Regular font indicates the present.
Italic font indicates flashbacking or dreaming; whether it's a flashback or a dream will be clarified.
Bold italic font indicates thought.
Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.
One should never try to run in high-heels.
It doesn't matter who you are, what you're doing, how much experience you've had with heels, what matters is that you simply avoid running in high-heels at all costs. Walking was fine, speed-walking was kind of pushing it though not to the point of being in any real danger, but running? It was like an unwritten death sentence.
Arthur Kirkland found this out the hard way.
While his exit from St. Patrick's Cathedral had been fairly dramatic, the process of actually getting from the outside doors to the street was as messy as his abrupt leave had been impressive. That was to say, very.
He bit his lip to prevent from cursing out loud as he picked himself up from the ground (for the twentieth time in five minutes), internally cringing when tasting the blood in his mouth. Frankly, it was a miracle that the dress had stayed in one piece, as he had toppled and skittered all over the sidewalk while attempting to flag a taxi. He hiked up his skirt a little bit more to keep the fabric from getting ripped as he waded his way through the crowds of civilians, ignoring the strange looks he received from the passerby as he continued to stumble on his precarious shoes.
Whoever invented high-heels deserves to run through a minefield in these bloody atrocities! Arthur thought with a satisfied grimace when he successfully waved down a taxi without falling flat on his face, stepping inside the vehicle and turning pale when he realized he could have easily taken off the shoes and ran without the unnecessary trauma one associates with fashion.
One of his hands reached inside the concealed pocket of his dress, removed his wallet, and procured the necessary amount of money that would get him from Point A (St. Patrick's Cathedral) to Point B (Central Park East Meadow). His other hand was busy re-acquainting itself with his forehead out of exasperation.
"East Meadow at Central Park, please."
He removed the shoes and gingerly rubbed at his feet when the taxi moved forward, psychologically berating himself for being so stupid. Honestly, why didn't he think of taking off the torture mechanisms earlier? It would have saved him time (as Kiku had sent the text message a little less than ten minutes ago, and it would take about twenty-three minutes to get from St. Patrick's Cathedral to East Meadow via Fifth Avenue if there wasn't any traffic) and saved him the embarrassment of collapsing every five seconds on the sidewalk.
The Englishman exhaled a soft sigh and cast a quick glance out the back window, surprise overcoming his features when seeing a familiar bespectacled blond making his way through the throngs of pedestrians. It seemed that Alfred was talking through his phone, a chaotic bombardment of emotion present in his being, from the uncharacteristically-serious look on his face to the gloved hand threatening to break his phone in half from how tightly he was clenching it.
After a moment, Arthur's surprise morphed into a brief look of sadness before he forced his England persona on, replacing the sadness with indifference. Was the American trying to look for him? Is that why he was looking so determined? Though Alfred did say how he trusted him, so he was unable to tell.
The thought of what happened mere minutes ago chipped at his heart a miniscule amount, but he didn't allow it to register on his physical appearance.
It pained Arthur to see how much Alfred trusted him. How Alfred rarely questioned his actions or choices, how Alfred had so much blind faith in him. He was so innocent in comparison to Arthur; so naïve and oblivious to the harshness of the world. He had experienced hardships, but he still had enough belief to be positive a majority of the time, unlike Arthur. The American was a stronger person than the Brit could ever hope to be, having enough courage to take his misfortunes with a smile.
And it pained Arthur even further to see himself take advantage of Alfred's trust. He was a sinful person; it was astonishing how someone like Alfred could tolerate him for a decent portion of his life. He was prideful, manipulative, stubborn, cynical, and a fool. A complete fool for falling in love with someone by the likes of Alfred, as he was scared of corrupting the bespectacled blond. He was already long-gone; he didn't want to condemn Alfred to the same fate out of his own selfishness.
"I-I'm sorry, I-I'm really, really sorry, but I need to go."
I needed to go so that I could create more lies to tell you, he thought as he laid his forehead against the window, the cool glass refreshing against his heated skin. I needed to go so that I could plunge further into my sin.
"A-are you sure you're alright?"
No, no I wasn't alright, the Englishman admitted internally, watching as the American's form grew smaller the further away he was from the church. I'm not alright.
"Yes, please just tell Matthew I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer, though I'm fine with remaining his bridesmaid if it'll make his wedding easier."
I'll be seeing you soon, if such is the case, Arthur remarked within his mind, casting a glance towards (what he assumed to be) the direction of Bow Bridge, his gaze deepening and his gloved hands turning to fists. He removed his phone and texted Kiku to ask about their rendezvous point, as they hadn't been given much time to discuss where he would be going after he reached the East Meadows of Central Park. I wonder what will happen then.
"Though…where are you going?"
'I'm going to have more secrets to hide from you' was what he remembered thinking, a quiet laugh escaping his pale lips when realizing how accurate that brief thought had been. He didn't intend to think it; his mind conjured it up before he even had time to react, but, by God, was it honest. Sad, but honest.
"Just trust me, okay?"
Trust is a funny thing, he dwelled mentally, paying the driver and stepping out of the cab when it stopped at the specified location, the cold wind sending goose bumps up his skin and his hair extensions fluttering in the breeze. As soon as the vehicle was gone, he trudged barefoot through the grass towards the Meadows with his skirt held up in one hand and his high-heels in the other hand. We learn more about the world with every passing day, and learn more about the cruelties the world has to offer with every passing day. As we grow up, we're told to be cautious around people at all times, told that not everyone is as they appear to be. We're constantly reminded of how a person changes in the presence of others, and yet we can't help but put our faith and trust in certain individuals, regardless of the façades they wear. Hell, most likely because of the façades they wear.
He stopped, and looked up at the sky. At the purple clouds fading into nothingness, at the stars barely visible with the neon lights and smog that was New York, his eyes half-lidded.
I only feel bad that he decided to put his trust in me.
The Brit removed his phone when he felt it vibrate with a text message in his pocket, the brightness of the screen contrasting harshly against the darkness of the grassy area, yet fitting quite nicely with the vibrant luminescence of Times Square off in the distance.
No need to text me, Arthur-san. I'm already here.
He looked up and saw Kiku's silhouette not too far from where he was, as he resumed his trudging through the grass to meet up with his Asian partner so that they could commence the heist.
"So, how did you find this secret entrance to begin with?" Arthur asked the brunette when he caught up with him, his cheeks turning pink when remembering he was wearing a dress. It was different for some passerby to see him and automatically assume he was a girl, but it was much more awkward for someone who actually knew him to see him and know his true gender. Thankfully, as the sun had just set, the park was practically deserted. "This location is six minutes away from the museum on foot, right?"
"Hai, Arthur-san." Kiku acknowledged, pulling out his camera and browsing through the pictures he had taken. He showed some of the pictures to the blond, ones which featured dark corridors and abandoned rooms. "However, I managed to uncover some secret entrances into the museum after 'getting lost' a few times and 'accidentally' ending up in closed-off exhibition wings. I dug around for information and uncovered the fact that the museum was originally part of the Gracie Mansion, which was built in 1799 to house the Mayor of New York after a different mansion commissioned by George Washington was destroyed by the British in the Revolutionary War. I grew curious with that fact, as it wasn't uncommon back then to have secret passageways leading in and out of places for the purposes of transporting goods. So I explored inside the closed off rooms and found an entrance, one that was built around the time the Gracie Mansion was built, but hasn't been used since the Prohibition Era to smuggle alcohol."
Arthur nodded when hearing the sound background information, cascading his gaze all over the park. It was a bit strange to think that somewhere in the vast tracks of land, there resided a tunnel of sorts that could help them enter the museum undetected. Even so, he couldn't help but shrug. "So, where is it?"
Kiku pointed at the rocks beneath their feet.
~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~
Contrary to popular belief, one of Alfred F. Jones's biggest pet peeves was running late.
Yeah. Seriously.
He hated it; knowing he had ONE job (which was to arrive at a certain place at a certain time), but knowing he failed to accomplish said job either because A.) Something happened which was out of his control, or B.) He was incompetent as hell when it came to meeting deadlines.
It was usually the latter. Much to his chagrin.
He had tried to solve this problem many times; if the job happened early in the morning, he set an alarm for it (though he was such a deep sleeper he either slept through the obnoxious sounds, or he would roll over and almost break his alarm clock from how hard he hit it). If it happened late in the night, he would set a reminder on his phone (though he used his phone so much that by the time the reminder was supposed to go off, it wouldn't because his phone was dead). If the job happened in the middle of the day and he didn't want to risk either almost breaking his alarm clock or his phone dying, he would take a bunch of post-it notes and stick them in random places to remind himself at random intervals during the day. Of course, this had a tendency to backfire as often as the other methods did, since post-it notes bought in bulk could get really expensive and his cat, Americat, loved swiping them off whatever surfaces he stuck them on and eating them.
While he admired how his adorable feline had as much of an iron stomach as its master, he didn't admire how late he often was to certain events as a result of his cat's antics.
Like how he was currently running late to his older brother's wedding rehearsal.
Alfred's mind was a chaotic bombardment of swears that would make Davy Jones faint, as he struggled to properly tie the black tie hanging around his neck like a limp noodle in the taxi cab he was inhabiting. Unlike Arthur, Alfred's fingers weren't thin enough to slip between pieces of fabric to create knots. And since the Brit was insistent on him wearing formal attire correctly, Arthur always went out of his way to tie his ties for him, so the American was completely out of his element and it was driving him insane.
By the time he arrived at the church, he realized that he had a red clip-on bowtie in his pocket just in case something like this happened. With that, he removed his wallet, paid the driver, stepped out of the cab, and promptly facepalmed at his own stupidity. If he could be thwarted by a tie, it was no wonder he had been thwarted by England in the past.
He attached the red bowtie onto his white dress shirt, forcing himself to stop thinking along those lines as he didn't want himself to become negative when today was supposed to be a day in preparation for his brother's happiness.
While the cold evening wind tousled his blond locks and set his glasses crooked, it was exceptionally beautiful outside. The sun was almost kissing the horizon, scattering shades of scarlet and sherbet all across New York, the sight never failing to steal his breath away. The colors reminded him of comfort, of warmth, of home. Of all the good times and bad times, of past memories he could no longer experience yet could look back on with a bittersweet smile.
He could remember being four years old, looking up at the vibrant hues that were just barely out of his reach while his father pushed him on a park swing.
He could remember being ten years old, the rays of decaying sunlight warming his back as he ate ice cream outside Baskin-Robbins with his mother.
He could remember spending the weeks following his fifteenth birthday locked up in his room of his own free will, tints of crimson peeking through his closed blinds as he ignored Matthew's pleas for him to come out, too busy crying to even hear him.
He could remember being twenty and driving home with Kiku after seeing 'The Grand Budapest Hotel' in theatres, the late spring air chilly with their windows rolled down, the heater on to warm their feet, and the red sun burning into their backs as they ventured east while the sun set in the west.
And he could remember what felt like an eternity ago, yet in actuality was only several days ago, being on the Bow Bridge with Arthur, tones of rose making the Briton's already-blushing cheeks bloom brighter, making his dark green eyes shimmer, making Alfred tempted to-
The ringing of the Cathedral's church bells forced Alfred out of his nostalgia as he quickly pulled out his phone and checked at the time, cringing at how late he was. Matthew and Arthur would undoubtedly give him earfuls about his tardiness, so he decided to head inside before the inevitable speeches could become longer.
Okay, 'sorry I'm late; I was pre-occupied with some personal business'. That sounds like a good explanation as opposed to 'sorry I'm late; my right-hand man in crime-fighting just informed me that there's a good possibility England will strike soon, which is bad since I'm, well, America', Alfred mentioned internally, checking his phone reserved for his superhero duties in case Oya messaged him in the past minute. I don't think they'd believe me even if I wanted to tell them.
It was true; while he was in the midst of getting ready for the rehearsal, Oya called him and informed him that, after hacking into England's sidekick's database (which confirmed once and for all that England legitimately had a sidekick, which, until then, was a highly-plausible theory), he had developed suspicions that England would commence another heist, although he had yet to determine where the thief would strike. 'O' also said how he wouldn't be surprised if England took up the heist earlier than initially scheduled, as he admitted to leaving his trademark image to bait the thief and his helper into making a move quicker.
He said he'd call me as soon as he pinpointed the most plausible I.P address location, as England's set up a wide variety of fake I.P addresses in different locations, the American dwelled, putting his phone back in his pocket and opening the door. He stepped inside and made his way to where the mass hall was located, his footsteps echoing throughout the wide corridors, the candlelight casting long shadows against the halls. I just hope he finds out soon-
He paused, in both thought and stride, when he saw a young woman waiting outside the mass hall.
Her dress was long and white, clinging to her slim figure and billowing out in the back in elegant ruffles, and, while it didn't hide her slender shoulders and arms, it provided modest concealment of her legs (which was rather rare these days, what with short skirts and all). While he couldn't get a good view of her from the front, he could see her from the side and found her to be quite beautiful, with her waist-long pigtails that shone like spun gold and her dark green eyes that glimmered like emeralds, though her dress kind of annunciated her lack of cleavage and her eyebrows were kind of thick-
Alfred frowned. Green eyes. Thick eyebrows. Breast-less.
"A-Arthur?"
His suspicions were confirmed when the bridesmaid(?) turned around very, very slowly, revealing Arthur Kirkland, as in, his best friend he had known since childhood who was as prideful and stubborn as a lion, dressed in drag as a girl.
Albeit, a very, very cute girl.
He felt all the blood in his body rush to his face, leaving him feeling weightless and tingly from the neck-down. He couldn't help it—the Brit was cute, beautiful even—he was unable to tear his eyes away! It was so weird, though…as mentioned before, the Englishman had been his best friend since childhood. They played together (Alfred beating Arthur at games like freeze-tag, Arthur beating Alfred at games like chess), studied together (Alfred helping Arthur out in subjects like Calculus or Chemistry, Arthur helping Alfred out in subjects like English or European History), they had grown up together and walked through so many aspects of life side-by-side, whether it was him sticking with Arthur as he studied for days on end to be accepted into New York University, or Arthur sticking with him when his parents died!
So why had that warm, foreign sensation returned again? It was the same weird, fluttery feeling he had experienced when Arthur kissed him as America during the Metropolitan press conference, at Bow Bridge on the night of the second Metropolitan Heist, when Arthur was asleep with a fever. He didn't understand what any of it was, though it felt strong. So very strong he felt he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything stupid, felt he had to dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands to prevent him from reaching out and doing something stupid, felt he had to plant his feet firmly in the ground to prevent him from moving forward and doing something stupid-!
"-Fancy seeing you here."
Alfred blinked, only now realizing how the male in front of him was talking. He somehow burned brighter in the facial region, wondering how much of a Mediterranean tomato he must have resembled based on the immense heating of his cheeks. Just act natural, don't show fear; he can smell fear.
"F-f-fancy seeing you here too,"
Dammit.
"T-though this is kind of my bro's wedding rehearsal, so I'm here as a groomsman." He managed to say semi-coherently, wincing at how badly the blond groaned when hearing his statement. Was it that obvious how badly he was out of it, today?
"Oh, Lord," the Brit moaned, his face in his hands. "This can't be happening, this cannot be happening-!"
"What can't be happeni-ooooh," Alfred acknowledged, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses. Well, thank God. He thought it had something to do with him, but it apparently had to do with the…'special' circumstances at hand. He made a mental note to ask Matt about it, later."You mean-?"
"Yes."
"And we-?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure-?"
"Yes."
"Oh." Alfred mumbled, looking at the floor with his hands in his pockets. It was torturous enough to breathe, much less resume talking. If there was one thing he hated more than being late, it was awkward silences. So, he let out a quiet sigh and extended his arm, still as vibrant in the face as the setting sun he was looking at, beforehand. "Okay, come on."
Arthur glanced at the blond's arm as if he had leprosy, his emerald eyes darting from the arm to Alfred's face back and forth. "With…what?"
"Well, we've gotta go in there sometime." Alfred mentioned, still averting the Brit's gaze. "We shouldn't keep the others waiting, especially during rehearsal. 'Practice mistakes makes perfect mistakes', right?"
Arthur appeared conflicted, still staring at his arm. Alfred didn't understand Arthur, sometimes. He went through so much effort to maintain the illusion that nothing was wrong, and yet he got flustered over little things like this. Perhaps he was unused to showing weakness? While he had experienced hardships, he kept it all bottled up on the inside to keep other people from possibly worrying about it, keep people from getting closer and somehow getting hurt by being involved with him, it seemed.
Yet he was a walking contradiction; while he took so much into keeping people away, Alfred couldn't help but feel like the Englishman genuinely cherished his loved ones, to the point of doing crazy things for the sake of those he cared for, even if he ended up taking the fall for it. That the ends would justify his means. That he would let his deepest dreams wither up and die if it meant making someone he loved happy. He wouldn't be surprised if Arthur went off and did something like that, though the thought alone was enough to break his heart, as both New York's superhero who wanted to save people from their darkness and as Arthur's friend who wanted the best for him.
Only when he felt someone's arm slip into his own, did the American jolt out of his mind. He glanced down, surprised at how close the Briton had come. Strange, taking the possible weakness-reluctance factor into account. Though, wait-
"Arthur…? Why are you crying?" Alfred asked, his words catching in his throat when seeing the blond look up at him with wide eyes dripping with tears. The Brit tentatively touched his own face, appearing horrified when realizing the water on his fingertips. Perhaps it was the weakness-reluctance factor after all.
"I-I'm alright," he murmured, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand, leaning closer into the American's embrace. "I promise I'm alright."
Please stop saying that.
He wanted to believe in him.
Please.
He wanted to. So, so badly. Because maybe if he did…Arthur might start to believe in himself, even if it was just a small amount. He might start to believe the idea that maybe someone wanted to scale those walls and be involved in him. So he said those three words that he felt could impact anyone, regardless of their backgrounds or mindsets.
"I trust you."
Arthur smiled a bit at him, as if he was so happy to hear those words, and the world seemed to dull in comparison. But, after a moment, his phone went off in his pocket, forcing him to draw his attention away from the American and look at a text message. Alfred was unable to catch what it was the message read, but, whatever it was, it made the male beside him go pale.
"I-I'm sorry, I-I'm really, really sorry, but I need to go."
He felt fear bite his senses, paralyzing him to the spot for a mere instant. But he willed it away as quickly as it had come.
"A-are you sure you're alright?"
The Englishman nodded, cradling his hands to his chest. "Yes, please just tell Matthew I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer, though I'm fine with remaining his bridesmaid if it'll make his wedding easier."
Alfred nodded, unable to stop himself from wondering what was going on. Was it another hardship he felt the need to hide for the sake of not worrying anyone? Or was it worse? He felt nauseous when considering the possibilities…what could be so bad?
"Though…where are you going?"
Arthur turned to look at him, and didn't even try hiding the sadness in his expression. He smiled. "Just trust me, okay?"
Oh, God.
With that, he turned around, pushed open the door leading outside, and ran into the New York evening.
"NO! WAIT, ARTHUR!" Alfred shouted, trying/failing to muster up enough strength to go after him, only managing a few steps forward before his legs buckled beneath his weight and sent him on his knees, a confused look on his face.
What the hell was going on with him? What the hell was going on with Arthur? Why was he being hurt so much by this and why couldn't he chase after him, dammit?! By what invisible force was he…restrained? He felt like his fingers were just barely scraping the surface of whatever was happening, so close yet so far away. It pained him. It drove him mad with that strange sensation from before, growing and growing until he felt like his chest would explode.
'I know it hurts you, leaves a scar on your heart, and makes you think it was your fault they left-'
'Though I wouldn't concern myself with those matters if I didn't feel like I had to.'
'I'm very glad that I can still make you smile.'
It was then that he received a phone call.
And that's how Alfred F. Jones ended up running late yet again, only this time, he was running late in regards to stopping a criminal.
"Alfred, I've successfully tracked down where England is planning to strike," Oya began as soon as the American answered, making the hero's eyes grow wide behind his glasses. He waded his way through the crowds of civilians, glancing around as he could have sworn he saw someone flopping around in a white dress. It probably wasn't Arthur, though; while Arthur had a difficult time with high-heels (as any man would most likely has a difficult time with high-heels), he had enough common sense to take the shoes off before trying to go places. Trying to run with high-heels was like an unwritten death sentence, everyone knew that. "I hacked through England's system since it's active at the moment, and narrowed his I.P addresses down to one likely suspect based on the area where he's working on his computer from."
"Where is he? I'll try catching up with him as soon as possible," Alfred notified, barely refraining himself from crushing his phone. Though he hated the negative influence England had on both the NYPD and himself (as both America and Alfred), he was kind of thankful for him finally making his move. At least he had something to distract himself with, someone who could remind him of what he as fighting for in the end. "I'm over by St. Patrick's Cathedral, but I can either run or take a cab."
"You might want to stick with running," 'O' informed, making the bespectacled blond groan inwardly. He was going to hate himself tomorrow morning when he woke up with legs as heavy as lead. "You just missed the last set of taxis that could just barely miss the evening traffic. But don't worry; while I was hacking England's system, I came across some very interesting information his sidekick uncovered. Something about secret passageways."
Alfred grinned, already feeling the adrenaline kick in. "Lay it on me."
"Tell me Alfred, how familiar are you with the Museum of the City of New York?"
Author's Note: Yup. Cliff-hanger time. MUAHAHAHA. Sorry for the abrupt ending, today has been…difficult. Needless to say, I lost the original draft of this chapter and was forced to spend the entire rest of the day re-creating it, which did not make me a happy camper to say the least. On the upside, I think this chapter turned out better than the original did. I apologize though if it was confusing/repetitive/boring/messy/sloppy or just…bad in comparison to the previous chapter. I liked the last chapter a lot, so it's kind of hard for me to try re-creating the former feel while keeping the feel I've maintained in the duration of this story. Anyway, a BIG glomp and shout-out to Miyagino 'Mikura' Asakura, who actually created fan-art for this story~! You can visit her profile where she has a link to her DeviantArt account, which you can click on and view the works. Her artwork is really good and I greatly appreciate it so much. I'm tempted to make it the cover-art for this story, but I've also become fond of the current cover-art…feel free to leave a comment about it, I appreciate feedback in regards to that, or just feedback in general. Also, we hit the 12,000 view mark a couple days ago, a feat which I have no one to thank but all of you guys~! A big glomp from me to all of you who have taken the time to read/favorite/follow/review/show-support for this story, you guys are awesomer than Prussia (a feat I previously thought was impossible)~!
Unfortunately, I had no bloopers for this chapter (to which I apologize for, since I know how much you guys like them). Big shout-outs to the follow fabulous people: SpiderNinja24 (*sings 'Spider Man' theme song*), BToA (whose name is awesome), (the epic artists of first-ever Excelsior fan-art) Miyagino 'Mikura' Asakura, (the sweet) HiItsUriChan, (latest member of the (BIG) Excelsior family and fellow Vocaloid lover) AoiCherry, (well-versed in writing and willing to stay up late reading this fanfic) DemonWolf37, (the insightful in psychology, and insightful in general) Maya5392, (hilarious and always makes me literally laugh out loud with their reviews) meapzilla2mouse, (the fantabulous) Ivy, (I haven't seen you in a while, how are you doing?) Flover24, (your name is unique though I initially read it as Onyxgiraffe, to which I apologize) OnyxBunneraffe, and (the relative (whether through blood or marriage) of Arthur Kirkland's favorite anime character) Chloe Phantomhive II, you guys are awesome and I'm glad you've all stuck with me throughout this (crazy, chaotic, I could go on) fantastic mess of a fanfiction, I couldn't be happier to see you all commenting so positively on my work~!
So, that's it for 21. I think this is honestly the most reviews I've gotten all at once o_o. Thanks so much you guys for the (*Dragonball Z voice*) OVER 12,000 views, feedback, fan-art…all of that. Speaking of fan-art, I've received another possible commission for it, to which I am extremely excited for~! I'll make sure to update you guys with it when it's finished, and I'll try to update soon with 22. Please favorite/follow at your leisure as I'd like you all to continue on this journey with me, and please don't hesitate to leave a review (whether positive or negative as I appreciate constructive criticism) as my heart leaps with joy whenever someone comments on my work.
Until then? Stay awesome.