Loud enough for Alfred to hear, annoyingly enough.
"Ha! I knew you had a sense of humor!" he sounded triumphant, like he had selected the movie for this very purpose.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"I mean that I've never heard you laugh and now I got too!" The triumph did not leave his tone. Arthur thought it unnecessary. He did have a sense of humor. He muttered a quiet "moron" under his breath.
There was a small pause in conversation. "You know, you should laugh more often." Alfred commented, sounding almost like an afterthought. "It sounds… really happy. Like it really counts."
Arthur eyed his friend, confused. Of course every laugh counted. That's what it was for. "You don't make sense." Alfred laughed. He had a really happy laugh, too, one that was easy to listen to because it was so carefree and joyous. Something about the laugh made Arthur smile on reflex. His psyche immediately motioned to say it meant nothing, as it had dozens of times before, but Arthur, under the pretense of boredom, stopped, took a moment to look back on the thought, and all previous thoughts which had led to his continual deni—rationalizations.
Maybe he liked Alfred. A lot. A lot more than he thought.
Maybe Arthur Kirkland should stop deluding himself.
Arthur was fond of their daily life. Alfred, an idiot, yes, but he was also the kind of person who was fun to talk to when he was sure he kind of knew how to talk to a ghost. Even conversations relating to his ghostly abilities were entertaining… usually (the idea of possession Arthur tolerated. Things related to ghouls and vampirism, he did not). When Arthur informed him his range of power basically consisted of invisibility and intangibility—both not by choice—"disappointment" was an understatement (apparently, as such, Arthur was unqualified to be a superhero. Given he couldn't leave his own room, that was about as accurate an observation as any). Until the next day, when the conversation was promptly forgotten and the sun continued to travel across the sky.
He, however, did not like it when their daily life was interrupted by stupid ideas. "So what if I told Matthew you lived here?"
"'Lived'. Interesting wording." He was not avoiding the question, no matter how off-topic his response may have been.
Alfred either didn't notice the tangent or played along—it was irritatingly difficult to tell with him. "Do you prefer 'reside'? 'Inhabit'? 'Dwell', maybe?" His voice lapsed into a whimsical falsetto used entirely for mocking purposes, with even a lightly British accent (the bastard).
"Just get on with it." Arthur retorted.
Alfred took a moment to snicker at him before continuing. "'Cause, you know, he should really know you're here."
That was it? "That's never stopped you before. Or me, for that matter."
"I know… I don't like lying to him, though! He's my baby brother!"
"And yet he's more mature than you'll ever be." Still not avoiding the subject, thank you very much.
"You haven't met him!" He knew enough about Alfred back in his inaudible days that he could kind of say he met the teenager. Why couldn't the same hold true here? "He's shy and small and kind of a crybaby and—"
"Far more mature than you. Anyway," He was so not avoiding the subject and Alfred was so avoiding it that it was up to Arthur to get it back on track, "you haven't bothered with these thoughts before."
"Well, it's kind of awkward, you know? It'd be like introducing a secret girlfriend you've been going out with for a while." Invisibility, even when not by choice, was quite useful when one didn't want another to know he was bright red at that kind of analogy.
… Not that Arthur was blushing. Not at all, of course he wouldn't, perish the thought. It didn't matter that he liked the stupid git.
"So what do you think?" Alfred brought him out of his thoughts.
"Do what you like; I doubt my opinion on the matter is of any importance anyway." Arthur replied with as much indifference as he could manage (which would vary depending of point of view). Either way, Alfred had decided something and Arthur wasn't going to bother with it—he was still stuck where he was and not much was going to change because of this.
"You're horrible with pranks, Alfred." That patient sentence summed up both Matthew's belief in the supernatural and his tolerance when dealing with Alfred's daily antics.
"I'm not kidding, Matt!" That more frantic sentence summed up the progress of their conversation: absolutely none.
"Is this like the person with a lot of arms from a while back who was going to attack me in my sleep?" Arthur laughed. He really would like a proper conversation with Alfred's little brother.
"You're not funny."
"Neither are you."
"I'm not trying!" Alfred grunted in what Arthur assumed was annoyance. "There is literally a ghost in the room, right now!" Is Matthew supposed to take the sentence in a way other than literal?
"Alfred, I really don't think there—" Matthew frowned when he was cut off.
"There is!" Alfred insisted again.
Matthew rolled his eyes. "Okay, so, pretending I believe you, how do you know there's a ghost?"
"I talk to him all the time!" Arthur's palm met his forehead. You sound like you belong in a psych hospital, you complete git. "He tells me all about what life was like back in the Eighties!"
"… Are you going through something stressful right now, because we can get you some help and everything and—"
"See, there's that 'not funny' thing again." Alfred was apparently not amused by such statements.
Matthew was not amused by such conversations. "Do you see him, too?" Judged by the tone, he likely expected some nonsensical answer.
Alfred paused. "… Sometimes." Arthur froze. "It kind of blinks on and off. Never for more than, like, five seconds."
"Liar." Arthur accused immediately, almost childishly. "You've never told me you can see me! You already sound crazy enough, and now you're lying to him!"
"Just because I didn't tell you doesn't mean I can't." Alfred replied, his eyes moving from his brother to his roommate.
"It does. I would have noticed."
"Apparently you didn't." His voice was a singsong, likely some attempt to cheer up his "roommate".
"Alfred, shut up." Matthew interrupted, almost harsh, but Matthew didn't really seem capable of 'harsh'. "You sound crazy."
"C'mon, Matt!" Again, his attention shifted. "I mean, you always say this place is creepy and all!"
"I didn't say it was haunted!"
"You conversation is going in circles, Alfred." Arthur informed him. "He obviously doesn't believe your stories. Being able to see me, honestly…" He thought for a second. "In hindsight, I probably should have realized this was going to happen."
The owner of their room paid him no attention in favor of continual attempts to talk to Matthew about "the British ghost guy in here dude I'm serious!"
Alfred's attempts to continue conversing once Matthew left (with maybe-sorta-possible success at getting him to believe Arthur was there) didn't end up well.
"You're ignoring me now?" Arthur crossed his arms, glared, but was silent. Just like he had been for the past two hours "And here you always yell at me for immaturity."
"Can you see my being immature, too?" He finally snapped, sensitive to being called immature or anything similar to it. Especially by Alfred.
"Why are you mad?" Alfred pouted.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur countered.
Alfred flopped back on his bed, obviously tired with the conversation, but now that Arthur was talking again, he was unwilling to end it. "It was kind of like when I could first hear you. I didn't know what to do, so I just said it was nothing."
"So your answer was to not talk to me about it. Your ability to deal with that which confuses you never ceases to amaze me."
Alfred didn't have a response for that. "Well, now my little brother thinks I'm a total schizo, so…"
Arthur accepted that one. "And maybe it would have gone over better if you had planned out what you wanted to say and—"
"You didn't tell me any of that!" To Arthur, the teenager's voice came out as a whine. As such, he did not care.
"Well, for one thing, it's not my job to tell you how to talk—but if we must I should inform you 'schizo' is not a word—and for another I would hope you had that foresight, but apparently I was wrong."
"You're so mean…"
"Right, right…" A different thought hit him. "What do I look like?"
"What?" Alfred sat up so fast he almost lost his balance.
"I haven't seen myself as much in three decades." After seeing the same face over and over for thirty years, it tends to look less like a face and more like a poster that happens to appear anytime you walk past the mirror. Like a background image.
He shrugged. "Short, blonde, green eyes." A grin spread across his face. "Giant eyebrows. Seriously, how did you even get those things?"
"It's good to know that's the detail you remember best." He tried for a cruel sarcasm, but it failed.
"Relax, you know you love me." Alfred laughed, the statement completely innocent to him but very alarming to Arthur.
He could only give biting retorts, fueling the American git's laughter further despite his best efforts.
"She's coming!"
"Alfred, put me down!" Matthew protested. Arthur, confused, leaned closer to the door (damn thing was closed) to hear more. Alfred sounded more excitable than usual.
"She's coming over tonight, Matthew! For dinner!"
"Slower, Alfred, I don't understand."
"Well, remember how we saw her all the time when we went to that movie rental place and then it turns out she was fun to talk to and then we started talking and now she's gonna come over aren't you excited too Matt!" Arthur told himself there was absolutely nothing lovestruck in Alfred's voice. The girl was just some friend that was coming over and then would leave and it would all be fine and nothing was wrong nothing was wrong maybe Arthur didn't really care for Alfred after all he was just being stupid and it's just been forever since he interacted with anyone so he started acting like he maybe really liked or maybe loved Alfred but that was stupid…
It was all fine.
"Um… yeah, Alfred. I'm very happy for you." Judging by the strangled noises, Arthur guessed that Alfred had his brother in one of two things: a chokehold or a crushing hug. Arthur guessed the latter, only because it was the most characteristically Alfred. Well, no, the former was not a truly inaccurate guess either.
"You have to help me cook 'cause Mom's out tonight at work."
"Okay, fine. Because, you know, I never have plans or anything…"
"You don't usually have plans, though." There was a pause. "Stop looking at me like that." Matthew apparently did not stop watching him with whatever unnerving expression he was apparently wearing, because Alfred just went into the bedroom without another room.
At least, until he was actually there. Then he started talking again. And fast. "Artie," Dammit, he was sure he exterminated that nickname, "This girl I really like is coming over for dinner tonight! Isn't that awesome?"
"I suppose?" Arthur did his best to sound indifferent. Because he was. At least, he wanted to be. But it was fine.
"I'm so excited! Do you think I should cook hamburgers or maybe chicken! Everyone loves grilled chicken…" He grinned with mischief. "Then again, maybe I shouldn't ask for your culinary advice."
"Don't be a git," he chided, his voice harsher than he intended.
"You okay?" Alfred seemed to sense something was wrong. A puzzled look passed over his features as he stared in Arthur's general direction.
"Absolutely fine." The words were dismissive. "Now get, don't you have something to do?"
It was all fine. He was a ghost, anyway, already dead, killed by salt or whatever it was and locked in this one room forever or at least until he figured out why. Alfred would live and die elsewhere and everything would be fine because after another year or so the family would move out anyway just like all the others and besides Alfred was nothing special was he?
After all, that's what Arthur Kirkland got for deluding himself.
A/N- … For the record, I don't think I ever implied it would be mutual.
On that depressing note, thank you all who loved this and I might as well thank those who didn't like it… at least you read it. Grumble… I still love you anyway. Fear not!
I could try and write a real USUK at some point in my life… Maybe one day!
Or I could expand on this universe, detail other owners of the house or even just get Arthur to interact with Matthew or Alfred's girlfriend… or maybe Alfred one day realizes his true love is in fact Arthur and they somehow get past the barrier of Arthur being a ghost and descend into an embrace via the power of love and … cough… I'm getting more interested in this universe… :] We'll see if anything comes of this fic. I would probably find better titles for those sequels, though.
But, again, thank you all! I will see you another time!
