#athurtv

It was 3 a.m. by the time you got back to Arthur’s flat—mainly due to the frequent pit stops for food or vomit scares. Becky linked arms with you as you both skipped through the halls of the apartment complex, giggles spilling from your lips as Shannon and Mia shushed you repeatedly.

As you approached Arthur’s front door, you reached for your bag before gasping, “I’ve lost my bag.” You whispered, looking at your friends with a pouted lip. “Arthur’s gonna be mad at me.”

Shannon shook her head. “Sweetie, I have your bag, remember?” she reassured you, handing it over, making you wipe your tears away quickly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, clutching the bag in your hands as you leaned against the wall. “I wanna go to bed.”

Right on cue, Arthur pulled open the front door, spotting you on the ground looking up at him with a pout. “Hi!” You tilted your head sweetly at the boy, making him laugh softly.

“Hi, beautiful.”

Becky cooed loudly, holding her hands over her heart. “My parents.”

Shannon and Mia shook their heads, laughing at the Welsh woman before pulling her closer to them, silently signaling it was time to leave.

“Bye, sweetpea. We’ll see you soon,” Mia said, waving to you and Arthur as she and Shannon helped a very drunk Becky down the hall.

Arthur crouched down in front of you, and you grinned at him. “Bedtime?” he asked, holding out his hands for you to take.

You nodded, grabbing them and letting him lead you through the flat into the living room, where he sat you at the kitchen island. Your head found its way to the cold marble surface, and a soft sigh escaped your lips. “I’m so hungry,” you grumbled.

“Well, it’s lucky I’m the best boyfriend in the world and made you a pizza for when you got back,” Arthur said, sliding a plate of cheese pizza toward you. You sat up with a smile as he took a seat next to you.

You pulled the plate close, making a protective barrier with your arms. “Oh, I love you,” you muttered, bringing a slice to your lips. “It’s hot. How’d you know when I was going to be home?”

“Shannon messaged me to let me know.”

“How sweet is she?” you said, lips pouting as your eyes welled with tears. “I love her so much.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you bit into your pizza.

“Darling, why are you crying?” Arthur chuckled softly, turning the chair you were sitting on to face him and pulling your legs into his lap.

“I just love everyone so much.” A small sob left your mouth as tears continued to flow. “I love you so much. You made me pizza.”

Arthur laughed, using his thumb to wipe the tears from your face as you chewed your food. “I love you too, sweetie.” He pressed a kiss to your hairline as you leaned into his side.

“Thank you for my pizza.”

You grabbed another slice and handed it to him, and he took it happily, taking a bite without hesitation.

“Can I have a drink?” you asked with a mouthful of pizza, miming the motion of drinking.

Arthur nodded with a smile, walking over to the fridge and grabbing two water bottles. “Here you go.” He slid one toward you with the lid already open, and you gulped it down quickly.

Arthur laughed as you placed the empty bottle back on the table, panting slightly. “Okay, I think it’s time for sleep.”

You nodded, letting your boyfriend pull you up from the chair by your arms. You slowly trudged behind him, the pain in your heels had fully kicked in, and each step made you wince.

You looked around the room with squinted eyes. “Pyjamas,” you mumbled, the fatigue from the alcohol finally catching up with you as you flopped onto Arthur’s bed, not even attempting to change out of your outfit.

Arthur smiled to himself, grabbing your pajamas - one of his oversized T-shirts and a pair of your cozy lounge shorts—and laying them next to you. Then he crouched down and gently pulled off your heels.

You sat up just enough to wriggle out of your dress and unclasp your bra, tossing both to the floor with dramatic flair. With a sigh, you pulled on his shirt and fell backward again.

“Darling?”

You hummed in response, your eyes closed as you listened to Arthur.

“Want me to take your makeup off?”

“Yeah, please,” you replied, barely audible as you yawned, getting comfortable on Arthur’s bed. He moved to the nightstand to get the makeup wipes, carefully wiping your face as soft snores began to escape your lips.

Once you were clean and peaceful, he lifted you up, settling you on top of his chest as he laid down. He wrapped the quilt around you both, your body naturally curling into his side.

“Goodnight,” you murmured sleepily into his warmth.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand rubbing small circles on your back. “Goodnight, love.”

A sleepy smile tugged at your lips as the last thing you remembered was the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

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The lazy soft glow of the pubs orange lights painted over the sticky floors as various groups gathered around tables for various events. A group of teens hidden in the corner, a table of old men watching whatever sports game was on the TV, and then there was your table. A table closer to the door to let the warm summer air wrap around you all and there sat Will, Aby, Mikey, Ieuan, Orla, James and you.

You had been working as an editor for Will for the past three years. You had grown close to all of Will’s friends eventually learning to call them your own which meant that when someone from the team decides to leave, they were being celebrated like the world would fall apart without them and honestly? With Orla leaving it felt like Will industries just might.

You clinked your glass against Orla’s softly, “To you,” your voice coming out soft and quiet the words only being heard between the two of you, “for surviving Will longer than anyone ever should have to.”

Orla let out a laugh, “And to you who now has to deal with him alone.”

Somewhere across the table, Will was already tipsy and loud as he leaned closely into James jabbing his finger into the sober man's chest, “Would you stop gawking? If you like the girl, fucking tell her, would you?”

James rolled his eyes in amusement pushing his friend away, “Will, mate.” James’ expression shifted into amusement, a crooked smirk forming as he leaned back in his chair, “You’re imagining things.”

Will leaned forward again, stage-whispering, “Don’t deny it. I see the tension.”

James just laughed at his words which caught your attention from across the table. Your eyes glistened as they landed on James’ bright smile and soft feature, Mikey nudged gently with his elbow forcing you to rip your eyes away from James, “What?”

Mikey just wiggled his eyebrows as he took a slip of his drink. You felt your cheeks burn a deep shade red as Mikey laughed shaking his head, “Try to be less obvious.”

You sunk a little lower in your chair, hiding behind your glass. James, noticing your eyes glued to him, winked in your direction before moving the conversation forward but the blush refused to leave your cheeks.

As the night wore on and the music grew louder, and voices started to grow hoarse as they yelled over the increasing volume of chatter and laughter. You eventually excused yourself to get another drink, weaving through the cluttered tables towards the bar. The line was short, which meant you landed by the bar fast as you ordered your drink when a man slid up beside you. He leaned in close, his cologne suffocatingly strong.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he slurred, “You here alone?”

You offered a polite smile, twisting your body away from him, “Nope, with friends.”

He laughed, placing a hand dangerously low on your back, “Come on, a pretty thing like you shouldn’t be left alone. Let me buy you a real drink.”

“I’m okay, thanks,” you said firmly, stepping away from him, but his hand followed curling around your waist. Your stomach dropped.

From across the room, James was mid-conversation with Aby when his eyes landed on you. The way your shoulders stiffened, the forced smile, the way your hand subtly pushed the mans away. It all clicked instantly.

Without a word, James pushed off his seat, cutting through the crowd with purpose. He was at your side in a matter of seconds, his hand slipping comfortably around your waist where the stranger’s had been. The familiar scent of his aftershave flooding your sense and you melted into his chest without even meaning to.

“There you are, love,” he said, his voice soft but his intentions were loud and clear, “Everything okay?”

You blinked up at him in surprise but nodded quickly.

The mans smirk slipped into a scowl as he eyed James’ tall frame, “This your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” James replied, tightening his grip slightly, “So maybe move along, mate.”

There was something in James’ eyes when you glanced up at him, it wasn’t an expression you had seen before. It was cold, calculated, and protective.

The man hesitated, then scoffed and backed off with a muttered curse. When he was gone, James finally looked at you properly, his hands moved from your waist to your shoulders, his thumb carefully caressing your neck, “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded again, “I, yeah. Thanks. That could’ve gotten worse.”

James gave you a soft smile. “Not on my watch.”

Then, as if that was the most normal encounter in the world, he turned and started walking back to the table. You stood there for a moment, stunned by the quick change in demeanour. His protectiveness, the casual arm around your waist, the natural way he said love…

Your stomach and mind swirled as you trailed after him.

Back at the table, the mood had shifted only slightly. Will gave James a sly look as you sat back down, his voice too loud again, “A real hero’s entrance, James. Defending her honour. A real knight in shining armour.”

“Shut up,” James mumbled, sipping his drink, but his smirk gave him away.

You smiled despite yourself, heart hammering.

The night slipped by in a haze of clouded music and laughter. By the time everyone slipped out onto the street, the air had cooled, and your head was light from the unholy amount of drinks that passed your lips.

“I think I’m gonna call it,” you said, wobbling slightly as you pulled your cardigan closer to your chest.

“I’ll walk you,” James offered quickly, “Just so you get home safe.”

You looked at him, surprised, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

The walk home was quieter. Your steps slow from your head spinning, but James kept your pace. A brush of his hand on the small of your back whenever your stumbled over your feet. The conversation flowed easily; teasing, laughing, subtle contact occasionally until you reached your flat.

You paused outside the door, fumbling for your keys in your small bag, “Well,” you said, suddenly very aware of James presence next to you, “Thanks for walking me.”

James stepped a little closer, “Anytime.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the liquor from your drinks taking over your body – at least that’s what you wanted it to be – you leaned up, pushing yourself on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

It was quick, impulsive, tipsy.

And as soon as fast as the kiss started, it ended. you pulled away, horror of your actions flooding over you, “Oh my God! I didn’t mean, I’m sorry, that was-”

But James’s hand was suddenly in your hair. The movement was harsh, but it wasn’t gentle either, his hold was firm as his fingers threaded through the strands as if he had been waiting for this moment. It was like holding you was the most natural thing to him, as if you belonged in his arms. His fingers curled gently at the nape of your neck, grounding you into the warmth of his body as he leaned in.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or hungry. Every movement was was slow, certain, and deliberate. His lips brushed yours with a feather-light touch at first, testing the waters before deepening the kiss with a kind of quiet intensity that had your knees threatening to buckle. There was an adoration in the way he kissed you, like he was memorising the moment, the shape of your mouth, the way you trembled ever so slightly beneath his touch.

You froze at first, caught off-guard by the softness, by the weight of intensity of the moment. But then something inside you gave in to him and your hands reached instinctively for him, balling in the fabric of his shirt. You gripped onto him like a lifeline, like you needed to hold onto something solid before the world spun completely off its axis.

James’s other hand found your waist, fingers splaying across the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. The heat radiating off him made your skin prickle, and your pulse thrummed in your ears louder than the city outside.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. His eyes searched yours not for permission, but for understanding, for confirmation that the kiss had meant the same to you as it clearly had to him.

And it had.

You swallowed, lips tingling, voice barely a whisper, “James…”

He smiled. Not a cocky smile, but a quiet, almost vulnerable one, “You kissed me first.”

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath, “You didn’t exactly waste any time taking over.”

His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, lingering for a moment.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” he said softly, “for a long time.”

Your breath hitched at his words.

The confession settled between you, quiet and honest. It made your heart stutter, not in panic but in something softer. Something scarier. Something real.

You stared at him for a long moment, your hands still fisted in his shirt, “Then why didn’t you?”

James gave a small, sheepish laugh, his eyes flicking to your lips again before returning to your gaze, “Never felt right. You were always busy, and I didn’t want to make things weird.”

“They’re weird now,” you whispered, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

“They are,” he agreed, “but in a really good way.”

You exhaled shakily, adrenaline slowly fading into something weightier. The night was suddenly quieter around you now, no more laughter from the pub, no more footsteps on the pavement. Just you, him, the thrum of your heartbeat in your ears, and the lingerinf of his kiss burning on your lips.

You hesitated, your fingers loosening their grip on his shirt, sliding down to rest at his chest. You could feel his heartbeat there under it, a steady beat that calmed your own.

“Do you…” Your voice trailed off, unsure for a moment if you were reading the moment right, “Do you want to stay the night?”

James blinked, once, then again, as if making sure he’d heard you correctly, “Are you sure?” he asked softly, “You’ve had a few drinks. I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

Your heart warmed at his restraint, at how gently he held the moment. You nodded, slow and sincere, “I’m sure. I just, I don’t want to say goodnight yet.”

A pause.

Then James smiled, really smiled, like the sun breaking through the the clouds.

“Okay,” he said, voice low, “Then I’d love to stay.”

You stepped back, still holding onto him, guiding him inside your flat. The door clicked shut behind you. For a moment, you both stood in the entryway, your cardigan hanging of your shoulders, James’ presence filling the space around you.

The kiss had opened something between you, and now the silence was charged.

“I’ll, uh, get you a blanket,” you said, breaking the tension as you moved toward the couch.

James reached for your wrist gently, stopping you, “You don’t have to make up the couch,” he said, his voice even softer now, “I’ll sleep wherever you want me to. The sofa, the floor, or…”

Your eyes met his, “…or with me?” you offered quietly.

There was no teasing in his smile this time, just tenderness. He nodded, his thumb brushing over your wrist, slow and grounding, “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

You led him down the short hallway to your bedroom, your heart pounding as you realised how quickly the night had changed — how quickly everything had changed.

But it didn’t feel rushed. It felt inevitable.

Inside the room, you both stood at the edge of the bed, suddenly shy again. James reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before dipping down to kiss you once more. Just a short, slow, silent promise that there was no pressure.

“Let’s just sleep,” he whispered against your lips, “I just want to be close to you.”

You nodded, heart swelling.

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The laughter from the streets of Wolverhampton and the chaos that had taken place replayed over in your head, getting slightly blurrier as the night went on but fun to say the least.

You replayed the way Alfie had looked at you across the sticky wooden table in the pub with pint glass in hand, cheeks flushed from beer and the cold. How his face softened when you sang an inproptu duet with Arthur, how he was the first person to cheer and wrap you into a drunken embrace - like something unspoken had slipped through the cracks.

And then it was the way his hand casually spread over your thigh the entirety of the train ride back to London, and then how it pressed firmly into your hip as you stumbled out of the taxi. His arm steady around you, your weight tucked into him like it had always belonged there.

You barely made it inside your flat before his mouth captured yours.

He didn’t give you any time to think, and honestly you didn’t need it. The kiss came quick, messy and desperate as you stumbled your way through your flat. Clothes being stripped with every step as you laughed between kisses until it turned into something heavier.

His breath burned against your skin. His hands sliding under your skirt, under your shirt, over your hips, across your chest like he’d thought about this. Like he knew exactly how to touch you.

The way he looked at you when you were beneath him was burned into your brain. The way his curls fell into his eyes, pupils blown wide, voice breaking when he said your name like a prayer and a sin in the same breath. As if he was scared of it, as if he was scared of you.

His lips brushed your shoulder. Your jaw. The valley between your breasts.

You remembered the way your body arched into his like it was the perfect fit. How he held you close to him like you were fragile, even when his hips snapped into yours, hard and fast and intentional. Not an accident, not just some drunken mistake.

And now? Now the sun is cruel.

It bled through the curtains in gold strips, lighting up your bedroom like it’s trying to highlight everything you shouldn’t see - his shirt on your floor, the scratches scattered along the muscles on his back, your underwear caught on the edge of the chair.

You’re still in bed wrapped up in your sheets. Your thigh touching his felt like it was on fire, and you can’t bring yourself to move because the second you do, this will all shatter.

He was awake. You knew he was from the way his breathing was far from even. He still laid beside you on his back with his tucked arm under his head. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but he didn’t.

And that’s what hurt more than anything.

You didn’t speak. You just stare at the ceiling, feeling like you’re slipping under the surface of something you can’t name. Your mouth dry, your skin too exposed, even though you were technically covered. It’s the vulnerability that gets you, not the nakedness.

You shifted slightly, dragging the duvet with you, clutching it to your chest. Your hair a mess. Your body aching in the best yet worst way.

You turn your head to look down at him and he was just staring up at the ceiling, his jaw clenched.

“Alfie?” Your breath hitches in your throat.

He blinked before slowly turning his head to look at you, “Yeah?”

You hated how cold the word sounds as it fell from his lips.

“I can’t pretend that didn’t mean something,” you said, “I won’t.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers drum once against his chest, then stop. His voice is rough when he finally speaks, “It did mean something,” he admits, “Just I don’t know what.”

You felt like you had been split open watching as he avoided your eyes, “So what, it’s just casual now? Something we joke about again? Just a new thing to tease each other over?”

“You think this was a joke to me?”

“I think you’re acting like it didn’t happen,” you snapped without meaning to, “Like you’d rather forget it.”

“I don’t want to forget it,” he replied instantly, “I’m just trying to not fuck everything up.”

Your chest stuttered with shallow, angry breaths, “It already is fucked.”

He closes his eyes, scrubs his hand down his face, “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

A heavy silence fell over you both again.

Your eyes traced over him, over the curve of his shoulder, the litter of bruises you had left on his collarbone. You remember tracing it with your tongue, how he gasped when you pressed your lips there.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Alfie opens his eyes snapping his head towards looking at you like he’s still trying to piece you together from last night’s events.

“No,” he said, “God, no. I just, I’m scared. I’m scared that I’ve completely fucked what we had. I’m scared that you’ll look at me and hate me for it.”

You let out a shaky breath, “I don’t hate you.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

You moved your gaze from your hands over to him. You met his eyes that held a softness to them but there was something else there this time – a timidness you had never seen before.

You shook your head, the tears stinging the backs of your eyes, “You can’t just expect me to forget about this, like this never happened.”

“I know.”

“So what now?”

He doesn’t answer, he just reached out for your hand, a slow and tentative move, like he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you didn’t.

Both of you now teetering on a line - and one more breath in the wrong direction might shatter everything.

Your hand lingered in his, fingers brushing but not quite locking together. It’s almost like the space between you two was expanding with every passing second, even though your skin still feels burned from last night.

You felt like you were suffocating, but you weren’t sure if it was the proximity to him or the realization that this is bigger than either of you had ever planned for it to be.

His thumb runs across your knuckles, a feather-light touch that felt like an apology.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to collect yourself, "So, this is, what now? We pretend it didn’t happen? Pretend we’re still just us?" You asked, voice cracking.

You knew you were being unfair, but you couldn’t help it. It was easier to be angry than to be vulnerable. Easier to throw out accusation, to ask the question that has been lodged in your chest since the first kiss, since that first whisper of his breath on your skin.

His jaw tightened, a flash of guilt crossing his face, "I’m not pretending anything." His voice is low, hesitant, "But I don’t know how to, how to make sense of this, y/n."

"Make sense of what?" you bit back, a dash of bitterness twisting in your tone, "That you can just fuck me, and now we’re supposed to go back to being friends like nothing’s changed?"

He flinched, it was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it hit you like a slap. His lips pressed tightly together, and his eyes darken with something that feels like a mix of regret and something else — something you couldn’t pinpoint.

You didn’t wait for him to speak. You were already sat up, the sheets rustling between your legs as you pull away from him. You were so angry and confused you couldn’t stand the stillness in the air anymore.

He watched you, his eyes flickering with an unreadable expression, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean to cross that line. But I won’t lie to you, y/n,” His voice cracked as he whispered your name, and it hits you right in the chest, “It didn’t feel like a mistake when we were, when we were together. It didn’t feel wrong.”

"Then what are we doing?"

The words fell out before you can stop them, raw and desperate. Your whole body was shaking by now, your pulse racing, heart thumping in your ears, “I want to know what the hell this is. I don’t want to wake up and just brush this off. I want to know where we go from here."

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers twitched again, like he was itching to pull you back to him, but he stopped himself, “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you, y/n.”

The words landed like a weight on your chest, suffocating you. Your breath hitching in your throat, and your heart skipping a beat, “Then why does it feel like you’re already pulling away?” you whispered.

The vulnerability was too much, the depth of what you were feeling far too much to bear.

Alfie’s eyes flickered with something, "I’m not pulling away," he says softly, but it sounds like a lie.

A damn good one at that. He took a shaky breath, like he’s trying to steady himself, trying to keep his voice from trembling, “I’m trying keep everything okay, just to not fuck this but I don’t know how to fix this."

You stood up as the words left his mouth, pacing the room, letting the tension coil tighter around you, “I’m not the one who needs fixing, Alfie,” you snapped, "You are. You’ve spent the past eight goddamn month flirting with me on camera, letting everyone believe there’s something between us, and now you’re sitting here like you’ve got no idea what this is. This isn’t normal.”

Your voice broke on the last word, and suddenly the room feels like it’s closing in on you. You hated that you were letting yourself get emotional. You hate that everything is starting to feel real now but it’s too late to take it back.

"I’m not pretending it’s normal," he says, his voice strained, "But I’m scared, y/n. I’m terrified of what it means. I’m scared of losing you, and I’m scared of what happens if we make this real."

"Make it real?" The words cut through the air like a blade, and you turn back to him, eyes burning, "You think I don’t know how you look at me? You think I didn’t feel everything last night? The way your hands-" You break off, your chest tightening with a painful ache. The memories are too fresh, too raw, and it’s too much to handle.

He was standing now, too, but there’s a hesitancy in his movements.

Like he wanted to touch you, you can see it in the way his hands hover just a breath away from your arm. He was scared, scared of how close he was to losing you, to fucking everything up.

"I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean something to me," you whispered, every word shaking, “I can’t do it.”