June 24, 2011

I hope you like this chapter! I was really inspired for this chapter, but I had too much in mind...that I didn't know how to organize it...and I had different really good scenarios...but I had to choose the one that fits? Maybe I should write those short scenarios and upload them, too.

Unforgettable Day – Chapter 4:

Remembrance

The screen on Alfred's iPhone shone in the darkness around him. He simply stood in front of the door, looking down at the bright screen.
11:52, huh? Does he really need me at this kind of time?

Gradually, he lifted his head and stared at the door. Turning the knob, he opened it easily. It wasn't locked.

Inside, the house had no source of light other than what streamed through from the moon to the windows.

Alfred stepped in hesitantly, head turning left and right, searching for Arthur in the dark.

What the heck is he doing? Calling me to come so late…

The blue-eyed dirty-blonde American approached the living room and saw the Brit sitting lopsided on an armchair, a bottle in hand.

His eyes were half-opened; his vision blurred.

"Ah~! It's Al~!" Even his speaking was slurred.

Alfred sighed. His suspicions proved true. If Arthur was calling him 'Al,' then he was definitely drunk beyond comprehension.

"Al! You're—haha—here—hic—haha." Arthur's arm, with the bottle of alcohol in hand, flopped back and forth as he took on a sloppy expression of delight.

"You're drunk, Arthur. Why'd you call me here?" Alfred didn't want to stay for long, and he didn't want to be swept into Arthur's schemes when he doesn't even know what he's suggesting. Who knows what Arthur—or Alfred himself—would do in this situation?

The Brit slowly, and quite unsuccessfully, began to prop himself up.

"That's mean, Al—I wanted—ha—I wanted to see you!" Finally, he sat up. Then, he tried standing, despite falling back down to the armchair a few times.

Alfred sighed again. "Well, I'm here. What is it?"

"Haha, ha! Al! I missed you—do you know—hic—how much I've missed you?" He had a hand on the side of the chair and started to wobble over to where Alfred stood.

"You…you…!" Wobble. "You're…the worst person—" Stumble. "—ever!" He was halfway across the room. "Why do I miss you—hic—so much!"

Alfred started to walk over to the Brit.

"I thought—hic—that I wouldn't—hic—see you again!—hic—and I was resolute—hic—to stay strong! Don't give me false hope! Stupid git!" Arthur had reached Alfred, and now the Brit stood, glaring up at the American.

"I only recently accepted it! Stop messing with me! …coming here…dragging me along with you…who do you think you are!"

A long, strong arm stretched out and grasped the Brit's.

"Arthur…"

"Always…always…you always do this to me…always…"

"Please—" He pulled the latter close. "Please, give me your trust one more time…"

Arthur leaned his head on Alfred's shoulder. "You're the—hic—worst person—ever."

"I know."

"The…worst—hic." His arm slung on Alfred's other shoulder, hanging limply, with the bottle of liquor still in hand.

"I'm sorry." Such a soft whisper—did the drunk Englishman even hear?

They stayed in that position for a few long minutes, and finally, Arthur glanced up at Alfred, face contorted in worry and trepidation.

"Can I…really trust you?" His beautiful green eyes were round with dread and anxiety.
"Can I really…let you back in?"

All Alfred could do was keep his blue eyes on Arthur's green ones.

"I…don't know what to do, Alfred. I don't know anymore!" The Brit trembled in the American's arms. His head snuggled back onto the latter's shoulder.

"Yes…please, allow me in your world again." The soft whisper sounded pained, as if Alfred felt regret—for what? For leaving Arthur? For being so persistent in getting Arthur's trust back, although that seems to be inflicting more pain on him?

"Why…?" Arthur moved his head into a more comfortable position, face down.

"Why? I loved you…I loved…you…did you know? Why did you have to leave!" His voice wavered and tears streamed down his cheeks onto Alfred's jacket.

Alfred hugged him tighter.

"I knew. I still know. I'm sorry." He glanced down and put his chin next to Arthur's messy hair. "I'm sorry…"

Arthur didn't reply. His sobs were softer now, dying out. He mumbled, "Can…I? Can I really…?" His body was going limp. "I'm afraid…I'm…terrified…"

Alfred sighed again, for who knows how many times that night?

I guess he finally went unconscious after all that alcohol he drank.

He picked Arthur up and carried him into the bedroom. Carefully setting the drunken Brit on the king-sized bed, Alfred stood back and glanced at him for a while.

Arthur slept soundly, cheeks flushed red. His chest heaved up and down, tear stains visible on his face.

Alfred pulled the desk chair beside the bed and sat down. He had seen Arthur drunk many times, but this particular night, he noticed a slight difference. The Brit wasn't as boisterous or unruly… Tonight, he simply…spoke his mind. No resistance, no violent outbursts.

Leaning over, Alfred wiped away the tears settled on Arthur's red and warm cheeks. The moon shone through the light curtains covering the window across the room.

Arthur stirred, briefly, for he was swaying on the border between consciousness and sleep.

"Al…"

Said person ran his hand over the latter's hair. Then he grabbed the covers and pulled them on top of the Brit.

"Yes?"

"Al…you're here." Arthur fidgeted slightly, achieving a comfy position. He lifted his hand, which didn't go very high as he had no energy.

Alfred took it.

"Yeah, I'm here."

The half-conscious man smiled, closing his eyes at the same time.

"Go, sleep, Arthur."

He uttered no reply; however, Alfred felt his hand being moved and intertwined with the Brit's. He gave Arthur's hand a squeeze.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" The Brit was mumbling.

Alfred didn't reply, for he didn't know if Arthur would hear.

"Please…Al, don't leave me…" Another mumble.

This time, Alfred replied. "If that is what you wish for, then I will stay."

Once again, a smile appeared on the Englishman's face.

"Stay here…don't leave…I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night…and be all alone…after that nightmare…why does it keep replaying!" He clutched onto Alfred's hand with all the strength he could muster. His voice was quiet, and his sentences sounded strained.

Without letting go of Arthur's hand, Alfred pushed away the chair and knelt down on the floor, laying his arms on the bed for support.

"I'll be here tonight, so don't worry and go to sleep."

Sensing that Arthur's breathing slowed and turned steady, Alfred rested his head on his arm. Their hands were still firmly held together.

The sound of the rain made Arthur tremble. It fell mercilessly, pounding on the house as if looking for revenge.

A faint image of a field laden with mud and stray blades of grass scattered here and there appeared.

He was trembling…shaking…covered in dirt…soaked…

He was crying, on his knees…his hands were sinking into the mud.

What a pitiful sight, like a stray dog abandoned by his beloved human, thrown away on the side of the road.

The harsh rain played a full crescendo, persistent in waking Arthur up, exacting revenge.

His eyes opened, gradually adjusting to the darkness.

His body felt heavy—extremely heavy. He couldn't lift a finger, much less slide his head even a millimeter. He could hear his breathing become fast and deep, mixing in with the sound of the rain.

How much time passed as he lay there?

Why did he have that dream?

In addition, why were his eyes so moist?

The water from his eyes overflowed onto the sides of his face.

He lay paralyzed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his tears sliding threateningly close to his ears.

That dreaded emotion of despair filled his entire being.

Slowly, very slowly, the heavy weight lifted from Arthur, and he relaxed. Then, was he able to feel the warmth on his left hand.

What was there?

Who could possibly be here so late?

Arthur had absolutely no strength left; thus, all he could do was leave his hand there.

It did feel reassuring, though.

He scanned his own room, having nothing else to do.

The rain is as unforgiving as ever.

…Not as much as that day, though…

After a few torturing minutes, Arthur regained some strength. He tried to sit up, moving both his hands in the process, making the certain someone beside him stir.

"Arthur?" Sleep was definitely in his voice as he mumbled.

"Alfred! Why are you here!"

Said person had fell asleep, resting his arms and head on Arthur's bed while kneeling. He stood up and patted the messy locks of the Englishman.

"You don't remember anything, as usual. Well, long story short, Artie, you called me here when you were dead drunk."

"What? And hey, don't touch my hair!"

Alfred obliged, but only to return his hand to the hand of the moody Brit's and sat down on the top corner of the bed, besides Arthur.

"Wha—anyways, it's late. Why didn't you go back?"

"Hahaha! You pleaded for me to stay, Artie."

A blush immediately secured a seat on the cheeks of Arthur's face. "Who—who would do that!"

"Haha. Deny it all you want, but I can leave right now if you want to." No doub, a hint of mischievousness was in Alfred's words, as he knew this man very well. He never spoke his real thoughts and desires.

"W-well…" Arthur stuttered, avoiding eye contact and unconsciously gripping Alfred's hand tighter.

The latter smiled, half delightfully, half teasingly.

"Well?"

"…umm…" Arthur's whole face was beautifully occupied by a deep red hue. He continued, so soft it was almost a mumble, "I—I want…you to…stay…"

Alfred feigned deafness. "I couldn't hear you, Artie." He leaned in closer, his face almost touching Arthur's.

The other turned his face away, but he didn't pull back. Barely any louder than before, Arthur repeated, "Stay…I won't be able to fall back asleep…I—" He clutched onto Alfred's hand.

What was he about to say!

Damn it! I would never tell him that I dreamt of that day…and that I'm still so affected by it…!

Only then, after Arthur's abrupt stop, did Alfred notice the fresh tears on the side of the Brit's eyes.

He sighed, and said, "Yes, don't worry and sleep. I'll be right here." He swung his legs onto the bed and leaned on the headboard of the bedframe. Pulling Arthur back down into his sleeping position, Alfred placed his right arm next to Arthur's head and on his right shoulder. He grabbed the Brit's left hand in his own, relaxed, and tried to sleep again.

Still blushing furiously, Arthur turned to sleep on his side, facing Alfred, and used both hands to hold onto Alfred's. The American set his free hand on the Brit's head, and patted him lightly.

"I'll be here, don't worry."

A/N: Arthur's nightmare and reaction is based on my own experience...haha. (Connection with Morning Surprise? =P)