Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
Thanks to anon's suggestions we are now enforcing a past-part fills post
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Arthur woke up alone.
He also had a killer headache. Not as bad as it was before the magic, not even close, but painful enough to make him groan.
Good to know everything was back to normal.
On top of that, he was also feeling a little embarrassed. He briefly wondered what the other nations would be thinking of him now, but his mind shied away from the thought. He was probably better off not knowing, not that he could blame them.
He decided to stay in bed, it was the least he could do. He’d just make tea and then he’d spend the rest of the day under the covers, thinking about how last night had been the best night of his life and how he’d spend the rest of his life lonely and forgotten, because he sure as hell would never show his face to the world again.
And, if he had the time, he’d also think about Alfred’s words. I care about you. Remembering that gave him that annoying feeling of butterflies on the stomach and, right, he hadn’t been exactly encouraging, but it was Alfred he was talking about here, and Alfred wouldn’t give up this easily and maybe… if he actually meant it... but no, it was probably one of his stupid jokes, nothing more…
... and that was probably Artie speaking. Arthur huffed. He had really liked the guy, but Artie could use some therapy.
He made the tea, found a good book in his library and went back to bed. He had just made himself comfortable when someone kicked his door open:
“Hi,” Alfred said, enthusiastic as ever “Where are the others?”
The scare made Arthur jump. He threw the book at Alfred:
“What the bloody hell are you doing here? Who opened the door for you?”
“I came through the window. Did they go away?”
Arthur lowered his eyes.
“Yes. The spell’s effect must have-”
“So you really integrated them!” Alfred was consternated “Geez, Arthur, you knew those guys for less than a day! What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, shut up! Just go away and close the door, please.”
“No way, I have something for you” he said, sitting on the bed as if he owned the place “I brought you a poem.”
Arthur, who was planning to pull the covers over his head to suffocate himself, stopped when he heard the last part:
“You wrote a poem?”
“No. I never said I wrote one, I said I brought one. Very different thing.”
“You. Brought me a poem.”
“Yes,” Alfred said, a little defensive “What’s the problem? Kiku said you like it.”
Uh, Arthur thought. Kiku had said he liked poetry. Roderich was commenting on his ego (and his anus). Either he was crazy or the whole world was.
“So,” Alfred said. Now he sounded a little unsure “May I read it? Or would you rather read it yourself?”
“No, you may read it. Go ahead.”
Maybe Alfred was the one who was crazy. He cleared his throat and started reading from a sheet that had seen better days. It was wrinkled and Arthur could see the scratched parts from when Alfred had misspelled something and, as for the reading, he was terrible at it.
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