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Disclaimer: I do not own the characters used in this fanfiction, or the song that inspired it.

REVIEWS

Dora-nichov Russian Werewolf: You could say that, yes.

people1040: Haha, I am very sorry for the cliffhanger. Oh wow, I'm glad you're speculating that! I was hoping it would be questionable. I am a girl, by the way. Oh, no worries. If it was a problem I wouldn't have updated yet. It's just that I had time, Christmas break and all.

Sora Resi: uwu Indeed. They're much more anjoyable to write than to read. Sob.

Redwhale6: Ooh! That's great to hear. Yeah, I actually have a list with all of the chapter names lined up from the lyrics. They go in order too, for the most part. You have great taste in music, friend.

alguien22792: Yes. Yes, he did. Yes, I am. But I'm also nice. Huehue. Oh, you're so kind. w

Little Octopus: Hehe, I love it so. You aren't a freak, you're amazing. I shall!

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For a short time, nurses and doctors bustled around him, performing various tests and shining multiple obnoxious, blinding lights into his eyes. One nurse had a familiar voice, and Arthur realized that she was the one probably assigned to him... in his dream. Although, that notion was slowly becoming less and ness believable, and he found himself questioning the very existence of the past few weeks.

Alfred had been ushered out of the room by her, and Arthur was slightly happy about that. Curiously, he kept eying the band on his finger, not paying an ounce of attention to the tests being performed on him, not answering as he was asked questions. He really didn't feel like talking anyhow; his throat was parched.

Soon, the onslaught of people in scrubs and white coats thinned. Only the nurse from before remained. She sat on the chair next to his bed, and, to be frank, she looked bored, if a little thoughtful. The girl looked young, like she could pass for a teenager, but the sea blue scrubs she was wearing gave her a sort of sophisticated look.

"Mr. Kirkland?" she said, fetching a clipboard from the nearby counter. Frowning, she looked at the paper, before glancing up at Arthur. He felt himself nod.

"Are you aware of what happened?" she questioned, and her voice held a bluntly falsified professional tone.

Arthur just looked from his hand to the ceiling, and shook his head no. This made the nurse sigh.

"Can you tell me when your birthday is?" she asked.

For a while he struggled to find his voice, and she simply sat there, waiting patiently.

"April twenty-third." he finally croaked.

That made her smile, and her amber eyes glistened as she jotted something down on the clipboard.

"Good, good. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

Arthur stared up at the ceiling. He played with the idea of simply not answering any of her questions and just waiting to wake up from such a bizarre dream, but he was also trying to find any harm in just playing along instead of potentially making the dream worse. His voice struggled as he tried to laugh mirthlessly, but he just coughed. Water, or something of the like, sounded fantastic at that moment. Still, he managed a wan smile that stung on chapped lips.

"I remember going to bed."

The nurse hummed to herself for a while and nodded, sticking the end of the pen she was holding in her mouth. For a while she spun on the chair, and Arthur was only slightly amused at her antics. Really, he was just miserable.

"What day was it?"

"It was August twenty-second." he said, sure of himself.

That, however, made her frown. Still, she nodded, taking the pen out of her mouth and jotting something down. With the way she was writing, Arthur figured it was probably a messy scrawl, speedily and carelessly printed on a cheap sheet of notebook paper.

She looked up at him, then, and such a sympathetic expression didn't fit her round, childish face, framed with red ribbons that tied her hair back.

"Well, right now it's the twenty-eighth of February."

Yes, he was definitely dreaming. There was simply no other explanation. Soon, he would wake up with the covers lying on the floor and with a large, white cat clinging to his front. He'd leave this unknown, and venture to the previous one. Surely. Despite these stubborn thoughts, his eyes traced the wall until they found a window, open slightly, and letting in frigid but refreshing air that felt nice in the almost overwhelming heat of his room. The curtains framing the glass swayed with a very slight breeze, and he looked at them before his eyes found the sky.

It was gray. Blatantly gray, grayer than gray. Stark overcast loomed over them like a suffocating blanket, and Arthur found that it reminded him of something. Something, something... home. It was like home.

"Where am I?" he asked.

The woman followed his gaze to the window, and she frowned curiously, before turning back to him. From where Arthur was, he shouldn't be able to see any buildings, only the sky. She wasn't sure why that would have triggered such a question, but she stayed gentle, lest the patient's stability be compromised.

"What do you mean?" she prodded softly.

"Just... where?"

"You're in a hospital."

"I know that." Arthur growled impatiently.

"Well..." she nervously glanced out the window again, before turning to her bristling patient. "You're in London."

"I'm in London?" he breathed.

"Yes, you're in London."

For a long while, he just stared at the clouds lining the sky. Then, he heard the nurse sigh and spin in in her chair once again. Perhaps it was her way of calming her nerves.

"May I ask you a few more questions? Just to see where you're at." she asked crisply.

Dully, Arthur nodded, and his gaze moved from the window to the ceiling. Everything was seeming all too real, but he knew it must have been fake. It was all just a dream, he told himself over again, even if the thought of being home was too good to be true.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Sixteen." he answered.

After that, there was a nervous silence. It occurred to Arthur that the nurse was probably new to the job, as her professional mask wasn't very convincing. If she wanted to appear as if she knew what she was doing, she would need to stop spinning on the chair and humming to herself. When he glanced at her, her eyes were wide, and she had a fake smile plastered onto her face.

"Mr. Kirkland, you are twenty-three years old." she said, and her voice was honeyed and comforting.

Arthur briefly wondered if such strange dreams were somehow a result of his own strange amnesia, because he didn't have any other explanation.

"Since when?" he asked stupidly.

"Since your twenty-third birthday." she said, equally as mindless. Then she sighed through her nose, and Arthur heard her stand, but he didn't look at her.

"I'm afraid you've got amnesia, although we can't be sure what kind yet." the nurse said softly. In her hands she played idly with her hair. Another nervous habit, Arthur guessed.

"You don't say." he replied sarcastically.

She gave him an odd look but continued speaking.

"You and your husband were in an accident and-"

"My what?"

The clipboard flew in front of her face as she held it up defensively and shut her eyes, as if she expected Arthur to lash out and attack her. Then, she breathed deeply through her nose and brought the board down once again, opening her eyes slowly and fixing him with a gentle stare. Perhaps she was better at her job than Arthur had anticipated, if a little nervous. The smile she added onto that stare was sad, though, and in turn it made him anxious.

"Do you remember him?"

"Do I remember who?"

"Your husband!"

"Stop saying that!" he cried. Arthur was beyond confused, and he hoped to the heavens above he would just wake up. Maybe his dream was some kind of enlightening, subconscious thing, saying the word husband and trying to make him think he was gay. Which was fine, dandy, he didn't give two shits at that moment, but doing so by saying he was married?

"Sorry!" she squeaked.

Then after a moment of incredibly tense silence, she calmed.

"Do you remember Mr. Jones?" she tried.

Arthur hated being confined to the bed. He wanted to get up and run away. He wanted to just run, hide, and hit his head repeatedly against a wall.

He was having a dream about marrying Alfred. Or at least, being married to him. He wanted to die, or crawl under a rock and never see the light of day again. He would never be able to face the boy ever again without spontaneously combusting, he decided, and he was beginning to conjure plans containing efforts to run away from the boy's house and just fade off the map. Amnesia be damned.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

"Yes- yes, I... I know Alfred, but... but, I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you want me to bring him in here?"

"No- no, please-"

Then, she was frowning and clicking her tongue, simultaneously interrupting Arthur.

"I understand that it's hard to accept, but he's going to want to see you at some point. He's... he's been by your side for days, you know."

Arthur didn't reply to that and just gazed at the ceiling with a scarlet face.

"I'm... I'm goint to bring him in here, alright? Maybe it will jog your memory?"

Her hand hovered over the door knob before she turned.

"My name is Michelle. My father and I will be checking up on you regularly during your stay here. And... please, be easy on Mr. Jones, he's had it pretty rough since you've been unconscious."

With that, she left the room, and the door was shut before Arthur could gather a coherent word. Uselessly, he lay in the hospital bed, uncomfortable with the stifling heat, and irritated by his constant heart monitor. The needle piercing his wrist was annoying as well, but oddly, by now, he was used to it. Hushed voices were audible from behind the door, and their intensity made him shut his eyes and take deep breaths.

Constantly, he told himself to wake up, but he never did. The ticking of the clock and the heart monitor stayed. The rushed voices stayed. The cold draft from the February air stayed. The clouds of London stayed. Even his own memories of a younger Alfred stayed, the memories that excluded a wedding ring. He glared daggers at the offending golden band on his finger, and huffed, trying to turn his head. Then, when the action brought on too much pain, he winced and continued to be stationary.

The sound of a blaring telephone echoed outside his room, and seconds later, the door slowly opened. An older Alfred stood nervously in the doorway with crooked glasses and messy hair, and on his shoulders was a leather jacket that suited him rather well. Still, as he shuffled into the room quietly and shut the door behind himself, Arthur couldn't help but glance at the matching ring on Alfred's left hand. Immediately, he shut his eyes.

Thankfully, the first thing Alfred said had nothing to do with their supposed marriage, or their current predicament.

"How do you feel?" he asked, sitting in the same chair he had been for the past few days.

Arthur couldn't see him with his closed eyes, and he was afraid to open them.

"Confused." he replied simply.

Alfred breathed shakily. A terse silence passed before Alfred decided to spontaneously explain the supposed accident.

"We, uh, we were... going to... I can't remember where. But anyway, you were driving- and, well this truck just... I don't know, it just sort of hit us on the side, and I guess the impact made you hit your head pretty hard, 'cause you lost control."

Arthur didn't say anything.

"Are... are you okay with me talking about this? Michelle told me to, and-"

"I'm fine with it."

"Okay... so, you lost control, and I tried to take the wheel, but then we hit a wall and the airbags popped out. You weren't awake... and your head was all bloody, and- and the glass was broken, god, I was so scared, Arthur."

Arthur opened his eyes, then. If he was honest with himself, he would say he had at least some small feelings for the younger Alfred, but... to be married. It was just strange. However, when he looked at the older Alfred, sat in the chair and rubbing his red-rimmed eyes, Arthur felt nothing but sympathy. His heart stuttered, and he wanted to make Alfred at least feel a bit better, reassure him, perhaps. No, no, he was lying to himself. Truthfully, it was the stricken, devastated look on his face.

"Alfred..."

The American rose to alertness and looked at Arthur with eyes that were rimmed a sickly pink. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Arthur lifted his arm that wasn't pierced with the needle.

"Come here." he said.

Alfred sniffed. Then, he obeyed. He wheeled the office chair closer to the bed and gently took Arthur's hand. The older man shook his head though and freed his own hand, receiving Alfred's confused look.

"Oh, come here, you poor thing." Arthur murmured, and slowly, Alfred complied. As he got closer Arthur wrapped him up in a one-armed hug. Alfred, too, gently, at first, wrapped both of his arms around Arthur and just rested his face in the fabric of his hospital gown and sheets. He sniffled, but he didn't bawl or cry, because Arthur was there now. He was okay. He didn't remember him, but Alfred was sure that, after time, he would. Everything was okay. It would be fine, and maybe, just maybe, Arthur would smile again. He would just have to do everything right a second time, fix his mistakes.

Neither of them noticed when Michelle cracked the door open and peeked into the room, smiling a small smile at the sight before her. The two blonds were wrapped in a tender, yet awkward embrace, but the sight was so sweet. She had come because she was alerted of Arthur's heart speeding up on the monitor, and as she closed the door quietly once again, she knew why.

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"Your legs are a little bruised, but you're lucky. There was no damage to the bones." Michelle flipped through her packet, clipped neatly to the clipboard she always seemed to keep handy. She hummed in her usual habit and made a popping sound with her lips as she seemed to mull over things.

"Mostly, it's just your head. You experienced a horrible consussion, and evidently, you lost some of your memories, which are possible to regain if you try. You were out cold for a total of 78 hours."

Arthur was so tired of lying down. In all his life, he had never experienced the urge to go for a jog until now. He had also come to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't dreaming. Maybe everything was connected somehow. Maybe.

Alfred had left a few minutes before to get food and freshen up, and of all the times, Arthur wished he hadn't. He wanted to ask the American a few things.

Michelle closed her packet with a smile.

"Does it hurt to sit up? I'd imagine, with those bruises, it would hurt to do anything."

Arthur huffed.

"Yes, and I hate it."

"Well, you're not supposed to like it."

His only response was a short growl that Michelle easily dismissed.

"Oh! Later today, my dad is going to come in and ask you a few questions, okay? Just stuff to figure out where you are, you know, mentally. Shouldn't be too invasive. He's a super nice guy, he stitched up your head."

Arthur grunted.

"Oh, cheer up! If you do, I'll show you a secret."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Michelle giggled and rummaged around in a drawer, ruffling its contents and closing it noisily. In her hands was a white remote, one that was connected to the bed. With a click of a button, his bed noisily bent, slowly, until he was sitting up. Then, she handed him the remote.

"You're welcome."

Arthur had never been more relieved in his life.

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"Alfred, when did we meet?" Arthur asked it nonchalantly, but really, he wanted to know because it would answer many questions rambling in his mind. "When and how?"

Alfred crinkled up the wrapper to his burger and tossed it across the room, delighting when it landed safely in the dustbin. Then, his cheeks got a little pink and he simpered. Arthur thought it was cute. It was funny, the way one could grow fond of someone after they learned they were married. An unlikely circumstance, but definitely an effective one.

The American twiddled his thumbs and spun around in the chair. Arthur was beginning to wonder why he was hesitating.

"Didn't you say you knew me, at least? Don't you remember?"

"I..."

"I don't really think it matters now." Alfred dismissed, but it only made Arthur more curious.

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Arthur punctuated every footstep with either a curse word or an irritated grunt. His feet were both light and heavy on the tiled floor, but mostly they just hurt like hell, along with his poor legs. Every step sent dull throbs of pain, traveling upward until they vanished at his waist. It was tortute, but every time he felt the pain, he told himself that at least they weren't broken. At least he could walk just fine.

Michelle was on his right side, guiding him around the room while gripping his shoulders and speaking sarcastic but meaningful words of encouragement. On his other side was Alfred, nervous, but with a steady hand on the small of his back. The touch was a bit too intimate for Arthur's liking, but he tolerated it anyhow.

"Don't you have special rooms for this?" he hissed as they turned around once again to make a lap around the bed.

"Yeah." she chirped. "But it's kind of reserved for people whose legs are actually in bad shape."

"Oh, shut it."

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Michelle had vanished with the call of other patients, and Arthur was sitting stationary in his bed once again. He was no longer connected to the IV, which he was grateful for, but still, he wished he could walk normally.

"Hey..." Alfred murmured one day, and Arthur had come to know that as the tone he used when he was about to be serious. "You, uh... if you don't want to wear it, you don't have to."

Arthur had no idea what Alfred was talking about. He tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Alfred just laughed bitterly.

"The ring." Alfred clarified.

Arthur blinked and looked down at the golden band, wrapped proudly around his finger.

"Oh." he said simply and looked at it. Then, he twisted it around his finger with his other hand.

However, before he could reply that no, actually, he'd like to keep it on, the door burst open and they both jumped.

"Bonjour!" a loud, silky voice crooned.

Arthur stared at the ring for a while. Then, slowly, because he was dreading that hellish voice, he looked up. His eyes widened, and he nearly screamed.

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Behold update city, friends.

Until next time.