#usukexchange2016

Why was thinking about it so much easier than doing it? It wasn’t a big deal, it wasn’t like Arthur was some kind of good friend of his. He was a jerk and jerks deserved stupid gifts for Christmas.

So then why was Alfred standing in front of the Revolutionary War section of the bookstore, hesitating so badly?

Maybe it was because Arthur always seemed kind of lonely, never really hanging out with many people after school. Or maybe because one time someone teased him so cruelly that he had actually broken down into tears. Or because last year for Secret Santa, Gilbert had given him tweezers to “help tame his eyebrows”.

Now that was the ultimate gag gift, and yet although it had been pretty funny to Alfred at first, seeing Arthur’s face so torn between anger and embarrassment made Alfred feel really fucking sorry for him. Alfred had figured that Gilbert had bought something else besides tweezers and was going to give them to Arthur afterward…but nope. That was it. Cheap-ass tweezers as a Christmas gift even when the price each person should spend on the gift is $15-$20. There’s no way Gilbert’s present was over $2, and for that Alfred felt really bad for Arthur the previous year. Now this year he had the power to make Arthur’s Christmas maybe a little extra special with a really cool gift…

That settled it, he was definitely not sticking around the crummy bookstore to get a shitty present for Arthur. Christmas was the time to bring people together, not the time to continue a stupid rivalry that neither boy could remember how it all started in the first place. And Alfred considered himself a hero, so he would be Arthur’s hero this Christmas and get him something so amazing it would make him cry tears of joy! Yes! Maybe Alfred would even get to see a real smile on Arthur’s face; it was super rare and Alfred hated admitting it but he liked catching glimpses of the English teen’s real smile.

Alfred walked home pondering a perfect present for Arthur, and it was a little difficult since he didn’t know the other boy THAT well.

Let’s see… so he loves tea since he brings that travel mug every day of school but Alfred didn’t know his favorite type. And he likes playing soccer with the guys on the weekend but a soccer ball was kind of a lame gift. He also likes Shakespeare but probably already has a collection of Shakespearean novels. Hmm what else… Oh! One time, Alfred overheard Arthur talking with Francis about how he wanted to start guitar lessons because he wanted to learn how to play his favorite rock songs. AH HA! That gave Alfred an idea…. 

Once arriving home, Alfred got to work. And it took a whole night of searching online on a few different websites devoted to selling used items and a lovely $45 charge on his credit card for Alfred to buy the perfect gift for Arthur; he couldn’t wait to see his face. 

One week later, the whole group got together again, this time to give and receive their gifts. Alfred Jones arrived with a particularly large/long box, by far the biggest out of anyone else’s. He was feeling particularly jittery; he couldn’t wait to find Arthur and give him his present, but surprisingly, Arthur found him first.

“Hello Jones, I’d like to tell you that I am your Secret Santa this year. Happy Christmas.” And with that, Arthur held out a medium box decorated in reindeer wrapping paper to Alfred, who took it gratefully and with just a hint of amusement since that they both so happened to have the other person for Secret Santa (not that Arthur knew yet). It was a nice surprise.

Alfred tore the wrapping paper of his gift and opened a box to reveal a few paperback Capitan America comic books, which the American boy thought was just perfect. He loved reading comics!

“Oh my god Arthur! Thank you, seriously! How did you know I didn’t already have these ones??”

The other boy became a little pink in the cheeks. “Just luck, to be honest. Although I must say I’m relieved to see that you like them. I didn’t know if you preferred Batman or Capitan America.”

“I love it, seriously, it’s awesome. Thanks so much.” And with that Alfred put down the comics to pick up his gift for Arthur. “Now for your gift.” 

Arthur’s eyes grew wide taking in the size of his apparent Secret Santa gift. “Bloody hell Jones! The hell is in there??” He then looked up skeptically at the American’s face. “And how is it that we both have each other as gift exchange partners? A bit suspicious, is it not?”

Alfred laughed, “I swear it was just a coincidence! But dude please I’m gonna die if you don’t open your gift right now, I’ve been waiting for this moment all week!” After another suspicious glance from Arthur, he added, “And it’s not gonna explode or anything, it’s a real gift.”

With that, Arthur gingerly took the heavy present and after setting one side on the ground, began to unwrap it with extreme care. After finally undoing all the messily taped-together wrapping paper (Alfred wasn’t the best at wrapping presents), he gasped loudly once the present was completely revealed.

A beautiful acoustic guitar embossed with the Union Jack was staring at him and all Arthur could do was gape back. Looking closely, there were a few minor scratches on the surface but that hardly mattered! It was a real functional guitar!

“Bloody hell you did not. Jones is this a joke? Tell me you didn’t actually buy me a guitar?!” Arthur was looking a combination of shocked, thrilled, and terrified, as if he couldn’t allow himself to believe it was true. 

Alfred ignored the questions and asked, “Do you like it?” After all, it had taken him a while to find the perfect one. He still couldn’t believe his luck that he had found a used guitar with England’s flag on it! It was definitely meant to be. 

“I…my god, I love it. I bloody love it. I don’t know how to thank you…but there’s no way in hell this cost $15! It looks like it must cost at least $100! And that is completely against the rules, Jones!” 

“Dude chill, I admit it was more than $15 but waaaay less than $100, please promise me you won’t worry about it. I saw it and knew I had to get it for you. I overheard you saying one time you wanted to take up guitar lessons, and I hope this can start you off right.” Alfred wasn’t normally so sentimental, but something about Arthur and this whole exchange was making him feel warm and gooey inside. And mission accomplished, Arthur had smiled for real after all. 

“Alfred, that’s…surprisingly thoughtful. It’s very unexpected and I never would have thought you capable of such an act of utter kindness. I want to thank you sincerely, this is by far the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” Arthur continued to roam his eyes, almost hungrily, over the details of the guitar, stroking the cords and the wood of the base. Then almost instantly, a guilty expression replaced his previous happiness. “My gift to you is completely incomparable, it’s shite compared to this. I have to leave right now to get something else—“

“Stop,” Alfred cut him off, “You don’t need to get me anything else.” Then suddenly he had an amazing idea! “BUT, if you really want to make it up to me, you can take me out for dinner to a nice restaurant.” He was looking at the English teen with a crooked smile, deviant and smoldering. 

A few seconds passed where Arthur clearly assessed the idea, and to Alfred’s surprise, did not negate the offer in any way. “Fine Jones, if that’s what you want. I’ll take you out, but we go where I want to go, understood?”

“Fine, just no English restaurants for the love of God,” he responded, half-joking and laughing merrily, happy for the surprising turn of events that day and happy to have an actual conversation with Arthur sans insults. 

“We’ll see. Oh and Jones? You know it sounds like we’ll be going on a real date, right? That’s what you had intended?”

“Yup!”

They were what Alfred liked to refer to (in his own head, of course) as ‘hatefriends’, circumstances more often than not throwing them together regardless of their own feelings and desires. They certainly spent enough time with each other to be classified as some kind of friends, and that was the term Alfred liked the best. Hell, Alfred talked with Arthur more than he did his actual friends, even if the conversations were just them arguing over stupid things. Arthur was even his number one on speed dial (for the express purpose of annoying Arthur by having him there, but still - it totally counted).

Which is why, when he found himself alone outside on Christmas Eve, shivering in basketball shorts and flip flops, he called Arthur.

It was easy - even though he hadn't dialed the number in over a year, it came almost naturally to him, like riding a bike. Which was good, because without his phone (he left it in his coat, how stupid could he get) and with only a dollar to his name, he only really had one chance to get it right at the payphone down the street from - well.

He called Arthur.

The moment that groggy “‘Ello?” hit his eardrums, he was instantly relaxed. Even in just one syllable, Arthur managed to sound astoundingly pissed, as if Alfred had somehow managed to eat his cat and punch him in the face all at the same time. It was annoying, but it was familiar, and that was something Alfred desperately needed to hear right now.

“H-hey dude!” he exclaimed, trying as hard as he could to make his voice sound confident and not as shaky as it seemed to him, “It’s Alfred F. J-Jones, your old high school buddy! W-what’s up?”

There was a beat of silence, and then the ruffling of what he assumed was Arthur’s bedsheets filtered across the phone. Shit - it was already past midnight, wasn't it? He'd almost certainly been asleep, and now Alfred had woken him up at who-knows-what in the morning. Nice.

“Alfred?” Arthur questioned, as if the name had shocked him out of his restful state, concern (concern? There was no way - it had to be a trick of the payphone) seeping into his voice, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

In typical Alfredian fashion, he let out a laugh, boisterous and echoing through the empty, snow-ridden square. “It's n-nothing, bro!” he breathed out, his voice still wavering in the cold, “I’m just over by Germania’s - you know, the old pub on Rome street? - and was wondering if you could maybe...possibly...uh…give me a ride home?”

His voice hung in the air, his lip quivering almost unconsciously as he waited for Arthur’s answer. There was another beat of silence, a few seconds in which Alfred tried to think of some way to deny that he'd just asked for help from Arthur (Christmas Eve is the new April Fools?) - and then, with an almost imperceptible shift in his voice, he replied, “Rome street, you say?”

Alfred pumped his fist in victory, thanking every higher power he could think of that he didn't have to walk home alone in the in negative ten degree weather - on Christmas. “Yeah, right where it intersects with Prussia avenue!” he responded, his voice almost giddy as it fogged up the air.

“I'll be there in five minutes. For the love of all that is good and holy, do not move,” Arthur warned, the sound of keys jingling in the background, “Or so help me, you’ll be the main dish at my Christmas dinner.”

In three minutes (almost half the time that he had promised), a grungy old buick pulled up to the curb, the dilapidated window rolling down to reveal a very disgruntled Arthur. Alfred hopped up off the sidewalk where he’d been sitting, taking a moment to wipe the snow off of his frost-bitten ass before sliding over to the passenger side. He flashed a quick grin at the other boy (anything to hide the increasingly visible redness of his eyes) and muttered out a ‘thanks’ before turning his attention to the car’s (working, thank the lord) heaters.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Arthur pulled away from the curb, biting his lip as he rounded the corner to get back the way he came. Alfred kept his eyes trained on his hands, watching as they made the transition from near-blue to itchy red and hoping that Arthur couldn’t see the way his lip trembled. After everything he’d gone through that night, having him (of all people) bear witness to his little pity-party would only add insult to injury. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it, but that didn’t mean he wanted it to happen.

“So,” Arthur began, startling Alfred out of his self-destructive train of thought, “Why exactly did you need me to pick you up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve? I thought even you couldn’t fuck up that badly.”

The words were biting, but he said them with a gentle tone that let Alfred know he meant no harm. He was only trying to start up a bit of friendly banter, something to break the silence surrounding them. It didn’t help much. Alfred still cringed at the question, his mind working a mile a minute as he tried to come up with a suitable lie.

After a moment, he gave up, electing to just shrug and turn his attention back to his hands. Trying to keep up his usual energy was just too tiring after that night’s events, regardless of how much he wanted to fool the other boy. “It’s nothing, man,” he sighed out, “It’s not...it’s just nothing.”

Arthur cast a worried glance at him, but didn’t push any further, focusing his attention back on the road as he turned the wheel. Silence reigned once more, only the hum of the engine audible as they careened down the empty streets. The quiet almost made Alfred want to barf - he had always been one to try and fill the gaps in conversation - but he couldn’t bring himself to say a single word to the other boy.

It had been a wreck of a night. No matter what he pretended to enjoy around his peers, he had always been a strong believer in big, romantic gestures, and a fancy dinner with his girlfriend on Christmas Eve had seemed like a great idea at the time. He had the entire thing planned out to the smallest detail - his brother Matthew would drop him off at her apartment, where he would change into his suit (he’d left it there on accident after their last date had ended with...well), and from there he’d take her to his friend Feliciano’s restaurant, where he had managed to get two seats on the terrace. It would have been absolutely perfect, especially considering that Matthew was heading out of state, so they’d have his entire apartment just to themselves. Even now, he was proud of all the work he’d put into it - it would have been amazing.

But that was before - wait.

“Arthur,” Alfred interrupted his own stream of thought as his brow furrowed in confusion, “Where are you going? The turn for my apartment was five streets back.”

Arthur pursed his lips, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I know,” he replied, his eyes going anywhere but at Alfred, “I’m taking you back to my place.”

“What?” Alfred bit out, flabbergasted at his statement. Why on earth would they be going to Arthur’s house?

“You heard me. I’m not going to repeat myself,” Arthur bit his lip for a moment before letting out a sigh, his hands going slack, “I just... I can’t leave you alone right now. I know that you have no one else to go to - if you did you would have called them instead of me. I refuse to leave you to your own devices on Christmas Eve - after all, look how well that’s turned out for you so far! You're wearing flip flops in the middle of winter, for heaven’s sake! If you don't have frostbite by now, you’ll almost certainly get it if I leave you alone!”

Alfred couldn’t help it - he laughed. It was hilarious how, even in his most selfless of moments, Arthur tried to make himself seem exceedingly pissed off about the whole thing. It was endearing, in a way, and the familiarity of it brought warmth to Alfred’s heart. “Geez, Artie,” he snickered, “Never change.”

Arthur sputtered, his shoulders rising in indignation as if he was some sort of cat. “Why, I,” he spat out, “I ought to kick you out of this car, Alfred F. Jones! Honestly, you must be five years old!”

Alfred only responded with another laugh. He knew Arthur’s threat wasn’t genuine - or at least, he hoped it wasn’t. Their relationship had always walked the fine line between ‘joking’ and ‘actual, genuine hatred’, and Alfred rarely knew where they stood. The majority of the time, he just assumed that Arthur tolerated him and let it go from there - he’d certainly let him know when he was tired of his company.

The rest of the ride was quiet once more, that laugh seeming to have set Arthur off. Even when they reached his apartment, Arthur refused to speak, simply turning the keys in the lock and trusting that Alfred would follow as he disappeared behind a door.

Arthur’s place looks really home-y, Alfred thought as he stepped past the threshold, toeing off his flip flops by the door mat. It was filled with things that reminded Alfred of the other boy - bookshelves lining what minimal wall-space there was, a crocheted blanket draped across the back of a dilapidated loveseat, and a large collection of Doctor Who dvds lovingly piled next to the television. Alfred slung himself over the side of the couch as he viewed the decorations, smiling internally as he looked around. You can totally tell that it’s Arthur who lives here.

It was at that moment that Arthur appeared from behind the door that he’d gone in, slamming a mug down on the end table and crossing his arms almost smugly. Alfred looked up at him, confusion glimmering in his eyes as he glanced back and forth between the mug and the other man. “Uh...dude?” he questioned, shrugging helplessly, “Did you need something?”

Arthur sighed, grasping the mug and placing it (surprisingly gently) into Alfred’s hands. “It’s hot chocolate, you idiot,” he breathed out, sitting almost gracefully at Alfred’s side, “Who knows how long you were outside like that - you need to warm up. And, well, I remembered your fondness for chocolate, so…”

“Oh,” Alfred breathed out, watching as Arthur fidgeted next to him, “Thanks.”

And then, all of a sudden, it all became too much to handle. The night he’d had, Arthur’s kindness, the stinging numbness left in his fingers - it was all just too overwhelming. His eyes began to water and, before he could stop it, the tears turned into wracking sobs, his head hanging downward as he sucked in short, stifled breaths. He could almost feel Arthur’s alarm as he shifted in his seat, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop the tears - they fell as if they had a will of their own.

“Alfred, what -” Arthur began, but he stopped himself short, his hand hanging in the space between them as if stuck between comforting him and recoiling.

“Sorry,” Alfred choked out, lifting one hand to wipe at his rapidly reddening eyes, “I’m sorry, I didn't want - I’m just -”

Alfred let out another sob, determinedly looking anywhere but at Arthur as the tears continued to pour down his face. “I went to my girlfriend’s apartment, but when I texted her that I was waiting outside, she said that we should see other people. She wasn’t even in the state.”

In his peripheral vision, Alfred could see Arthur almost melt with pity, his hand finally coming to rest comfortingly on his shoulder. “Ah,” he breathed out, nodding his head a little, “I understand. It’s always hard to lose someone that you love.”

“That’s the thing, though!” Alfred exclaimed, desperation in his voice as he jolted towards Arthur, “I didn’t love her! Hell, I didn’t even like her all that much! We weren’t good together!”

“Then...why…?” Arthur questioned, his face contorting in confusion as he tried to comprehend Alfred’s statement.

Alfred let out a bitter laugh, almost choking on his own tears even as he viciously tried to wipe them away. “I’m not stupid, you know,” he bit out, his eyes cast downward towards the mug in his hands, “I know that people don’t like me. I know that I’m annoying and loud and awful but I can’t stop, and - and I need to take what I can get. We might not have been good together, but she was the only person who liked me even the tiniest bit, even if it was just for my body, so if -”

He took a deep breath as if to steady himself. “If I didn’t want to hate myself,” he continued, voice quiet, “I had to take what I could get. But now she’s gone, and - and there’s nobody left who likes me, not even a little, because I can’t stop my stupid self from doing all this idiotic stuff. I’m alone, and it’s all my fault.”

All of a sudden, the mug was ripped out of Alfred’s hands and a pair of warm, sweater-covered arms enveloped his crying form. He struggled, but after a moment he allowed himself to melt into Arthur’s embrace, his forehead leaning on his shoulder as he shook with the weight of his tears. After a moment of allowing the other boy to comfort him, he pulled back, his red-rimmed eyes meeting Arthur’s as he asked, “Arthur, what…?”

“Alfred F. Jones, you listen and you listen well,” Arthur began, grasping Alfred’s shoulders in his slightly shaking hands, “You are in no way stupid, or idiotic, or any of those other things you were saying about yourself. Sure, you can be annoying at times, but so can everyone, and that by no means makes you less valid or less deserving of love. You’re just a person, Alfred - you’re allowed to have flaws, and you shouldn't settle for the kind of twat who likes you just for your appearance. And, well, to the right person -”

At this Arthur shifted a bit, a bit of a blush appearing on his cheeks as he broke the intense eye contact he’d been keeping up. “To the right person, your flaws aren’t flaws at all,” he breathed out, “They’re like puzzle pieces - what one person lacks, the other will make up in - a perfect match. S-so don’t go thinking that you can settle for someone who doesn't deserve you, alright!”

“Arthur, I -” Alfred responded, his voice raw and scratchy as he stared at the other boy, “I thought you hated me.”

Arthur started, blinking in confusion as his gaze snapped back to Alfred. “Of course not! I never hated you, we just argued, that was all. Sort of like an old married couple. It by no means meant that we -” Arthur’s face paled as a thought seemed to occur to him, “Do...do you hate me?”

“No,” Alfred replied without even a moment of hesitation, “Never. The opposite, really.”

“Ah,” Arthur returned, “Good. That’s...that’s very good.”

A moment of comfortable silence passed between them, gentle smiles tugged at both of their mouths, before the implication of all that they’d just said seemed to hit all at once. Not only had they been dangerously sentimental, but compared to their usual conversations, they had both basically just confessed their undying love for the other that they’d been harboring since high school. Alfred began to splutter, Arthur blushing up to his ears, and neither of them entirely willing to make eye contact.

“So, uh,” Alfred managed to spit out after several unsuccessful tries, “Do you...want to...do....something? Sometime?”

“What kind of something?” Arthur replied, his voice shaky with embarrassment.

“Uh,” Alfred tripped over his words again, a blush working its way up his cheeks, “Maybe dinner, or something? Anything, really.”

Arthur bit his lip, seemingly trying to decide on something, before leaning over and leaving a quick peck on Alfred’s cheek. “If it’s with you,” he breathed out, looking up at him with a shy smile, “I believe anything would be lovely.”