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Alfred was about as predictable as the sunrise. Even when they were children, Arthur would always know what his best friend was thinking at nearly every given moment. The other tended to wear his heart on his sleeve, expressions readable and clear and simple to detect. Even when he tried not to, it never really took much to get the other to crack a smile or coerce him to speak his mind whenever something was truly bothering him.
Arthur had gotten it down to a science. He could have written a book about him, about the quirks and twists his friend possessed. He also could have written tomes about how those things made him feel, and what they meant tohimself, but those were stories best kept secret. For even if Alfred sucked terribly at hiding things, Arthur was a damned expert.
It was why he could watch the other, as they grew into unruly teenagers with all the emotional chaos and frustration that provided, and be prudent about his own personal studying of his best friend. When Alfred got his first real crush on a girl in their math class, Arthur had known, watching the way his friend’s face changed when he spoke of her, or heard her name. The mirth and excitement in his star-bright eyes, flushing all the way to his roots as he stammered over asking for advice.
How do I talk to her? How do I make her see?
Said with all the flair and dramatic exaggeration of one so young. A feeling that Arthur could relate to, deeply. And as far as he had been concerned, it was obvious to everyone except Alfred. Weeks before their first school dance rolled around and he saw her in the hall, Arthur had physically had to push him towards her.
“This is the part where you should open your mouth and ask.”
Alfred always took Arthur’s advice, even when he teased him about being stuffy and boring and no fun at all. Arthur would argue that Alfred probably would have stopped hanging out with him long ago if that were true. He was careful not mention that it also made Arthur ridiculous happy to know that Alfred always listened to him anyway. Best kept secrets.
Alfred went to that dance, danced all night with that girl, her name and face lost to time and memory now. Arthur only remembers being there, sipping punch and deliberately avoiding looking after his friend’s smile– the only time he’d ever done so.
After high school, things changed, but their friendship remained a constant– as did Arthur’s uncanny ability. Alfred grew into himself, physically and mentally, but for all of his strength, he still relied on him for the sort of camaraderie that no distance could ever destroy. Even when they went to different schools, and Alfred had to make the five hour drive to see him and vice versa, somehow the other always had one thing or another to discuss (read: rant) with him about. He was as open and easy to read as ever.
That’s how Arthur knew Alfred was in love again, when during one of their visits, Alfred couldn’t stop smiling. So oblivious to how obvious he was being, and to Arthur’s silence as he listened and didn’t look up.
How should I approach it? What if she doesn’t like me like that?
“This is the part where you get to know her better. Ask her what she likes.”
Alfred followed his advice to a tee. He got the phone call a few weeks later, his best friend’s happiness palpable in his voice, in the ringing in Arthur’s ears. Even over the phone, Arthur knew him like the back of his hand, and as always, Alfred didn’t comment on Arthur’s less than enthusiastic response. How could he? Arthur had always made sure the other never noticed. That no one ever would.
This was how it always went, through four years of college, two years of grad school, and a string of relationships on either side for them. His all failed spectacularly for reasons he would never admit, and for Alfred’s part, his friend would say that with all those others, they simply weren’t meant to be. When Arthur was sure that perhaps their friendship might come to an end, Alfred still managed to be there, a lingering presence in his life as they became older, grew into adults who only had enough time to wax on and reminisce fondly about their shared past. Alfred never truly changed. Neither did Arthur’s feelings, as he watched and held the other man through every love and every loss.
Alfred had even wanted to propose to someone at one point, so sure of himself, more sure than he’d ever been of his feelings and all that entailed at the time, his drunken tears the night he’d been dumped had been proof of that. Arthur let him hold onto him.
What should I do? Where do I go from here?
“This is the part where you let go.”
A bit of advice that, perhaps, he should have taken to heart himself.
But Alfred did get over it, and for a while, it was only them, and for a little while, Alfred was a little harder to read. A little quieter, a little more contemplative, a little less open. Arthur told himself that nothing was wrong, not wanting to believe that he’d lost his ability to know the other man. To lose that intimacy, silent and delicate as it was, would have destroyed him. It was all he’d ever had, and all he had left.
And then, one day, Alfred came to him and something was different. There was light in the other man’s eyes, but also a sadness, a longing that he could not avoid, and Arthur did everything to prepare his heart for inevitable battering it continued to take.
Alfred was in love again. Arthur knew it.
I’m in love with someone. I think I have been, for a long time now. But I don’t know how to tell him.
For the first time, Arthur didn’t know what to say, but he found the words slowly come to him as Alfred looked right at him, openly, that same heart on his sleeve and the impossible blue of his eyes as he waited, waited desperately for Arthur to guide him, to hold him again this time but never let go. Watching him in a way that he always dreamed of.
He didn’t want to let himself believe it at first, but Arthur had never been wrong before. He’d always known, and he knew then, when Alfred shyly reached out to touch his face. Arthur allowed himself to smile, to show a side of himself that could not be mistaken for anything else but pure, painful happiness.
“This is the part where you should kiss me.”