"He kissed me!" Francis exclaimed. "On the lips! And it was his choice, he made the first move!" Gilbert clapped him on the back with a smirk before leaning back in his chair. The two of them were with Antonio, spending the day together in Gilbert's house, which was surprisingly clean; after all, as Gilbert had told them, Roderich would climb inside his piano and cry if there was a single germ in the house.
"I knew you could do it," Antonio cheered. "So, what's gonna happen now?"
"Obvious, isn't it?" Gilbert scoffed, sipping his beer. "They're gonna get together, right Francis?" The Frenchman smirked.
"I intend to ask him to be mon petit ami tonight…"
Arthur slammed the lid of his laptop shut, burying his head in his hands. The novel was going nowhere, there was no direction. The clearly drawn map had been disregarded, and the protagonist had gone off on their own, losing the flow of the story. Arthur was conflicted; his muse was lost in love… He trudged off to the kitchen; a cup of Darjeeling was sure to clear his mind.
Sipping the hot liquid with a satisfied sigh, he returned to the living room as he heard a quick, almost melodic rap on the door. His thick eyebrows knitted together at the sound of the all too familiar knock. It couldn't be. He opened the door. The sharp shatter of porcelain resonated through the thick silence. It was.
"A-Alfred?" Arthur spluttered, staring up at the man with wide eyes.
Alfred gave a sheepish smile, shuffling his feet very uncharacteristically. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and uneasily cleared his throat.
"Hey, Arti- Arthur… How's it going?" The Englishman scoffed, folding his arms as he lamented the loss of his favourite mug, and a bloody good brew.
"Alfred, I hardly think you travelled half way across the country to ask me how it's going," he grumbled, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Alfred shrugged, grinning a little.
"You got me. Mind if I come in?" He asked. Arthur sighed, stepping aside for him.
"Alright. Be careful of the shards of cup."
Arthur quickly disposed of the cup and cleared up the mess which had been his tea.
"Well, I'm making more tea," he announced, looking at Alfred who had already made himself at home on the sofa. "Would you like anything?" Alfred's lightly tanned face – it had always puzzled Arthur how the man kept his golden glow, even in the harsh British weather – scrunched up at the thought of tea, but he quickly shot Arthur a dazzling smile. "Got any coffee?" He grinned. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Yes, I always keep some around, just in case." Just in case you came back, he added mentally, as he went to make their respective drinks.
He was stirring his tea when he called through to Alfred. "Do you still take your coffee the same?" He cringed inwardly at the American's choice drink of coffee with no milk and ten teaspoons of sugar.
"Yeah," Alfred replied softly, his voice much closer than Arthur expected. The older man looked over his shoulder, seeing his former boyfriend staring back from the kitchen door. Feeling a deep blush rising to his cheeks, Arthur quickly looked back to the cups, handing Alfred his coffee once all the sugar had been mixed in.
"S-so… What brings you here?" Arthur asked, looking at his tea. He didn't see the nervousness on Alfred's face.
"I'm… I'm going home." He said simply, causing Arthur to snap his head up. "Back to the states. I get to study abroad for the last year of my degree, so I'm going to New York." Arthur nodded slowly. He'd forgotten that Alfred had never intended to stay in Britain. "You remember what we said, don't you?" Alfred asked quietly.
"Al…" Arthur gasped. "I… Things have changed, I-"
"No, Artie, please," the younger begged, grabbing Arthur's hand in his own. "I made a mistake. I love you. Please. Be mine again, and come to New York with me."
Arthur lost a second cup.