Whymsical's Writing

“But you said you’re capable-”

“But there’s still so much more for me to learn! It was hard enough to convince him to teach me in the first place, to make sure that this trip wasn’t worthless. If I leave now, I’m never going to be able to come back.”

Alfred’s hands clench at his sides. “You’ve been gone six months, Arthur. Too much longer, and we’ll be vulnerable to an attack.”

“Who’s going to attack us? Diamonds and Hearts are allies, Clubs is still in its honeymoon phase with the new Queen and Jack, we’re fine.” Arthur crosses his arms over his chest. “I need to do this.”

“And I need you here.” Alfred’s voice is soft.

“That’s not fair and you know it. You’re being selfish.”

“I’m being selfish? You’re the one who snuck out!”

“This was the best time to-” Suddenly, Arthur’s mouth clicks shut. “We’re not doing this. Good night, Alfred.”

The connection is severed before Alfred can say another word. Arthur’s image vanishes, leaving just a regular waterfall in its place. He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his hair, then leaves the room. The Scrying Chamber is home to a waterfall and a small pool that drains deeper into some underground river, and is part of a larger complex of rooms underneath Spades Palace. It all makes up The Queen’s Labyrinth, where all the Queens of Spades have practised and stored their magical knowledge. It’s all very pretty and glowy, but Alfred is wary of it, after he’d brushed up against some statue that had turned him into a rabbit for a week. Better to leave this place to Arthur. But the Scrying Chamber is the only way he can talk to Arthur while the Queen is gone, so every few days he braves the maze of rooms for a little while.

Careful not to touch anything, he makes his way back up to the castle proper. The Jack is waiting for him.

“I’m to assume it didn’t go well?” Yao asks.

Alfred purses his lips. “He’s being stubborn. His precious master’s found some new ruin for them to explore and it’s just-” He starts pacing the room, raking his hands through his hair and making it even more of a mess than usual. “Ugh! It’s so frustrating! He’s so far away and there’s nothing I can do and- and how do we even know we can trust this dude? He just suddenly sends a summons for the Queen of Spades and oh nooo Arthur just has to go halfway across the fucking world because there’s no other way and he has to go alone and-” He cuts off with a wordless, jumbled groan of frustration.

Yao schools his features into something less amused when the King looks to him. “You’re right. We can’t trust this master.”

“See-?!”

“But. But we can trust Arthur. Do you trust your husband, Alfred? Do you trust your Queen?”

The King deflates like a limp hot air balloon. “I…do.” He paces over to the other side of the room and slumps into a chair, head in his hands. “I just don’t like being so far away from him. So…unable to protect him.”

“Arthur would kick your ass if he heard you say that and we both know it.”

“Yeah.” Alfred chuckles along with his Jack. “Yeah, he totally would. But he’s not here to hear it, so lemme say it just this once.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Good.”

Yao clears his throat. “While you were in there, we’ve had another message come in…”

Alfred groans again, and takes a deep breath. “King’s work is never done, eh? And now I get to do Arthur’s paperwork, too. Lead the way, Yao, let’s get this over with.”

~~~~~

He waits by the waterfall for two hours, but Arthur doesn’t show yet again. Alfred’s starting to get worried, and his stomach clenches. “Arthur!” he yells, as if his voice could somehow activate the magic needed for him to see his husband.

But he doesn’t know the spell, or any magic at all, so of course nothing happens. Magic is the realm of the Queen, and somewhat the Jack. It’s never been kind to Alfred either. Usually, one of two things happens; it doesn’t work, or it has the exact opposite effect. Arthur’s a natural with spells, though, always has been, and Alfred could watch him work with it for hours. But here, in the most magical place in the castle, he’s powerless and unable to reach Arthur.

His eyebrows are knitted together when he finally gives up and leaves the room.

“There you are! I nearly sent someone in there after you!” Yao strides towards him. “Did you speak to Arthur?”

Alfred shakes his head. The Queen wasn’t dead; he and Yao would feel it if that came to pass, but anything else is fair game. Sick, poisoned, unconscious, weak… Alfred’s stomach churns even more. “Where is he? What’s he doing?”

“You know how stubborn he is,” Yao ventures forth. “If he thinks you’ve slighted him…”

“I didn’t slight him! I said I wanted him back home, safe, with me! That’s all!”

“Still, if he’s offended-”

“I’ll send a bird,” Alfred mutters, heading for his office. “I’ll need your help with enchanting it.”

“Of course.”

At his desk, Alfred crafts a letter.

Artie.

I’m really sorry if I said something to piss you off or upset you. It’s been days, and I’ve been waiting for you but you never showed and I’m getting so worried. Please, write back, or something, to let me know that you’re okay. I love you so much.

Alfred

Once it’s done, Alfred carefully starts folding the paper into the shape of a bird, long and sleek. Technically the enchantment doesn’t need a particular shape, Alfred could just roll the paper up and send it on its way, but both he and Arthur like the extra touch the folding gives it. Makes it just a bit more magical.

Arthur was the one who showed him the steps, and while he can replicate the general shape, Arthur’s birds always look prettier than Alfred’s. This one’s beak is crooked, and one wing is shorter than the other. He gives it to Yao anyway, and watches as the Jack enchants the bird and tosses it out the window. It falls for a moment, then flaps its wings and soars northwest. To Arthur. Oh, how Alfred wishes he could join it.

“Now we wait,” Yao says, turning to him.

Alfred sighs, and slumps back in his seat. He rubs his fingertips together, spreading the ink stains on them. “Now we wait.”

~~~~~

Alfred doesn’t know what’s woken him, but when he opens his eyes, Arthur is at the bedside. “Arthur!” His delighted smile withers away when his hands pass right through the Queen, and it’s only once he blinks that he realises there’s a faint glow around his husband.

The image of Arthur lets out a soft chuckle. “Sorry, love. Not yet.”

“How are you-?” Wonder overtakes Alfred’s face as he reaches out again, this time stopping his hand before it reaches the image. It gives his eyes the illusion that he’s touching Arthur, at least. “I’m not in the cave.”

“You’re not.” Arthur looks smug. “I was right, the stuff in those ruins… I’ve learned so many new spells, and some ways of conserving my own magical energy.”

“I’m happy for you.” And he is. He really is. But the ache in his chest won’t abate until Arthur is back home.

Something of that must show on his face, because Arthur looks away. “I got your bird. Your folding still needs work.”

Alfred brings his hands back to himself. “Yeah. You’re better and making ‘em than me.”

The image of Arthur sits down on the bed next to him. “…I miss you too. Very much. And it wasn’t right of me to say that you were overly selfish for wanting me back home.” His voice is soft.

“I love you, Artie. So much.” Out of habit, he leans over to rest his head on Arthur’s shoulder and squawks when he ends up falling sideway onto the mattress instead.

Arthur chuckles behind his hand. “Silly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred grumbles, but he’s smiling too. “So when will you be back?”

“Soon. There’s a particular spell that I still need help to master. Once I’ve done that, I’ll return home.”

“Okay.” Alfred stifles a yawn into his arm. “What kind of spell is it?”

“It’s a secret. But you’ll like it. I’ll show it to you once I’m back.” Arthur’s face softens. “You should go back to sleep now. I didn’t think about the time difference.”

“I can stay up a bit,” Alfred insists. “I wanna look at your face some more.”

“Oh, just my face?” Arthur snorts.

“And listen to you pretty voice for longer.”

“Flatterer.”

“You like it.”

“I do.” Arthur makes a motion as if to stroke Alfred’s hair, then remembers the limits of the magic. “You spoil me far too much, but I can’t help but love it.”

“Spoil you just enough,” Alfred corrects.

Arthur’s smile is fond. “Just enough, then.”

For a moment it’s quiet, with Alfred just gazing at Arthur’s softly glowing form and Arthur looking back at him just the same. Then, Alfred speaks again. “I’m gonna throw you a party. When you get back, that is.”

“Oh?” One of Arthur’s impressive eyebrows rises.

“Yeah. Dunno if we should invite the others, though.”

“Hmm. Would be nice. We haven’t seen anyone since the Club wedding, and I’d like to get to know Elizaveta better.”

“She seemed intense. Different to Ivan, but I dunno if it’s a good or bad thing.” Alfred suddenly chuckles.

“What?”

“Clubs is kinda like us. Intense King and Queen, reserved Jack to keep ‘em in line. Or try, at least.”

Arthur smiles. “I suppose that’s true.” He suddenly looks off to the side. “I have to go. We want to get one more training session in before we eat, and you need to sleep more. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Alfred yawns, then gives Arthur a soft pout. “I miss you.”

“I know. I miss you too.” Arthur reaches out, creates the illusion that he’s caressing Alfred’s cheek. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Promise?” Alfred asks, still petulant.

“Promise.” Arthur blows him a kiss, and then the image disappears.

~~~~~

There’s a dragon in the woods.

The knight who reports the news seems oddly unbothered, but Alfred is too focused on the information to notice. He starts to call for the Ace to dispatch to deal with the threat, but the knight clears her throat.

“The dragon wants you specifically.”

Alfred blinks. “How do you know?”

“That’s what it said.”

“It speaks?! Yao, do dragons speak?”

“There’s been no record of it,” Yao says, then shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean that it’s impossible.”

“Alright-”

“Bear in mind,” Yao continues, “that this might be some sort of trap. I would not advise you to go alone.”

“I’m not that much of an idiot,” Alfred says, standing.

“Hmm.”

The King ignores him and gestures to the knight. “You’ll lead us there. Get something to eat and drink after your journey but be ready to leave in half an hour.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The knight bows and leaves the room.

Alfred gathers a group of twenty knights, and the Ace. His cousin Madeline might not look the part of a fighter, but her strategy and ingenuity are enough to rival Arthur’s, and she’s incredibly proficient with her chosen weapons. Her eyebrows rise up at the news of a dragon, but she’s ready to go in minutes. Dragons are rare, but not unheard of. The last sighting had been a century ago, in Alfred’s great-grandfather’s time.

He can’t imagine what this one might want. Gold? Jewels? Surely it would just take them by force. A princess? Spades didn’t even have a princess. A treaty of some sort, then? Alfred doesn’t even know what sort of treaty a dragon might propose. All he does know is that so far, the great beast hasn’t been hostile.

The knight leads the way to where the dragon is laid out, in a clearing in the forest about half an hour’s march from the city. They hear it before it comes into view, its breathing rumbling through the air like a huge bellows.

Its scales are a vibrant, iridescent green, and shimmer like jewels in the sun. The dragon is about five times the size of a horse with a wingspan that covers half the clearing when it unfurls its wings. Though at first it’s wary, it seems to relax once more when it sees the Spades standard. The dragon’s head is framed by golden spikes which continue down its spine.

Beautiful, Alfred thinks. “I was told you wanted to speak to me,” he then says.

“I do, my King,” the dragon says, voice reverberating within Alfred’s head.

Alfred’s eyes narrow. Then he abruptly dismounts from his horse and steps forward. His suspicions are confirmed as the dragon smirks. “…Arthur?”

A purring rumble of affirmation comes from the dragon’s – Arthur’s – throat, and his head snakes forward. “What do you think?”

Alfred lets out a cry of amazement and rushes forward, hugging Arthur’s snout tightly. “Oh gods, Arthur! What- How- Did you get cursed?”

Arthur laughs, pressing his nose up against Arthur’s chest with force nearly enough to knock the King over. “This is the spell I was talking about a few nights ago. The spell we found in the ruins, the power that was seeping out.”

“Whoa…” Alfred runs a hand across Arthur’s cheek, marvelling at the texture of the scales. But how…?”

“The dragons are dwindling in numbers. Because of hunting and sickness and just time. They’re powerful, though. So much more powerful than we can imagine, especially with magic. They can fragment off a part of their souls and bond it with a human’s. The human then changes, becomes not quite human, not quite dragon, but able to shift into both. Able to further both legacies.” Arthur’s form shimmers and buckles, and a moment later Alfred has the familiar, slight figure of the Queen of Spades in his arms.

“Whoa… That’s really cool,” Alfred says, but he’s slightly distracted now that he’s got Arthur’s body in his hold to touch and caress.

Arthur chuckles again, knowing this, and leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Alfred’s mouth. “I’m home now, though.”

The Spadian had stopped next to a mirror and was, for lack of a better word, peacocking in front of it. Smiling and smirking to himself, running a hand down the side of his long dark blue and silver coat to smooth it down and momentarily allowing the rapier at his hip to be visible.

“The food had better be good,” he muttered, “for why else would I entertain myself with this miserable place? Even the inside seems frozen over.”

Arthur had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s not a very kingly thing to say, is it?” he asked quietly, stepping closer. Of course he knew this man was the true King of Spades, and it wasn’t hard to see exactly what kind of person this King was; pompous, full of himself, a spoilt brat of a royal. “Especially out in the open, where anyone could hear.”

Those blue eyes locked onto Arthur’s figure through the mirror. The King of Spades ran his fingers through his low ponytail nonchalantly and didn’t bother turning around. “Perhaps it isn’t,” he replied, voice playful and recognizing no guilt. “A good King spins pleasant lies, but a great King speaks the truth. At least, that’s what my father always told me.”

“Hmm.” Arthur neither sounded nor looked impressed.

The other man finally turned to face him, offering a polite smile. “He also told me not many royals would agree with that.” The modest grin spread, revealing white teeth that contrasted with his tanned skin. “The Kingdom of Spades wishes you a happy birthday, even though it seems that you’re not enjoying too much of it. It’s a pleasure, Queen Arthur. Ivan has weaved many tales about you, and you are even lovelier than he gave you credit for.” He reached his hand out to the Queen, palm upward, was the custom.

For a moment, it seemed as though Arthur would refuse the King’s gesture and leave the hand hanging there, but eventually he reached out and delicately placed his hand atop the other man’s. This was definitely a child of a ruler, but Arthur knew he had to be at least polite, or he’d get it from Ivan later. That’s the last thing I need, to top this whole farce off, he thought bitterly, but forced a smile onto his face. “Thank you for your wishes,” he replied, coolly if not a little coldly.

The Spadian King’s touch was surprisingly gentle on the Queen’s hand as he brought it up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the gloved back. He spoke a formality in Old Spadian before releasing the hand, pocketing his own deep into his coat. The bow had released a few strands of hair from his ponytail that now fell into his face- which would have made him look aloof if not for the smile.

Holding himself perfectly still, Arthur didn’t even look like he was breathing until he had been released.

The King kept on grinning. “Has dear King Ivan stepped on your feet one too many times to deserve to be left alone on the dance floor? He did have that habit, at least back when we were young.”

“I thank you for your concern, but I merely wished to step outside for a moment for some air. You need not worry yourself with Ivan’s dancing.” Despite himself, Arthur’s smile twisted into a smirk. “Though knowing your kind, I suppose if I’d given you the opportunity, you would have started waxing on about how great of a dancer you are?”

“I learned my dances from the best,” the King replied, leaning his shoulder against the ice. “It seems I’ve been caught before my escape plan could come to fruition, so I could prove my prowess to you on the dance floor if you’d like, my Queen.”

He was talking, of course, about the false King of Spades that was weaving through the crowd back in the ballroom.

Arthur resisted the urge to snort. Yeah, this King was exactly what he’d expected. “Escape plan, hmm? And are you sure it’s wise to be telling me about that?” he asked, one of his eyebrows arching. “I could very well be offended that you find a party in my honour so dull. It would be the simplest thing to tell my…loving King about the slight you’ve given us.” He completely ignored the offer to dance.

“Oh, that old boy would just laugh it off, don’t I know him,” the other man said, shrugging away the notion that anything bad might have come from his unorthodox behaviour. He glanced to Arthur. “If you want, I could take you with me.”

Arthur did let out a laugh at that. “Stealing away the Queen? You are bold, my dear King of Spades. I can almost appreciate that.” He half-turned, smirking at the other royal and staring at him from half-lidded eyes. He definitely didn’t miss how the Spades King appeared dumbstruck for a moment. “Unfortunately, I will have to decline. I actually have duties to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me…” He started walking back towards the ballroom, though paused after just a few steps. “Pity you won’t be sticking around. Perhaps I would have taken you up on that dance later on. Though, this might be for the best. I’m sure you wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me anyway,” he murmured, his smirk widening as he left the bait hanging there in front of the King’s open mouth and continued forward.

Confident that he’d be seeing more of the actual Spades King later on, Arthur weaved easily through the crowd. He ignored both servants and nobility, and took extra care to avoid the King of Diamonds. King Francis was an aggressive flirt with an abrasive personality that reminded Arthur too much of him- the cause of all of Arthur’s troubles. And Arthur really didn’t want to cause a huge scene by punching another royal. Out of the corner of his eye he once again saw the false Spades King trying to get his attention, and was happy to ignore that man too. Though the thought of going up to the imposter did cross his mind briefly, he was just as quick to brush it away. There was no point, really. He’d met the real one already, for all that was worth.

He made a beeline for the refreshment tables instead, and especially the lone platter of salty mackerel and tuna. There were only a few pieces left, to his annoyance, and he was quick to snap them all up. Politeness be damned, saltwater fish were a delicacy. Ivan didn’t often allow them into the castle. Munching away on the last of the tuna, he allowed a neutral, almost content expression to settle over his face.

“Arthur,” a low voice murmured to him a few minutes later.

Arthur turned to meet Ivan’s violet eyes. His back stiffened. “Ivan.”

“Where were you? You vanished.” The Clubs King’s mouth stretched down into a soft pout.

“I didn’t go outside,” Arthur immediately snapped, though he kept his voice low enough that no one else would notice. “The air in here grew stifling.”

“It always gets stifling when you’re pressed into the corners. The dance floor looks like it has more room.” Ivan gave him a small, hopeful smile. “Dance with me, my Queen?”

The request was a simple one. Such a simple one, phrased so innocently, but Arthur knew better, and he couldn’t dare refuse. Instead, he returned a bland smile to the taller man. “Of course, my King. It would be my absolute pleasure.”

Ivan’s smile faded somewhat, though he still took hold of Arthur’s elbow and led him to the dance floor. Some of the murmuring voices hushed as royalty and nobility alike turned to watch the host King and Queen dance. The pair moved well together, if a bit rigidly. Arthur made no excess movements, no effort to dance with grace. He moved mechanically, like an automaton, and a few times it almost seemed like Ivan had to pull and tug him along. The King of Clubs watched him carefully as they spun and twirled.

“Arthur, please,” he whispered when the music shifted to a second song and nothing changed. He leaned in for a kiss.

At the last second, Arthur turned his face so Ivan’s lips pressed against his cheek. “You asked me to dance. I’m dancing.”

His mouth opened, but then Ivan just sighed and pouted again.

Arthur ignored him. His green eyes swept the crowd to where everyone not dancing was looking at them and seemed to be talking amongst themselves. He spotted the two Kings of Spades next to each other, the crown back on the rightful man’s head. Briefly, he wondered what a dance with the other King might look like. Would it be more or less of a farce than this? He waved the thoughts away and focused his gaze on the clasp of Ivan’s cloak as he waited for it to be over.

It seemed as if the man had heard his thoughts, because at the next quick break the musicians used to tune their instruments, there was a touch on his arm. Arthur flinched, then turned to meet the eyes of the King of Spades.

“I believe you owe me a challenge, fair Queen,” the blond man said, ignoring Ivan and the murmuring crowd around them.

Arthur’s expression didn’t betray any emotion. “My, how eager you are to lose,” he murmured. “It hasn’t even been an hour.” Then, seeming to remember himself, he glanced to Ivan. “May I?”

Glancing between the two of them, Ivan eventually nodded. His grip tightened on Arthur’s body. “We will dance more later?”

“…Of course.” Arthur smiled at him and then disentangled himself, stepping closer to the other King. “Very well, King Alfred. Let us see where those dances from the best left you.” He didn’t spare Ivan a glance as the Clubs King retreated to the side of the ballroom.

Alfred accepted Arthur’s hand and confidently led him to the centre of the dance floor. “Say,” he said, before the music started. “I couldn’t help but to notice the tension between you and your King. You are…alright, are you not?”

Arthur couldn’t help the small amount of warmth that coiled in his stomach at Alfred’s question. It was…sweet, even though it was sad that he had to ask it in the first place. “I’m fine,” he replied. “There is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I am unhurt, and this is my home.” He gave Alfred a polite, distant smile.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Alfred told him.

The music swelled and the Spadian King immediately took a strong lead in their dance. He moulded his steps to the music rather than a rigid pattern, and Arthur was so surprised that for a moment it was all he could do was follow. His body, lax with shock, was whirled and moved by Alfred’s will alone. Alfred wasn’t too forceful, though, and once Arthur had recovered he was able to push back against him. He spun faster and stepped out further, forcing Alfred to chase after him a little bit.

He didn’t stop there, stepping into Alfred’s personal space to force him in the direction that he wanted to go- almost as if he was trying to take the lead occasionally. To his surprise Alfred was game for it, following for a little while before tugging the lead back. A spin, followed by a dip, and Alfred was leaning over Arthur, smiling down at him warmly.

Arthur very pointedly tried to ignore the way his heart leapt, both at the dip and the sight of Alfred’s bright smile above him. His eyes slid to the side, and he allowed Alfred a few beats of control again while he composed himself. Snap out of it, Arthur. Don’t you dare get any foolish ideas. He rebalanced himself and seized the lead, spinning Alfred out even further than before, then reeling him back in until they all but crashed into each other. He barely gave Alfred time to breathe before they were moving again, whirling around the perimeter of the dance floor.

“You’re not doing as badly as I feared you would, I’ll admit,” he said, smirking up at the King. “But this dancing is still nothing special.” The dancing he really loved, really poured his heart and soul into, he hadn’t been able to do in what felt like eons. It was slowly fading from his memory. Arthur roughly dipped the taller man to distract himself, his green eyes gleaming in the light of the chandeliers.

“Oh, well thank you, Your Majesty,” Alfred replied, his voice teasing, before a ‘whoa’ escaped his lips at the dip. He laughed loudly as he came back up, and smiled even louder. They moved away from one another, hands still linked, and when they came back together Alfred used the opportunity to take back the dance, pulling the Queen a little bit closer than when they had started and adjusting his pace to the slower melody that now played. “My offer to steal you away still stands, Queen Arthur. There are many dances out there to be danced, for fun, not for a good show for a bunch of stuck-up nobles who see us as walking bags of gold.”

At this, however, Arthur’s energy diminished somewhat, and the line of his shoulders grew rigid. Alfred was foolish, true, and childish, and bright and warm, but he was also dangerous. Unquestionably dangerous. The Clubs Queen had forgotten himself, his place. Arthur’s relief was palpable as the music faded, and he stopped his dancing when they were off to the side.

“And how do you know,” he asked quietly, removing himself from Alfred’s hold, “that I haven’t been stolen already?” For the first time in his life, he was glad to see Ivan waving him over. “It seems I’m being summoned. Thank you for the dance, now please excuse me.”

Inclining his head to Alfred, he then spun around on his heel and strode to his King’s side. This time when Ivan’s arm snaked around Arthur’s shoulders, his face didn’t betray any expression at all.

“I wish you’d dance like that with me,” Ivan mused.

Arthur didn’t respond, and luckily Ivan didn’t press him to. Instead, they did another round of the room, Ivan chatting with various nobility and Arthur trying not to look too bored. The Jack of Hearts gave him a sympathetic glance when they passed, though Arthur’s returning look was quite chilly. He didn’t need sympathy. He didn’t need pity. Anger and hatred fuelled him, would keep him going until the time was right.

“Alfred!” Ivan called, jolting Arthur out of his thoughts. “Matthew! I haven’t properly introduced my Queen to you- well, at least to one of you.” He glanced curiously to Alfred, and his grip on Arthur was almost possessive.

Turning his attention to Matthew, Arthur gave a stiff bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” Matthew replied, offering a bow in return.

Alfred stuck his hands into the pockets of his cloak and gave Ivan a questioning look. “King Ivan, I’m perplexed that you didn’t invite us to the wedding! Surely a loving couple like yourselves must have had a grand celebration!”

Sighing softly, Matthew elbowed his brother in the ribs. “What he meant to say,” he said with an apologetic smile, “was that we regret missing such an occasion and wish we could have given our congratulations to the couple at the proper time.”

Ivan shifted on his feet. “Yes, well-”

“There was no wedding,” Arthur said shortly. “We aren’t married.”

“Arthur…” Ivan peered mournfully down at his Queen, and his brows furrowed even more when he was ignored.

“There are also no plans for marriage in the future.” Arthur’s voice was low and firm. “I am Queen in name, and Ivan is my King, but marriage between us is inconceivable.”

The two Spadians glanced between each other for a long while. “Well, I hope your rule is fruitful despite this,” Matthew finally said after a moment.

“Thank you. Ivan isn’t as much of an idiot as his predecessors, so I’m sure that under his rule Clubs will begin to return more to its former glory,” Arthur said sweetly, glancing up at Ivan. “Isn’t that right, love?” His smile was razor sharp.

Ivan looked uncomfortable for a moment, before his eyes hardened. “Where is your coat, Arthur?”

Arthur’s expression darkened. The power play between them was multi-layered and nuanced, but the Queen knew when he he’d stepped out of bounds. “I’m afraid I misplaced it, my King,” he gritted out. “I apologize.” Shifting his attention to Matthew and Alfred, he bowed to them again. His eyes lingered on the Spades King’s features for a touch longer than necessary. “Some of the nobles are looking quite ignored. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go…entertain them.”

He all but wrenched his arm from Ivan’s grip and stalked away, back towards the food tables. There was nothing left that interested him, but if he was at least nibbling on something, most of the nobility would leave him alone. Most.

“Queen Arthur,” someone said.

Arthur’s mood further darkened when he turned around and spotted one of the older Clubs Lords behind him. “Can I help you?”

The man smiled thinly. “I was hoping I would be able to snag a dance with the False Queen before the night was over.”

“Don’t call me that, and you just might,” Arthur replied stiffly.

“Of course, of course, Your Majesty.” The Lord reached out and snatched up Arthur’s hands, dragging him to the dance floor. “You’ll forgive me, I hope, if I’m a bit rusty. It’s been so long since I’ve last danced, and even longer since my last one with you.”

“Not long enough,” Arthur muttered.

“Hmm?”

“I said, it’s been long enough, since Clubs had something to celebrate.”

“Indeed.” The Lord yanked Arthur more tightly against himself. “Don’t you get bored here?”

Arthur eyed the man sharply. “What’s your point?”

“You seem…agitated. Frustrated.”

“I wonder why.” The Queen bit back a growl as he was pulled even closer to the older man’s body.

“The Blizzard Council still isn’t sure what involvement you might have had in King Petr’s death.”

One of Arthur’s eyebrows arched. “Are you accusing your Queen without proof?”

“You bear no mark. You are not Clubs’ true Queen.”

“And yet I’ve been crowned. I suggest you don’t overstep your boundaries, Lord Morozov.”

The Lord gave a cruel smile. “And I suggest you don’t forget what you are, pet.”

Arthur wrenched himself free. “Don’t you dare call me that,” he spat, no longer able to keep his expression neutral.

Nearly everyone in the room turned to look at them. Disgusted but also embarrassed at the scene, he whirled away and stalked towards the doors.

“Arthur!” Ivan called, hurrying to intercept him and leaving a confused Alfred and Matthew in his wake.

Arthur shot him a glare cold enough to stop the King in his tracks before continuing out of the room. Though part of him was curious as to Alfred’s exact expression, he didn’t allow himself to look. He didn’t allow himself to hope.

His hands clenched tightly at his sides when he finally managed to escape the ballroom. ‘This will be a good opportunity,’ the Blizzard Council had promised. Arthur snorted. Good opportunity for what? Parading him around? Pushing him until he snapped and did something to embarrass Clubs? There was little love lost between the Council and the Queen. They’d always disliked the fact Arthur had been crowned, and he’d always hated them by virtue of their humanity. Ivan’s fondness of him protected Arthur from them, but also kept him trapped in Clubs.

He growled and slammed the door to the royal baths shut behind him. One of the pools was soon filled with lukewarm water and Arthur fell back into it, clothes and all. Only beneath the water was he able to relax a little bit, and time slipped away from him as he soaked. The water was freezing by the time he finally rose out of it. He stripped from the damp clothes, leaving them in a sopping pile by the poolside, and put on a thin white nightgown after rubbing a towel through his hair.

It wasn’t long after that he stalked through the gardens, his sandy hair gleaming almost silver under the light of the full moon. His feet were bare as he stole along the snow-dusted path. The weather had been a touch milder than usual so there was only about an inch of snow on the ground, but it was still enough for him to leave a trail of footprints. The thin fabric of the nightgown shivered and bowed against the wind, but Arthur still walked confidently towards the far corner of the castle grounds.

The old Astronomer’s Tower speared the sky near the joining of the northern and eastern walls. It was also known as the Old Tower and the North Tower; lately, ‘Queen’s Tower’ and ‘Monster’s Tower’ had been added to the list of names. No one stopped Arthur along the way, and there was no one inside the tower to meet him. He’d claimed it as his own, and everyone within the castle walls knew it. The Queen climbed the one hundred and fifty steps alone, lit a few candles in the empty room at the top, and then stepped out onto the balcony to commence his nightly vigil.

“You’ll freeze to your death here yet,” a voice murmured sometime later, warm hands draping a heavy cloak over his shoulders.

Stiffening at the touch, Arthur’s eyes jerked from the far horizon to focus on Alfred’s face. When he recognized the Spadian King he relaxed a little bit, though his expression was still wary as he assessed the situation. His arms moved up, fingers trailing through the fur trimmings. Goosebumps rippled across his skin from the shift in temperature.

“Alfred. What are you doing here? This is yours, you should wear it. You’re not as used to the cold as I am.” He started shrugging the cloak off.

“Hey, don’t you worry about me,” Alfred said, the corners of his lips quirking up. “I basically grew up on the seas and docks. These little inland breezes have nothing on a good ol’ storm out on the open sea.” He reached out, only to pull the cloak tighter around Arthur’s shoulders.

Despite himself, Arthur managed a small smirk. “Oh trust me, I know how rough the seas can get.” Even if he hadn’t felt it in ages, and most certainly had a different perspective. He turned his head to the side, eyes seeking out the horizon once more, though he didn’t step away from Alfred’s body.

“I wanted to check on you, too,” Alfred continued. “I uh- Ivan seemed pretty upset, heh, at me too when I told him he should maybe lay off the awkward attempts at husband emulation. I know he can be a bit rash, so I dunno. I guess I got a bit worried when I saw you marching through snow barefoot.”

Arthur’s hands fisted in the fabric of the cloak. “Ivan seemed upset, did he?” he spat, anger simmering within his expression. “Did Ivan send you here as well? Are you his spy now? If so, then kindly fuck off. I neither need nor want your forced concern.”

“I am nobody’s spy, Queen Arthur. I did not have to leave my nice and warm chambers to trudge through snow and walk up stairs to check on you, and I certainly wouldn’t do all of this if Ivan had asked me to. I am half-blind, my feet are soaked from the snow, and my hair has never seen a worse day- yet I’m still here, offering you my concern.” Alfred ran a hand through his tangled hair. “By the Mage, you are difficult. If you don’t want me here, just say so and I’ll go back between my silken sheets and forget I scaled half the castle and most of the courtyard by hearing because – imagine – I was worried about you.”

Arthur couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter. The merriment shook his frame and echoed in the still air. After a moment, he lifted part of the cloak to cover his mouth and try to stifle it. Really, how much more spoilt could someone get? Immediately moaning about silken sheets and damp shoes and a bad hair day. Oh, that had certainly made Arthur’s night. Slowly, his laughs faded away and he took a few deep breaths. His eyes slid over to meet Alfred’s annoyed gaze, then focused on the banister of the balcony.

The Queen released the cloak and placed his hands instead into the inch or so of snow gathered there. “Why were you worried?” he asked softly. “I am not your Queen, so why do you care? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Should I not care for my brother because he is not my Queen? Should I not care for my people because they aren’t royalty? Should I turn a deaf ear to the calls of the occupied Kingdoms because they are not on my land? You are not my Queen, but neither are you Ivan’s, and if not him, then there must be someone else to worry about you. Being forgotten is a fate worse than many other.”

Arthur’s fingertips scraped against the stone of the banister. He ignored the burning pain that shot up his forearms. “I am Ivan’s Queen. For better or worse, I am the current Queen of Clubs, so don’t you dare say otherwise. As to being forgotten, well. I think I would prefer that path to the one I’ve been forced to follow.”

“For worse, considering your King is courting a Prince of Spades,” Alfred said, his voice seeping with bitterness. He reached out a moment later, laying his hand softly on Arthur’s. “What’s going on in this castle? It feels like everyone is miserable here.”

The touch startled Arthur out of his thoughts. He shook away questions like It was a good thing, right? and Would he be replaced if Ivan and Matthew took things further? and Would he lose the only bargaining chip he had? and had to avert his gaze. If he looked into those bright blue eyes for too long he might spill everything, and then it really would be the end.

“Everyone is miserable here,” he managed to say with a somewhat steady voice. “After all, we live in eternal winter.” By that point his feet and hands had gone numb from the cold, and his lips were taking on a blue tint.

“Your people make the best of it. Those who remain, anyway,” Arthur said, before gently taking Arthur’s hand off the cold stone and into his own, warm fingers trying to rub some heat back into the frozen skin. “We should get you inside,” he murmured. “The guests are all gone by now and the King is busy in his study. You should be able to relax in the warmth.”

But Arthur shook his head. “No, I’d like to stay here a bit longer.” He shivered at the contact between them, watching how Alfred’s fingers moved against his skin. “I can never relax in there. This is the only place I feel…” Free. “You don’t have to stay with me. If you wish to go back to your comforts, then go ahead.”

“Very well. I’ll stay too, in that case.” The young King took the Queen’s other hand as well and moved closer to him, offering body heat that seemed to outlast any cold weather that Clubs could throw at him. He remained silent after that, watching the stars as his fingers kneaded Arthur’s delicate skin, trying to keep it from completely freezing.

Arthur lifted his eyes to Alfred’s face then, taking in the planes and shadows of his features under the light of the night sky. “We can at least share the cloak, can we not?” He slipped his hands from Alfred’s and slung the heavy cloth around the taller man’s shoulders as well, then slowly stepped even closer to him until they were nearly flush together. Afterward, he ducked back under the edge of it, and his hands automatically reached for Alfred’s again. “Ah.” He froze before he could touch him, though. “Is this alright?”

Though Alfred had tensed at the closeness, and momentary shock and surprised flitted across his face, he was soon smiling. He positioned Arthur so they could both hide in the cover of the warm fabric. His smile widened and became more encouraging when he saw Arthur’s hesitation, and he closed the distance between their hands himself.

“Quite. Let’s try to keep you warm, hm?” he murmured, thumbs now trailing more meandering patterns into that pale skin, careful and appreciative as if bent on learning all there was to Arthur’s hands.

Warmth coiled in Arthur’s belly the moment his hands were cradled within Alfred’s again. It felt foreign, but not unwelcome. For a while, he watched their joined hands, but before long his gaze was pulled towards the mountains. “If I look long and hard enough,” he confessed, his voice barely audible, “it sometimes feels as though I’m able to see the ocean again from here.”

Alfred followed Arthur’s eyes to the mountains, beyond which the Devil’s Sea lay, frozen over and desolate of life. “Did you live by the sea before?” he asked.

“Yes, you could say I did.”

“It’s gorgeous this time of year, isn’t it?”

“I…think I remember it being so. I haven’t seen it in so long I confess it’s fading from my memory.”

Alfred hummed. “The fish swim so close to the surface that the water looks as if it were made of pure silver, and the spring storms clean away any filth. It smells fresh, like a new beginning. Like home.” He then chuckled, squeezing Arthur’s freezing hands more tightly. “A bit like you.”

Arthur’s fingers twitched, and one of his eyebrows arched high as he tilted his head up to glance at Alfred’s face again. “I smell like home? Well that’s highly unlikely. Are you sure the cold isn’t getting to you?”

Alfred laughed. “You smell like the sea, Art,” he said, grinning. “Y’know, a little fishy.”

“How rude of you,” Arthur said, though his tone was still light. He smiled a bit more as he eased one of his hands free and used it to scoop up some snow. In a flash he had deposited it onto Alfred’s face, practically cupping the Spades King’s cheek as he pressed the snow to his skin. “Also, my name is not ‘Art’.”

Alfred, master of all combat, failed to see the attack coming. He gasped, quickly scraping the freezing snow off his skin and pressing what he could salvage against Arthur instead. He grinned at Arthur’s gasp. “Your nickname is,” he said, chuckling and, a little sheepishly, took to brushing the rest of the snow off Arthur’s cheek. “King Alfred the Rude? Sounds as good as anything.”

Arthur couldn’t help laughing at their antics. What were they, children? The whole situation was foolish, but…he found he didn’t really mind. “It certainly fits you,” he teased, leaning the tiniest bit into Alfred’s fingers while they were still against his skin.

They seemed to curl a little more, caressing him, before Alfred took his hand away. “but really, why not visit it then, if you’re forgetting what the sea is like? Surely you could take a diplomatic trip to the Spades shores? It’s beautiful there, and the people are nice.”

As warm as his insides had gotten from the nickname and the gentle brush of Alfred’s fingers against his cheek, Arthur’s core flared hotter still at the offer. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself; it had been a long, long while since spending time, alone, in such close quarters with a man had left him so relaxed. So…longing for more. He adjusted the edge of the cloak so it rose higher around his shoulders, covering his cheeks reddened from the snow and the warmth he felt inside.

But…

“As tempting as your offer of a visit sounds, it would be impossible. I’m not- I’m unable to leave here.” The Queen bit down on his lip. Well that sounds suspicious- shit. “I made…a promise to Ivan, and I intend to keep it. But thank you.” He offered Alfred a small, slightly sad smile.

Alfred’s own smile dulled as he averted his gaze, as if realizing the intimate atmosphere between them. He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t have the magic to gift you a likeness of the sea,” he said, slipping back into a more formal manner, “but I will remember to bring you something back from it when I return to Clubs.”

Arthur’s back stiffened. After so long of being so observant of the men around him, he caught the shift within the King instantly. The realization was like a handful of snow shoved against his back, and his own smile fell away. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he told him, stepping out from underneath the cloak. “I tend to stay up here for hours. Really, you should return to your chambers now. You’ll have a long journey home tomorrow.”

Alfred sighed when he found himself alone against the cold once more. “Arthur,” he began, then hesitated, then stepped after the Queen, catching him by the waist and pulling him close. “I wish our circumstances were different, my Queen, but I will come back for you, even if just to lay my eyes on you again,” he vowed, releasing Arthur once he’d finished speaking. He threw his cloak over Arthur’s shoulders and gave him a dashing Spadian smile as he moved towards the stairs. “Just give it back to me next time, kay?”

This time it was Arthur who moved after Alfred, reaching out to catch him by the wrist. His eyes were wider than usual, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears. What was he doing, what was he doing? “My King, I-”

In a moment of selfishness, he adjusted the cloak more snugly around his shoulders instead of giving it back. He wanted Alfred to return for him. He wanted what Alfred was promising, despite the fear humming in his veins. In his heart. As Alfred turned to look at him, Arthur leaned up and pressed the tiniest of kisses to the King’s cheek. His cold lips brushed more against beard than skin, and were gone after not even a second had passed.

“Thank you, for both your concern and your company. It wasn’t awful spending time with you, I suppose,” he said, his lips quirking upward.

“I guess I didn’t have too awful of a time, either,” he replied, resting his hand on Arthur’s for a moment. Then, as if the King had been left behind so easily, he grinned and in a thick accent more suited for the fields than a castle said, “I’ll see ya ‘round, Art.” With a wave over his shoulder he was then gone, trudging back towards the main castle.

Oh heavens above, Alfred would actually be the end of him. Arthur buried his face into the warm cloak and let out a groan. That accent, and that goddamn nickname. It was infuriating and somewhat frightening how quickly Alfred was slipping past all of his carefully erected and maintained barriers. The Queen watched the King’s small figure on the ground until he was gone from sight, and then let out a sigh as he once more turned towards the mountains. The sea was there, just beyond them. Arthur could almost feel it singing to him, but he could neither hear it nor leave his gilded cage to answer.

He only left the tower when the moon started sinking low in the sky and slipped back into the castle with only a few guards for witnesses. The heavy cloak was stowed in the very back of his wardrobe, and when he finally slid into bed, he fell asleep to the burn in his limbs as warmth returned to them.

In the morning he watched from his bedroom balcony as the Spadian procession left. Matthew led the small column, the King’s prize war steed tied to the Prince’s young Arabian. The King himself was draped over the neck of his mount, as if an exotic pelt that snored very, very loudly. Arthur could even hear a few from his balcony before the group left the castle grounds, and he smiled.

“That’s true. Are you scared, Arthur?”

Arthur sighed and loosened his grip on the pillow. “No. Yes. Well… A little. How can I not be? But I hate that I am, because I- I can’t help but hope that my Alfred is still somewhere in there.”

Feliciano reached across the distance between them and pulled Arthur into a one-armed hug. “You won’t know until you talk to him. Don’t worry so much. I know that’s a silly thing to say, but really. There’s nothing you can do about it now except take care of yourself. Eat. Drink. Cry all you want. I can bring you your phone if you need it, but you should probably use mine if you’re going to call someone.”

“Why?” Arthur frowned at him.

“Well, if Alfred was sent to kill you and you’re alive and in hiding, you should probably be dead by now. So you shouldn’t use your number anymore.”

Arthur swallowed at the reminder. “…Yes, I suppose that’s true. Thank you.”

Feliciano smiled brightly. “Of course! I’ll go get it for you. Eat, please.”

While the Italian was off fetching the device, Arthur turned his attention back to the lasagne. His stomach was feeling touchy and tender, but he thought that with small bites and plenty of breaks, he could manage to keep some of it down. The pasta was delicious, and the herbal tea helped settle his nerves somewhat. He was even able to focus on the television better, though his shoulders were still tense. His body was hyper aware that Alfred – AlfredAlfredAlfred – was just in the room next door. They were only separated a wall, instead of the Veil.

Please let him be in there, he thought, and shoved more lasagne into his mouth.

“Here you go,” Feliciano said a few minutes later, placing Arthur’s phone and another unlocked smartphone onto the table.

“Thank you,” Arthur murmured. When he unlocked his phone, the message thread between him and his co-worker/manager popped up. He frowned, especially when he noticed the last three texts. One that he’d definitely not written, making an excuse for himself, and two from Elizaveta. The last one was just from half an hour ago.

Are you okay though?

His stomach twisted. Alfred had for sure been thorough, but the fact remained that the other man had gone through his phone. He checked a few other places, his internet history, his recycling bin, his photo albums, but nothing else strange came up until he looked at his call history. A strange number, and a six minute call. Arthur glanced around to make sure he was alone before double tapping the number to call it back.

It was picked up after four rings. “Alfred?” an accented voice asked. “What the hell man, it’s the middle of the night.”

Arthur’s hand tensed its grip on the phone. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” The voice suddenly sounded more awake, and more serious.

“I asked first, and besides that I want to know how you know Alfred and why Alfred called you from my cell phone.”

“Oh…” The man drew out the sound. “Are you Arthur Kirkland, by any chance?”

Arthur further stiffened. “How do you know my name?”

“Relax, I’m not the enemy. My name’s Gilbert Beilschmidt, I’m a friend of Alfred’s from the program. Ludwig’s my little brother. You two still at his house?”

“Y-Yes. Alfred is asleep now. What program do you mean?”

Gilbert was quiet for a moment. “Information is dangerous. It would be better, and safer, if Alfred explained it all. How did you even come across this number? Did Alfred not delete the call from the phone’s history?”

“No.”

“Bastard. Well you delete it. Both of the calls. And here’s some advice: get a new phone and number asap. I have to go. Tell Alfred to call me early tomorrow morning.” The connection went dead.

Slowly, Arthur lowered the phone to his lap. After a moment, he wiped the call history entirely, then cleared the recycle bin and phone’s memory. He swallowed again, so worn out, and more confused than ever. ‘Eat. Drink,’ Feliciano had said, so he did. The lasagne was barely heated anymore and his tea lukewarm, but he managed to finish both the plate and the mug. Only then did he feel ready to pick up his phone again and open Elizaveta’s contact profile. Feliciano’s phone was luckily still unlocked, so he typed her number into the dial screen on it.

“Hello?” she picked up after a few rings.

“Hi, Liz.”

“Oh my god, Arthur, are you okay? What number is this?”

“I’m shaken, but alright for the moment. This is…a friend’s phone. Mine is out of commission.”

“Out of- Arthur, you’re not making any sense. You’re ‘alright for the moment’? What’s that supposed to mean? You’re being really evasive, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Ar-”

“I don’t know, Liz,” Arthur snapped. He then sighed and pinched his nose. “Something happened with someone I love. I’m still mostly in the dark myself, so I can’t tell you everything. But I’m physically alright right now. I’m…sorry I raised my voice at you.”

“It’s okay,” Elizaveta replied. “It sounds like you’re under a lot of stress.”

“I really am. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more at the moment.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe. I’ll cover for you at work no problem, you just focus on yourself and the situation. And let me know if I can do anything to help.”

Arthur smiled. “Thanks, Lizzie. You’re the best.”

“You know it.” Elizaveta chuckled. A muffled call grabbed her attention for a moment, and she was apologetic when she returned. “A last minute customer’s come in, so I have to go. I’m glad you called though, Art, I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” Arthur murmured, and hung up. He hoped he would be able to see her again, though with how Ludwig didn’t even let him look out the window, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

He was still alone in the room, so after a moment he took the empty dishes to the kitchen and started washing them. The sound of running water must have alerted Feliciano, because he came through the doorway a few minutes later.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” He tried tugging Arthur away from the sink, but the Brit was having none of it.

“It’s better than just sitting around and waiting,” he said, gently shaking Feliciano off.

“I guess that’s true,” Feliciano replied with a little laugh. “I’ll dry.” Together, they started working through the rest of the dishes in the sink. Feliciano watched Arthur carefully, and after another moment spoke. “Alfred’s probably going to be out for the rest of the night. Luddy thinks it’d be too big of a risk to move him, though, so we’ll set up a cot for you okay?”

“Okay, yeah. That’ll be fine. Thank you so much for everything, really.”

Feliciano’s face grew pensive. “It’s…scary. When Luddy’s brother Gilbert got out of the secret program, Luddy and I had to go away to Finland for a few months to make sure we’d be safe. Gil told us his friend Alfred helped get him out though, so if we can help Alfred and you now, that makes me happy and I want to do it, no matter how scary it is.”

“…You’re very brave,” Arthur told him softly.

“I’m not,” Feliciano said with another chuckle. “But having Luddy and Gil looking out for us helps me feel safer.”

“Do you think…” Arthur shifted from foot to foot. “Do you think you’d be able to tell me about what it was like? When Gilbert returned.”

“Oh! Oh yes, of course!” Feliciano smiled and got down two fresh mugs. “Do you want some more tea though?”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “Well I can’t refuse tea,” he said as he filled the kettle with water and turned it on. A few minutes later, they were both settled on the couch again.

“Luddy thought Gil had died in a car accident. That’s how Gil told us they – the program, that is – recruits people. Oh, and the program is this secret thing that creates super skilled assassins? So they can kill people in governments they don’t like. Or something like that. Gil didn’t really want to talk about it too much, so Luddy and I didn’t ask.”

“Did… Was Gilbert sent to kill Ludwig?”

Feliciano looked momentarily horrified, but he then gave a loud laugh. “No, no. From what we know, Gil just wasn’t good at following orders and it was really hard to brainwash him and one day he did some digging and found his file. Then, with Alfred’s help, he was able to get out. I don’t know how it happened, though.” He looked down, smiling sadly at the table. “He just showed up at our door one evening. Ludwig cried a lot. It was…hard. Gilbert didn’t remember anything at first, which made both him and Luddy sad and frustrated. Luddy had his brother back, but not really, and Gil wanted to be normal but he just couldn’t be.”

Arthur knew Ludwig’s feelings well. But the question was, did Alfred want to be ‘normal’? Did he know what normal had been? “Did it get better?”

“Yeah, but slowly.” Feliciano’s fingers tapped away at the rim of the mug. “And there were lots of tense times too. Gil had bad nightmares, and Luddy didn’t let me be alone with Gil for a while after he found Gil’s guns. But the more they talked and spent time together, the more they understood each other again and some of Gilbert’s memories came back too.”

“Some, but not all?”

“Do you remember every single thing that’s happened to you? The important ones came back, and some really small moments keep coming back even now.”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you for telling me all of this, Feliciano. It’s helped put me at ease a little bit.”

“I’m glad.” Feliciano beamed. “It makes me so happy that I could help! I really hope that things work out with you and Alfred.”

“Thank you. I…I really hope so too. Someone out there has given us a second chance.”

Feliciano glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Alfred did. Alfred gave you a second chance even when he didn’t remember much. I know you’re hurting, but so is he. And you’re both allowed to. But try not to take yours out on him, because he’s a victim too.” When Arthur shot him an almost scandalised look, Feliciano chuckled and waved a hand. “I was getting a feeling you might get uh…accusatory? With him.”

Arthur pursed his lips and thought about it for a moment. Eventually, he had to concede that yeah, it was likely his own hurt would have caused him to get aggressive with Alfred. “…Perhaps.”

“It’s understandable. You were really hurt. You both were.”

“…Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence after that, with Feliciano giving Arthur some time to think over the new information and re-process his feelings. Arthur sipped at his tea, and though his chest still felt scrubbed raw, he didn’t think that he would cry so easily, or pass out again. His mind was racing through possibilities instead; what Alfred might say, what he might do, and where they would both go from here. Would he even be able to go back ho-

His eyes widened. “Vicky.”

“Hm?”

“Feliciano, are you or Ludwig allergic to cats?”

“No.” Feliciano’s eyes lit up. “Do you have one?”

“Yes. Would my friend be able to bring her here? She’s an older lady, so she won’t cause any fuss.”

“Mmm, I don’t see a problem with it, but Luddy might want to drive over and get your kitty himself, for safety and stuff.”

“I don’t mind. As long as I can get my Vicky.”

Feliciano smiled and slid over his phone. “Call your friend. She can at least check on your Vicky until you can be reunited. Does Alfred know her?”

Arthur’s gaze lowered. “We adopted her together. He should remember, but she’s just a little cat, so it’s quite unlikely.”

“How about her remembering him?”

“It’s been so long, I’d be very surprised, but maybe…”

“Well it’s possible! I’m gonna go check on Luddy, see if he needs anything.” With a reassuring grin towards Arthur, Feliciano stood up and vanished into the guest bedroom.

Arthur stared at the phone for a few seconds, and sighed before tapping on the most recent call in the history.

“Arthur?” Elizaveta sounded worried. “What’s up, why are you calling? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing serious. I just remembered that Vicky’s home all alone. Would you be able to take her to your place for the night?”

“Oh, sure! Poor thing, I bet she’s worried since it’s so late and you haven’t come home yet. I can take her for a few days, if you need it.”

Arthur hesitated, his grip tightening on the phone again. “No, no… My friend will come pick her up tomorrow. From the store, in the morning.”

There was a silence from Elizaveta’s side of the line as well. “Arthur, you know you…you can trust me, right?”

“I know.” Arthur was glad no one could see his flinch.

“Then why won’t you tell me-”

“It’s not a matter of trust, Liz. It’s a matter of safety. Keep your head down, don’t go poking around, don’t ask questions, don’t answer questions.”

Another silence, then, quietly, “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Something very scary. But please, just- Vicky.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I’ll go grab her.”

“Thank you. Either Ludwig, a big blond or Feliciano, a small brunet, or both, will come by the shop to pick her up tomorrow.”

“Alright. See you soon?”

“See you soon.” Arthur ended the call and watched the screen fade to black as he locked the phone. “I hope.”

Both Ludwig and Feliciano emerged from the guest bedroom a few minutes later, and bustled about to set up the cot. Feliciano also gave him a change of clothes for the night, which were a tiny bit snug but overall fit when Arthur changed into them. He helped them with the duvet and blanket, though he couldn’t help occasionally peeking over at the closed door to the guest room.

“Alfred is still asleep,” Ludwig told him.

Arthur couldn’t help jolting a little bit. “Oh- yes, I figured. That’s good, I suppose. I’m just a bit nervous. He’s right there.”

“And yet he isn’t.”

Green eyes turned to meet pale blue, full of understanding. “And yet he isn’t.”

“He will come back. Just like Gilbert did.” Ludwig clapped him on the back.

Arthur gave him a small smile. “I hope so. Thank you again for your help, really. It means so much to me.”

“Of course. Now go get some sleep. Lots of important conversations will happen tomorrow.”

The smile became somewhat strained. “Yeah.” The rest of their lives would be decided tomorrow, and the day after. “Thank you. Good night, both of you.”

Feliciano gave him a little wave, then tugged Ludwig off towards the master bedroom, Ludwig’s arm wrapped protectively over his shoulders. That door clicked shut seconds later, and Arthur was left alone again. He couldn’t help himself and crept over to the guest bedroom, cracking that door open.

A shaft of light spilled over the floor towards the bed, providing just enough brightness for Arthur to be able to see Alfred’s face. Alfred was laid out on his back, a cloth covering his forehead. His arms were on top of the sheets, hands fisted tight with tension. Arthur’s heart squeezed again. The man in the bed didn’t look very different. His old heartbreak from Paris roared through him again, and was slowly replaced by tentative euphoria at the sight of Alfred’s breathing. Alfred was alive.

And as he watched, Arthur knew that he was still attracted to him. Still loved him.

Fingers trembling, he closed the door again and shut the lights off before sitting down on the edge of the bed. His heart refused to slow down, and new butterflies hatched in his stomach each second. Alfred was alive. Alive! Briefly, he imagined kissing Alfred again. Holding Alfred again, loving Alfred again. He shuddered with pleasure at the thought, and longing filled him. Alfred hadn’t killed him, hadn’t hurt him. So while it was all a fantasy at the moment, there was now a chance Arthur’s deepest desires could become reality again. He just had to wait.

Arthur fell back against the pillows and eased himself under the covers, curling up with one of the extra pillows in his arms. He fell asleep minutes later, his mind still fixated on the possibilities.

“...Thanks, Art,” Alfred says softly, when they reach the gate. 

“You don’t have to say it every time.” Arthur snorts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“I wanna.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I have money for pizza,” Alfred offers after a few moments. They’ve nearly reached their favourite place now.

“Pineapple?”

“No.”

“Half.”

“Nooooo.”

The corners of Arthur’s lips quirk up. “Coward.”

“You’re just gross,” Alfred shoots back.

“Hmm.”

“Disgusting. A deviant. Pineapple on pizza is a sin and-”

“I get it,” Arthur cuts in harshly. Today of all days, Alfred has to joke like that. When Arthur’s mind is quick to jump to him, and the words he’d say. “No fucking pineapple.”

Alfred’s steps stumble, and he gives Arthur a wounded look. It gets ignored. They walk in silence for a while. Then, “I’m sorry, Art.”

“It’s fine.” Arthur keeps his gaze locked straight ahead.

“We can get-”

“It’s fine. Doesn’t matter. It’s your money.”

Alfred gets a pizza with pineapple on half of it anyway, and still looks like a hurt dog when he pushes that half across the table to Arthur. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.” Arthur rolls his eyes a little bit. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that Alfred is the older one. He watches as Alfred gently plucks a leftover piece of pineapple off one of his slices and leans forward, mouth open.

Alfred drops it in, his fingers brushing against Arthur’s mouth. “So what was wrong?”

Arthur almost chokes on the pineapple, coughing and clearing his throat. His lower lip tingles, and not because of the fruit. “What?”

“Oh shit, here, water.” Alfred passes along his bottle.

“Cheers,” Arthur mutters, taking a sip.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“So what happened? I was just joking, you know.”

“I know.” Arthur focuses on his pizza.

“So why?”

Arthur finally raises his gaze and looks at him. Really looks at him. Those blue eyes, bright behind thick glasses. His hair, just falling into his face. Straight nose, plump lips, tanned skin. Puberty is treating him well, unlike Arthur, who just gets lankier and sharper. Alfred stares back evenly, and Arthur has to look away again. His heart hammers in his chest. He hides his suddenly shaking hands underneath the tabletop, fingers tangled together tightly.

“I...I like someone, Alfred. I’m worried...what you might say.”

Alfred blinks, then chuckles. “Is that it? Aww, Artie. I’m your best friend, you know.”

Arthur doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry more. “I know.”

“So, come on. Tell me, who is it? Mari? Emma?”

“That’s why this is hard. It’s not...one of the girls.”

Slowly, clarity dawns in Alfred’s eyes. And they change. He even leans back a little bit. “...You’re gay?”

And there it is. Arthur takes a steadying breath and nods. His gaze lowers to the table.

“So you got upset because it’s true?”

“What?”

“That you’re gross. And a sinner. And-”

“No.” Arthur clenches his hands so tightly together his knuckles go white. “The crap your dad spewed is just that. Crap. Bullshit.”

“But you’re-” Alfred looks around, as if to make sure no one would overhear. “Gay.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” Arthur hisses back.

“But my dad said-”

“Your dad was wrong, alright? Your dad was a conservative asshole and he was wrong!”

Alfred falls silent for a while, and his expression goes cold. “Don’t talk about my dad like that.”

“If I lived in America, your father would want to send me to some conversion camp or- or electrocute the gay out of me or something.”

“Maybe that’s what you need.”

The breath rushes out of Arthur’s lungs. Alfred might as well have punched him. “You don’t mean that. Alfred, tell me you don’t fucking mean that.”

The longer Alfred stays silent, the tenser Arthur gets, but eventually he shifts. “No, I guess I wouldn’t take it that far. How long have you known?”

“...A while.”

“How long is a while?” Alfred’s eyes widen. “Wait, oh my god, do you have a crush on me?”

“W-What? No!” Arthur clenches his hands even more. “You’re not even my type.”

“What’s your type, then?”

Arthur glances to him. “Why does it matter to you? I thought you were disgusted.”

“I’m not disgusted,” Alfred says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s just- It’s just weird, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” After a moment of tense silence, Arthur shoves away from the table. “I should go.”

“What about your pizza?”

“Not hungry. Throw it away or something. I touched it with my gay hands, after all.” Arthur doesn’t even try to stop the bitterness from seeping into his voice.

Alfred flinches. Just before Arthur makes it to the door, he speaks again. “Arthur, I just- I need some time to think about it. Let it sink in.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Arthur spits. “It’s a fact about me. Either you accept me or you don’t.”

He slams the door shut after himself, striding angrily down the road and ignoring people’s stares. Alfred doesn’t come after him. Hot tears flow down his cheeks a few minutes later, blurring his vision. He somehow stumbles his way home, slamming that door shut too.

“How many times have I told you, Ali?” His mother pokes her head out of the kitchen doorway, and her eyes widen at the sight of him. “Arthur? Oh love, what happened? Come here, I’ll make you a cuppa.”

Arthur kicks his shoes off and slumps into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway.

Once she’s put the kettle on, Rosie Kirkland turns to look at her second youngest son. “Now. Tell me what happened to put you in such a state.”

“I told Alfred I’m gay. He took it badly,” Arthur mutters.

“Oh Bunny, I’m so-” Rosie blinks. “You’re gay?”

Arthur blinks back, then scowls. “Yeah, I guess.” His shoulders hunch over defensively.

Rosie wastes no time gathering him up into a hug. “Bunny, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you, we should celebrate!”

Tensing in her arms initially, Arthur then stares at her in shock. “Celebrate?”

“Mmhm! We can do whatever you want!”

Arthur considers this for a moment. “...Can I dye my hair?”

Rosie laughs. “Well that’ll be a change! Does the school have any rules about that?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then we’ll do it soon.” The kettle whistles, and Rosie releases him to prepare two cups. “You did a very brave thing, you know.”

Arthur scowls again. “It didn’t feel brave.”

“I know. And don’t worry, my mouth is shut to your father and brothers.”

“Thanks, Mum.” He takes his tea and blows on it when the doorbell goes off.

They exchange a glance.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Rosie asks, stepping towards the door.

“Yeah.” Arthur’s knuckles are white along the edge of the cup. Still, he can’t help creeping over to the door to listen in

“Alfred F. Jones,” Rosie says, her voice neutral- and therefore much colder than usual.

“Is Arthur in?”

“He might be.”

“Please. If he’s in, can I see him? I really need to apologize to him.”

“You owe him that, at the very least.”

A moment’s pause, then, “He told you?”

“You made him cry, Mr. Jones, and I’m his mum. Of course he told me. In either case, if you’re serious, I’ll let you in. However, if Arthur decides it’s time for you to leave, you’ll be escorted out again.”

“Okay. That’s fair. More than fair. Thank you.”

The front door shuts, and their footsteps head closer to the kitchen. Arthur scurries to the small table, just about managing to sit down and get settled before they walk through the doorway.

“Arthur, Alfred’s here. Are you alright to be alone with him? Or would you like me to stay?”

“It’s fine.” Arthur doesn’t look at either of them. “I’ll shout if I need you.”

“Alright.” Rosie sends Alfred one last pointed look before grabbing her tea and leaving.

Alfred shuffles over to the table. “Can I sit?”

“Hmm.”

He sits anyway, tucking his hands away underneath the table. “Arthur, I’m so sorry. I really am.”

“That’s nice. What are you sorry for?”

Alfred flinches, but doesn’t get angry. “Reacting like that. I was shocked, but that’s no excuse. I don’t wanna lose you as a friend, I really don’t.”

Arthur stares at him. “It’s too late.”

“W-What?” Blue eyes widen, and tanned skin pales.

“...I could say that, if I wanted to. You said some horrible things to me. It’d be understandable if I never wanted to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Alfred says softly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The Brit is silent for a few moments, watching him squirm. “But I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend and-” He cuts off, lowering his gaze again. “And I like you. I lied earlier, sorry.”

Alfred’s mouth gapes like a fish’s.

“Nothing has to change. I don’t expect anything from you, especially not after earlier,” Arthur hurries to add.

“Arthur…”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t even say anything. I think we both need some time away from each other.”

“How long?” Alfred croaks.

“...A week, let’s say. If you still want to be friends with me, come over again in a week. After school.”

Alfred nods once, then stands. He stares at Arthur for another moment before tottering towards the door. He murmurs a soft goodbye to Rosie, and with a click of the door, is gone.

Arthur pads over to one of the front windows and looks out, watching Alfred as he walks away. He doesn’t look back once, and Arthur isn’t sure if that hurts or not. He stiffens as Rosie’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“He’s not his father.”

“He still said it.” Arthur’s hands clench. “He still fucking said it.”

Rosie tweaks his ear. “Language, Bunny.”

“Sorry.” They watch the empty street for a moment more, and then Rosie squeezes Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on, love, your tea will get cold.”

Him and Arthur at the top of the Empire State Building, with his arm around the smaller Brit’s shoulders. Arthur’s smile is smaller, but no less bright.

Him in Central Park, snow on the ground, his face scrunched up with glee as he holds a paper bag proudly proclaiming NUTS 4 NUTS.

The next photograph, his prize bottom-up in the snow while his mouth gapes open in shock. The edges of the Polaroid are blurred. He remembers Arthur’s shoulders shaking with laughter as he pressed the button on the camera.

And the end of the trilogy, a pair of squirrels gorging themselves on honey-roasted peanuts while Alfred mopes a few feet away.

Then there’s Arthur in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, studying a small painting with interest. There’s the slightest of furrows in his brow, and he’s leaning in towards the frame.

Arthur on a boat, propped up against the railing, the whole city skyline in the distance.

The two of them at the foot of the Statue of Liberty. In front of the Bull. At the Seaport. Faces all but pressed against the glass outside the M&M’s store. Alfred dragging a surprised Arthur into Nintendo America. Arthur skating easily by while Alfred’s faceplanted on the ice.

He looks up.

“Is this all of them? I coulda sworn we took more.”

Arthur nods quickly. “The good ones. A lot were blurry. We’re not exactly professional photographers.”

Alfred hums. “But this one’s blurry.” He gestures to the spilled peanuts.

“But you can still tell what it is.”Arthur gives an agitated huff. “The others are shite.”

“Okay, okay.” He peers over the photos again. “How many can I have?”

“However many you want.” Arthur leans back against his bed frame, his legs stretching out across the floor. Nonchalant. “Another part of my thanks.”

“Arthuuuur,” Alfred groans. “You’ve already bought me the amiibo, and I know that cost a lot. And besides.” He reaches across to sling his arm around Arthur’s shoulders, an easy grin on his face. “I wanted you to come with us.”

Arthur does his best not to respond visibly, but he can’t help the small jump and squeak of surprise. His heart beat thumps away in his ears. “Th- Thanks. Now hurry up and pick, before I change my mind,” he grouses.

Alfred laughs, then turns incredibly serious as he hunches over the spread of Polaroids. He gives another giggle when Arthur shoves against his shoulder. After a moment of deliberation, he selects seven photos.

The Empire State Building. The ice skating rink. Arthur in the museum. The boat. The two of them at the airport at the beginning of the trip, holding out their tickets with bright smiles. One of two family photos; his parents, his younger brother, him and Arthur. And finally, a shot of a gargoyle on the corner of a building, sneering down at the lens.

“These, then.”

“Okay.” Arthur takes them from him, neatens the small stack, and slides it into an old envelope from the local photography shop. The rest are shifted into another stack, and he holds it on his lap. The dying sunlight paints his buttercup walls a blinding orange.

“I should probably go before it gets dark. That alleyway gets mad creepy.”

“Afraid the ghosts are gonna get you?”

“No!” Alfred pouts at the sight of Arthur smirking. “‘Sides, you’re the one who lives next to an old-ass church and graveyard. If anything they’re gonna get you.”

“And then you wouldn’t have anyone to annoy.”

“I’ve got other friends!”

The smirk shrivels up. Arthur looks away, across the floor. “I know.”

“Arthur,” Alfred says, his voice low. He flops over, his head on Arthur’s lap. “I’d save you from the ghosts. You’re still my best friend.”

Though Arthur tries to look anywhere but down at Alfred, his eyes are drawn to the blue. “You’d piss your pants.” The snark is weaker than usual.

“Arthur, I mean it. You were my first friend here, and you’re always gonna be the most important one.”

Alfred came to the rural English town when they were all still in Primary school. The other children found his way of speaking strange, so the young American had been alone during play time the first few days. Though Alfred was in the class above Arthur, their play time was together and that’s where the similarly lonely Arthur first sat down next to him.

At least Alfred a reasonable reason for why the other children shunned him.

They just didn’t like Arthur.

Even now, as Alfred’s grown and surrounded himself with new friends, Arthur just has him and a German boy in his year named Gilbert, kind of. They sit together because they’re in the same class and both outcasts, but since Arthur has discovered...things about himself, he feels more of a bond towards Gil. Gil has never balked at saying he thinks boys are just as cute as girls.

“Arthur?”

Alfred.

It always comes back to Alfred.

“Sorry, spaced out there.” Arthur shoves him off, onto the pile of Polaroids. They scatter across the floor.

Alfred grabs onto him and pulls him along, laughing at the yelp. He wrestles Arthur into a hug. “We’re best friends, you hear? And we’re always gonna be.”

Arthur’s spine shivers at the contact, his fingers trembling as he squirms against Alfred’s arms. “Alright! Alright, you win, now get off me!” He clenches his hands at his sides to stop from reaching out after Alfred’s warmth when he’s released.

“I always win.” Alfred winks. He grabs the envelope and holds it close as he clambers to his feet. “I really gotta run, Dad doesn’t like it when I get home after him. Don’t get up, I’ll see you at school tomorrow!”  Another grin, a wave, and then he’s gone.

Stomach churning from first the wink and then the mention of Mr. Jones, Arthur’s left alone in his room. He feels drained, as if he’d just run five kilometres. Alfred has more and more of that effect on him.

Arthur can’t help but to want more.

His wall is a deep crimson by the time he moves to pick up the scattered photos. A few are bent and the corner of one of them has been torn during their little scuffle, but Arthur’s not angry. He carefully sellotapes the edges together and trails his fingertips over Alfred’s glossy face.

Once all the photos are in order, Arthur picks them up and reaches beneath his bed to pull out a slightly battered shoebox. It’s about half-full of prints, some the black and white gloss of Polaroid snapshots, some printed on cheap paper in the library, a few select ones developed in high quality at the photography shop.

It’s not easy being sneaky with a Polaroid camera, but over the course of their week in the States, Arthur thinks he’s gotten pretty good of it. Along with his cellphone camera and his father’s old digital Canon, Arthur has nearly filled the box with memories of Alfred.

Alfred laughing.

Alfred sleeping.

Alfred crouched down in a field, marvelling over a frog.

Alfred romping with Farmer Maisemore’s new foals.

Photos that Alfred can never see, lest he figures it out.

Arthur plucks a few of them at a time from the box. He spreads them over his bed, his floor, reliving the memories.

“He’s stabilizing. We’ve got him, he’s back, and he’s stabilizing.”

Where did that come from? Who was there? Alfred tried turning his head around, opening his eyes, reaching out, anything, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. His body refused to obey him.

“Can we get a record on him? Who he is?”

“He’s still too unstable to take a blood sample. It’ll be twenty-four hours at least until that’s possible.”

There was movement around him, footsteps and the soft shift of cloth, but the sounds were still largely muted. Everything was muted and dull and…empty. Where were the stars? Where was the light?

“They don’t send just anyone into space. There should be a record somewhere-”

“If there is, it could take days for the information to be found and sent over.”

Where?

Where? Where? Where?

“Scans are showing increased activity.” A moment’s pause. “Too much; he’s panicking.”

“Can you understand us? Can you hear us? 050, you need to calm down.”

050?

Was he 050? No…

No, he was Alfred. That much he knew. That much had stayed with him.

Where was he? Who were these people?

Where were the stars?

“050, you need to calm down. You’re overloading your brain-”

“Just put him under! Until we can hook him up.”

He howled soundlessly, searching for something, anything that would give him any clues as to what happened.

His thoughts slowed to a crawl. Everything was so heavy all of a sudden. He was motionless, floating on the surface of a pool of black water. The water was so inviting too, warm and thick and tugging him under.

Alfred sank, this time completely quiet.

“…hear? Mr. Jones? Can you hear me?”

Jones?

“Ah, there we are. Yes. You are Alfred F. Jones, correct?”

Alfred struggled back up to the surface of the pool. He felt…different. Lighter, somehow. The space around him was no longer quite as confined or oppressive. And…the voices seemed to be able to talk to him now.

Alfred F. Jones… Yeah, that’s me. How can…how can you talk to me?

He still couldn’t open his eyes, or move any of his muscles.

“The hospital has basically hooked you up to a machine through which they are able to tap into your brain activity and use a computer to project your thoughts to us. I can hear you through special earphones I’m currently wearing.”

That’s possible?

The voice – male, Alfred presumed, since it was so low and deep – chuckled. “It is indeed. Technology has made quite a few advances during the time you’ve been lost to us.”

Lost? What’s going on? Who- Who are you? Where am I? You said…hospital?

“Yes, Mr. Jones. You’re in the hospital right now, and we’re working on helping you recover the use of your body. I’m going to be your physical therapist. My name is Arthur.”

Arthur… Where was I lost, Arthur?

“Well, what do you remember?”

Alfred had to think for a moment. The universe rushed back to him, but the image was…muted. Two-dimensional, instead of all around him. It felt colder than before, and far beyond his reach.

Stars. I remember…I was among the stars.

“You were indeed, Mr. Jones. You-”

Alfred.

“Pardon?”

Call me Alfred. I don’t like Mr. Jones. Too formal.

“Alfred, then. You were in space, for almost a hundred years, in fact. It’s a miracle your little stasis pod survived and was able to keep your body in as good condition as it did.”

Alfred was silent for a long while. A hundred years, alone in space? A hundred years. A century, that he’d just floated there while the rest of life passed him by. What had changed in a hundred years? Everything. Arthur had mentioned the technology. But buildings and nature and art and people- Everyone he knew must have been dead by now.

“Alfred- Alfred, please, you must calm down, you’re overloading your brain!”

Dead. Dead, dead, dead-

“Doctor! Is there a doctor here?” Arthur sounded panicked.

Other voices joined his, but Alfred was too deep in a maelstrom of despair to be able to distinguish their words. And then the heaviness was back. The pool below him opened up, pulling him into its depths once more.

The next time Alfred woke, his hearing was much less fuzzy. He could hear the faint beeping of machines around him, but he still couldn’t open his eyes or move any part of his body. A few moments later, a door nearby opened and footsteps moved closer to presumably his hospital bed.

Hello?

“Hello, Alfred,” Arthur said as he drew up a chair to the bedside with a light scrape. “Welcome back to us.”

What…happened?

“I must apologize. I wasn’t thinking how your brain would be affected by the knowledge of how much time had passed. Your body and mind are still in a very delicate state, so the doctors had to put you under again so you wouldn’t cause yourself any damage.”

A hundred years.

Though Alfred threatened to spiral down into despair again, he found he was able to stop himself from tumbling off of that ledge. His mind was clearer, his thoughts stronger and more focused.

It’s okay. I was really in space for that long?

“…Yes,” Arthur told him after a moment’s hesitation. “You were lucky that your pod was picked up on another mission’s return home and we were able to recover you.”

So I’m on Earth now?

“Yes, you are.”

How long have I been on Earth?

“A little over a week. You’ve been in this hospital for six days now.”

But… I still can’t feel my body. I still can’t move, or speak, or open my eyes. That’s not good, is it? I think… I think I remember it should take up to forty-eight hours to recover from stasis…

Arthur tapped away at a screen for a moment before clearing his throat again. “That normally would have been correct. Well, with our advances now we’ve been able to shorten that to twelve to sixteen hours for recovery- from a normal, controlled stasis. Alfred, you must understand your pod was in suboptimal conditions for decades. You had the frailest of support systems that could have given out at any moment, and it’s nothing short of a miracle that they didn’t. So that, added up with the sheer amount of time you spent suspended, means that the hospital has to be extremely careful with you.”

Oh. Alfred took a long moment to process the words; even though his mind was functioning much more clearly than before, it was still sluggish. Is that why I can’t do anything?

“Yes. The doctors have numbed your pain and feeling receptors in your brain until your body could adjust to the movement again.”

What does that mean?

“I don’t understand much of the science behind it myself-”

No, I meant the ‘adjusting to the movement’ part.

“Ah.” Arthur shifted on the chair, producing a soft creak. “Your body was still for so long that even the flow of blood through your veins was incredibly painful for you, not to mention your heartbeat or digestion. It would have overloaded your brain if you could feel it, so they cut everything off for the moment. I assume they’ll start giving you your feeling back within the next few days, though you still likely won’t be able to move for a while. That’s where I come in.”

Lot of…information…

“I know, Alfred. Have I said too much? I could leave if you wish, for us to resume the conversation another time.”

No, it’s okay. Just need a moment…

“Alright.”

They both fell to silence. Alfred’s mind slowly churned away, replaying all of the information and trying to categorize it, make sense of everything that had apparently happened to him.

He was tired. So tired, by just a few minutes of conversation. He missed the stars. There he felt no pain, no exhaustion. He’d been surrounded by light and just space, untouched by problems like blood and digestion and support systems.

But… He couldn’t deny it was nice to talk to someone.

Arthur hadn’t been among the stars, with his soothing voice and clipped accent and measures upon measures of patience. Alfred liked Arthur’s voice, trusted it and the man behind it. He was able to soothe Alfred’s panic and explained everything clearly and slowly.

He didn’t want to stop talking to Arthur.

Time was still a slippery concept to him, so he wasn’t sure how long had passed by the time he finally felt ready to resume their conversation.

Arthur?

“I’m here.”

You said…you’re my physical therapist?

“I am.” Arthur sounded pleased. “It’s good you were able to remember that.”

I remember more from the hospital than- than when I was up there.

“You were up there for a very long time. It’s not surprising your mind grew a little lost.”

Lost, yeah. I think I got lost.

More tapping. “Do you remember anything else from your time among the stars?”

Alfred tried to concentrate. A single word floated to the forefront of his mind. Starslammer. I remember that, but I don’t know what it means.

The physical therapist was silent.

…Arthur?

“Yes.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, sorry. That’s just a very interesting piece of information for you to remember.”

What is it? What does it mean?

“Your…records that we were able to receive show that you were on board an exploratory mission on one USS Starslammer. The ship was lost just a few months into the voyage, and only minor wreckage was able to be recovered.”

A ship. His ship.

Images flashed through his mind.

White and tan walls. Deep blue carpets. Stretches of hallway where only thick glass separated him from the stars. A tiny room that only fit a bed and a collapsible table. A brown bomber jacket tossed onto the mattress.

A siren.

Red flashing lights.

Screams.

Nothing.

Alfred gasped and the beeping on the monitors around him increased in rate.

“Alfred!” Arthur called to him. “Alfred, you must try and let go of your thoughts!”

Can’t- stop-

“You don’t need to stop them, Alfred.” Arthur’s voice moved closer to him, still low and soothing despite the undercurrent of panic. “Just don’t hold onto them. Let them flow through you but don’t hang on.”

Can’t- Hurts, Arthur…

“Doctor!”

And Alfred sank down again.

“I’m sorry, Alfred. I’m so sorry…” Arthur’s voice was the last thing he heard.

It was different now.

Alfred’s mouth was open as he breathed and he could feel it. The cool rush of air against his lips and teeth as he breathed in, the warm puff of each exhale.

“Alfred, are you there?”

Arthur…

He was strangely pleased that Arthur was already there in the room with him. The muscles of his mouth twitched in an attempt of a smile, but he couldn’t quite work them yet.

“Good morning. Well, it’s afternoon actually, but welcome back again.”

Alfred chuckled. Thanks, Artie.

“Artie?”

U-Uh, well-

One of the monitors’ beeping increased again, and Arthur let out a soft laugh in response. “Patient can still experience embarrassment,” he said, enunciating the words as if he were writing the statement down.

Arthuuuur!

“It’s good that you can. Means that your body is functioning well and reacting to your emotional state. Have you…noticed anything different, by the way?”

I can…feel my body?

“Exactly.” There was a smile in Arthur’s voice. “Your nerves and synapses have been putting out less pain signals, which means your body has mostly adjusted to moving and flowing again. You still might feel some occasional pain from your stomach area or some of your limbs, but if it gets to be too unbearable let me or a doctor or nurse know.”

I will. Why can’t I still move anything, though? I can’t even open my eyes.

“Ah. Though you have adjusted well to reanimation, your muscles have all but completely atrophied during your time in space. You have very little muscle mass and your body has become weaker than a newborn’s. The hospital had you on a respirator for your first few days until you could breathe on your own.”

Mild panic filled him at that point, and the monitors started beeping more rapidly again. Though Alfred heard the scrape of the chair when Arthur must have stood up, the other man didn’t call for the doctor.

“Alfred?”

I’m just worried. Will I ever be able to move again? See again? How long will it take? What do I have to do?

“The hospital is working on rebuilding your muscles right now. You’re being fed a diet rich in proteins, fats, and vitamins and I’m doing stretches and exercises with your limbs multiple times a day to help convert that diet into muscle for you. It’s why I’m here so often. You’ll probably be able to feel me doing it now if you’re aware of your body again.”

Alfred’s mind completely stopped.

Feel…another person touching him?

How long had it been since he’d been aware of someone else’s hands on his body?

His heartbeat took off again, probably alarming Arthur again.

“Alfred?”

So if… If you touch me now- I could feel it?

“Would you like to try?”

Please.

Arthur stood up from the chair entirely, placing something down onto it before taking a few steps forward to the bedside. “I’m going to touch your hand, okay?”

Okay.

Then he felt a cool pressure on his hand. Gentle fingers curled around his own, lifting them off the bed for a moment. Arthur’s other hand moved to steady his hand from below, so Alfred’s was enveloped within the physical therapists’.

A-Arthur…

“Are you in any pain?”

No. It feels…good.

Something slid down his cheeks, tickling him, but he couldn’t do anything to wipe it away.

“You’re- You’re crying, Alfred.” Arthur’s voice was very soft.

Sorry.

“It’s nothing you have to apologize for. Here, I’ll wipe them away for you.”

His hand was placed back down on the mattress, and Alfred instead felt the touches around his face, both Arthur’s fingers and the softer caress of a cloth. He only started crying harder though, so Arthur was bent over him for a few minutes, periodically wiping his face dry.

Finally though, Alfred seemed to be able to get himself under control and Arthur leaned away again. He picked up the object again and settled back in his chair.

“Better?”

Yeah. Thank you.

“Of course. Would you like to talk some more?”

I’m…so tired, Arthur. Sorry.

And he was. That brief cry had left him absolutely exhausted. His thoughts were incredibly sluggish and he didn’t think he’d be able to keep up a conversation with Arthur for any notable amount of time. But he didn’t want to sink back into that pool quite yet; he’d barely been talking to Arthur at all.

Don’t want you to leave yet though. Please?

“I could…read to you instead, perhaps?” Arthur offered.

You’d do that for me?

“Of course. I have a few books on my tablet, or I could look something up online. Do you have a preference?”

No.

When Arthur started reading, he barely paid attention to the words anyway. Instead he allowed that smooth voice to wash him away. He drifted, not among the stars but in a river of green and gold, the words lapping against his body and cradling him downstream.

“Are you ready?”

I think so.

Arthur had been kind enough to help him keep track of the days. The doctors had stopped putting Alfred under, instead wanting to help him develop a more regular sleep schedule. He didn’t talk to them too much; they were cold and impersonal, only seeing him as their miracle patient. Arthur actually talked to him and with him, spending whole days at his bedside.

The reading helped stimulate his mind without overloading it so the doctors had him read to Alfred more, everything from children’s stories to the daily newspaper to a history textbook in order to slowly get him caught up on the events of the past century.

He also did light stretches with Alfred’s legs, arms, and neck every few hours to test his mobility and build up his muscles over time. Alfred loved those times the most, when Arthur’s cool fingers would grip his thigh or ankle or arm and manipulate his body. The motions themselves were repetitive and Alfred had memorized the routine in less than a day, but just the touches. He was definitely touch-starved after so long. His heart rate would speed up each time Arthur was doing the stretches, but he didn’t cry again. The physical therapist was also kind enough not to comment on the quickened beeping.

And today. Today was the day he would finally open his eyes.

He had been able to wriggle his toes and clench his hand earlier, and his eyelids had fluttered a few times. The doctors had rushed in and dimmed the room so as not to hurt his sensitive eyes, and Arthur was sat next to him, his hands gently holding one of Alfred’s.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I mean there’s no point in waiting, right?

Arthur chuckled. “I suppose not. Come on then, Alfred. Open your eyes.”

Alfred took in a few deep breaths, then focused on sliding his eyelids open. Though he immediately squinted against the dim light, it was dark enough in the room for him to be able to adjust in just a few seconds. His vision was still blurry for a while, with the figures in the room just blobs scattered around the space. He blinked a few times, and with each blink his eyes adjusted more until the blurriness settled in one spot and refused to go away.

Oh. I think I had glasses?

“You did.”

The voice came from the nearest blob, which also happened to be the clearest. Arthur. All he could make out was a mop of light hair, pale skin, and a green sweater. Alfred squinted at him, his heart rate speeding up on the monitors again.

Something seemed familiar about him… But that couldn’t be possible, could it?

“Your prescription was in your file,” Arthur continued, not seeming to notice Alfred’s reaction. “We have a pair of glasses here with that matching prescription. I’m going to put them on you now, okay?”

Okay.

“Close your eyes for a moment? I don’t want to poke them out on accident.”

Alfred chuckled, but obliged him. He heard Arthur shifting around, then picking something – presumably the glasses – up and shifting forward. The temples scraped softly against his face before settling on top of his ears, and the bridge rested comfortably on his nose.

“There we go.”

Alfred opened his eyes to see Arthur leaning back, his arms still outstretched and just starting to fall back to his sides. He sucked in a breath.

Kirkland.

Arthur froze. “E-Excuse me?”

Messy, light-coloured hair. Thick, dark eyebrows. Those vibrant green eyes. This face was slightly different; the hair was a lighter blond and Alfred couldn’t see as many freckles scattered on the cheeks, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

And then he realized how strange he must be acting. Sorry. You just…remind me of someone I…knew.

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “…My last name is Kirkland.”

Alfred blinked, his mouth dropping open a little bit. He clenched and unclenched his hand lightly, since it was all he could do at the moment. It is?

“Yes. I didn’t give you my full name when I introduced myself, but it’s Arthur Kirkland.”

Oh.

“…Alfred?”

Was there… Alfred closed his eyes again, trying to concentrate. The other face, the other Kirkland swum up to the forefront of his mind and his heart skipped a beat. Was there a James Kirkland in your family? Who- Who went into the space program?

Arthur was silent for a long time. Then, “…Yes. Yes, there was. My great-grandfather. He um, he died when I was a boy.”

“Mr. Jones,” one of the doctors interjected. “Your sight. How is it?”

Alfred didn’t respond or reopen his eyes.

“Mr. Jones,” the doctor repeated.

Arthur sighed. Alfred could tell it was him just from that. “I’m sorry. I seem to have caused a disturbance.”

“Mr. Jones, we will return tomorrow, in that case.”

Alfred understood the undertone of ‘so sort yourself out before then’ perfectly. Someone removed his glasses. He figured it was Arthur, since he was the closest, but he still didn’t say anything. He heard the doctors leave, but not the scrape of Arthur’s chair.

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” Arthur murmured to him, then finally stood and left.

Alfred drifted, but didn’t sink. James’s face was still clear in his mind. He’d nearly forgotten about him, but no one could really forget their first crush. He’d had a few classes with James, spoken to him a few times, but the British cadet had always intimidated him. He’d just been so smart and driven, almost on another level to Alfred. And so his crush had always stayed a distant one, purely a physical attraction.

And then Arthur’s face replaced James’s. Arthur, whose voice he liked so much. Arthur, who made him comfortable and eased him gently into everything. Arthur, who made him laugh and groaned whenever Alfred interjected with a pun or joke during their conversations. Arthur, who read to him for hours simply because Alfred liked it and it helped him. Arthur, who had been looking so eager that Alfred had finally reached the stage of being able to open his eyes.

He knew Arthur better than he’d ever known James. The moment he heard Arthur’s greeting each morning his mood lifted, excited about their conversations for the day.

It was…a little weird, knowing Arthur was a descendant of his first crush. But Arthur was definitively Arthur, his own person who Alfred knew and liked very much, and Alfred’s feelings ran much deeper for him than they ever had for James.

Wait.

Liked?

Feelings?

Oh, Alfred was so screwed.

Was it even possible to develop feelings for a voice?

Apparently.

He was just glad that he was alone and Arthur wasn’t there to witness the way his heart rate took off with his revelation.

He scrunched his toes, nervous but at the same time relieved he’d managed to sort out his feelings with relative ease and speed. Should he confess though? He should, right? Tomorrow, or later, when Arthur came in to do the stretching-

The stretching exercises.

For Alfred’s muscles.

Because Arthur was a physical therapist.

Alfred’s physical therapist.

And Alfred was his client.

There were definitely rules about that.

He groaned, and his eyes shot wide open when his throat actually produced noise. When he tried to speak he couldn’t form out words yet, but he could make noise! Out loud! And suddenly, he decided to keep that a secret from the doctors.

But the Arthur situation was still complicated, so he groaned again closed his eyes, his mind whirring away quietly for the rest of the night.

“Right, and now your left foot again.”

Alfred dutifully scrunched the toes of his left foot.

“Do you think you can extend it out? Just try and lower the front of it closer to the mattress. You’ll likely feel the burn in your calves.”

I’ll try, but I think my feet are close to cramping up.

They’d been doing scrunching and stretching and tensing exercises for the past ten minutes, and Alfred knew he was reaching his limit. He did still want to impress Arthur, though, so he did whatever the physical therapist asked with little complaint. Just a few days ago he could barely manage three minutes of the exercises, so his progress was also making him eager to push himself.

“Just this one last movement for now, if you can, and then you can rest,” Arthur promised him. His chair was placed further away from the bed still, but lately he’d started smiling more at Alfred again.

Neither of them had mentioned James Kirkland since the incident a week ago.

But Alfred was also surer of his feelings.

He took in a deep breath and did his best to point his toes down closer to the mattress. They did go down, about an inch and a half before he gasped and had to ease up.

I think that’s all I can do right now. Sorry.

Arthur just shook his head, his small smile widening. “No, that’s fine. It’s more than fine. You’re doing so well, Alfred. Your muscle mass has increased again, and more so than expected. We’ll be able to start on lifting sooner than expected if you keep going at the rate you have been.”

Really?

“Yes. I wouldn’t lie to you about that, l- Alfred.” Arthur’s cheeks pinked faintly and he looked down, tapping at his tablet.

Arthur?

It sounded like Arthur had been about to call him something else.

Arthur didn’t reply, still tapping away.

Huffing softly, Alfred just laid there in silence. He could stand it for about five minutes, before he started fidgeting his fingers and aching toes. And then, his eyes lit up with an idea. He’d been practicing over the past week, and he knew he could say it. He opened his mouth.

“Arthur.”

“Hmm?” Arthur asked absently, before his fingers froze on the screen. He finally looked up, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock. “W-Wait.”

Alfred couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across his face. “Arthur,” he repeated.

“You can… You can talk now?” Arthur’s breaths suddenly started coming more quickly, and he lifted a shaking hand to his mouth.

“Lil bit. Doc doesn’t know. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh Alfred,” Arthur said, and he was crying. A smile sat on his lips though, and he let out a soft laugh. “Oh Alfred, you fool.”

Alfred was grinning so widely, so stupidly, he just knew it, but he couldn’t help it. “Arthur,” he said again, laughing and trying to inch his hand across the sheets towards him.

“You need to tell the doctors, you idiot!” Arthur stood up, but instead of leaving the room he threw his arms around Alfred’s neck and hugged him close. “Oh Alfred, I’m so happy though… So proud of you…”

All Alfred could do was lean his head into the embrace and attempt to nuzzle to Arthur’s soft hair. It felt good against his cheek, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. Arthur was getting his hospital gown damp, but he didn’t care. Arthur was close, Arthur was holding him, and it felt so, so good.

Arthur pulled back after a moment, his hands pausing momentarily to cup Alfred’s cheeks. Their faces were inches away from each other’s, and those green eyes were still reddened and wet with unshed tears. They flicked around Alfred’s face, Arthur’s lips wobbling, and he almost seemed to lean in again before blinking and letting go entirely. He sniffed and dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, before taking a step for the door.

“Arthur?” Alfred asked.

“I’m going to go tell the doctor about your new progress, like you should have done.” Arthur gave him a pointed look, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the pride and happiness still on the rest of his face.

As expected, the doctors rushed into his room and fussed over him for hours, asking him to say various things and examining his vocal cords for any sign of damage while he was speaking and humming and making all sorts of noises. They were impressed by his progress too, which Alfred was happy about, but Arthur didn’t return to his room for the rest of the day.

 In fact, Arthur didn’t return for months. A new physical therapist suddenly showed up, but no matter how many times Alfred asked or who he posed the question to, he couldn’t find out what had happened to the Brit. The new woman was good at her job and just as conscious of Alfred’s limits, but it wasn’t the same. She was strictly professional, she didn’t hold conversations with him while doing the stretches about anything apart from the stretches. She didn’t read to him, and she left the room between their sessions.

He hated it. He missed Arthur, more than he’d missed the universe after he had been yanked back to reality after his century adrift. His chest hurt when he realized that, but he didn’t tell the doctors why he was crying.

Over time, he was moved onto a diet of more solids when he could chew and swallow without the actions exhausting him. He was able to lift his arms and legs up off the mattress, bend his joints in the proper places and rotate his shoulders. His progress was just as incredible as before, but it was meaningless.

So proud of you, Arthur had said.

It had been the best praise Alfred received in his life.

Alfred opened his eyes, then shut them again.

“Alfred…”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Alfred, please.”

“You left. You just left me.”

“I know.” Arthur’s voice sounded pained. “And I’m sorry. Please, will you let me explain?”

“What’s there to explain?”

“Quite a lot. And…you don’t have to agree, of course you don’t, but please, I- I’m just asking for a chance to, well, to just explain. Give you, and myself some closure.”

Alfred opened his eyes again. Arthur didn’t have his tablet, or his ID card pinned to his trousers. There was a messenger bag on the ground beside his chair. He was dressed like always though, dark trousers and a sweater. This one was striped navy and forest. Alfred sighed. “Fine. Explain.”

Arthur’s eyes searched his face for a moment. “You’re doing well,” he started.

“Just. Explain.”

“Yes.” Arthur ducked his head down a little bit. His shoulders were hunched together like a bird’s, and his fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm against his knees. “I left because I couldn’t continue being your physical therapist.”

Alfred blinked. “What? Why?”

“I, er…” Arthur swallowed bit his lip.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. Were his cheeks red? “What?”

“There are certain rules, Alfred, in the medical field. Such as practitioners being…involved with their patients. It’s a matter of ethics, you see.”

“Involved?” Alfred just frowned at first, but then his eyes widened. “Involved?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes. Sexually, or, well, romantically. So when I started developing feelings for you, I felt the best thing for me to do would be to remove myself from my position. I didn’t want to jeopardize your recovery in any way, especially for reasons as selfish as that.”

Alfred didn’t reply. He just stared.

Eventually, Arthur raised his own gaze. He jolted a little bit when he met Alfred’s stare head-on, and licked his lips. “I’ll just…go then?” He reached for his bag.

“You like me?”

“Yes. I’m sorry-”

“Like. You still like me?”

Arthur nodded, then glanced to the monitor that showed Alfred’s heartbeat racing along more and more rapidly. “Alfred?”

“I like you too!” Alfred all but shouted, sitting up in bed and reaching for Arthur’s hands.

The physical therapist blanched at the volume and started moving his hands back, but eventually allowed Alfred to touch him. “You do?”

“Sorry. But I do! I realized I liked you like a week before you up and disappeared! I wasn’t gonna say anything because of the rules but like. You could have told me…”

“What about my great-grandfather though? It sounded like…there was something there.”

Alfred snorted. “Yeah, a little crush. But I didn’t know him, not like I got to know you. Arthur, I missed you so much when you left, and no one would tell me what happened…”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur murmured, taking hold of Alfred’s hands in return and giving them a small squeeze. “And speaking of telling.” He lightly pinched Alfred’s wrist. “You could have, and even should have told me about your feelings too. Were you just planning on keeping them a secret forever?”

“Not forever,” Alfred mumbled back, his cheeks staining red. “Just until you weren’t my physical therapist anymore.”

“You are…”

“A fool? An idiot?”

“Both of those,” Arthur said with a small chuckle, and he suddenly let out a long sigh. “Though I think we were both a little foolish in this case.”

“Maybe.” Alfred was grinning by then, and he squeezed Arthur’s hands as tightly as he could manage.

“Oh!” Arthur jumped at that, and looked from their joined hands up to Alfred’s face. “You’ve gotten quite strong. You really are looking good, I meant that.”

“Thanks, Artie.” Alfred laughed when Arthur only reddened more at the nickname. “Want me to show you my progress?”

“If you’d like to, and you wouldn’t get in trouble.”

Alfred waved off the concerns. “It’ll be fine.”

He let go of Arthur’s hands and instead braced them on the mattress, sitting up. He then swung his legs slowly to hang off the edge of the bed, and after winking at Arthur, shimmied off of it to stand up. Though his balance was still off and he had to grip onto the side of the bed for stability and support, he was able to stay standing for a few moments before sinking down again.

Arthur looked like he was going to cry again. “Oh Alfred…”

“I know! Doc says I’ll be able to start walking soon, and even in as soon as like a month or two leave the hospital! Dunno where I’ll go, though…”

“You could…come live with me?” Arthur offered after a moment.

Alfred just stared at him.

“It’s just an option!” Arthur continued quickly. “We still have lots of things we need to talk about and you still have plenty more to do before you’re ready to be discharged in any way but if, when the time comes, you’re in a state of mind that you would still want to, then you’d be more than welcome to stay with me. It wouldn’t even have to be forever. We can find you a place of your own if that’s something you would want.”

After a few seconds of thought, Alfred gave a slow nod. “And- And us?”

Arthur smiled wryly. “Well of course now that I know you’re interested in me too I’d like to enter into a relationship with you, but that doesn’t have to be something we rush into either. You’ve made incredible progress with your recovery so far, and I wouldn’t want to overload you by pressuring you into a decision right away.”

“You’re so good, Arthur,” Alfred said with a dreamy sigh.

“Hardly.” Arthur laughed. “I’m just decent. And logical. I’ve… I’ve missed you too.”

Alfred reached for his hands again. “Don’t leave again?”

“Well I’ll have to go home sometimes, to shower and eat and sleep, but I will be here with you as long as visitation hours allow.”

“Okay. Good.” Alfred’s face suddenly paled and he let out a shaky breath. “C-Could you help me lay down again?”

“Of course.” Arthur hurried to stand and eased him down onto the bed, tucking him in afterwards. “There we go.” He smiled down at him, running a gentle hand through Alfred’s hair. “I’m still so proud of you. So incredibly proud, love.”

Alfred’s spirits soared despite the ache in his muscles. He still had a long way to go in his recovery, but he knew he could do it. With Arthur at his side, he could do anything.

“Do you miss it?”

Alfred rolled over on his side in the darkness, his hand seeking out Arthur’s. “Miss it?” he asked sleepily. He’d been on the verge of drifting off, but Arthur’s voice coaxed him back to the waking world.

“Space. The stars. You told me once, near the beginning that you could see the stars around you, that you floated among them and could touch them. Do you miss them, after oh what is it, four years back on Earth now?”

“No,” Alfred whispered, nuzzling right up to Arthur’s neck.

“Really?”

“Really. I’ve got you now, and that’s all I’ll ever need.”

And he meant it. He had floated among the stars for years, decades, but he had been alone, more than he’d even realized at the time. Just a tiny pod, floating through space, barely hanging onto life. Beautiful as they were, he had enough of the stars. He much preferred the vibrant, warm lights of the Earth reflected in Arthur’s green eyes.

He closed his eyes, his lips curving up as he felt Arthur’s warmth seeping into him. He’d made a full recovery. Miraculous, everyone called his story. There were still days where his muscles ached and he’d never be able to be quite as active as he had been a century before, and there was a sleek brown cane in their umbrella holder, but Alfred’s body worked properly. He didn’t have to be hooked up to machines and was predicted to live a full, independent life together with Arthur.

The note was tucked away into his briefcase for the rest of the day’s meetings, but England kept thinking about it. It wasn’t his first time in the city so he relatively knew where Chambers Street was, but his mind couldn’t conjure up any specific buildings of interest.

He made eye contact with America a few more times, but other than a bright smile or another wink, the bubbly nation didn’t give any indication that something was going on.

When he tried to grab America’s arm at the end of the work day, America just sidestepped him and laughed as he ran down the hall.

“You-!” But England just allowed his arm to fall back to his side.

“He’s being weird again?” Canada asked, stopping next to him and watching America tripping out of the building along with England.

“He has something planned.”

Canada nodded solemnly. “In case this is it for you, thanks for everything.”

England just snorted. “You’re very welcome.”

“By the way, Alfred keeps stealing cat treats from your house for Hero.”

“Bastard,” England murmured fondly. “In any case, see you tomorrow.”

“Or not,” Canada said with a cheeky grin.

“Or not.” England’s lips quirked up. He nodded to the other man and started down the hall.

He still had over two hours before he had to be at the agreed spot, so he stopped at a nearby restaurant for a quick meal before heading back to his hotel for a shower and a change of clothes. Since he wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, he settled for dark skinny jeans, a deep forest green dress shirt, and a steel grey vest along with his work shoes.

76 Chambers Street turned out to be a tiny stone chapel, squeezed in between two more modern buildings that absolutely dwarfed it. As promised, there was a sign on the door that proclaimed the building closed for renovations, but it opened easily under England’s hand.

The lights were off, but the interior was lit up with hundreds of small candles. It gave the place an even older air, a hush that draped itself over England’s shoulders and lungs like a veil.

A solitary figure sat in the first row of pews on the left side, golden hair glinting faintly in the light.

“This had better not be a recreation of a horror movie,” England murmured as he started down the aisle.

“It’s not,” America replied softly. Solemnly. He stood up and turned to face England, a small smile on his lips. He wore dark grey fitted slacks and a black sweater over a navy dress shirt. “Hey, we kind of match.”

“Do we?” England examined the two of them as he came to a halt beside him.

“Yeah. Grey and black and you’re in your green and I’ve got my blue.”

“I suppose so. Why are we here?”

America kissed him instead of replying right away. Broad hands cupped England’s face, cradled it and turned it just so.

“This is one of my favourite places,” America said when he pulled away. His hands dropped to England’s neck, then shoulders, then finally to his own sides. He half-turned away, looking around. “I come here a lot. No one else really does, so a lot of the time I have it to myself. I’ve slept here a few times, but usually I just talk for a while.”

“I didn’t take you for being so religious anymore.”

“I’m not. I don’t talk to anyone in particular, but there’s just something…something here that makes it easy to.” He laughed. “Or maybe not. I don’t know, but I just tend to come here when I need to.” He took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

England noticed for the first time the slightest of trembles in his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just…a little nervous, I guess.”

“Why are you nervous?” England’s eyebrows knitted together and he reached for one of America’s hands. “Alfred, what’s wrong?”

America slipped the hand free and put both of them in his pockets. “I’m thinking you’re gonna think this is silly. Or stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Alfred, when have I ever actually, genuinely thought your thoughts were stupid? And wars don’t count. I’m not going to just dismiss whatever you have to say. We know that doesn’t work.”

“I know.”

This time, England stepped forward so they were toe to toe and tilted America’s head down for a brief kiss. “Now tell me what’s up,” he said when he moved back.

America nodded. He withdrew something from his pocket; a small black box, and knelt onto one knee. “Arthur,” he said softly. “Will you marry me?”

The breath rushed out of England’s lungs. He had been proposed to many times over the centuries, but never did his heart beat so wildly as when America did it. His lips curved up in a sad smile and he closed his eyes as he shook his head. How many times had they been through this? “I can’t. You know I can’t-”

“I know.” America was smiling too as he climbed to his feet again. “But would you? If you could?”

“In a heartbeat, my dear.”

“Then would you- Would you accept this ring anyway?”

England’s eyes flew open. This was a deviation from their script. “What?”

“Like.” America shrugged and opened the box to reveal two gold bands inside. “It won’t mean anything to the rest of the world. But it can be just for us? Just so we- Just so we know if we could…” He looked down. “We’re not human and things get so weird and hurt so much so much of the time, but my love for you will never change, England. And I don’t doubt that you love me, of course I don’t, but I’m just thinking it might be nice to just…have a more physical reminder.”

England swallowed. He didn’t trust himself to speak quite yet, so he simply stepped forward and nodded.

“Really?” America’s face lit up.

“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” England whispered thickly.

“Can I- Can I put it on you?”

“Well surely you don’t expect me to put it on myself.”

America let out a laugh at that and slipped the smaller of the rings from the box’s velvet lining. He took hold of England’s proffered hand and lifted it to his lips before sliding the ring onto the ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

England’s breath caught in his throat again as he watched the band glittering in the soft candlelight, and he held it up closer to his face. Just a simple gold ring, so unassuming, but America had given it to him and so it meant the world.

“Let me put yours on too?” he asked after a moment, drawing his gaze back to America and the ring that still sat in the box.

America smiled so brightly he could have powered a city. “Please do.”

England plucked the ring out and slid it into place with little fanfare, but once the band was on America’s finger, he brought it to his cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned into that roughened palm, and he smiled as he kissed along it until he reached the ring. The metal was cool against his lips.

“I have.” America stopped and wet his lips, then tried again. “I have matching chains back at my house. So you can wear it around your neck if you can’t have it on your hand.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” England asked, the smile on his face growing as he glanced up at the other man from under his lashes.

“I was determined to marry you some way or another this time,” America said with a sheepish grin.

England laughed. “Your persistence is endearing this time.”

“This time!” America squawked, but he was still grinning.

“This time,” England agreed. He looked around again, at the chapel and the candles and the rings on their fingers. His chest swelled, and he abruptly pulled America into a hug.

“England?” America asked, wrapping his arms around England’s waist in return.

“You’re…incredulous. I love you.”

“I love you too.” The taller nation dropped a kiss into England’s hair.

They stood there for a moment, England’s head resting on America’s shoulder. Then, England glanced up at him again. “Since this is some sort of an engagement and renegade wedding all rolled into one, should we have a first dance?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Alfred, you’re in a sacred place!” England admonished, but he hid a snicker into America’s sweater.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Hang on.” Trying not to jostle England around too much, America fished his phone out of his pocket and searched up a song on YouTube. He soon set it down on the pews and pulled England into a more proper dancing position as Peter Gabriel’s version of ‘The Book of Love’ started playing from the speakers. “I always think of us when I hear this,” he whispered.

England’s eyes softened, then dampened as they swayed. “So do I.”

Even though the music was playing out of a phone, the chapel’s acoustics did a good job of bouncing the sound all throughout the space. America squeezed his hand and leaned his head against England’s. He led England in a slow dance up and then back down the aisle, twirling dipping him in front of the altar and singing quietly into his ear.

England joined him for the last verse.

“And I, I love it when you give me things.

And you, you ought to give me wedding rings.

You ought to give me wedding rings…”

He buried his head into America’s shoulder once more as the music faded away, his fingers gripping onto his lover’s – his husband’s – sweater tightly.

“Are you crying?” America asked softly.

“No,” came the wobbly reply.

“Okay.” America hid a smile in England’s hair and pressed a few more kisses into the silky strands. He was content to stand there and just hold England until the older nation had composed himself again. He also tactfully ignored the damp spot on his shoulder, and refrained from commenting on England’s red cheeks.

“Well,” England said, sniffing rather harshly. “I do believe that was the shortest wedding I’ve ever attended.”

“The best though, right?”

“Yes. The very best.”

America suddenly grinned. “Should we move onto the wedding night?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

England swatted his arm. “Sod. At least dine me first.”

“You’re in luck; I made us dinner reservations for eight just a few blocks away. You’ll love the place.”

“We still have some time before then,” England said, glancing down at his watch. “What shall we do until then?”

America reached for his phone. “Dance?”

England smiled and nodded, reaching for it. “Let me pick a song.”

The evening was cold and brisk, the stars glittering overhead from a clear sky. Arthur’s breath puffed out in front of him as he strode down the sidewalk, and he burrowed his nose into his scarf and coat collar. He only hoped that this evening would go well; he didn’t want to keep Hamlet stuck inside of a box for too long, so timing would be everything. Alfred’s oblivious tendencies would work in his favour, for once.

Despite it being around seven on Christmas Eve, there was still a good amount of people in the streets, and Arthur often had to sidestep around someone or pause to keep the cat crate from bumping into someone’s body or bags. The walk from Gilbert’s apartment building to his and Alfred’s was only ten minutes, but crossed a few busier intersections.

“Just a little longer, boy,” Arthur murmured as he waited at one of the crosswalks. He tilted the cat carrier to be able to peer into it, and was met by Hamlet’s inquisitive stare. The cat didn’t seem stressed at all, just interested in his surroundings.

Arthur smiled to himself. He and Alfred had been talking about adopting a cat for a few months now, but their planning hadn’t gotten much farther than agreeing they both wanted one from a shelter and at some point in the future. Though he would have liked to go with Alfred to pick one out, Arthur also figured that giving Alfred a cat as one of his Christmas presents would also be really romantic. They could always go together in the future if they ever wanted another cat.

The light changed and Arthur stepped out quickly to avoid being jostled. Five minutes later, he sighed as he moved out of the cold into his lobby. His fingers and toes had regained feeling by the time the elevator stopped at his floor, and his heart rate sped up a bit as he approached the door.

He set the carrier down when he unlocked it and swung it open a crack. “Alfred?” he called.

The lights were off in the apartment.

There was no answer.

Arthur let out a quiet breath and smiled down at Hamlet again. “Good thing his work friends celebrate Christmas Eve and invited him over, huh?” he asked as he carried the cat inside and locked the door behind him. Bless Toris and Feliks, honestly.

He didn’t bother taking his shoes or coat off yet and took Hamlet into the guest bedroom. The closet there was small but stuffed full of mostly Arthur’s things, so Alfred wasn’t likely to go looking in there. He’d set up a litter box on the floor earlier, as well as putting down a cat bed, a bowl of water, and two toys.

“You’ll have to stay here for a little while, until after we eat dinner,” he told Hamlet as he picked the cat up out of the carrier and into his arms.

Hamlet mrrowed and butted his nose against Arthur’s chin before looking around the room.

Arthur smiled as he kissed the top of the cat’s head. “You can look around properly later, hmm? Once Alfred’s seen you. I’ll get you some food and you just need to be a little patient, darling.”

He placed the cat down into the closet and turned the light on. Hamlet immediately started batting at one of the mouse toys and sniffing around it and the bed. The Brit smiled as he shut the door, leaving the light on inside so Hamlet would be able to see while he waited.

A quick trip to the kitchen later and Arthur was back with a bowl of mixed wet and dry food that he’d hidden at the back of the cleaning supplies cupboard for the past few days. He stayed long enough to make sure that Hamlet had started to eat, then closed the door again and started on the rest of the preparations.

The prepared present box for Hamlet was stuffed under their bed. It was a pre-wrapped box with a top that could easily be removed and air holes already punched into it. The wrapping paper on the outside was busy enough that the holes were unnoticeable. Arthur had another cat bed on the bottom of the box, as well as another toy to keep Hamlet entertained for the hopefully short duration he’d be inside of it. He carried it to the guest bedroom for later on, then started on preparing a light dinner for the two of them.

There would be a proper turkey tomorrow at Alfred’s parents’ house, so for the evening the Brit settled on a simpler pan-seared steak and mash with roasted Brussels sprouts. He’d been practicing with Francis’s help, and at their latest cooking session, his French friend had been impressed at the results. Alfred could down anything remotely edible, he knew, but he still hoped his fiancé would enjoy it.

He had just finished plating everything when he heard the lock click and the front door open again.

“I’m home!” Alfred called, sounding a little bit hoarse.

Alarmed, Arthur poked his head out of the doorway to see Alfred somewhat struggling with a large wrapped box in his arms. “Oh dear, do you need help?” he asked, stepping forward.

“No!” Alfred yelped, his arms tightening around the box a little bit as he nudged the door closed with his foot. “Could you lock the door though?”

“Sure.”

Alfred edged around him and hurried into the living room to put the box under their small tree. By then Arthur had locked the door and turned around, only to be swept up into strong arms.

He laughed as Alfred spun him around. The laughter quickly turned into a squeal when Alfred pressed his still-cold cheek against his own, but he kissed his fiancé anyway. “How was the party?”

“Pretty chill. Tor and Fel opted for a smaller gathering this year, so it was only their closest friends. They were pretty bummed you couldn’t make it- Fel still insists you’re some sort of cryptid, but I promised to try and get you out next year.”

Arthur snorted. “We could have lunch with them sometime before then, too.”

“Yeah?” Alfred grinned brightly and kissed him again. “I’ll call Toris in a few days or something.”

“Sounds a plan. Now come on, food’s just ready.” Arthur tangled their fingers together as he tugged him off to the kitchen.

“And presents after?” Alfred followed him eagerly, sniffing at the air with appreciation. “Smells good, Art.”

“One present each today, like we agreed.” Though he shivered when he felt Alfred’s lips on the back of his neck, Arthur rolled his eyes and didn’t turn around to see the puppy eyes that were surely on display. “The rest tomorrow.”

“Okay, okay,” Alfred said with a defeated chuckle and nuzzled to him for a moment before looking over the plates. “Holy shit, you made all this yourself? It looks restaurant quality, babe.”

Arthur flushed happily at the praise. “Thank you, love. I hope it tastes okay as well.”

“I’m sure it will. You’re getting real good at cooking now. No more breaking the oven like freshman year of uni, huh?”

“I’ll have you know that was an accident.”

“Still on that train, huh?” Alfred teased as he moved the plates to the eating nook.

“Of course.” Arthur sniffed haughtily, but smiled as he slid in across from Alfred. He set a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses onto the table as well.

Dinner passed with Alfred telling stories from Christmas Eve at Toris and Feliks’s, as well as a drawn-out game of footsie under the table. Even after their plates were empty they sat at the table, nursing their glasses and laughing together.

Eventually, Arthur jolted. He reached out across the table and tapped Alfred’s hand, drawing the other man’s attention. “I think you’ve been patient enough. Present time?” He also didn’t want Hamlet to be alone in the closet for too long.

Alfred beamed at him. “Hell yeah!”

“Alright. I’ll go get yours real quick?”

“Oooh, mysterious.”

“Very,” Arthur said with a snort.

“I’ll clean up while you do, then! Wait for me in the living room when you’re ready?”

“Alright.” After a quick kiss, Arthur slid out of his seat and hurried down the hall to the guest room.

Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about Hamlet. The big cat was sprawled out over the pet bed, asleep with the toy mouse between his outstretched paws. He opened his eyes when the closet door opened and purred at the sight of Arthur crouching over him.

“Hello, big boy,” Arthur whispered, happy to stroke behind Hamlet’s ears. “Your big moment is coming soon. If you’re good, I’ll sneak you a few extra treats before bed tonight.”

Hamlet’s purring only increased in volume.

“Alright, come on, up you come.” Arthur grunted a little bit as he lifted the Maine Coon up and into his arms.

It was a slight struggle to manoeuvre the box from under the bed with roughly twenty pounds of limp cat in his arms, but after a few minutes Arthur managed to shove Hamlet inside. Ruffled but unbothered, Hamlet peered up at him with wide blue eyes before the Brit secured the top into place.

“You’ll be in there for just a few minutes, I promise,” Arthur told him.

Alfred was still washing up when Arthur made it into the living room, so Arthur settled on the couch with Hamlet’s box in his lap instead of under the tree while he waited. The American walked into the living room a few minutes later, lighting up at the sight of the big box.

“Oh man. So we’re both getting pretty sweet presents, huh?”

A self-satisfied smile stretched over Arthur’s lips. “Oh, definitely.” He knew Alfred would absolutely love the Maine Coon. “Would you like yours first since I’ve got it here already?”

“Sure.”Alfred was practically vibrating with excitement as he took a seat next to Arthur.

“Don’t shake it around, though. It’s delicate,” Arthur said as he handed the box over. His heart took off at a gallop as he watched Alfred examine it.

“Huh.” Alfred hefted it up a few times. “It’s lighter than it looks,” he mused, then froze when he heard a noise from inside. “Is that?” He whipped the lid off.

Hamlet meowed again and poked his head up, his front paws supporting his body against the edge of the box. He was still a bit ruffled as he looked around, and he started purring as his eyes landed on first Arthur, then Alfred right in front of him.

“Oh my God.” Alfred held out a hand for the cat to sniff, and he smiled when he felt the rough tongue against his fingers. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Arthur.” He suddenly whipped his head around to stare at Arthur.

“Wh-What?” Arthur bit his lip. “Do you like him?”

And Alfred burst out laughing.

Arthur stared at him in confusion. “What…?”

“No- No oh my God, Arthur, hang on.” Setting the box with Hamlet in it aside, Alfred rushed across the room to pick up the present he’d gotten for Arthur. He pushed it into Arthur’s hands, still chuckling. “Just open it.”

Arthur’s brows were still furrowed as he hesitantly lifted the top of that box off, and he nearly dropped it when he saw what was inside.

A small white and cream cat with green eyes and folded down ears stared up at him.

Unlike Hamlet, this cat was curled up on the bottom of its box, evidently more nervous than the other feline still peering around.

“Oh my God,” Arthur whispered.

Alfred laughed again, and this time, Arthur joined in. They fell against each other helplessly, because of course they would both get each other a cat for Christmas.

The cat in Arthur’s lap let out a mewl when its box was jostled, and Hamlet’s ears immediately pricked up. He jumped out of his box and peered into the other one, purring happily and forcing his way inside to curl up around and practically on top of the smaller cat.

“I guess…they’re friends?” Alfred managed to say, wiping a few tears from the corners of his eyes.

“I suppose so,” Arthur murmured, and smiled as he pressed a few kisses to Alfred’s cheek. “You silly thing.”

“Hey, you’re just as silly!”

“This just means we’re perfect for each other, hmm?”

“Aww! Arthur, that’s so sappy! I fucking love you, babe,” Alfred said as he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders.

“I love you too, Al,” Arthur whispered back. After a moment, while Alfred was still cooing and laughing over the cats, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the two of them in the one box. He sent it to Gilbert.

Arthur: Alfred got me a cat too? (9:48)

It was only a few seconds before Gilbert replied.

Gilbert: i know (9:48)

Gilbert: [IMG attached]

A selfie of Gilbert on his couch, with Hamlet and the small cat curled up together on his lap.

Gilbert: you’re both fucking nerds (9:49)

Gilbert: merry Christmas (9:49)

“What’s so funny?” Alfred asked, looking over when he felt Arthur laughing against him.

Arthur showed him the phone screen.

“What? You asked Gilbert to hold onto yours too?” They dissolved into laughter again. “I guess that explains why they get along so well…”

“Indeed. The big boy is Hamlet, by the way.”

Alfred lifted him from the box, grunting from the effort. “No kidding. He’s such a ham.”

“He was named after Shakespeare, you dolt,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, and Ham can be his nickname. Shakespeare reference for you, food reference for me.” Alfred grinned as he swung the cat above his head. Hamlet looked completely unbothered. “Who’s a hammy boy? Who’s a good hammy boy?” he cooed.

“Both of you.”

“Arthur!” Alfred lowered Hamlet to face level and turned him around so both he and Alfred stared at Arthur with near-identical blue eyes. “You wound us!”

“I’m sure you’ll both get over it,” Arthur said sweetly. “What’s this one’s name?” he asked, reaching in to offer his hand to the other cat. It had curled down in the box again now that it was alone. Arthur pulled it out to set it onto his lap instead, and set the box on the floor.

“He’s called Dover. No real reason for it, that’s the name he came with at the shelter. I didn’t see the need to change it.” Alfred let Hamlet down completely so the bigger cat could nuzzle to Dover’s face.

“Dover…” Arthur smiled as he lightly ran a hand down Dover’s back. “I like it. Hamlet and Dover. Thank you, Alfred. This has already turned into a perfect holiday.”

“I think you mean purrfect.”

“You nerd.”

“In all seriousness though, thank you too.” Alfred leaned over to wrap Arthur into as much of a side hug as he was able to. “We are both silly, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, Arthur. Merry Christmas.”

Arthur gripped him back tightly. “I love you too, my dearest,” he whispered into Alfred’s shoulder.

He blinked, and Arthur was before him. A slightly different Arthur, younger-looking and happy. Those green eyes were full of warmth, and Arthur’s hands were cupping his cheeks.

“If you keep scowling like that, it’ll stick,” Arthur murmured, his thumbs brushing against the skin beneath Alfred’s eyes.

“That’s my line,” Alfred heard himself say.

Arthur laughed. “Oh how the tables have turned. But really, love, you’ll wear yourself out if you stay up any longer.”

“I just can’t figure this thing out. There are so many variables and nothing’s fitting the way it should.”

“Hmm. Well if there’s too much in the big picture, then you should zoom in a little bit,” Arthur suggested. “Take it one section, one step at a time. You tend to try and solve everything at the same time, but slowing down is good too. I’m not sure if that’ll even work here, though, I don’t know too much about physics, but if you’re overwhelmed by it all, then perhaps a smaller approach would help.”

Alfred looked down at the laptop screen again, where numbers and variables and equations filled the document. “I think you might be onto something, Art!”

“Well I’m glad I could help. Half an hour more, and then come to bed, alright? I love you.” Arthur was smiling softly as he leaned in for a kiss.

Alfred gasped and pressed his forehead to the brick wall. His chest heaved and he touched his searing mouth with two fingers. Arthur had kissed him there, he remembered. That kiss had turned into another, and another, and then a final flurry all over his face before the Brit had retired to their bedroom. His mind ground to a halt after that, the rest of his memories refusing to come. His cheeks burned with heat at the thought of kissing Arthur, and his stomach squirmed pleasantly.

He then shook his head and pinched himself. He had to focus. One section, one step at a time. First, he had to get out of the alley.

Grabbing one of the remaining boxes, he tore up the rest and stuffed them inside, along with a few newspapers and other random bits that were scattered around the alleyway. Then it was the simplest thing to heft the box into his arms and walk away.

No one spared him a glance as he slipped into the foot traffic on the street.

He made sure to walk quickly, but not quickly enough that someone would get suspicious and think he was running from something. He slowed down a little bit whenever he passed a camera too- the box was supposed to hold a body, after all. The crowd was easy for him to work, and though there were a few close calls when someone almost bumped into him and the box, he avoided all collisions.

Twenty minutes walking was enough. He’d passed into a quieter neighbourhood, with fewer people in the streets, but still plenty of stores and alleyways with large dumpsters. His arms had been starting to ache, so he was glad to tip the box into one of the bins. When he turned around, there was an older man in the mouth of the alley, a few black bags in his hands.

“You new around here?”

“Yeah, sort of. I live around the corner but…” Alfred jerked his thumb at the dumpster. “Ex’s stuff. Didn’t want that too near me, or for them to find it.”

“Ah.” The man smiled a little bit. “I get you. I’ll keep your secret.”

Alfred very much doubted he would if anyone came after him, but he smiled nonetheless. “Thanks, man. I’ll see you around.”

He slipped from the alley with ease and glanced around, his eyes drawn to a nearby park. There were a few people in it, two couples and a mother with a stroller, so Alfred crossed the street and dropped down onto a bench. He pulled out his phone and pretended to swipe through it.

Right, ‘body’ disposed of. He could hear a garbage truck in the distance, so that would make the retrieval of the box harder for his handlers. What next?

The tracker in the phone he was currently playing with. He didn’t like the thought of being without a phone, though he supposed hopefully Arthur would allow him to borrow his phone occasionally. Arthur…

Pulse.

Right. No thinking down those lines for now.

The phone was the only tracker he had on him, he was certain of that, so theoretically all he had to do was slip it into someone’s bag or backpack and let them take his handlers on a merry little chase. But whose bag mattered.

LaGuardia airport was the closest. JFK had more international flights so would have been better with the chances of his phone ending up out of the country, but he didn’t have enough time to make the trip out there and back. The moment he started this next step, the clock would be against him.

He counted the money in his wallet and stood up, heading for the street. Before flagging down a taxi, he ducked into a few stores, but within fifteen minutes he was in the cab on the way to the airport. It had been nearly an hour since his supposed kill, and right on time, his phone started buzzing in his pocket as his handlers called for an update.

His leg started bouncing in the confined space, and he tried to ignore the growing jitters in his stomach as he let the phone buzz out. They called again, twice more, and then nothing. Alfred was nearly at the airport now. He knew they’d be checking the tracker, sending out a retrieval team.

He really, really hoped Arthur was worth it all.

P u l s e.

“Fuck-” he muttered under his breath, clenching his hands at his sides.

The cab pulled up to the drop-off area. Alfred pressed a few bills into the driver’s hand and slipped from the car. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then plunged into the crowd, keeping his head down to avoid all the cameras he could.

He would have wanted to slip the phone into someone’s bag after security, but there was no way he was getting through the gates with his guns and knives. Still, for security he headed, and along the way smoothly slipped the phone into the open compartment of a frat boy’s duffel bag. He had no idea what the final destination was, but the transfer at LAX jumped out at him, and from the way the guy was arguing with the person at security, he was a little late for his flight.

With the phone taken care of, he changed direction and slipped into the men’s bathroom with a group of four other people. After locking himself into one of the stalls, he shrugged off the newly-purchased backpack and rummaged around inside. Wig and contacts from the beauty supply store, a fresh change of clothes from H&M. He changed and popped the wig on while he waited for the other men in the bathroom to cycle through until no one who had seen him come in was left. When he was able to, he stepped out and slipped the contacts in, shoving his glasses into one of the backpack pockets. He looked at himself.

Red-brown hair, red eyes, ripped jeans, fake motorcycle jacket.

Not the best disguise, but different enough to hopefully get him out of there.

The new clothes didn’t allow him to keep all of his guns out and concealed, so he reluctantly stowed his double holster into the backpack as well, leaving him with his pistol and his knives.

The frat boy was also gone from security by the time Alfred left the bathroom, this time among the company of six laughing tourists, so he figured his tracker was well on its way. He hunched his head down and walked calmly outside.

As he was going through the doors, two men in suits pushed past him and ran into the airport. They didn’t spare him a second glance.

Alfred hailed down a second cab and breathed a small sigh of relief once they’d left the airport behind them. He had given this driver an address a few streets down from Ludwig and Feliciano’s house, both as an extra precaution and just so he could clear his head before facing everything. He took off the wig and cautiously plucked out the contacts as they neared the Brooklyn neighbourhood.

“Thanks, man.” He gave the taxi driver most of the rest of his money, along with a friendly smile as he got out and shut the door.

He sighed as the car zoomed off. It had gotten to the part of the afternoon where everything was orange-tinted and just bright. It all made Alfred’s head pound more, so he sank into the first park bench he came across just to breathe for a few minutes and hold his head in his hands. He didn’t dare stay out in the open for too long, however, and forced himself up again before long.

It took him less time than he would have liked to find the right apartment block. He glanced down at the key a few times before he reached the door to memorize the code, and entered without a hitch. There was no elevator, but that was fine. Alfred could take his time on the stairs.

He still paused for an extra moment in front of the front door. Arthur was there. Arthur Arthur Arthur Arthur-

P U L S E.

He gritted his teeth and clenched his hand around the key as he waited for the throbbing to pass.

Alfred finally forced it into the lock and swung the door open. His eyes flickered momentarily to the television, to Ludwig with Feliciano on his lap, before his attention was deflected by the clatter of silverware against ceramic.

Arthur had that same shocked look on his pale face as before. His mouth opened and closed once, twice. Then, “Alfred,” in that strangled tone.

Alfred gave him a small smile. “Hey, Arthur.”

His vision blurred.

He closed the door, setting the dripping umbrella down on the welcome mat and allowing his bag to drop to the floor with a wet thud. “Hey, Arthur,” he called into the dim flat.

“In the bath!” came the muted reply. “I just got in five minutes ago, come join me?”

Some of his tiredness seemed to lift right off his shoulders at that, and he eagerly trekked further into their home. He shed his damp outer layers along the way as well, something that Arthur was sure to scold him for later, but for the moment, he didn’t care. The light was on in the bathroom, the door cracked open. Alfred closed it once he’d entered, and shucked his pants off before turning to face the tub.

Arthur’s eyes raked up and down his body appreciatively. “Hello, love. Welcome home.”

“And what a pretty sight to be welcomed with, you laid out and waiting for me,” Alfred replied with a laugh. He prowled closer, sinking to his knees at the edge of the tub and reaching for one of Arthur’s arms. He kissed across the milky skin, lathing his tongue against the faint dampness caught there.

“I’m hardly ‘laid out for you’, you make it sound like I’m sprawled on the bed surrounded by rose petals,” Arthur said with a snort.

“No, but as an aside, can that happen for Valentine’s Day?” Alfred’s grin only widened as Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Silly boy,” Arthur told him affectionately, and reached out to tug on his hair a little bit. “Come on, come join me.”

Alfred didn’t have to be coaxed again. He stepped into the bath, settling between Arthur’s legs and leaning down to hungrily kiss at his lips.

“-red! Alfred, are you alright?”

He was swaying, falling, but before he could hit the ground, strong arms caught him around the waist and steadied him. Though his instinct was to reach for his gun, or a knife, he recognized Ludwig’s voice in his ear and stopped himself before he could follow that instinct. “I’m…fine?”

“You’re clearly not!” Feliciano appeared before him, honey eyes wide with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Head,” Alfred mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Ludwig, get him to bed. There’s no way any talking can happen when he’s in this state.”

“That’s alright.” A new voice joined in. Quiet. Smooth. “I think I need a moment myself.”

Pulse.

“Ngh-” Alfred groaned and screwed his face up in pain.

He could dimly feel himself getting moved, then tucked into bed with his jacket, shoes, and weapons removed. Ludwig didn’t comment on the finds, and Alfred didn’t have the strength to look up to see his reaction. He did hear a drawer closing though, and then smaller hands on his forehead.

“Alfred, it’s me. I have some pain medicine for you, and a glass of water. Could you down them? I’ll help you, here.”

He opened his mouth for the medicine and nearly choked on the water, but with Feliciano’s help, got them both down. The blanket was tucked up to his chin, and Feliciano’s fingers brushed the hair away from his forehead. The blinds were swished closed, presumably by Ludwig since Feliciano was still touching him.

The darkness felt better against his face, and he could crack his eyes open a little bit. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Feliciano’s mouth stretched up in a small, nervous smile. “It’s alright, Alfred. Rest. You’re safe for now, Arthur is safe, and you can sort it out in the morning.”