I am so sorry about how long this took. New semester's gunna kill me. I don't have time to post doodles or anything right now, I just thought I would through this up while I had five minutes. Thanks for reading! -
They stopped at a gas station because as far as Alfred was concerned, snacks were mandatory. Arthur had said something less than charitable about American's and eating for comfort, but Alfred had just flipped him off as he climbed out of the truck. Arthur insisted that he didn't want anything, but Alfred got him some Pringles and Reese's out of courtesy.
So with sugar and caffeine, they started off again. Arthur scoffed when Alfred handed him his share, but Alfred noticed him nibbling on them a little while later. He could live with that.
They had been driving for an almost an hour before Arthur reached over and turned the music down.
"Alfred, are you alright?"
He made a frustrated noise. Arthur waited.
"I don't- I don't know."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"I don't even know what I am right now. I mean, I am fucking pissed that my dad is such a bitch, and that you had to see that. I mean. I can't believe that was how he found this out, and this is the outcome." He said, running a hand through his hair.
"Oh." Arthur said in response, and turned back to stare through the windshield. He felt the guilt wash over him.
About two hours later, Arthur had insisted that he drive for a bit, since Alfred was starting to look sleepy. After convincing Alfred that just because he was British didn't mean that he wouldn't be able to drive Alfred's American and backwards car, he had pulled over and they had switched.
Arthur wasn't sure what kind of an answer he had been looking for from Alfred; mostly he just wanted to say something, and hear Alfred say something, because the silence between them after something like that was unnerving, and seeing Alfred with that look on his face was unnerving.
Then again, seeing him scream in his father's face had been unnerving.
Strangely, he felt like he had a better idea of why Alfred had been so hesitant to be with him. Arthur's parents had always seemed to know, and hadn't been surprised when he brought his first boy home. Alfred's parents seemed absolutely besides themselves.
He looked over at Alfred, who now slept slumped in the passenger seat. He looked more peaceful now. He had his head leaned against his arm which was pressed against the window, and it bent his glasses off his face. Eyes still straight ahead, Arthur reached over and took his glasses off his face, folded them, and put them in the cup holder.
Every once in a while, he allowed himself a sideways glance at him. Alfred looked younger that way. Smaller.
In many ways, he was small. Sometimes nothing more than child-like. He was a sore loser, overly excitable, energetic and prone to hero-worship. Arthur had seen those clear blue eyes look to him with that admiration before. It both warmed and frightened him; he was no one to aspire after, yet the fact that Alfred saw enough good in him to bother made Arthur feel like a better person.
Alfred always made him feel like that. Made him feel better than he thought he was, made him feel like there was something worth being awake for, make him feel awake. Awake and alive.
And staring down the high way before him, Arthur realized he felt alive.
Alive because he was no longer dragging his heels, he was running. Alfred made him run; he had to run to keep up with him. That perpetual movement that was Alfred, and the way that Arthur had become synchronized to it, had made him vicariously alive, where there had only been stagnancy before.
He needed Alfred to keep himself alive. And he loved Alfred, because Alfred was worth keeping up with.
He loved Alfred.
He was so surprised that he jerked, and swerved the car, which promptly ran into the noisy bumps that lined the highway before correcting and getting back in the lane.
Alfred awoke when the car swerved and the rumble it made jolted him.
"Arthur?" he asked drowsily. Arthur glanced over at him, and then returned to staring straight ahead. Alfred thought he looked like he'd just seen a ghost; he looked spooked, or maybe just agitated. Alfred wasn't sure.
"Are you getting tired? I can drive if you want?"
"I'm not tired." Arthur said, but his tone was terse. Alfred felt confused.
"Well, I just thought I'd ask since you were driving off the road. Or was that because you're British, and learned to drive wrong…?"
"Honestly Alfred." He spared Alfred a withering look, but Alfred sensed it was lacking some of its usual vigor.
At some point though out that, Alfred noticed that his glasses were off.
"Shit, where's my…" he trailed off, and began searching blindly for them in his lap or on the floor. He must have knocked them off in his sleep.
Arthur reached down and pulled them out of the only still vacant cup holder, and passed them to him.
"Oh. Thanks." Had Arthur seen him with them on while he slept and removed them? Alfred felt something kindle within him, at the thought that Arthur would do something so caring towards him. He could be a dick, but really, on the whole, Alfred thought that Arthur seemed to care about him. The way he looked after him was more than you would do for someone who was just a fuck.
Alfred realized, as he adjusted his glasses on his face, that he didn't regret his decision at all. Leaving his house, and his parents, to be with Arthur, would be just fine. Because Arthur cared about him too, and really, he cared about Arthur.
It wasn't for another minute of sitting there that he guiltily realized that he would rather be with Arthur. Not investigating that further, he decided.
It was far too quiet in the truck.
"What'd you do with my tunes man?" Alfred asked, incredulous, after he realized that they had been turned off.
Arthur looked puckish and grinned a little.
"Alfred, your music was shit, so I turned it off."
Alfred would have felt more offended if nine times out of ten he didn't think Arthur's music was shit. Unless Arthur was singing it. Arthur could be singing anything, and Alfred wouldn't mind at all.
He slumped in his seat and pouted at Arthur a little anyways. Arthur was a sucker for a good pout.
It only took about fifteen more seconds before Arthur jammed the radio back on.
"Insufferable little…" he muttered.
It was starting to get light, and Alfred realized the sun would rise as they drove. He loved sunrise on the road, and the way it shone through the trees that flashed by the car, and as the sun rose, it would start to speckle the ground and shine in their eyes. It was so beautiful in his mind, and he wanted to tell Arthur about it, share his anticipation, but he wasn't really sure how to say it without sounding weird. So what he said instead was:
"The sun will be up soon, I think."
"Yes, with any luck." He said, sounding a bit sarcastic.
"Oh shut up Arthur, I know it is going to come up, I was just pointing out-"
"And I was just surprised that you felt the need to, since 6 o'clock means almost sunrise here."
"Okay, well do you have a problem with me pointing it out? Because if not, you could not be a fucking smart ass, ya know? You could just-"
"Or I could let you know when you are talking just to make noise, in a possibly futile but never the less persistent hope that you will one day grow out of it."
"You're such a dick." A lot of the time he felt like Arthur was just better at words than he was.
"And you're a prat."
Alfred wasn't fazed.
"Well anyways, you wanna stop for some breakfast? I bet we can get off somewhere and find something good. I'm starting to get hungry."
"Of course you are. Yeah, breakfast would be alright. We will have to keep driving until things start to open up though."
So Alfred settled in and took in the morning as it broke around them.
They pulled off for breakfast and despite Alfred's suggestion, Arthur has insisted that they didn't go to McDonalds. So they wound up at some random dinner instead. Alfred was too hungry to complain. Arthur didn't bitch as much as Alfred thought he might have. Odds were he was hungry too but didn't want to say anything.
Alfred's phone rang as the crossed the parking lot towards the car. He looked down at it, swore, and motioned that Arthur should go on to the truck. He threw him the keys and answered his phone. Arthur caught them and continued to the truck, knowing that it was probably Alfred's mother who had phoned. Arthur sat deftly in the passenger seat, watching Alfred paced while talking loudly into his phone. He couldn't hear what he was saying, but in a way he didn't really need to. Alfred had never been terribly controlled with his body language.
Arthur again felt guilty. He knew that he had been the one that had sent the text that Alfred's father had read, and they had been… well, they were a bit graphic. But who read someone else's texts any ways? What did I matter where he paid for it, didn't the man respect Alfred's privacy at all? Apparently not.
When Alfred walked a little closer to the truck, Arthur caught snippets of their conversation.
"-no mom, not until he apologizes….that's fine, but I don't have anything to say to him until he says something about what he said to me and Arthur." Alfred said hotly, and Arthur could see he was fuming.
About five minutes later he reentered the truck, slammed the door, and pulled out of the parking lot.
Thank you so much for reading, you are all wonderful 3