Lovesick Radio (VI)

From Alfred's POV

I shifted in bed for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. Today's events played an instant replay in my head from when I saw Artie in the grocery aisle, to chasing him all the way to his car in the parking lot. But even way before that when he said, "….doesn't mean we can't be acquaintances anymore. How about it, Mr. Jones? Friends?"

Friends….

It was a completely offensive word to have even come out of my Artie's mouth. Friends. I scoffed at the term and wished that it was a scrawny looking dude I could easily beat up.

Me and Arthur can't just be friends! For god's sakes, we were dating before that stupid word even existed between us. Nor will it ever, ever happen to us. I'd rather die than just be friends with him.

Man, why did this all have to happen? We were both so happy back then. Every day was like an adventure, with Arthur being my sidekick and me, his awesome superhero. What in the world happened to us?

It seems like it was only yesterday that Arthur promised me that we'd always be together and he'd be there every day I wake up. I remember how we would cuddle in his little house uptown with only the TV on and how sometimes when Artie wasn't in the mood, we'd just talk about random stuff. Sometimes it would be about his family back in England or something deep and philosophical that I really don't understand. I threw in a couple of intelligent words in between just so he knows I was listening. He knew, of course, that I had no idea what I just said so he would burst into a laugh and make a stupid comment about how "divvy" and "scatty" I was. Whatever the hell that means. It's kinda hard to understand him sometimes; he being British and all, but nevertheless, I still love him.

And Arthur's room always smelled like tea and hot chocolate. It was very homey and I actually spend more time there than in my own apartment. Speaking of hot chocolate, I gotta say that Arthur makes the best in the world. It was like a tradition for us to share a steaming mug of hot cocoa during the month of December. In turn, I'd give in and actually drink some of his tea during January. But February. February was the best month of the year!

Arthur would write these ridiculously long essays (he calls them notes) about how much he adores me and send 'em via post mail. One year, I came to collect my bills and my four by four mailbox was literally filled to the brim with letters from Arthur. The mailman was right next to my box carrying at least two more bag's worth of letters, all of them just for me. In fact, I think I still have them somewhere.

I jumped out of my bed covers and rummaged under the bed for the epically huge box where I kept them all these years. Sure enough, they were all there. Exactly 3,000 love notes (about a thousand for each year we've spent together) sheathed in pink and red envelopes. Some were in the shape of hearts, while others were rolled into long scrolls because of the sentence lengths.

I picked one up randomly and started reading.

To my dear Alfred,

Happy third Valentine's Day, luv! Can you believe that it's already been our third at all? Goodness, I should be awarded a Peace Prize for putting up with you for so long. It shall be titled "The Man who lived through Alfred F. Jone's crazy antics without having to go to a psychiatrist to be emotionally and physically examined." Pretty long title, but I must say that I do deserve it at the very least. But never mind that, I do think that you have also earned a prize for yourself.

You, good sir, have just won a basket of my award winning scones and crumpets! Having known you long enough, I can only expect that you were anticipating a sort of physical interaction with yours truly. But alas, my scones are just as good of a gift. Furthermore, I should really be asking you a dreaded question; will you be my Valentine? Presumably that I already have that claim, of course, I'm sure you will consent to the agreement. Just in case you do have a different person in mind, expect every lady (and gents) you are associated with to be covered in warts and turned into frogs.

I'm kidding. I certainly wouldn't curse them all. That is, I don't know most of their names so the spell wouldn't work….or would it?

Forever yours,

Arthur K. (Not 'Iggy', mind you!)

P.S

- I love you.

We're never gonna break up.

But look at us now, Artie… You don't even wanna look at me anymore. Pouting, I stared at the rest of the letters, each one signed with X and O's.

Author's Note:

Hooray! I made it through six chapters and now I feel more confident to continue my other stories! But first, I'm going to finish what I started with this story.