Arthur was careful. The notebook, the one that held his life story, would mean little to someone else but he still did not want anyone to find it. He hid it beneath the bed, between the mattress and the beams that held it. He had been thinking of under the pillow as a suitable place, but it would be much too easy to find.
"Whatcha doing?"
He cursed, narrowing his eyes in a glare before he even stood up from the floor. Slowly, he turned on his heels and glued his eyes to the interfering fool.
As expected, following that heavy American accent, Alfred stood there, a beam on his face. If he could feel the hatred that came off of Arthur in waves, he didn't say anything, nor did he make any indication of it. In fact, his smile seemed to just widen, and he made this small 'hee' sound as his eyes connected with green.
"What do you want?" Arthur snapped, avoiding his question. He hoped that the American hadn't seen what he had hid. It struck Arthur that this fellow might just be the type to go snooping around when he found something curious.
"I have a break at the moment, so I came to see you."
The Englishman pushed passed him. "Should I feel honoured?" As he glanced back at the young one, Alfred cast his eyes away from where they had been rooted to the bottom of the bed. Arthur's heart leapt as he clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes further. If he dared to do anything… Well, he wasn't sure what he would do to the American, but he would do what he could to protect his treasure.
"Aw, nah, you don't have to," Alfred chuckled, rushing to Arthur's side.
"Right." Arthur turned away and headed for the canteen door. He tried to ignore the annoying thumps of feet behind him, eagerly following him closely, but as whistle of a song interrupted the silent air, he gritted his teeth and hissed, "So you've seen me. Must you stay with me?"
The whistling stopped, and a short quiet answered him. Before it drew out too long, Alfred replied, "Well won't it be weird if I just looked at you and left? I came to say hi!"
"And you haven't even said that yet," the Englishman sighed. He pushed the door open and was greeted by dozens of hungry faces as they pigged into their rare meals.
"You want some food? I can get you some," Alfred offered, moving to his side and waving at where the other workers cooked.
"No, thank you. I thought you said you were on your break?" Alfred simply shrugged and quirked up the corner of his lip. "Also, I had planned on exploring the city today. I don't wish to hang about this place longer than I must."
He jumped in front of Arthur, making him flinch in surprise. "I can show ya!" Alfred gasped excitedly, much like a child given the chance to explore a toy shop. "I know all the best places."
"I'm sure your break isn't that long."
"I can ask to have the rest of the day off." He raised his hands and gave the thumbs up as if he would soon gain victory in the hardest of tasks. "I've worked hard even when I wasn't needed, so they can give me a few hours off."
"No thanks."
Alfred frowned, his arms drooping to his sides. His eyebrows rose sadly and he wobbled his lips as he watered his eyes purposely. "But why?" he whimpered in the smallest and most pathetic voice he could muster.
Arthur turned away. As much as he would have liked to look into his bright blue eyes and show how unaffected he was by that face, he couldn't. He found that it was indeed affecting him, if only slightly, and he would not give the fool the satisfaction of knowing that.
"Because I want to be alone," he admitted. He watched the people in the hall, looking for anything that might tear his mind away from the way it was drifting.
A little boy sat at a table, staring at the cold bread beside the watery soup in his bowl. He pushed it away and his father scolded him, pushing it back. The little boy said something, crossed his arms before his chest and pursed his lips in a pout. The father sighed, raised his hand and ruffled his son's hair. He whispered something calmly, a small smile playing on his lips. The little boy mimicked that smile and raised his spoon to bring the little soup he had in his spoon to his mouth.
Arthur felt his chest tighten and he let out a shaky breath. Too late, he thought to himself. His mind was already going back to the memories of his own time as a child.
He had been so picky with food, pushing it away from him as the child before him had. His father, as kind as he was, had ruffled his mop of blond hair and asked him nicely to finish, never yelling, never raising his voice at all. Their cook had gone through a lot to make such nice food for him, his father had said. We could not let it go to waste.
But Arthur had been a troubling child. It had taken a long time for him to listen to his father and finish his food, and then he'd be in a bad mood for the rest of the day, retreating to the lounge where he would listen to the radio or read.
He'd gotten better with age, eating almost everything that had been placed before him. Now, he could eat probably anything, whether it was from slop to the most extravagant meal in all the world. Food was not a passion for him. It was simply a thing to survive on.
"Hey, Art, you alright?"
He was suddenly brought back to reality, crashing hard in on himself. He glanced at the hand that shook before his gaze and he followed it back to who it belonged. Alfred creased his eyebrows in worry, his smile gone, replaced by a confused frown.
Arthur shook his head. "Yes, I'm fine, Alfred," he whispered. Of all the times to be lost in memories, why in front of the American? He glared at Alfred and corrected, "My name is Arthur, not 'Art'"
Alfred narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but must have thought better than to ask the grumpy Englishman. The smile was back, though not as gleaming as it had been minutes before. He gently circled his hand around Arthur's arm and pulling him as he rushed towards the shelter door.
"Let go of me!" Arthur demanded, attempting to tug his arm back.
Alfred shook his head and threw open the doors, swimming in the suns rays that had been hidden from the shelter. "No, we're going out, like we planned. I'm going to show you all the best spots!"
"Like we planned? We planned no such thing!"
But Alfred didn't seem to be listening. He ripped the apron from his body with his free hand and threw it beside the door, muttering, "I'll come back for it later."
"Wait, you haven't even asked for the break yet!" Arthur gave, hoping that maybe it would be enough for Alfred to go back so that he could sneak quietly away.
But the man holding him rolled his eyes and replied, "Small details. I'll tell them later!" And without further ado, he began to drag Arthur down the street, not stopping even as Arthur thrashed against his hold.
"By then it will be too late!" Arthur couldn't believe what was happening. One single minute it had taken for a bomb to destroy his world, to take away everything he had ever known and leave without justice. But not only that, only a few hours later, he met this American, who proceeded to turn the little world of reality he had been growing since the disaster upside down. Alfred was like a bomb himself, in a way. The comparison seemed fitting for him. However, Alfred hadn't left. He stayed and continued to toss around Arthur's world, moving it around to his liking with that grin of his and those bright blue eyes.
"Small details!" he repeated, chuckling as he manoeuvred them through the fast growing crowd. He grabbed Arthur tightly, flinging him from side to side, bringing him ever so closely to slamming into an innocent walker. He himself made a game out of it, to see how close he could get to someone without touching them. Many turned and exclaimed at him, shaking their fist in the air.
"What are you doing?" Arthur squeaked as he came close to coming face to face with an old gentleman, wobbling his way slowly. Arthur apologised quickly before he was pulled away by the American. His question was lost in the other's loud bellowing laughter. Arthur was scared to death that if Alfred lost control at the speed they were jumping through the crowd, they'd end up taking down dozens of people before they crashed to the floor. But Alfred was having the time of his life, enjoying this far too much and did not let his grip on Arthur go.
They finally reached the other side of the crowd after what seemed like hours to Arthur. Alfred abruptly stopped and circled his arms around the other in an embrace to also stop him. Arthur's head spun, his breath came out in gasps. Once his bearings had returned, he pushed himself away from Alfred and placed his hand on his forehead.
Maybe, some little part of him, buried deep down inside of him, admitted that there was something a little fun about that. But he wouldn't let Alfred know that and he didn't let it show on his face. It was almost completely overtaken by the shock of it all as it was anyway.
"That was awesome!" Alfred shouted out, raising his arms above his head.
Arthur shook his head, trying to find something witty to come up with as a retort, but words failed him.
At his silence, Alfred claimed Arthur's arm again and returned to dragging him along the street, but at a much slower pace. "There's so much to see," he began. "Of course, you've probably heard of all the touristy places, being English and whatever. But they're boring once you seen them more than once."
Arthur wasn't sure whether or not to take offense at something as precious as his country's treasures being called 'boring', but he kept his mouth shut. He could think of many things to say back, such as that America's own lack of history resulted in an equal lack of landmarks and treasures, but he admitted he didn't know much of the other country beyond what he had read in books. Alfred would most likely argue with a valid point, such as a valuable treasure that Arthur had never heard of. He would much rather stay silent and give up an argument than to lose one.
"So we can quickly get those done and get down to the real fun!" he continued. "Like, there's this really neat river-"
"River Thames," Arthur corrected. Really, and Alfred claimed to know a lot of this city?
"Yeah, that one. Anyway, it's real nice to go see that at night. It just sparkles!" He stopped suddenly, frowning up at the cloudy sky and said quietly, "But it would be nice to see the stars. The smoke and the lights of London make it really difficult to see them."
"Really?" Arthur asked, following his lead and looking up at the sky. He frowned too, a deeper one. "Where I lived, I could see the stars every night."
"Yeah. Something about cities. It scares them away, man," he laughed. He looked down at Arthur, his smile returning. "You must have seen a lot of stars in your time."
Arthur nodded. "I lived in the country." He stopped himself, clearing his head before he said anything else to the young American. He walked forwards, bowing his head and allowing his messy fringe to fall before his eyes. "We must get going if you are to show me everything you want to."
"Yeah, dude, totally." But Alfred's voice was filled with hesitation as he watched the lonely figure before him, skulking away with the saddest frown he had seen before. It passed through his mind, the question of what happened to that house in the country, underneath the blanket of starts. But he would not push the older man, for fear of never being able to see a happy expression on his face. He jogged back to his side. "Is there anything you want to see? Let me guess, you a history nut? Want to look around all the history before we get to the real stuff?"
Arthur shook his head. He was interested in things like that. He had always wanted to see things such as Big Ben, the palace and all that he had read in books or heard on the radio, but if he had to have a bored American trailing behind him, complaining like a child and asking when they were to finish, he saw no point. "No, we can do whatever it is that you want to do," he replied. "I can look at the 'boring' things another time."
Alfred punched the air. "Yeah, dude! I can show you the best bars, the parks, all the good stuff that should really get the attention! Come on, I'll show you my favourite park first!"
Arthur, no longer struggling against the hold, allowed Alfred to drag him along the street again. Despite their speed, it really did take too long to finally reach their destination. Alfred had assured him that he visited the park often enough, retreating there in both day and night whenever he felt like a walk, but too often he seemed to get lost in the labyrinth of London. He would turn and smile awkwardly at Arthur apologising for getting lost yet again, then proceed to do it again after another few minutes. But Arthur had shrugged it off as he hadn't expected much more than that.
"There it is!" Alfred shouted out gleefully. As soon as his feet touched the green soft grass, he threw himself onto the floor and collapsed into a fit of laughter. He gazed up at Arthur and waved at him. "Come on!" He patted the grass beside him. "Join me."
Arthur slowly sat down, pulling his legs to his chest. He'd barely been in this city for long and he had already begun to miss something as simple as grass. He ran his hands through on either side of him, watching as the blades disappeared under his fingers.
"This is the Regent's Park, designed in 1811 by architect John Nash," Arthur muttered to himself, imagining the page that he had read that from. A guide to London, it had been, filled with information on everything there was here. He had read it cover to cover, more than once, memorizing whatever he could. This park, with its beautiful rose gardens, had been one of the things that had jumped out at him. It was even more beautiful than he had imagined it. It might not have been in the best of situations, as he had wanted to see it with his father, but it was nice all the same.
"Um, yeah, man," Alfred uttered. "That's exactly what it is." But it was clear by not only his voice, but his face that he had no idea what Arthur had been saying. It was just another park to him, one that he had held as a favourite. Why would he need to know facts to enjoy a place?
Arthur looked around himself, at the trees that towered over them, casting their shadows upon the resting families that tried to forget about reality for a while. To think something so beautiful could hide between the cold buildings of society was truly amazing.
"You look happy," Alfred commented.
Arthur's eyes snapped to the younger man who had pushed himself up to gaze at him. Arthur hadn't been smiling, but his eyebrows had not been as creased as they usually were and his frown had turned to a thin line.
"Well, happier than you usually do," he teased.
Arthur grabbed the closest rock he could find and hurled it at Alfred. But the other just avoided it as if it meant nothing. He laughed at Arthur, jumping up onto his feet and dancing around, continuing to avoid the rain of rocks that Arthur showed no halt in throwing.
"I can be happy!" Arthur retaliated. But before long he had run out of rocks and he scoured the grass for anything else he could throw. Alfred jumped at him, catching Arthur's hands in his and pinned them to the ground. "Hey, get off of me!"
Alfred, still laughing until his ribs began to ache, replied, "Not until you stop throwing rocks at me!" Once Arthur stopped trying to regain his hands and glared up at Alfred. "Good. I'm sure you can be happy, but I haven't seen you smile."
"I don't have to smile to show I'm happy," the Englishman grumbled.
"But I still want to see it! I'm sure it's real nice."
Arthur couldn't help but feel the spread of heat that grew over his cheeks. He turned his face so that the other couldn't see what must have been the most embarrassing situation he had ever been placed in. Blushing? It couldn't have been blushing. It must have just been the heat, despite the lack of nice weather.
"I don't know."
Alfred let go of his hands and grabbed his cheeks, hoisting them up in a fake smile. "See? It's beautiful!"
Arthur slapped his hands away, rubbing his sore cheeks. "How many times must I ask you to stop touching me?"
"Aw, but you're so touchable!"
"Are all Americans like you?"
At that, Alfred fell back onto the floor and laughed loudly, holding his stomach as if it pained him to do such a thing.
Arthur looked around. Others who had come to the park cast curious glances at the American, wondering if he was hurt, or why it was he was laughing so loudly. Arthur wished then he had been anywhere but here. As if anything could get more embarrassing than this! But Alfred didn't seem embarrassed at all. He continued until the laughter died in his throat, making it sore and croak out the last of his fit.
"What was so bloody funny?" Arthur demanded in a rushed whisper.
"Dude, yeah, Americans are like me. We enjoy life!" he answered loudly, wiping away a tear that had been clinging to the corner of his eye.
Arthur immediately stood up. "Well I'm terribly sorry that we can't enjoy life while we're terrified of being bombed!"
He was about to storm off when Alfred reached for him and grabbed his wrist gently, holding him there.
"No, that's not what I mean, man," Alfred assured behind him. "Sorry. I just meant that we're all pretty loud and energetic. We just see life differently from you, y'know?"
Without turning around, Arthur spat, "Oh? And how do you think we see life?"
"I dunno," the American replied carefully. "I just know how I see it, and I know it's different from the way you do. Like, I see that I gotta live life. Make the most of it."
"Well, I see that I just have to survive it."
Arthur expected some kind of reply, like 'see? We see it differently!' or 'That's not a way to see life'. But there was only silence. The grip on his wrist tightened comfortingly, as if Alfred understood the meaning behind his words. This war had affected him in a way that changed his view on life, and it would most likely be changed forever. He would never be able to see it the way Alfred did. Make the most of life? Live without regrets? Those were just wishes, weren't they? Had his father made the most of life? Did he die without regrets?
A sigh came from his lips and he closed his eyes, the tension in his body slowly fading away. Soon, he just stood there, his arms drooping at his sides.
Alfred took this chance to finally speak, but it was not about their earlier conversation. He felt it was time to let that go before he truly pushed Arthur away into whatever it was he was trying to avoid. He asked, "Why don't you sit down and relax? The parks the best place for it!"
Arthur almost forgot all of his anger. He turned and sat down after pulling his arm out of Alfred's grip. Maybe he had reacted a bit too harshly. Alfred hadn't known where his mind would go on such a conversation. But the memories were just too raw, too soon, and he knew it would be too long before he recovered completely.
"Why don't you lie down? I sleep here sometimes."
Arthur gaped at him. "You sleep here? In public? Where anyone could steal from you?"
"I don't have anything worth stealing anyway. I leave that stuff back at the shelter." He leaned forwards, placed his hands on Arthur's shoulder and slowly began to push him down onto the grass. "Now quit fussing and relax!"
Arthur complied and lay down. Above him, the clouds rolled by slowly. A light breeze breathed by him, like little whispers floating through the air. The small sun light that managed to penetrate the grey clouds rested onto the park. Arthur closed his eyes, breathing deeply, feeling at rest for the first time in a long time. He heard a slight rustle and heat suddenly burned beside him. Alfred had lain down quietly, doing as he did, and he had to say that it was nice to finally have the American silent.
However, the silence did not stay for long, of course.
Arthur cried out as he felt something fall on to his face. He quickly sat up, looking around. Alfred grinned cheekily at him, taking his hand back as fast as he could before Arthur had the chance to grab him.
"Did you just hit me in the face?" Arthur gasped.
"You looked 'bout ready to fall asleep!"
"And what if I was?" Arthur stood up then, brushing off the grass and the dirt that had found its way onto his clothes. He figured that if he sat down again, Alfred would only get bored and he'd never get any rest.
Alfred followed him, standing up with his hands on his hips. "But we got loads to see! You can't sleep yet!"
This time, Arthur even stuck out his arm for Alfred to grab before he dragged him away somewhere else. He really didn't mind anymore. It would just be too much of a hassle is he had put up a fuss, knowing that the American would get what he wanted in the end anyway.
"From a park to a pub?" Arthur mumbled to himself as he stood in the street, gazing up at a small building, reeking of morning afternoon alcohol and booming with drunken laughter from the inside.
"Yeah. Dude, they have the best atmosphere," Alfred informed.
He pushed Arthur in before him. Arthur, reluctant to even step foot inside, froze in the doorway, watching as the few drunk men had begun to dance on any surface they could find, ranging from the table tops, the bar table and even on another drunk man who was lying on the floor, probably passed out. Those who were not drunk, maybe just a little tipsy or were only beginning their long line of alcohol consumption, clapped the dancers, encouraging their shenanigans. The workers who served the drinks had a dance of their own, stepping in between the bodies of men like ghosts wafting through the air, placed their drinks quietly onto the tables and returned to the bar without anyone noticing. The lights inside were dim, creating an eerie feel. But there were smiles all around, loud and drunken conversation and the rare fight that broke out were barely fights at all.
"What do ya want?" Alfred asked, sitting him down on one of the free tables. "I'll go get it for us!"
Arthur, who hadn't had much experience with alcohol, just shrugged his shoulder and replied, "I'll just have a beer."
Alfred frowned. "Seriously? That's no fun," he objected, but turned towards the bar all the same without another word.
Arthur looked around again. A few of the men here had watched him once he came in, but had moved back onto what had occupied their attentions before. Now, not a single pair of eyes even glanced in his direction. It had been different at the balls and parties he had attended at another's house, or even his own. With his status, eyes were never leaving him when in his presence. He could not make a single mistake without everyone in the room knowing. It was refreshing to finally do something without constantly being aware of judgmental wankers.
Alfred returned with two beers, placing them on the coasters already settled on the table. Arthur immediately grabbed his and brought it to his lips, taking a huge swig of it. He could already feel the warmth it brought as it crashed into his belly.
"Whoa, not so fast," Alfred quickly said, pushing the glass back onto the table before Arthur could get another sip. "You'll get way drunk if you keep at it like that! Don't want to get drunk this early in the day, do you?"
"It's my choice." But he didn't bring it back to his lips, and when he did a little later, he made sure to take small sips. He averted his eyes from the American, feeling stupid about being told to not get drunk by someone younger than him. He knew not to get drunk, he just didn't have much of a tolerance for alcohol. It always went much to quickly to his head.
Alfred gulped his down just as quickly, however, draining the glass before Arthur had had the chance to drink a quarter of his. The American laughed at his expression and explained, "I come here often. And where I lived back in the States, drinking was what you did to pass the time." He looked down at his glass, the foam of the beer still sliding down to reach the bottom. "But any more than this and I will be drunk. Can't have that happenin'!"
Arthur took another sip and placed his glass down, unsure on whether he wanted to finish it anymore. "How did you find these places?"
"I like explorin'," Alfred answered enthusiastically. "When I first got here, the staff at the shelter were fussin' me so much, they wouldn't let me out of there for days! By then my wounds weren't hurting anymore and I just wanted to get out. So I snuck out, got lost-"
"Well, that's completely unbelievable," Arthur interrupted sarcastically.
"Hey, don't cut in on my awesome story, dude," Alfred scolded, shaking his head. "Anyway, yeah, I got lost, and found a ton of awesome places! When I got back to the shelter, a whole day had been and gone. Spent the next day trying to find them all again, but there are still some I haven't found yet. Maybe I never will! They were kinda out of the way."
"How did you even find your way back to the shelter?"
Alfred chuckled and rubbed the back of his head. "They had to send someone to come find me once they realised I escaped. Took the person hours to find me, and it was here that they finally caught up to me. I was so drunk by then, and it was late at night. I was singing all the way back!"
Arthur snorted. "Why is it not hard to believe that?"
Alfred waved the question away with a gasp of mock offense. "I bet you're interesting when you're drunk," he remarked.
Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't know. I've never been fully aware of what I did when I was."
Alfred's eyes shone suddenly, and his smile widened even more, if that were possible. "Seriously? You've been drunk before? Aw, man! Wish I'd been there!"
Arthur just glared back, but there was no power behind it. He felt his energy fading from just being with this American. Was another person meant to have this effect on you? Or was it something that was just limited to the one before him right now? Or maybe all from America had the same power. He placed his head in his hand and quietly whispered to himself, "Remind me never to go to America. I might just perish there."
"Hasn't anyone ever told you what you're like when you're drunk?" Alfred continued, leaning closer and closer to Arthur. "Do you dance, like these men? Do you shout at people? Or do you do something really weird? Oh! Do you strip down?"
Arthur gasped. "Do I what? Of course not! I have more dignity than that, even when drunk! I would not do that."
"Did I hit the nail on the head?"
The Englishman slammed his hands onto the table, spilling a little of his drink. "You most certainly did not! I don't know what I do when drunk but I've always been clothed when I wake up." It was true he'd only been drunk a few times, a small amount of times compared to those who frequented pubs, and he was sure Alfred must have been drunk more so than he, but he had been assured by his father that he was not one of those insane drunks, and his clothes really had been on him once he woke up next morning.
But the American howled his laughter harder at Arthur's outburst and at his red face. It had been the reaction he was looking for, an energetic Arthur, one that seemed to be having a good time in his own way. It was one step closer to making the stiff and grumpy man smile.
Thank you to everyone who followed, favourite and reviewed.