Alfred's POV

Right after the huge fight between Arthur and I, I found my old sleeping bag (patterned with an American flag, being the patriotic dude I was), and went immediately to The Corner, where I'd first met the love of my life. Maybe I was overdramatic to think that, but maybe I wasn't. Maybe Arthur thought I was overdramatic to say that I wouldn't move, but I wasn't joking. Once I reached The Corner, I didn't plan on moving.

I entered the café, and as I expected, only one light was on, and only Matthew was present inside. It was ten o'clock at night - no one else in their right mind would be here but the owner of the café and his apparently deranged brother.

"Alfred?" Matthew asked, sounding rightfully confused.

"Yeah," I responded.

"Um...what are you doing here? It's..." he checked the clock on the wall, "ten o'clock. And you have your sleeping bag."

"Mm-hmm. I'm kind of not leaving here, okay?"

He gave me a look. You know, that kind of look where you just know that person thinks you've gone crazy. "Al, did something happen? Maybe between...you and Arthur?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes. But I'll prove to him that I love him." Matthew raised his eyebrows. "I'm staying here, right where I met him, and I'm not moving."

"You can't just...call him?"

I grimaced. "I...lost my phone again," I admitted. "And I don't think just talking to him will work."

"Well what are you going to do here? Obviously you're taking a break from your job search. I can get you food, but you're going to bathe, right?"

"You have water and soap here. I'll make do."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," I assured him.

"'Course you're not..." he sighed. "Well, if you're staying here, I live right upstairs. You're bathing, end of story."

Matthew was being forceful, which meant he was concerned for me. The only time my twin ever stood his ground was if his boyfriend, Francis, or I were in some sort of trouble, which we usually were.

"Fine," I groaned. "Now, can I go to sleep?" I motioned to the booth nearest to the door.

"Is that your chosen place?"

"Yes."

"All right," he shrugged. "I'll turn off the light." He crossed the room to the back, near the kitchen, where the stairs to his apartment upstairs was hidden by a door. By the door was the lightswitch, and he flicked it, leaving the café in almost complete darkness - the streetlights and bright signs from outside illuminated just enough of my surroundings so I could see Matthew's face and a few of the first booths by the door. I stepped into my sleeping bag and then laid back onto the bench, my head propped up on the bag and the windowsill.

"Thanks, bro," I said as loudly as I could in the seemingly inpenetrable darkness.

"No problem," he responded. "But..." he hesitated. "Is...I mean... You sure you don't want to talk about it? What happened, I mean? Obviously, you're welcome to stay with me, but you could stay in the actual apartment, rather than just the booth..."

I sighed. "All you need to know, Mattie, is that I love Arthur. I really do. I could spend every day of the rest of my life with him. But we both get so out of control... He's scared that we'll always be like that, I know he is. I need to show him that I can be stable. I'll do anything for him."

"And the only way to do that is to sleep in a booth?"

"No," I half-smiled. "But I think it's kind of a good gesture. That I'm willing to wait, willing to stay, and look like an idiot for him."

"You usually look like an idiot," Mattie joked.

I laughed, knowing full well that he didn't mean it, and thankful for the lift it provided in my spirits. "Thanks, dude."

"But what are you going to do during the day?" Matthew asked, taking a few steps forward and leaning his hand on the table I slept by. "Just sit and wait?"

"Yep," I affirmed. "I'll eat and stuff, too, but mostly I'll just wait, and hope."

"How do you know he'll know where you are?"

"He'll know," I insisted. "This place is special. And if he doesn't, I'll make sure he finds out." Mattie gave me an inquiring look, but I didn't acknowledge it, and I didn't explain. He'd see soon enough.

"Hey, isn't Francis going to be coming home? It's awful late, isn't it?" I asked, changing the subject really without meaning to, and just out of honest curiosity.

Even in the dark, I could see that smile that appeared on Mattie's face at the mention of his boyfriend of four years. They were totally in love, and everyone knew that as soon as the U.K. allowed same-sex marriage, they would be at the courthouse. I found myself unconsciously jealous.

"Yeah. He'll come through the back, though, don't worry. He went out with Gil and Antonio tonight." His grin slipped a little as he admitted, "Antonio and Lovino have been arguing again."

"I know how that is," I muttered, gloom settling over me again, stronger.

"Oh...I'm sorry, Alfred," Mattie murmured. "I didn't mean to - I'm sorry-"

"Hey, man, it's all right. Just go to sleep, 'kay? I'll be here in the morning."

Mattie hesitated, then nodded. "Okay... Goodnight."

"'Night."

He patted my foot through my sleeping bag, then walked away. I could hear him open the door to the stairs and then slowly ascend them, his shoes clunking on every wooden step. When he was gone, I laid in the almost-silence, just thinking. Lights and dim stars were reflected through the glass onto the sleeping bag in front of me, and I could just barely hear cars on the streets, the occasional honking horn, and the normal sounds of London traffic. Matthew and I had been here five years, and the traffic here was almost just like the traffic in D.C. I was ready to be lulled to sleep by the noises I'd grown up with, but no such luck.

I laid staring around the dark café long enough that I heard the sound of the back door open and close, and I knew Francis had just gotten home.

"Ah, Mathieu, mon amour!" I heard him call.

"Shh! Shh, shh, shh!" Matthew shushed him hurriedly. "Alfred-" and then their voices were too quiet for me to make out.

I sighed. My mind just wouldn't settle. I could think about anything - Elvis, Memphis, Oprah in the afternoon - but Arthur's face was in the back of my mind the whole time. The words we'd yelled at each other, until he'd had enough, and...ended it...

A teeny, tiny part of me thought that maybe, just maybe, he didn't mean it at all. It was the heat of the moment, and he was angry, and hurt, and he would feel horrible about it tomorrow, but I knew Arthur, and I knew that teeny, tiny part of me was wrong. Arthur loved me - he had to! Someone didn't act the way he did when they weren't in love - but the both of us...we could certainly argue. He'd hurt me, but I'd hurt him just as much, if not more. The guilt that came with knowing that gnawed at my stomach, eating me from the inside out.

Maybe it was just infatuation that kept his face behind my eyelids and his words of love locked within my mind every minute of every day, but I didn't think so. With a pang, I realized that I suddenly understood what it meant for someone to "have someone's heart". When Arthur and I were together, I was the happiest I think I'd ever been, and now that he was gone, I felt empty. He had kept my heart when he'd told me to leave. But did...did I have his? Did he feel the way that I did? So empty and broken and shaken?

Tears welled in my eyes, and I really, really, really didn't want them to fall, but they did anyway, spiting myself. I rolled over so my forehead faced the back of the seat I laid in, unable to stay in the same position. I finally remembered, then, to take off my glasses and I put them on the table behind me, reaching behind uncomfortably for just a moment to do so.

Laying in the seat, I felt so alone. Arthur and I hadn't moved in together, but we'd spent plenty of time at Arthur's house and my apartment, and I hadn't slept alone since...gosh, when was the last time?

I eventually came up with the idea to curl the edge of the sleeping bag inward, towards me, and it felt...sort of like someone was close. With that and the presence of the sturdy seat in front of me, I managed to sleep, my face sticky with drying salt water.

Arthur's POV

I woke up feeling the same way I had the last several mornings: like someone had removed my organs, leaving me empty, then filling me back up with molasses, so my inside felt thick and soupy.

The first few mornings I'd found myself feeling that way, I'd assumed it was hunger and gone down to the kitchen to make myself a large breakfast, including scones according to my mum's traditional recipe. But food hadn't filled me, so to speak, and I found myself feeling worse than before every time.

And I thought I had an idea now what it really was that left me feeling so empty and soupy... Alfred. He'd come to mean so much to me over the course of seven months or so, and cutting him out of my life wasn't easy, but I'd done it. Now I just had to adapt and move on. But how did you just get rid of a piece of your life? It took time, I assumed, and patience, but that was easier said (or thought) than done.

Why don't you just go talk to him? I'd wondered a couple of times. But the truth was, Alfred did have negative qualities. He was loud, obnoxious, rude, and occasionally arrogant, and he could be so close-minded in regards to some things while ridiculously imaginitive and open to others. That man caused me whiplash like no other, but somehow I'd still fallen in love with him, and I still found it difficult to completely rid himself from my thoughts. But I would, somehow.

Even if I did want to talk to him again - which, certainly, I didn't - I could only assume that he wouldn't want to speak to me. Horrible things had been said that night ("You're an ignorant, obnoxious prat who will never get anywhere because he refuses to do anything but read your bloody comic books and eat your bloody hamburgers!") and I wasn't sure he'd forgive me.

Although...that voice said again. He did say... Yes, yes, he'd said that. "You know where to find me." He'd be at The Corner. The small café owned and operated by his twin brother, Matthew, was nearly always occupied by Alfred when he wasn't at home sleeping or playing video games, on the job hunt, or, until recently, at my house. Plus, it was where we'd met, and he'd always told me The Coner was even more special because of it. But did he really want me to find him? And would I really apologize if I did? Would we talk things out and kiss and make up, or would we argue?

"Still...I won't move." Those words stuck with me.

I shook my head. No! I wasn't going to keep doing this to myself. To be honest, it was just unfair. Why should I have to think of him so frequently and feel so horrible about it? I shouldn't. I needed to get on with my life. But...how would one do that, exactly...?

By cleaning! Yes, of course, by cleaning! Cleaning was relaxing! I couldn't just stare at the wall without remembering what he'd first thought of the colour, or watch TV without thinking of his favourite programs, or sew or read or write or daydream without thinking of him, but cleaning was different. Cleaning was relaxing.

I'd start with the kitchen, by cleaning out the refrigerator. I hadn't given my house a proper, thorough cleaning since before Alfred and I had begun dating, and it was quite overdue. I pulled the rubbish bin over to the tall silver appliance and opened the door wide. I tossed out an expired jar of pickles, a couple of peaches whose fuzzy coats had been attacked by mould, and a small container of old tuna salad.

Digging at the back, I found two bottles of Dr. Pepper, hooked together by plastic rings, unopened. I sighed, hesitating. Alfred had left them here after he'd begun to spend more time here. It had felt nice to have some of Alfred's things here, even if it was just a pair of socks I'd buried at the bottom of my least frequently-used drawer and a couple of bottles of soda. Now I couldn't look at them. But I couldn't throw the bottles away, either. Resentfully, I pushed the bottles further back into the refrigerator and covered them up with other items so I couldn't see them at all. Then I sighed, and gave up on cleaning. I wasn't sure what to do now, but there wasn't much to do.

I sat down on the couch heavily and sighed again, leaning forward and resting my head in my hands. I just couldn't escape him. It had been nearly two weeks...it was just too much...

I felt like I was the one who wasn't moving - like I couldn't move.