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Alfred’s towelling sweat out of his hair as he leaves the Quidditch pitch when the sound of raised voices catches his attention. Or one raised voice at least. It was yelling something in French while a lower one growled something surly back. Now, Alfred didn't know much French but one of the beauties of human communication was that swearing was just about universal. Someone was getting very thoroughly cussed out and no points for guessing who; Alfred just didn't know why Arthur was traipsing across the grounds at the ass-crack of dawn when he was barely awake after his third cup of tea most mornings.
“Hey, guys!” He jogs a little to catch up to the pair, Francis pausing and swinging back as if he’d just noticed Alfred. Being half-propped up by Francis’s dressing-gown clad shoulder, Arthur is dragged along for the ride with an irate sound.
Alfred tells himself that his smile only falters because of how wrecked Arthur looked, barefoot under his black robes, with leaves and twigs tangled in his pale hair and dark circles under his glassy eyes. Definitely not because of how he sways and ends up plastered against Francis’s side by the tightening of the arm around his waist. Nope. But his appearance did give Alfred an excuse to start a conversation. “Oh yeah,” he says casually, like he wasn't a pining idiot who had committed the lunar calendar to memory five minutes after being told that Arthur Kirkland was a werewolf. “Full moon night?”
“Just so, dear Alfred.” Francis pokes at Arthur’s cheek with a painted fingernail and narrowly avoids flashing teeth. “One where our favourite fool here went and picked a fight with a full-grown Acromantula.”
Alfred almost drops his towel. “He did what ?”
“‘M right here, y’know,” Arthur mutters. He shied back when Alfred stepped over to peer at him in concern. He did look pretty beat up, though Alfred had previously assumed it was just the normal full-moon damage. There was a wicked bruise already forming on his jaw and bloody scratches all over what exposed skin Alfred could see.
He twitches violently when Alfred grabs his wrist, tugging it up to inspect anxiously. “You didn't get bitten, right?” His skin was warm under Alfred’s palm. The normally neat nails were still long and dangerously curved, bone-white in the early morning light - an odd contrast to how delicate his hand looked with Alfred’s larger one wrapped around it.
“W-wouldn't be standing here if I did.” Arthur cleared his throat and Alfred realised with a start that his thumb had begun tracing circles over his skin. With how testy he’d been with Francis, it was probably a miracle Alfred hadn't gotten maimed. He lets go hurriedly with an apologetic laugh, fiddling with his towel.
“Er, so do you guys take this path every morning after? I’ve never seen you after my workouts-” Arthur is still steadfastly not looking at him, which isn't helping Alfred stop babbling nervously. “I- I mean, you probably never noticed since it’s - um, since I always get down here real early but I run laps around the pitch and. Stuff. Er. Yeah.” He finally shuts his yap and prays his face isn't as red as it feels.
“Of course.” Eyes crinkling, Francis covered his mouth with one hand. “We can certainly see that.” Was that a jab? Alfred’s already extremely aware that he’s standing here in a ratty old t-shirt and sweats, and tries not to cross his arms self-consciously. (Arthur seems cognizant enough to elbow Francis in the ribs for it, at least.)
Still, he supposes that he appreciates that Francis wasn't laughing outright until the man continued innocently. “You are strong, aren't you, from all these workouts .” It wasn't a question. “Why don't you take a turn helping our friend back to the castle?”
They both splutter. “I say- !” “What the -”
There’s a brief beat where Alfred tries very hard to squish every thought that immediately jumps into his head ( helping? Like carrying? Carrying Arthur?? Does that count as a hug??? ) and Arthur tries, with increasing viciousness and ironically decreasing efficacy, to hit Francis over the head. Or maybe he was just trying to stab his eyes out. Either was possible with those two.
“Well,” Francis says brightly into the resulting awkward pause interspersed with Arthur’s swearing. “This has been lovely, but shall we adjourn to the castle and our respective quarters? We haven't much time before classes and some of us still have to teach today.”
He spins on his heel with a flair that Arthur clearly doesn't appreciate because he immediately starts struggling again with a venomous hiss. “ Stop fucking jostling me, frog!” “I am not , you insufferable man, now stop wriggling!”
For lack of anything better to do, Alfred trails after them just as Arthur, patience clearly at its end, wrenches violently against Francis’s grip and takes a few unsteady steps away. This, of course, puts Alfred in the perfect position to catch him when his legs buckle, saving him from face-planting in the dirt. So he does and only registers what that means when he has Arthur pressed up against him. Flush against his chest, with his soft hair tickling Alfred’s jaw and his cheek pressed to Alfred’s collarbone. They both oof a little at the impact, Alfred stumbling back a step because Arthur was heavy for someone so tiny. And then his brain actually clues in to just exactly what the hell was happening and fucking explodes into mingled panic and elation because holy shit he had Arthur fucking Kirkland in his arms and even if he died in the next five seconds when the man recovered enough to tear him a new one, he could go out happy.
Except… that didn't happen.
Arthur went completely rigid and then melted into his chest. Alfred catches a whiff of cinnamon and bitter tea under the smell of foliage and his face heats up so quickly that he actually feels kinda light-headed, but that might’ve just been because Arthur had buried his face in the crook of his neck and then his arms came up around Alfred’s waist and was- was he nuzzling him? Alfred actually could feel his heart rate speed up and oh shit, could Arthur hear that? His breathing had gone all deep and even, like he was actually falling asleep standing up and holy shit if that wasn't the cutest-
“Looks like you've been chosen,” came a wry voice.
Alfred had totally forgotten Francis was standing there. “W-what?”
The man fluffed his long hair, smiling a little bit too widely. “Why, to take him to bed, of course.”
“ What?” Alfred’s face is doing something. He didn't know what, but Francis was clearly finding it hilarious. Then, as if his stupid face wasn't already red enough, Arthur stirred and reached up to pat clumsily at his jaw. “Too noisy,” he grumbled groggily. His calloused fingers brushed Alfred’s lips. Oh god.
“Well, if not his bed, then where else? Do you propose we toss him into the teachers’ lounge?” Francis was already sauntering away. “I can't see anyone being too happy about it, least of all, the little hellion himself.”
Oh. Right. Alfred felt kinda silly.
He took a few steps after Francis but tripped over Arthur’s feet when the man tried to shuffle along uncoordinatedly. But when Alfred tried to nudge him to the side, under his arm so their feet won't get all tangled up, he resisted. With much prejudice.
“Jeez, dude, what d’ya want me to do?” Alfred tries to calm his nerves with a strained laugh, resolutely not thinking about the delicious shift of muscle under his hands. “Princess-carry you?”
A huff. Then Arthur unhooked his arms from Alfred’s middle (thank god ) and hops up…to wrap his legs around Alfred’s waist, his arms going around his neck. Alfred chokes. Oh, this was bad. This was so very bad. He notices Arthur’s robes ride up with the motion - bad Alfred, that wasn't something he was supposed to notice when the man was barely conscious - and just about has a heart attack. Why wasn't he wearing pants ? He was wearing pants right, just because his legs were bare (and long and shapely and tucked up neatly against the small of Alfred’s back) didn't mean… ok, fine, boxers. At least . For the sake of his sanity, Alfred was just... going to pretend that was true. Especially when Arthur starts to slide down, and Alfred has to put his arms around him to hold him up. Oh god.
Francis interrupts his mini-freak out with a holler from twenty feet away. “Alfred! The students will be up soon and if you don't wish to run across them in the hallways~!”
… Fuck.