Half Baked

Chapter 13

Alfred stared at the door from where he was on the floor. He let out another weak cough before forcing himself to sit up. His lips began to pull into a smile, but the pain in his cheeks argued against it. He put effort into standing and lifted his shirt to see the damage Al's swift kicks did. No doubt he'd see a few nasty bruises by tomorrow. After a moment of thought, Alfred fetched a couple of freezing water bottles from the stunted fridge and held them against his cheeks. As much as he'd love to have physical proof of Al's rage, he'd rather not have it visible to everyone. No, he just needed Arthur to see it.

Alfred decided then and there that Al had given him a perfect, gift-wrapped way to cut off his ties with Arthur. He strolled down the hall, pleased—despite his aching waves of pain. He hooked around each corner before stepping into the common area. Arthur, who had been lulled into a sense of familiarity and security, froze when his eyes fell on Alfred.

Oliver leaned back and looked to Alfred. His eyes widened, and his frown dug into his cheeks so his lips wouldn't spring into a giggling smile. He had to admit he was pleased to see that Al had let out some of his anger, and Alfred was still walking so it was alright.

"Alfred—" Arthur leapt off the couch and stepped over to his new boyfriend. "Alfred, what happened? What—"

Alfred removed one of the water bottles to show Arthur his angry red cheek. "Al decked me. Twice. Oh, and he accidentally kicked me in the stomach. Three times. Clumsy."

Oliver's frown was suddenly much easier to keep intact. He'd predicted Al would throw a few punches, but the blood on Alfred's lips and between his fingers filled Oliver with a sense of panic.

Two conflicting worlds passed through Arthur's eyes as he stared at the dried blood between Alfred's fingers. On one hand, Al was a gentle, cuddly teddy who'd never do anything to hurt other people. On the other hand, Alfred was standing in front of Arthur with blood caked at the corners of his lips.

Footsteps echoed weakly down the hall accompanied by the crinkle of candy wrappers. Al turned the corner and froze in place when Arthur's eyes fell on him.

Oliver leaned over the couch to see past the wall down the hall. "Allen, you didn't." He winced. "You didn't kick the spit out of him, did you?"

"Uh, did what now?" Al lifted an eyebrow, and his presence seemed to shrink a bit.

The conflicting thoughts bathed Arthur in confusion; he could hardly hear the conversation. His head shook lightly, and his eyes fell between Alfred and Al. Arthur's mouth hesitantly opened, almost about to ask if Al had anything to do with Alfred's wounds.

"He punched me and kicked me," Alfred stated. "He said he'd pry—"

Al shouted, "Yes! Yeah. Yeah, I did." As much as he hated knowing Arthur would be hurt, it'd be so much worse if Arthur knew Alfred saw him as an object—a fountain of unconditional love. "Yeah…" And if Alfred managed to explain Al's death threat, Arthur wouldn't ever speak to him again. "I punched him twice and kicked him in the stomach three times." The candy began feeling awkward and heavy in his pockets.

"Allen," Oliver's disappointed tone dusted his lips.

"What the fuck?" Arthur murmured. "What— What got into your head? What made you think you can do something like that? You— That's assault. That's punishable by law. Al, I don't…understand. Why…? You know how much… You know how important this is to me. I just told you I was happy." He immediately interrupted his own pause. "And Alfred! I understand he's on the school team, but tackling and punches and kicks are all different!"

Honestly, none of them were entirely sure what Arthur was saying, but they all chalked it up to how hard his brain fell when Alfred ripped the rug out beneath him.

"I can't believe you'd do this. I guess…you're really not who I thought you were?" Arthur gently rested a hand against Alfred's shoulder, wordlessly asking him to head back to their room. "Al, you're…"

"I'm telling the truth," Al muttered, angry at himself. "I punched him once for me and once for Oliver because Alfred used him and treated him like chewed gum stuck to his shoe."

"And you kicked him three times." Arthur's eyebrow lifted, daring Al to possibly defend his rage.

"He's got a very kickable stomach."

"Allen!" Oliver looked to Arthur with pity in his eyes. "Arthur, you'd better go back to your room and help Alfred with his…ice packs. I'll see you later? Maybe I could help you pack some of your things for the move out?"

Arthur, grateful that Oliver offered up a dock on which to anchor his mind, nodded. It was nice to be able to grasp something solid in the stormy midst of thoughts. "I'll text you," he stated before taking Alfred's hand. Arthur stepped towards Al, guiding Alfred behind him.

Al seemed to wake up from his inner monologue and scooped the candy out of his pocket he'd gotten for Arthur. "Hey," he spoke softly, gently, "here. I got it for you."

"Keep it."

The candy wrapper crinkled as Al's fingers instantly tightened around it.

Alfred looked to the carpet as Arthur walked along. Arthur made a pointed effort to avoid Al's eyes.

Al stared down the hall after Alfred and Arthur as the wrapper in his hand whined and popped open. Little, multicolored, fruity snacks fell from the wrapper. "Shit—"

"Allen."

"What?"

"Come here."

"Are you going to parent me again?" Al sighed and knelt down to pick up the candy he'd dropped. "Are you gonna say 'oh, Allen, calm down. It's not the end of the world. It's just romance. Romance is stupid. Friendship's better anyways.'" His frustration filled his tone, "'Arthur's not stupid. He'll see what a tool Alfred is in no time. I'll have a talk with him.' Well, I don't need your help, Ma!" Al sent a glare at Oliver.

Oliver still leaned over the couch's arm, staring down the hall at his hunched-over ex. "So you still hate me for our break-up?"

"What kinda asshole—" His words faltered as they left his lips. Al looked back down at the rainbow candy that melted in his hot hand. "… Sorry. … What kinda jerk just up and says, 'I don't like you because you like me'? To his boyfriend? You liked me, and I liked you. So? That's how romance works. What, you thought it'd be different?"

Oliver spoke in a quiet voice, almost afraid to be anything louder than a whisper, "I was still figuring it out."

"So you used me to figure out stuff about yourself. That's cool. Classy."

"Allen, please. We only just started talking again."

"Oh, right. Yeah. Forgot. Maybe you should go run off. I might accidentally say I give a damn about you." Al gasped, unable to help the sarcasm that gripped him.

Oliver's nose scrunched as he barred his temper. "I love you. So much. If you can't get my way of loving through your thick skull by now, then what's the use in speaking to each other? Why are you vilifying me for nothing?"

Al's head hung back as he stared down Oliver with wide, annoyed eyes. "What, you love me? What? We should get married then. Be my husband, Oli. I'll romance you like no one's been romanced before!"

Oliver sent Al the dirtiest look he could muster and remained silent.

Al head rolled forward again to search for any lost candy. "Yeah. I'm talking shit for nothing."

The curse sent a stab of pain through Oliver, but it only lasted a moment—just enough to sting. He stood and walked directly towards the stairwell. "Arsehole," he hissed before shoving open the stairwell door and storming away from Al's tantrum.