Chapter 33
Alfred finally cooled down about an hour after the fight, and began to feel pretty rotten about it. He moped in his room for awhile, fully aware that he needed to apologize, but reluctant to do so because he knew it wasn't going to be pretty. He'd finally decided to seek some advice from Mattie when someone knocked briskly on the door.
Biting his lip nervously, Alfred opened the door and was not surprised to see Arthur frowning on the other side of it.
"I've decided to give you the opportunity to explain yourself before I dump your clothing in the hall…mostly because it's a pain to get all the wrinkles back out once I've done so and god knows you won't be the one to hang them all properly again."
Alfred was momentarily distracted from his upset by Arthur's strange logic, but decided just to let it go. The key was that Arthur was willing to talk about it and didn't seem quite as mad as Alfred had anticipated—nor, by the sound of it, was he about to be dumped.
"I'm sorry," he said, his sincerity showing in his eyes. Arthur entered the bedroom with a sigh, casting a disapproving glance over the general mess, the poorly hidden porn and booze, and the half-eaten food littered about.
"Alfred, this is awful. How can you live like this?" Arthur asked, his nose scrunching up in distaste.
"Actually…this is pretty clean for us," Alfred mused, cracking a hesitant smile. Arthur didn't return it, however, clearly not in the mood to joke just yet. With a grimace, he removed a sweaty shirt from the armchair and sat carefully on the very edge. Alfred dropped onto the bed and hung his head low, his long bangs falling over his eyes.
"It goes without saying that you were being a prat and you humiliated me," Arthur said. Alfred winced and glanced up at the other boy curiously.
"I didn't expect you to come to talk about it," he said. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and frowned primly.
"Despite the fact that you occasionally open your mouth and say the dumbest things, I find myself in the predicament of being in love with you," Arthur replied coolly. He didn't make it sound like a good thing. Alfred's eyebrows furrowed together.
"Err…" Alfred replied a little blankly. Arthur sighed, hesitated only a moment, and crossed to the bed. He sat beside Alfred and placed a gentle hand on the other boy's knee.
"I'm angry, but I love you. Don't you love me?" he asked simply. Alfred nodded emphatically.
"Of course I do! I just got angry, and it was a stupid thing to even be angry about, but I guess I was…"
"Jealous?" Arthur provided knowingly. Alfred winced, and reluctantly nodded.
"I simply can't understand why you get so competitive about things, Alfred. You don't have anything to prove to anyone—least of all me. I was only trying to make you happy, and you turned it into a pissing contest."
"I'm sorry," Alfred said again, this time sheepishly. Arthur looked at him expectantly. Alfred shrugged a bit helplessly. "I'm really really sorry?" he tried. Arthur sighed.
"I want you to talk about your feelings," Arthur hinted, with the patience of a saint. Alfred's face screwed up in confusion.
"Didn't I just do that?" he asked.
"Why were you jealous?" Arthur ground out, his grip on Alfred's knee tightening in warning.
"Oh! Well you don't even like rugby…but you're so good…and all the guys respect that."
"I don't care what they think of me. It makes no difference to me whether they're calling me Princess and giving me noogies in the hallway or sucking up and inviting me to their parties. With the exception of Berwald, they're all idiots. I only tolerate them because, for some inexplicable reason, you consider them friends."
"I get that you don't care what other people think, alright? But we can't all be like that. I can't be like that. I care about what they think, and I care about what my dad will think, and, honestly, it kinda bugs me that you don't care."
Arthur blinked in surprise.
"Well it bugs me that you do. It makes you do stupid things," Arthur said, a little defensively.
"Not caring makes you do stupid things, too. I think your pierced nipple and a video on the internet with over a million views is proof of that."
Arthur stood, his hands settling firmly on his hips.
"You're really thick sometimes, you know that? None of that happened because I didn't care—it happened because I cared too much! I cared that you didn't want me! You just proved my point!"
Alfred stood now, too, using his height to frown down at Arthur.
"So…you're telling me you care about what I think, just not what anyone else thinks, but that I shouldn't care about what everyone else thinks about me. Is that it? But wait—let me guess. I should still care what you think. It's just your opinion is the only one that should matter," Alfred concluded. Arthur scowled.
"You make me sound like a terrible person just because I want you to care about my feelings! We're supposed to care about each other's feelings. We're dating. Last time I checked, you weren't dating the rugby team!"
Alfred sat back down in a huff, scowling harshly.
"I don't even know what we're arguing about anymore," he grumbled.
"No! I'm not letting this go! You said you needed time—that was the reason you broke my heart—and that time was supposed to be for you to figure out that what everyone else thought about you being gay doesn't bloody matter!"
"I didn't think it through that much! I just felt too freakin' pressured!"
"Exactly! You wouldn't feel so pressured if you stopped trying so hard to be liked by everyone!"
"What does me getting jealous of you have to do with me being gay? You're not making any sense," Alfred growled. Arthur looked like he was on the verge of pulling his hair out. For a moment, he simply stood clenching his fists and glaring stubbornly at Alfred.
Abruptly, he grabbed one of Alfred's practically empty notebooks and a pen he found nearby.
"What are you doing?" Alfred asked, his curiosity overriding his temper.
"I'm drawing you a diagram," Arthur said primly. Alfred stared blankly. He blinked.
"Are you serious?" he asked. Arthur just shot him a pointed glare, and went back to his task.
"There. Now look, Alfred," Arthur said, holding up the paper. In the center, there was a large circle that said inside, "Alfred's Insecurities." Little lines branched off it that led to smaller circles that said things like "Uncomfortable Being Gay," "Unnecessarily Competitive," "Body Issues," and "Too Susceptible to Peer Pressure."
Alfred stared at the diagram for a long moment in silence, while Arthur waited breathlessly, wondering if Alfred would finally get it.
After what felt like an eternity, Alfred swallowed thickly and stood, head hung low. When he spoke, his voice was thick with hurt.
"Alright, Arthur. You win, okay? You're right. I was wrong and I'm stupid. Just take your flowchart and go. I wanna be alone," Alfred said.
Arthur realized instantly he'd taken it too far. He crumbled up the paper—had he really just written out all the other boy's flaws on paper just to win a silly argument?—and tried to backtrack.
"I shouldn't have—"
"Just go," Alfred said.
"But Alfred…" Arthur practically begged.
"You win okay! I feel like crap, and I don't know what else you want to get out of this, but I don't want to talk anymore, so just leave!"
Feeling like he had no other choice, Arthur left, his shoulders slumped and regret written all over his face. At the doorway, he paused, glancing backwards.
"Are we…breaking up?" he asked hollowly.
"I don't know," Alfred said, still sounding incredibly hurt. After a painful moment of silence he added, "Or was that just another question you already knew the answer to, and now you're going to draw me another diagram?" The tears Alfred had been trying so hard to hold in check were now flowing freely down his cheeks. Arthur was surprised to realize he was crying just as hard as Alfred was.
"Fine…I'll just go," he said. He waited for Alfred to stop him, but the other boy merely rubbed at his eyes before walking quickly into the adjoining bathroom and shutting the door.
USUK
The locker room was completely silent. The players dressed in their gear without looking at each other, all of them focused inward as they prepared for the game ahead. The more obnoxious team members were already out in the stands—it was only the second string players preparing in the locker room. Both Alfred and Arthur had shown up—they even sat on the same bench, but they didn't share a word. They hadn't spoken since the following night.
Finally, when everyone was dressed, Berwald made his way to the front of the locker room. The coach emerged from his office, a clipboard in hand, looking stone-faced. The coach began his standard, pre-game pep talk.
"It's not going to be an easy game, men. They're faster than us. They're bigger, too. They're televising the game, and the stands are full of reporters and recruiters. For some of you, this game will determine your scholarship opportunities." The coach glanced at Berwald, who nodded briefly, ever stoic, in reply. Alfred felt his mouth go dry with nerves.
"Some of you never even thought you'd play this season. You were called on because you had character. You proved you had heart by going out there, loss after loss, and still giving it your all. I'm not gonna lie—this has been the worst season I've ever coached on paper. But you know what? I will never forget this team. You boys—all of you—have worked your butts off this year and you've made me remember that it's not the size of the dog in the fight, but it's the size of the fight in the dog. Nobody expects us to win this game—not a single person in those stands. But you know what? I think they're wrong. I think this game—this battle—will be your glory. You've all got heart…and now we've got Arthur."
Everyone was surprised when Arthur suddenly stood, his slightly too-big helmet clutched in his hands.
"That's not entirely right. I shouldn't be here. Everything the coach just said about you all is true—I know, because I've watched Alfred kill himself all year for this team, and for a sport that he loves. I'm not one of you, and I don't deserve the opportunity to play with you just because I can kick a ball. I've never been someone who cares if I win or lose—I've never even cared what other people thought of me at all…but seeing you all play so hard this season—seeing Alfred put his everything in this—makes me want to care. I don't deserve to play with you, but I ask that you do me the honor anyway. We will win this game—together—but it won't be my victory. It will be entirely yours; and no victory will have ever been more deserved. No team ever had so much heart and dedication as I have seen from you. I'm very proud to be your biggest fan."
Arthur's eyes never left Alfred's throughout his entire speech. Alfred's cheeks were warm with color, because it was fairly obvious that while Arthur was speaking to everyone, he was really speaking to Alfred. The moment hung between them, a fragile peace-offering, and Alfred finally gave Arthur a shaky smile.
Berwald cleared his throat.
"I don't do speeches. J'st go out there and tear those F'lcons out of the sky!" Berwald shouted, pumping his helmet into the air. His team roared in approval, and they surged off the benches en masse, ready for battle. The locker room doors opened and in the hallway beyond, the faint echoes of lively band music could be heard. The stadium was packed, and the noise of roughly 5,000 people could be heard as they stomped their feet against the metal stands, a frenzy of anticipation.
The last two out, Arthur made a sudden grab for Alfred's hand.
"This is ridiculous, but..I'm nervous," Arthur said, surprised by the realization that he had become so emotionally invested. Alfred's blue eyes softened, and as the doors swung shut, leaving them alone in the locker room, Alfred leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially.
"Well, a really cute friend of mine used to have some special pills that make you play better, but it turned out they were just vitamins. He did say something that stuck with me, though. As long as you give it everything you have out there—I'll still be really, really proud of you."
Arthur smiled at the memories and glanced up at Alfred through his thick lashes. "I'm sorry I was so mean to you, love," he said. Alfred just smiled and kissed him sweetly, lovingly on the lips.
"Sometimes the truth can hurt…but it needed to be said. I'm going to work on it, okay?"
"I love you, Alfred. So, so much," Arthur said. Alfred grinned.
"Yeah, I heard…you're my biggest fan, huh?" he asked. Too emotional to even joke, Arthur just nodded and threw his arms around Alfred's neck, hugging him tightly. Alfred returned the embrace with an affectionate smile, and pressed a kiss to Arthur's messy hair. Pulling back, he took Arthur's helmet from his hands and slid it over his head, buckling the strap in place. Grabbing the grill, he pulled the other boy's face close to his own.
"I'll keep you safe out there, okay? Love ya, babe." Alfred pecked the grill protecting Arthur's face and winked at him playfully. "But we better go, or we're gonna miss the game!"
Grinning, Arthur followed Alfred out into the hallway, with a very half-hearted, "For the thousandth time, what have I told you about those silly—" Arthur fell silent abruptly and glanced down in surprise when he felt Alfred take his hand and lace their fingers together. He glanced unsurely at Alfred, but realized by the steely glint of determination in the other boy's blue eyes, that Alfred didn't plan on letting go of his hands when they entered the stadium.
"But…Alfred…the stadium is packed with reporters, and your father is out there…"
Alfred flashed a carefree smile that only just barely managed to hide his nervousness.
"I'm working on that whole not caring so much thing, remember? But what about you? You ready for this?"
Beaming in happiness, Arthur briskly shook his head in agreement. The two of them walked the long stretch of hallway and emerged into the glare of flashing cameras and stadium lights, still hand in hand.
USUK
"There they are! Oh, wow!" Matthew said, pointing towards the home team entrance that the rest of the players had burst through just moments before.
"Are they…holding hands?" Francis asked, squinting against the glare of lights.
"Woah, the reporters are going crazy," Patty commented. She, as well as several other Hero Club and student council members, sat near Francis and Matthew—Arthur and Alfred's unofficial cheering squad. Down on the field, the press had forgotten all about using their zoom lenses to snap photos of the President and the First Lady, who had arrived in London just in time for the game (without Alfred's knowledge), as well as the royal family, who sat not too far away from President and First Lady Jones in the stands. They began snapping hundreds of pictures of Alfred and Arthur instead. The stadium was crawling with students, the entirety of the staff, and what felt like the whole American CIA.
All of those people present, and every eye in the stadium was turned to Alfred and Arthur, whose linked hands gave the first solid evidence to the rumors that had been floating around in both their respective countries for weeks.
"This is crazy! You'd think they were ripping each other's clothes off down there," Emily said, hoisting her own poster for Arthur up in the air. The noise level in the stadium had risen to a near deafening level.
"Do their parents know?" Elizabeta asked. She had come with Roderich, who seemed more interested in the marching band's performance than with the arrival of the 'it' couple.
"They told Arthur's parents earlier this week. Alfred's parents know he's gay, but they didn't know who he was dating. Guess they do now," Mattie said, a little impressed by Alfred's courage. Ivan, were he allowed to attend sporting events, would have been proud to see his friend being so bold. As it was, he and Yao were curled up in the dorm room, watching the game on local television and smirking in amusement at Alfred's chosen way of "coming out."
The crazy kid never did anything by half—that was for sure.
Up further in the stands, President Jones was careful to keep a perfectly composed smile on his face. He leaned towards Helen, his shiny white teeth still showing.
"At least it's not the Russian kid," he said. Mirroring his expression, Helen waved smoothly to the reporters barricaded off a few stands below, trying to catch their reactions to the arrival.
"Who would have thought our Alfred would have the balls to do something like this?" she asked, speaking through her own fake smile, but with a hint of pride coloring her tone. President Jones grinned slightly.
"You just like that he's being dramatic about it—he gets that from you."
"Maybe," she replied with a mischievous quirk to her lips.
Several rows over and down a few, Mary beamed at the sight of Alfred holding her son's hand as they walked to their side of the field.
"Alfred is such a cute boy. I was sad it didn't work out with Francis, but Arthur's chosen well," she said. Prince George rolled his eyes.
"You're far too interested in our children's love lives," he said. "They're only fifteen—don't get so attached."
"Yeah, mum, stop nagging about our love lives," Patrick chorused. He'd come in for the game as well, as had Colin. Dylan had been suspiciously busy with "previously made arrangements."
"You need a serious girlfriend! You've been wild and had your fun. I worry that you're not settled. I can't convince Arthur to slow down, and I can't convince you to speed up," Mary fretted. Her rambunctious red-head grinned cheekily at her.
"Who said I'm looking for a girlfriend?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows. Mary rolled her eyes.
"You've been wild, but not that wild. You're not like Arthur. He's special," she said. Colin laughed good-naturedly.
"I'm glad you weren't this obvious about who was your favorite when we were all growing up," he teased. Mary swatted at him, though her warm eyes were mildly apologetic.
"Mum just likes Arthur so much 'cause she didn't think she was ever going to have a daughter, but then Arthur came along," Patrick teased. Surprising them all, George snorted in amusement. He coughed quickly, though, to cover the sound.
"Patrick, don't tease your brother," he scolded sternly. Mary rolled her eyes.
"Fat lot of good that does. This is why I've had to baby him—you all give him such a hard time, and he's really very—" Colin cut Mary off knowingly.
"Sensitive. We know. He brings it on himself, though, mum. He just walked out into a stadium filled with thousands of people holding another boy's hand," Colin pointed out dryly. Mary, however, just smiled.
"He's romantic, my Arthur. I do hope he plays well. He's really too small for rugby. I wonder why he didn't join the fencing team, or tennis?" she mused. Patrick and Colin shared a grin.
"Because Alfred Jones isn't on the tennis team, mum," Patrick replied. "And he's just so dreamy. I'm thinking about getting braces and glasses. It's what all the teenage girls are into these days," Patrick joked. Colin slapped the back of his younger brother's head roughly.
"Why are you chasing after teenage girls, huh? Pervert!"
"Where's your wife? You hit me less when she's around," Patrick growled back, shoving Colin in retaliation for the hit. Mary rolled her eyes skyward, as if pleading for patience, and George just shook his head.
"There are cameras everywhere, boys. Please behave," Mary said. Patrick stuck his tongue out at his older brother. After a quick glance to make sure George wasn't watching, Colin stuck his tongue out, too.
"Can't we just watch the game in peace? Like a normal family?" George asked with a wry glance at Colin that let him know he'd been caught. Colin and Patrick grinned sheepishly, temporarily cowed.
The game was about to start, and the players headed out onto the field.
USUK
If the reporters were hoping for a show, they certainly got one. If President Jones had any recognizable flaw, it was that he was a fiercely competitive man—and he didn't bother to hide it. Perhaps it was more accurate to say he didn't even have the ability.
"COME ON! GET ON THE BALL, AL! HUSTLE! HUSTLE!"
"Darling, he can't hear you—you're just giving the tabloids fodder for—" Helen warned, but she was cut off by her husband swiping the baseball hat off his head (an action which revealed that he was so good-looking he was even immune to hat hair) and waved the hat angrily at the field.
"GET ON THAT BALL! CHRIST!Do you see this, Helen? He's so god-damned close and then he—"
"Alfred's always cracked under pressure, dear. I don't know why it's surprising you now."
"ALFRED! COME ON! I COULD HAVE CAUGHT THAT BLINDFOLDED!"
"Do you really have to scream so loudly? Alfred can't hear you, and I'm going deaf. Please sit down."
Finally, her husband complied with a huff of irritation.
"Christ! We gotta get him into a decent football camp. He's finally hit a growth spurt, but what good is the perfect physique if you run like a crippled kid?"
"I'm going to just pretend I didn't hear that, and I'm going to pray none of the reporters can read lips," Helen replied. Her husband's aggressiveness clearly put her in a foul mood. "I hate sports. I wouldn't have even come, but Alfred is so upset with me. He sent me an e-mail earlier this week and it didn't have any of those retarded smiley faces in it—not a single one."
Her husband glanced at her in surprise. "I know you said you had a fight, but Jesus, Helen, what did you say to the kid? Alfred doesn't write anything without those stupid little faces. Hell, if his English teacher asked him what a colon was for, he'd probably tell her it was a set of eyes."
"I was actually trying to be nice for once. He's just so gay. He gets overly emotional about everything I say and he's got horrible mommy issues," Helen said. Her husband snorted in dark amusement.
"Save that quote and give it to PFLAG—they're gonna just love you," he quipped sarcastically, referring to the very supportive advocacy group mostly run by the parents of gay and lesbian children.
"Oh shut the hell up, Dick," she replied snippily.
"I hate it when you call me that. It's Richard."
"And because you hate it is exactly why I call you that…Dick. Oh! Alfred's got the ball! That's good, right?" Helen asked. Instantly, Richard was back on his feet, yelling and waving his arms like a madman.
"YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY! TURN AROUND! TURN AROUND!"
Amused by the whole thing, Helen smirked. Richard smacked a hand over his face and dragged it downwards dramatically. The score was tied, mostly due to Arthur's talent, but Alfred was screwing up at every available opportunity.
"Are you ready to admit defeat now?" Helen asked with a simpering smile. Richard scowled.
"I'll make an athlete of him yet—I'll get the best damn coach money can buy!"
"I think you should just let it go and admit that he'd make a much better model. I've been telling you for years he'd grow out of the awkward phase—just look at him. I had an awkward phase, too, you know. Of course, it was short and I stayed indoors until it passed—but Alfred got my looks. He belongs on a runway."
"Helen, I can handle having a gay son, but I won't let you prance him down a runway in that Prada crap. He's gonna play football. It's a Jones family tradition. We had this argument when he was three and my decision hasn't changed."
"Such a waste. Alfred was an adorable baby. He would have kicked that Gerber kid right off the damn can. Oh, I think he's going the wrong way again."
"God damn it! Does the kid have mushy peas for brains? But look at that Arthur kid—now there's an athlete. He's a natural. Too small, though."
"Is this thing almost over?" Helen asked. Down on the field, Alfred was breathing hard as he slouched into the huddle for what would be the last play of the game. Berwald didn't bother telling Alfred all the mistakes he was making. He just grunted the name of the next play.
Able to feel Alfred's frustration, Arthur gently touched the other boy's arm.
"It's even worse 'cause my dad's here. I swear I can hear him yelling," Alfred said, glancing up in the stands where he knew his father was sitting. Arthur glanced up briefly, too, spotting Patrick's red hair.
"My mum's here, you know. Your dad may be yelling, but my mum is out there cheering like crazy for you. I'm cheering for you, too. Just relax and try to have fun," Arthur said. Alfred nodded, and seemed to take the message to heart.
"Are you okay? Not too rough?" he asked.
"I'll be sore tomorrow, but I'm okay," Arthur replied. Alfred flashed him a bright smile. Little did they both know that the other team was desperately revising their strategy.
"We gotta take out the kicker. He's carrying the whole team. Without him, the Captain can't do anything," the opposing Captain stressed. A plan was quickly made, and the teams squared off.
The play began, and like usual, Arthur scurried backwards away from the scuffle, trying to stay far away from any contact, but this time it seemed one particularly large boy was determined to tackle him—penalty or no. He darted to the side, managed to get around him, but it put him out of position. He was running down the field, making himself a legitimate target. Racing like a gazelle down the field ahead of him, Alfred glanced backwards in search of the ball and saw Arthur's predicament instead.
He glanced up again, and finally spotted the pass. He continued to run, his arms open, knowing the ball was spiraling perfectly down to his arms—but just behind him Arthur was about to be tackled without mercy.
Alfred didn't even hesitate. He caught the ball, but let it drop to the ground. He changed directions at the last possible moment, not even hearing the ball thud against the ground behind him. He sprinted forward, just like in practice, and threw all his weight forward against the mountain of a boy baring down on Arthur. Their bodies collided furiously, and Arthur found himself perfectly safe despite the other team's underhanded intentions. There wasn't so much as a scratch on him.
Thinking Alfred had made the catch, however, the other team piled up on him mercilessly. Arthur was torn. On one hand, the ball was sitting wide open just a few yards ahead of him, just waiting to be scooped up and carried to the goal. On the other, Alfred had just locked helmets with a boy nearly two feet bigger than him and four times as big around. Arthur couldn't even see him under the tangle of limbs. Alfred would want him to go for the score…but Arthur was simply too concerned to care about the silly game.
He doubled back to the pile-up, even as Berwald barreled down the field, retrieved his own pass, and carried it the rest of the way to score a goal and break the tie for World Academy. Oblivious to where the ball was, the other team didn't realize the point had been scored as the last seconds ticked down.
"Alfred!" Arthur called, pushing at the opponents until he saw his bruised and bloodied boyfriend.
"Where am I?" Alfred asked weakly. His eyes were unfocused a moment, and Alfred reached for him weakly before he feinted. As the World Academy side of the stadium erupted in applause and cheering for Berwald, a medical team came sprinting onto the field. Out of respect, everyone in the stands, on both sides, stood silently for the fallen player when they realized what had happened.
"Get back! Give him some air!" The medics loaded Alfred onto a stretcher and carried him off field, Arthur jogging along anxiously at his side.
A/N: This was a very fun chapter. However, I took a LOT of liberties with the sport of rugby. For starters, most players don't wear hard helmets, but I like the look of them on boys so that's what they're wearing. Also, the scenario I described in the end probably would never happen in an actual game. I claim creative license. :P
Oh, and a reviewer or two thought the sex was a little rushed. I really was intending to hold off longer, but because of other stuff I planned, it just made sense for it to go there. After all, the other guys on the team couldn't tease Alfred and Arthur about sex and it hit Alfred so hard if the sex wasn't happening yet. So…that's my flimsy justification for caving early, lol.
As usual, thank you SO much for reviews! I hope you liked the glimpse of their families, and the resolution of their fight!