[fanfic] Meant to Be 2
Fanfiction: Meant to Be - Chapter 2
Author: 9mm_meg
Characters/Pairings: USUK, Canada, eventual others
Rating: M overall, T this chapter
Warnings: none this chapter
Summary: Sequel to Let It Mean Something. Alfred's got the second chance he never dared to dream of, but no matter how in love he is, it doesn't change the fact that he might not actually know Arthur at all.
Disclaimer: Hetalia isn’t mine
A/N: Thank you thank you thank you for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Love and hugs and snuggles for everyone~
Matthew hadn’t pressed the matter, and for that, Alfred is grateful. He’s still not sure what he may have said during the car ride back to his apartment, but he knows that he at least mentioned Arthur-though he’s fairly certain that if he’d said too much, Matthew wouldn’t just be leaving it alone.
Another week has passed, and Alfred is still struggling to get used to his old life. His grades will be better this time, he’s sure (though the fact that he has to go through the last four semesters of his college education again makes him want to cry sometimes), and half the time, he’s late for work since he can’t seem to remember that he’s got that part-time job at the bank again. His friends have accused him of being anti-social several times, but this whole re-do thing has turned out to be much more difficult than he’d anticipated, and he just doesn’t see the appeal of running around with them every night like he used to.
It’s Friday again though, and after class, work, and actually doing his homework on time, Alfred can’t bring himself to go back to 1607 just to sit at the bar alone all night, waiting for the off-chance that Arthur will come in again. Instead, he decides a change of scenery would be best.
The old pub is a welcome sight, quiet and cozy, though it hurts a little when the owner doesn’t shake his hand with a friendly Alright, Alfred? The usual, then? like he used to-or would have-whatever.
It’s one of those sit-wherever-you-like sort of establishments, so Alfred automatically walks back to his usual corner booth and makes himself at home. There’s a menu on the table already, but he’s ordered the exact same thing around once a week for the past four years now, so he doesn’t bother looking-and here comes a server anyway.
“Can I get a Newcas-oh,” he starts to say, but he freezes when he actually looks up.
(He thinks that, someday, his brain won’t shut down like this at the mere sight of the man, but really… the evidence is suggesting otherwise thus far.)
“Oh,” Arthur repeats, standing at the edge of the table, phone in hand, looking at him like he’s grown another head or something (stop staring Al!), then looks around the room as though he’s lost.
(Alfred takes the opportunity to smack himself in the face in an effort to snap out of the Arthur-induced daze.)
“Sorry,” Arthur says hesitantly, turning back towards him. “I… well, it’s just… I normally sit here…”
And Alfred’s heart suddenly feels as though it’s leapt into his throat at the thought of his own table having been Arthur’s, too. All this time, and he’d never known…
… and naturally, he notices, the one night he’s not looking for the man is the night they just happen to meet. For the last two weeks, Alfred’s been sort of trying to force things to happen the way they had the first time (he’s even been prepared to give Arthur a little shove to recreate the whole bumping-into-each-other thing if necessary-just a little bitty push, of course, just to help things along-it’s not like he’d hurt him or anything, geez), but now that he thinks about it, how much better is this scenario? They’re in a setting where they’re both comfortable, it’s quiet enough for conversation, and neither has any friends around to distract them… Maybe Alfred’s just been over-thinking this. Maybe better opportunities will fall into his lap all on their own, just like this one.
There’s only one available table in the place, a tiny little one in the opposite corner that hasn’t been cleared of its empty pint glasses and crumbs and wad of crumpled ones for the tip yet, but Arthur’s eyeing it warily, so Alfred decides to speak up and take advantage of his new opportunity.
“Well, if you don’t mind sharing, you can always sit with me,” he says, smiling.
The last fifteen minutes or so have passed with the two of them going through the customary introductory conversation (who they are, where they work, isn’t this weather strange, et cetera), and just before their food had arrived a moment ago, Arthur had mentioned maybe remembering seeing Alfred outside 1607 a couple of weeks ago, and maybe he had seen him inside the club, too… though he wasn’t sure, and he really probably hadn’t, so perhaps Alfred shouldn’t read too much into it, and it’s not as though Arthur would have remembered him specifically, of course.
(Alfred loves the way Arthur’s ears are still red.)
They both dig into their identical meals, but after a couple of moments, Arthur breaks the silence.
“So… Alfred.”
It’s difficult, but Alfred manages to keep calm and collected in spite of the heavenly way his name just rolls off of Arthur’s tongue (and he’d thought just hearing him say, Arthur Kirkland-it’s a pleasure, had been enough to short-circuit his brain), and he gives a hm? through his mouthful of chicken and mushroom pie.
“Do you go to 1607 often?”
Alfred shrugs and swallows. “I have recently, but I don’t really like it that much,” he says. “Too loud and obnoxious, y’know?”
Arthur pauses, then lets a hint of a smile slip onto his face (Alfred’s heart skips a beat), and says, “My sentiments exactly. Why do you go, then? Girlfriend drag you along or something?”
“Girlfriend… No. Not really my area.”
Something flashes in those green eyes, and Alfred doesn’t know if it’s just Arthur taking the hint, but Arthur nods (cheeks pinking, Alfred notices) and says, “So you’ve got a boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Right. Okay.” Arthur nods again, reaching for his beer and taking a long drink. Before Alfred can say anything else, though, he continues, “You’re unattached… Like me,” and, with a rush of amusement and affection, Alfred suddenly understands why this little exchange is sounding so familiar to him.
He silently thanks his subconscious for dragging up that quoted answer and smiles across the booth, thinking back to a vague memory of imagining the very scene in front of him. Arthur meets his gaze, waiting for a response, so Alfred says, “I’m gonna assume you liked Sherlock then.”
The grin that spreads across Arthur’s face threatens to stop his heart altogether.
“Next Friday?”
“Yeah! Definitely. 8-ish?”
“Sure. … And er… I suppose I might… ring you or something before then, if you don’t mind…”
“Oh yeah, yeah-anytime!”
“You’re welcome to do the same… if you like…”
“Sweet!”
There’s a slightly awkward moment while they stand just outside the front door of the pub, with Alfred fidgeting and wishing he could think of something less moronic to say, but then Arthur gives him another half-smile and says, “Well… it’s been lovely,” and holds out his hand.
Alfred reaches for it, hoping his shaking won’t be too obvious-then he suddenly thinks of paradoxical, space-time-continuum-ripping consequences that could possibly occur should the two of them touch, and the whole of Creation being tossed into the Void just because he had to get greedy and come back for more-
But then his fingers close around Arthur’s slender palm, and the only thing that happens is a light squeeze and release, along with the realization that he’d very much like to hold Arthur’s hand again.
(Then, of course, he realizes that if just them touching would destroy the universe, then there really wasn’t much point in his being brought back in the first place-because isn’t them getting a second chance sort of the idea of this… whatever-it-is?)
“Good night, Alfred,” Arthur says, interrupting his thoughts, and he gets out what he hopes is a not-awfully-stupid-sounding See ya later before Arthur gives him one last, small smile and sets off down the sidewalk towards home.
It takes several minutes after Arthur rounds the corner and disappears behind a row of townhouses for Alfred to really come to terms with how his evening has gone: He’s had dinner with Arthur. He’s had a nice, long conversation with Arthur in which he didn’t even make himself look like an idiot (too much). He’s got Arthur’s number, and Arthur intends to call him. And, he’s got plans to see Arthur again, one week from today…
… And, he realizes with a grin, it’s going to be one hell of a long week.
A/N: Ugh, how I agonized over this chapter. I hope it’s not awful. >_>
“Girlfriend… No. Not really my area.” This is a little nod to the first episode of the BBC series Sherlock, which is, naturally, on my list of Favorite Things Ever. It aired in July of 2010 in the UK, but I’m not sure about the US… Of course, I’d be willing to bet that Arthur would have found a way to watch it by August, when this fic starts, so it’d be nice and fresh on his mind still.
Author: 9mm_meg
Characters/Pairings: USUK, Canada, eventual others
Rating: M overall, T this chapter
Warnings: none this chapter
Summary: Sequel to Let It Mean Something. Alfred's got the second chance he never dared to dream of, but no matter how in love he is, it doesn't change the fact that he might not actually know Arthur at all.
Disclaimer: Hetalia isn’t mine
A/N: Thank you thank you thank you for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Love and hugs and snuggles for everyone~
Matthew hadn’t pressed the matter, and for that, Alfred is grateful. He’s still not sure what he may have said during the car ride back to his apartment, but he knows that he at least mentioned Arthur-though he’s fairly certain that if he’d said too much, Matthew wouldn’t just be leaving it alone.
Another week has passed, and Alfred is still struggling to get used to his old life. His grades will be better this time, he’s sure (though the fact that he has to go through the last four semesters of his college education again makes him want to cry sometimes), and half the time, he’s late for work since he can’t seem to remember that he’s got that part-time job at the bank again. His friends have accused him of being anti-social several times, but this whole re-do thing has turned out to be much more difficult than he’d anticipated, and he just doesn’t see the appeal of running around with them every night like he used to.
It’s Friday again though, and after class, work, and actually doing his homework on time, Alfred can’t bring himself to go back to 1607 just to sit at the bar alone all night, waiting for the off-chance that Arthur will come in again. Instead, he decides a change of scenery would be best.
The old pub is a welcome sight, quiet and cozy, though it hurts a little when the owner doesn’t shake his hand with a friendly Alright, Alfred? The usual, then? like he used to-or would have-whatever.
It’s one of those sit-wherever-you-like sort of establishments, so Alfred automatically walks back to his usual corner booth and makes himself at home. There’s a menu on the table already, but he’s ordered the exact same thing around once a week for the past four years now, so he doesn’t bother looking-and here comes a server anyway.
“Can I get a Newcas-oh,” he starts to say, but he freezes when he actually looks up.
(He thinks that, someday, his brain won’t shut down like this at the mere sight of the man, but really… the evidence is suggesting otherwise thus far.)
“Oh,” Arthur repeats, standing at the edge of the table, phone in hand, looking at him like he’s grown another head or something (stop staring Al!), then looks around the room as though he’s lost.
(Alfred takes the opportunity to smack himself in the face in an effort to snap out of the Arthur-induced daze.)
“Sorry,” Arthur says hesitantly, turning back towards him. “I… well, it’s just… I normally sit here…”
And Alfred’s heart suddenly feels as though it’s leapt into his throat at the thought of his own table having been Arthur’s, too. All this time, and he’d never known…
… and naturally, he notices, the one night he’s not looking for the man is the night they just happen to meet. For the last two weeks, Alfred’s been sort of trying to force things to happen the way they had the first time (he’s even been prepared to give Arthur a little shove to recreate the whole bumping-into-each-other thing if necessary-just a little bitty push, of course, just to help things along-it’s not like he’d hurt him or anything, geez), but now that he thinks about it, how much better is this scenario? They’re in a setting where they’re both comfortable, it’s quiet enough for conversation, and neither has any friends around to distract them… Maybe Alfred’s just been over-thinking this. Maybe better opportunities will fall into his lap all on their own, just like this one.
There’s only one available table in the place, a tiny little one in the opposite corner that hasn’t been cleared of its empty pint glasses and crumbs and wad of crumpled ones for the tip yet, but Arthur’s eyeing it warily, so Alfred decides to speak up and take advantage of his new opportunity.
“Well, if you don’t mind sharing, you can always sit with me,” he says, smiling.
The last fifteen minutes or so have passed with the two of them going through the customary introductory conversation (who they are, where they work, isn’t this weather strange, et cetera), and just before their food had arrived a moment ago, Arthur had mentioned maybe remembering seeing Alfred outside 1607 a couple of weeks ago, and maybe he had seen him inside the club, too… though he wasn’t sure, and he really probably hadn’t, so perhaps Alfred shouldn’t read too much into it, and it’s not as though Arthur would have remembered him specifically, of course.
(Alfred loves the way Arthur’s ears are still red.)
They both dig into their identical meals, but after a couple of moments, Arthur breaks the silence.
“So… Alfred.”
It’s difficult, but Alfred manages to keep calm and collected in spite of the heavenly way his name just rolls off of Arthur’s tongue (and he’d thought just hearing him say, Arthur Kirkland-it’s a pleasure, had been enough to short-circuit his brain), and he gives a hm? through his mouthful of chicken and mushroom pie.
“Do you go to 1607 often?”
Alfred shrugs and swallows. “I have recently, but I don’t really like it that much,” he says. “Too loud and obnoxious, y’know?”
Arthur pauses, then lets a hint of a smile slip onto his face (Alfred’s heart skips a beat), and says, “My sentiments exactly. Why do you go, then? Girlfriend drag you along or something?”
“Girlfriend… No. Not really my area.”
Something flashes in those green eyes, and Alfred doesn’t know if it’s just Arthur taking the hint, but Arthur nods (cheeks pinking, Alfred notices) and says, “So you’ve got a boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Right. Okay.” Arthur nods again, reaching for his beer and taking a long drink. Before Alfred can say anything else, though, he continues, “You’re unattached… Like me,” and, with a rush of amusement and affection, Alfred suddenly understands why this little exchange is sounding so familiar to him.
He silently thanks his subconscious for dragging up that quoted answer and smiles across the booth, thinking back to a vague memory of imagining the very scene in front of him. Arthur meets his gaze, waiting for a response, so Alfred says, “I’m gonna assume you liked Sherlock then.”
The grin that spreads across Arthur’s face threatens to stop his heart altogether.
“Next Friday?”
“Yeah! Definitely. 8-ish?”
“Sure. … And er… I suppose I might… ring you or something before then, if you don’t mind…”
“Oh yeah, yeah-anytime!”
“You’re welcome to do the same… if you like…”
“Sweet!”
There’s a slightly awkward moment while they stand just outside the front door of the pub, with Alfred fidgeting and wishing he could think of something less moronic to say, but then Arthur gives him another half-smile and says, “Well… it’s been lovely,” and holds out his hand.
Alfred reaches for it, hoping his shaking won’t be too obvious-then he suddenly thinks of paradoxical, space-time-continuum-ripping consequences that could possibly occur should the two of them touch, and the whole of Creation being tossed into the Void just because he had to get greedy and come back for more-
But then his fingers close around Arthur’s slender palm, and the only thing that happens is a light squeeze and release, along with the realization that he’d very much like to hold Arthur’s hand again.
(Then, of course, he realizes that if just them touching would destroy the universe, then there really wasn’t much point in his being brought back in the first place-because isn’t them getting a second chance sort of the idea of this… whatever-it-is?)
“Good night, Alfred,” Arthur says, interrupting his thoughts, and he gets out what he hopes is a not-awfully-stupid-sounding See ya later before Arthur gives him one last, small smile and sets off down the sidewalk towards home.
It takes several minutes after Arthur rounds the corner and disappears behind a row of townhouses for Alfred to really come to terms with how his evening has gone: He’s had dinner with Arthur. He’s had a nice, long conversation with Arthur in which he didn’t even make himself look like an idiot (too much). He’s got Arthur’s number, and Arthur intends to call him. And, he’s got plans to see Arthur again, one week from today…
… And, he realizes with a grin, it’s going to be one hell of a long week.
A/N: Ugh, how I agonized over this chapter. I hope it’s not awful. >_>
“Girlfriend… No. Not really my area.” This is a little nod to the first episode of the BBC series Sherlock, which is, naturally, on my list of Favorite Things Ever. It aired in July of 2010 in the UK, but I’m not sure about the US… Of course, I’d be willing to bet that Arthur would have found a way to watch it by August, when this fic starts, so it’d be nice and fresh on his mind still.