Chapter Nine: Downtime
Arthur sighed, resting his head against the window as the T train screeched its way through the underbelly of the city. Nervous tension clenched his stomach – he felt like a stress ball squeezed to its maximum limit. From the moment he'd hung up with Alfred, his mind had been racing with an almost motherly concern for the boy. It had been so bad that Roderich had even let him off work early – on the condition that he would work a double his next shift, of course.
Of course, Arthur had been more than happy to comply. He had sprinted the whole seventeen blocks in the pouring rain to his apartment, stopping there just long enough to change out of his soaked clothes and cook a pot of chicken soup (which he ended up failing miserably at, having ultimately to ask the bloody Frog for assistance), before making a beeline for the nearest subway station.
Remarkably, the train had arrived with timeliness near unheard of (during a Friday rush hour, at least), and now all Arthur had to do was pray that the bloody contraption would refrain from breaking down within the next forty minutes or so…
Fortunately, Arthur's luck held out, and the train made it to the campus without incident. After getting turned around only one or two times, Arthur finally found his way to Alfred's building, which was an immense relief, and not just because he'd gotten more than a little bit wet on the way.
Still, as Arthur approached the boy's door, he found himself fighting off a rather heady case of nerves. Honestly now, there was no rational excuse for this rubbish – he's just a nineteen-year-old boy, for godsakes! And you are a twenty-three year old, thus-far infallible underground boxing phenomenon, so man the hell up and grow a bloody pair already!
Right. And with that, Arthur pushed the damp hair out of his eyes and knocked sharply on the door. He startled when it was opened almost immediately, revealing a very tired and disheveled-looking Alfred dressed in a gray long-sleeve and a pair of Superman pajama-bottoms.
"Iggy! You came!" The boy pulled Arthur into an unexpected hug. Arthur felt like a nuclear reactor had suddenly gone off in his stomach.
"D-don't act so surprised to see me, git! I told you I was coming!" he managed as he struggled against the hug. Good grief, the lad was strong, even when he was sick! "…A-And I've told you a thousand times not to bloody call me that!" he finished shakily, straightening himself out as Alfred finally released him. Bollocks, had that really just happened?
"I'm sorry, it's just so good to see you" the boy said, his smile radiant even though his face was pale and flushed; Arthur was very surprised when he didn't melt into a puddle on the floor. "JEEZ! What happened to your face?" the boy asked, and Arthur remembered the rather substantial bruise that had decorated his cheek for the past week.
"Oh, it's nothing. Sodding Francis whacked me with a door," he lied quickly. "Frankly, I'm a bit more concerned with your health at the moment." And with good reason, he thought as the boy turned to cough a bit into his shoulder.
"Ehhh, I'll be fine," Alfred replied with a sheepish grin. "Nothin' can keep this guy down for long!" He walked back into his room and grabbed a towel from a nearby shelf. "Here," he said, tossing the towel to Arthur. "It must be raining cats n' dogs out there."
"Horses, I think," Arthur quipped, and looked around the room as he dried off his hair, (trying very hard not to think about the places of Alfred's body that that towel might've touched).
The two sides of the room were almost comical in their dissimilarity. The left side of the room was neat and sparse – in fact, the only hints of a person living there at all were the gray comforter and pale green cylindrical pillow that dressed the bed, the poster of Mount Fuji on the wall, and the rather futuristic computer that sat on the desk next to a picture of a very poofy-looking dog.
Alternatively, the right side of the room was anything but sparse. The walls were covered with pictures of various superheroes. Comic books lined the floor along with some socks and a few empty food receptacles. The bedspread (dark blue plaid) was a tangled, heaping mess from which not one but three pillows peeked out. The ceiling above the bed was decorated with peel-off, glow-in-the-dark stars.
It was not necessary for Arthur to ask whose side was whose.
"You know it's funny," Alfred said as he plopped himself down on the right-hand bed. "I never really know what to do with myself when I'm sick. You'd think with two doctor-parents I'd have gotten the hang of it by now, but they weren't home a whole lot…"
"Your parents are doctors?" Arthur asked. Unsure of what to do with himself, he had opted to wander over to Alfred's desk, which was home to a sort of organized chaos in the form of books and scattered notes. He picked up a sheet of what appeared to be chemistry homework and gathered at once that it was too complex for him to even begin to understand.
"…Yeah, my dad's an orthopedic surgeon and my mom's a family practitioner," the boy answered. "It's pretty cool, I mean, they're both really great, but they travel a lot. "Doctors Without Borders and stuff..."
"Oh… I see," Arthur mumbled, hesitant about how to reply. He looked up at the bulletin board above the desk, which, apart from holding a rather hectic-looking schedule, was filled to the brim with photographs. A picture of Alfred putting what looked like a near duplicate of himself into a headlock caught Arthur's attention.
"Is this your brother?" he asked, pointing out the picture. Alfred leaned over the bed frame and squinted.
"Yep, that's Mattie!" he replied. "Younger than me by ten whole minutes, but everyone thinks I'm the younger one for some reason…"
"I can't imagine why," Arthur snorted, eyes still moving across the photographs. "…And who's this woman?" he asked, pointing to a withered, elderly woman that appeared in quite a number of them.
"Oh! That's my Wayla!" the boy answered excitedly. "She's this wicked awesome Cherokee lady who took care of me and Matt when the 'rents were gone. She basically raised us-" He was interrupted by a particularly ruthless coughing fit. "Damnit… ungh…" He groaned and leaned up against the wall, curling his knees to his chest. Arthur felt himself well up once more with anxious worry; then he remembered the near-forgotten thermos of soup in his hand.
"Here, um… you should probably have some of this," he mumbled, blushing, as he poured some soup into the thermos's cup. "I don't know if it's any good, but it's something at least…" He handed the cup along with a spoon he had packed to Alfred, who broke out into a smile that made Arthur want to melt all over again.
"Wow! You made me soup?" the boy asked as he accepted the cup. Arthur's blushed deepened and he rubbed his neck apologetically.
"Erm, well, the Frog did most of it but I, er… helped a bit. Turned the stove on anyway-"
"Artie, that's the nicest thing ever!" The boy's response, while exuberant, had a bit of a delusional air to it, and Arthur wondered if Alfred was possibly running a fever…
"Mm. Here, now lie back a bit," he found himself directing softly, arranging the boy's pillows into an inclined mound. "You need to relax, or you'll make yourself worse."
"I can't! I'm restless!" the boy whined dramatically, bouncing the mattress, and Arthur got the distinct impression that he was attempting to babysit a sick 10-year-old. Hmph, bloody crush my arse, he thought to himself, but then Alfred turned that wretched smile on him once more.
"Hey… wanna watch a movie with me?"
"Er…" Arthur faltered. He wasn't sure he was quite prepared to stay in the boy's presence for duration of an entire movie…
"Pleeease?" And there it was: that damned puppy-dog look. Arthur sighed, knowing that whatever battle he might try to fight would be a losing one.
"Alright then, if it'll help to sedate you a bit-"
"YES! I have the perfect one, too! A freaking classic…" Alfred tumbled down onto the floor in front of the TV stand and began rooting through the large collection of DVDs. "Tell me, young padawan…" the boy grinned, holding up his chosen movie at last: "…have you heard of a little thing called the Force?"
Oh, bloody hell.
"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away… It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking-"
"Must you read the prologue out loud?"
"Artie, you do not even know how many times I have seen this movie. I could quote the whole thing backwards if I wanted to!"
"Please don't"
"Haha, don't worry; the Wookie noise hurts my throat anyway…"
Arthur glanced over at the boy, who had settled contentedly beneath the bedspread, propped up by his stack of pillows. Since there were no other comfortable places to watch the TV from, Arthur had been forced to sit next to Alfred on his bed, and he could already tell what a phenomenally bad idea that had been. They weren't touching at all (he had made damn sure of that!), but Arthur could feel the boy's warmth radiating out from beneath the blankets, and it was all he could do to keep from trembling with the magnitude of tingles that were coursing up and down his spine. Luckily, Alfred's incessant babble (honestly, he was even quoting that blasted beeping robot!) was at least doing something to distract him, even if it was right bloody irritating…
But then the boy shifted under his covers, his leg just barely grazing Arthur's own. A bolt of electricity raced through Arthur's body at the unexpected touch, and he just barely contained a small gasp of surprise.
Christ, it was going to be a long two hours…
"Cor, they didn't even attempt to make scientific sense in this film, did they?"
"Nope, and that's why it's awesome!"
"And what is with these annoying dwarf-things?"
"Jawas."
"Whatever! You can clearly see their eyes are just a pair of bloody light bulbs!"
"Who knows, Iggy? Maybe they could have naturally evolved eyes that work just like light bulbs!"
"Pshhh. Load of rubbish if you ask me."
"Aw, you're just mad still because I called you C-3PO-"
"I sound nothing like him!"
"Hahaha! Okay, whatever you say Iggs…"
"…So after all that he's just going to up and leave?"
"Don't knock Han, Iggy. The guy's a freaking hero!"
"A crass, overly-macho bastard is what he is."
"Artie! My ears, they bleed!"
"Oh, belt up will you?"
"Um, I'm sorry Iggy, but what exactly do you want me to do with my belt? Haha- Ow! Hey, quit it!"
As the final credits began to roll, Arthur couldn't help but grin. That hadn't been so bad. It had actually been sort of nice. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself unwind enough to enjoy a movie, albeit a rather ridiculous one…
He gradually became aware of a soft sound emanating from his right; the boy, it appeared, had fallen asleep, and his quiet snores punctured the gray stillness of the room. Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he stared at Alfred's sleeping form – the boy looked so young, so vulnerable. So unlike the hyperactive nitwit he had thus-far come to know. Arthur marveled at how comforted he felt, looking at the boy as he slept. He felt special. Needed, he supposed – but in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. It was… quite remarkable.
Carefully, Arthur reached over and removed the boy's glasses, folding them up and placing them on the shelf behind him. He hesitated, and then rested his hand against Alfred's forehead, testing for a fever, before carding it gently through the boy's tangled, messy hair. He held his breath when Alfred stirred, eyebrows furrowing a bit, but the boy stayed asleep, releasing a soft, unconscious groan.
Arthur's heart fluttered; he knew in that moment that he could deny it no longer, (at least to himself). He was crushing on the boy. He was crushing hard.
Well, what of it? Arthur thought to himself as he delicately extracted the remote from Alfred's hand and turned off the television. Really now, what harm could come of a little crush, as long as he made sure not to act on it in any way? That psychotic Russian wasn't so bloody all-powerful that he could read Arthur's thoughts, was he? Arthur shuddered at the notion, but his mind was made up. This would be okay; as long as he was careful to mind that the boy didn't get caught up in any of the less-than-savory aspects of his life… This would be fine.
Arthur smiled, resting his head on his curled arm, and told himself that he'd only stay a few minutes longer – it was just so bloody hard to tear his eyes away from the boy. Just a few more minutes, and then he'd be gone…
…
…
…
"Mnnnghnn…" Arthur groaned softly and opened his eyes, yawning. It seemed as though he'd dozed off for a bit. He lifted his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked over at Alfred. The boy was fast asleep, still snoring, his face all but buried in the depths of his pillow. There was a spot of drool drying beside his half-open mouth, Arthur noticed with amusement. Then he noticed the strip of sunlight that swathed the boy's face from the curtained window nearby. Sunlight? Just how long had he been asleep for anyway?
Arthur glanced warily down at his watch. 10:34 AM? It wasn't possible! Arthur never even slept in past eight, and that was counting weekends!
"Bollocks," Arthur hissed, sitting up hastily, and ran his hands through his hair. What was he going to do? It was one thing to give acknowledgement to the infinitesimal, insignificant bit of a crush he seemed to have developed on Alfred; it was a whole different thing to fall asleep next to the boy for the entire bleeding night! How could he even begin to explain it? What would bloody Francis say?
There's still hope, Arthur thought desperately. I'll just sneak out now while the boy's still-
"Hey…" Arthur turned to find Alfred sitting up, looking at him with a sleepy half-grin on his face.
"Alfred," Arthur sighed, feeling his anxiety drain away with the boy's stare. "Sorry to wake you. I must've accidentally fallen asleep…"
"S'ok," the boy replied, stretching his arms in a huge yawn. "You must've needed the rest just as bad as me."
Arthur frowned a bit, remembering the fitful nights of sleep he'd been having, but pushed the thought away. "How are you feeling?" he asked timidly, as Alfred roughly cleared his throat.
"Better," was the boy's weary reply. "I think my fever might be gone…"
"Mm, let's not be too hasty, shall we?" Arthur murmured instinctively, and before he knew what he was doing he had placed his hand against Alfred's brow, just as he'd secretly done the night before. The boy froze for a split-second, then closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, sighing softly. His eyes opened again, and Arthur's heart skipped a few beats. The way he was looking at him, it was almost as if…
"Arthur…" the boy breathed, leaning in closer still. "There's something I want to-"
THUD! The moment was lost as the door wooshed open and someone staggered in carrying an arm load of luggage and shopping bags. Arthur almost immediately recognized him as the small Asian who had visited the record shop before, only this time the fellow, (Kiku, right?) wasn't dressed up as a cat. He was instead wearing what appeared to be a sort of old fashioned, white naval uniform. And was that a katana Arthur saw strapped to his back? What sort of convention had this chap been attending again?
"Hello, Alfred-kun, I brought you some pock-EAHHH!" The Asian fellow blushed brightly as the scene before him registered. "Oh! I-I am very sorry! If you will please excuse me-"
"No, No!" Arthur interrupted, yanking his hand back hurriedly, his own blush staining his cheeks. "I was just leaving anyway!"
"You were?" Alfred questioned, frowning.
"I, er… have some errands to run, yes," Arthur explained as he scrambled off the bed and gathered up his belongings. "And you don't need me any longer now that your roommate's arrived…" He pulled on his shoes and coat and made for the door.
"But Artie-" the boy tried, but Arthur silenced him.
"Do take care of yourself, Alfred…" he cut in quietly, looking over his shoulder just as he'd reached the door. "…Please?"
The boy's frown deepened: "Okay, but-"
"Best be off!" Arthur exclaimed, opening the door. "It was very nice seeing you again, Kiku!" he said, nodding to the traumatized-looking lad before slamming the door behind him.
Sweet bleeding hell! Arthur staggered down the hallway, panting, sweat pouring down his heated face. He only knew one thing for certain, and it was that he needed a drink. He needed a drink RIGHT. BLOODY. NOW.
He exited the building, hell-bent on finding the liquor shop of the closest proximity, wondering in the back of his head what exactly it was that Alfred had been about to say anyway…
~(o)~
A/N: So yeah, Kiku was cosplaying as 'Japan' from Hetalia: Axis Powers for his anime convention... XD. Hooray for meta jokes! (I do not own Hetalia, Star Wars, Boston College, pocky, or any other artifacts of sub-cultures I may have possibly mentioned!)
A Note on Alfred's 'Wayla': She's sort of an OC personification of Native America. The name is derived from the Cherokee word for "old woman", a-ga-we-la (pronounced ah-gah-way-la). She's not hugely important, but she will be showing up again later on in the story. :D
A hundred thousand thank-yous to my fabulous (and fast-as-lightning) new beta, Holly-Batali!
UP NEXT: Arthur gets a bit more out of the sleepover than he bargained for…