Chapter 14

Homecoming dances in America were a really big deal. Alfred's mother had carved time out of her schedule for Alfred to get his tux fitted, and she was clearly way more excited about it than Alfred was. She also loved Ashley Winters, and kept making comments about them dating, which were incredibly embarrassing. Alfred just wanted out of all of it, and regretted even agreeing to go, but it had sounded fun in the beginning.

Matthew wanted him to skip the game and the dance to make sure he was at the club on time, but Alfred had been unable to agree to that. As much as he loved Arthur, he couldn't miss his first game as quarterback. He'd worked too hard and loved the game too much to abandon his team during such a critical match against their US rivals, the Washington Wildcats. So his first idea was to stay for the game, and then leave right after for the club where Arthur would be partying, but that idea proved impossible, too.

When he'd mentioned the trouble he was in with Arthur, and how he was thinking about skipping the dance, his mother had started to cry. Helen Jones didn't use tears often, and Alfred was smart enough to know he was being played, but he also couldn't leave his mom crying. He'd given her a hard time over the summer and she'd been drinking a lot more lately (now that he was back home and around the house more, he was picking up on it) and he couldn't disappoint her to the point of tears. So he'd gone to his tux fitting and he'd agreed to a tighter cut that he didn't like because Ashley and his mother said it looked better on him.

So now his plan consisted of ditching the first part of the dance, going to the club, and then coming back to the school for Homecoming court. Ashley insisted she didn't care, and when he told her the reason why, she went all girly and giggly and told him not to rush back.

"We're the Prince and Princess—they have to wait for us," she'd insisted with the air of one who was never made to wait for anything in her life. Helen was less thrilled about Alfred's plan, but as long as she got pictures of him in his tux and got to see him play in the big game, she was happy. Alfred's dad was happy, too, though Alfred worried it was less because of his role as quarterback, and more because he was taking Ashley to the dance.

He had to admit, that stung a bit. But he didn't say anything, and he just smiled a bit sadly when his father congratulated him on getting a girl as hot as Ashley to go with him to the dance.

"That's my boy," he'd said, giving Alfred a firm pat on the back. Alfred was just happy his dad was even noticing him—he'd been so busy lately—and figured he had to take what he could get.

"Yeah, Ashley is really nice," Alfred said. His dad snorted. They were at a department store where Ashley was picking out her jewelry for the dance, something Helen had offered to do when she found out the daughter of one of her old friends was going with Alfred.

"Girls like Ashley aren't nice, son. Ashley's exactly like your mother. She's cunning, and she's competitive, and she's aggressive—but she's not nice. Save yourself some heartbreak and learn that lesson now."

"Huh?" Alfred asked confusedly. His mom was nice. Sure, she didn't spend all day knitting sweaters and playing with puppies like Arthur's grandmother, but she was nice. Kind of...in her own way. She got him braces when his teeth were crooked and tried to help him with his career, and she'd never expected him to be a star athlete like his dad had wanted. She let him keep his cat when he'd found her as a stray, even when his father had talked of taking her to the pound. Alfred was also pretty sure she was the reason he had a Camaro. His dad didn't think he should be driving yet, and especially not such an expensive car.

"Mom's nice. She's just...tough."

"Whatever you say, kid," Richard replied. Then the topic shifted back to football, and both of them were much more comfortable.

The week flew by, and soon Alfred was preparing for the game. It hurt him to know it was the first game that Arthur wouldn't be attending. He knew Arthur wasn't out there in the stands because when he'd asked Matthew about that part—what if Arthur doesn't decide to go to the concert after the game?—Mathew had replied with a wince and, "He said he wasn't going to the game anymore, but he said he'd be at the concert for sure. I'll make sure he's there. He says he'll go with me and Gilbert."

Alfred frowned at the memory (Arthur had attended his games even when he'd been dating Celio, after all, and supposedly hated Alfred) but today, for Alfred's biggest game, Arthur wouldn't be there to root for him.

Alfred pulled on his helmet. He couldn't think about that now. The stadium was packed and the game was being broadcast on television. This was his moment to shine, and he knew college recruiters were in the stands, as well as talent scouts. If Alfred looked good on the field, he might land himself more commercials and ads for sports related products. He felt the pressure, but with his football pads on, he felt braced to confront it head on. He was going to do well during this game—there wasn't a single doubt in his mind. He'd worked too hard, trained too long, and pushed himself too hard to be anything other than excellent.

The stadium thrummed with excitement and the grass had never looked so green, or the lights so bright. There was a ceremony for the Homecoming court before the game, and so Alfred and a few of his teammates split away from the team and went to mid-field, where all the rail-thin girls were standing in their glittering dresses and heels, their dates on their arms. Alfred joined Ashley and extended his arm, smiling at her confidently.

"Good luck in the game!" she said. She was excited, too. Ashley was no Arthur, but at least Alfred felt like he wasn't at the game alone.

"Thanks! We're gonna win, for sure," he replied.

"Yeah, because of you. You're going to be amazing," Ashley said with a bright, white smile. The cameras flashed and announcements were made about the nominees for Homecoming court. Despite himself, Alfred scanned the blur of the crowd, half-wishing that Arthur had come anyway. He didn't see him.

The game was a blur of passes and interceptions. Alfred played harder than he ever had in his life. He'd lost some muscle mass with all the dieting, but he was faster because of all the cardio training. The other kids were good athletes, most of them more naturally graceful than Alfred, but he'd beat them all through sheer hard work. When the others began to lag, he was barely sweating. He sprinted down the field like it was nothing, and to Alfred, it truly wasn't anymore. He was a machine.

It should have been glorious—each successful throw, and each inspiring, gravity-defying catch...but it all fell flat somehow. During one of the huddles, Alfred directed the play as if he were a robot spitting out per-programmed instructions, and in his head he thought, 'Why does this matter again?'

The thought shocked Alfred and he stood on the field dazedly for a few moments—not really seeing it, but seeing through it. A small voice inside him began talking to him, and the noise of the stadium and the crowd and the other players just drained away.

'Alfred...' it said in a distinctly British accent. Alfred strained to hear it, somehow knowing he was conjuring Arthur in his mind, maybe reliving a memory, but it was foggy and felt like it was slipping away. He closed his eyes a moment, felt the cool fall air on his face, and suddenly it was March in London, and he sat on the metal bleachers beside Arthur, and it was much colder but they didn't mind.

"Alfred...what if you're always terrible at rugby?" Arthur asked. Granted, his practice session had gone pretty poorly. Alfred thought about it, though. How would he really feel, if all his hard work never paid off?

"I guess it wouldn't matter...so long as you still came to my games and cheered for me!"

Alfred snapped out of the memory and turned to the stands once more. Was it possible? Was it truly possible that he didn't care about what his dad thought of his game, or of what his coaches thought, or even what his friends thought? Could it really be that the only person who's opinion, whose love and support actually mattered, was Arthur's?

It seemed crazy, but there it was. He was on television, playing the biggest game of his young career, hitting every pass and scoring touch down after touch down and absolutely none of it, not even a second of it, mattered to him. Because Arthur wasn't there. The popularity, the fame, the success—it didn't mean a damn thing, if he didn't have Arthur by his side.

He called a time-out.

"I'm not feeling good. You gotta pull me," Alfred said. The coaches balked. They yelled about stats and scores and how if he quit now, they might not play him as quarterback during another game this season.

"I know all that...but if I'm going to be sick, I'm going to be sick. I need to throw up," Alfred said.

"Don't crack under the pressure!" A coach yelled at him. "Get out there and finish the game!"

"I won't go back. I'm going to be sick," Alfred repeated stubbornly. Frustrated, the coach threw his clipboard and sent the second string quarterback onto the field. The stadium erupted in noise as Alfred jogged slowly out, but Alfred didn't care.

He went to the dressing room where he did not puke, but instead showered hastily and put on his tux. Then he left the nearly empty school grounds (everyone was at the game) and hopped in the passenger seat of his Camaro, while Ivan was in the driver's seat.

"You're here early," he said, looking up from a dirty magazine.

"Yeah, I left the game. Let's get going," Alfred said. Ivan raised a silvery blond eyebrow, but didn't comment. He peeled out of the parking lot (he, too, had his license but he did not drive carefully like Arthur) and sped them towards their destination.

Alfred moved as if in a dream, and the pieces fell together just as Gilbert had assured him they would. As he reached the club, the bouncer recognized him and waved him to the back entrance. He and Ivan exited the car and he could hear the screaming guitars and the pounding drum beat even from outside.

"You're really going to do this?" Ivan asked, grinning at him, because clearly he thought Alfred was an idiot.

"Yeah," Alfred said, fidgeting with his tux.

"You know they're going to throw shit at you and complain about your horrible singing, da?"

"Yeah," Alfred agreed again, though he paled a little at Ivan's words.

"Alright, then, you sappy idiot. It's your stoning and not mine," Ivan said as he opened the back door. A club worker was there and she waved them in, explaining that they were right on time.

"They got started sooner than planned—if you'd just been another ten minutes later, I wouldn't have been able to get you on," she said. Alfred smiled shakily in relief. He knew he was making the right choice then.

The lead singer of Razor finished his current song and took a deep drink of water.

"Alright, you guys are awesome. I got a funny ass story to tell you. You guys know I'm gay, right?" There were loud shouts of approval from the audience. "Yeah, and two years ago I sang a cover for a really sappy ass song that I never meant for anybody to hear."

An excited concert-goer shouted out the name of the song, and the lead-singer laughed. "Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, I did it for my boyfriend at the time. Well, believe it or not, that stupid-ass song worked and he agreed to go out with my dumb ass again. So a couple days ago I got a call from the kid that sells me weed when I'm in town," more cheers from the audience, "and he told me he had this friend who was in the shitter with his boyfriend, and he wanted to sing this song to him tonight."

The audience 'aww'd' appreciatively. Alfred relaxed ever so slightly. Stoning seemed less and less likely. He might get out of this without anyone throwing beer on him.

"So do we have Arthur in the audience? Ahhhh...yep. There he is. By now you've probably realized that my guest singer is more famous than me, so let's welcome Alfred Jones to the stage. I know he looks like Justin Bieber, but let's give him a chance, okay? At least he admits that he's gay," the singer joked.

Alfred took a deep breath, and walked on stage. The way he usually felt during a game—all electrified and tense—that was how he felt now. He smiled shakily, and spotted Arthur in the crowd. Arthur looked completely shocked, and next to him, Matthew and Gilbert were grinning like fools.

Alfred stepped up to the mike and cleared his throat.

"Hi Artie," he said nervously. In the crowd, Arthur shook his head in a disbelieving sort of way.

"You ready? You can sing right?" the singer asked. Alfred hastily shook his head no. The singer laughed, as did a few in the audience. "That's alright, kid, I'll make you look good."

The music for Razor's cover of 'The Reason' started up, and Alfred did the best possible job he could of butchering one of Arthur's favorite songs.

"I'm not a perfect person

There's many things I wish I didn't do

But I continue learning

I never meant to do those things to you

And so I have to say before I go

That I just want you to know..."

Despite Alfred's terrible voice, his boyfriend was smiling, and Alfred couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Arthur wipe at some water in his eyes.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you

It's something I must live with every day

And all the pain I put you through

I wish that I could take it all away

And be the one who catches all your tears

That's why I need you to hear

I've found a reason for me

To change who I used to be

A reason to start over new

And the reason is you."

When the song was done, there was silence for a long moment. Then, predictably, the cup of plastic beer came hurtling at him and Alfred just barely managed to dodge. It hit the drummer instead, who made a disgusting show of licking it off his hairy beard.

"YOU SUCK, BEIBER!" the audience member shouted.

"Not cool man!" the singer shouted back, and soon the mosh pit had broken out into a fight and Alfred was jumping off stage as more beer came hurtling at him. The band started back up—a furious, fist pumping anthem—and Alfred was shoved and jostled through the crowd until, miraculously, he was pushed against Arthur.

"I'm sorry!" Alfred shouted.

"Why aren't you at the game?" Arthur shouted back, looking at him almost in wonder.

"Because it doesn't mean anything if you're not there. Please forgive me, please!" Alfred begged. Then Arthur was in his arms again and he didn't feel disgusting and fat, or lost, or empty. He just felt Arthur's relief and love for him, and the love he had for Arthur in turn.

"Arthur, will you go with me to the Homecoming dance?" he asked, while he was still hugging his boyfriend. Arthur nodded against his shoulder, and Alfred had never felt so relieved. When they pulled out of the fierce hug, Arthur slung his arm around Alfred's shoulders and pulled him down into a furious lip lock. The music pounded, the crowd of people pushed in around them, and absolutely none of it phased them. The whole world fell away and it was just the two of them, kissing like they'd never get to kiss each other again.

They found Matthew and Gilbert, who surprisingly, wanted to return to the dance.

"You don't want to stay at the concert?" Arthur asked. Then he blushed, "I gathered you knew the lead singer?"

"Oh, Johnny? Yeah, he's cool. He buys my shit," Gilbert said. As promised, he was wearing his dark purple, thrift store pimp suit. It actually didn't look half-bad on him. Matthew was in a black suit with a lilac undershirt, and they looked good together. Ivan drove Alfred's car back to his and Yao's home. They had a toddler at home and no real interest in attending a school dance. Still, Alfred appreciated that Ivan had helped support him with his plan.

Shoved in the backseat of the cab built for three, Alfred pulled Arthur onto his lap. He held him tightly.

"I'm really not dressed to go to a dance," Arthur said, his head tucked under Alfred's chin.

"What are you talking about? You look perfect," Alfred said.

"I'm just in jeans and a T-shirt."

"Like I said...perfect," Alfred replied with a small grin.

"I'm still not entirely sure I understand what's been going on..." Arthur began hesitantly.

"Alfred will explain later, but for now, just enjoy the night, okay?" Matthew said with a reassuring smile. "Alfred loves you and you only, and he isn't cheating on you and never would. For tonight, let that be enough."

And feeling snug and protected and cherished in Alfred's arms—the lines of the touching love song still ringing in his ears—Arthur realized that it was more than enough.

When they arrived at the dance, Matthew had the shock of his life. Standing outside of the gymnasium, dressed simply but elegantly, was none other than Francis.

"Francis?" Matthew called. Francis noticed them all and grinned happily. He looked a little tired, but healthy again. He seemed to be at peace with himself now. Happily (and causing Gilbert to frown) Matthew ran from their group to launch himself at Francis. The taller boy laughed and caught him easily, giving him a firm hug before releasing him.

The others, including Gilbert, approached more slowly. Gilbert frowned moodily and made a big show of tugging Matthew back towards his side, like a puppy growling 'mine' and pulling on a favorite toy. Francis gave them a wry, but approving smile.

"Relax, Gilbert. I'm not here to steal your date. I have a date of my own who should be arriving soon. But you look good, Matthew. Are you taking care of him, Gilbert?" Francis asked. Gilbert seemed to relax some. He and Francis had been friends of a sort towards the end of last year. He figured dating Matthew would ruin it, but it appeared Francis wasn't going to be dramatic about it.

"Yeah, I guess. He hasn't dumped me yet."

"He should have, when he saw that suit. Did you rob a dead pimp?" Francis asked distastefully. Gilbert beamed, as if he'd been paid the best compliment ever. Matthew just rolled his eyes and leaned into Gilbert's hold on him, feeling happy with the world. The only one missing was...

"There you are, socio." Alex ambled up, and told them that the party was awesome inside. "You two coming or what?" he asked.

"Are you back for good now?" Matthew asked, resisting Gilbert's tugging on him. Francis shook his head.

"Just for tonight. It was rather unplanned—that is why I did not tell you. I leave in the morning."

"Oh," Matthew sounded tragically disappointed even to his own ears, and he glanced at Gilbert a little guiltily. "I'm coming, Gil, I promise," he said. Then to Francis, "So your date...?"

"Is Michelle," Francis said quietly. Some of the warmth drained out of Matthew's eyes.

"Oh," he said again. "You two...have a nice night, I guess," Matthew said. Feeling sorry for him now, Gilbert stopped his playful tugging and let Matthew say whatever he might want to say, but Matthew realized he didn't have the words.

"You, too, Matthew," Francis said. Before Matthew could object, Francis stepped forward and gave him a light hug. It almost made Matthew tear up, but he held it together some how. "I'm sorry...for how it ended," Francis said in his ear softly, before letting him go.

Matthew nodded tightly while in his head he thought, 'I'm sorry it ended at all.'

But there it was in front of him—the realization that Francis had flown half-way around the world, not for him, but for Michelle. It was truly over between them. It was time Matthew let him go, even though he'd been his first love (and oh, how he'd loved him).

During this exchange, Alfred and Arthur had been respectfully quiet, but once Matthew had left with Alex and his date, it was their turn to greet their French friend.

"So I take it the song worked?" Francis asked. Arthur pouted.

"Did everyone know about this except me?" he questioned. Alfred laughed.

"Pretty much," Alfred said. Then, with an almost grudging reluctance, "It was technically Francis's idea."

"You know, being the most experienced lover out of all of us, does it really surprise you that such a beautiful idea came from me?" Francis asked cockily. Arthur frowned.

"Don't spoil it with your French-ness," Arthur grumbled. Laughing, Francis slung an arm around the shorter boy's shoulders. "I hear you are worried about your precious Alfred spending time around Michelle, no?" Francis said. Arthur blushed hotly.

"I don't care who his friends are, but it wasn't unreasonable to assume—"

"Michelle is my girlfriend, Arthur. I flew here for her tonight," Francis said. Arthur blinked in surprise.

"She's dating...you? But I thought she didn't believe in love? I thought she—"

"Arthur, try to have some compassion. Or at least, be understanding of those who are not as perfect as you. Michelle is not in a good place. Imagine if Alfred died tomorrow. What would that do to you?"

Arthur was stonily silent.

"The Michelle you see is not the real Michelle. She's in pain, Arthur. She lost the boy she loved and she's been wandering lost ever since. I'm afraid recently it has only gotten worse for her," Francis said with a solemn, almost angry growl to his voice. Alfred looked like he was in perfect agreement. Arthur was beginning to feel frustrated being out of the loop.

Before he could demand answers, Michelle appeared. She was not wearing too much dark, heavy make-up as Arthur was accustomed to seeing her wear, or anything trashy or slutty. Instead, she wore a stunning, pale blue mermaid-style dress that hugged her body tightly and then flared out at her calves. She wore white gloves up to her elbows, and her dark hair was gently curled around her pale, delicate shoulders. In his white suit with his dark blue undershirt, she and Francis made a striking pair. Francis swept forward and regally kissed her hand. She blushed.

Michelle looked abnormally uncomfortable in her own skin, and she tugged nervously at a pearl earring. Alfred and Francis gave her big smiles.

"You look beautiful, my darling," Francis praised. "I knew the dress would suit you."

"It's beautiful, Francis," she said quietly. She seemed unusually subdued, and Arthur wondered what the hell was going on.

"You ready for your fairy tale night?" Alfred asked with a big smile. Michelle gave a small laugh, and glanced almost shyly at Francis. He revealed a simple, yet beautiful corsage from an inside pocket—just a lone little Forget-Me-Not pinned to a pearl bracelet, and gently clasped it on her wrist. Michelle looked like she was going to cry.

"Maybe we can talk later? My princess for the evening requires my full attention," Francis said with a soft grin directed at Michelle. She blushed again, and let him take her arm.

"Have fun, you guys!" Alfred called, before casually taking Arthur by the hand.

"See? I'm not with Michelle."

"Then what the hell is going on with her? That girl is not the school slut who goes around carving cuss words in lockers and stealing the cheerleader's boyfriends," Arthur exclaimed, almost a little too loudly. Alfred hissed at him to shhh, and glanced nervously over his shoulder to see if Michelle had heard. She hadn't, and was safely inside the building with Francis.

"Michelle said I could tell you once she realized it was causing problems between us. You know that day that I went to check up on her and was gone for a long time?" Alfred asked.

"Rather hard to forget. You came back in a terrible mood and then broke up with me."

"I didn't break up with you. I just needed some time...to figure things out. I know everybody says this, but it really wasn't you. It was me. And I'll tell you more about that later, but what's important for you to know now is that when Michelle went to go see her agent for lunch, he brought along a producer. He told Michelle that he wanted to talk to her about a job, but they didn't discuss it much over lunch. Her agent told her to go back to the guy's hotel with him to talk about the job."

"What?" Arthur said, beginning to suspect where the story was going. Alfred nodded.

"I know. So Michelle went with the guy, because she's really desperate to make it as a model, and he took her to a hotel, and...well...there was never any job. He...he raped her, Arthur. Michelle said he was old and fat and disgusting and she tried to fight him off but she couldn't and he hurt her. At first she didn't want me to tell anyone, but the next day she said she'd told Francis and that they were dating now. She didn't understand what he saw in her but I vouched for him and told her that Francis is a good guy. She really likes him," Alfred said.

"What about telling the police what happened? You can't stay quiet about this, Alfred!" Arthur said furiously. Alfred nodded.

"Michelle knows, and she's going to file a police report, but not until after the commercial. Realistically, it could ruin her chances at breaking into the industry. Francis is trying to convince her that she doesn't have to be a model, that she can improve her grades and be a sculptor. She used to do it all the time, but she hasn't since her boyfriend died."

"That's...I don't even know what to say. I feel sorry for her," Arthur said. "If I lost you...so suddenly like that...I don't know what I'd do."

"Me either. But enough sad stuff, okay? Francis is here to show her a really good time tonight, and I'm going to make sure nobody hurts her again at work. I already paid a little visit to her agent."

"What happened?" Arthur asked, clinging tightly to Alfred's hand. What if the slimy asshole had owned a weapon, like so many guys did in America? What if Alfred had gotten seriously hurt?

"Not much. At first he didn't know who I was, and then when he realized, I guess he got nervous about all the reporters hanging around outside his building. I just told him to stay away from Michelle and that he was fired, and he didn't really argue. He said he'd pick up another girl just like her easy enough. I wanted to punch him, but I didn't. I was worried it might affect Michelle's case against the rapist somehow."

"You did the smart thing, though you should have never gone alone at all. You're too much of a hero for your own good, love," Arthur said, pulling Alfred towards him by the lapel and pressing a kiss to his lips. Alfred smiled against his boyfriend's mouth and gave him a squeeze.

"Come on—let's go dance. I'm pumped now that you're here!" Alfred said with a big grin. Smiling proudly despite being under-dressed, Arthur took Alfred's arm and accompanied him inside.

Once they were in the packed gym, Arthur began to spot his friends from student council and he saw all the hard work the decorating committee had put into the dance. It was being run strictly by the president, volunteers, and a few selected council members, but Arthur had helped out with a few things here and there. Seeing it all come together was impressive, though. He smiled up at Alfred. The song playing was actually pretty good.

"Step over here guys, and I'll get your picture!" the professional photographer said. Arthur snickered a bit at the cheesy balloon arch and the starry looking backdrop, but Alfred was all grins as he pulled him over. With a huge smile, Alfred wrapped one arm around Arthur's chest and held the other out in a happy peace sign. Arthur was blushing, though smiling happily, too, and the camera flashed brightly.

"I think I'm blind," Arthur complained, but Alfred just laughed. Ashley found them next, though she didn't look surprised or unhappy to see Arthur there.

"There you are, Alfred. I thought since you left the game you might not show. I think they're going to announce who won court soon," she said. "Are you going to dance with us?" she asked, waving to her group of beautifully dressed friends.

"Maybe a little later. I want to dance with Artie right now," he said. Arthur melted a little inside and squeezed Alfred's hand appreciatively. It was stupid, because it was just some dumb school dance and Arthur knew it really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things...but it mattered to him that Alfred wanted him there, and wanted to share the experience with him.

"Let's dance—I like this song," Arthur said.

"This is payback, isn't it? I embarrass you at the club with my bad singing, so now you're gonna embarrass me at the dance with your terrible moves."

"That's exactly it," Arthur replied with a teasing grin, before beginning to jump and do his weird little awkward side-to-side swaying move, which honestly looked a little like a mad scientist had performed a lobotomy on the Bunny Hop, and then joined it like a deformed Siamese twin to the Macarena.

Alfred just laughed and did his best to follow along. They looked like complete fools, of course, but for once in Alfred's life, he really just didn't give a damn. He was recklessly, ridiculously, incredibly happy.

They danced several upbeat songs, laughing like hyenas, and then Alfred danced with Mattie, when Gilbert went strangely missing for a few songs.

"You don't know where he went?" Alfred asked, once the song was over and they were rejoining Arthur at his table. He was drinking punch and talking happily with a student council member.

"No...and he promised he wouldn't get into trouble tonight," Matthew said worriedly. As he scanned the room for Gilbert, his eyes landed on Francis and Michelle off in a corner, dancing together slowly despite the beat of the music, talking in whispers. She rested her cheek against his chest.

Matthew tried valiantly not to feel bitter and jealous, but he didn't quite succeed. He tore his eyes away from them, and vowed that he was going to give Gilbert the blow job of his life once they got to the hotel Gilbert had rented for the night. He didn't want to think about what Michelle would be doing with Francis.

"Huh...that's weird. Well, maybe he'll show back up soon," Alfred said. The friends sat, and soon Alex joined them despite Alfred being at the table. They all managed to talk a bit without fighting for once, before the Principal announced they were about to crown the Homecoming court. Arthur took Alfred's hand and gave it a gentle, proud squeeze. The simple action was enough to make Alfred feel ridiculously happy that he was at the dance, and that he'd been voted to be part of something so big for the school. Because Arthur was there to support him, it felt like he could enjoy the excitement of it again.

"And the results...our Homecoming Prince is...oh! I didn't know he was even in the running, but I suppose it's appropriate. Our Prince is a Prince in real life, too. His Royal Highness, Arthur Kirkland!"

"What?" Arthur said. Alfred was happy for Arthur, of course he was, but he was also a little...confused. Like the Principal had said, Arthur's name hadn't even been on the ballot.

"Go on...she's going to crown you! Congrats, babe!" Alfred said happily. Maybe everyone just really liked Arthur, and so they'd written his name on the ballot? Alfred didn't know, but whatever the reason, he was happy for his boyfriend.

Arthur awkwardly moved across the gym to the sound of applause. He looked a little ridiculous in his metal band T-shirt and his ripped jeans accepting the crown.

"And the Princess is..."

Ashley Winters was already moving across the gym.

"Allie Jones? Um...Allie Jones, congratulations!" the Principal said a little surprised. At first, everyone was confused, and then slow laughter began to bubble over the crowd.

"Alfred...I think she means you," Matthew said with a nervous grin. Alfred looked confused, but when no Allie Jones emerged to take the crown, the joke became more obvious. If there was any doubt, Alfred suddenly found a spotlight shining on him. He winced and held his arm to block out the light.

"Okay, okay! I get it!"

"This has been tampered with," the Principal said with resignation into the mic. She paused a second, and then her eyes darted off stage, with knowing swiftness. "Gilbert! I'll get you this time on this! Don't think for a second you've gotten away with—"

But whatever the Principal was yelling at Gilbert was lost, because Alfred was accepting Ashley's crown with a joking grin, not too serious that he couldn't play along, and put the delicate little crown on his head. Then, to a mix of groans and catcalls, Alfred pulled Arthur into his arms and dipped him in a romantic kiss, so that Arthur had to hastily grab his crown so that it didn't topple off.

Ashley stormed off in a huff, swearing to skin Gilbert alive for ruining her moment, and a counselor had to come on stage to announce the Queen and King—which, thankfully, had not been altered. The slow music began to play and Alfred happily pulled his prince against him, nothing but smiles, even when his Prince kept stepping on his feet.

A/N: Yay! My favorite chapter to write in this fic so far. I hope you liked it, too! As for the song Alfred serenades to Arthur, I heart it. It's called 'The Reason' by Hoobastank. Razor is probably a real band, but not one that I listen to—just a random name. Sorry if the song lyrics bugged you!

Oh, and a shout-out to Gilbert, who was totally the hero of this chapter. Thanks Gilbert! You were a super-useful character this chapter! And a shout out to the wonderful reviewers of last chapter, who made me want to rush to give them the next chapter, because they were so wonderful. If you took time to review, even though it was late, or you were on your wii (lol), thanks. It really does juice me to write the next chapter to hear what's working for you guys and what isn't. So thanks!