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'Morning, Alfred!'
It wasn't right.
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[+]Shade: Violet: 58% +0.06%
[+]Size: 65.864% -0.3%
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Bottom: 54.7% -2.65%
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"Morning, Alfred!"
It still wasn't right.
The sun was raising.
Another failed night.
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/ / / \ \ \
"Can't believe the damn frog has me picking out which church this should take place in, like I would know anything about bleeding churches! I would rather have the thing take place at a stinking barn than have to go through another of these fucking catalogues! Though this one is rather...pretty. What do you think Alfred?"
"..."
"OI!"
Alfred bolted upright and threw several hurried glances around the room before they fell upon the annoyed Brit beside him. He had to pause and blink several times before he was able to pull off a sheepish grin. "Sorry Iggy. Didn't sleep too good last ni-ni-niiggghhttt." He's last word was drawled out by a necessary yawn as he rubbed his eyes in an almost childlike fashion. Arthur sighed before he took the papers off his lap and stood up from the couch.
Arthur and Alfred had been roommates for a good six years now, but have only been friends for four. That's not to say they were enemies before but someone who witnessed the two interact in the early years would have taken notes and pitched it as a sitcom on FOX. Though after an incident now only know as 'The Christmas Party Mishap' (which the persons involved agreed to never speak of again) the two had become fast friends. Many people thought it to be strange but hey, this was New York City. If it wasn't strange, it wasn't normal.
"Normally I'd tell you to take a nap." Arthur started as he walked into their small kitchen and opened the fridge. "But for once I actually need that lack luster brain of yours." Closing the fridge, he tossed a can of Red Bull towards the blond, who caught it with practised precision.
"I knew you would one day," Alfred responded with a smirk. Cracking open the can, he took a swing before looking down at the numerous papers spread out on the coffee table in front of him. "Don't know why you want my help on this, though. I've only gone to maybe two of these places tops."
"Just humour me," Arthur breathed, sitting next to his friend once again. "You've lived in this city far longer than I have. Any help would be brilliant."
Alfred made a noise of agreement and the two fell into silence. The silence lasted about two seconds before Alfred randomly exclaimed, "I still can't believe you're getting married!" He turned to his friend with a bright smile of congratulations. "And before me! Seriously, when I first met you I thought you were gonna retire to become a creepy, angry 'ld cat lady."
Arthur pushed him playfully, the twinkle in his eyes that could only be described as love making him seem much brighter than just a moment before. "Yes, well, if even a plain man like myself can find love then anything is possible."
Alfred threw his head back and laughed before he bumped Arthur's shoulder with his own. "There's the title for your next book! 'If I Can Do It, So Can You!' It'll be loved by middle aged divorcees and love-stuck tweens all over the country!"
Arthur laughed as well, but shook his head in a fierce negative. "Don't tell my publisher about that or the bastard will be up my arse until I actually write it."
"Heh, right. Isn't that how 'My Unicorn Tea Party' was made?"
Arthur groaned and hung his head in his hands to try and hide his shame. "Don't remind me. Even with that ridiculous name people still took it seriously."
Alfred took another swing of his energy drink before he dragged his friend deeper into his shame pool. "Didn't the New York Times call it one of the best books of the year or something?"
Again Arthur groaned, shaking his head as if trying to get the memory out of his skull. "That book tour was bloody torture. All I wanted to do was scream 'you're all bleeding wankers for liking this shit covered rubbish! The jam between my toes is more fucking interesting!'"
Alfred, in the middle of taking another sip of his drink, nearly spit it out but slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself. "Dude! You would have been my fucking hero if you did that!" After a moment of thought he added, "After me."
"How could you be your own hero, hm?" Arthur asked, recovered enough to look up at the coffee table. He pulled a random catalogue closer to him and flipped it open. "Isn't a hero supposed to be self-sacrificing at any time?"
Alfred shrugged. "I can't save other people if I'm dead."
Arthur wouldn't have responded even if not for the sudden announcement of a certain presence but it didn't make it any less abrupt.
"Bonjour! Papa suis à la maison!" Not a minute passed after the Frenchman had taken off his coat and set down his briefcase was he found sitting on Arthur's lap, showering his fiancé in kisses.
"Ah, Francis!" Kiss. "Will y—" Smooch. "You stop for—" Peck. "Francis!"
Francis stopped, but only so he could pull back and admire the red flush on his beautiful soon-to-be-husband's face. "Oh Arthur! I missed you so much today I can't even think of a French word to describe it! To think that we will soon be wed! Ah! I love you, I love you, je t'aime, je t'aime!" He threw his arms around Arthur's neck and began rubbing his face against his shoulder, still repeating those lines with the excitement of a teenage girl. Arthur rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. Experience had taught him to not say things like 'Francis get off me!' or 'You're heavy!' but those were always the first things that popped into his head. Instead he tried to nudge the blond off him, though he knew it wouldn't work.
Francis suddenly pulled back and gasped like he was just struck with the greatest thought in the world. "Let's run away! Let's run away and get married right now!"
"What about the church, Francis?" Arthur replied easily. It was clear this wasn't the first time these two have had this conversion.
"I do not care!" Francis said for the who knows how many times now. Though Arthur knew he did care, the Frenchman still managed to sound genuine each time. "As long as I can hold you in my arms I do not need an extravagant wedding!"
All Arthur could think of was Francis crying melodramatically and asking why he didn't stop him from cancelling their 'magnifiques' wedding a month later. Thinking that made him release another sigh though anyone who knew him knew he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Seriously guys, you have a room!" Alfred finally said. Deciding it was time for food, he got up and went to the kitchen. "And I don't have to be in it!"
The couple looked up at the American at that, both of them looking like they had completely forgotten he was there (which was exactly the case).
"Oh Alfred! Please do not be jealous of our amore!" Francis said like he fully believed that was the only reason Alfred didn't want to see them having sex. "In four months we will be gone and you can spread your amore to Cindy!"
"Michelle." Alfred corrected, opening random cabinets to find something to eat. "And we broke up last week." He happily found a half eaten bag of chips and grabbed it. "But it was more of a sex thing. Where are you guys going again?"
Francis, who was fully prepared to dive into Alfred's breakup, lit up with the chance to further speak of his engagement. Finally getting off Arthur, he shuffled to the end of the couch so he could be closer to Alfred. "Arthur and I will be going to Jamaica for our honeymoon! I still do not know why we are not going to my homeland of Paris. It's certainly more beautiful than any Caribbean island can even hope to achieve."
"You're the only Frenchman I can tolerate." Arthur said with a blush. Believe it or not, that was one of the biggest compliments you would get from him.
Francis didn't seem to appreciate it at this time. "They are much nicer if you know the language."
"I don't want to learn the language."
"You didn't seem to protest as much when Mathieu was teaching you!"
Instantly the easy atmosphere was gone.
Arthur's eyes widened and Francis slapped a hand over his mouth but the damage had been done. They turned towards Alfred who had his back to them, staring down at something they couldn't see. That was the scene for several long eerie moments, even the outside not daring to make any sudden sounds. Finally, Alfred turned around, a smile on his face.
"Really! You guys can mention him without worrying about me! I'm fine!" He released a small laugh but he knew it was just as fake as his smile. He trailed off and looked elsewhere, not needing to look at the two to know they didn't buy it. He sighed as he stared into nothing, allowing his memories to engulf him as he spoke. "...Mattie would have loved to see your wedding."
There was another moment of silence before Francis spoke, his tone gentle. "If it wasn't for Mathieu, there wouldn't be a wedding."
Alfred looked up, the slightest of upturns on his lips. "Yeah...So don't fuck it up."
That earned a small chuckle from the pair and the room lapsed into a seldom silence once more. Then, Alfred began to move, the bag of chips forgotten. "I better get back to work, gotta get this shit done by tomorrow."
Arthur stood and made a few feeble steps towards his friend. "Wait, Alfred, I—"
But the door had already been closed.
Arthur stood helplessly behind it, his fist clutched as he stared. There was one more short silence before Arthur spoke. "I think we should postpone the wedding."
Francis also stood. "Arthur, non, please, not again."
"Did you not just see that?" Arthur asked, looking back on his fiancé simply to glower at him. "Just at the mention of his name he becomes so lifeless! He can't even talk about him! He can barely think about him! I have to be here for him Francis! I...I can't leave him! Not aga—"
He was interrupted with a sudden hug, Francis gently shushing him as he stroked his hair. "Arthur...It has been three years and I still I miss him every day." He paused to let out a small breath to compose himself. "But we need to move on with our lives. If not for us than for him. For Mathieu."
Arthur released a shaky breath before his eyes darted back to the closed door. "But...Alfred..."
"Alfred has to move on too." Francis' words may have seemed harsh but they were right. "Arthur...Your heart is in the right place but...You cannot expect to be here to hold his hand for the rest of your life. Please Arthur. Please amore...we have to start living again."
It was in that moment that a recorded voice of one they would never hear from again walfed from Alfred's bedroom.
"Oh god." Was the last thing Arthur could choke out before he buried his head into Francis' chest, clutching onto his clothing like a lifeline. Francis just held him, reminding himself that for once, it was he that had to be strong as he was forced to listen to the sweet voice he would never hear again.
/ / / \ \ \
"Why the heck are you filming me making pancakes of all things?"
"So I can sell your secret recipe for a shit load of money; obviously."
"I keep telling you it's not that hard Alfred. Flour, baking soda, sugar, an egg, some vanilla extin—"
"Fft, like I'll remember that."
"Dumb ass."
"Canadian."
"How is that even an insult?"
Alfred watched the recording stoically, any emotion it had previously elicited already done to the point of numbness. Ripping his eyes away from the small television set, he knelled down on the ground and pulled back a loose floorboard, grabbing the Jack Daniels hidden inside. He unscrewed the top and took a swing, only now realizing there was barely a shots worth inside. He groaned angrily before he threw the bottle away, suddenly hating everything and nothing for no reason. He found his eyes wondering over to the Swiss Army knife he kept. Arthur wouldn't notice if he did it on the inside of his thighs...
He immediately shook his head of that thought. He had even promised himself he wouldn't do that anymore. He might be pitiful but he wasn't going to snoop down to that state. Not again.
Alfred's eyes finally wondered over to his computer. So you couldn't bring someone back from the dead, huh? Well, wasn't that the honest to God, kick to the balls truth. Still, it didn't man he couldn't try the next best thing, right?
He continued to watch the recording as he booted his computer up once more. Matthew was desperately trying to teach him the recipe that he was trying to 'steal' but he continuously interrupted him, much to Matthew's increasing chagrin. He almost wished it was last year. Last year he would have laughed at this, cried at this. He would have done something. Now he just felt empty. He focused on the computer once more.
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...
"Morning, Alfred!"
It wasn't right but it was close. Two years, nine months and ten days was a long time for brothers to be apart. The only thing he could ask of Matthew was to be little more patient. Yes...Just a little longer...
They would be reunited soon.
Yeah so this was an idea for an AU story where Alfred never got over his brother, Mathew's death and so made an AI Matthew that ended up being so like him that he grew to hate it. It was suppose to be a hurt/healing fic with fake Matthew trying to get Alfred to get over the real Matthew and continue on with his life and blah blah blah. I thought it was a interesting idea but my muse wasn't strong enough to want to add this story to my still expanding list of multi chapters I've already got going on. Oh well, maybe one day when I finished one of my other stories I'll pick this one up but I dunno.