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Fiddling with the paper on his hand, Alfred drummed his fingers against the wooden desk gently. Eyes locked firmly on the blank paper, thoughts wandering everywhere in an attempt to search for a way to turn words into coherent sentences.
Outside, the snow had piled up and the temperature was slowly decreasing, but Alfred didn’t even bother to put a jacket on. He had no time to think about it right now—not when Valentine’s Day was only two days away.
Which meant the school’s prom was already around the corner. And Alfred really hate Valentine's Day because of that.
Alfred yawned and stretched his arms, body bending backwards slightly as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been sitting on the same chair and staring endlessly at the paper for around two hours and still, the paper remained blank and clear.
Well, not exactly blank and clear, though—only three words were available on the top left corner of the paper, written in big bubbly and messy handwriting: “Dear Arthur Kirkland”.
You see, the root of his writing problem was the school’s anonymous love letter program for the Valentine’s Day. The student council members thought it would be exciting to have the students wrote a love letter and sent it to their crushes via the student council members.
Alfred groaned and stood up, plopping himself to his comfortable bed. Sulking, the American sighed and pouted in annoyance. “I can never do this.”
Matthew Williams rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of Alfred’s bed, his bear hugged tightly around his arms. “You haven’t even done anything, Alfred.”
“It’s not my fault if I can’t write a letter, moreover a love letter!” The American argued back, resting his chin on his soft pillow, eyes staring blankly towards his Captain America posters. “I tell you, the program is absolutely ridiculous!”
The Canadian shrugged and sighed. “Tell that to Francis instead of me. He’s the president, not me.” Seeing how obsessed the Frenchman was with the topic of love, it was not a surprise anymore for the other council members when Francis proposed the love letter program during the council meeting a couple of days ago. Everyone thought it was quite a great idea and agreed to it—everyone but one certain grumpy Briton with oddly huge eyebrows.
Arthur Kirkland was the school’s student council vice-president, no doubt extremely famous for his ridiculous eyebrows. People often mocked him for them, but on the other hand Alfred thought that they fitted him nicely somehow. He was also ridiculously smart, the top among the students in their grade and was only second to the school's student council president Francis Bonnefoy.
And everyone knew that Alfred was hopelessly in love with Arthur. Well, everyone but the Brit himself. Funny how Alfred’s actions and affections towards Arthur strongly spelt ‘I love you’ clearly, yet the said Brit didn’t even realise that the American actually harbored feelings towards him.
“Well, you should’ve protested against his idea, Mattie!” Alfred replied, rolling on his bed indolently, frowning in an attempt to get an idea on how to write his letter for Arthur.
“Why should I?” The Canadian replied quietly. “Alfred, listen to me.” Matthew sighed; tucking strands of hair behind his ears and fixed his glasses, his gaze serious, hovering over Alfred’s face. “Isn’t this a good idea to tell Arthur that you love him? It’s a good chance and a good chance comes only one time, Alfred. You have to use it wisely.”
With the childish pout still adorning his face, Alfred sat up on his bed, staring blankly towards Matthew. Well, Matthew’s words weren’t wrong either. It was definitely a good chance to confess his crush for Arthur and he couldn’t let that slip. Not when it was already in front of his eyes.
“But Mattie!” Alfred whined. "What if Arthur already has someone to go to the prom with?! What if Arthur rejects me?!"
The only thing that prevented Alfred from confessing his love to Arthur was his biggest fear of rejection. Being a center of attention since he was small, Alfred craved for attention and he was extremely afraid of with the thought of being rejected and shunned by the people he loved—including Arthur.
“What if Arthur doesn’t love me?!
Matthew frowned. This was a side of Alfred that he hated so much. Alfred worried and got insecure about unnecessary things a lot and it got worse when they were related with Arthur. This made Matthew wonder why Alfred could be that one popular guy in the school. Weren't the popular kids supposed to be confident and believe in their own selves? At least, that was what Matthew thought about the popular kids in general.
”Alfred, you're being really ridiculous.” Matthew actually didn't like lecturing Alfred, seeing how stubborn the American could get. Perhaps it would be better for Francis to give Alfred his piece of mind instead of Matthew, as love problems seemed to be the Frenchman's area of expertise.
“I'm not! I'm being real right now!” Alfred insisted, now flailing his arms and the first thing that popped into Matthew's mind was that they looked like octopus' tentacles.
“You're joking, Alfred.”
Alfred shook his head. “I'm not! You do know that Arthur hates me so much!” There was no day going on without Alfred bickering with Arthur, that was a fact. Arthur claimed that it was because Alfred was being childish and 'not sensitive' at all, and after yelling all those things he would go on and insult the American by calling him a bloody git or other British insults he had before storming out of the room furiously.
And Alfred was one-hundred percent sure that his name was on Arthur Kirkland's hate list—perhaps he could make it to the top of the list, if not second to Francis, seeing the Brit always got into a fight with the Frenchman more often than he did with Alfred.
The American glanced worriedly at the clock hanging on the wall of his room. It was 2:00pm and he hadn't eaten anything for lunch, courtesy of the stupid love letter he hadn't yet finished. Alfred swallowed nervously, his fingers fiddled with his shirt as he stared at the bed sheet. For a moment, the tension was high around them and Matthew broke the silence between them with a sigh. The Canadian ran his fingers along his hair—it seemed Alfred's nervousness had rubbed on him.
“Arthur doesn't hate you, Alfred.” Matthew spoke quietly; his gaze fixed on the window, watching the pile of snow and let his mind wander somewhere, his hug on the bear tightened.
Alfred lifted his head up and his mouth was hanging slightly, staring at Matthew in disbelief. Arthur didn't hate him? What was that, some sort of joke? The American snorted. “Ha ha ha. That isn't funny, Mattie.”
“I'm not joking.” Matthew massaged his temples lightly, tired of having Alfred being so stubborn. “Look, Alfred. What matters the most now is that you've, at least, tried to convey your feelings to him. Whether he accepts you or rejects you—that's a matter for later.” Their gazes met and Alfred flinched slightly—surprised to see Matthew being so serious like that, it was so unlike him. “Do you hear me?”
The American nodded, looking away and averted his gaze towards the forgotten paper on his study desk, a hand moved up to rub his nape awkwardly. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Matthew pushed Alfred's back gently, patting the American's back in an encouragement. “Now go on, write something for him.”
Alfred stumbled on his feet, walking halfway towards the desk before stopping abruptly when he remembered something and turned his head towards Matthew. “Uh—but I'm hungry.”
Hungry and Alfred F. Jones were never the best team ever. Matthew stood up and sighed again for the umpteenth time, walking towards the door and opened it. “Alright, I'll buy you some food then.”
With that, Matthew was gone—leaving the popular Alfred F. Jones alone with his paper inside the now silent room. Alfred sat himself on the chair and sighed, taking his pen and tapping it against the desk to the beat of the ticking clock.
Now, it wasn't like Alfred didn't want to write the letter for Arthur. He wanted to, actually, but sadly he had no idea on how to write. Alfred F. Jones wasn't an author—he couldn't write paragraphs just to explain oh how much he loved someone, how he would cross the sea just to see them, yadda yadda yadda. Those cheesy romantic things weren't made for Alfred. He was the type of person who would say ‘love you’ straight to the person he loved without going in circles and then proved his love through his actions—it was just as simple as that.
And shoving a paper and a pen then telling him to write cheesy love letters wasn't a really good idea either.
Seconds turned to minutes and Alfred still hadn't done anything. He bit his lower lip and sighed, throwing the pen away and buried his face against the desk. “...Stupid love letter,” he mumbled, playing with his phone and stared at the screen blankly.
After spending, like, three or three and a half minutes to stare at the phone and did nothing, Alfred fixed his position and opened the mail, his fingers flew across the touch screen keyboard like a lightning to tap a message for someone.
To: Artie
Sub: Boreeeeed!
Artie! ’Sup?
Unbeknownst to himself, a small smile graced his features as his thumb pressed the 'send' button, excited to know the Brit's reply.
Ten minutes later, Alfred was doodling absentmindedly on the paper when his phone buzzed softly. The American quickly snatched it and eagerly opened the message, smile forming back on his visage upon seeing the sender name.
From: Artie
Sub: Re: Boreeeeed!
First, it’s ‘Hello, how are you?’, Alfred. Second, I’ll have you know that my name is Arthur. And third, I’m studying at the library. Please don’t disturb me.
Alfred snorted upon reading the reply. Typical Arthur. Always complaining about the things Alfred did. Alfred smiled fondly at the message before typing his response.
To: Artie
Sub: Re: Boreeeeed!
Geez, Artie’s waaaaaaaay better than Arthur! R u alone?
From: Artie
Sub: Re: Boreeeeed!
Your spelling is as atrocious as always. That can’t be helped, I suppose. And yes, I’m alone. Why?
Alfred quickly stood up with a wide smile and snatched his bomber jacket before walking straight towards the door and made his way out of the room as quick as possible.
To: Artie
Sub: Re: Boreeeeed!
I wanna meet u. Otw 2 the library rn, save me a seat! C u in 4 mins! ;)
When Alfred arrived, Arthur was currently reading ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ in the corner of the library, his gaze serious and fixed to the book. Some books were stacked neatly on the table. When Alfred saw the seat beside Arthur was empty, a cheery grin spread across his face as he pulled the chair and plopped down to sit beside the vice-president.
“Artie! Thanks for saving me my seat!” He greeted cheerfully and Arthur shot him a glare.
“First, it’s not your bloody seat. I-I didn’t save you the seat! I-It’s just a coincidence that the seat’s empty!” Arthur's cheeks turned rosy and Alfred thought that he was really cute. Unfortunately for him, Arthur chose to cover his red face with the book on his hand. “And second, my name is Arthur.” The Brit sighed and averted his attention back to the book, but it was clearly shown that he couldn't concentrate in reading while having the noisy American beside him. “How many times should I tell you that?”
Alfred chose to ignore the question, staring at Arthur while grinning gleefully. “Whatcha’ readin’?”
A soft sigh escaped Arthur's lips and the Brit refrained himself from shouting in front of Alfred's face. Remember, Arthur, he told himself, this is a library.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It’s my favourite book.” Arthur replied softly, his fingers skillfully turned the page without wrinkling the paper even slightly. “I thought I’ve told you not to disturb me.”
“Well, you're alone and lonely!” Alfred pointed out as if it was an obvious fact, resting his chin on top of his hands on the library desk, smiling as he stared at Arthur in a way that made the Brit's face turn shades of red. “And as a hero, I can't let you feel lonely, can I?”
“I-I'm not lonely, you wanker!” Arthur stuttered quietly, looking away and refusing to meet the American's gaze. “I just like to be alone when I'm reading, t-that's all.” The way the Brit puffed his cheeks like that when he's annoyed—Alfred thought he was hopelessly adorable.
“Psh. Say what you want Artie, but I'll still be here to accompany you!” Alfred declared, his gaze never left Arthur even for once. Everything about Arthur was beautiful and Alfred wanted to remember every detail about the Brit, from the way his eyebrows scrunched when he was being serious, the way his eyelashes fluttered when he blinked, the way he smiled when he was seriously happy and his cheeks turned rosy, even the way he talked and insulted people—Alfred loved everything about Arthur with no exception.
Arthur didn't even try to look at Alfred when he replied, too immersed in his reading and he snorted softly. “Suit yourself.”
A few minutes passed in silence and Arthur was getting a little bit uncomfortable by the way Alfred stared at him like he got something funny on his face. “What?”
“Nothing. You're just so beautiful I can't take my eyes off you.” Came Alfred's reply and red hues arose again on Arthur's face, reaching to the tips of his ears and his chest suddenly felt warm. It felt funny, like it wasn't supposed to be there, but it felt right. Too bad Arthur rarely listened to his feelings and chose to listen to his brain instead.
Arthur gaped slightly and quickly hit the American with the book on his hand, earning himself an “OW!” reply that managed to escape Alfred's lips. Alfred sat up, his hand was rubbing the area where Arthur hit him before, lips pouting in slight annoyance. “Hey! That's uncalled for!”
“Serves you right.” Arthur scowled. “I-I'm not beautiful! And kindly do not disturb me while I'm reading."
“You're beautiful.” Alfred insisted stubbornly, resting his arms and chin on the table again, but this time he didn't stare at Arthur. Instead, he stared at the window, towards the sky of blue adorned with the white fluffy clouds floating in the sky and let his mind wander somewhere.
“I'm not!”
“You are.”
Arthur sighed and shrugged. “Whatever. Just be quiet, will you? I am trying to read here, Alfred.”
“You know,” Alfred mumbled, ignoring Arthur's words. “I was wondering about something.”
“What is it?” Arthur's grip on the book tightened, the scowl appeared again on his face. He had re-read the same line for about five times and nothing stuck on his head, thanks to Alfred and his nonsense babbling and Arthur was not amused in the slightest bit. What the hell was that, c-calling him beautiful out of the blue... He's not beautiful! The one that was beautiful was actually Alfred himself! That git should know how dazzling his smiles were, how fluffy his hair looked like, how beautiful and gorgeous he was when he was excited and serious and embarrassed and how Arthur loved it when Alfred stared at him like he was the only thing in the world that Alfred could see, when their gazes met and they were lost in each other's eyes, not caring about the world around them...
...Wait. WAIT. Did he really think of Alfred like that just now?! What was he thinking about actually?!
Arthur shook his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts swimming inside his head. Focus, Arthur! He told himself, biting his lower lip and sighed. Alfred F. Jones was the popular jock in school, the super friendly and handsome guy that everyone loved and there was absolutely no way he would think of Arthur in a romantic way like that. The American probably thought of him as annoying and that's it. There was absolutely no way Alfred would feel butterflies in his stomach when he looked at or thought about Arthur and there was no way Alfred's heart would race like crazy when their eyes met, just like how Arthur did.
Ugh. Fine. Arthur probably had feelings for Alfred, but he wouldn't admit that out loud, of course. Arthur wasn't sure when he first felt these strange feelings towards Alfred, but the way his heart felt like it was going to explode and shatter to pieces when Alfred looked at him or talked to him or sending him silly texts or doing something that was so Alfred—Arthur knew there was something absolutely wrong with himself, and Arthur knew that Alfred was the source of this odd feeling bubbling inside of him.
“Arthur? Hello? Earth to Arthur?” Arthur blinked numerous times when he realised a hand was waving in front of his face and soon, Alfred's visage popped up. The American's eyebrows furrowing in an unhappy manner and the first word popping inside Arthur's mind was,
‘Cute.’
Arthur mentally slapped himself before Alfred's voice brought him back to reality. “Were you listening to me just now?”
“No.” Came the sour reply and Alfred sighed, slapping his forehead softly before repeating what he had said before all over again. “That couldn't be helped. Well, so I was wondering if you already got a date for the prom.”
Huh. Prom. Arthur didn't understand why did everyone get so worked out over silly things like prom. The Brit shook his head, re-reading the same line on the book again for the sixth time and was determined to understand the line this time and thankfully, he managed to continue reading the next line without problems. “No. Why should I? I won't come to the prom anyway.”
Were his eyes playing tricks on him or Alfred looked happy when he said that no, he didn't have a date for the prom and his expression turned slightly sad again when he said he wouldn't come to the prom?
“Aw, why not, Artie? Prom's fun, yanno!” Alfred countered, shouting, his sitting position fixed and now his arms were flailing again vigorously, making Arthur scrunched his eyebrows in an uncomfortable manner.
Pairs of eyes looked at them, irritated, and the loud “SSSSSSH!” noise from the librarian made Arthur glare at Alfred. “Lower down your voice a little bit, you almost made my ears bleed,” he huffed.
Alfred shrugged. “Sorry,” he muttered, before leaning slightly closer to Arthur and whispered in a loud voice. “So? Still not goin’?”
“No. I've got no date, it's pointless.”
“Well, you can always go with me!” Alfred blurted out without thinking and when Arthur's face turned red again, the American realised that it was a really stupid move indeed. “Uh, I mean—I-It would be embarrassing to go alone on Valentine’s Day, right!!!”
“What makes you think I would go with someone like you?”
When surprise and hurt were drawn clearly on Alfred's eyes, it hit Arthur like a wave that what he had said just now was really... Rude. And painful.
“A-Ahahaha! Of course, you wouldn't! H-How silly of me for saying something like that!” Alfred faked a laugh and forced a smile, making Arthur wince in regret. Alfred stood up and his hands were visibly shaking, but the American chose to ignore it. “Well, just... Forget what I said before, alright? I'll just—go right now, yeah. Gonna write a letter for that stupid love letter program! Yeah, perhaps I'll give it to Jenny? Or Marie!” Alfred laughed nervously and a slight pang of guilt formed inside Arthur, wanting to say sorry but his lips remained sealed. And when he heard the names of the popular cheerleader girls slipped out from Alfred's lips, Arthur couldn't help but to feel jealousy burning inside of him.
The word was already at the tip of his tongue, yet why was it so hard for him to say it? Was it because of his stupid pride?
And when Alfred walked away and was gone from his sight without even saying goodbye (which was so unlike him, seeing how the American always said his goodbye before leaving), Arthur realised that he had wounded Alfred greatly and he had to say sorry, whatever happened because really, that wasn't what he actually meant.
He actually really wanted to go to the prom with Alfred, but he was too prideful to admit it out loud.
“See, Mattie—he totally hates me!”
Matthew drummed his fingers against Kumajiro's fur, irritated because when he came back with Francis (he accidentally met the Frenchman in the hallway during his walk back to the room), Alfred was nowhere to be found inside his dorm room. The food he bought had already cooled down before Alfred was back and now that the American was back in his room, he started telling him about the events happening in the library before, including how Arthur totally rejected the idea of going to the prom together with Alfred.
“Non, mon cher. He's just too afraid of admitting that he loves you.” Francis commented and Alfred sighed.Taking the food Matthew had bought for him, Alfred proceeded to eat the food quietly, his mind recalling back his conversation with Arthur in the library again.
“He doesn’t act like someone who’s in love with the person he’s talking with, Francis.” Alfred muttered, gulping down his noodle and stared at the Frenchman in disbelief. Seriously, Arthur, liking him? Alfred still found it hard to be believed.
Matthew spoke up this time, voicing his thoughts in his usual faint voice. “He’s masking his real feelings by acting rude towards you, Al.”
Francis nodded, agreeing with Matthew’s words. “Every time you compliment him, or smile at him, or do something to him whatever that is, do you realise that his face turns extremely red and he stutters afterwards?” Francis smirked when Alfred nodded dumbly, snapping his fingers softly. “That, mon cher, trust me—he really loves you.”
“…I still find that hard to be believed.” Throwing his late-lunch garbage to the trash bin, Alfred threw himself to his comfortable bed and stared at the clock. 4:00pm. The prom was really near and the least he wanted to do right now was to get into a pointless fight with Arthur. “Not when he phrased it like that—he seems to hate me so much, yanno.” Alfred’s hand moved towards his chest, stopping above where he thought his heart was located at, clenching his fist hard. “No matter how many times I tried to forget his words, it still hurts.”
“We’ve been together for a long time, and trust me—that’s how he always acts towards the people he really loves.” Francis shrugs and sat himself down beside Matthew on Alfred’s bed, staring at the ceiling. “Which reminds me about something.” He turned his head towards Alfred, one eyebrow raised at the American.
“I heard from Matthieu that you’re having problems in writing the letter for our grumpy Brit, oui?”
A soft groan could be heard escaping Alfred’s lips, rolling on his bed and accidentally tangling himself in his sheets, falling down from the bed when he rolled towards the end of the bed. “Ow!” He shouted, his head popped from the side of the bed, an unamused expression draping his face. “Mattie, you told him?!”
Matthew shrugged. “I’m just trying to help you, Al.”
Francis stood up and walked over towards Alfred’s desk. The paper was still there, still blank and clean except for the doodles and the same three words decorating the top left corner of the paper: “Dear Arthur Kirkland”.
“Matthieu’s right, apparently.” Francis whistled, taking the paper to examine the doodles and choking back a laugh when he saw a doodle of Arthur with extremely big and bushy eyebrows that almost covered his whole face. “You really need help, Alfred.”
“I’m not. I gave up writing letters since hours ago.” Alfred walked towards Francis and snatched the paper from the Frenchman’s hand, slamming it against the desk and sighed. “I have no hope.”
“See, he just won’t listen to you.” Came Matthew’s complain and Francis massaged his temples tiredly.
“Alfred, just please listen. Quit acting so stubborn, we just want to help you.” Matthew talked again and this time, Alfred’s expression turned slightly softer, although he still looked quite worried.
“You guys sure that this is going to work?” Alfred sat down on his chair and took his pen again, staring at the same three words again and again on his paper and bit his lower lip.
Francis nodded and winked. “You know, Arthur really loves love letters.”
“…Fine,” The American mumbled. “Tell me what I have to write.
Footsteps echoed noisily throughout the hallway towards his dorm room, but Arthur wasn’t interrupted in the slightest bit. He walked slowly and quietly, facing front, but his gaze was blank.
He was brought back to reality when he accidentally bumped into someone. “Look where yer goin’ to, eejit!” The voice shouted and Arthur quickly muttered, “Sorry,” before he looked up towards the source of voice. “Allistor?”
“Why, if it isn’t Arthur.” Allistor crossed his arms, the red-haired man raised his eyebrow. “Ye look like yer soul’s not inside yer body.”
Allistor was a distant cousin of Arthur, but not many people know about this. “Sorry, I was thinking about something,” Arthur mumbled and sighed. “I’m sorry for bumping into you, Allistor.”
“Can’t be helped.” The Scottish shrugged. “What’s been botherin’ yer mind? Want to talk aboot it?”
Arthur looked slightly hesitant, but he nodded anyway. Allistor was someone Arthur could trust, maybe he could give him advices on what to do with his problems. They walked side by side towards Arthur’s dorm room and Arthur took a deep sigh before telling him what’s been bugging him.
“So, yer sayin’ ye got into a small fight with Alfred?” He asked when Arthur had finished telling him the story, arriving just in time in front of Arthur’s room. The Brit opened the door and both of them walked inside. Arthur nodded as he closed the door, walking towards the bed and sat down slowly.
“I—I didn’t mean to say that,” Arthur said, his expression clearly showed that he was absolutely guilty over what he had said to Alfred. “Really, I didn’t mean that. And because of that, Alfred’s going to the prom with the girl from the cheerleader squad. And he’s going to give his letter to her, too.” The Brit clenched his fist unknowingly and gritted his teeth in annoyance.
“I… Don’t like it at all.”
Allistor tapped his chin lightly, listening to his younger cousin’s words and nodded. He was among that many people who knew about Alfred’s huge crush towards Arthur and it was during times like this that he found it truly amusing because God, was Arthur blind or something? How could he not see that Alfred actually loved him and not those disgusting cheerleader girls?
“I know it’s not in my place to say this, but I don’t like it when he pays attention to the girls or people other than me. It feels… Odd,” Arthur touched his chest gently, clutching his uniform and his eyes shut close. “And when he pays attention to me, I feel like on cloud nine. Allistor, it feels weird. It’s like there are lots of butterflies inside my tummy, and when our gazes meet, my heart feels like it’s going to burst in any minute.”
A smirk adorned Allistor’s face. Really, it was absolutely amusing.
“Ye loves him. And ye know what? He actually loves ye too.”
Allistor had to choke back a laugh when Arthur turned to face him, his green eyes wide and his mouth gaping in surprise. Seriously, how stupid could Arthur get?
“Don’t joke with me, Allistor. I’m serious!” The Brit shouted, standing up and he shot a glare directed towards the Scottish, in which he returned it with a serious stare. “Am not jokin’ with ye, Arthur. Everyone already knows that Alfred loves ye like crazy.”
Arthur sat down again, Allistor’s words ringing inside his head. He let them sink first and when everything clicked, Arthur quickly covered his burning face with his hands, feeling super embarrassed.
He loved Alfred?
And Alfred F. Jones, the school’s most handsome and popular guy actually loved him back?
Today’s not the April fools’ day, wasn’t it?
“Look at ye, Arthur!” Allistor chortled, pointing at Arthur’s face and smirked. “Yer ears are all red! Ye just realised that, don’t ye, Arthur?”
Arthur didn’t listen to Allistor. He was too busy calming down his racing heart to even bother about his face right now. Wait—if Alfred actually liked him…
Then, that time when Alfred asked him to go to the prom together with the American—the invitation was actually real? And Arthur had shot that down because of his stupidity! Arthur couldn’t believe himself.
“…I couldn’t believe it,” Arthur bit his lower lip. He felt… Awesome, but odd at the same time. “I—I’m not dreaming, aren’t I?” He pinched his own cheek and screamed. “OW! That bloody hurts!” Realisation hit him immediately.
“It’s… It’s real, Allistor! I’m not dreaming!” The Brit cried in joy, his cheeks rosy from embarrassment as he ran to hug his older cousin tightly. “Oh God—I was afraid this is only a dream, but apparently it’s real!”
The Scottish rolled his eyes and patted the Brit’s back gently. “Yes, yes—it’s real. Now, stop hugging me.”
Arthur obeyed him and now he started to panic because he had hurt Alfred with his words. The image of Alfred’s face with surprise and hate all over his face popped up again on Arthur’s mind and the guilty feeling came back again. “A-Allistor—I’ve hurt him! H-He’s angry at me! He probably won’t forgive me!” The Brit’s face turned slightly pale.
“W-What should I do, Allistor? Should I forget everything then and act like I don’t know about his feelings towards me, like usual? B-But I want to say sorry! I—I can’t stand seeing him like that! I have to say sorry soon—but what if he doesn’t want to forgive me? What if he has moved on from me? What if—“
“Arthur, calm yerself down! Yer babblin’ nonsense, yer face’s peely wally!” Allistor sighed and sat Arthur and himself down on the bed. “Alfred won’t move on that easily, especially just because of somethin’ like that. Not worth it. Moreover, he’s head over heels for ye—everyone could see that.”
“…Are you sure?” Arthur stared at Allistor, eyebrows raised and a frown appeared afterwards. Worry gone, Arthur could think rationally now. “Well, now you said it, he’s always bugging me non-stop, talking about things that aren’t even important…”
“He just wanted to talk to ye.” Allistor pointed.
Arthur stared at the ceiling of his room blankly. The image of Alfred’s face smiling to him popped and unbeknownst to him, he smiled too. “He annoys me, but now that I think again, it’s… So sweet of him.” Arthur shook his head and slapped himself softly. “I talked like a schoolgirl in love, didn’t I?”
Allistor nodded.
“But, now he’s mad at me.” Arthur ruffled his already messy hair, feeling frustrated. “I—I have to say sorry. Or else, he’ll go to the prom with someone else.”
“Ye know, there’s this crazy plan that popped into my mind just now.” Allistor commented, looking at Arthur lazily.
“Spill it out.”
“Ye do know he gets jealous easily, don’t ye?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow at the question and Allistor figured that he didn’t know. “Remember that time when he punched that Portuguese guy?” Arthur gave a nod and Allistor continued. “Well, that’s because he thought that guy was flirtin’ with ye.”
Arthur gaped slightly. “He didn’t.”
“He did, eejit.” Allistor shrugged. “And just now, I was thinkin’ that maybe we could somehow lead him into thinkin’ that I’m your date for the prom. He’ll get jealous, I’m quite sure of that.”
Letting the plan sank to the back of his head, Arthur scrunched his eyebrows. Well, that could work, probably. “Then, he’ll punch you...?”
Allistor slapped his forehead in exasperation. “Naw, you numptie. Well, that can happen, but I hope that he will confess to ye instead of punchin’ my face.”
Hey, perhaps that plan could work. Arthur thought for a moment before smiling and nodding his head once softly.
“All right. Sounds like a good plan.”
“Alfred, I’m honestly going to say this: you suck in writing letters.”
It had been roughly two hours and a half since Alfred started writing the letter for Arthur and he had wasted more than ten papers since then. Nothing he had written could satisfy Francis and he ended up back in square one.
Alfred shot Francis a look that clearly said, ‘Told you so.’
“Whatever.” The Frenchman rolled his eyes and sighed. Matthew had fallen asleep by now, leaving Francis alone to deal with Alfred. “I give up. It’s just impossible. You have absolutely no skill to do this.”
That didn’t bother Alfred at all. He already knew that this task was impossible for him since the start. So, he chose to shrug casually and dropped his pen to roll on the desk freely. “Told you so, Francis. I can’t do this.”
“You know, I think I’ll just let you write everything that comes to your mind.” Francis yawned and threw himself to the bed gently. “Write everything that you want to tell him—or if you really have no idea on what to write,” The Frenchman shrugged, “you can always use quotes from those plays he really love.”
“Quotes?” Alfred repeated, raising his eyebrow. “But that’s plagiarism!”
“I truly have run out of ideas to tell you. Take it or leave it, cher. Now, now—I’m tired, I’ll have my sleep. Don’t wake me up until you’ve finished writing your letter.”
Alfred frowned when he saw Francis on his bed, now asleep. His gaze then landed on his phone. He opened it and stared at it, wondering if that’s a good idea or not. But hey—those popular authors certainly would be better in phrasing his feelings rather than him, right?
It wouldn’t hurt to try, Alfred thought.
Alfred typed ‘A Midsummer Night's Dream quotes’ on his phone and started to search for a good quote he could use for his letter. After five minutes or so, he found a good one (or so, he thought) and proceeded to write his letters with a goofy smile plastered upon his face.
When he had finished writing the super short letter, he folded it quickly and put it into an envelope, finally sealing it. Writing the three magic words ‘Dear Arthur Kirkland’ in front of the envelope quickly with a smile, Alfred wondered how would Arthur feel when he read the message he had worked so hard to write, and of course—he wondered how the Brit would react to his message inside. Hopefully, he had a positive reaction for it. Alfred could only hope.
With that, came the Valentine’s Day and the prom. Everyone’s crazy about it.
Alfred was absolutely not happy at all when he saw Arthur during the prom.
He thought that the Brit wouldn’t go to the prom at all after saying that he didn’t have a date to go to the prom with. And did you see who’s standing beside him, chatting and smiling like he owned the Brit?
Allistor. The Scottish upperclassman that was also quite popular for his looks and his cool attitude—also for his skills in golf.
And Alfred couldn’t help but to feel absolutely jealous upon seeing Arthur laughed to Allistor’s words. Did Allistor tell him jokes? Well, Alfred could definitely do better than him, obviously!
The American nudged Francis on the stomach, earning himself a cuss word in French. “Merde, Alfred! Can’t you see that I’m drinking?!” He protested, wiping the liquid that now stained his suit. Thank goodness he wore a black suit so the stain wasn’t really visible, Francis thought to himself. Alfred ignored him, however, gripping his own drink tightly and Francis could feel the burning jealousy inside of Alfred.
“I thought the letter’s gonna be distributed before the prom!” Alfred whispered loudly towards Francis. “You didn’t tell me that it’s gonna be distributed during the prom!”
“It’s anonymous anyway, so it won’t matter if we distribute it before or during the prom.” Francis casually replied and drank his drink again, feeling content. “Now, see here, Alfred—if you’re jealous of him, then go on and say it in front of his face. Nothing will change if you complain to me.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“No buts, Alfred. Say it or he’ll be gone before your eyes. You do realise that despite his grumpy attitude and huge eyebrows, he’s actually good-looking and a lot of people in our grade like him.”
“But, Fran—” With that, Francis slipped out from his sight, mingling with other people in the prom, leaving Alfred alone to deal with his jealousy.
Alfred stole a glance at Arthur and Allistor, frowning unhappily when both of them were laughing. Arthur looked really happy and it hurt Alfred to know that he’s not the one putting a smile on Arthur’s face.
And without Alfred realising it, his feet brought himself closer towards Arthur and Allistor. It was only when both of them stopped laughing that Alfred realised he was already in front of them, hands sweating because he didn’t know what he should say to them, especially Arthur.
Arthur raised an eyebrow at him and Alfred gulped nervously, looking at everywhere but Arthur. “…I thought you wouldn’t come to the prom.”
Said Brit fell silent for a moment before crossing his arms and shooting him a meaningful look. “Well, at first I refused to come, but then Allistor asked me to go with him and I thought, ‘Why not?’ So, here I am.”
“Then why did you reject me?” Alfred whispered, clenching his fist tightly. He was angry. He was furious. He wanted to yell at Arthur, he wanted to scream in front of his face, but he couldn’t.
When he lifted his face up to stare at Arthur’s eyes—ah, were they always that green and sparkling?—only sadness was visible on his face.
“Do you hate me?”
Arthur stayed still, his lips sealed. He looked away, refusing to meet Alfred’s gaze when Alfred’s sad whisper messed his concentration.
“Look at me, Arthur. Or do you really hate me that much you don’t want to meet my gaze?”
Arthur reluctantly brought his gaze back to meet Alfred’s and it pained the Brit to see the same hurt and pain and sorrow—all mixed into one, swimming inside those pools of dull blue. Alfred’s eyes weren’t shining like they usually did. It was like they had lost their lights.
“Tell me, Arthur. Do you hate me? Because I really love you and I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you really hate me.”
Arthur’s eyes turned wide. Beside him, Allistor chuckled in victory, but quickly disguised it by coughing a couple of times. Apparently, their plan worked smoothly and yes, finally, Alfred confessed his love for the Brit. Finally.
Arthur parted his lips, but then closed them again, unsure of what to do. He stole a glance at Allistor, but the Scottish shot him a cold glare. When he parted his lips again, about to say something, Alfred beat him to it.
“I get it. You don’t like me. You like Allistor, I get it.” Came Alfred’s answer, his voice soft and faint like a whisper, Arthur almost couldn’t hear it. “I’ll just—go, then. Won’t bother you anymore.” The American rubbed his nape and forced a smile on his face, staring at Arthur sadly and walked backwards slowly, stumbling on his feet. “That way, you’ll not gonna shout at me again, yeah? Your life will be much much better without me, like what you usually say to me. I get it… Yeah.”
Arthur absolutely hate to see Alfred forcing a smile like that. It was so fake and his guilty feeling bubbled inside of him again, but his body remained still like a stone and his lips sealed tightly.
“I’ll… go now. Bye, Arthur.”
And Arthur had never imagined that hearing his name (not the usual ‘Artie’ nickname) flowed from Alfred’s lips would be something he hate so much in his life.
With that, Alfred was, once again, gone from his sight. Allistor nudged Arthur hard on the stomach, making the Brit wince in pain. “Ow, Allistor! That’s uncalled for!”
“Serves ye right.” It was like déjà vu and Arthur stared at Allistor, irritated. “Ye eejit. He finally confessed to ye, and yer goin’ to do nothin’?” The Scottish stared at him in disbelief. “All my sacrifice goin’ to the prom with ye for nothin’!”
“It’s not my fault, all right?! It’s just too sudden, I don’t know how I should respond!” Arthur argued back and he clearly was pissed by this situation. “And it’s your bloody idea for having you act as my date for the bloody prom!”
“I was just tryin’ to help ye!”
“Excusez-moi,” came a French reply that made the two of them stop arguing, turning their heads towards a certain Frenchman with raised eyebrow and an envelope in hand. “You got yourself a letter, Arthur. Félicitations.” Francis handed Arthur his letter and winked before walking away to deliver more letters.
Arthur frowned when he saw the words, “Dear Arthur Kirkland” written in front of the envelope in big bubbly letters that he knew was Alfred’s handwriting. The Brit quickly tore the envelope open and pulling the letter out, reading the message quickly and quietly.
Dear Arthur Kirkland,
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged cupid painted blind.
Will you be my valentine? ;)
- A F J
p.s. I honestly have no idea on what to write, so I hope you’re not angry at me for using the quotes from your favorite book!
p.p.s. I tried to write with ‘proper grammar’ for you! Did I do well, Artie?
p.p.p.s. Sorry for the fight in the library. I know you’re annoyed at me, right? Please forgive me! :’(
p.p.p.p.s. I love you so much, words can’t describe how great my love is for you.
Arthur’s legs felt wobbly and he fell to the floor, his fingers gripped the letter hard and his eyes fluttered shut as tears threatened to roll down his cheeks soon.
He cried quietly, ignoring the people who started to stare at Allistor and him, but mostly staring at him. He felt really guilty and he had to say sorry soon, but Arthur honestly didn't know anymore. He was frustrated with everything. He loved Alfred and Alfred loved him. They could have their own happy ending.
Yet, why was it so hard for them just to be together?
Was it too late for him to say sorry? Was it too late for him to change everything, too late to achieve their own happy ending?
Arthur wiped his tears and stood up, choking back a sob as he bit his lower lip. No, there was never a ‘too late’. Alfred already fought for it all this time—but Arthur's too oblivious to it.
It was now his turn to fight for it—for them.
Arthur stared at Allistor, hesitanting slightly, but the Scottish patted his back gently and nodded, a smile forming on the red-haired male's face, as if encouraging him to continue. Muttering a small, “Thank you,” towards Allistor, Arthur ran and ran, leaving the prom venue behind and started to venture the school building.
He's going to find Alfred, no matter what happened.
Alfred sighed, walking towards the school's balcony near the library. It was quiet because most people were attending the prom right now, and Alfred was grateful for that. He really needed a place to think for himself, to clear his foggy mind from everything that had happened a few minutes before.
Remembering Arthur's happy face when he talked with Allistor still made his heart beat wildly in hurt and pain. Alfred couldn't bear it—to know that it was finally the end. The end for him and Arthur. There would never be them, only Alfred and Arthur, and thinking about this made Alfred's heart feel like bursting from pain.
Alfred lifted his head up and stared at the night sky. The scenery was truly beautiful with stars twinkling above him, yet Alfred couldn't help but to think that they were mocking him for being a coward by running away instead of solving things nicely with Arthur.
“So... This is the end, huh?” Alfred bit his lower lip and he ruffled his hair, frustrated with the result of everything. His heart hurt, so did his head. It felt really terrible and finally, after a long time in his life, Alfred cried.
A coward indeed, Alfred was. No wonder why Arthur hate him. Honestly, why would someone ever love him? He was just a crybaby—an annoying, childish crybaby... Why would someone actually want him?
“—A-Alfred!”
Alfred's body jolted slightly in surprise and he turned around. There, much to his surprise, before his eyes, stood Arthur. The Brit panted, exhausted from running everywhere around the school just to search for him. Their eyes met and for a moment, both were lost in each other's eyes, unable to move and unable to think correctly. And that time, Alfred just realised how gorgeous Arthur looked tonight. The suit fit him well and it brought out the colour of his eyes. Ah—he's so beautiful, Alfred wanted to hug him so bad...
Alfred was the first to look away.
“Why—” He started, biting his inner cheeks to prevent the tears from rolling again, “Why are you here? I thought you hate me.”
Arthur's face was red. Whether it's because he was absolutely furious or because he's exhausted, Alfred didn't know.
The Brit marched towards him, his footsteps echoed noisily and once he got closer, Alfred could clearly see that he was angry. Absolutely angry. But wait—his eyes were puffy...
Did he cry just now? But why?
“You didn't even give me time to explain myself, you bloody wanker!” Arthur screamed, landing a punch on Alfred's chest furiously. His eyebrows furrowed dangerously, a trait shown only when the Brit was absolutely angry. “Idiot!” Another punch, “Wanker!” Another punch, “B-Bloody git!”
Three punches towards Alfred's chest and Arthur broke down, crying hopelessly as he fell again to the ground. Alfred had never seen Arthur cried like that and honestly,
It hurt so fucking much.
“To explain what, Arthur? I got it, you hate me.” Alfred whispered harshly. He really wanted to stop all this acts and go there and hug Arthur tightly, wiping his tears away and telling him everything's going to be alright, now that he's there with him.
But Alfred couldn't. Something inside him screamed at him for being a moron after letting Arthur cry like that, but another part of him told him that Arthur hated him, he didn't deserve to comfort the Brit and he absolutely couldn't let his hope rise again.
Could he...?
Arthur sobbed, his eyes were red and puffy from all the crying. He was tired, physically and mentally, but his mind recalled back Alfred's letter that was full of the American's feelings for him and no, he couldn't let his chance slip again.
“You never—” Arthur sobbed, “You never gave me time to explain how much I love you...”
Alfred's eyes widened and he almost forgot how to breathe.
“You're joking.” Was all Alfred could mutter, his fist clenching tightly. No, he couldn't let his hope rise, dammit! He had to stay strong! There was no way Arthur loved him—it was just a dream that Alfred could never achieved. It could never be real.
“Do you think I would run here searching like crazy for you and abandoning my bloody date if I hate you, Alfred?” Arthur's voice came out as a whisper. Sobbing, the Brit wiped another tear that rolled down his face.
“Maybe, to insult me, like what you always do?" Alfred mumbled, refusing to stare at Arthur.
“Can we put that matter aside for now?” Arthur stood up, his legs wobbly. He walked closer towards Alfred, but Alfred, being as stubborn as ever, still refused to meet his gaze.
“Alfred...?”
Alfred didn't answer.
“I... I'm not quite sure either when all of this started precisely, but I always feel... Odd, if I'm with you.” Arthur started rambling, didn't even care if Alfred's paying attention to him or not. At this point, would that even make sense?
“My heart would race and beat like crazy whenever you're beside me and my body wouldn't work at all. I'm unable to think correctly and my mind went blank. I always feel like on cloud nine, especially when you gave me that dazzling grin of yours. Or when our eyes accidentally met and you smiled at me, staring like I'm the only thing you could see in your eyes, or when our skins accidentally collided with each other's.” Arthur took a deep breath and sobbed again. “You're like a virus damaging my body. And I hate you for making me feel hopeless when I'm around you.”
Alfred ocassionally glanced worriedly at Arthur, fingers fiddling with his suit. “...So, you hate me?”
“Oh God.” Arthur groaned and let out an exasperated sigh. He stared at Alfred in disbelief and leant closer towards the American.
They could never be real—but in Arthur's case, he had another opinion about that.
Arthur cupped Alfred's face on his hands, shutting his eyes close while tiptoeing and before Alfred knew it, the Brit eliminated the distance between them as their lips collided gently, making Alfred's eyes grew wide in surprise.
Alfred's defense crumbled at that very minute and he replied back eagerly, wanting to taste more of Arthur.
The night was quiet and the air was slightly chilly, but neither of them really minded that. What mattered the most to them right now was getting their message across, to tell each other how much they loved each other just from a simple kiss. It was sweet and it lasted, perhaps, only for a couple of seconds. But to Alfred and Arthur, that seemed to last for eternity.
And when Arthur pulled away, when their eyes found each other again, they couldn't help but to fall in love all over again for each other.
“Now, did that seem like I hate you, Alfred?” Arthur whispered softly and Alfred shook his head.
“It seemed like you love me.”
“That's because I do love you.” It sounded really cheesy, but neither of them minded that. Alfred felt joy bursting from heart and his chest grew warmer, his blue eyes regained back their lights. A small smile formed on Alfred's lips and Arthur smiled too, their heads pressed against each other's and both could feel each other's breath against their skin.
“But—the prom—” Alfred was at loss for words, yet he was still grinning like an idiot. “How about Allistor?”
Arthur rolled his eyes and Alfred almost let out a chuckle. “There's no way I'm going to fall in love with my own cousin.”
“Wait—I... I thought he's your lover!”
Arthur shrugged. “The plan was to get you jealous of him. And I suppose that worked well—uh, not really, though.”
Alfred's left hand cupped Arthur's cheeks, while the other was left to intertwine with Arthur's fingers gently. “That worked really well—I got super jealous when I saw you laughing with him, yanno.”
A soft chuckle escaped Arthur's lips and Alfred thought that he didn't mind hearing that all his life because God, that sounded beautiful to his ears. “But what made me run after you was your stupid little love letter.”
“You received it?”
“I read it.” Arthur confessed and he blushed, but this time he didn't look away and Alfred was greatly pleased with that because well—he could see Arthur's face clearly and he had to admit that Arthur looked really adorable with the red hues adorning his face. “And that's so not creative of you to steal quotes from a book.”
“It's Francis' idea.” Alfred blurted out and blinked twice when he remembered something. He grinned from ear to ear, asking the question again even though he already knew the obvious answer. “So, what's your answer?”
“Huh?”
“Yanno—will you be my valentine?”
A meaningful smile was plastered upon Arthur's lips and when their lips met each other's again, Alfred was grateful that he chose to follow Matthew's and Francis' advices to write Arthur a love letter. If this was what he got for writing him a goddamned love letter, then he was sure as hell he would write tons of them, whatever happened.
“Of course I will, you idiot. Gladly.”
Finally, their happy ending was obtained and both Arthur and Alfred were glad they chose to fight for them. It worked out well in the end, and well—it seemed that Valentine's Day was not so bad either.