Chapter 2
"Beige, no, buff," Arthur muttered distractedly, shuffling through old paints and photographs. Trying to find the perfect hair colour seemed to be more difficult than Arthur had initially thought.
Arthur had been desperately attempting to draw Alfred for the past few hours, and unsuccessfully at that. No matter how hard he tried, something about his sketch didn't feel right. The colour palette, the hair, even his jacket had to be perfect, just like Alfred. What bothered him most was those eyes: Alfred's eyes. He couldn't quite capture the humour, love, joy, and mischievousness he had seen in those eyes. The eyes that Arthur had fallen so deeply in love with.
"What am I doing wrong?" Arthur moaned. He stared at his sketch in distress and dissatisfaction. Broken pencil lead and eraser shavings littered the desk, and discarded papers covered the floor around his stool. He had been working so assiduously that he was very high-strung, and each failed attempt at a portrait only aggravated him further.
Arthur put down his pencil and sighed heavily. If only he could see him again, talk to him again, love him again. But each time he erased, Alfred's face seemed to be pushed further and further back in his mind. "Where are you, Alfred?" Arthur fumed.
Soon, the sound of the doorbell snapped Arthur out of his state of distress. He shuffled down the stairs to the door, and was surprised to find that Mrs. Johnson had left a plate of cookies on his porch, but she was no where in sight. I hope she couldn't hear me yelling and decided to leave, Arthur thought. To his surprise, the plate of cookies was still warm. "Mrs. Johnson, you sly old woman. You didn't make these yesterday, did you?"
Still, the warm smell of dough and chocolate lifted Arthur's spirits, and the thought of Mrs. Johnson reminded of the park, of Alfred. Arthur breathed in the aroma, sat down on the couch, and breathed in deeply.
"You're not going to give up on me, are you?" a familiar, American voice called. Arthur spun around quickly. There, standing behind him, was Alfred.
"A-Alfred? What are you doing here?" Arthur stammered. Arthur looked down at himself embarrassed. The furious painting, sketching, and now, sitting down lazily with a chocolate chip cookie in hand had made him quite messy.
"You're giving up on me," Alfred repeated sadly. The look on his face hurt Arthur's heart, he looked like a lost puppy.
"I'm not giving up on you, I'm just-" Arthur couldn't think of what to say. Just what, Arthur?
"You should've known painting me would be hard," Alfred smiled. "After all, its hard to capture my heroism and bravery all in one place." Arthur rolled his eyes, but smiled. Alfred sure knew how to lighten the mood.
"It's just, I've missed you, and I haven't known how to go about this whole thing, I'm so confused. I've never struggled with painting portraits before. Landscapes, maybe, but never portraits."
Arthur closed his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. Alfred kissed his eyelids gently, and Arthur shuddered at the warm touch of Alfred's lips. He had missed Alfred so badly it hurt. It hurt more than Arthur could explain. He had never felt so desperate to be with someone, to love someone, as he had with Alfred. I just met you, Arthur thought. So why do I feel like this when I'm with you?
"It's okay, Arthur," Alfred whispered gently. "I miss you too. But I believe in you. You can do anything you set your mind to, I know it." Arthur smiled through his tears. Being with Alfred filled him with more happiness, love, and hope than he had ever thought was possible. He never wanted to moment to end, but Alfred's words ended his trance. "If you want to see me again, finish the portrait. I'll be waiting for you then."
Arthur bolted awake. A dream? Arthur thought. It had felt so real, so beautiful, that part of Arthur didn't want to believe he had fallen asleep at all. But still, he knew it was impossible. Alfred, here? That American couldn't even find his way around London, let alone to his house.
Arthur sighed. "I have to finish you," Arthur nodded determinedly. "I will see you again."
Soon, Arthur's furious sketching had shown progress. He looked at Alfred's face on the canvas and smiled. It was wonderful. Alfred's messy, blond hair, fair skin, glasses, jacket, and, more importantly, his eyes. Those twinkling eyes stared back at Arthur happily, and Arthur almost thought hear could hear Alfred whisper, "I love you."
Authors note: This chapter was a little short, but I hoped it wasn't terrible. Thanks for reading!