Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Super Sentai: Uchu Sentai Kyuranger." Or the Hetalia segment: "This is a pen." Or the Canterbury Tales. Or Skype. Or Angry Birds. Or See's Candy. Or Edible Arrangements. Or Hostess Twinkies. Or Crayola.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Tips on visiting Saudi Arabia lifted directly from the travelling website: landingdotcom. Reference to "Bashi" faux pas moves when wielding chopsticks. Reference to Japanese Uchi-Soto Dynamic where there are differing rings of insiders vs. outsiders and levels of varying intimacy. Drama. Draaama. DRAMA. Electric blankets can be dangerous.
AN: Sooo...I don't give notes for alternate languages too often since it tends to ignite differing interpretation wars and because I like to encourage people to have cyber adventures! : D It's like when I read James Joyce stories and I'm a noob who doesn't understand all of his Irish history plugs cuz I'm 'Murican...So I research them. In other news, my college classes continue: my classmates and I have to read out a Middle English passage; 8 lines of Canterbury Tales (Reeve's Tale) in front of a crowd tomorrow. Woohoo. Mine starts with "And nameliche ther was a greet collegge…" : D
Chapter 4: How's the Guv'nor?
Arthur struggled with his pair of chopsticks. He'd asked for this. He'd agreed to a spur of the moment lunch date with Alfred and Kiku over one with Mathieu and Francis (who'd gone to a French Restaurant).
He probably should've have gone with them...it would've been a good opportunity for the two of them to ask Mathieu if he was alright. Mathieu just wasn't himself. What happened to the small child who never grumbled about holding his hand as they crossed busy streets? The teenager who would balance a tray laden with tea and poetry, so they could have a pleasant afternoon...even years later...when England wasn't his colonizer anymore?
He'd moved forward about to agree when his left arm was tugged back...and there'd been something vulnerable in the way Alfred was clutching his hand...Something that rang false in America's young voice when he informed them that he had plans with Japan.
Arthur remained with the child.
Japan's look of surprise as he crossed the lobby and Alfred called out: "Hey, let's go to lunch! You pick where!" Confirmed it.
He did NOT have plans with the man.
Arthur watched Alfred lift a small amount of rice to his mouth.
Rhys was staying behind at the hotel. Part of Arthur was a bit envious that his brother got to relax, but Alfred had seemed so excited to "hang with two of his favorite cool old dudes" that he went along. "Cool" just wasn't an adjective often assigned to him by the boy...he could overlook the "old" part.
And France would have likely been even more unbearable than usual; there were Valentine's Day decorations throughout the city and the "Holiday of Love" would've made the "Nation of Love" a complete prat. If he had gone with Francis and Mathieu, Francis would have probably cracked jokes to the serving staff that they were a menage a trois or some other such nonsense.
Besides, time with Francis might do Mathieu good. For all his many flaws, Francis could be a better listener than Arthur. While the Briton had taken an awful lot of teasing as a child from the French nation as a result, the fact of the matter was that when things went wrong... Francis often had a far more sympathetic ear than Alistair.
Of course that wasn't hard when Alba would usually cut in after one sentence: "I donnae care. Eat your food. Go to sleep. Tomorrow yeh'll be fine."
At any rate, Mathieu had been a much better sport that morning and had graciously accepted Arthur's gift. Whether that was because he'd made sure to make things "equal" or whether he'd realized how silly the whole thing was...it was too soon to tell.
Still, the lad did provide Alfred with a nice new toy and candies the child enjoyed. It gave Arthur hope that they wouldn't end up estranged the way Arthur and his siblings were. It often seemed like only the greatest of catastrophes could bind the U.K. Brothers together.
Kiku's chopsticks moved elegantly without dropping or dripping.
Arthur glanced at Alfred, who was seated beside him, happily eating his sushi.
Thankfully, the layout of the Japanese restaurant was still Westernized enough that chairs were present. Seat cushions always did a number on his knees.
He winced as his child took a huge bite. The little cheeks puffed like a gluttonous chipmunk's.
"Alfred?" He scolded.
Alfred chewed and gestured that he couldn't talk.
"America-san, it isn't always necessary to eat it all in one bite," Japan offered. "If something is too large, you may take a bite and set it down on your plate. We do not want you to injure yourself."
Alfred swallowed, "Good note. It's usually cut in smaller proportions at Japan's. And my mouth's smaller now."
England blinked. Right. Riiight. Eating in one bite was a Japanese custom. In fact, Alfred seemed fairly well versed. He'd recited various phrases with Japan and maneuvered his chopsticks with far more finesse than Arthur did. This was why he usually requested a knife and fork, and Japan indulged him. Alfred had insisted that they all use the utensils.
He picked up from the slight smirk Alfred made now and then, that he enjoyed watching his father squirm.
What truly annoyed Arthur wasn't his own embarrassment, it was that the boy could learn these kinds of East Asian etiquette rules and yet railed against each of Arthur's attempts to civilize his table manners according to European standards.
When Alfred left for a trip to the loo, Arthur said as much—remembering times when Kiku had made various complaints about the young American during the early days of his and Arthur's Anglo-Japanese Alliance.
The Asian man paused to level him a look, before looking away. Eventually, he shrugged and went off on the tangent: "America-san...is a welcome guest...in my home..."
"And it's a wonder I am," Alfred laughed as he caught the tail end of the conversation, "As I've committed every 'bashi' faux pas on the list."
Arthur's mind wandered as their conversation turned to children's television programming. Arthur took a sip of green tea and wished it was saké.
Japan mentioned, "Yes, I am looking forward to a new series of Super Sentai: Uchu Sentai Kyuranger."
Alfred leaned forward, "Oh?"
"There will be aliens and ninjas and androids-"
"I am totally down with that!" Alfred cheered. "Keep me in the loop!"
When they were on their way out, Arthur watched Alfred approach the chef who was hard at work with another order. Arthur started to reach to pull him back when—
Alfred clapped his hands once, "Gochisosama deshita!"
Arthur blinked a Kiku did the same though in a much quieter, more respectful voice.
As Kiku passed, he repeated lowly, for Arthur's ears, "He is a good guest."
Arthur realized then that he'd insulted the man by speaking poorly of Alfred earlier; well then, their relationship had certainly progressed.
Arthur smiled as he re-tied his scarf, "I look forward to his visits, also." Chaotic as they tended to be. He'd already circled various weekends he'd like the child to visit and was eager to see which ones Alfred would agree to.
More time together could only help their relationship and he needed to get to the bottom of this circus business.
Texas retired to his quarters with his recent delivery. He sat down on his narrow bed and tore open the pink envelope accompanying a See's Candy box. It was a kiddie Valentine's Day card with Angry Birds characters on the front.
He flipped it open.
Dearest Texas,
I hope this finds you well and whole and that your return home will be swift and safe. I got you the soft center chocolate's you like best, I hope they didn't melt. I love you always, Big Bro. We'll do something fun when you get back.
Love,
Al
Texas took off his visor cap hat and wiped a gloved hand across his sweaty brow.
There was a knock on the metal door.
He straightened his white uniform.
"Yeah?"
Stuart pushed in.
"For you, Sir," Stuart stated as he set down a large, chocolate dipped Edible Arrangements basket on his writing desk.
The card read: Feliz día de San Valentín! Te amo mi querido hijo.
His face heated up. Trust Papi to embarrass him like that. Judging from the way one of the corners of Stuart's mouth kept twitching upwards, he bet Stuart had paraded it in front of the crew. Gah, dinner in the mess hall was gonna be a pain the ass tonight!
His cell phone, docked and charging, vibrated with an incoming text.
He looked over: Hey Bro! Wanna Skype?
Did he?! He immediately got his laptop set up and his spirits lifted as Alfred's image appeared on screen.
"Happy Valentine's Day Big Bro!" Alfred grinned.
"Happy Valentine's Baby Bro!" Tex crowed back.
Stuart gave a wave to Alfred before leaving them for privacy's sake.
"I wish you were here," Texas sighed. Negotiating business and military matters was always a pain...especially where oil was concerned. And did Saudi Arabia have to look so pleased during the discussions? Not to mention the customs were so different and their U.S. ambassadors were so afraid Tex was gonna trip across a prayer mat, wear the wrong outfit, or verbally offend...that he was followed, tended, and assisted...friggin everywhere. Stuart was his lenient advisor. Still, considering he was a non-Muslim and if he managed to stumble into a sacred area, would be legally allowed to be assaulted...yeah...he didn't mind the hand-holding.
The one thing Tex wouldn't budge on was his quarters. Despite multiple offers to come inland and receive the other Nation Personification's hospitality, Tex was staying on his warship. Where he could safely be American on his off-hours...could show off his elbows if he wanted.
He pulled his jacket off and hung it on a peg.
"Me too; but they don't want me over there with tensions so high with the Yemeni. Plus, you're on a boat-"
"Ship-"
Alfred's nose wrinkled, "Whatever. And I get seasick."
Texas pushed up his glasses, "I keep telling you they got pills for that now."
"Yeah, yeah."
"...I miiiisssss you," Tex crooned.
Alfred smiled, "I miss you too. My life...It's soooo quiet. It's creepy."
Tex frowned, "Ha Ha." Yeah, he knew he was the big mouth out of the two of them, but did Alfred have to put it like that?
Alfred giggled and then his smile faded, "It is though...how long do you think you'll be there?"
"I'm trying to wrap up things as quick as possible. You got my word on that."
Alfred nodded and he smiled again, but his blue eye stayed sad.
"Matt treatin' you right?"
Alfred held up an action figure, "Got me this."
Tex crossed his arms, "That's not what I mean."
"...I know…" He shook his head.
"That stubborn jackass. He thinks we're gonna let it all slide."
"Tex-"
Texas cracked his knuckles, "No Sir, I am keeping track. We got the Pansy Move Pacifier. We got the Ball Day Brooha. We got the Pass on Pirate Day. And we just...just got...lameass mean floatin' in between."
Alfred ran a hand through his hair, "Tex...you making it a big deal isn't going to-"
"Well, you keeping a lid on it, ain't gonna change things-"
"I don't want us to fight about this..."
"How's your eye doing?" Tex asked pointedly.
"S'alright."
"Canada ask about it?" Tex pressed.
Alfred's lips pursed together.
"Yup, I thought so."
America cleared his throat and declared loudly, "I see your dear Papi Spain gave you a large, obnoxiously affectionate gift."
Tex flushed and angled his computer away so it wouldn't be in the background, "Why yes he did. Speaking of obnoxious parents; how's the Guv'nor?"
Alfred's eyebrow twitched, "Daaad's fine. He's still a little shook up but-"
"I still can't believe you told him before me!" Texas burst. "I'd've told you that you were fine!"
Alfred shrugged a shoulder, "Timing."
"Anything else of incredible importance that you saw fit to tell foreign ears over miiiine?"
Alfred stiffened and Texas felt his stomach plummet. Damn, it was probably down near his shoes. What else had happened?
"Al…?" He mumbled. It felt like he may as well have been light years away rather than miles if Al was gonna lock him out of the loop.
Alfred swallowed hard, "I...I wanted...to wait...until you got back. So you wouldn't be thinking about it."
"Whatever it is, just say it."
"..."
Brown eyes narrowed, "Damn it. Say it."
Alfred sighed, "They...lemme go."
"Huh?"
Alfred squared his shoulders and focused on a point offscreen, "I've been honorably discharged from service."
Texas sat there—too stunned to swear. Yeah, he'd known it was a possibility, but he'd honestly thought they'd just give Al some special reserve status.
"Al…"
"We knew this could happen," Alfred remarked calmly as he laced his fingers together.
"Al...you don't gotta be prim with me."
Al's bottom lip trembled.
"Ally…"
His brother sucked in a breath through his teeth.
God, Texas wished he could travel through the screen and get there.
It broke his heart to hear the soft raspy: "I wish I knew where to go from here."
Alfred blew on his airport hot chocolate. It would probably take an hour before it was fit for consumption.
Yesterday's lunch excursion had been pretty amusing; Dad sucked at using chopsticks. He also seemed surprised that America and Japan were buddies.
When they'd retired to the hotel for the afternoon (cuz England was cranky and tired and Japan was ready to meditate alone) he'd had to explain to Mother England that Japan was pretty much his "Okaasan" whenever he visited the island nation.
In the overture of their relationship, Japan had been naturally distant with him (which he totally understood—Isolation had its perks) and then there was war which...yeah...strained things…
But during the occupation and restoration period following WWII, they ended up learning how to get along. When Japan realized just how much younger America was than him, their dynamic changed. Curiously, his physical change the previous year hadn't thrown the man at all.
When Alfred had asked him about it, Kiku had remarked that it "seemed about right."
Which...stung a teensy bit cuz...he didn't think of himself as being seven "mentally."
Still, compared to Japan, he was a kiddo and it made the elder nation's treatment of him more understandable. From the 1950s on, Kiku made it a point to act as Alfred's host family whenever he was visiting and, despite being a rather small man, could be crazy fierce and protective.
One time, years back, Alfred taken the wrong train in Hokkaido and gotten lost and was about to get mugged, when Kiku came in like a ninja and went samurai on their asses.
Dude had tracked him down out of a deep sense of duty. It was almost worth the quiet, serious scolding he got afterwards. Kiku had warned him that morning that Alfred was not yet adept enough at reading kanji to travel alone. Alfred had proven him right.
Even now, Japan (who was usually mild and amiable) told off Japanese citizens who swarmed the American in the streets for photos or dived into elevators with them hoping to practice their English.
When Alfred told Arthur how he was often greeted with: "This is a pen" England turned a weird shade of red and changed the subject.
Alfred frowned at all the maple-leaved souvenirs lining the airport shop's walls. Tex wasn't crazy about red and white unless there was blue.
He was gonna have to nix this part of the plan and order something awesome online. His brother deserved something really great...considering how long he'd let him blubber on their last Skype chat. He'd gotten so emotional...He'd had to move himself and his laptop into the bathroom and turn the fan on for fear that his caterwauling would rouse Arthur from his nap.
"Looking for something, eh?" Canada asked. Damnation! He could sneak up on people. Thank God Alfred wasn't holding anything! He'd have dropped it for sure.
The Canadian had a business trip scheduled for France and he and Francis were booked for the same flight.
Alfred glanced him over. His brother seemed...okay...but Alfred still felt a little uneasy. It reminded him of the 1820s, where Mathieu wouldn't say anything about 1812...but Alfred could feel the anger. Which was something...because Al didn't usually go out of his way to take in the "atmosphere."
He looked behind his brother to the entrance where Arthur and Rhys were standing and talking. They were heading back to the U.K. since Parliament had them both working on a project.
Japan's flight had left the previous night and he had texted America goodbye. He'd also included an ambiguous invitation that America could complain about England to him should he wish to do so. Which was odd...because Japan didn't usually like grudge discussions. Maybe Alfred had made it into a new ring of the Uchi-soto dynamic!
America had also spotted Germany and Italy that morning when they first entered the airport.
Alfred was focused on the floor—playing balance beam with the grout lines and letting Arthur guide him with gentle tugs, when he noticed Germany and Italy.
Germany seemed even more uptight than usual; he and England stared each other down while the Italian and the American sent each other a smile and a wave. It was Prussia that was a total butt.
He immediately spotted that Arthur and Alfred were holding hands. He pointed and made a loud, "Awwwwww. Dat is so cute! Guess the rebellion is over!?"
Embarrassed, Alfred tried to pull away, but Arthur held him fast.
"Daaad," he whined.
"America," the British nation spoke firmly without looking at him. "Do as I do."
With his free hand he flipped the bird at Prussia and Alfred cheerfully did the same. It was so freaking rare that anyone got England's blessing to be rude—America had to pounce on it.
Germany swiftly dragged his brother off, and the three former Axis Personifications disappeared into the crowd.
Alfred stared up at the fluorescent lights as one flickered.
"Alfred?"
Violet eyes were watching him closely.
Alfred fidgeted and looked around again, "Uh...I was just...looking to see if I could find something for Tex."
Canada perked up, "Well, there are mugs and keychains and hats and sweatshirts-"
"Tex doesn't really do sweatshirts."
"There's flannel."
Time to rephrase this: "...what...do you think Texas would use...consistently...here?"
Mathieu seemed to take the challenge to heart and scrutinized the entire shop. He returned with a moose-antlered beer opener.
"What aboot this?"
Alfred blinked and smiled in spite of himself, "Ya know...that's just weird enough, he'll probably use it."
After making a purchase and enduring the cashier's stare of disapproval first at him and then at his brother, they went back to the group.
England, France, and Wales had claimed a bench. The former two were snarking lightly at each other as Canada sat down between them. Wales was reading a new paperback book and seemingly ignoring the world around him, at least until he dropped a dry comment now and then.
Alfred tapped a light-up sneaker on the ground and watched the lights race. Arthur had gotten him a new pair back in January, when he'd made it clear he wanted to hunt down the one he'd lost after the accident.
His gaze traveled over the nations seated together.
There was something amicable in all the back-and-forth. Like him and Texas riding out into the wilderness and they decided to tease each other about how Texas couldn't darn a sock to save his life and how some of Alfred's favorite Shakespearean plays were snore fests.
America's phone went off with an alarm—warning him that his flight's departure was coming up fast.
He chewed at his bottom lip, everyone was getting along and he was gonna have to be the first one to leave…
He marched over and put his hands on his hips.
"Wanna go to Vegas?" He asked them loudly. At their blank stares, he realized that the tourist spot wasn't really suitable for him anymore and amended it with, "How bout Disneyland? Disney World's fun? Whaddya say? My treat? All of us? My treat, I swear!"
There were smiles and chuckles and he received a few hair ruffles and "I wish-es" and "far too much to do" and business…
The moment passed…
He squeezed himself between Arthur and Rhys, barely followed the conversation, and burnt his tongue on his hot chocolate. When his phone rang with his second warning, he lingered in all the gushy goodbyes—the warm hugs and nice words and tender smiles.
When his phone rang the third time, he left and boarded his plane.
Arthur leaned back into an uncomfortable airport terminal chair. He moved this way and that, desperate to set his mind and body at ease. Nothing worked.
Francis and Mathieu had left a half hour earlier.
"Rhys?" he finally asked as he looked over to where his brother was seated across from him.
"Yes?"
He felt his cheeks warm. God, this was going to sound childish, "Why can't I relax?"
Rhys didn't even look up, "You're a father. You didn't get to deliver Alfred home personally."
Arthur sighed unhappily, "Yes. He promised to text me when he was home safely."
Rhys nodded.
He shifted again, "God, am I that much of a worrywart?"
Rhys turned a page of his book, "Yes."
Arthur crossed his arms, "...why do you think he invited us all to go to a theme park?"
"He's spontaneous. He's seven. He's American. Choose your pick."
Arthur frowned, "...but why now?"
Rhys's brows furrowed and he frowned down at his current page, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, yes. He will always want to be off having fun, but...why would he suddenly invite us all to go there? He was serious. Even though, it would disrupt everyone's schedules even his own-"
Hazel eyes locked on green and they had the same thought: He had no schedule.
Arthur's mouth opened in an 'O' of realization.
He'd been dismissed from his military, had completed his diplomatic duty by going to Canada's meeting, and...now had nothing else in the queue.
"But wait…" Arthur frowned. "...Texas…"
Rhys closed his book, "Is out of the country. Hawaii is out of state. Alaska is out of state…"
Arthur released a hard breath; America was going home to an empty house. He remembered the tear-streaked little face...
"He's gonna leave me! He's gonna leave me!
Like you left me and
I'll be trapped in a house all by myself and-"
All alone…
Little Roanoke wandered the woods…
All alone...his Thirteen Colonies sat in a wooden cabin while England set sail.
All alone, the young nation languished after 1812...recovering from an injured eye.
Cut off from the world...away from those who loved him…
That spontaneous invitation was a desperate attempt to ward off loneliness.
No. Arthur would not let history repeat.
He turned to his brother, "Rhys, I need you to tell Parliament I'll be late."
"I already messaged them."
It was a hassle negotiating a ticket exchange for Richmond and once he was in Richmond it was difficult to get a taxi in the worsening weather...and then there was the traffic to deal with...and Rhys...who'd come along for some reason. And Alfred had yet to text him anything or return his calls.
It was past 8 pm by the time Arthur was crunching through snow to the door; a challenging feat given that the walkway wasn't shoveled, his luggage was heavy, his feet kept sliding on ice, and no porch lights lit up the way.
The Virginian Colonial's windows shone black in the gloom. The frosted bulbs of streetlights along the road did little to illuminate the house. He tried to ignore the foreboding air and all the Gothic literature he'd read regarding mysterious, dark houses.
A harsh wind was picking up as he fumbled with the front door's lock. He swore as the wind crashed it against the wall, but there was no reaction from within the house. All was silent and dark within.
Arthur was uneasy as they crossed the threshold with their luggage. Was he even here?
...Yes…
Yes, he sensed him, "Hellooo? We had a change of plans...Alfred, are you here?"
He flipped on light switches and watched at his breath fogged in front of him. He turned the heater on to combat the permeating chill.
"Alfred?" He called. He continued turning on lights as he went along.
Rhys closed and latched the door and sped over. He joined his brother in turning on lights.
It was in the living room that they discovered a sizeable blanket fort that used the room's ceiling fan to help hold it up...which was a horrible idea. If there was too much weight it could bring the whole thing crashing down.
His paternal sense went into overdrive upon seeing an electrical cord coming out of the blanket monstrosity like a tail.
Rhys was half a step behind Arthur and peering over his shoulder when the Briton lifted a flap of blanket to enter the flimsy structure. He stubbed his toe on a flashlight and nearly hit Rhys when he kicked it aside. He had to stoop to get close to the Alfred-sized lump at one side. He knelt down awkwardly on cushions of varying height. He blinked when Rhys flanked Alfred's other side.
"Wot? You think he's going to bolt?"
"I don't know," Rhys murmured.
Arthur felt hard wires on the blanket and groaned, "Ugh, I knew it. Electric blanket. Look for the OFF switch. Dammit boy, this is a fire hazard…"
He peeled the electric blanket back and found Alfred asleep and slightly overheated. His little face was flushed pink.
He had a mess of stuffed animal toys around him.
"Like a pharaoh's tomb," Rhys remarked as he took in all the crap strewn around: Alfred's phone, his laptop, a glossy book of American Presidents, a kazoo...
Under one arm was Hop and cradled to his little chest was...an album. Curious, Arthur slid it away and opened it: it only had one page in its binder clips...and…
Arthur swallowed hard.
It had a picture of himself and Alfred from their recent Winter Holiday and a small oval portrait of Texas from the 1800s.
He set the book aside and took a shaky breath. He looked around again and his nose crinkled. There was a box of twinkies and a bag of croutons. There was a six-pack of soda with two cans missing and a tub of licorice. On a whim, Arthur removed a glove and reached in...hard licorice. Old. Dried out.
He picked up the Hostess Box: expired.
Deciding not to wake the child up, Arthur crawled his way out of the tent. He made sure the fan wasn't about to come down, and then went to the pantry and stared. It was woefully understocked. And two emergency jugs of water were frozen solid.
Alfred's time away in winter, his brief return, his inability to use a car, his lack of immediate family being present, and then a hasty trip to Mathieu's meeting meant he hadn't had time to fetch suitable groceries. And apparently, he was trying to cut costs by not leaving his heater on while he was gone on trips.
Though why he hadn't turned it back on upon returning home...
Arthur found on the counter, written in garish Crayola colors, a piece of paper titled: Master Plan.
It denoted a list of food items he could consume for maximum calorie intake and when the Winter Storm, Olympia, would likely lighten up and he could call for groceries.
Arthur frowned as he looked at the delivery service number penned in green ink.
The child didn't want them travelling in bad weather...for his sake…
O to be a Hero.
Arthur pulled his cellphone from his pocket and dialed; time for the "British Villain" to put in an order.
"There's soup and chili and canned fruit," Rhys noted—having followed Arthur's lead and decided to take inventory of the kitchen.
Arthur nodded, "Pick ones that don't require water; I'm certain the pipes are frozen."
Rhys checked and a tiny trickle of water came from the kitchen sink.
Arthur sighed, "I'll look for a hair dryer in a little while." The toilets were probably in peril too.
Rhys bustled about setting pots on the stove and opening cans, as Arthur made what he thought was a reasonable selection of food items to tide them over for a day or two while he figured matters out.
Yes, he'd had to be a bit stern as he made his order and insisted that he wanted it as soon as possible—snowstorm be damned but...he thought he'd been civil. They weren't coming out until morning, he was allowed to be put-out.
At least until Rhys gave him a disapproving look as he stirred a pot, "Arthur. Talk to me."
"Can't just let him starve and freeze to death-"
"Arthur-"
The Briton heaved a sigh, "I can't."
The Welshman nodded, "Tell me you'll make an appointment then-"
"I just can't!" Arthur bit out. "God, I wish I could but-but-but-"
Rhys peered into his pot, "There's no shame in requiring assist-"
"That's not why I can't..."
Rhy's head cocked curiously to the side and he turned back around to study his brother.
Arthur took a seat at the kitchen's island. He steepled his fingers.
He looked over his shoulder to see if Alfred had stirred yet. But all remained silent and still save the bubbling pot and the howling wind outside.
Even still...he hardly dared to voice his desire at all. He hadn't yet found a way to communicate what he wanted to Alfred without coming across as domineering.
Rhys seemed to sense his reluctance because he came closer and leaned in so Arthur wouldn't have to raise his voice.
Arthur swallowed nervously.
"I want custody," he murmured under his breath. "And if I'm not in tiptop shape, they could turn me down."
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