Greensleeves 2/?
anonymous
October 10 2009, 08:15:46 UTC
Alfred woke exceptionally early for a saturday morning. It was the day that Arthur was going to fly back to London, so it was his job to make the last bit of time they would have for a while count. So he dragged himself out of bed early, pecked Arthur on the cheek and quickly went to work making breakfast. He knew Arthur wasn’t very fond of hamburgers (which was absolutely insane, but what can you do about a grumpy English man in the morning?), so he made waffles from a recipe Matthew had lent him instead. When he finished he brought out the plates and syrup and called Arthur to the table. There was no response.
Alfred looked at the clock and scrunched his face in concern. Arthur was usually up at this hour. It was at that point that a stroke of brilliance hit him, and Alfred quickly went to work setting his plan in motion.
A few minutes later he burst into the bedroom with a tray, fully equip to serve breakfast in bed. He found Arthur awake, sitting up, and just staring at the window which showed a bright sunny view of New York. When Alfred entered the room, the Briton quickly averted his eyes back to the blue and red comforter.
It struck Alfred as strange, but he chose not to comment on it. He quickly placed the tray in front of Arthur and offered a bright smile.
“Tada!! Breakfast in bed just for you! Good morning!” Alfred spoke the words brightly and with a definite tune to them. Arthur did not look to him, only stared at the plate of food.
For a long time both seemed frozen, waiting for the other to react first. After about ten minutes of waiting and nothing happening, Alfred decided that something was very wrong.
“I-I thought you liked waffles….I can make something else, if you’d like. Or even you could cook, England. Ya know what, it was a silly idea any way. It’s not like I really like waffles either, it’s just Matthew that likes em. Oh! I know! I don’t have the tea! Let me go make some real quick! I’ll be right back!”
Wanting desperately to get out of that room, Alfred jumped from the bed, but something was holding onto his sleeve. He looked down to see that Arthur had slightly grasped his arm. Those green eyes still continued to gaze at the tray, but the hand wasn’t moving, so Alfred felt that he couldn’t leave no matter how uncomfortable he felt.
“This is…nice.” The words sounded tired, strained, passive, complacent; it made Alfred’s stomach take a nose dive, but he sheepishly scratched the back of his head and laughed.
“No problem England, this sort of thing is nice every once in a while, ya know.”
“Please,” and that tone broke Alfred’s heart, because it was so needy, so insecure “call me Arthur.”
“Ah, sure! No problem! I mean, I call you Arthur all the time, didn’t think it made much of a difference…” And those green eyes still refused to look at him. That head remained bent in such a way that Alfred still could not see Arthur’s face. Couldn’t read what was wrong, though something was definitely amiss.
“I..” And there was another short pause that seemed like an eternity. “I’m not ready to be England….again. Not yet.”
“O-o-OK! So Arthur it is! Sounds good, so does that mean you aren’t going home yet?”
And suddenly those green eyes were on him, and oh God did they hurt. They were filled with such sadness and pain and hurt and despair that Alfred lost what he was going to say next. Those green eyes held him and shook him to the core until he couldn’t take it anymore and he looked away. It was only when that contact, that connection had been severed, could Alfred speak once more.
“I mean, you can stay as long as you want. Its good. Having you here, I mean. You’re welcome.”
Those eyes weren’t looking any more, but Alfred still did not feel safe enough to let his eyes wander closer.
“I promise that I’ll leave on my own. But, just for a while, I’d like to stay here, with you.”
Alfred still was looking at the wall, as if it held all the secrets to the world.
“Y-ya, sure, any time. You’re always welcome here, Arthur. You know that. Well, um, oh! The tea, I-I should go get it! Ya, I’ll go make some tea and…be right back! Right, silly of me to have forgotten. Ha ha, I’m so forgetful some times, ha.”
Greensleeves 2b/?
anonymous
October 10 2009, 08:16:49 UTC
The hand wasn’t holding him anymore, and the eyes were not on him, so Alfred took the opportunity to bolt from the room and to quickly shut the door behind him. He stood there with his back against the door for a few minutes, trying desperately to figure out what had just happened. After a while, he moved from the door into the living room and then to the liquor cabinet. It was way too early to be drinking, but something was desperately wrong, irrefutably broken and Alfred had no idea how to fix it.
Alfred woke exceptionally early for a saturday morning. It was the day that Arthur was going to fly back to London, so it was his job to make the last bit of time they would have for a while count. So he dragged himself out of bed early, pecked Arthur on the cheek and quickly went to work making breakfast. He knew Arthur wasn’t very fond of hamburgers (which was absolutely insane, but what can you do about a grumpy English man in the morning?), so he made waffles from a recipe Matthew had lent him instead. When he finished he brought out the plates and syrup and called Arthur to the table. There was no response.
Alfred looked at the clock and scrunched his face in concern. Arthur was usually up at this hour. It was at that point that a stroke of brilliance hit him, and Alfred quickly went to work setting his plan in motion.
A few minutes later he burst into the bedroom with a tray, fully equip to serve breakfast in bed. He found Arthur awake, sitting up, and just staring at the window which showed a bright sunny view of New York. When Alfred entered the room, the Briton quickly averted his eyes back to the blue and red comforter.
It struck Alfred as strange, but he chose not to comment on it. He quickly placed the tray in front of Arthur and offered a bright smile.
“Tada!! Breakfast in bed just for you! Good morning!” Alfred spoke the words brightly and with a definite tune to them. Arthur did not look to him, only stared at the plate of food.
For a long time both seemed frozen, waiting for the other to react first. After about ten minutes of waiting and nothing happening, Alfred decided that something was very wrong.
“I-I thought you liked waffles….I can make something else, if you’d like. Or even you could cook, England. Ya know what, it was a silly idea any way. It’s not like I really like waffles either, it’s just Matthew that likes em. Oh! I know! I don’t have the tea! Let me go make some real quick! I’ll be right back!”
Wanting desperately to get out of that room, Alfred jumped from the bed, but something was holding onto his sleeve. He looked down to see that Arthur had slightly grasped his arm. Those green eyes still continued to gaze at the tray, but the hand wasn’t moving, so Alfred felt that he couldn’t leave no matter how uncomfortable he felt.
“This is…nice.” The words sounded tired, strained, passive, complacent; it made Alfred’s stomach take a nose dive, but he sheepishly scratched the back of his head and laughed.
“No problem England, this sort of thing is nice every once in a while, ya know.”
“Please,” and that tone broke Alfred’s heart, because it was so needy, so insecure “call me Arthur.”
“Ah, sure! No problem! I mean, I call you Arthur all the time, didn’t think it made much of a difference…” And those green eyes still refused to look at him. That head remained bent in such a way that Alfred still could not see Arthur’s face. Couldn’t read what was wrong, though something was definitely amiss.
“I..” And there was another short pause that seemed like an eternity. “I’m not ready to be England….again. Not yet.”
“O-o-OK! So Arthur it is! Sounds good, so does that mean you aren’t going home yet?”
And suddenly those green eyes were on him, and oh God did they hurt. They were filled with such sadness and pain and hurt and despair that Alfred lost what he was going to say next. Those green eyes held him and shook him to the core until he couldn’t take it anymore and he looked away. It was only when that contact, that connection had been severed, could Alfred speak once more.
“I mean, you can stay as long as you want. Its good. Having you here, I mean. You’re welcome.”
Those eyes weren’t looking any more, but Alfred still did not feel safe enough to let his eyes wander closer.
“I promise that I’ll leave on my own. But, just for a while, I’d like to stay here, with you.”
Alfred still was looking at the wall, as if it held all the secrets to the world.
“Y-ya, sure, any time. You’re always welcome here, Arthur. You know that. Well, um, oh! The tea, I-I should go get it! Ya, I’ll go make some tea and…be right back! Right, silly of me to have forgotten. Ha ha, I’m so forgetful some times, ha.”
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The hand wasn’t holding him anymore, and the eyes were not on him, so Alfred took the opportunity to bolt from the room and to quickly shut the door behind him. He stood there with his back against the door for a few minutes, trying desperately to figure out what had just happened. After a while, he moved from the door into the living room and then to the liquor cabinet. It was way too early to be drinking, but something was desperately wrong, irrefutably broken and Alfred had no idea how to fix it.
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