Too...

Alfred blinked at the message again, squinting at it in the soft light filtering in from his closed curtains. Pushing himself up to a sitting position to resume staring at it, the blue notification box didn't change.

Arthur K. Missed Call

His heart jumped at the words, re-read twenty times in the last minute, as he hastily pushed at the unlock button to his phone, and called Arthur, his breath catching somewhere in his throat.

He called me.

The words echoed about in the spaces between the dial tone, ringing, ringing, without anyone picking up. Alfred bit his lip, and waited on.

Four calls and two texts later (because screw dignity and the possibility of a pocket call, there was a missed call. From Arthur. A missed call from Arthur), Alfred was up, tugging on his dark combat trousers, the closest hoodie to him and his bomber jacket, fumbling around his drawers for paper and a pen.

Matthew, still blanketed by drowsiness, finds a post-it note on the kitchen's counter-top five minutes later, with Alfred's dark, slanted scrawl on it.

Going to find Arthur, won't be going to the office today, sorry!
-A

Matthew smiles, still a little sleepy, and leaves the post-it as goes about making himself coffee, toast, and texting Francis that maybe he could come over today after all.


"-H-HEY NO, WAIT, SIR, YOU CAN'T GO IN THERE!"

Angelique looked up from her game of minesweeper to see whatever had caused the racket. It ran up to her in the form of a tall blond man, bespectacled, cheeks a little flushed from extertion, as it seemed and... Angelique squinted at him, ever so slightly. He seemed familiar.

"Is Arthur here?" He demanded, skipping formalities altogether, coming to a halt in front of her desk, still slightly breathless.

She blinked up at him, surprised. Mr Kirkland hardly ever any visitors, and definitely not ones who came running up, with the receptionist running behind him, and most certainly none as good looking as-

Oh my god.

"IT'S YOU!" She shrieked, the chair clattering noisily behind her as she stood up suddenly.

The blond took a hasty step back, eyes startled wide in confusion. "Yes it's me...?" He asked, cautious. "Has Arthur told you about me or some-"

"No, no," she frowned, "That's not it. Don't you even remember- You-" She looked at him, lost for words. How on earth was she supposed to phrase her thoughts and that abject disappointment and embarrassment which had seeped through her almost a year ago, when she had met him for a date? Or at least, what she had thought was a date. It was embarrassing enough to use an online dating system, but even more so when you got a date with someone you actually did find pretty cute only to- Only to have him tell you it was for a survey and nothing more, after you had flirted with him for an hour.

She'd removed herself from the system right after.

And now he was here, in her work place and... And looking for her boss?

"You're here for Mr Kirkland?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

He stepped forward a bit, still looking over her warily. "Yes? I just- I just really need to see him, I-I know he's busy and stuff but I mean, I can wait for him if he'll be a while, it's fine yeah? Please? I just really need to-"

"Arthur's not here today," A voice said from behind Angelique. Antonio smiled easily, leaning against his office door, adjacent to Arthur's. "I heard Angelique shouting, and I thought I'd better check it out," he explained, grinning briefly at Angelique.

She shrugged uncomfortably, gesturing towards the blond (truth be told, she couldn't even recall his name anymore; it was the sheer shock and indignance of him being here which had thrown her off). "I'm fine, it's just that he ran in shouting and-"

"-Y-Yeah, look, I'm really sorry about that," Alfred cut in, rubbing at the back of his head apologetically, wincing. "I-I just, it's kinda urgent, y'know? I thought he'd be here, Arthur, I mean, he's always at work and..." He broke off into an awkward, tapering laugh.

"You're Alfred, aren't you?" Antonio was still looking at him, head slightly cocked, his smile bordering on smug.

Alfred laughed, turning to look at Antonio. "Yeah, I am, god, I'm so sorry, you all must've thought I was crazy or something," he stuck a hand out for a handshake. "You're right, I'm Alfred, it's really nice to meet you and all but uh," he laughed a little nervously, "I'd just really like to know where Arthur is right now, is he at a conference or something like that?"

"Nope! He took the day off," Antonio frowned thoughtfully, shaking Alfred's hand. "I think he might be sick, actually, he's been working himself like crazy these few days and- Oh yeah! I'm Antonio, it's nice to meet you too," he grinned. "I've heard- Well, not much really but-"

"Wait!" Alfred cut in, again. "H-He's sick? Like, sick-in-bed-sick?"

"Well yeah, I think-"

"Oh god, that must've been why- Argh." Alfred smacked himself lightly on the face, before rubbing at his eyes. "I- I gotta go, thanks so much- Antonio, yeah? And you um," he looked back at Angelique, smiling apologetically as he walked backwards towards the door. "Hey, have I met you before or something? You look really-"

"Just go," Angelique bit out, exasperated. The two of them watched as Alfred grinned, somewhat sheepish, and turned to run.

"So," mused Antonio, grinning. "That's Alfred."


Alfred arrived at Arthur's doorstep, panting and flushed, flu medication in one hand and two hamburgers in the other.

Getting to Arthur's house had taken longer than he'd expected.

He'd stopped by a pharmacist on the way to Arthur's house, picking up a box of flu medication. On the way, he'd realized that Arthur was probably sick in bed (what other reason was there for Arthur Kirkland to skip work?), and hungry with it. Given Arthur's assumed prone state and inability to cook, Alfred had stopped by a burger stand too, picking up two hamburgers as well.

And now he was here, on Arthur's doorstep. He looked at the brown oak of the door wary and nervous. He knew that he wanted to be here. Arthur was sick, and regardless of what had transpired between them... Alfred still found it necessary to be here, to help him, to nurse him back to health and all that. Something inside him lurched at the thought that followed, that he still wanted to be here for Arthur, to do all that.

He called you, he protested against himself, weakly.

His left hand brushed against the bulge the iPhone made in the pocket of his pants.

His right came up to knock at the door.

"Arthur?"

No response.

"Artie? It's um, it's me, Alfred, I-" Alfred bit his lip nervously. What if he doesn't want me here? "-I heard that you were sick and I thought, y'know, I should come over?"

His question hung in the hallway, with nothing but silence as an answer.

Alfred's stomach lurched again. Maybe I should just go, I mean, maybe he really doesn't want me here and- And it's not like I can really help or but-

But he called me. That has to mean something right? I mean he-

Oh fuck. W-What if he had an accident or something? L-Like he slipped and hit his head and- And he needed help and-

Alfred cursed under his breath, trying the doorknob to no avail. It's not like he'd expected Arthur to not lock his door but-

Ah.

Shifting the bags to his other hand, Alfred dug around in the back pocket of his jeans, eventually pulling out a set of keys, grinning. Arthur had called him silly when he first did it, but Alfred had always known that attaching Arthur's spare key to his own set had been a stroke of genius. Granted, he hadn't ever used them till today, and he was pretty sure Arthur only gave him one because Alfred had given him his own, but still, he thought to himself, turning the key.

The lock turned smoothly, and Alfred let himself in. He looked around the living room, half-worried that he'd see Arthur collapsed over any given surface. After a quick sweep of the living room however, the option was ruled out.

Unless he collapsed in the bathroom or something.

Alfred dumped his stuff onto the couch, and moved towards Arthur's bedroom, door left ajar and-

Whew.

Arthur was there, lying on the bed, sprawled out a little ungracefully. His left ankle was poking out from under the covers, one arm dangled off the bed, but he was safe, fine - as fine as one could be while sick - and sleeping. Alfred, relieved, sat down as gently as possible on the end of the bed.

Arthur shifted slightly, making a small noise in his throat as he turned a little to his side. Alfred noted that he was drooling, and realised that he probably should not have found it so amusing, especially since Arthur was sick, and surely he should be feeling a lot more sympathy than chortle at the fact that Arthur Kirkland drooled (in an absolutely undignified manner too, at that).

He did look pretty sick though - Alfred's mind finally moved on after the vague amusement wore off - and the bags under his eyes were probably ten times worse than when Alfred had complained about them a few months ago and insisted that Arthur kept to a slightly more healthy sleeping schedule. His breathing was laboured, and his brows were together this time, unlike all the other times when they relaxed whilst he napped against Alfred's shoulder on the couch. He was a little thinner too. Alfred couldn't help himself but to frown at that observation, but decided that a hamburger or two would definitely help.

But before that.

He leant over, brushing away Arthur's fringe, grimacing at the tell-tale heat that emmanated from his forehead. Hamburgers would have to wait for now, Alfred stood up resolutely.


Through the vague fogginess of a feverish mind that was not sleeping but too tired to bother to be awake, Arthur registered the sound of running water. Running water, for two seconds, then a slight drip-drip. Did he forget to turn off the tap? He thought to himself groggily, then realised that he didn't even go to the bathroom just now. How in the world did the tap- or perhaps it was a leaky faucet - but that was less the drip-drop of a leaking tap but more like- more like-

The thought drifted out of his reach, and Arthur let it go, his mind refusing to make the effort to chase after it.

- Back to sleep. Just sleep and get better for tomorrow-

A comfortable coolness against his forehead that seemed to soothe the edges of the ragged migraine throbbing under his skull-

"... Mmgh?" Brain registering that something was wrong (but whatever it was, it felt pretty damned good), Arthur opened an eye groggily. Blurry outlines. He squinted, forcing his vision to focus, for the double ghosts of an image to merge together and become a clear-

- Alfred-?

His brain trailed off there, and the next moment Arthur had shot up with an alien burst of energy. Something cold and wet hit the blanket, soaking into the fabric of his slacks. "What-" He paused, trying to articulate himself with words that refused to surface from the heavy smog of his headache. "Why-"

"U-uhm- I-I can explain this, really-" Alfred squeaked, before picking up the towel that had fallen off his forehead, "And you should be lying down for god's sake, Artie-"

Alfred is here? But why would he-

Oh.

Arthur realised, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He was dreaming. He had conjured up Alfred in a dream because he was so desperate to have him around and-

Arthur groaned, falling back against the pillow, completely disgusted at the emotional weakness that was inherent in the current situation. "... Fucking pathetic-" As if falling prey to sickness and physical weakness wasn't bad enough. Seriously? Two entire weeks of convincing himself that he was fine and it had all come down to this?

Dreaming that Alfred would come?

Arthur would have scoffed, if he didn't feel so inclined to be crying instead. It actually seemed like a feasible thing to do. He should be crying. He was pathetic enough to dream Alfred up in this ridiculously unrealistic fantasy, why shouldn't he be crying?

"A-Artie? Hey." Alfred's hand on the side of his arm. Warm as usual.

"Go away." He managed hoarsely, hating how his voice seemed to crack halfway. "I don't need to be dreaming this now. Bloody hell."

"Dream? Arthur what are you talking about-"

Oh for christ's sake-

Arthur sat up, ignoring the fact that his world was spinning and the overwhelming nausea that came over him felt a little too realistic for a dream of this nature. "You! I've just fucking dreamt you up because I'm such a sod and-" Something caught at the back of his throat and Arthur doubled over, choking at either nausea, phlegm or this huge lump of pure bundled emotion and wondering why this dream was so desperately trying to make him look like a complete loser.

There was a pause after that, and the room simply echoed with the sounds of dry hacking. Arthur looked up warily in midcough, wondering if the Alfred Dream was gone for now, and maybe if he could wake up and make himself a cup of warm tea. Instead, he was faced with-goddamn it all why was he still here--a rather befuddled Alfred Dream who was starting to look like he had finally made sense of the situation.

"You're not dreaming, Arthur, I- you called remember?"

Arthur frowned at that. "No I didn't. This is a fucking dream, I never-"

"You left me a missed call." Alfred pulled out his phone. "I thought that-"

Arthur snatched the phone over, fingers clumsily closing around the slim metallic case, staring at the call log with narrowed green eyes. "But I never-" He stopped in mid-sentence, brain buzzing in alarm as it tried very hard, very hard to remember some crucial piece of information.

Arthur K. 7.46am
Mobile

7:46 AM, the time seemed to taunt him. Two message boxes. Closed them. That same dreaded one entry in his contacts list that he just couldn't tear his eyes from. Alfred. He had pressed the Call button then didn't he?

"No you didn't." Arthur heard himself saying hoarsely. "It shouldn't have- You shouldn't have received-" That's right, this was a dream. All his calls he had canceled before they could even reach Alfred-

"I shouldn't have? Shouldn't have what?" But Alfred sounded too real. His voice was breaking, Arthur noted at the back of his mind. He made him upset again. Even in a dream. Fuck.

"I-" Arthur bit down on the inside of his cheeks. Should he be admitting to this? But if it was a dream- "All the previous calls never reached you." His mouth said, and Arthur looked up in alarm. "I-I mean-"

Alfred was giving him a rather bewildered look. "All the previous- Arthur, have you been calling me?"

"Well, I-"

"All this time?"

"I-" Arthur spluttered, suddenly aware that Alfred's hands were around his arms again-warm-his fingers digging in slightly, and it hurt, and dreams should never feel this realistic-damn it all to hell-because what good would it do him if he actually believed that this was real? And wake up to an empty room later, the miserable person he was? "They weren't supposed to reach you- I- I just."

(- just wanted to talk, and maybe even hear you say-)

Arthur cursed inwardly, cutting off that thought process there, annoyed that the fever wasn't just affecting him physically but apparently also affecting his control over his thoughts. This needs to stop. He told himself firmly, stabbing one more dagger of self-loathing mercilessly into himself-twisted it whilst pressing it in at the hilt-Alfred was not supposed to come back for him. He had no right to even wish for this.

"Arthur," Alfred started.

"I-it was probably the fever." He mumbled, trying very hard to focus on looking at the blankets instead, fingers tangling themselves in the sheets, stretching the fabric over his fingertips. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- to call you over- I- you should just-"

"Arthur."

"Oh for god's sake what is it-" Arthur snapped, only to yelp at the sudden forward tug, his nose crashing not so eloquently against Alfred's shoulder. "Wh-what are you-" He could feel Alfred exhale, chest deflating ever so slightly, and his arms tightening their hold around his back, and Arthur hated himself because he realised that he had missed this feeling so much over the past two weeks the only thing that was stopping him from breaking into sobs was possibly the fact that his head was throbbing incessantly. And for the first time in his life, felt grateful for his fever.

"You should go."

"I-I what?"

"To New York."

"What are you talking about-" Arthur tried to shift out of Alfred's grip, but his arms held fast and Arthur's body didn't even bother to keep up with the struggle, too weak to even allow him to raise his head and twist his neck so he could see Alfred's face.

"I-I mean, I know it's important to you and- You should, you know. You should go. I don't want to hold you back and-"

"I'm not going." Arthur found himself saying, before he could even register that his mouth had moved. "I'm not-"

"I'm not going."

He realised that Alfred had lapsed into complete silence, and that those three words now echoed in his room, lingering eerily in the atmosphere.

"Wha-" Alfred spluttered, pulling him away-Arthur felt very much like a rag doll in his hands, grimacing at the painful throb his head gave when his body was jerked back at the sudden movement-"What do you mean you're not- but why!"

Arthur closed his eyes, as the throbbing resumed. Alfred was loud. "I just- It's not, not because I want- it's just-"

Not all that simple, his brain repeated traitorously, just like he had said back that day, in this same bloody room. The same day Alfred had walked out after telling him that all this time, all this time he had been-

Arthur had not been entirely keen on leaving for New York in the first place. Alfred, of course, had been his first consideration. He had not wanted-had not even considered-to leave him for this, but what other option did he (they) have? A long distance relationship? Whilst that, Arthur realised, wouldn't be that bad to him, he didn't really know how Alfred would take to that.

It wasn't just that though. New York was a new place. The company was going to be a new thing. He was going to have to go there and piece it together. Do all the negotiations. Find new-American, god forbid-employees to work with. Train them properly to do their jobs. Make a new system. Deal with people. Antonio and Gilbert wouldn't be around, how would he know that his new direct subordinates would be equally competent? How would he know that it would work? Everything was a risk, everything was a venture into the unknown- But it was also a new challenge, a new opportunity. And Arthur knew that this would important to him, a new milestone in his life, a new chance to prove himself and reach greater heights. And wasn't that all that mattered to him?

And so perhaps, perhaps he should go. Step out of his comfort zone and take up this new job and challenge himself to become better.

But now Arthur wasn't so sure anymore. Alfred had left-And it wasn't just because of this, but because he had been putting up with him for so long, and that he had been tired-And perhaps it wasn't all worth it to go through all that now. Take another risk which outcome he couldn't predict, take another step into an environment that he couldn't control-

-Could he even do it?

"I'm not going." He finished, forcefully ending that thought process, hating how the emotions felt so much stronger now that his brain was in a complete mess, that Alfred was here looking at him so utterly confused. "My deadline for an answer is this Monday, and I'm not going." His eyes flickered towards Alfred's face, not really certain what he should make out of the expression on his face now. "I'm sorry." He choked out. "If this bothers you in anyway but I'd just like you to know that I-"

(I really-)

"I'm not... Expecting you to do anything about this either. It's my decision, that's all. You don't need to feel obliged to-"

(But I really-)

Arthur groaned, rubbing his temples and shaking his head in an attempt to empty that thought out, chase it completely out of the grasp of his mind.

"Arthur-"

"You-" Arthur inhaled shakily. "You should go. Before I pass this on to you. Nasty thing, this flu bug." He laid back down and flung his forearm over his eyes again.

He could still feel Alfred's weight on the bed, a warm presence just at his thigh and Arthur seriously considers murdering the real Alfred if this isn't a dream.

"Okay," and Alfred's voice is a touch more hoarse than Arthur can remember, as he rises from the bed. A hand comes to place another cold compress at his forehead, nudging slightly at Arthur's forearm, and Arthur tries to relax into the bed.

He doesn't wait for the footsteps to fade from the room, before drifting back to sleep.


"Mattie, so what are we having for- Eh?" Alfred stumbled out of his room, only to be met with Francis, and not Matthew in his house. "Francis? What are you-" His eyes were drawn to the brown box Francis had in his hands, filled to the brim with... Matt's books?

"Francis, are you... Stealing Matt's stuff?" He asked, incredulous.

Francis gave him A Look. "No, Alfred, I'm not stealing Matthew's things, I just-"

"Then why are you taking his stuff out by the box?" Asked, his eyebrows raising.

Francis tilted his head at Alfred, considering, before turning around to face Matthew, walking out of his own room. "Mathieu, you have not told him?"

Matthew, sheepish and rubbing at the back of his head, smiled apologetically. "No, not really," he admitted, before looking back at Alfred's confused expression. He shrugged, wincing a little. "It just never seemed like the right time."

"The right time to tell me what?" Alfred's eyes darted between Matthew and Francis, getting increasingly suspicious. It was that niggling feeling again, the same one that he got in the office that day, when Francis came to talk to him, that idea tugging at the corner of his mind that with this whole thing with Arthur, he'd missed out on something pretty damn huge.

Matthew bit his lip, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Eh well, you see, Al, I really did want to tell you earlier, but you were so caught up with Arthur and everything so it just never seemed... Right to tell you right then, you know?" He frowned up at Alfred slightly. "I mean, it wouldn't be-"

"What Matthew is trying to say," cut in Francis, putting an arm around Matthew, "Is that he is moving in with me."

Alfred blinked.

"Right now?"

"Actually," Began Matthew, sheepish once more, "I've been... Kinda moving out for weeks."

"Weeks?" Alfred craned his head into Matthew's room, considerably less filled with stuff, belatedly shocked.

"Yes, mon petite," Francis smiled, semi-condesendingly, but Alfred felt more pity in his tone than anything else. "Matthew's been spending many-" he winked, "-Nights at my house and I simply suggested that he move in."

"B-But," Alfred spluttered, scrambling for the words. What should one say in a situation like this anyway? He felt like the rug was being pulled from beneath him, the boat suddenly rocked and all that jazz because Matthew was moving out and he never told him?

"Al?" Matt prompted, biting at his fingernail this time. "Y-You aren't mad or anything are you? I-I really did mean to tell you, weeks ago, but the day I decided, I... Well..." He shifted again, frowning at the floor. "I found you in the kitchen," he said simply, knowing that they'd both get it.

"How long have you..." Alfred waved a hand vaguely at the box.

"I've been asking Matthew to come live with me for more than a few weeks now." Alfred watched Francis smile fondly up at Matthew, and that same, matching smile on Matthew and the way Francis had an arm slung over Matt's shoulders, how Matthew's arm was inching up to hook around Francis' waist and-

Oh.

Alfred swallowed.

"No," he finally said, still staring at the two of them, unable to tear his eyes away because... Because. "I-I'm not mad, seriously, Matt, I'm not." He grinned, albeit a little weakly. "I'm really happy for you two," he admitted, honestly, and continued watching the way Matthew's shoulders relax, and the short squeeze that Francis gave at that.

"Thanks," grinned Matthew, blushing slightly, then smiling at Francis out of the corner of his eye as well. "Anyway um, you were gonna ask me something?"

"Nah," Alfred waved a hand dismissively. "'s not important, you guys go do whatever you were doing. Do you need any help?"

Both Francis and Matthew shook their heads. "We'll manage," Matthew smiled, taking the box from Francis. "And we're almost at the last of it, anyway," he admitted.

Alfred nodded, backing away till his back hit the door of his own room again. "Yeah, okay, just..." He watched them for a few seconds more, something imperceptible tugging at the ends of his mind again. Something different yet completely the same on an elementary level, tugging, pulling, teasing at the corners for attention.

"Just take care of my brother, yeah Francis?"

Francis' eyebrows rose for a moment, before his expression settled into one of fondness yet again, as he cast a quick glance at Matthew, still smiling.

"Oh I will, Alfred," he purred, voice laden with innuendo and that same inescapable fondness leaking through all the corners.

"Gross," laughed Alfred, as he went back into his room.


Alfred opened his eyes again from what could've been a moment's worth of shut-eye or an hour's nap. After nabbing some cold dinner from the fridge the night before, Alfred had settled himself down to hours of idle contemplation on his bed, arms tucked behind his head, staring up at the cream ceiling above, counting the cracks between idle thoughts.

He'd been runing the pad of his thumb over his iPhone for the better part of half an hour now, feeling the soft indentation of the Home button, the sweeping curve of the plastic casing, mind flitting between this and that and Arthur Arthur Arthur.

Let it not be said that Alfred never thought things through. He did, he honestly did. Almost always too, in the quiet spaces between songs on his iPod, listening to the soft hum and glow of the microwave. He did think, too much sometimes, driving himself into corners before careening clear off cliffs of thought. Which was what he was feeling right now, holding his warming iPhone in his hand, caressing the blank screen and button and thinking far too much for the past god-knows-how-long.

I'm a man of action, dammit!

He pushed himself up into sitting, pointedly ignoring the headrush and flicking through his favourites list to press at Arthur Kirkland before he could lose his nerve to. Again.

Alfred swallowed nervously, listening to the dial tone. The steady, precisely timed tones which slowly drove him to the edge.

Relax, Alfred. It's just a phone call. It's just Arthur. You need this, you need to know, you need to let him know, you-

"... Hello?" The voice on the other end seemed rumpled, sleepy, just with the hint of confused, and so distinctly Arthur, that Alfred had to smile.

"H-Hello? Arthur? Um, how are you?"

"Uh," Arthur paused. "Better I suppose. My fever's gone down so..."

Alfred listened to his trail off, eyes darting around the room. Being a man of action had it's downsides. Like not knowing what to say on the phone to the guy you kinda left after a fight after saying "I love you", after you went back when he was sick and told you that he-

"Well you still sound like shit."

Arthur snorted on the other line. "Thank you, I'm glad you think so too."

Alfred grinned. "So listen, um, are you..." He hesitated again, trying to think of a nice-sounding enough turn of phrase, but finding none. "... Are you sane now?"

"... Excuse me?" Arthur sounded confused as hell if anything, spluttering slightly. "I am always sane, I will have you know! I-"

"Sure, sure," Laughed Alfred, waving his hand about dismissively, forgetting that Arthur couldn't see him. Forcefully, he stilled his hand, setting it back down on his comforter. "But uh, I mean, the last time I talked to you, you didn't seem... Very... There?"

"There? What do you-"

"I mean, when I came over to visit you, you started spluttering on about dreaming and something you shouldn't have done and stuff so uh, it didn't really make much sense to-"

Alfred heard a slap on the other end of the line. "A-Arthur? Are you-"

"Fuck."

"... Art-"

"J-Just... Just shut up for a moment I-" Arthur broke off here, muttering a little inaudibly, with Alfred only being able to catch snippets of what sounded a lot like fucking fever playing games with my sodding mind and I cannot believe he really- he really-

"Arthur?" Alfred asked, tentatively. Maybe he isn't sane yet after all. "I- I um, just wanted to make sure that you, you know, got what I told you that day."

The pause was longer this time, and Arthur's voice came back at him, wary and cautious. "... What is it?"

Alfred swallowed, nervous. This is what you called him for idiot, it shouldn't be this hard. This is Arthur. It's Arthur, Arthur who falls asleep during action movies and works too much and doesn't initiate hugs but seems to like them all the same and who you love.

"Alfred? Are you-"

"-You should go to New York."

He waited for Arthur's reply, biting his lip, shifting his toes about in the comforter, worrying at the silence. He was never good at phone calls, never liked the way that physicality could never translate into pitch and tone, the way he couldn't feel his way around hand gestures and creases along eyes.

"I'm not going."

Alfred let a woosh of air out. He'd been expecting this, kind of.

"B-But you should!" He said, looking up at the ceiling, counting the cracks again. He'd thought about this, thought about Arthur and New York and him being a whole sea away but how it was something he knew Arthur wanted and dammit I was never good at following scripts. "New York food is awesome!" Alfred blurted out.

Silence.

"I-I mean," He quickly supplied. "They have tons of different types, and I bet there's something even you like- There's this thing called blackened chicken, and I mean, it's pretty good, or at least it was, to me, like ten years ago," And he knew he was rambling, but he didn't seem to care anymore. "And New York weather's awesome too, so much more awesome than this drippy London weather we have here and... And- And New York's just really really cool." He concluded, conscious of his semi-pathetic ramble. "You'd love it." And it's what you want, isn't it?

Arthur gave a dry chuckle on the other line. "As far as I'm concerned the restaurant food can't taste too different, the winters there are equally ridiculous and miserable, and living there alone trying to cope amongst a bloody sea of sodding Americans? No thank you." He snorted, incredulous and ever so slightly bitter that made Alfred want to do something. Something, anything, put a hand on Arthur's, shift a little closer, place a kiss on his head, something, anything to fight that single strand of sour emotion in Arthur's voice, something that would-

"You won't be alone!"

There was silence on both ends of the line. The words had startled Alfred just as much as they did Arthur.

"W-What...?" Arthur croaked, sounding more distant than ever. "What do you... What... What do you mean?"

"I'll go with you! I'll go with you to New York! I-I mean, I can do my Masters there or something, and Heartstrings doesn't really need me to be here, physically and stuff, I can work, you know, long-distance. A-And we can get an apartment together and I'll show you all the awesome places in NYC and- And you won't be alone!"

Alfred let the words rush out, gabbled together and almost incomprehensible in its speed, consonents tripping over vowels, tumbling together, tied together with pure feeling because Arthur was important, every bit as important as every other part of his life right now. He'd made himself important, with his own slightly-awkward ways, with barely-hidden smiles and falling asleep on Alfred's shoulder and choking on curry and this is Arthur Kirkland whom I still love-

But-

Oh fuck I did not just say all that. I- I don't even know if Arthur still wants that- If he still wants me like that or- Fuck, what if he doesn't want that and I- What if he's never wanted that and- And oh god I cannot take all that back it's the fucking truth but what if Arthur- We can't just go back to- I-

The silence that followed was probably the longest in the entire phonecall - which was saying something, Alfred thought worriedly to himself, since this phonecall was probably the epitome of the Awkward Call With Lots of Awkward Pauses - and the only thing that was stopping Alfred's heart from collapsing was the fact that Arthur had yet to put down the phone.

"You-" The word punctuated the silence abruptly, then stopped there, the ends of the sound thinning out and spreading off into nothingness for a moment. Then a rather irritated cough, followed by the noises of Arthur clearing his throat, "You bloody git! What the hell are you thinking- Wait, you probably aren't." Arthur answered that question before Alfred could think about it. A frustrated sigh, another pause, then, "What about your- you can't just- I- I can't-"

Alfred realised that he hadn't been breathing in the past minute, and hurriedly took in the oxygen he needed with one deep inhale, the breath catching in his throat as he waited. Waited for Arthur to say that he couldn't cope with Alfred doing something like this. That they couldn't just go back anymore-

"Just-" A bit of spluttering, as Arthur always did when he was annoyed that he lost his eloquence with words. "G-get your bloody arse over here this moment you insufferable prat!"


Arthur spent the next ten minutes or so with his head in his hands.

What the fuck did I say that for!

He groaned, dragging himself out of bed and groggily snatching up the box of flu medicine by the bedside table. Now that he actually thought about it, how in the world did he wake up last night, pick up the box, and down the pills without even questioning how it had appeared?

Arthur cursed under his breath. Material evidence that proved Alfred's (real) physical existence yesterday afternoon that he had overlooked completely in his fog of delirium. He had actually not managed to shake off the sheer embarrassment for his behavior in front of Alfred yesterday. Admitting that he thought he had dreamt him up and that he was a loser? What else did he admit to!

Resisting the urge to facepalm again-he had probably done the loudest facepalm in his entire life over the phone just now-Arthur poured himself a glass of warm water in the kitchen, downed two more pills, and threw a hasty glance at his watch.

The last time he had told Alfred to come down, the git had arrived in thirty minutes. Today, judging by the sounds that followed as Alfred spluttered out "-O-Oh! Yeah! Sure! Now! I'm er, heading over now! So er! Just wait fo- Waaauugh! (thump)-Fuck! Stupid beanbag!", he could either count on him being even earlier, or just plain late because he walked into a ditch or got into some freak accident.

The slight worry and horror that came with that last thought uncomfortably wedged in his chest, Arthur wondered if he should call Alfred again, tell him to be careful on his way there, and there was no need to rush- But instead splashed his face with cold water at the kitchen sink and proceeded to head back into his room and change into a fresh set of clothes that didn't cling to his skin in that uncomfortable post-fever state.

It wasn't the time for that now. Absolutely not. He had called Alfred over for a reason he himself couldn't comprehend. What was he going to say? He didn't know what to say.

But at the same time he couldn't allow this to happen. Not again. What was Alfred thinking? What happened in those two weeks? Did he accidentally hit his head against something? As far as Arthur was concerned, he had not done anything worth his forgiveness. Didn't even dare call him in case he had already moved on. But also because he knew that, deep down, he was scared that he would have nothing to offer him anymore.

Alfred was important to him. Arthur had managed to come to terms with this new fact and somehow incorporated it-albeit haphazardly-into his new way of living (him not being able to admit to this out loud, not in front of Alfred, or anyone else, was perhaps the main reason for that). Alfred was probably the most important person to him right now, and yet he had still managed to make him talk like that, look like that, feel like that- Arthur realised that he was staring pointedly at that spot where Alfred had been standing That Night, muttering as he forced himself to go back to buttoning up his shirt.

Any confidence-not that he had much to begin with-in trying to rebuild a relationship (or get into a new one) had abandoned him after That Night. If he didn't have anything he could offer to Alfred, then staying in a relationship with him, with Alfred making all the adjustments and sacrifices was ridiculous. In fact, Arthur had convinced himself, he was pretty sure that Alfred himself had enough of it too, and would probably just find himself someone else - someone better, someone who could give him something too, make him happy-

And yet-

"I'll go with you!"

What is he, a masochist? Arthur thought to himself in half-ridicule, half... half something he couldn't entirely put his finger on; but it came from that small part of his brain that he had to silence with work, so perhaps he shouldn't probe too much, lest it gave him something that would make him feel even more pathetic than he already did.

He pulled on one of his thicker cardigans - just in case, after all he had just recovered, and catching a cold when your body had just recovered from a bout of fever was ridiculously painful (experiencial knowledge Arthur hoped he never had the chance to learn about) - and resolutely straightened it out. He was going to convince Alfred that he was being silly. Point out everything he could think of that proved that it was a bad idea to go to New York with him. Remind him about what had happened. Between them.

He worked the bitterness out of his chest at that thought. No, it didn't matter what he felt about this situation. He could work it out later, iron out the creases and deal with himself. On the other hand, if he chose to let himself be happy, to go to New York, with Alfred, and that failed- There was no way he could expect the same thing out of Alfred. Not if he was already in New York. Not if he was still with Arthur, dealing with some dysfunctional relationship. He wasn't going to let Alfred drive himself into potential depression out of a whim (that Arthur could still not comprehend at the moment - but it was Alfred, so he supposed exceptions to normal logic had to be made) that came with a moment of un-clarity in his head.

Suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable with himself with a new goal set, Arthur exhaled loudly. This was alright. He could do this. The least he could do for Alfred now was to be shamelessly blatant about the facts of their relationship.

The doorbell rang.

Arthur readied himself for battle, and opened the door.


"So, uhm," Alfred fiddled with one of the cushions on the couch awkwardly, his eyes darting around the living room, "You had something to say?"

Deja vu, Arthur thought to himself idly.

But this time-Arthur swallowed, steeling himself for his first words-this time, he wasn't going to allow himself to be vague, or uncertain. "You're not coming with me. And that's if I'm going. Which I'm not." This was good, he decided, he was coherant, he was calm, he could keep going like that.

"But-!" Alfred started, then he paused for a moment and deflated, "I... I mean, I can understand, if you don't want me around-" Arthur felt his resolve collapse.

"What- No! I-" How could he think that? How could he, when the past few weeks had proven to be so- "It's not that you bloody git! Did you even think about what it means to move?"

"Well- I-"

"It's not a bloody holiday! You can't just have fun there for a few weeks! What- what about your friends? Your brother? Do-" Arthur gritted his teeth, frustrated at how even with his determination the words still failed to form, what he had been meaning to say didn't seem to come out right, "Do you want to give up all that?"

For me? His brain shouted. The words didn't form.

"I know, Artie- I mean, I kinda... Thought about it on the way here and I know it's a big deal and all that but-" Alfred fiddled a bit more with the cushion in his hands, squeezing it and rotating it in intervals. "But I-" He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, the slight flush on his cheeks deepening as he hesitated to open his mouth. "I want to. Do this, I mean. Artie, you're important to me and-"

"But why!" Arthur didn't realise he shouted, until the final syllable of the word echoed around the living room. Then he registered that he had shouted, the rawness in his throat and Alfred's blue eyes widened in shock evidence to his outburst. Arthur ducked his head down to stare at the rug beneath his tea table and breathed, or at least, he tried to, the familiar cold fizzing of his panic catching at his fingertips.

"Why do you-" The words caught in his throat for a moment, but it was as if his previous shout had cleared out a passage way, and this time they flowed.

"Why do you always- Do things like this!" Like all those other times. Smiling. Accommodating. Understanding. Trying. "I'm not worth it!" There. He said it. The words that had echoed around all the times he had reached out and stopped, all the times when he had considered just giving in and basking in the happiness that came with being with Alfred. (With being in love-) "I'm not- I can't do the things that other people can. I can't- I couldn't tell when you were-"

Arthur wondered if his sickness was actually diarrhoea instead of fever, because now, with his hands clenched on his thighs and his head light and his ears ringing and his vision blurry, he felt like the words being thrown up were due to a bodily need. Verbal diarrhoea, he thought to himself in a sudden state of pure calmness that shouldn't exist when one was throwing up like this.

"-when you were tired and I-" Arthur wheezed, then choked out the last of the poison that had been churning within him for the past two weeks. "-I was happy-"

"I was happy too!" Alfred blurted out, cutting Arthur off mid-sentence.

"B-But you..." Arthur stared uncomprehensingly. "You said you were tired! And you were, I don't blame you and-"

"But I was happy too!" Alfred shouted, over Artur's rising tone.

"Happy and tired?" Arthur cried, incredulous. His nose was dribbling in the most unattractive manner and he just couldn't deal with this, all this contradiction and paradox that came with Alfred, which he couldn't figure out. "H-How could you be happy and tired all at once?"

"BUT I JUST WAS!" Alfred cried, equally exasperated, twin spots of colour rising on his cheeks in exertion.

"BUT THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE," Shouted Arthur, ignoring his scratching throat and dripping nose, because sod all of that right now, that wasn't what was important.

"YEAH, WELL, YOUR MOM DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!"

Silence.

What- Did he just- My mother, what...? I-

Arthur watched Alfred's own stricken face, slowly seeping in the realization of what he'd actually said in that heated moment, before words came tripping out of his mouth ('A-Arthur I- Fuck that didn't- Oh god I'm sorry I don't even-"), rushed and jumbled, falling over each other in that characteristically Alfred way, his face still frozen in shock and rising embarrasment, before he couldn't hold in his laugh any longer.

"A-Arthur- Are you-?"

Arthur slumped over, a hand on Alfred's shoulder, wheezing with the lack of breath that laughing entailed, his loud guffaws echoing about the room.

"Y-You- You git, I cannot believe- Pfft hahahah- You used a 'your mom' joke in- Alfred- What- I don't-" He managed to choke out, inbetween gasps of air and loud chuckles, before Alfred dissolved into similar fits of laughter. They fell back onto the couch, heads cushioned by the soft backing, laughing till their chests hurt with extertion, till their faces pinked with the sheer hilarity of it all, of Alfred breaking into a 'your mom' joke in a situation like that and-

"This is why," Alfred grinned, looking over at Arthur, heads still rested on the back of the couch.

Unable to help himself, Arthur grinned back. "Why what?"

"Why I was happy," Alfred said, still slightly breathless from the minutes of pure laughter, and Arthur found himself similarly winded all of a sudden.

"I mean yeah," Alfred tilted his head back, still smiling, to look up at Arthur's cream white ceiling. "I was tired sometimes, because you're kinda hard to read and all, and you don't always say what you mean- Or at least, what I think you mean. But, I mean, this is the kind of thing which made me that happy, and happiness kinda smothered everything else, usually." He watched Alfred turn back to him, still half-smiling, but there was just something in his eyes which Arthur couldn't quite let go of, something which left him a little more breathless than before, which he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"But that day I was already tired to begin with and all," The smile slipped off his face slightly, and Arthur felt something twinge inside of him at that. "And I hadn't seen you for ages, and that letter I found... So... Everything kinda came crashing down all at once." Alfred's gaze broke off from Arthur's to stare at the middle-distance between them, halfway, before pulling back to his, with such incredible resolve that Arthur hadn't been expecting right then that he almost wanted to pull away.

"But it doesn't change the fact that I still want to be with you."

The words hung in the air between them.

"I-If you'll have me, I mean," And Alfred pinked, and looked away again and all Arthur could think about was how ridiculously redundant that last statement was, because of course I will have you, you sodding git.

Arthur found himself staring at Alfred, the rushing flow of fondness and affection and-now in that single, sweeping moment he realised that he could almost admit to this-love refusing to form words. Instead, the warmth in him gushed and churned and whirlpooled, washing words and phrases away from the sentences his brain had just began to piece together. But no, Arthur panicked, he had to say something now. Alfred had said it-like he always had-and now it was his turn, and he couldn't afford to keep Alfred waiting anymore.

He inhaled, trying very hard to ignore the fact that his left nostril was currently blocked, and-slightly worried that Alfred would mind the fact that he was still sniffling, and hoping very hard that there was no more snot on his face-leant in and clumsily threw his arms around Alfred. It was quite a maneuver, and his knee had almost crashed into Alfred's thigh in the process of finding a new pivot point on the couch (deja vu, again-), but Arthur found much reason to congratulate himself when he managed to rest his forehead against Alfred's shoulder.

He could feel Alfred stiffen under his arms. "Art-"

"-Of course I'd have you you sodding git-" He felt the air rush out of him along with those words. It felt like he had just emptied his entire bank on some new investment-the silliest thing that Arthur Kirkland would have never done in the past, not over his dead body; and he wouldn't do it, not anytime again, and not if it wasn't Alfred F. Jones. Then he noted with alarm that he couldn't really be bothered to worry about his lack of funds at the moment either.

Alfred stopped breathing. "R-really?" And used up the last of his oxygen for that one squeaked-out question.

He didn't bother to wait for a reply, instead letting out a whoop of joy, his arms finding their way around Arthur, warm, squeezing so tightly he nearly choked. "Really!" He repeated, tell-tale happiness leaking out like it always did with Alfred, and Arthur found himself grappling with the stupid, ridiculous fountain of warm mushy feelings in his chest, letting out a half-throaty, half-hoarse choking laugh of relief.

"Yes you bloody git- why would I bother cracking a joke like that-" He missed this, he realised, and as much as the amount of oozing sentimentality in his chest was scaring him so much he was tempted to stomp on it and kill it, surely-surely-he could forgive himself for indulging in it today? He laughed again, half aware that it came out sounding more like a sob.

"So-" Alfred's nose nuzzling the side of his head, snorting into his hair. He could almost feel his grin against his temples, "I'd like you to know that I've always wanted to stay in New York." Arthur choked again, still laughing, trying his best not to care about his blurred vision, or the fact that Alfred's hoodie was starting to get slightly soaked up from his tears. (His fist was ready though. If Alfred dared to point this out he would-)

"Well, I guess it can't be helped then," He grinned, almost manically, into Alfred's shoulder, tear glands like a faucet that needed emergency plumbing. "It just happens that they're giving me a rather large apartment there."

"... Man, I'll need to fight Mattie for the Wii. He doesn't really care much about the PS3, but the Wii will be tough." Alfred mused, then chuckled as he eased Arthur's head off his shoulder. "You look ridiculous by the way, Artie. I mean, I've never seen you crying before, but oof-" Doubling over in mock pain, the trembles more like controlled giggles, Alfred sniffled slightly, a sheepish "Yeah I know, I look equally funny, you don't need to point it out to me-" thrown Arthur's way before Arthur could open his mouth. Then he leant in and unleashed a shower of sloppy kisses on his forehead in between manly snorts and giggles.

The germs involved in this exchange, Arthur thought bemusedly, not really sure if he should be amused at his thoughts in a moment like this, or the fact that they didn't really care if they were slobbering all over each other.

"Artie- Artie-"

"Mmph-" Arthur managed in response, his head dizzy due to the amount of attention Alfred was giving to him at the moment. And really, the small voice in his head complained, he had to do something about that ridiculous nickname-

Then the world tipped over and his head hit the seat of the couch, limbs flying in various directions as he let out a rather undignified squawk. Alfred, somehow still able to move despite the haphazard tangle of limbs, pressing kisses to his jaw, tempting Arthur's brain to shut down and give in to-

"W-wait-" Arthur managed, gasping as his hands found Alfred's shoulders blindly. There was something buzzing annoyingly at the back of his brain, and if Alfred could just let him think for a moment- He looked up, still trying to catch his breath, blinking the tears out of his eyes to focus on Alfred's rather dissatisfied pout.

"What?" Alfred puffed out his cheeks, "I'm giving you three seconds to give me a decent reason to-"

"My boss-" Arthur tried to sit up, "T-the bloody deadline is tomorrow, if I don't call him today we can forget about New York."

"Fine." The pout stayed on Alfred's face, but he pushed himself up and helped Arthur up too. Grateful for Alfred's cooperation, Arthur hurriedly grabbed for his blackberry, and wondered just how much of his reputation he had managed to ruin with how he dealt with this one promotion opportunity. A pinch of worry came next - what if his boss no longer wanted him on the job after he had asked for an extension like that?

Arthur licked his lips, thumb hovering over the Call button, and swallowed. Besides, it was Sunday, what if his boss was-

"Aaarrtiiiieeee-" Arthur yelped when he felt Alfred's arms snake around his waist from behind. "You're taking too long!" Alfred glared at him from over his shoulder, "And I wanna get back to it." He puffed out his cheeks again and nuzzled at the side of Arthur's neck, mumbling darkly about ruined atmosphers and did Arthur even understand how difficult it was for him to get him in the mood for something like this?

Arthur pressed the Call button, trying to hide his smile, and the embarrassing realisation that maybe it didn't really matter what his boss thought of him for now.

"Hello, sir?"


Arthur's boss didn't think any less of him, for that matter. In fact, he was incredibly relieved that Arthur took the job.

Alfred lost the Wii to Matthew, who moved into Francis' apartment as planned.

And after Alfred and Arthur spent their last Christmas in London, at a Christmas Party jointly hosted by Matthew and Alfred, they packed up and flew off to New York.


Two weeks later...

"Hey Artie?"

"Hmm?" Arthur hummed a reply, seated cross-legged on the floor of their new apartment. It was the day in which all the boxes finally arrived, which meant un-packing. A lot of unpacking. Towers of boxes were stacked all around their semi-empty living room, in stacks labeled haphazardly with "Arthur's Books(4)", "Alfred's Gaming Consoles (FRAGILE: BE VERY CAREFUL)" and "Arthur's Things" (where "teddy bears" had been crossed out and replaced with "things).

Alfred plopped down beside him, back against the cool glass of the sliding door. He toyed with a fraying comic book he had in hand, before putting it down to look up, considerably seriously at Arthur, who raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"What?"

"I just realized that," Alfred paused, taking in a deep breath, and for a second, Arthur wondered if this would be one of those moments. One of those moments where Alfred would say something, and change their lives forever. Again.

"That none of this," He waved his hand about vaguely, sweeping past the expanse of boxes and the air between them, "Would've happened if you'd just filled out an extra field in personal particulars form when you signed up for Heartstrings?"

The worry-line between Alfred's brows is almost comical, his face scrunched up in concentration and seriousness, and for once, Arthur is the one who is the first to realize that it isn't that serious at all.

(Because he knows that this isn't one of those moments, because this revalation doesn't change anything.)

Arthur hums his consent, and looks back down to his looped rolls of embroidery thread which had gotten tangled in the trip over. At the indignent sound Alfred made, he looked up again, eyebrow raised.

"That's it?" Alfred cried, arms spread. "After I discovered the one thing-That one thing!-Which could have changed it all, the one thing which brought us here today, and- And that's it?"

Arthur looked at him, considering. On one hand, he could see why Alfred was so amused by that detail. It was, he supposed, one of those things which changed his life. It brought Alfred into the picture, made him reconsider his sexuality, opened him up to this whole host of new experiences and feelings which he'd never felt before.

On the other hand, it wasn't important, because it was already in the past; It had already happened.

Arthur smiled lightly, looking at Alfred, the way the evening light seemed to reflect off the cinderblock wall behind them, highlighting the tips of Alfred's hair in vaguely golden light.

"Yes, I suppose. Mostly because, well, it's already happened, hasn't it?" Arthur coughed, and looked back down at the tangle of threads in his hands, cheeks pinking. "And I wouldn't want to change that."

Arthur could see Alfred's legs shift closer, in his peripheral. "Really?" His voice was ridiculously giddy for a such a small admission, but that was just Alfred, wasn't it? Arthur thought, exasperated and affectionate all at once.

"Yeah. Of course, I-"

Arthur's eyes caught, as his fingers tangled in a snag, caught at the way the light reflected off the arm of Alfred's gun-metal spectacle frames, that same excited hopefulness in his eye, that curve of his lips, forming a half-smile and-

Oh.

"I-" He coughed, straightening up, and he could already feel himself blushing a dark pink, but dammit, even if he had to do this in a dusty, new apartment (their dusty, new apartment) in New York, amongst boxes of their old life waiting to be unpacked, with his fingers tangled in threads (which Alfred always had a knack for untangling), he was going to do this right, because it was the overwhelming truth, staring at him in the face and-

"I love you."


A/N:

So we're done.

...

God this feels weird, we honestly can't believe it ourselves.

But still! There's still the epilogue, which should be up in about two weeks or so (sorry for the delay, Cass has exams!), so there's that. But with this, our main plot's complete. Thank you all for reading, favourite-ing, asking for alerts for this, following our tumblr, coming to Livestreams, everything. We're honestly stunned by the response to this fic, till today, and we love every single one of you. For real.

Again, please do check out our Tumblr (link's in our profile, or you can just go to symbiotific . tumblr . com without all the spaces) or Hika's DA for more updates on the doujin, which hopefully will be produced in November. And as an added thank-you for all of your support, we're opening up our tumblr's askbox (sorry, anywhere else is messy, and if we opened it in reviews, you'd still have to go to tumblr to see the things anyway) to USUK or Heartstrings-related prompts/requests! We'll try our best to fill as many as possible (either by a doodle by Hika or a drabble by one of us), so please do feel free to drop them there, or to ask any questions or whatever. We'd love to hear from you!