[Alfred]

Ya sure you don't want me to pick u up? The bikes not as scary as it looks lol :)

[Message received: 7:32AM]

[Me]

Yes, Alfred, I am positive. Now go head off to work. I'll see you soon. And don't you even dare think about using your phone while riding that thing!

[Message sent: 7:34AM]

[Alfred]

Awww okay Artie. Ill see u soon then! Don't forget about our plans tonight too btw!

[Message received: 7:39AM]

With a roll of his tired eyes, Arthur placed his cell phone on top of the counter and took another sip of his morning tea. The thought of their later plans have been racing through Arthur's mind ever since he left his best friend's home the evening prior. While it certainly wasn't a rare thing for them to make plans together, something about this one in particular felt… New. Maybe even different, if you will. Just thinking about it made the Brit's stomach flip, and he averted his thoughts to a different topic.

Unfortunately, the thought that Arthur's mind switched to was a not so pleasant one. As much as he'd rather avoid admitting it, Arthur was still concerned for Alfred's safety as long as that goon was still cruising around town on that blasted motorcycle. Who in the right mind would even think that selling Alfred a motorcycle would be a good idea? One look at the American should tell you that he is one who is certainly not fit to operate it!

Arthur sighed heavily, severing the pesky thought. He got up and trudged over to the sink, placing his empty mug in it and making a mental note to himself to do the dishes after his evening with Alfred. The British man patted down his black, long sleeved button down, pocketed his cell phone, and quickly left his home. The chilly October air pecked at Arthur as he hurriedly made way into his car. The time on his phone read 7:45AM as he pulled out of his driveway.

"What are you doing back in the kitchen, mon cher? I don't think it'd be a good idea to allow you to poison people with your affreux cooking; it's why you're a waiter, non?"

"Oh can it, frog. Have you seen Alfred? It's 8:15, he should've been here already."

Francis Bonnefoy, an old, obnoxious "friend" from Arthur's childhood, shrugged nonchalantly as he prepared a plate of pancakes and eggs.

"I'm sure votre petit ami is fine, stop worrying and go take this to table four, eyebrows." Francis replied and held out the plate for his coworker. Arthur frowned and shook his head in annoyance.

"Have someone else do it; I'm going to go call him."

Before the Frenchman could argue, Arthur paced through the busy, hot kitchen and took the exit in the back. The cold air greeted Arthur with force, but he ignored it as he frantically clawed out his cell phone and clicked on Alfred's contact.

One ring…

Two rings…

"Damn it, pick up, you twit…" Arthur hissed. His heart was racing a mile a minute as his brain played a million scenarios as to why Alfred wasn't at work. What if he was in the hospital? What if he had gotten into an accident on his way to work? What if he was dead, or seriously injured? Hell, why was Arthur even at work if Alfred could be lying on a hospital bed by now?

"Hello?"

The familiar American accent snapped Arthur right out of his unwanted thoughts.

"You git, where are you! You had me so damn worried, you know that? For God's sake, Alfred—"

"Hey, hey, hey, don't get your panties in a bunch! I'm fine, I promise. Mattie had another nightmare last night, so I went over to his place on my way to work and I just got caught up with him. I don't think I'll be coming in today; this one was pretty bad…"

Arthur let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding as Alfred droned on. Good, so it was just Matthew again… The British man snaked his shaking fingers through his choppy locks and closed his glistening green eyes in relief.

"That's fine, Alfred, just… Please let me know where you are next time."

"Dude, what?" Alfred asked after a moment of pondering silence, "Are you still worried about the bike thing?"

Arthur detected a hint of annoyance in his friend's voice, and he scowled, "Of course I am!" He heard a faint groan erupt from the other end of the line.

"Come on, Art. It's not like I'm fifteen anymore. I'm twenty-three now! I'm sure I can handle it without you switching into a mother hen mode every time I leave my house."

Arthur's scowl deepened and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine, Alfred, just fine. If you're not going to come by today, then I'll stop by your house after work, okay? I'll see you later."

Arthur waited impatiently for the short grunt of reply before he hung up. Alfred was often very stubborn, and it annoyed the Britain to no end.

"What a stupid thing to get angry at me about…" The blond muttered to himself as he pocketed his cell phone yet again.

He tried not to think too much into it as he walked back inside to finish his shift.

He expected a text.

He expected to receive at least one measly text during his shift. He expected something along the lines of "I'm sorry, we're still on for our movie right". Hell, even just a simple "Sorry about this morning" would've cut it! But no, of course Arthur didn't receive anything of the sort. It had bothered the Brit all day as he waited tables and refilled drinks. Of fucking course Alfred still believed that he was right about being mature enough to own a motorcycle; he thought that about almost anything that he did!

And so by the time his shift ended, Arthur was fuming with irritation. Francis threw him a snarky comment about his attitude as the Brit left the small restaurant, but Arthur's only reply was a quick flip of the bird. He hurried through the chilly, late afternoon air and to his car.

[Me]

I'll be there in ten.

[Message sent: 4:10PM]

His pocket rumbled just as he got into his car, and he rushed to check his message.

[Alfred]

K

[Message received: 4:12PM]

It irked Arthur even more to know that the bloody idiot had his phone on hand all day and didn't even bother to text him. Alfred's reply annoyed the man even further. He detested it whenever Alfred replied with that one mocking letter. Whenever Alfred was annoyed or angry, he would make it so obnoxiously obvious by replying with choppy, emotionless sentences and one word replies. It made Arthur's head fume, and he was fairly certain that the twit knew how peeved it made him, which in turn, proceeded to make the situation even worse.

"Bloody idiot…" Arthur muttered as he tossed his phone onto the passenger's seat and started his car. Alfred was going to get it, oh yes he was! Why was he to blame for being concerned about his well being? Alfred would put a stranger before himself, so someone has to be there for him!

It wasn't their first fight, oh no. A friendship of ten years doesn't come without the occasional argument. Every relationship, rather it be platonic or romantic, has its ups and downs, and Alfred and Arthur were certainly no exception. Granted, the majority of their "fights" were petty little arguments that only happened because they were both too stubborn to admit to being wrong. As angry as Arthur was, he knew that this fight would be no different. They may argue with each other, but after an hour or so, everything will be perfectly alright and they'll laugh it off and watch their movie together and everything will be just fine and dandy!

The thought made Arthur's lips curl into a weak smile as he parked his car in Alfred's driveway. As he pulled the keys out of the ignition, he caught sight of the blue bane of his existence practically smirking at him as it rested next to Arthur's car all shiny and new. The short man grumbled to himself as he exited his car, walked up to the door of Alfred's house, and rang the doorbell once.

The door opened slightly almost immediately, and Arthur caught it and walked into the heated house. The awkwardness of the situation already leaked into the atmosphere as Alfred walked back to his couch and sat down in silence. Arthur, feeling vulnerable, hesitantly followed the taller man and sat on the opposite end.

"My brother isn't healthy, Artie," Alfred began before the Brit even sat down, "It's been five years since we moved out of mom's house, and he's still broken and scarred. He wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and screaming because of how badly she treated us. The first person he calls when that happens is me, and I have to be there for him. He's my brother, Arthur, and I love him to death. I'll be damned if I'm not there for him because I know that if anything bad were to happen to me, he'd be there in a heartbeat."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. Alfred seemed to be uncomfortable as well, because he avoided eye contact and kept his gaze fixed on the coffee table in front of them. After a moment, Arthur spoke up quietly, "You can't always play the role of the hero, Alfred. You have to take care of yourself as well—"

"Wait," Alfred interrupted and peered at Arthur with an unreadable look in his eyes, "Wait, wait, wait… Is this still about the bike thing?"

Arthur couldn't even meet his eyes as Alfred stared questioningly at him. The silence served as his answer, and Alfred shook his head in disbelief, "Fuck, Arthur, I don't know what's worse: me thinking that you were jealous of my brother, or you actually being upset that I can make my own choices now. This argument is pointless," The sudden volume of Alfred's voice made Arthur jump slightly, "You're upset with me because I can make my own decisions now. Do you know how stupid that sounds? I'm twenty-three years old; you've got to stop treating me like a kid!"

Arthur frowned and glanced at Alfred. He was staring at his guest in disbelief with pleading yet angry blue eyes.

"I care for you just as much as you care for Matthew. He may come before I do, but I'll be damned before I let anything bad happen to you, especially if it can be avoided by not being a bloody idiot!"

"I'm not stupid, Arthur! As much as you'd like to believe it, I'm not!" Alfred countered as he suddenly stood up and glared down at his best friend, "You can't keep having me on this… On this stupid leash!"

Arthur, who was getting more and more irritated by the minute, stood up as well and stared into Alfred's baby blue's with rage, "Well maybe you wouldn't need to be put on a damn leash if you weren't such an idiot! My God, Alfred, do you know how many stupid things you've done over the years? Actually, I'm pretty surprised that you're not buried six feet under the ground yet. You can probably owe that to me for saving your arse all the damn time!"

"Oh yeah," Alfred snickered darkly, "Maybe that's where I should be. Maybe—"

"Do you even hear what you're saying? You're such a fucking imbecile, Alfred!" Arthur interrupted loudly, his voice shaking from the strain that he was putting it through. The fight only seemed to grow more and more heated by the minute, and neither man showed signs of quitting.

"Yeah," Alfred spat back, "that's nothing new to you, is it? Stop holding yourself up so high above me just because you're older than me! You're not special, Arthur; I have more important things to worry about than you, or even me. I try so hard to please you and make you happy, but it's so damn hard because you're impossible!"

"And you're no better!"

"Then leave! Fucking leave and go get hammered and sob to yourself until you pass out just like you always do! I can't deal with this right now; I need to get back to more important things, like how to keep my little brother from breaking."

Alfred and Arthur stared intently into each other's eyes in silence. Arthur suddenly felt awful and selfish as his heart pounded violently against his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs. The longer he looked into his best friend's eyes, the more he could see the hurt and the anger emitting from his memorable blue orbs.

"… Fine, Alfred. Go be a bloody hero." He breathed. Without waiting for a reply, Arthur ripped his worn eyes away from Alfred's and walked out the door, making sure to slam it on the way out. The sun was beginning to set, and the October sky was a swirling mix of luscious reds, pinks, blues, and purples, but Arthur paid it no mind as he dragged himself to his car in silence. Not once did he look back as he unlocked his car door and entered, suddenly feeling very alone. With a shaky breath, Arthur put the keys in the ignition and started the car. The obnoxious groaning of the engine wasn't even enough to block out the beating of his heart and the echoing of Alfred's insults that dashed through his mind.

It was 5:02PM when Arthur made the silent, lonely drive home.

It was the longest twenty minutes of Arthur's life. He was fixed on the road ahead and tried to severe all thoughts of Alfred as he drove home with a straight face. Not once did he crack. No smile, no tears… Absolutely nothing. So when he finally got home, reached for his phone (which didn't have any new messages, as much as he expected one), parked the car, and got inside, he wasn't too surprised when he froze in front of the door and choked back a sob. Arthur was even less surprised when he found himself with his palm over his mouth as tears finally dripped from his tired eyes.

He fell to his knees and sobbed.

It was stupid and he knew it. There he was, a grown man of twenty-six years old crying on the floor because he had fought with his best friend. Arthur was a fool, a selfish fool. Alfred had every right to make his own choices, and he most certainly had the right to miss work to make sure that his brother was all right. That meant that if Alfred wanted to buy a motorcycle and ride it around town for hours, then he has every right to do so, no matter if his best friend says otherwise… Right?

"Stupid, stupid, stupid…" He grumbled. The whole situation was incredibly stupid and pointless. He shouldn't have fought with Alfred because of his own selfish reasons, he shouldn't have bombarded him with insults, he shouldn't have gone home without apologizing, and he shouldn't have left him because he had promised to never do so.

Before he knew it, Arthur found himself in the kitchen blabbering to himself without even attempting to hold back his tears and sudden gasps and sobs.

"Stupid Alfred… 'Go get hammered and sob to yourself like you always do'…" The muttering became more and more incoherent through his gasps and sobs, and he soon found himself with a tall glass of scotch ale in his grasp. Arthur trudged across the kitchen and into the living room while mumbling to himself about his best friend as tears crawled down his pink cheeks. In a minute, he was sitting against his old couch, and in another, his phone was fished from his pocket and locked tightly in his grasp.

"You're a bloody fucking idiot…" A swing of alcohol, "You could've at least apologized. I know that I'm at fault too, but fuck, Alfred…. I love you. I love you so much, you don't understand, I…"

His rambling was quickly replaced with blubbering sobs. Arthur shook his head violently, took another hard swing of his drink, and tossed his phone ruthlessly onto the coffee table in front of him. It was stupid, it really was. There was Arthur Kirkland sitting on his floor, drinking liquor every five seconds while sobbing to himself about how much he loves a man who will never return the feeling. It's a sad sight, he decided as the gulps lasted longer and the sobs grew louder. Arthur's sorrow soon began to be replaced with drowsiness as his eyelids grew heavier and the cup lighter. He wiped at his droopy eyes vigorously and emitted an odd mix of a pained gasp and a yawn. Within minutes, the empty glass was forgotten, and Arthur was lying on the warm rug listening to the thumping of his heart and playing the fight over and over again in his mind.

The time on his phone read 6:01PM when he fell asleep.

First up, this is totally a new record for me! It only took me around three weeks to complete the first draft of this chapter, and two days to complete the final draft! It usually takes around two months for me to finish the first draft, but I just really love working on this story and my plot notes are really detailed, so that helps a lot!

Secondly, I hope the break off for this chapter was alright! It's a little tiny bit shorter than the length that I prefer my chapters to be, but it was either cut it off here and have it a decent length, or cut it off later and have it be really long. So I hope you're alright with the word count!

As for the parallels to the true story, there's not much in this chapter. My mom and her best friend didn't have a huge fight. He fought with his girlfriend, and what happened next can't be revealed yet because what happened is in the next chapter! Speaking of next chapters, chapter three shouldn't take too long, hopefully!

As a last note before I put the translation notes in, like... I don't want to beg for reviews, but they do help motivate me A LOT and I appreciate them when I get them!

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Translation Notes:

mon cher - French: "my dear"

affreux -French: "awful"

votre petit ami - French: "your boyfriend"