Hey guys. I haven't updated this in a while because although I have various ideas on how to connect music to their relationship, I have a hard time actually forming it into a coherent story. Plus, I had a cracky idea for a story about Canada being a matchmaker, which is turning out kind of badly, in my opinion. It bugs me, but whatever. Anyway, this is using the musical terms for tempo, which is the speed of the music. They're defined before each little section and I might do some more because these are only some of the slow ones.
Warnings are the usual.
Just as Arthur's life was surrounded by music, his pace was measured by a constantly fluctuating tempo. And the same person who invaded his mental music also played havoc with the tempo of his heartbeat.
~Lento: Very Slow~
Alfred was a very deep sleeper. On a typical night, when he fell asleep, he could stay asleep through almost anything until it was at least 8 AM on a workday, noon on weekends. But once in a while he woke up sometime in the twilight zone between midnight and daybreak. These times of night made him unusually contemplative and he could not go back to sleep until his mind decided it had wreaked enough havoc. These days happened randomly and tended to confuse Alfred, as he was not a thinker by nature, preferring to feel what he believed. And when his thoughts tried to invade his rest, it scared him. Ever since he had moved in with Arthur, he had an easier time chasing off his bouts of melancholy. He would look over at the sleeping man, focus on him rather than on anything that would run through his mind unbidden. Alfred would look, but not touch, as Arthur was a light sleeper and although he was willing to comfort his lover at any time of night, the American could not bring himself to disturb the others' sleep. So he restrained himself and instead bathed the Briton with a tender gaze, taking in every aspect of the man he loved. Alfred would start to worry about money and he would look at Arthur's hair, try to conjure words to describe the texture of the sandy strands on his calloused fingers. When he though about growing old, he would move to the Englishman's eyebrows, which, although softened in sleep, did not diminish at all, disproportionately prominent for his delicate features. Most people found the effect comical, but Alfred found it endearing. And when he began to fret about the people who frowned upon their relationship, preached damnation at the two in the streets, he looked at Arthur's closed eyes and tried to comprehend how such a soft thin layer of skin could hide the man's brilliantly green eyes which could dull with malice, but would shine like jade when he looked at Alfred. And so it went. Whenever Alfred was afraid or worried, he would try to capture the way he felt about Arthur in those slippery words. When he found them, he never wrote them down, sure that he could never weave word like Arthur did music. More often than not, they eluded him but the task kept him busy until his racing worries abated and he slipped into a deep slumber.
~Largo: Very Slow~
Arthur was a very light sleeper. He would wake if disturbed by any substantial light, noise, or touch, although he had gotten used to the warmth of another person sharing the bed with him and the casual contact of skin as both men slept. He grew so used to it that he would wake if the heat was suddenly gone. Alfred didn't know, but every time he woke in the wee hours of the morning and carefully withdrew, sitting up to observe the Brit, Arthur was awake, feeling his lover's gaze upon him. The first time this had happened, he had opened his eyes and questioned Alfred as to why he was awake. Alfred had been flighty and apologetic for waking the other, although Arthur told the silly boy that he didn't mind a bit. Alfred had tried to make unnecessary amends by unsuccessfully trying to pretend to sleep. Arthur saw right through it and had to successfully feign sleep before the younger man's breath finally evened out in slumber. So the next time, Arthur simply remained calm, resting as if asleep and savored the silent connection between the two and simply enjoyed being watched. Most people didn't look at Arthur except to marvel at his unusual eyebrows but Alfred always looked at him like his eyebrows were not only normal, but beautiful and the loving gaze had helped him get over his insecurities. And Arthur lay still and allowed himself to be observed until his keen senses felt Alfred return to sleep, when he would join him.
~Adagio: At Ease~
Arthur woke up at the break of dawn through his room's refined curtains, while Alfred would sleep until someone hit him over the head, if allowed. There were very few things that could wake the American once he was asleep. When a beam of soft sunlight made its way through the window, Arthur's eyelids would gently flutter open, as he sat up and stretched, arching his back like a cat and fixing his rumpled hair. He would then get out of bed and immediately brew a pot of tea and a pot of coffee for himself and Alfred, respectively. Arthur always ate a meticulously buttered scone for breakfast, and read the paper sitting in his favorite chair. Alfred would wake up groggily whenever he felt like it, usually in the early afternoon. He would instinctively hit his industrial strength alarm clock whether it actually rang or not, then literally tumble out of bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets. Eventually he would muster the willpower to open his eyes, shading them from the bright midday sunlight with one hand, then drag himself up and out of the bedroom, sometimes taking a sheet with him. The American stumbled to the kitchen table where his coffee was waiting and drank two cups before becoming coherent. Then he would get up in search of his lover and wish him good morning ("It's afternoon, you bloody prat!") with a kiss just to get the satisfaction of having made Arthur taste coffee, in some way at least. Then he would be scolded into dressing and preparing for the day. That is how most mornings at the Kirkland-Jones household progressed and they both accepted it eventually, although it had taken Arthur time to get used to the habits of the younger man who seems to have the sleep habits of a teenage. But when he got too fed up, he had his revenge. Arthur had a secret weapon which he used rarely, lest the effect wear off, to make Alfred wake up to share the actual morning with him. Very few things could make Alfred F. Jones wake up at all, let alone smiling. But a kiss from Arthur Kirkland was one of the few things that always could.